#i was emo this morning but now i jerked it and i need to get passed around that mf bllk facility

[bearandravencorner]

this is chapter one of a t4t story of 2 highschoolers finding each other and in turn find their true selfs

He took a deep breath, just couple of minutes and he could be there.

the library of his high school had always been his comfort place, had being the key word here, as it wouldn’t be for very much longer.

“Hey Maison!”. His body shivered he hated this feeling, he hated him.

“Stop talking to me” he muttered.

He felt his blonde wavy hair get yanked backwards, his legs giving way and he fell onto the hard tile floor. He laid there for a second. long enough to think back on his life:

what had he done wrong? what led him to being bullied by a group of immoral empty-headed boys?

He could defend himself; he had the means to do so, these boys weren’t even that much stronger than him but no.

He thought if he simply ignored them and moved on, they would leave him alone. But of course, they’d just had to pick on him.

was it his long face? his tall structure or his personality? Or was he just a person of opportunity?

“Get up nerd” the bully was about to grab Maison’s shirt but lost the chance as he launched himself off the ground and started running to the library.

“Get him!”

This might have been the stupidest idea he has had in a long time, trying to outrun someone that had such hate and contempt for him.

This guy might be on the football team because he was fast. But surprisingly enough Maison made it to the library.

His single second of relief was crushed when he heard the library door burst open “ohh you moron” the bully grabbed Maison and started beating him to a bloody pulp.

But as quickly as the bully started, he stopped “what’s happening?” He thought still bracing himself for impact.

Maison then heard something he never expected.

“Stop it!” A feminine voice said followed by a fist making swift contact with a face, more specifically the bullies face.

The bully grunted and covered his face as blood gushed from his nose.

“What the fuck!?- this is none of your business bitch!”

Was someone standing up for him?

“It I-i-It is m-my business! when another student is getting bullied! I Umm I’ll call the teacher!”

The bully picked up the young girl and raised her to his eye level “really? And who’s going to believe you.” He spit out.

“you’re just a little goth skank!”

She was Emo actually, you know the long black hair covering half her face, black clothes, heavy silver jewelry and heavy dark makeup.

Despite that some of her freckles could still be seen under her foundation, what stood out where her bright green eyes and short height barely reaching the bullies chest.

The girl seemingly gaining all the confidence she needed in that moment, glared at him” watch me.” She said dead pan before kneeing him in the crotch with all her might.

The bully screamed and dropped her to the ground “you bitch” he said under his breath.

The girl scrambled to get off the ground, walking to Maison and asking if he was ok.

Maison was so shocked he was speechless “I-…umm” but that all he could say before his savior was yanked backwards by the collar and given a kick in the back by the jerk that had been tormenting them that morning, the bully spit on her before stumbling out of the library.

The two of them laid on the ground in silence for a moment before Maison finally had the nerve to speak “you know…you didn’t have to do that but thank you.”

She sat up and looked at Maison with kind eyes “you’re not the only one in this battle.”

She offered him her hand and remarking that she had a place where they could bandage themselves up.

They walked to the furthest corner of the big library. It was almost empty of all students except some kid sitting and reading in silence be he paid them no mind.

“I keep a first aid box here for situations like this” she said as she moved two heavy books apart on a low shelf.

Maison stood there for a second simply looking at this short girl, a stranger that had done more than any of his friends in just couple of minutes.

And now she wants to help him bandage up?

“well don’t just stand there, sit down!” he broke from his trance after hearing her irritated yet concerning tone and sat down next to her.

 Maison’s face was very beaten and bruised, he had a bloody nose and a busted eyebrow that was bleeding profusely.

She grabbed Maison’s face and started to clean the blood.

” …I’m Maison by the way “he didn’t really know what else to say, she didn’t look really happy or maybe he was just overthinking the situation.

“Cecile” she answered bluntly “now hold still, don’t want to get disinfectant in your eye.”

He nodded and broke eye contact with the feeling that she had some anger towards him

“I said don’t move!” She said loudly moving his face back in place so she could get every drop of blood. Maison looked a lot more nervous now than before, why was she angry at him?

She noticed his hesitation and sighed “don’t get me wrong here alright, but you’re bigger than those guys and you look pretty strong, why didn’t you do anything? It would be so easy for you”

Maison looked at Cecile quite bewildered, he knew she was right, but no one had been that blunt about it “I know that…I just-well, I just think if I ignore them, they will eventually get tired of me and move on”

Cecile furrowed her brows chuckled a bit in shock “that is frankly a dumb idea, if you know those guys you’d know they never quit, you have to defend yourself man, let them know you’re not a guy to messed with”

Maison started picking the skin on the back of his hand. It was a nervous habit, something he had done since he was a kid, his therapist suspected he might have Dermatillomania, but he never really bothered looking it up to be sure.

Cecile was now looking at him expecting some answer out of him, but he just diverted the attention to something else

“I…ummm, like your piercings and hair?” She was a bit confused but caught on that he was desperately trying to change the subject

 “Thanks man, it’s box dye tho, couldn’t be this cool naturally “she shrugged and started sanitising Maison cuts,

“that’s a cool jacket your wearing” Maison looked at his brown leather jacket now stained with blood from the fight. Some buttons he’d put on it had fallen off which was a bit frustrating, but nothing he could do about it now

“thanks, I found it at a thrift shop downtown, now I don’t know if it’s cooler with or without the blood” he chuckled trying to bring the mood up. Cecile laughed and nodded

”Ohh yeah definitely, a lot cooler than any of those fucking fast fashion brand clothes I’ve seen” she said as she covered his cuts with medical tape and band aids.

He finally looked at Cecile again and hesitantly asked “so….can I take you out for some ice cream? You know for helping me out with all of this” Cecile looked up at him from the first aid kit in curiosity and thought for a second, should she go out with this strange boy she just met? it was the first time in awhile someone was interested in her and it was only a friendly date so what’s the harm in it.

 She nodded and smiled “yeah that be great, we can meet up in front of school when we’re both done in class.

[imagine--if]

im so looking forward to the hope series it's so good so far and there's only one chapter!!!! waiting anxiously for the second one <33

A/N: Here's part two!! I'm thrilled everyone's enjoying it so far - I can't wait for the funeral part (coming soon after) where the Riddler gets to speak to Hope properly 🖤

To My Hope; Drive

Words: 1320

It wasn't a surprise to you when Peter came striding in and stopped dead when he caught sight of you, and specifically The Batman. He'd immediately questioned Gordon in frustration, accusing Batman of being involved, then looking to you in exasperation.

"They're goddamn vigilantes! They could be suspects! Especially him!"

But Batman wasn't paying any attention to his furious rants. Instead, he stared at the now-dead Mayor in thought, his quiet murmur cutting through their dispute.

"He lies still..."

"Excuse me?"

Gordon nodded slowly, explaining the riddle, and Peter left with a string of annoyed comments as he stomped off to meet the press downstairs. You couldn't stay any longer, and while Gordon shows you out, your eyes linger on the boy who's lost his father, sitting wounded and downcast as the police ask him questions as gently as they can. The Batman stares too, a slither of emotion breaking his blank, hard-set stare.

"There'll be a funeral," he tells you once you're both out. "I'll pick you up and take you... if that's alright."

You nod slowly, a brow raising. "Bruce Wayne is going to take me to the funeral in one of his fancy cars? With the press snapping photos and bugging you about who I am? Secret girlfriend? You know they'll do it."

A scoff of amusement leaves him, and he shakes his head. "I know. But I want you there, and I want you where I know you're safe."

"With you, you mean," you say with a smile, used to his protective nature by now. "Okay then. Don't give Alfred a hard time when you get back to the manor, and say hi to him for me."

He nods again, patting you on the shoulder before disappearing into the night. You stare after him with a light sigh, looking away from the wide city screens presenting Pete Savage's heartfelt promise to find the killer for his lost friend.

There's not much to do now, except go back home and try to get a bit of sleep. But it's not easy, with jumbled riddles and puzzling words that make no sense whizzing through your brain, and the image of that old, cartoon angel from the card.

Soulmates. My Hope.

You're jerked out of your lazy thoughts early the next morning, your phone ringing persistently from the bedside table, Bruce's name on the ID.

"Bru-"

"Alfred found something," he interrupts, clearly wanting to get straight on with it. "I need to catch you up. When does Hope plan on getting back out?"

You groan groggily, sitting up and brushing the hair out of your face. "Mm... let her have her coffee first."

Batman had quickly shown you the complicated method of breaking down the cypher to reveal a hidden message of 'DRIVE' when you met up a little later. This was only the beginning, after all. You don't know where this is heading, but it can't be anywhere good. Especially if you've caught the attention of this riddling killer in a way you really shouldn't have.

You're taken to the private garage of Don Mitchell's, Gordon and Batman walking by your sides as you take in the excessive amount of shiny sports cars.

"I've got an emo friend who could afford all this fancy gear," you joke quietly to Batman, and he glares at you softly.

"Yeah, he's got a car," Jim Gordon mutters sarcastically. "Guess it's good to be a mayor. Where to even start?"

"We should look for things that shouldn't be here," you think aloud, examining the cars in turn with a small frown.

"You sure this isn't a leap?" Gordon asks uncertainly. "'Drive' could mean anything."

"You don't trust me?" Batman questions.

"You mean like you trust me? It's been two years now, and I don't even know who you two are, man."

You stop in your tracks suddenly, going over to a silver car with something jammed above a tyre. It's long metal in a scissor shape, and you pull it out, handing it over to Batman, who nods at you approvingly.

"What are we looking for?" Gordon asks as you unlock the door for Batman to get in, his blue-white flashlight illuminating the darkness.

"A USB port," The Batman answers.

"USB?"

A gloved hand pushes a button, and a compartment slides open to reveal the port... and a special keyring that makes you groan in disgust, rolling your eyes. Gordon looks at you in confusion.

"What?"

Batman holds up the USB stick, along with the mayor's missing thumb.

"'Thumb' drive," Batman clarifies, and Gordon curses as he gets out his laptop, inserting the stick. An error message quickly flashes up on the screen.

"It's encrypted."

Batman holds up the keyring with the dangling thumb. "Try this."

Gordon pulls a similar face to yours, taking it reluctantly.

"Oh, this guy's hilarious," he breathes in annoyance, as the drive opens to reveal a thumbprint scanner. He gingerly places it on the scanner, and the error message is replaced with several photographs of a blonde woman, the mayor beside her in them all.

"Well, well, well," Gordon whispers. "So much for family values."

"Who is she?"

"No idea," he replies, leaning in closer to the screen to point out the Penguin, Falcone's right-hand man.

A whooshing sound of notifications from emails interrupts, and Gordon panics, swearing.

"The drive! It sent out the photos from my account..."

"He lies still," Batman recalls.

"You should ask the Penguin about it at the Iceberg Lounge," you tell him. I know some of the girls there, if that helps."

And so the three of you part again, you going back to being Hope and trying to forget the chaos and confusion that's going on behind the scenes, and Batman off to the Iceberg Lounge.

You don't get much peace before the news comes up later in the evening, with questions about the blonde woman, now revealed to the public from the drive, and a disturbing video from... The Riddler.

Your eyes are fixed on the screen as you hear his heavy, shaky breaths and take in the white question mark on his murky green coat. He pulls the camera away to reveal his face, which is covered along with his head in a similar coloured green mask. A pair of clear glasses are over the bridge of the nose, and you frown, unnerved. This is the man who sent you the letter. This is the man who called you his soulmate.

"Hello, people of Gotham," his deep, modified voice sounds through your TV's speakers. "This is the Riddler speaking. On Halloween night, I killed your mayor because he was not who he pretended to be. But I am not done."

The camera flips, and you gasp in disbelief as you see Peter's face caged in a clear trap, rats scuttling in a compartment at his chest.

"Here is another," the Riddler continues, Pete hyperventilating from behind the silver duct tape over his mouth, "who will soon be losing face. "I will kill again, and again, and again, and again, until our day of judgement, when the truth about this city will FINALLY...! Be unmasked."

The camera zooms out to show the both of them, the RIddler evidently grinning from behind his mask. "Goodbye!"

And then his face is off the screen, and you're left staring at the TV blankly, a shiver running down your spine.

Your phone vibrates from a nearby table, a message from Bruce asking you to meet him to examine the body and the Riddler's clue in his trap. You don't move for a long moment, and when you do, you switch off the TV and stare at your shaded reflection in the black screen. You stare at the figure of hope... and now that you know that the Riddler might have been watching, obsessing, for who knows how long... it doesn't quite feel the same.

Taglist:

@wilburrrsworld @philiasoul @darthcringe @felicityofbakerstreet @bloodypantomime @deadlights-darling @tianotfound @mortem-muse @ireadandream @tinyryder @kpopgirlbtssvt @truecobblepot @jessicainhell

[queerquintessence]

heyo

so i recently have been obsessed with the idea of the voltron paladins living in the same house together sooo

i may or may not have spent the last like 3 hours working on headcannons

the characters in the house are keith, lance, hunk, pidge, and allura

(since they’re all relatively similar in age)

so sadly no shiro or coran but

anyway

yeah here they are

(once again a bit unorganized but it’s whatev)

• first off allura and lance are both housewifes

• and neither of them take any shit from the others

• allura: keith, could you pick your feet up? i’m trying to vacuum down here

• keith, sitting on the couch: couldn’t you just do it later

• allura:

• allura: move your feet or i’m telling lonce you have a crush on him

• hunk does the dishes most of the time because he’s mainly the one who cooks their food

• but they also alternate on a schedule

• lance, sighing dramatically: i do everything around here! keith, when was the last time you washed the dishes?

• keith: i literally washed them last night

• lance: well you missed a plate so it doesn’t count

• keith takes out the trash a lot except he doesn’t wear shoes so his feet are always dirty

• lance yells at him for it

• whenever lance takes out the trash he puts on whoever’s shoes are closest

• pidge: lance are those my shoes?

• lance, tiptoeing in sneakers that are 3 sizes too small: maybe

• the couch that they own is too small to fit everyone

• they either argue for 10 minutes over who gets to sit where or they just pile on top of each other

• pidge usually lays on top of someone’s lap when it gets crowded

• she can just flop on top of someone and they’ll just let her- no words spoken

• keith sits on the armrests and everyone gives him shit for it

• lance: aren’t you uncomfortable?

• keith: i like sitting here

• lance: alright edgelord

• lance lays with his legs sprawled on top of the couch

• sometimes pidge will lay on lance who will have his legs on keith

• hunk is fine with sitting on the floor but even he’ll start arguing over the good spot on the couch

• hunk: lance, buddy, you sat there last time- why not give someone else a turn?

• lance: hunk when was the last time you did your own laundry? huh. that’s what i thought

• dinners pretty chaotic

• that’s usually when they have their debates

• lance, pounding his fist on the table: mac and cheese is to be eaten with a fork and that’s that

• pidge: why the hell would you use a fork? spoons are just fine in my opinion

• keith, silently munching on his food knowing he eats it with a knife:

• pidge: alright, we need to acknowledge the elephant in the room

• everyone:

• pidge:

• pidge: keith, you gotta stop putting corn syrup on your peanut butter sandwiches it’s fucking weird

• allura: everyone in favor of limiting lance’s shakira privileges say I

• keith, pidge, and hunk: I

• lance, who’s totally offended: wh

• luckily, they all have their own rooms

• except the walls are super thin

• lance scream singing beyoncé: GOT ME LOOKING SO CRAZY RIGHT NOW YOUR LOVES GOT ME LOOKING SO CRAZY RIGHT NOW

• keith: why has god forsaken me

• even when they try to play music relatively quiet it can still faintly be heard

• muffled music from keith’s room: when i was, a young boy

• pidge: HA fucking EMO

• they all have Alexa’s in their rooms

• and pidge has access to all of them on her laptop

• pidge: psst- hey lance, watch this

• pidge: *fast typing on laptop*

• blasting from keith’s room: COUNTRYYY ROAAADS TAKE ME HOOOOME

• muffled keith screaming: pIDGE I SWEAR TO GOD

• in the morning during breakfast

• allura: why has lonce not come out of his room yet?

• pidge: hang on, i’ll wake him up

• lance’s alexa in the distance: I’M A GOOFY GOOBER YEAH YOU’RE A GOOFY GOOBER YEAH

• lance’s startled scream is then followed by a loud thud

• once a week they have a movie night

• keith: lance i am not watching a cheesy romcom for the 2nd week in a row

• lance: i have to listen to ‘welcome to the black parade’ eighteen times a day sit the fuck down

• keith, crossed arm for the duration of movie night: this love story is completely unrealistic

• everybody shushes him on cue

• they also have monthly sleepovers in the living room where they giggle like middle schoolers

• keith knocks over an entire bowl of popcorn

• allura discovers the concept of a pillow fight and effortlessly knocks everybody to the ground

• lance flops on the air mattress and launches pidge across the room

• while everyone is trying to sleep

• lance: guys guys i’m gonna say something

• lance:

• lance: mayonnaise

• everybody loses their shit laughing because it’s 2 in the morning and they’re sleep deprived

• the bathroom sink is a mess

• their toothbrushes are color coordinated

• since they have to fit so much shit on the sink they have specific spots where they put their stuff

• pidge: hunk, your toothbrush is in my spot

• hunk: what? no- this corner of the sink is mine

• the debate results in all of them crowded in the bathroom arguing for 10 minutes

• keith: i don’t even remember having a designated spot on the sink

• allura: we need a toothbrush holder

• sometimes they do their nightly routines together

• which is also chaotic

• lance is applying a face mask, which drips onto pidge’s arm

• pidge then jerks her arm away- hitting keith’s toothbrush

• it then catapults off the counter and sticks to the wall

• keith: i left the room for one second what the hell did you do

• i’ve seen this headcannon somewhere before and i love it so i’m elaborating

• whenever keith is tired he’s giddy and hyper and loopy

• keith after not having a good nights sleep for 3 weeks, getting a running start and flipping onto the couch: a woop

• pidge: what in fucks name are you doing

• lance is the same exact way when he’s tired so they act like complete and utter idiots

• keith: lance, hey lance guess what

• lance: what

• keith:

• lance:

• they both burst out laughing

• lance: keith, omg you know what- keith rhymes with teeth

• keith:

• keith: holy shit

• eventually they both burn out and are just exhausted

• lance with his face planted in the carpet: uuuggghghggg

• allura: you finally done?

• lance: *angry muffled grumbling*

• pidge tends to fall asleep anywhere in the house

• usually with her computer on her lap or nearby

• she’s usually discovered the next morning

• hunk walking into the kitchen, sleepily rubbing his eyes: kinda want some orange juice

• pidge is just asleep on top of the fridge

• everyone else eating breakfast at the table

• keith: has anyone seen pidge?

• soft snoring is heard from under the table

• keith: ah

• they just put up with each other’s bullshit all day everyday and i love it

• lance, slamming his bedroom door open: everyone in my room i had a nightmare and need affection

• everyone emerges from their rooms grumbling and all file into lance room with their pillows and stuffed animals

• pidge trying to keep the remote away from lance: go long, hunk!

• keith appearing in the doorway and getting hit straight in the forehead with a remote: fUCK

• lance: are those my socks?

• keith: huh? oh, i dunno they were in my laundry pile

• lance: no those are totally my socks give them back right now

• when they all moved in together it was before keith and lance started dating so obviously there was shipping

• pidge, bursting into hunk’s room: i have klance tea

• hunk: spill

• lance: wh- keith and i are NOT dating

• pidge: you guys literally live together!

• lance: WE ALL LIVE TOGETHER

• allura, to hunk during dinner: i don’t know about you, but it seems to me like keith has a thing for lance

• keith: princess you’re not even whispering we can all hear you

• keith and lance secretly holding hands under the dinner table while lance is telling a story

• lance, being dramatic and expressive, lifts his hands in the air to accidentally reveal that his hand is intertwined with keith’s and its immediate chaos

• keith letting go immediately: wH HUH HOW DID THAT GET THERE

• pidge: I FUCKING TOLD YOU

anywayyy that’s all

i literally love this so much so don’t be surprised if i come up with some more later

yeah

bye

[delimeful]

to taste your beating heart (5)

warnings: blood, miscommunication, imprisonment, arguing

-

Logan met Virgil-- Anx’s eyes over Patton’s shoulder, and watched as his gaze went from bewildered to guarded in half a second.

In the next moment, Anx had shoved out sharply, pushing Patton away from him hard enough to make him stumble back a few steps-- just far enough to be outside the protective ward, Logan noted. 

As though to cover up the fact that he’d just stripped himself of a potential hostage, Anx stiffened up to his full height, fangs bared at them all.

“Careful!” Roman snapped in an eerie parody of Virgil’s normal catchphrase, rising to his feet as Patton narrowly avoided overbalancing.

“No, no,” Patton said, wiping at his eyes without any shame, “it’s my fault, I should have asked first. I always get kind of emotional after thralls break. My apawlegies, Anx.” He accented the words with a flap of his cat hoodie sleeve.

Logan had time to notice the way Anx’s face twisted-- a mix of confusion-amusement-wariness that was familiar from Virgil’s first weeks working with them-- before Roman cut in with a startled shout.

“The thrall is broken?!” he squawked, head whipping back and forth between Patton and Anx. “Since when?”

“None of your business,” snapped Anx.

“Pretty much as soon as I walked in!” cheered Patton, at the exact same time. He paused. “Whoops, sorry, Anx! Did you want that to be... confangdential?”

“Boo,” Roman called, instantly distracted by the bad wordplay, “That was a reach.”

Logan let his audible facepalm speak for itself. “Out of the way, please, Patton.”

Patton obligingly shuffled to the side, and with every step closer Logan took, Anx folded inwards like a snake rearing back to strike. Seeing Virgil’s body bracing for the worst at his approach made something in Logan’s chest pang oddly, but luckily he was well practiced at ignoring such things.

Once at the edge of the circle, he crouched and inspected the activation key. As expected, nothing was out of place. Logan doubted Anx had been awake long enough to even consider tampering with the circle, let alone attempt it.

Now that the ash had cooled, the spell would be vulnerable to outside influence. It wasn’t as big of a concern anymore, seeing as the thrall on Patton had been removed, but Logan wasn’t one to leave things half-done.

… Also, if left unattended, Patton would probably free the vampire without telling anyone even without being under thrall.

Logan set his palm on the activation key and nonverbally cast a warming spell, reactivating the part of the spell that singed any unauthorized fingers messing with his circle. He could add the warming charm into the circle’s layout later, when there wasn’t a twitchy vampire watching his every move.

Despite his efforts to make his spellcasting subtler than usual, Anx still seemed to go still and stiff like hunted prey when the change in the spell sent a mild warmth into the air around them. Those uncanny purple eyes flickered between all three of the hunters for a moment, and then seemed to settle for glaring at nothing.

“So, Draculame, what prompted the sudden change of heart?” Roman asked, arms crossed over his chest.

His tone wasn’t as accusatory as before, but Anx’s bristling only increased, likely at the nickname. It had taken a while for Virgil to realize Roman’s ruder habits weren’t mean-spirited. It seemed like Anx would have to relearn that.

Provided they got that far.

Shaking the rather grim thought away, Logan tilted his head at the vampire. “I’m admittedly curious as well.”

Anx hissed at them, which they probably should have expected. It probably said something about their friend that this had already been standard Virgil behavior before he’d been turned. It was almost nostalgic.

“Now, kiddos, let’s not vamptagonize him!” Patton cut in firmly, ignoring their groans. “It’s almost dawn, so how about we call it close enough to morning and have some breakfast? I’ll make pat-cakes!”

He swanned out of the room without waiting for an answer, nearly hip checking the doorframe as he went. For a moment, Logan half-expected to see Virgil fall in a half-step behind him, like a particularly emo shadow. The absence was jarring.

“He hasn’t slept tonight,” he finally said, capturing Roman’s attention. “Make sure he doesn’t use salt instead of sugar?”

“And meanwhile you will be…?” Roman prompted doubtfully. Logan rolled his eyes.

“Figuring out a way for Anx to safely move to the kitchen, as Patton no doubt wants him there,” he replied, raising a hand to forestall any protests. “I took precautions.”

Roman threw his hands up dramatically, shot Anx a warning glare, and then turned to leave.

“Ugh. There goes my appetite,” he grumbled as he stormed out the door.

Logan allowed himself a sigh and then turned to face Anx. The vampire was still staring at him oddly. “I will be placing a pair of enchanted cuffs on you. They have no chains and they will not hurt you, but if you move against any of us with malicious intent, they will freeze in place.”

“And what am I supposed to do if you move against me?” he challenged automatically, lip curling. “Stand there and take it?”

“The cuffs will not stop you from running or hiding,” Logan told him, “and you’ve proven yourself to be skilled at both of those things in the past 48 hours. None of us are planning on attacking you, but you will have options regardless.”

This wasn’t how he would have reassured Virgil, but this wasn’t the Virgil he knew, the one that trusted him. He couldn’t soothe Anx’s cognitive distortions, not when he was barely more than a stranger.

He retrieved the shiny black cuffs from a nearby cabinet. They hadn’t had a thrall aggressive enough to use them on in months. “If you’ll put your wrists forward, we can proceed. Otherwise, Patton will be bringing breakfast to you, and I’d prefer not to get syrup or blood all over this room.”

Anx eyed him warily for another few moments, but eventually Logan’s patience paid off, and he stuck his wrists out with a growl. Logan reached past the barrier without any trouble and clicked the first one into place. Before he could proceed with the second, Anx’s hand flipped around and grabbed onto Logan’s wrist tightly.

Logan’s head jerked up to meet Anx’s gaze, already shifting his weight to counter a pull, but the vampire didn’t move further, just stared at him intently. “I know what you are.”

He clearly expected some kind of dramatic reaction, but Logan wasn’t in the habit of those, particularly not for such vague accusations. “If you’ll specify?”

“You’re a witch,” Anx said. “I saw you tamper with the circle without any instruments. You have natural magic.”

Logan felt his stomach sink slightly. Logically, he knew that this wasn’t the Virgil he knew, but it still made something in him twist to think of any version of Virgil blackmailing him over his magical heritage. “And what of it?” he asked, as lightly as he could.

“You’re living in the same house as hunters. You’re doing magic right under their noses, you’re going to get yourself killed!” Anx scolded, sounding more like Virgil with every word. “Do you need help getting out?”

Logan wasn’t entirely sure what sort of face he made in response to this endearingly dense offer, but it was apparently enough to make Anx frown with uncertainty. He held a hand out for his other wrist and clicked the cuff on it without any problems, and then deactivated the circle with a simple gesture of his hand over the key.

Anx’s eyes flicked to the door, and Logan tried not to think about him darting out into the early morning sun. He turned and headed to the door.

“Follow me, and you’ll get your answer.”

While traversing the halls, Logan resisted the persistent urge to check behind him. Gone were the slight shuffled footsteps that had previously accompanied Virgil’s presence, replaced by Anx’s supernatural silence, as though he was gliding over the floor without even touching it.

He entered the kitchen, where Patton had evidently wrangled Roman into setting the table. Whether the four plates set out were out of habit or Roman reluctantly accepting Anx’s presence at the table, Logan wasn’t sure.

He cleared his throat, making both of them look up from attempting to draw funny faces with the pancake batter.

“Observe,” he instructed, and then drew a sigil in the air and lit a simple flame in his hand. Behind him, he could practically hear Anx go as stiff as a board.

“Are we showing off?” Roman asked, a bit excited but completely unsurprised. “Should I perform a monologue?”

“Great spell, Lo! No arson in the house, though,” Patton added in a bright chirp. “After all, I have enough ar-sons here already!”

Logan doused the flame by clenching a fist, giving Patton a Look that went blithely ignored. “You two are incorrigible. That was a simple demonstration.”

He turned to Anx, who looked a little shell shocked.

“As we’ve informed you, ‘hunter’ is a title that we use mostly for convenience and ease of access to jobs. We help magical beings just as often as average humans, if not more frequently.”

“We tried out ‘Protectors of the Innocent’ for a while, but it never really caught on for some reason,” Roman added, subtly sneaking a piece of bacon from the serving plate while Patton’s back was turned.

“Perhaps it would have worked better if someone hadn’t only put P.I. on all the business cards, resulting in us being mistaken for Private Investigators and all of our calls being about spousal infidelity for a solid two months,” Logan snarked back, moving past them to retrieve the orange juice from the fridge.

“The printing office charged by the letter!” Roman protested, and then recoiled from the countertop as his next attempt at sneaking ended with his fingers smacked mercilessly. “Augh! Forsaken by those dearest to me! What cruelty!”

“No sympathy for bacon thieves,” Patton chided, wielding his spatula like an instrument of mass destruction. “Go sit!”

Logan seated himself as well, and turned to Anx, who had been watching the banter play out from the doorway with a somewhat dazed expression. “You’re welcome to sit. Patton will likely insist on it, actually.”

“You people,” he enunciated slowly, “are crazy.”

“You get used to it,” Logan assured him with the certainty of someone who had heard this exact phrase from Virgil before. He checked his watch. “It has been some time since you last ate. I can retrieve some stored blood from our refrigerator.”

“Actually,” Patton set a plate stacked high with pancakes in the center of the table with a plonk, “I figured I could just be Anx’s donor for a while!”

Roman, who had just stolen a sip of Logan’s orange juice, did a movie-perfect spit take, and Patton slid the pancake stack swiftly out of range of the spray.

“It will be 55 days before you are viable for another blood donation,” Logan recited the fact automatically, but he was just as thrown off as Roman.

“Not if he drinks from me directly!” Patton retorted, a beacon of cheerful composure.

“What?” All three of them replied, at varying levels of screech.

Anx shot a wild-eyed look at the room at large and took a step back, as though physically distancing himself from the idea.

“Patton, you can’t be serious!” Roman pushed his chair back and stood, looking distraught. “Fangs For The Memories over here might look like Virgil, but he’s proven quite thoroughly that he’s not! We just got you un-thralled, clearly he can’t be trusted not to take advantage of you!”

Logan noticed Anx wince, though he couldn’t tell whether it was from the harsh assessment or Virgil’s name being spoken.

“Me not being thralled anymore is exactly why we can trust him not to hurt me,” Patton said, chin tilted up stubbornly. “He doesn’t know what he did wrong, but he fixed it anyway! That’s more than good enough in my book.”

“Well, maybe your book needs some copyediting!” Roman snapped back, exasperated. “So his unbeating heart isn’t as completely shriveled up as it originally seemed! So what? That doesn’t change the fact that he was the one who thralled you in the first place!”

Logan cut in, physically moving between them to break up the beginnings of a shouting match.

“I have to agree that this is a bad idea, for a multitude of reasons,” he started, raising a quelling hand before Patton could protest. “The matter of Anx’s trustworthiness aside, you shouldn’t be directly donating blood to any vampire. It is an unnecessary risk to your mental and emotional well being.”

“Thank you,” Roman said, apparently keen to seize allies where he could. He gestured expansively, looking at Patton with earnest eyes. “You’ve come so far, Pat. We don’t want to see any of your hard work undone. Virgil wouldn’t want that either; you know he’d fight this harder than any of us.”

Patton’s face had softened at their-- Roman’s sentimental worrying, but even bringing Virgil into it couldn’t sway his determined course.

“I know you guys just want me safe, but this is something I need to do. Even if it is a risk, I can’t be held down by this fear forever. And who better to help me than Anx!”

“Literally anyone who hasn’t threatened to kill everyone here in the last 48 hours,” Roman moaned, dragging his hands down his face.

“Besides,” Patton continued, undeterred, “this way we don’t have to worry about our emergency transfusion supply going low! It just makes sense.”

Logan had to begrudgingly agree. Between the hassle of trying to explain why they suddenly needed significantly more blood and the fact that a vampire drinking directly would replenish blood cells at a much higher rate than drawing blood, the best option really was to have a direct donor. He simply didn't want it to be Patton.

Unfortunately, his odds of actually being able to stop Patton were quite low.

“Nothing about any of this makes sense,” Anx grumbled, having retreated to the hall like a skittish feral cat.

The vampire seemed almost more unsettled by the idea than either of the other objecting parties, despite being the only one who directly benefited from the hypothetical arrangement. Nervous about their responses if he agreed, perhaps?

“We can at least give it a shot!” Patton insisted, coming a little closer to Anx and reaching out to gently pat his shoulder. It spoke volumes that the touch wasn't brushed off or rejected. “It could end up helping us both! And if it doesn’t, we’ll just find another way! You won’t be in trouble for messing up, okay?”

Anx blinked, slowly, still looking somewhat unconvinced that this was reality. Still, after a few moments of exposure to Patton’s encouraging smile, he dipped his head in a nod.

“Okay.”

[gaitwae]

"I would rather die a thousand times;" with loki please?

Warnings: argument, hurt/comfort, cringey crying, ambiguous ending.

Summary: You decided to ask Loki if the two of you could ever have a romantic relationship. Loki, who knows this question might be from some weird Midgardian infatuation instead, gets defensive.

Tags: @make-me-imagine @thorfanficwriter  @bwemph @myraiswack @rorybutnotgilmore @loki-snape-our-hero @wolfish-trickster @lucywrites02 @mostly-marvel-musings @winterfrostsarmy @superheroesandstardust @castiels-majestic-wings @geekns @lokis-high-priestess @natandersonnla @cozy-the-overlord @megthemewlingquim @frostedgiant @whatafuckingdumbass @thebookbakery @delightfulheartdream @twhiddlestonsstuff @lokistan @the-emo-asgardian @amwolowicz

Happy ending! I’m sorry for the (mostly) angst!

+-+--

The sun sank low beneath the horizon long before Loki had said a word. You were biting at your nails silently. The god was yet to make his decision. Time dragged on and on, ticking along with the clock on the mantle. The sound it made was horrendous. The sound of silence would have been worse. You wanted an answer, but it would take years and years before the two of you could reach an agreement. 

You just wanted to know if there was a possibility.

“Loki?” you whispered. You couldn’t keep your mouth shut any longer.

“Hmm?” Loki picked up his head and faced you. He had that sad look in his eyes, again, his fingers curling nervously. “Oh, yes,” he said quietly. “I was still thinking, Y/N, I apologize.” He pulled his hands over his knees, then back over his thighs. “You really think that he’s out there, don’t you?”

“Who?” you asked, knowing exactly what he was referring to. You didn’t want to give in to his let-down — not when you still had some shred of honor left. You found your feet very appealing, suddenly. 

“That man; the ‘One,’ you’ve called him.” Loki heaved a heavy sigh and shook his head. He wiped his face. Your heart plummeted. Dipped. Your belly was set ablaze and your eyes felt scratchy. You knew what was coming. “Listen, I don’t know if we’d ever be… together, but I would feel much better if I knew your ‘One’ was still searching for you, too.”

“Loki,” you pleaded, “that isn’t fair.” You swallowed the tears down — if you cried now, it would show how weak you were — how much you relied on him. He would be scared off, wouldn’t he? Would he lose respect for you? Would he despise you? What would be the outcome? What would happen? “That’s not fair at all…”

“No, it isn’t,” he conceded. He turned his head away from you. You knew he couldn’t handle your tears well. His voice raised slightly as he continued, “But asking such a fragile question isn’t fair to me, is it?”

You felt the tears slip down. You wiped them away quickly, trying to regain your composure. “Loki…”

“Is it?” he snapped, causing you to jump. “Did you have to ask now, Y/N? Did you have to let your emotions get the better of you when we’re trying to escape this blasted planet?” With each word, more rage slipped into his voice, his tone, his whole manner. He was furious with you. You had upset him.

“Loki, I —” 

“Asking me to be your partner is out of the question! I would be dead first, Y/N! The situation we’re in, the pressure we’re under, I would rather die a thousand times than put our lives at risk for your silly fantasy!” He threw his hands down. You didn’t remember them flying so high. “Dying like a hero is far better than dying to protect your flimsy, mortal heart.” His chest peaked, then fell harshly. “You change so frequently; I’m surprised you even figured out that you wanted me. Perhaps it’s the thrill of danger, yes? The possibility of becoming a legend? An idol? Or is that too much glory for you? Are you hoping for rescue? To be saved like you had been taught from so young?”

You couldn’t speak. You didn’t move. You didn’t know how; after all, you hadn’t really been on the receiving end of his scolding. Well, that wasn’t really scolding. That was just… degrading. He was insulting you, peeling away your confidence layer by layer with a steady glare. He was angry — no, he was embarrassed — at your query. If you knew he would react this way, you would have sewn your own lips shut. You thought you could trust him. You wanted to trust him. You wanted that more than anything.

“You’re being cruel,” you pushed out. “You have no idea what I want.”

“I know you’re a small, witless child,” he growled. Loki stood from his seat. You ducked your head and stared at your knuckles. He grabbed your chin, jerking your face up without hurting you. “You’re simply an… an insect in the grand scheme of things who imagines greatness for yourself. I’m something you haven’t attained, that you haven’t experienced. You don’t want me for who I am, but rather what. Y/N, you’re a dreamer. That is why you follow me. Yes?” The god’s eyes searched yours with a frantic need. You clenched your jaw, removing his hand from your face. 

You said nothing.

“Answer me,” he spat. He dropped his arms, spreading his legs apart in a warrior’s stance. He was battling this topic more than you had imagined. Unless you were seeing things, Loki’s blue eyes were shining. His lips were tight against each other. Why was he losing his temper so? “Answer!” 

You kept your eyes focused on his; you wouldn’t say anything, you couldn’t, your tongue wouldn’t let you. Your knees shook. Your hands tingled. Your cheekbones tingled, too. Your throat hurt. Your nose burned. The longer Loki saw your tears, the wetter his own orbs became. Your body hadn’t racked with sobs yet, but they were waiting to erupt any moment. 

“Why could you possibly want a relationship with me, Y/N? I’m not yours to study, to toy with. Greatness cannot be the basis of love.” He looked between you and the door. His escape was too far away. The confrontation was hurting far too much — it was evident, written all over his face. “You can’t love me. Why would you?”

“Because you’re a hero,” you whispered. Your eyes followed him, but your limbs disobeyed every order to stand, to turn away, and walk out the door. Your last chance to spare your own feelings was slipping through the door. “If you weren’t, I would have been gone long before asking the question.”

“So… it is greatness,” he said quietly. “You want the persona.” He sniffed sharply, settling back into his chair. He raked his hands through his hair, once, twice, three times. He couldn’t sit still, but you still couldn’t move. “Not… me.” He wiped under his eye with his thumb. Finally, you understood why Loki was so offended by your question.

After all, who could ever love a man if he was a concept? What woman was loved wholly when the world focused on her beauty?

Your own heart shattered as you watched his crumble. Before you understood what was happening, you stood and walked to the prince. The forgotten prince. The prodigal son who had been thrown away, cast aside, and crushed like a cigarette under a boot. Once a bright flame, but quickly reduced to dying embers. Oh, and you had the nerve to ask him if there was a possibility of having his heart… you were like a child asking to hold something frustratingly delicate. 

You held his head, petting his hair for him. Your lip wobbled, as did Loki’s. He shook his head with agony. He buried his face in your body, clinging onto your hips with arms wrapped tight. You kept running your fingers on his head, scratching his scalp, and playing with his hair. His arms shook against your person. He tugged you between his knees to grip you better.

“I love you,” your voice came, echoing the ringing thought in your nearly empty mind. “I would love you even if you weren’t a god; I would love you if you lived under a bridge and smoked gasoline.” You tried for some humor. Loki’s fingers dug into your shirt. “Your greatness comes from your heart, Loki. Isn’t that what matters? Your heart?”

His shoulders jerked forward, the pace faster and faster as a heart-wrenching noise escaped from him. You tightened your grip on him. His sobs kept coming, over and over and over. They weren’t loud —  they sounded more like whimpers than anything else. It didn’t mean that the sound wasn’t enough to tear someone’s soul in half. It was tearing your soul in half. Seeing him like this… you didn’t know what to do other than to be his anchor. This was so unlike Loki; at the same time, this was Loki. 

This was every piece of hurt he had been holding onto for who knows how long. You had just found the weak spot in his armor. Loki loved you deeply and you could care less if it was platonic or romantic. Your stupid selfishness had caused a breakdown… 

Yet, it was healthy. He needed this. He needed this. 

You didn’t need an answer tonight. You didn’t need an answer for a while. 

This was more important. You’d rather die a thousand times than walk out on him in a moment of need.

The clock passed midnight long before Loki calmed. By the time he had stopped making that tear-jerking sound, the clock was seconds away from chiming. When he stopped shaking, it was almost one o’clock in the morning. You had moved to sit next to him then. Loki rested his head on your chest and shoulder. The only words spoken were your affirmations and your coos. For the Norns’ sakes, the crying was awkward; just by the way he stared off into space, you could tell he wouldn’t want to talk about this.

Ever.

“I’m sorry,” he said once it was over. “That wasn’t very… very heroic of me, was it? He laughed sourly. You continued to stroke his hair. “I wail like an infant and you’re still here…”

“I thought it was very brave,” you said honestly. “Breaking down in front of someone who might not truly love you? I’d just run away and hide.”

“You’re pushing it,” he mumbled, deadpan. “If this was me years ago, I don’t suppose I would have even let you see me like that. I would rather be dead, first.”

“I’m glad we solved something, tonight,” you told the giant in your arms. “But next time, I think we should talk about it slowly.”

“Agreed.” Loki closed his eyes. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

“Oh, you’re excused,” you yawned. The clock ticked quietly. It was like a lure to sleep. You felt safe, squished in this seat with Loki. 

If someone wanted to take you from Loki, you’d have to be dead first.

[maybedefinitely404]

Day 16: Prinxiety

@tsshipmonth2020

Heeey, look at that, I’m behind! Day 16: When your soulmate listens to music, you hear it in your own head as well. 

Content warnings: assumed death of a soulmate (he’s not dead), depression, general sad vibes.

Word count: 2.6k

Note: the songs referenced in this fic are IDK You Yet by Alexander 23 and Love is Gone by SLANDER. Both of these songs make me cry and were the inspiration for this.

It was at midnight on December 19th when Roman’s soulmark first appeared. He didn’t realize this until 1am.

Granted, he didn’t know it was his soulmark for the first hour.

At first, the almost imperceptible steady beat in his head just seemed like a song that had gotten stuck in there. He didn’t remember ever hearing the song, but it wasn’t unlikely that he’d heard the tune at the store or on the radio and it unconsciously ingrained itself into his memory. He was working on an assignment that was due in the morning, a script analysis for one of his Theatre courses, and had begun to bop his head along to the music when his roommate walked in, eyes bleary and arms laden with books.

“Why aren’t you in bed?” He asked through a yawn, dropping the books on his desk and flopping into the bottom bunk. 

“I could ask you the same question, Pat,” Roman hummed, completing his conclusion paragraph with a dramatic flair of his hands. “Just finished my paper. Going now.”

“Lost track of time at the library,” Patton murmured in response, draping his arms over his eyes. 

Closing his computer, Roman popped his back and climbed up the small ladder into the top bunk, using his cellphone as a flashlight. He assumed Patton was already fast asleep (the man could fall asleep at the drop of a hat) and tried to follow suit, only to sit up in annoyance after several minutes.

Whatever song was stuck in his head was keeping him up. 

He remembered a tip he’d seen on the internet once, that said if you sing the last part of the song, it’s easier to get out of your head. Something about ‘your brain needing to complete it to be satisfied’ or whatever. As hard as he focused, though, he couldn’t for the life of him figure out what song it was, much less the ending. 

The more he concentrated on it, the louder it seemed to get, until it was no longer a hum of bass in the back of his skull, and he could make out the lyrics, the guitar solos, everything. He definitely hadn’t heard this song before. It wasn’t the kind you’d hear playing in public; it was loud, swears thrown in every chorus, just generally the kind of thing you’d hear in a Hot Topic but nowhere else. 

And then it stopped.

For a split second he was pleased, thanking his brain for finally shutting off, and conceded to lie back down. He might be able to get six hours of sleep at this rate. Pretty good, for a college student. 

Except as soon as he closed his eyes, another song started. It was another one he didn’t know, one he would have no way of knowing each word to. The realization hit him hard and his eyes shot open, nearly falling off the ladder in his haste to climb down.

“Roman? Everything okay?” Patton drawled, clearly having been woken up by Roman’s enthusiasm. 

“My soulbond!”

“What?!” That got his attention and he jerked up, narrowly missing whacking his head on the top bunk.

“The music in my head all night, it’s my soulmate! It must be his birthday!”

He was pulling up music on his laptop before he’d even processed it, hands freezing over the keyboard as his brain grasped for something to play. What could he play that would properly introduce himself to his soulmate? A show tune? Something from the 80s? But his mind had gone completely blank, and he couldn’t think of a single one.

“What do I play, Pat?” He gasped, tapping the mousepad in time with the upbeat tempo in his head. 

Patton was suddenly leaning over his shoulder, clacking a name into the search bar before pressing enter. Roman narrowed his eyes 

“Why that one?”

Patton shrugged, “It’s kind of cheesy romantic, like you. And the first line is fitting.”

“A valid point,” Roman announced, closing his eyes to listen for a pause as the music switched. The second the song ended, he slammed the space bar, begging it to play before the next one started. 

How can you miss someone you’ve never met?

Because I need you now but I don’t know you yet,

But can you find me soon, because I’m in my head,

Yeah, I need you now but I don't know you yet.

A little more depressing than he initially would have chosen, but he could see Patton’s point. The music on the other end had been paused and he smiled in accomplishment, knowing that he must have heard. He let the song play to the end of the first chorus before pausing it, waiting with his roommate with baited breath.

The silence was almost unbearably long, Patton watching him intently for some kind of indication that the music was back.

Hello,

It’s me.

Adele’s soothing melody filled his mind and he absolutely wheezed with laughter. Patton grinned and let him explain through gasps for air, and he let out a giggle in response.

“Okay,” Roman snorted, “What next?”

Patton passed out probably an hour later after helping Roman pick out songs that would adequately encompass him as a person, but the theatre student didn’t sleep last night. Eventually him and his soulmate found a nice rhythm, each playing a song in turn. It didn’t take long for him to assume that his soulmate was emo (a fact that had him blushing furiously), simply due to the overwhelming amount of My Chemical Romance and Green Day played in his head, and he figured it was probably pretty obvious that he was a theatre kid. The second song he played was from Heathers, afterall. 

When his eyes finally started drooping too much to ignore, he knew he had to end this soon. The soulmate’s song ended and he quickly pulled up the first thing he’d thought of, a children’s lullaby, trying to indicate that he had to sleep.

There was quiet on the other end when the song ended, before the beginning trills of Baby Shark started playing and he groaned, quickly muffling the sound with his hand so as to not wake his roommate. He didn’t let it play past one verse, thank Olympus, and then his mind was quiet for the first time in many hours. It seemed like a mutual agreement that ‘now is sleep time’, and Roman went to sleep with a smile on his face.

Their new norm was quickly established in the following weeks. It became obvious almost right away that playing their music at the same time was cacophonous and only caused headaches, so they eventually settled on switching days. Every second morning, Roman would wake up to his alarm and quickly start his morning playlist, a set of rousing, uplifting, exciting songs to get his blood flowing for the day. It was his day to choose the music, so he’d set his walking playlist for class and his study one for the evenings, sometimes playing an adventure podcast or something to spice things up. The other days, he’d be woken by the soft notes of melancholy tunes, starting the day slowly. As the morning progressed, usually by the time he was eating breakfast, the tone would change to something a little more fast paced, as if his soulmate needed to warm up before getting to the main act. As much as the music wasn’t his style, he found himself keeping pace to the beat with his steps, bopping his head along to the melody, humming a harmony to the more commonly played ones. Just knowing that this was his soulmate made it better. 

And then, one day… the music stopped. 

He’d woken up around noon, not a big deal since he didn’t have classes until after lunch anyways, but he knew for a fact that his soulmate was always up by 10, latest. Whether the other had classes or a job that kept his schedule, he didn’t know. It was an oddity for sure that there was no alarm. 

He put it off to the other probably having a sick day, or a free schedule, and he was sleeping in for once. The worry only started creeping in near the evening, when usually at this time, the music would start slowing down again as the sun set. There hadn’t been a peep all day, which was very unlike either of them. Even though the silence bothered him, he wouldn’t dare intrude on the other’s day, so he studied and ate dinner in silence, tapping his pencil against the table. Of course, he put it off to a one day fluke. 

Except, two days after, when it should have been his soulmate’s turn again, there was no music. And the time after that. And the one after that. It was almost two weeks of radio silence on the other end before he called Patton through broken sobs, pleading for him to stop studying and come back to the dorm. Obviously, he made the ten minute walk in five. 

And then Roman admitted the way his anxieties had been spiralling.

“What if- What if our soulbond broke? Did the universe realize we were a mistake? Or… or what if he died?! What if he’s hurt or dying or alone and I’m just-”

Patton shushed him gently, rubbing his back as Roman hiccuped into his shoulder. “When did this start?”

“Two- two weeks ago.”

“Then isn’t it possible that he just isn’t listening to music for a little while? Maybe he’s… somewhere without wifi. Or his phone broke.”

Even though he very much didn’t believe a word Patton was saying, he nodded along messily, clutching Patton’s shirt tighter. He eventually agreed to give him more time, hold on just a little longer, before completely giving up.

It took about a month before he did, and it didn’t get better from there. 

Their consistency had been their norm for almost nine months, over summer break and now into the new school year, and now it was torn away without warning. Roman refused to listen to music on days that weren’t his, even though Patton tried to tell him it was okay, but he wouldn’t. It didn’t feel right. He mourned his soulmate the same way he would mourn a close friend’s death, for he truly believed he was gone for good. The person he’d barely gotten to understand, much less meet, and he was just… gone. He was going to live the rest of his life without a soulmate.

Most nights he just did the bare basics of the homework he had to do, without any of the old flair he’d put into all his work, and curled onto his bed to watch a show or, on his days, listen to music. His old playlists had shifted to the bottom of his rotation, now only bringing sadder memories that Patton had insisted he not indulge in at this point, so it was usually just automated lists he found. Nothing was special about them anymore. 

Today was his day, an uneventful Saturday where the most exciting occurrence was Patton convincing him to come to the cafeteria and eat with other people. It had been tiring and only made him feel more alone, so his daily scheduled moping times had come up a little earlier. Patton had given him a hug and a gentle kiss on the head, telling him he had to go meet some people for a group project, and to call if he needed anything, before grabbing his bag and leaving. Roman didn’t miss the sad look tossed his way before the door shut.

Despite Patton’s advice, he was feeling particularly shitty today, and his fingers, seemingly with a mind of their own, pulled up one of his older playlists. One of the ones that was reminiscent of days when he actually had a soulmate. He clicked shuffle and tossed the phone onto the pillow next to his head, curling that much deeper into his blankets, as if he could somehow refill the void that had been cut out of him. 

How can you miss someone you’ve never met?

Because I need you now but I don’t know you yet,

But can you find me soon, because I’m in my head,

Yeah, I need you now but I don't know you yet.

The first song he’d ever played had become a sort of inside joke between them. Despite the song’s sad melody and somber lyrics, it was a reminder of the first time they’d interacted; an awkward, laughter filled night. At least, it had been on Roman’s night, and he could only hope it had been the same on the other end. 

He didn’t even realize he was crying until the pillow beneath him was tear stained and gross to lay on. Why had the universe chosen him as the target for its cruel irony? Not that he wished this on anyone else… but why couldn’t soulmates be foolproof? Why was there that margin for error, the always-there possibility that everything you’ve ever dreamed of will be ripped out of your hands just as soon as you think you have it? So close, but so far. At least before they’d connected, he’d lived in blissful hope and ignorance. 

The song ended and he pressed pause lethargically, not able to find the emotional strength to listen to more. Maybe Patton had been right. A glance out the window showed that it was well past nightfall, the full moon gleaming into his window, and he decided to just sleep the emptiness away. It hadn’t worked so far, but maybe tonight was the night. He turned off his phone screen and plugged it in to charge, rolling away to face the wall, and waited for the soothing peace of sleep to take over him.

At first, he thought it was just a hallucination, wishful thinking. More than once in the three months since his soulmate disappeared, he’d thought he’d heard music, only for the feeling to disappear as soon as he focused on it. A soulbond only became louder when concentrated on, so he eventually realized he was doing it to himself subconsciously, his mind struggling to fill the emptiness that had once been filled by the other’s music. 

When it disappeared, he figured it was music from someone else’s dorm filtering through the thin walls. But no, this was too clear, too distinct, too ingrained, to be coming from an external source.

He calmed his racing heart before he could jump to conclusions. This music isn’t like what his used to be. It must be your brain, because he’s gone. He’s GONE, Roman.

Much as he tried to push it down, he couldn’t. It was becoming evident that no, something was happening, and it had to do with his soulmate. As he had done for the time he’d known (could it be considered ‘knowing’) the other, he concentrated on the lyrics, because those were the only feeble ways they’d interacted in those times. 

I’m sorry,

Don’t leave me,

I want you here with me, 

I know that your love is gone.

I can’t breathe,

I’m so weak, 

I know this isn’t easy,

Don’t tell me that your love is gone,

That your love is gone.

Patton walked in after his group meeting to see Roman sobbing in his bed and, immediately assuming the worst, he jumped onto the bed and pulled him into his arms. Through gasps for breath, Roman was able to choke out that, “He’s back. He’s playing music. He’s back. He’s back.”

Part 2 HERE

[barbarasbae]

Even in Hawkins- First of Many

Part 16  master list

Billy Hargrove x Fem! Reader x Steve Harrington

Word Count: 1.5k 

Warnings: smut, family units/children are had, 18+, Billy is a pile of mush for his family 

heres a corny ending to something i’ve been working on for a year and a half. might post one of the better versions of it later but heres an ending for now

You excited?” Y/n teased Billy, sliding hands under his zip up. “I guess.”

“What’s wrong?” He raised an eyebrow, eyes flitting over her body. “I’m in a hoodie and sweatpants and you’re in that.” That being jeans with one of his button up shirts.

“You get to wear whatever you want on dates when you save the world.” She tugged gently on a curl. He huffed, pulling his omega into a hug. His omega had a nice sound to it. “Smell so good.” Y/n trilled, squeezing him gently. The doorbell rang, startling them both. She scrunched his hair on his scalp, him smacking her hands away.  “You’re trying to make me look worse.”

“I don’t think it’s possible for you to even look bad, Bill.” He rolled his eyes. He still wasn’t used to the gnarled scars after having them for almost two months. “Don’t roll your eyes at me mister.” 

“I’ll roll them if I want. They feel like the only part of me that can move right now.” He retorted, Y/n sticking her tongue out at him and opening the front door. “Hey Steve.”

“Hi...I brought you these.” He held out flowers to Y/n with a blush. “Thank you.” 

“And I brought you this.” He gave Billy a box, the blond taking it with shaking hands. “Do you need your medicine?” Y/n asked quietly when she noticed. He shook his head, opening the box to a sand dollar earring. It made him chuckle. “Thanks, pretty boy.” 

Billy shut the door behind Steve, Y/n in the kitchen making popcorn. “Can I kiss you?” Steve asked Billy, stepping into his space. “W-uh, sure.” Billy was red faced, Steve placing his hands on Billy’s wrist and hip, giving him a gentle kiss. Billy followed him as he pulled back, Steve laughing under his breath. “There can be more of that later if you want.” Billy nodded, getting a barked out laugh from the tall omega. “I have a couple different movies.” Y/n announced, bowl of popcorn in her arms. They made their way to the living room, Billy stopping her before they made it to the couch. He cupped her face in his hands, giving her a long wet kiss. It made her smile. “What was that for?” He shook his head, kissing her forehead. “Ooh, let’s watch this one.” Steve held up The Terminator.  

Everything was going well, an omega on each side of Billy. Y/n tucked her nose in Billy’s neck, her hand on his stomach. Steve was holding his free hand. Billy pulled his hand back and slid an arm around Steve’s shoulder, the older boy smiling at the pink faced blond. “Can you take some of the blankets off? It’s getting hot.” He asked Y/n, kissing her temple. “Why are you being so sweet?” She asked quietly, hugging him again, hand sliding a little farther down to his thigh. He shrugged before suddenly stiffening, Steve’s hand on his other thigh. “I forgot how horny The Terminator makes you.” He teased Y/n, her glaring at him. The boys laughed, but fell back into silence fairly quickly. Steve palmed over Billy’s sweatpants-covered dick, the blond blushing. “Is this okay? I can stop. Just tell me if-”

“This is fine.” Billy grit out. “Are you okay? Y/n asked, sitting up. He nodded. Steve did it one more time, smirking. “Gonna cum already, alpha?” Billy let out a soft whimper, bringing a smile to their faces. Y/n sat on her knees and faced Billy, purring in his ear, rubbing a hand up and down his thigh. “I’m- I’m gonna cum if you don’t stop.” Steve got up and pulled the blanket off of Billy, gently pushing the alpha’s thighs open. “Shit, Billy.” Y/n moaned, pre-cum staining his sweatpants where his dick was straining against them. “I wanna ride you.” She cooed, kissing his ear. Steve got between Billy’s legs, nosing at the bulging erection. Billy grunted softly, gripping Y/n’s thigh. “Such a big dick, alpha.” Steve purred,  dragging his tongue over the blond’s cloth covered erection. Billy whined, Y/n making the start of a hickey appear on his neck. Steve sucked the tip into his mouth, Billy jerking his hips and gasping. Both omegas watched cum soak his boxers and sweats, purring. “That feels good, huh?” Y/n asked, rubbing Billy’s shoulder. “Shit.” He croaked, Steve getting up with a pout. “What’s wrong?”

“I wanted to suck him off.” Billy was panting a little harder. “You okay, babe? Steve, can you get him some water?”

“I’m not a baby.” Billy protested, nose to nose with his girlfriend. “I know. Just don’t wanna over do it. Was scary to not have you around.” She told him, nuzzling into him. Steve handed Billy a cup, the omega sitting next to him, both omegas watching him drink. “Stop acting like I’m gonna drown in a cup of water.” 

“Sorry.” 

Billy changed and came back to Y/n and Steve scenting each other, her practically in his lap. “Keep watching?” He asked, grabbing the remote. “Sure.”

They finished the movie, Steve saying he had to work tomorrow. “Don’t usually put out on the first date but it was fun.” He was blushing. Y/n nodded, Billy smiling. He had a good feeling about this. 

---

Billy woke up slowly. It was so nice and warm but his alarm was blaring on the nightstand. “Fuck…” He groaned, arm over his eyes. “Fuck!” A high pitched little voice parroted, giggling. Billy shot up, seeing his 4 year old daughter sitting at the end of the bed. “No,no no we don’t say that, Daisy.”

“Fuck.” She declared, little brows furrowed in determination. “Daisy, it’s not a nice word.” 

“But you said it.” She pouted, Billy getting up and holding her on his hip. “I did. Let’s just not tell mommy, okay?” She nodded, hugging him. “Where’s Steve?” Billy called to Y/n as he entered the kitchen. She was making food for their 7 and 5 year old sons. “He’s getting dressed.” 

Billy set Daisy in her chair and kissed the back of Y/n’s shoulder. “Good morning.”

“Good morning, stinky breath.” She teased, Billy blowing a raspberry on her neck that got her to squeal. Steve came into the kitchen in blue scrubs, Y/n handing him his lunchbox. “Be safe. Love you.” She kissed Steve’s cheek, Billy rubbing his nose against the tall omega’s.  “I’m gonna be late. Love you too. Bye babies.” Y/n smiled as the brunet planted wet kisses on each kid, Daisy giving him one back. Billy hugged Y/n, her leaning into him. “You okay this morning?”

“Yeah. Just enjoying my pack. I love you.”

“I love you too. You’re on bath duty.”

“Nooo!” Came a chorus of protests. Y/n laughed. “Good luck.”

“Who needs luck when you have talent?”

Y/n rolled her eyes. “Sure, big man.”

Billy stuck his tongue out at her and snatched up Axle, the youngest boy. She did it back. “What?” She asked him, the blond looking over her. “Nothing. Just enjoying the view.” 

“Such a dork, Billy.” 

“Isn’t that how I charmed you?”

“No. That was a special feature I had to unlock. Go bathe your filthy child.” She teased, Axle protesting that he wasn’t filthy. Steve came back through the door. “You okay?”

“Roads closed because of snow. Couldn’t get out of the neighborhood.”

“Lucky us.” She kissed his pink nose, helping him take off the layers. “Stop ‘enjoying the view’ and give him a bath.” She told Billy. He put his son down and told him to meet him in the bathroom. “Did I ever tell you what I wanted the first time I saw you guys?” They shook their heads, Y/n hugging Steve. “Wanted you both. Wanted a pack. Can’t believe I pulled it off.” 

“DAD!” Billy cringed and left them, the omegas giggling as their kids followed Billy into the bathroom. “How’d we ever go for that?”

“Hm?” Steve was playing with the hem of her shirt. “Sorry, I was thinking about all the stuff we like to do on my days off.” His hand slid around to her ass, squeezing. 

“Problem, all the kids will have the day off too.” 

“Damn, it’s like we enjoy making them or something” He joked, Y/n smiling up at him. “I think you both lucked out that The Terminator makes me horny.” 

“God that’s so lame!

“It’s true though. I’ve always been mad I didn’t get to see Bill dressed up like him in ‘84” Steve groaned. “I feel like we’d be in a much different situation now,” 

“Probably.” They giggled. 

Billy heard his mates laughing in the kitchen, the kids making a mess of water. Thank god 17 year old Billy was a huge perv. Billy was never gonna get used to how lucky he’s got it. 

                                                   end. 

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

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[ironwoman359]

True Loves’ Kiss

@badthingshappenbingo

Prompt: Bedside Vigil

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Pairing: DLAMP

Summary: Virgil has fallen under an enchanted sleep, but his boyfriends are determined to keep him company and find a way to wake him up. 

Content Warnings:  Sympathetic Deceit, kissing, let me know if I need to add anything else!

Word Count: 1,941

Read on AO3 here

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—

“Patton?” 

“Hnng...hmm?” 

“Patton, you should get some sleep.” 

“Mmm...m’not sleepy, Lo, really, I can stay–” 

“You’re dozing off already, Pat. Take a break and let one of us look after him for a little while.”

“Okay...any luck with the countercurse?” 

“No...Janus and Roman are going over the books from the imagination library to see if there’s anything I missed, but…” 

“Hey, hey, Lo. We’ll figure it out, okay? You’re the smartest person I know; I know that you can do this. We’ll figure out how to save him.” 

“You...you are right. Of course you are right. Go to bed now, starlight, you need your rest.”

“Okay. Logan’s gonna look after you for a bit now, okay Virgil?” 

Virgil didn’t answer. 

He wanted to answer. He wanted to squeeze Patton’s hand and tell him to get some sleep and promise him that everything would be okay, but he couldn’t. He wanted to smile at Logan and thank him for trying his hardest and promise him that he was enough, but he couldn’t. He could only lie here, eyes closed and body frozen but still completely, painfully aware, trapped in an enchanted sleep with no way to let the others know that he could even still hear them. 

A soft hand brushed his bangs to the side and a pair of lips pressed gently to his forehead, murmuring a soft “Love you, kiddo.” 

I love you too, Virgil wanted to say back, but his body remained stubbornly unresponsive.

Virgil imagined that Patton gave Logan one more small, shaky smile before turning and leaving the room, the door shutting behind him with a soft *click.* He imagined that Patton went back to their shared bedroom and gently pried Janus and Roman away from their desks and into bed. He imagined that none of them would be able to sleep easily, not with him and Logan gone, but that they would try anyway, huddling together in a tight ball in the middle of the bed. 

He imagined, because it was all he could do anymore. 

The room was silent for a moment without Patton’s gentle, nonsensical ramblings to fill the space between them, but then there was a rush of breath as Logan let out a deep sigh, and a hand threaded through Virgil’s fingers. Logan’s hand was cooler than Patton’s, but not quite cold, rather a firm, grounding presence, and Virgil wanted nothing more than to squeeze his hand back. 

“I find myself wishing for your company even more so than I usually do, now that I am deprived of it,” Logan said quietly. “I love the others just as dearly, of course, but...we are incomplete without you with us.” 

I miss you too. 

Logan’s hand withdrew then, and Virgil heard a bit of rustling before Logan spoke again. 

“I brought the next Hercule Poirot book we were going to read together,” he said, his voice uncharacteristically thick. “I...did not feel right, starting it without you. I suppose you cannot even hear me, but...I would like to read it to you, if you’d permit me.” 

Logan waited a moment, as if to give Virgil the chance to reply, and Virgil didn’t know if he’d ever wanted to kiss Logan more than in that moment, but he remained as still as a statue.

“Very well, then,” Logan said quietly. “I shall begin.” He cleared his throat, and there was a quick rustle of pages before Logan began to read.

“It was close on midnight when a man crossed the Place de la Concorde…” 

Virgil let Logan’s voice wash over him and transport him to the streets of Paris, where a shady deal was about to take place. Logan’s voice was one of his favorite sounds...it was rich and even and grounding, and Virgil could listen to him talk for hours. 

Which is just what he did, though the passage of time was hard to measure when he couldn’t see or move or speak. Eventually Logan’s voice trailed off and was replaced with soft, gentle wheezing and the occasional snore that signified that he’d fallen asleep. Laying there listening to him breathe, it was almost as though Virgil was simply lying in bed alongside the others, not a care or worry in the world. 

Virgil pretended that’s what he was doing until a gentle knocking at the door roused him from his mental stupor. The door creaked open, and a soft, familiar chuckle filled the room as footsteps made their way towards where Virgil lay. 

“Ah, getting the ‘high quality sleep’ that you so often impose upon the rest of us, I see.” 

“Nnngh...what?” 

“You should have gotten one of us if you were going to fall asleep,” Janus chided gently. “You’re going to be sore for sure now.” 

“I assure you, sleep was not my intention,” Logan responded with a yawn. 

“Mmhm.” 

Janus didn’t sound convinced, and Virgil could imagine the eyebrow on the snake half of his face quirking upwards, a smirk playing at his lips. 

“Do not give me that look,” Logan protested, and Janus laughed. 

“Go take a shower and have a cup of coffee, Love, before Patton finds out that you slept in here yourself after telling him to go to the bedroom.” 

There was a pause, then Janus spoke again, his voice softer. 

“I’ll look after him, Logan, don’t worry.”

“...very well.”  

Slightly chapped lips pressed against Virgil’s cheek and a cool hand squeezed his tightly before Logan was gone, and Virgil was left alone with Janus. 

Unlike Patton’s constant chatter about anything and everything or Logan’s reading aloud, Janus was quiet as he sat by Virgil’s side. He’d never been one for idle chit chat, and Virgil didn’t expect him to start now. 

No, Janus didn’t speak, but he took Virgil’s hand in his, gripping perhaps a little more tightly than he needed to, and that tiny action spoke volumes more than words ever could. 

How long the two sat in silence, Virgil didn’t know, but Janus’s grip didn’t falter once, and when Roman came and told him Logan needed his help investigating yet another possible lead, he pressed a kiss to Virgil’s knuckles and whispered, “Stay with us, alright, my shadowling?” 

Then it was silent again, but only for a moment, because it was Roman at his bedside now, and the day that Roman would sit silently beside him would be the day Virgil burned all of his MCR merch.

“Still slumbering away, Sleeping Beauty?” Roman asked, and Virgil could practically hear the sad smile that accompanied his words. 

Fingers brushed through his hair, then trailed down the side of his face to cup his cheek, and Roman let out a sigh. 

“We’re still looking for how to wake you,” he said. “Logan has a new lead he wants to explore. So hopefully this won’t be an actual, original sleeping beauty situation and we’ll have you up before a hundred years have passed.” 

He was trying to be lighthearted, but even without seeing his face, Virgil could hear how the optimism fell flat. Roman traced Virgil’s cheekbone with his thumb and sighed again, long and deep and sad.

“We miss you, Stormcloud,” he murmured. “I miss you. I miss watching you and Logan debate conspiracies and hearing you laugh at Patton’s puns and seeing you and Janus curled up asleep on the couch. I miss–” he paused, and when he continued his voice was choked, as if he’d swallowed down a sob. “I miss your stupid emo music and I miss arguing with you about Disney movies at two in the morning and I miss curling up in bed with you in my arms, I–” 

Something wet splashed onto Virgil’s face, and Roman took a shaky breath. 

“I’m sorry, Stormcloud,” he whispered. “I didn’t mean to bring the room down with my silly dramatics. We’ll find some way to wake you up, I swear it.” 

Then he leaned in close and kissed the teardrop off Virgil’s face. 

Virgil gasped as his eyes flew open, and Roman jerked backwards with a yelp of surprise. 

“Virgil! I– what? Guys, he’s awake!” 

Virgil heard shouts of surprise and delight followed by rushing footsteps, but all of that faded into the background as Roman pulled him up into a bone-crushing hug. Virgil felt tears of his own pooling in his eyes as he squeezed back with all his strength, and by the time Roman leaned back to look at him a few had already slipped down his cheeks. 

“Virgil, I...you…” 

Virgil interrupted him by slamming their lips together, and Roman melted into the kiss immediately. 

“Virgil!” 

Virgil and Roman broke apart at Patton’s shriek of delight, and Roman barely moved out of the way in time before Patton flew into Virgil’s arms and started peppering his face with kisses. He ended with one to Virgil’s lips, slower and softer than the others, and Virgil smiled at him when they broke apart, unashamed of the fresh tears in his eyes. 

“Hey, Pat.”

“Virgil, oh my god, I was so worried about you, I was afraid you wouldn’t–” 

 “I know,” Virgil interrupted, pressing another quick kiss to Patton’s lips. “But I’m okay now, I promise.” 

Logan didn’t waste any time with words, he just pulled Virgil into a kiss so searing that Virgil saw stars.

“Don’t scare us like that again,” he whispered in a strangled voice, pressing his forehead to Virgil’s, and Virgil squeezed his hand. 

“I won’t, L. I’m sorry.” 

“And don’t you dare apologize,” Logan added as he leaned back, and Patton nodded emphatically. 

“No talking bad about yourself!” he insisted, but Virigl wasn’t paying attention to either of them just then. 

Janus stood at the edge of the room, his face a shade paler than normal. Virgil locked eyes with him, and for a moment nobody moved. Then, Virgil reached towards him, and Janus was across the room faster than Virgil could blink.

Janus pulled him into a hug, cupping the back of Virgil’s head like he was the most precious thing in the world, and Virgil could feel his shoulders shaking. 

“It’s okay, Jan,” he murmured. “I’m right here. I’m okay.” 

“Don’t you leave us,” Janus whispered. “Don’t you ever, ever leave us, Virgil, I–” 

“Never,” Virgil interrupted, leaning back and laying his hand on Janus’s cheek. “Never again, Janus, I promise.” 

Their lips met, just briefly, then Janus pulled back with a frown.

“I don’t understand though...how did you wake up? Roman, what did you do?”

“I didn’t do anything!” Roman insisted, and Virgil blinked. 

“I love you guys, but you’re all total morons.”

“Huh?” Patton asked. 

“I must admit, I am lost as well,” Logan said. 

“How do you break a curse?” Virgil asked, looking at each of them in turn. When he got no answer, he rolled his eyes. “You even said it yourself, Princey. Sleeping Beauty?”

“True Love’s kiss,” Roman whispered. “But I didn’t–” 

“Here,” Virgil interrupted, touching the place where Roman’s tear had fallen. “Here,” he added, holding up his hand to Janus, whose eyes grew wide with understanding. “Here, and here,” Virgil finished, tapping his cheek and his forehead, smiling over at Logan and Patton. “The four of you...you saved me.”

“Oh, Virgi!” Patton’s eyes filled with tears, and he rushed forward

Virgil and Janus caught him easily, pulling him into their embrace. Logan and Roman followed, and the five of them ended up in a pile on the floor, squeezing each other’s hands and taking turns pressing kisses to Virgil’s face. And if he shed a few more tears as he held his loves...his true loves closer? Nobody minded in the slightest.

—

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[shakspeare]

faith is the ache

→ dean/cas fic → circa season four. it’s the emo soldier of god for me.  → this is 90% kink y’all, most definitely rated r.  → ao3 link here if you’d rather read there → first time destiel writer the renaissance rly hit hard

Cas and Dean’s first kiss is a battlefield kiss.

It’s raw and desperate and bloody, torn from Cas’s lips like salvation, a prayer. Dean’s never been a praying man, but if this is faith, he’s a goddamn saint. He can taste blood on Cas’s tongue, feel Cas’s breath through his ribs, rushed and angry and brutal.

This is faith.

Faith is the way his fingers feel like they’re about to break. Faith is the way he’s holding Cas to him the same way he’d hold onto his gun. Faith is Cas’s eyelashes, dark and wet, ghosting against his cheek. Faith is every stolen breath and broken bone, every stabbing pain, every gasp, every tear, every loss.

Faith is the ache.

The world burns red through his eyelids; he opens his eyes. Releases his angel.

“Sam!” he roars, spinning on his heel, staring into the fray. The woodland’s half on fire, some demon coughing up its guts at his feet. He slams his heel down on its throat, scanning the tree line.

“Sam!”

“Let’s move!” Sam’s spat out of the forest like a rocket, tearing over the waste ground between them. Dean doesn’t need telling twice. He hauls Cas to his feet and they run.

The forest blurs past them in shadow and ash. The night’s dark; freakishly so. No stars. A volley of sparks explodes in the air above their heads; they flinch, keep running. Things had gone wrong, gone very badly wrong. Dean stumbles on the broken earth, curses under his breath. It was a trap, that should’ve been obvious. He was off his game.

“Dean?” The angel’s voice is curious, not yet practised in concern. Dean jerks his head; keep moving.

“I’m fine,” he barks, and Cas turns, keeps going.

“Here!” Sam’s voice comes low through the trees, and Dean gives a sigh of relief. He thought they’d overshot by a mile, but the Impala is just visible in the darkness. Least something’s gone to plan. His heart’s hammering against his ribs and something feels really wrong there. Broken, he’s guessing. He drops into the driver’s seat, fumbles for the keys. Half a second to breathe, and then he’s gunning baby’s engine to freaking Timbuktu. He reaches out to yank the door shut, but Cas is there, suddenly, holding it still. He stares down at Dean, eyes wide, hair going every which way.

“I’ll lead them off,” he says, and his voice is rough and low. “I doubt we will go undisturbed.”

Dean blinks, Cas takes a step back—

“Wait, Cas!”

He tilts his head, frowns at Dean. Dean gives himself a shake; man, he’s losing it.

“Get in the car.” The angel looks at him almost pityingly.

“No, thank you. I’m much faster out of it.”

“I’m not offering you a lift, you goddamn hippie,” There’s something moving in the trees. He slides the key into the ignition, keeps his voice low.

“You going off alone, that’s exactly what they’ll be expecting.” Castiel hesitates, still staring at him.

“Get in the damn car!”

Cas slides into the backseat just as he guns the engine and the angels break the clearing; the Impala snarls and jerks forward over the rough earth, spraying up dirt and stone in her wake, and if he said that didn’t satisfy him to hell, he’d be lying. He yanks the steering wheel hard left, spinning them out onto the freeway, and in 30 seconds he’s put miles between them and their heavenly little tete a tete. Cars flicker past either side of them, and Dean’s eyes flick up to the rearview. Cas’s baby blues are fixed firmly on the road ahead, that little frown quirking his brow.

“So it was a trap,” Sam grimaces, running a finger down the gash in his arm.

“Woah, dude!” Dean exclaims. “Upholstery, blood; blood, upholstery!” Sam ignores him, reaching out a bloody finger and daubing some hokey symbol on the passenger side window.

“Angel proofing, dumb-ass. They won’t be able to find us.”

Angel proofing. Right. Dean grumbles under his breath. It’s not the worst idea in the world. The pain in his ribs flares and he winces.

Yeah, they need some off-radar time.

“Check the map,” he nods at the roadmap on the floor at Sam’s feet. “Find us somewhere to crash. My four hours is calling my name.” His eyes flick back up to the rearview. No reason why.

***

The nearest motel’s about an hour’s drive. Sam falls asleep in his seat; Dean flicks on the radio. Adrenaline’s coursing through him like a freight train; it always does, after a hunt. He flexes his fingers against the wheel, shifts in his seat. Feels good. Feels strong.

His lips are burning.

“You ok?” The words come out a little gruffer than he’d intended. He clears his throat, keeps his eyes fixed on the road. It’s just the polite thing to do. Ask. For a minute he thinks Cas might’ve angel-ed out, but then—

“I am uninjured.” Right. “Great.” He drums his fingers on the steering wheel, itching to do… something. He needs a drink. A sleazy bar. Pounding music.

“But I… feel strange.”

He can’t help it; he glances up at Cas’s reflection. Cas is gazing out at the night, frowning.

“Strange how?”

“I should have known it was a trap,” Cas murmurs. “There were warning signs. I failed to notice them. I failed to keep you safe.”

“Guilt. That’s called guilt, Cas.”

Cas sighs.

“It’s not a big deal, no one got hurt.” He ignores the stabbing pain in his side; he’s had worse. “Everyone make mistakes. It’s uh, human.”

Cas’s searching gaze meets his and he swallows, looks quickly back to the road. Jesus. A scattergun of images flicker past in his mind’s eye; Cas, bright-eyed, burning, in the split second before he kissed him; Cas, in the barn, sparks exploding in the air around him, hair lit up like some dollar store invocation of Jesus Christ; and another, something he’s not sure he’s ready to think about yet; Cas, with bruised lips, shirt collar open and staring at him like he’s seeing for the first time.

Yeah, he’s itching to do something, alright.

“Dean.”

He jerks out of his reverie, slides the steering wheel left a little, keeps them straight. Eyes on the road. Get it together. Right. He shifts a little in his seat, pretends like Cas’s gaze isn’t burning a hole in the back of his neck. His cock twitches in his jeans.

“Alright!” He clears his throat, reaches over to the radio. “If you’re gonna slum it on earth with the rest of us, you gotta live the whole experience. Guilt, shame, the whole nine yards. Now this,” he raises his voice over House of the Rising Sun, “this is a whole experience of it’s own.”

Cas frowns a little. Dean sighs, leans back in his seat. Resists the urge to shift his hips, let the denim friction graze his dick. Jesus Christ, there’s something in the air. He risks a glance at Cas again; he’s gazing out his window now, thank god, watching headlights flicker past.

Alright. It’s not like he hasn’t been with men before. It’s no big deal, right? Except — and this is the kicker — sucking some trucker off for twenty dollars is pretty fucking different. Isn’t it? His heart skips a little in his chest, imagines Cas looking down at him, Cas running deft fingers through his hair. Yeah, it’s different. Different like, there’s a part of him that wants to pull the car over and get on his knees right now. He remembers the heat of Cas pressing against his chest, rough and aching; remembers the sting of his angel blade, caught between them and digging into his side.

Is Cas thinking about it? Do angels get turned on?

He’s not even sure why he did it, why he stepped over the angel Cas had just gutted and wrapped his fist in Cas’s shirt. He remembers the last time he had sex; in that strip joint with some hooker — he’d barely started railing her when all hell broke loose and he and Cas had to book it out the back. Does this feel like that? His dick twitches at the memory; the chick buck naked and spreading her legs, widening her come-fuck-me eyes. He frowns, shifts, remembers the puzzled expression on Cas’s face before he kissed him.

Nah, this is different. He doesn’t know why — the chick was hot, Cas is hot, his dick’s sure as hell into both. But it is. It is different.

Cas is still silent in the backseat. What’s he thinking about? I feel strange. Probably still grappling with his newfound guilt, whatever that feels like for an angel. I failed to keep you safe. Dean snorts. Right. Safe. When has anyone ever worried about his safety before? He barely worries about it himself. His mind fritzes for a hot second; faceless men in truck stop bathrooms; this week’s monster, teeth bared and barrelling out of the darkness; dad, waking him up at three in the morning and thrusting a sawn-off into his hands.

Safe doesn’t figure. It just doesn’t. And if he slammed on the brakes and insisted the angel in the backseat fuck him in the next lay-by, there’d be nothing safe about that either. He shifts, presses his dick against the rough fabric of his jeans. A single streetlamp bursts overhead as they fly beneath it, and in the shower of sparks, he sees Cas, bright blue eyes, one hand gripping the back of Dean’s neck like he owns him.

They make it to the motel somewhere round two in the morning. Seeing Cas properly for the first time since he kissed him is a freaking test. It starts to rain as they haul their bags out the trunk, and Cas has done nothing to fix his shirt, where Dean had wrapped his fingers in his collar and claimed him just hours before. He looks a goddamn mess. Dean swallows, slams the car door, wonders if there’s a bar anywhere nearby. Cas maintains his angelic silence as they cross the lot, stumble into the motel reception. Sam stays awake just long enough to check in, scrawl a bunch of sigils on the window, and then collapse on his twin bed, shoes on, dead to the world.

Dean slings his duffel onto the vacant bed. He’d gotten a twin room on autopilot, hadn’t even thought about it. Now it feels weird. He clears his throat, gives himself a shake. Tries to ignore the ache in his throat. God, he needs a drink. Or something.

Cas is stood at the window, gazing out at the blinking neon sign. White Rose Motel.

“Uh, Cas— ” Cas turns, looks at him expectantly. “What are you, uh—”

He was going to ask what Cas was gonna do all night, going to ask if he wanted his own room, hell, maybe angels like their privacy, he doesn’t know. But Cas is gazing at him, throat exposed, and Christ, he doesn’t remember the last time he wanted to fuck someone this badly. Dean glances at Sammy, passed out on the bed, and clears his throat.

“Outside?”

Cas narrows his eyes a fraction, and then nods, the tiniest movement. He closes the space between them, and when he presses his hand to Dean’s shoulder, Dean’s knees almost give way.

***

The air vanishes, twists; rain glitters on the sidewalk; the night fills Dean’s lungs, and he can’t wait, can’t wait another goddamn second. His fists find Cas’s shirt and he seizes him, pulls him close; his head collides with the wall behind him; the pain in his ribs flares like an open wound, and he doesn’t give a damn, doesn’t give a damn about anything. He’s done thinking. Sex is sex, and he’s a freaking cowboy. He needs this.

He can taste Cas’s blood on his tongue, feel Cas's lips against his, rough and punishing and claiming. Mine, mine, mine, and oh god, he wants to die here. Suddenly, Cas’s hand locks onto his wrist like a vice, and he steps back; Dean’s eyes snap up to meet his; strange, blue—

There are unspoken questions in Cas’s eyes, in the persistent frown that quirks his brow. His grip tightens on Dean’s wrist, and he presses Dean back against the wall; he can feel the damp coming through his shirt, feel the rain, soft, on his forehead. Dean can’t remember the last time he was this turned on; he doesn’t want to stop, to think, he just wants Cas—

“Cas, please—” It falls unbidden from his lips, and in the silent seconds that follow it feels like heresy. He’s hard as hell, and the angel at his throat is looking at him like he wants to tear him apart, and god, if that doesn’t turn him on more. Dean finds his voice, chokes out a word.

“Please.”

Cas’s fingers wrap around Dean’s throat, and he can’t tell if he’s about to kiss him, or kill him, or both—

Then Cas kisses him and he moans; a prayer that’s snuffed out by the press of Cas’s mouth against his own and suddenly he’s desperate, starving; his hands find the back of Castiel’s neck and he holds him to him, panting, pressing into Cas’s kiss like he wants to die on the altar of his lips. He gasps into Cas’s mouth, inhaling liquor and salt and copper. Cas shifts against him, open palm against his chest and—

The pain in his ribs flares suddenly, sharp and hot.

“You lied,” Cas whispers. “You’re hurt.”

Dean nods, doesn’t know how he manages it, but he does.

“Ah— yeah. It’s nothing. It’s nothing, Cas.”

He doesn’t want this to be over, he can’t have this be over, not yet. Cas passes a hand over his ribs, gazing at Dean like he’s lost in thought. Dean winces as his hand slides across the break; he can’t help it. Cas’s eyes flicker silver.

“You should let me heal it.”

“Right. Yes. Okay, Cas. Heal it, please— and then—”

“Pray to me,” Cas murmurs.

“Wh— what?” 

His eyes are gleaming, hair lit up by the street-lamps, glittering with the fallen rain. He looks fucking otherworldly, divine. He loosens his grip on Dean’s throat, and suddenly he’s full of something Dean doesn’t recognise. All he knows is that he craves it, needs it, dark and bright and strong and holy.

When he falls to his knees, it doesn’t feel anything other than right. He doesn’t question it, doesn’t think. When Cas runs his fingers through his hair, tilts his chin up to the sky, the ache in his chest subsides. The rain continues to fall, and the cold is creeping into his bones, but he doesn’t care. This is different.

He prays. He wants to. He wants Cas to be his, and he wants to be Cas’s, forever. Cas whispers to him softly, voice almost lost in this hiss of the falling rain. He lets him drag his tongue over his cock, lets him taste it, kiss it, and then — once he’s asked and begged and prayed a hundred times — Cas answers his prayer, thrusts his cock between his lips. He tastes like ichor and iron and wine and his fingers wind a little tighter in Dean’s hair. Dean’s never wanted to please someone this badly in his goddamn life. He’s good at sucking cock, he knows he is, but for Cas, he wants to be better than good. He wants Cas to need him, to know him, to never leave him. He runs his tongue down the length of Cas’s cock, wraps his hand around the base. He drags his tongue over the head, slow and rough and teasing. He keeps his eyes on Cas’s. When his cock hits the back of his throat, Dean feels like he’s about to fucking ascend. When Cas pulls him to his feet it feels like rapture. His legs are shaking; he all but collapses against him, his angel, and then Cas’s lips find his and Cas holds him up, pressing softer kisses on him now, sweet and deft and silent.

“Good boy,” he murmurs, and Dean feels lightheaded.

“Yeah?” he manages to breathe, in between Cas’s soft, persistent kisses.

“Yes,” Cas murmurs simply. “That was good,” and Jesus Christ, why does hearing that drive him crazy? Cas’s hand finds the tear in Dean’s ribs, palm like an open flower, and there’s a moment, warmth, and the pain is gone. Dean moans into Cas’s kiss, keening, presses his hips against him. For a moment Cas pulls back; Dean’s left breathless, aching, Cas’s fingers tracing the line of his jaw. Then the air around them rents itself in two, and suddenly Cas’s lips are on him again, but the world is upside down; the wall is gone; the air is closer, drier—

He tries to right himself, get purchase, and realises he’s flat out, sheets beneath his head. Cas’s had is still at his jaw, gentle, kind, and he realises with a lurch that the angel is fucking straddling him. He gasps, pressing up into Cas’s kiss so hard he can feel the bruise it’s going to leave on his lips.

“Where—” he manages to breathe out, the last vestige of his dignity wondering where exactly they are, though right now he’s so turned on he’d gladly beg Cas to fuck him in front of a freaking bar full of people — his dick twitches in his pants at that thought and he thinks he notices Cas’s eyes darken — that’s a thought to explore at a later date —

“An unoccupied room. This motel is not popular,” Cas murmurs, his lips grazing the hollow of Dean’s throat. His hands find Dean’s, loosening his grip on him, and Dean whines in protest; he wants to pull him closer, find some goddamn friction, never let go.

“Quiet,” Cas murmurs. His hands slide along Dean’s wrists, guide them up over his head, press them into the mattress, and Dean’s breath comes out in a little stutter. Cas blinks at him with those fucking weird, cosmic eyes, and then he’s closer still, pressing little butterfly kisses to his neck. Dean tilts his head back to the stars and gasps. The ache in his chest feels like holy fire, and he forgets everything — god, girls, demons, devils. All he can be sure of are the hands on his wrists, the mouth at his throat, the blood on his tongue, the split in his lip.

“Dean,” Cas’s voice vibrates, soft, just by his ear. A shiver runs down his spine; his eyes flutter shut.

“Yeah?”

“Are you sure?” Cas’s weight shifts slightly; Dean opens his eyes.

Cas’s eyes are bright in the shadows; he’s tossed his coat aside. There’s still blood on his shirt, staining the white, patterning his throat. He can see it when Cas looks away, lifts his chin and gazes across the room He shifts beneath him, a little, til his cock is pressing into Cas’s thigh.

“What?”

“Are you sure?” Cas’s gaze meets his, and there’s no challenge, no threat. Dean’s stomach flips over when he recognises the glimmer in his eyes. There’s no challenge because it’s all possession. Quiet, unyielding, simple. As if it’s all there is.

He swallows. “Yes. I’m sure.”

There’s a split second where Cas doesn’t move, only blinks at him, and he grinds his hips up into Cas in frustration, voice coming out in a whine—

“Please.”

And then Cas’s kissing him like he’s about to die. The press of his body against Dean’s is like a blessing, something otherworldly and dangerous and close to god. Dean can’t think, can’t breathe, can only arch up into the angel at his throat and pray, a broken string of words and sounds and promises that tumble from his lips without thought. When Cas lets go his wrists, his hands tangle in Cas’s hair, trace the curve of his jaw, the hollow of his throat. Cas’s shirt is gone, and he jerks his own off over his head, rough and careless, and when Cas’s palm presses against the brand on his shoulder like it’s a prayer, a rite, some secret sacred invocation that only they know, only they will ever know, Dean loses his mind, desperate, aching—

Cas draws back for a split second. His hair is tousled, his skin like marble in the half light. Dean’s heart is hammering like it’s going to leap out of his chest; he gasps, breathes, collapses back onto the bed.

“Cas,” he whispers, hands restless, reaching. “Come back, come back, please.”

He feels Cas’s weight shift, move, and when he opens his eyes Cas is beside him, eyelashes ghosting against his cheek. His lips press softly against Dean’s jaw, just below his ear, and suddenly Dean’s eyes are wet, and he has no idea why. His hands find his belt; he slips free of his jeans, his pants. He knows what he wants, and he doesn’t want to stop, to think. The air is warm against his naked skin but he feels vulnerable, strange; he rolls towards Cas, shields himself against his body.

Cas catches his chin with the pad of his thumb; soft, tender. He traces the sides of his body with the tips of his fingers, and his eyes are dark, brilliant, and Dean’s trembling because this is different, this is different from any guy, any girl, anyone he’s ever been with before. No one has ever looked at him like this before. The way Cas touches him, it’s like he’s the one who’s divine.

Cas presses him gently onto his back with a kiss, reverent, and his hand drifts down, over his stomach, his hips, finds his cock. He drags his fingers along the length of it, slow, playful, and Dean whines into the kiss, pleading. Suddenly his dick is slick, wet, and he moans, twisting in Cas’s hand.

“How—” he gasps, and Cas’s voice is just a breath in his ear.

“I’m an angel, Dean.”

When Cas pushes his legs open, and slips between them — when he trails kisses down Dean’s stomach, runs his tongue down the crease where his thigh meets his hip — when he kisses Dean so hard he draws blood, and then slips his fingers into Dean’s mouth — Dean’s gone. He can feel his own cock leaking against his stomach, so exposed and vulnerable and untouched. He needs this, needs Cas to touch him, hold him, want him. He swears out loud when Cas’s spit slick fingers slide between his asscheeks, tease at his hole. He pushes into his touch, craving more, needing to feel—

And then Cas’s tongue grazes his cock, his thigh, his asshole, and he’s trembling, bucking on the bed beneath him; his hands find Cas’s shoulders and he grabs him, pleading, as Cas’s tongue, hot and wet and obscene, teases at his fluttering hole. Cas’s gaze flicks up to meet his, eyes glittering, lips bruised, the column of his throat stark in the half light, and Dean is suddenly hit by the fact that this is an angel, this is not a man, this is an angel, a soldier of god, a force of nature, divine and unknowable and sacred. Cas slips up over him and presses a kiss against his open mouth, presses his palm against his aching dick, and slowly, agonisingly, pushes his cock inside him.

Dean’s lost. His throat is tipped back to the stars, stars obscured by a plywood and mortar and brick. He rocks onto Cas’s cock, and Cas whispers in his ear; soft, calm, quiet, tender. He moves slowly, gently, like Dean is fragile, sacred. Like he matters. He presses kisses to his lips, his throat, his shoulders as he pushes deeper in, as Dean gasps and presses up to meet him, wanting, always wanting. His hand grips Dean’s cock, thumb flicking lazily over the head, smearing pre-come and Dean could swear he’s enjoying this, toying with him, making him wait. He whimpers beneath him, tries to arch his hips in time with Cas’s lazy, teasing thrusts.

Cas lowers his mouth to Dean’s ear, whispers, his voice rough.

“Wait.”

Dean can’t wait, can’t think about anything but the ache between his thighs, the gentle fingers teasing him, the fact Cas pushed in even further as he whispered wait, bottomed out, flush against Dean’s prostate and just holding him there, not moving. He shakes his head, protests, tries to grind into Cas’s palm, but Cas tuts, sighs, brushes his thumb across his lips.

“I told you to wait.”

“Please, Cas— I can’t wait, I— please—”

Cas’s eyes are bright, searching.

“What do you want?”

“You know, Cas— you—”

“I want you to say it.”

“Please— Cas, please—”

Cas’s gaze flicks down, over his throat, the expanse of his chest, his leaking cock. He shifts, and Dean moans beneath him. His hand comes to meet Dean’s jaw, dragging the pad of his thumb down over his lower lip, gazing as if he’s curious, thoughtful.

“I want you to say it.”

His voice is low and rough and it sends a shiver down Dean’s spine. He’s a mess; he needs this, like he doesn’t remember needing before; and the fact Cas wants him to say it is somehow even better, even more—

“I want you to fuck me. Please. Please.”

Cas doesn’t move, still watching him, as if lost in thought. He twitches his hand a little around Dean’s cock, rubs his thumb over his aching head, and something in Dean snaps, and the words tumble from his lips before he can stop them—

“I need you to fuck me, Cas, I need it, I’m begging you, I need it, I need you, I need you here, please, god, please, Cas, please, please, just fuck me, touch me, make me yours, I can’t—”

And then his words are cut off by Cas’s kiss, hard, rough, dominant; one hand on Dean’s throat, the other like a vice around his leaking cock, and he’s fucking him so hard Dean cries out, sound lost on Cas’s lips. Dean wraps his legs around him, pulls him closer, closer, closer, and Cas’s hand finds his shoulder, palm like fire against Dean’s brand. Dean’s hips stutter and he gasps, his cum hot and wet against his ribs. Cas’s mouth is at his throat, his lips, and then he pulls Dean toward him, Dean’s forehead pressed against him as he comes, head tipped back and moaning, eyes lidded, lips parted, dishevelled and messy and divine and his.

***

He falls asleep in his arms.

There is a split in his lip; Cas brushes it softly with his finger. His healing touch is light, deft.

He moves very little; he doesn’t want to wake Dean.

Sleep. It looks peaceful. The warring emotions that usually colour Dean’s brow have all but faded. For a brief moment, Cas considers closing his eyes; perhaps there is bliss in the wilful dulling of the senses.

But that would mean taking his eyes off Dean.

Anger — unfamiliar, strange — courses through him; he had failed last night. Failed to protect the man who sleeps, now, mercifully whole, in his arms.

He would not make the same mistake again.

Dean turns in his sleep, turns toward him, nestles into Cas’s chest. His eyelashes flutter against him, his breath warm on Cas’s skin.

Cas feels — peaceful. Anger, guilt, joy; the messy milieu of human emotion is startling and strange. But this is different.

He knows this. The ache in his chest, the fire that burns. Faith. It is, perhaps, the only thing he has ever truly known. And for millennia, he had never questioned where to place it.

Dean murmurs in his sleep, and Cas traces his fingers over his chest, sweet and gentle and slow. By morning, there are a hundred Enochian love letters patterned, invisible, onto Dean’s ribs.

The stars fade, and the sun rises, and Cas watches over Dean.

This is faith.

[selfawarejester]

triskele (j.t x c.h)

prologue (burn, baby, burn!) - cora

— Warnings: character death, vague descriptions of a corpse.

— Pairing: Jason Todd (DC Comics) x Cora Hale (Teen Wolf) [not in this part, can be read as standalone]

— Notes: Starting off the series with angst! This is promising. *evil smirk* Ah, yes, the Cora backstory and my interpretation of the Hale fire (because TW didn’t feel the need to elaborate on one of the most important, if not the most, events in the show.) Everyone who showed interest before is getting tagged below — hope you enjoy! I’m always open to feedback, so hit me up!

She remembers burning flesh most vividly.

Cora only left for an hour, going on a jog to cool off. Her mother had been furious about a fight she’d gotten in at school, but that guy was a jerk!

“He was picking on that asthmatic kid: McCall something! Did you really want me to just let that happen?” She yelled, stomping into the living room. The dark haired man on the couch eyed the two over the top of his newspaper before going back to it. Guess Uncle Peter’s not going to be of much help.

Talia sighed, doing that two-fingers-to-her-temple thing she hated. “Stopping a bully and tossing him into a locker are not the same thing.”

Cora frowns, crossing her arms as she drops her glare to the floor. “I only meant to shove him aside.” She bites out.

The front door slams, and a sullen teenage boy bearing an annoying resemblance to the woman in front of her walks in, freezing when his eyes fall on them.

“Is this about Cora beating up that 7th grader?” She squeezes her eyes shut as Talia groans, covering her eyes with both hands (and she swears she can hear Peter chortle) — there’s no way she’s getting out of this now.

“You heard about that too, cacchoro?” Talia asks, an equally exasperated and incredulous edge to her tone. Derek just chuckles, throwing his hands up in surrender.

“Oh no… I’m not getting caught in this. Besides, I have to meet up with the guys anyways.” He tosses his schoolbag on the couch, dangerously close to Peter – who hisses under his breath – and ignores the pointed looks his mother and sister send him. “See ya, mom! Good luck, Cor!”

“…stop snarling at me, Peter.” And walks out, slamming the door again.

She rolls her eyes — he’s absolutely useless, as usual.

“Mom-“ Talia interrupts her, holding up a hand.

“You’re grounded, mi corazón. End of discussion.”

“But I have soccer this weekend-!” Cora waves her arms, face burning but Talia just shushes her again.

“No arguments. Go to your room.” She growls, fuming as she stormed upstairs. And after waiting for all of three minutes, leaps out the window and running for the main road.

Run, run, keep running!

It feels good to stretch her legs, without having slow down for the human kids. It’s just her, the forest and the wind whipping her hair around. She keeps at it until her calves pleasantly sting and she’s panting.

Maybe I should get home — it’s getting pretty late, and mom is only going to get angrier then. It’ll be worse if dad gets there before me.

The route back to Hale House isn’t an actual path, per say, but every wolf in Beacon Hills knows it by heart. Of course they did: Talia Hale was the Alpha, after all. Any time one of the packs from out of town, they had to come and pay their respects to the leader. In its own way, it’s pretty beaten down — the kind of minor differences that only a wolf could discern.

“Burn, baby, burn!” She hears someone yell, laughing, and the sheer malice that accompany the words stop her in her tracks. Someone else nervously skitters about, and someone else has already started running away.

“M-miss, we need to leave.” She hears him speak softly – is someone… groaning in the background? — while the woman who was laughing slowly calms down to a few chuckles. Cora stumbles forward, carefully and quietly, her heartbeat hammering in her ears. “T-the police are probably on their way already.”

“Right, right, heh heh.” Finally, Cora can place that voice, the voice that would haunt her nightmares for years to come. Kate, that girl that used to hang out with Derek. Her blood runs cold in her veins as that smell fills her nostrils, and she has to clench her jaw to keep from her lips quivering, the sob from escaping as her imagination turns on her.

She almost trips and falls directly into the light when she makes it to the clearing she called home, feeling like someone punched a hole into her chest and squeezed as she watches the flames rage.

The other guy has fled, and now it’s just Kate and some hunters behind her, lounging against their cars, talking and laughing like they’re at a picnic, watching fireworks instead of her family burning.

She slaps her hand to her mouth, tears flooding from her eyes. Her legs shake, and all she wants to do is scream, to fall and cry for her mother, whose blackened body is in their main doorway, reaching outwards.

The pain and fear still hang in the air, even though her family is dead, mingling with her own. She thinks she can hear someone’s wretched heaving, but that might be just her. She can’t feel anyone, all of her pack bonds are shattered, what should she do, what should she do-?

“Hey!” Her heart stops and she scrambled away, feeling like her head was going to explode. “Did you see something there?”

Run, run, keep running!

Her lungs are about to tear apart as she sprints away at full speed, checking over her shoulder to make sure they weren’t chasing.

Coward. You’re leaving them behind, you left them alone, you should’ve been there-

You should’ve been with them.

She shakes her head, sobbing but never stopping. No, just keep running, get away, survive.

It’s an odd feeling, she’d notice later through the numbness of grief — in the guest room of her mother’s friend Satomi, who found her feral and out of her mind in the next town over and whisked her to safety, wherever — the feeling of letting go, of letting your humanity slip and your primal, base instincts take over. Satomi said it was natural for a wolf her age, especially after the trauma she’d faced.

Cora wasn’t particularly complaining. Those instincts were what allowed her to survive for a week in the wild, scavenging, hunting, escaping. Still, she couldn’t get rid of that little voice in her head, relatively quiet compared to the screaming loss inside but consistently agonizing, that insisted that she was only a coward who cared about her own skin, a coward that left her family when they needed her most.

A coward who had a fight with her mom. Who didn’t even bother to say goodbye to her father that morning. Who was fighting with Laura over a board game instead of telling her she’d miss her when she went back to college. Who, in her last time at home, wrote a note to Derek to inform him she was going for a run that addressed him as “Jerkwad.”

She presses the pillow to her face and wails.

taglist (tell me if you want to be removed or added): @catxsnow @i-lovehufflepuff3000 @theconfusedpansexualbitch @lesbian-arsonists-united @brooklynnboys @nannna003 @capttain-emo @klutzydelusionprincess @victoriagraeca @fuzzycookietacopeach @emma-for-now @disnerd262 @sheimagineddragons

[panic-at-the-fiction]

Hello Darling pt3

Summary: (y/n) is the salvatores younger sister and she is low key in love with one of the originals. You know which one. The only problem is he is a low key psychopath and neither of them remember that this isn’t their first meeting.

Warnings: just harmless flirting

A/N: I’ve been in love with Kol Mikaelson for 3 days now. I’m being forced to watch vampire diaries with my mom and Kol and the rest of the original family are like the only reason I’m still watching it.

You hadn't gotten any sleep last night. You spent 3 hours in the emergency room with Matt because he wouldn't drink your blood. He didn't want to risk becoming a vampire. But you were trying to be a nice person nowadays so you respected his decision and waited with him at the ER. You didn't get home till 4 in the morning, and it took you at least an hour to get out of that stupid dress you had worn. You really wish you hadn't had gone to that stupid party. It had been filled with one disappointment after another, but now you were home in your apartment. With no annoying brothers, no doppelgänger sluts, and no originals. The sun was coming up and you were finally able to get some sleep for the day.

You didn't wake up till about 12 in the afternoon. By the time you showered and left your apartment it was already 1 o'clock so you were shocked when you arrived at your brothers house in time to see Rebekah Mikaelson leaving in the same dress she had worn to the party the night before. She only ignored you and walked out of the house. Not even making eye contact with you.

Damon walked down the stairs barely dressed after having obviously just taken a shower.

"What was Rebekah doing here?" You knew exactly what she had been doing, but you needed your brother to admit it.

"She was just leaving." He smiled and walked away trying to ignore your question. You followed him into the library.

"No Damon, I mean why was she here in the first place?"

"I may or may not have gotten drunk and brought her back here after Elena shut me down last night." He poured himself a drink.

You couldn't help but laugh at your ass of an older brother. It was only a couple hours ago that he accused you of sleeping with an original and here he is brushing off his one night stand like it didn't matter that he's a big fat hypocrite. "You know what? Eat Shit Damon."

"Aww come on (y/n) so what if I slept with Rebekah. Why do you care?"

"I care because last night when you weren't busy fawning over Elena you were slut shaming me for being around an original but today you're sleeping with one of them like it's no big deal. So yeah, Damon. eat shit and see if I care!" You stormed out of the house, not wanting to be around your brother any longer. He was a jerk and he never made an effort to apologize for it. Not like he did with Stefan at least.

You decide it was best if you went back to not caring and day drinking. So you headed back to the mystic grill and picked back up where you left off yesterday, half way through a bottle of whiskey.

By the time ten o'clock rolled around you were on your fourth bottle of whiskey and you were starting to crave something stronger, something that didn't come from a bottle. You looked around the room eyeing everyone in the bar. It was really packed since it was ten-o'clock on a Saturday. You were sizing everybody up to see who you could snatch away and take a bite out of. You notice some girl walking towards the bathroom. You quickly finished your drink and tried to go after the girl. But when you turned to leave your seat Kol was standing in front of you, blocking you from going after the girl.

"Hello Darling, I see your day drinking again. Whiskey of all things. Most girls are into champagne and fruity cocktails nowadays but you really aren't must girls are you." He set his coat on the back of the chair and set down next to you at the bar.

You really didn't want to see Kol right now or really ever. You saw another girl head to the bathroom so you gave up trying to feed from them and refilled your whiskey glass. "Not like most girls? Was that supposed to be a complement? You're gonna have to do better than that after what you did." You kept staring at the wall in front of you. You didn't want to look at him right now. Hell you didn't want him to be there right now.

"Oh yes how is the quarterback? All hyped on vampire juice and healed now?"

"No, he wouldn't take my blood. I had to sit in the ER with him all last night."

"Oh so is that why you're here drinking?"

"Why are you here Kol?" You turned to face him.

"Would you believe if I said that I care about your problems?" You rolled your eyes and you could tell he was just being sarcastic. "Yeah I wouldn't either. I'm not usually the one to care about other people and their problems. That was usually Elijah. Though I do feel different after having been daggered and living in a coffin for so long maybe I can give it go. So how about you tell me your problems and I'll tell you mine?"

You ignored him, just went back to staring at the wall and drinking your whiskey. "Well fine then I'll start first. Today my brother and my mother tried to kill me and all of my siblings, but then your brothers accidentally stopped them by killing my brother, permanently this time, before my mother could complete her spell. So now she's off in the wind trying to figure out how to finish us off."

He took the whiskey bottle from you and grabbed an empty glass to fill it up. You just stared at him, you felt bad about what had happened to him. You couldn't even imagine what he must be feeling right now. "I'm so sorry about what happened with your mother and for what my brothers did. I had no idea they were planning any of this. Which one of your brothers was it?"

"Finn." He downed what he could of the whiskey and refilled. He was obviously having a bad day.

"Were you two close?"

"No not really. He was a lot older and he spent the better half of the last millennium in a box for having a stick up his ass."

"Your family is something else."

He laughed a bit "You're telling me. So what happened to you today? Couldn't be any worse than my day."

"No but it wasn't any good." Kol just kept drinking and nodded along. "Went to my brother's house this afternoon to check in on them and make peace after last night. Turns out he and your sister hooked up last night. So I called him a hypocritical dick for yelling at me last night and for accusing me of sleeping with you then stormed out of the house and came here."

"So that's where Rebekah was last night. I'll have to remember to torment her later with that." He raised his glass and clinked it with yours, "Cheers."

"Cheers." You couldn't help but to stare at Kol. Despite everything he did last night you didn't hate him. He was different tonight, he wasn't cocky and confident he seemed genuine. About an hour and a bottle later. You were both pretty drunk, even for vampires. You found yourself once again wanting to spend more time with the jerk. After everything he did to your friend you still liked him, more than you probably should have. Everything about him just seemed so familiar and comfortable.

You decided it was best that you left before you tried to do anything you might regret. "I should probably get going, it's late."

"Do you need me to walk you home or get you a cab?" Kol started to laugh, "I'm trying to be nice here, I'm not sure it's working for me."

"No, I'll be okay. I don't live far from here." You got up and started to walk towards the door as Kol stopped you about half way.

"Hey (y/n) wait!" He grabbed your wrist and turned you around to face him. "I'm sorry about what I did at the ball yesterday. I was mad at my sister and I took it out on your friend Matt and your brother."

It fell silent between you two for a moment. Kol was still holding your wrist in his hand. You started to laugh, "What's so funny?"

"Nothing, it's just, you're apologizing for trying to kill my only friend and my brother and I've just forgiven you. I'm not even upset about it, Because I've been there before, when you're so mad at someone that you take it out on someone else. It's just so weird I should be mad at you right now but I'm not. Part of me likes you even more now." You just kept laughing at yourself. You were totally drunk off your ass. You didn't even realize you said you liked him out loud.

"Wait did you just say you like me more now? So you actually did like me before?" Kol smiled at you. You were mad at yourself for saying that out loud but glad you got Kol to perk up a bit. You noticed him moving a bit closer to you.

"Maybe" the alcohol was really kicking in. You felt more confident than you had in a long while.

Kol leaned down a bit so you two were closer together "Does that mean I still have a chance?"

"Maybe." You saw him glance down a few times to stare at your lips too. You both were waiting for someone else to make the first move. You were as close as you two could get without touching.

Tired of the waiting, Kol closed the gap between you. He pulled you closer by your wrists before moving his hands to the side of your face. Your hands ran up through his short brown hair. You could already taste the whiskey on him. It didn't take you long before you both were gasping for air and had to pull apart slightly. Neither of you could seem to decide what to say next.

You broke the silence, "You know on second thought I might need a walk home. My place is just two blocks over."

Kol pulled away from you and laughed. He quickly grabbed his coat from the back of his chair. He smiled and held his hand out to you "Well then, lead the way."

I just want to say thanks again to @hellish-ramblings-of-an-emo for helping me edit these and get these first few chapters out here. You have been such an inspiration to me and you make me want to write more everyday!

Also thank you to all the people who have been liking this story and I’ll be posting new chapter from now on every week! I would also love to take request for fic ideas to help me fill up this blog with stories.

[crankywhenprovoked]

Kinktober 2020. Day 21. Co/ck warming. Dukxiety.

All of these stories have been done well in advance, as such means I will NOT be accepting any ship requests, thank you for understanding.

Warnings: The start is Virgil having a panic attack, Pet names, Calling someone daddy.

Virgil bit his lip as he walked slowly down the hall, hands shoved in his pockets, trying to keep his breathing even.  At every small sound he jumped slightly, trying not to just run, either to his destination or away from it, even he wasn’t sure.  After what seemed like forever he finally made it to the door he was looking for, though knocking was another story all together.  

In his head he started counting, his lips moving slightly as he said the numbers under his breath.  Getting to 200 his finally pulled his shaky hand out of his pocket, knocking softly on the door before pulling his hand back again.  Before he could even start counting again, the door opened fast, making him jump again.

“Emo!”  Remus said, frowning as Virgil whimpered softly, holding out his arms.  “Hey, I’m sorry.  Come here.”

Virgil shuffled forward, letting out a shaky breath as Remus’s arms wrapped around him, pulling him into the room and shutting the door.  Leading him over to the bed, Remus sat down and helped Virgil to sit on his lap, holding Virgil around the waist.

“It’s alright, you made it here, you’re doing so good.”  Remus whispered against his hood, rocking Virgil slowly.

Pressing tighter against Remus, Virgil tucked his face into his neck, inhaling his scent and letting his heart rate slowly slow down.

“What do you need for this one, Kitten?”  Remus asked, sometime later.

Pulling his hand out of his pocket, Virgil lifted up two fingers, feeling Remus nod before putting his hand back.  Shivering slightly as Remus lifted him up and climbed on the bed and laid him down on his side.

Long ago when Virgil started coming to Remus for help in moments like this, Remus had come up with the finger system.  It wasn’t easy for Virgil to voice what he needed, especially now, so raising a certain amount of fingers meant different things.

“I’m going to pull your hood back now.”  Remus’s voice was still soft, shifting on the bed to the right height, pulling his pants down.

Virgil shifted himself closer, letting Remus pull his hood back, his fingers sliding softly through his hair.  Opening his mouth, Virgil let out a slow breath as he wrapped his mouth around Remus’s cock.  Hooking his arm around Remus’s hips, Virgil suckled softly around his cock, taking another deep breath.

“That’s it, Kitten.  Just breathe.”

Taking another deep breath, Virgil felt himself relax more into Remus’s touches and warmth against him.  Letting his eyes slowly shut, Virgil relaxed more as the darkness that had been swirling in his head finally dissipated.

Tilting his head up slightly, Virgil looked up at Remus, tapping his hip with his fingers lightly.

“Not right now, Kitten.  Just relax and sleep.”

Virgil let out a little yawn as he cuddled closer to Remus, letting his eyes shut again, suckling lightly on his cock again.  Slowly Virgil’s breathing fully evened out, getting heavier as he fell asleep, arm still holding Remus tight.

Waving his hand, Remus turned the light off before pulling a blanket over him and Virgil, making sure to keep the other’s face uncovered, following him to sleep.

~*~

Remus groaned as he slowly came out of sleep, feeling hands sliding up his stomach, lips pressed against his.  Blindly reaching up, Remus wrapped his arms around the others shoulders, pulling him down.

“Good morning.”  Remus breathed, fingers wrapping in Virgil’s hair.

“Good morning.”  Virgil repeated, pressing kisses down Remus’s neck.

“H-how are you feeling?”

Virgil pulled back, pressing a soft kiss to his lips again, laying down against him, hands running over Remus’s shoulders.

“Much much better, always do.  Thank you.”  Virgil smiled, as Remus ran his thumb over his jaw line.

“You’re welcome, Kitten.”

“Can I make you feel good now?”

Remus nodded his head, pulling Virgil into another kiss before letting him slowly slide down his body.  Groaning softly as Virgil’s hands wrapped around his cock, Remus pressed his hands under the pillow as Virgil worked him to full hardness.  Virgil’s tongue slowly trailed around the head of his cock, teasing the slit before making the circle again.

“Fuck.”  Remus hissed, hips jerking a little as Virgil took the head into his mouth.

Virgil’s fingers spread slightly on Remus’s lower stomach as he held the base of Remus’s cock with just his thumbs and forefingers.  Rolling his hips down against the bed, Virgil moaned as he took Remus’s cock deeper, sucking around him.

Working his mouth faster, Virgil’s hips pressed down harder as Remus’s moans spurred him on, moving to suck just the tip.  Remus reached down, wrapping his fingers through Virgil’s hair, moaning louder as Virgil’s head bobbed faster.

“That’s it, Kitten.  Your mouth feels so very good.  Love having my cock in your mouth so much, going to come in your pants, aren’t you?”  Remus breathed, hips shaking as he tried his best to stay still.

Virgil hummed his agreement around Remus’s cock, sucking harder as he rolled his hips faster against the bed.  The taste of Remus on his tongue, the hold in his hair, the press of Remus’s cock deeper in his throat, all encompassed him.  Jerking his hips down faster, Virgil moaned loudly as he started coming, moving his hands faster on the base of Remus’s cock.

“So good, so close.”  Remus breathed.

Moving to suck solely on the head of his cock, Virgil’s hands moved around him, working every inch of him.  Remus’s fingers tightened in Virgil’s hair as he started coming, head pressed back into the pillows as Virgil swallowed around the tip.

“Ok, ok.”  He gasped, giving Virgil’s hair a small tug.

Sliding slowly up to lay against ed sofRemus, he shivered softly as he laid his head against his shoulder, wrapping his arm around his waist.

“Feeling better?”  Remus asked, running his fingers through his hair.  

“Always.  Thank you.”

“Now come on, let’s get you cleaned up, and then it’s time for food.”  

“Fine, daddy.”  Virgil laughed, before swallowing hard at the look Remus gave him.

“Keep it up and you’ll be screaming that later.”  Remus growled, as Virgil slid up, lips almost touching.

“Promise, Daddy?”

Tag list:

@justanotherpurplebutterfly

@razalin

@nightlovechild

@mr-rectify

@cover-your-eyes-children

@greeneggsandham1998

@vulnerablevirgil

@secretlygeneralperson

@sanderssmutsides

@karmels-stuff

@deitywithablog

@sanderssidesstuffs001

@pundefulpapa

@hell-or-high-waters

@fandomfreak18andover

@ashensanity

@that-one-smut-addict

@nsfs-side-blog

[cherry-ber]

Too drunk to fuck (pt 1)

A. N: so I originally wrote this as a very soft thing, while I myself was kinda tipsy and emo so I figured it was only fair to re-write this with a vibe that fitted the song that inspired it in the first place. I really hope this doesn't turn out shitty.

Anyway as if it needed to be stated, I have a soft spot for Mark but bad boy/ fuckboy / kinda punk - ish Mark??? Yes please.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Everybody seemed to know something about Mark Lee that you didn't understand. You've heard countless rumors about him, how he is agressive and how he's even been in jail a hundred times, how he got expelled from 20 different schools, how he got in a physical fight with a police officer, but after the first time you bumped into him you knew it was absolute bullshit.

The events of that damned day replayed on your head every single night since it first happened a month ago, and you felt like the dumbest girl ever for falling for him, and it was probably true.

That Tuesday morning, you were running late after ditching your alarm five times, arriving to your classroom barely on time, you ran into him, making him drop his phone and his helmet.

“Oh shit, man, I'm sorry” you said quietly, he could barely hear you, and went inside.

You should have known better, because you pissed him off, and you've heard, the guy was scary when he was pissed off.

So, after what seemed the most boring class ever, as you were putting your books in your backpack, he entered the classroom and went directly to your table, staring at you as if he was trying to look intimidating. Everyone noticed, except you.

“Can I help you?” you started almost annoyed, but when you turned to face him, you felt almost afraid “ah, it's you. Listen man, I'm very sorry and I should've apologized better but I was running late-”

He abruptly interrupted you with the cockiest thing you've ever heard, even from a jerk like him:

“I don't care, you should respect me better”

As much of an idiot you've heard he was, you never spoke to him, so hearing him speak to you like that ignited the flame of your very short temper.

“Fucking pardon? Who do you think you are?”

And it seemed like the first someone spoke to him like that, he looked almost amazed and for a whole minute he was speechless and his bad boy attitude wrecked.

“Fuck off” he said and stormed out, leaving you with everybody staring at you in disbelief, but to you, calling him out was just common sense, and you didn't even say anything mean at all.

And as if that first encounter wasn't bad enough, after school, he waited at the exit, and when he spotted you, he walked in your direction and stood in front of you, keeping you from walking away.

“We should go out someday”

And you did. Many days, actually. He would wait outside for you, say hey and walk you to the parking lot, you'd ride his motorcycle and stop in an old abandoned house, you'd go behind it and make out there for an hour or two. At first it was almost exciting, knowing what people thought of him, yet you felt like he was wrapped around your finger every day for some hours at least. But as expected, it escalated quickly. For a whole week and a half, you kept telling yourself that you were strong, that you didn't want to get involved with him, you were just helping him out to release his damn hormones, and that was it. But the day he grinned at you when he saw you walking towards him, you knew you were fucked; up to that point, you thought that Mark Lee was just a hormonal jerk, that built a bad boy image based on nothing but his arrogance and his feeling of being superior, you actually disliked him, but not enough to leave him, because he was almost a good kisser, and his hair was soft when you ran your fingers through it, and fucking damn him, he was actually kinda hot. That was the same day he accidentally grabbed your hand when you were walking to his motorcycle. You always walked close, but never really said a word to each other, and when you did, it was meaningless, maybe him saying you looked nice, maybe you saying you liked his jacket or a cold how was your day when he looked stressed, knowing he wouldn't reply until you were kissing and he was being rough, biting your lips or holding your hands so you don't touch him, he was just like that.

He made it look like an accident, he was lightning a cigarette, and as he was blowing out the smoke, you walking slightly behind him, he reached for your hand, but you immediately panicked and stop, so he just pulled you closer, annoyed by your response, as if he was expecting you to squeeze his hand and walk like any other couple would.

“C'mon, we don't have time for that” he said, dismissing what just happened, brushing away the fact that he liked the heat he felt when he touched you. You were hesitant to grab onto him while he was driving, but he always went so fast it was impossible not to do it.

When you arrived to your secret place, as he was taking off his helmet, and you the one he started carrying just for you, you couldn't help but feel nervous, and you were disgusted with the idea of him being the reason, but you followed him anyway, knowing that even if you didn't want to be there, you would never tell him, you were weak for him, but why would you?

He sat on the ground, and as always, you followed him, sitting on his lap, and you couldn't help but stare at his eyes, his beautiful, shiny eyes, and then his marvelous lips. He probably realized, and you looked away almost blushing, but that only made him giggle. It was the first time you ever heard him giggle, and it was angelic, you couldn’t help but smile. He put your hair behind your ear, and caressed your cheek slowly, as his lips were getting closer to yours, and when he finally kissed you, it felt like electricity running through your body. You caught feelings for Mark.

When he pulled away, you were petrified, you felt scared, but you knew better than showing him how he made you feel, so you kissed him, passionately, not giving him a chance to think, you didn't want to leave a single second where he could talk. As it often occurred, his hands were on your waist, moving through your body, from your thighs, to your chest, stopping for a moment on your neck, you pulling the collar of his white shirt, your hands roaming from his back to his shoulders and his precious hair, only pulling away again when you felt his bulge grow harder, thinking that what you felt before never happened, and that what you really wanted from him was exactly just that, but as you ran your hand over his jeans, he stopped you softly.

“We never really talk. I want that.” he said, squeezing lightly your thigh.

If you did as we wanted, you knew it would be over. You didn't want him to talk, you just wanted his lips, you weren't interested in meeting him, you knew he was a jerk, but he didn't think the same.

“Y/N, how was your day?” he asked with genuine interest, and as you were about to tell him how your teacher was being so hard on your group with pop quizzes every other day, his phone rang. You felt relieved that he was going to pick up when he checked who was calling, and got off him, fixing your clothes and your hair, then trying to fix his hair, he smiled when he felt your fingers playing with his hair, he hung up the phone and glanced nervously at you.

“I'm so fucking sorry, I have to go now, do you want me to drop you home?” Hesitantly, you said yes, and rode home, somehow feeling empty inside, wanting to ask if everything was okay everytime you stopped in a red light, but unable to speak a word, until you arrived home, you knew no one was there, and as you were giving him the helmet back, he asked for your number, “in case I need it” he said.

Head over the clouds, you waited for him to text you the rest of the day, and you were unable to sleep peacefully, hoping he'd call saying sorry for leaving early, and not calling before, but he didn't, and for the next three days, he was not waiting for you outside, you just saw him leave, riding alone, never looking back to you, and you knew then you made a mistake. You should have never kissed him, you should have never talked to him at all, and you sure should have never ever fell for him, but you did, and it was more painful than someone could ever imagine, no one ever warned you about feeling something for him.

Friday, 7:36 p.m: unknown number: “Do you wanna come to a party tomorrow?”

♡ Next

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

GUYS I'M SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG AND I NEEDED TO POST SOMETHING SOON OR I'D LOSE MY MIND, THERE WILL BE A PART 2 BUT I FELT LIKE IT WAS ENOUGH FOR A SINGLE POST

[maybedefinitely404]

Not Your Typical

Genre: college AU, hurt/comfort (kind of?)

Pairings: romantic Demus, Logicality, and Prinxiety

Content: some language, autistic character, sensory overload, mentions of losing friends in the past, anxiety, unintentional self harm, Roman is kind of a jerk but he regrets it, food mentions, unable to eat certain consistencies, beach/water/swimming, Janus being a disaster gay, ASL, selective mutism.

Word count: 6k

Comments: Like always, I don’t intend for these to be so long. Holy cow.

Janus is written based mostly on my experiences as someone with autism, and how it’s affected my childhood/relationships/daily life. No one’s experience is the same.

Janus was always alone. Alone, not lonely. 

Most of the time, that is. 

His whole childhood was an endless cycle of make a friend, weird them out, be alone. Find another friend, weird them out, be alone. And sometimes it hurt, yeah, but he got used to it. At home, he spent the entire day in his room, assembling structures out of legos before tearing them down and starting over. Sometimes he’d build something really cool, and that would stay up for a long time. He didn’t have any siblings, and his parents didn’t give a whoop as long as the floor was generally clear, so no one ever bothered the space ships or towers or just really long lines that stretched from one wall to the other. He liked those. 

Things changed when he got to middle school. Life started getting real, people became more than just recess friends, and that unsettled him. He made a couple close friends, friends that he really opened up to only for them to leave him when he became too much. He just couldn’t help it though; he couldn’t help the way he bounced when he got so excited he couldn’t breathe, or how he couldn’t use words when he got overwhelmed by the touch and the noise, or how he couldn’t stop talking about his favorite shows or books. He was labeled as childish. It was like a label had been stuck to his chest that read “avoid at all costs”, and people did. 

So he relearned how to be alone. He put a lava lamp next to his bed for when he needed something constant to look at, he got a collection of chewy necklaces and stim toys that never left his room. After a lot of research, he convinced his parents to buy him a weighted blanket for when every touch was too light, too agonizingly light, and he needed something firm to ground him. At school, or really around anyone, he learned to control his more obvious stimming and touch sensitivity by staying in oversized sweaters and jeans. He taught himself basic sign language for when he couldn’t talk, even though he knew his parents wouldn’t understand him. They took forever to learn basic signs, for ‘water’ or ‘quiet’ or ‘no’, and both eventually got frustrated and gave up. As if their frustration was anything compared to his. 

It was going great, not perfect but better than before, until he graduated high school. Suddenly he realized he was about to move halfway across the country, to a new environment with new triggers and new people who didn’t understand that he wasn’t frowning because he was pissed, but because smiling when you didn’t understand the reasoning was exhausting. Why do people smile and greet you when they enter the room? Why couldn’t that be more of an… understood thing? I’m here, you’re here now, we both know that, so why bring so much attention to it? For once his parents were kind enough to help him out, taking him to the campus during the summer to get acquainted with the surroundings and learn the map by heart. He talked to the admission’s counselor, explaining his disability and why that meant he couldn’t be on the side of campus near the highway, because the constant noise and common sirens would make him explode. They were eventually able to move him to one of the other buildings, one with apartments instead of dorms, even though that was generally only for third and fourth years. It took a load off his shoulders; less noise, less people. The one thing he couldn’t do was meet his roommates before the year started. 

The school got them into contact, and since he was the last to be assigned to the six person pod, they added him into their pre-established group chat. The other five already had nicknames, ranging from ‘Dad’ to ‘Rat Bastard’, and he immediately felt like an outsider. Not like that was new to him, though. Except, he didn’t stay like that. When one of the group, ‘Nerdy Mcnerd’ on the chat (he’d long forgotten their actual names), asked him what he liked and he immediately sent a list of special interests and hyperfixations, the top being snakes, it was like a door had been opened. Nerdy Mcnerd was a fan of space as well, and the two stayed up until all hours of night on their own chat discussing space and their place in the universe. Rat Bastard had an affinity for what people would categorize as “creepy animals”; octopi and squid, spiders, star-nosed moles, and most importantly, snakes. Their conversations mostly involved dopey pictures of snakes and unintelligible key smashes and emojis. Emo Disaster shared his love of darker themed TV shows, and they started a couple new ones at the same time, constantly updating each other with theories. When he mentioned his major was psychology, Dad was immediately overjoyed to be sharing the major with someone, and offered to help him study for the harder classes. He didn’t hit it off quite so well with Princey, who was put off by Janus’ so called “moodiness” and didn’t trust him. 

When they finally met, it was supposed to be great. Janus knew the environment, somewhat knew his roommates, and was surprisingly excited for the new year. His joy was suddenly vanquished, however, as meeting these people face to face took a turn for the worse. Dad, Patton, immediately tried to go for the hug when he walked into the apartment for the first time, and was slightly taken aback when Janus reared back so hard he hit his head on the wall. The glee disappeared and he apologized profusely, and that’s when Nerdy Mcnerd, Logan walked in, explaining that Patton was very physical. They were over it rather quickly, but Janus shuddered as soon as the other two turned to each other. They had already claimed one of the three rooms for themselves, so Janus chose the one furthest into the apartment. He dropped his suitcases next to one of the two beds with a deep sigh. The thought of a hug… no. It unsettled him greatly, made his skin crawl. Maybe one day, but not now. 

Emo Disaster and Princey, Virgil and Roman, arrived later in the day, hand in hand, bickering animatedly when they walked into the apartment. They were greeted with a huge hug from Patton and a side hug from Logan, and that’s when Janus recalled that they had all been roommates the year prior and again, felt a small tinge of pain. He was still the odd one out. Virgil gave a two finger salute to where Janus was sitting curled up on one of the bar stools, knees pulled to his chest and for the first time, Janus didn’t feel compelled to give a forced smile in greeting. It was a relief. The small nod was all that was needed. Roman however, was a different story. When they happened to make eye contact for the first time, the taller man still standing in the doorway, Janus flinched. Hard. The man’s eyes burned through him, as if scouring through his brain, eyes so full of passion that Janus had to look away. Eye contact was only an issue for him sometimes, but with Roman, it physically hurt. Which only made the theatre major more suspicious of him. As he passed him on the way to get a glass of water, the taller man blurted out, “You’re a first year, why are you in a third year building?”, earning him a gentle smack from Virgil. He answered with a lame shrug and rushed back to his room, conceding to just go to sleep, regretting leaving his drink on the counter. 

No one besides Janus was surprised when the door burst open at three am and a loud voice screamed, “I’M BACK, FUCKERS!” He was frozen in place, woken with such an adrenaline rush that he couldn’t move. Outside, the other four exited their rooms with varying levels of annoyance and delight, greeting the final member of the group. Remus, as Janus heard them proclaim, was his roommate, the only two dwellers not in a relationship. The gremlin burst into the room, a deranged smile on his face, and Janus wanted to cry. Why did he have to be stuck in a room with the loud one? But Remus saw the mismatched eyes poking out from under the blanket and with no hesitation, sunk to the floor next to the bed, still smiling but a million decimals softer. 

“Hey, Snakey. Sorry to scare ya. I’m Remus, but you can still call me Rat Bastard if you want. Call me whatever, I don’t really get offended. You go back to sleep, I’m gonna get settled in. We can talk in the morning.”

Janus wasn’t planning to fall asleep, not with this new person in his room, but Remus was shockingly silent as he unloaded his things (he packed a bunch of garbage bags, not even a suitcase or box), and he couldn’t help the way his eyes slipped shut. 

First semester came to a close, and he was equally delighted and horrified that everyone was staying on campus for break. It had become harder and harder for him to avoid movie nights, or family dinners (as Patton called them), or days they all went into town together. In the beginning, he put it off to being tired. Then, studying for exams. Now with school halted for nearly a month, he was out of excuses. It was getting to the point where he could feel the frustration from his roommates, and he wanted to admit how much he wanted to spend time with them, until his drawer full of secret stim toys and chewy necklaces called him back. At times, he let himself spend time with them. Baked something with Patton, talked about the stars with Logan, sat with Virgil as they studied, and it was good. He never was able to escape Roman’s cynical glares that made him absolutely shudder, but he got on much better with his twin. 

Remus never minded if Janus only greeted him with a raised eyebrow, and he was okay to have more one sided conversations while Janus drew, or after a few weeks, stared unapologetically. Because god, there was so much about Remus that Janus couldn’t help but watch, even if a normal person would get uncomfortable by his wide and unblinking eyes. Luckily, Remus was no ordinary person. But the younger still kept the drawer to himself, only allowing himself to nom on the plastic or squeeze the orbeez filled squishy snake with intense fascination when he was alone. So every time he was with the others and felt the need to stim or infodump or was about to have a stress induced meltdown, he would excuse himself and leave without so much of a goodbye. He couldn’t, not in front of them. Every time he left, he could hear Roman’s quiet remarks about him that stung more than he wanted to admit. 

He’d had so many people leave, people he allowed himself to get close to, only for them to see the side of himself he tried to hide. In his heart, he knew that part of him wasn’t bad. It was just him. Other people didn’t understand that, though. No matter how much he tried to convince himself that no one would judge him, or laugh at him because they weren’t like that, he was scared. The effort was wearing him thin, and it came to the point where he realized he had to tell them. He had to, or he would burst, and that would be way worse.

It was just three little words: I. Am. Autistic. And he’d explain everything, tell them about his stims and limits and how he needed space sometimes and hugs others, and spill everything about himself, and they’d accept him. They’d have to, right? Only, the night he was planning to blurt out the truth, something stopped him. 

They were eating dinner, one of the only ones he’d attended in a while. Patton kept glancing at him from across the table as he picked half heartedly at his lasagna, distracted from the lively conversation between the twins and Virgil. The whole thing was speckled with bite sized pieces of mushrooms and zucchini, two of the foods that he couldn’t eat to save his life. The texture made him want to recoil into himself and scream and yank at his hair, and he’d learned early in life that that wasn’t a normal response to food. He wanted to explain to Patton that it wasn’t the meal itself he was avoiding, that it wasn’t Patton’s cooking that he didn’t like, it was just the texture of those two things. 

Well, maybe that was a good gateway into his big announcement, if you could even call it that. It felt almost as scary as his coming out to his parents had been. If they didn’t take this well, he might be exiled from the group. If they tried to put up with them, they’d get irritated so quickly and slowly freeze him out. He really didn’t want that. It needed to happen though, he realized. How much worse would it be if one of them walked in on him having a meltdown, holding a pillow over his mouth to block his screams, biting almost animalistically on a necklace? How unsettled would they be if they saw him hitting his blanket pile out of repulsion of the feeling of his textbook pages? Better to warn them ahead of time. It was only luck that had gotten him this far.

Just as he opened his mouth to speak, Logan hit the table with the heel of his hand and let out an almost guttural scream before storming into his and Patton’s room, slamming the door behind him. Janus nearly fell backwards off his chair, matching Virgil’s surprised expression. Roman went silent, wincing slightly.

“What…” It was the first word he’d said the entire meal. Patton whipped his head towards him as if he’d forgotten he was there, a sudden sympathetic look on his face. He gave a weak smile.

“Sorry about that, kiddo. Logan has autism, sometimes he can’t handle the stimulus around him. Or maybe he just had a rougher day than I thought. I’ll check on him after dinner, give him some alone time.”

Logan has autism.

Logan has autism. 

Oh my god.

It was like everything clicked into place. His passionate talk about topics he was interested in that could rival Janus’ (if he would ever let himself infodump like he wanted). His mannerisms, his occasional emotional outbursts, his rigorous unbreakable schedule, it all made sense. For a brief second, Janus was elated. Someone like him, someone who understood! And if they accepted Logan, maybe they would be able to understand him, even if they presented different areas of the spectrum. 

But… how would that look? Janus had hidden away his neurodivergent traits for so long, repressed them until he felt like he would literally explode… what if they thought he was faking it? It’s not like they knew him well, not with the amount of time he avoided being around them. They might think he was lying to get attention, didn’t want to be left out. Wanted to be special.

Patton seemed to be waiting for a response, he noted. He gave a curt nod, hoping it displayed that he was unbothered by Logan’s disability, before giving a stupid excuse about some reading to finish over break and darting back to his room. Remus joined him later, saying nothing about the fact that Janus was huddled under his weighted blanket, no book in sight. He sat down in front of the bed, a common habit of his now, and began to quietly talk about some new dark fantasy story he was designing, his lilting voice soothing Janus to sleep.

Time passed, winter came and went, and the end of second semester was drawing near. Janus was still careful with the way he presented to the others. They had picked up that he didn’t like physical contact, and though they never said a word about it, Patton’s lasagna recipe shifted, kept changing, until it no longer included mushrooms and zucchini. Janus refused to believe it was for his sake, though. He tried to join them for a couple movie nights, but the constant fear of stimming made his anxiety spike, therefore finding the need to stim more compelling, until he had to leave. It was getting harder, however, now that it was that pleasant in-between time where he understood how his new profs worked but it wasn’t exam season yet. His excuses were dwindling. Like always, Roman made his stupid quips that hurt him more than was probably intended, and he’d finally had enough. 

Maybe that’s why he was staring out at the open lake in front of him, hands playing absentmindedly with the hem of his shirt as Patton and Remus squealed, sprinting into the water without a second thought. One of their shirts had landed on Janus’ sandaled foot, and he quickly kicked it off as the light touch began to irritate him. Logan stood to his side, watching his boyfriend with an almost imperceivable smile. 

“You guys could have helped carry stuff if you were just going to stand there!” Roman’s indignant voice carried over the lawn, muffled slightly by the pile of towels he was carrying. Virgil snorted, whether in agreement or at Princey’s expense, Janus didn’t know. Either way, he dumped his handful of lawn chairs unceremoniously onto the lawn at their feet. 

“You two set these up then. I’m hot, I’m going swimming.”

“Damn right, you are,” Roman grinned. Virgil raised an eyebrow.

“Damn right I’m hot, or I’m going swimming?”

“Yes.” He didn’t give any of them a second to retort, scooping up a shrieking Virgil before sprinting them both into the water. 

“They didn’t even take their shirts off,” Logan commented, picking up a chair from the pile and unfolding it. Janus quickly joined in, helping him set the four chairs into a line and placing the towels down in front of them. “Did you want to go swimming?”

Admittedly, Janus hadn’t actually gone swimming, much less to the beach, since he was a kid. He was lucky to have even found a swimsuit amongst his other barely worn clothing; how it had snuck into his suitcase, he didn’t know. The water looked inviting and it was hot, but right now he was exhausted from the long ride over in Remus’ truck, having to refrain from plugging his ear when it got too loud or maintain his breathing carefully when a leg touched his.

“Maybe in a bit. I’m kind of tired.”

Logan turned to look at him, dare he say scrutinizingly? He washed the expression away quickly, asking, “Would you like me to stay with you?”

“No, it’s okay,” Janus mumbled, “You go have fun. I’ll be fine, I like the quiet.” As if to punctuate his point, a child screamed from the playground, making them both flinch.

“Are you positive?”

“Yes. Go enjoy yourself, Logan.”

He nodded curtly, pulling his shirt over his head in one fluent motion and walking towards the waves professionally, as if he were walking towards a lecture. Patton cheered from the water.

Janus didn’t concern himself with the time as it passed, instead letting his mind wander while he focused on a line of ants that were crawling up a tree next to him. It wasn’t until a fast approaching form caught his attention did he tear his eyes away, hearing him give a shout of “Be right back!”.

Remus plopped himself onto the towel next to him, still panting from the run, but grinning from ear to ear. As he ripped open a water bottle and drank greedily, Janus couldn’t help but stare. Water glistened on his skin like jewels in the afternoon sun, plastering his hair down over his jaw and eyes. His eyelashes were barely fluttering against his cheekbones as he guzzled nearly half of the bottle, his adam’s apple bobbing with each swallow. The jut of his shoulder, almost touching his throat, taking his weight as he leaned back on his arm… the whole thing was fascinating. People interested Janus as a whole; the way they functioned, how they seamlessly picked up on little cues from others that Janus was still in the process of figuring out, even down to intricate biology of cells was incredibly captivating. But Remus was so much more than that. His voice when he spoke him to sleep, never mentioning it the next day, the way his dark eyes glimmered with hope when Janus agreed to eat with them, the twitch of his moustache as he covered a laugh at Patton’s corny jokes. 

He was art, plain and simple. 

Janus didn’t know if what he felt was romantic attraction. It sure felt like it, except it had never felt quite like this before. It wasn’t that he was asexual or anything, he was actually decently far from it. It was just how uncomfortable most physical contact made him that gave him the idea he might never have a partner in the way that he wanted. He wanted to hold hands, to cuddle, to kiss… but at the same time, he didn’t. That is, he didn’t know how he’d handle it. Sure, he’d had crushes in the past, cute boys from his classes or celebrities in the shows he hyperfixated on, and still the feeling of uncertainty had stayed. With Remus, something was different though. Never before had a crush ever felt so breath stealing, chest clenching, awe inspiring-

“Like what you see?” 

Janus flinched, realizing Remus had finished drinking and was beaming at him with that stupid gorgeous gleam in his eyes. He looked at his lap immediately, feeling his face heat up. 

“Sorry.” 

“Not a problem,” Remus smirked, having the audacity to wink at him before standing up. “I’m going back in. Coming?” He reached out his hand, hopeful. Janus took a breath, acknowledging that this was his first time initiating contact since he’d arrived, and grabbed Remus’ hand. The surprise on the other’s face was almost enough to make him laugh. He pulled the younger to his feet, keeping a firm hold in Janus’ hand. And… that was okay. 

Until it wasn’t. 

The second his feet touched the sand, it was like alarm bells exploded behind his eyes. He couldn’t describe it, but it felt wrong. It gave in too much, light sprinkles of sand covered the top of his feet and instantly every nerve was on high alert. He ripped his hand from Remus’, stumbling backwards onto the grass again. The elder spun to him with concern.

“Snakey? What happened?”

“I- hmm, no. I can’t. Nope. No no no. Wrong. It… hmmmm. Can’t.” The last word dragged out as his brain seemed to disconnect from his mouth. His mind didn’t work, so focused on how every blade of grass was swiping along his soles too softly, too gentle, too much. His hands had curled into fists and he was fighting against everything inside him to scream bloody murder, because oh god the wind was brushing the hair onto the back of his neck and it tickled and make it stop make it stop!

Janus could vaguely hear someone shout, and the loudness floored him. Get away, get away, it’s too much it’s too much. The feeling of the grass was gone, and he was sitting on his beach towel, but the wind was still brushing his hair too much, so he grabbed at it uselessly, begging it to stop, stop, stop. 

“What’s happening?” Roman.

“Is he okay?” Patton.

“Does he look okay?” Virgil.

“Janus, breathe. You’re safe.” Logan.

 Yeah, he knew that. He knew, objectively, that the wind isn’t out to get him and grass doesn’t hurt and sand isn’t supposed to fry your nerves. That didn’t change the fact that it did for him. Somewhere in the back of his mind, it connected that they were seeing him have a meltdown, finally. But he couldn’t focus on that, not when someone was touching his arm why are they touching my arm LET GO! 

He screamed now, he couldn’t hold it back anymore. His breaths were ragged and gaspy, hands ripping at his hair to try and stop the fluttering strands. Then there was a new sound, an engine, a boat, and with it came the deep bass of some terrible music and there were people shouting and his head was hurting, why was it hurting so bad?! New hands grabbed his wrists and he writhed, pulling back from the grip that was pulling his fists away from where they’d been hitting his skull, over and over, trying to just get his stupid brain to work. Come back to the present, ground yourself, do SOMETHING!

And then something was in his hands. 

His eyes peeled open (when had he shut them?) and he saw the dark blue stress ball, almost crushed between his fingers. The hands were gone from his wrist, and he took a deep breath, relaxing his hand and watching the slime filled toy slowly return to its natural shape. It was just like one from his drawer, the first stim toy he’d ever gotten. Familiarity. He kneaded it under his fingers, enjoying the comforting texture, the color soothing to his sensitive eyes. Bit by bit he felt himself relax, still holding the toy inches from his face between stiff hands, letting his legs unfurl. Without thinking, he raised a shaking hand to his chin and did the sign for ‘water’, and immediately regretted it. It was just such a habit around his parents, the only other people who had seen him break down to this extent, how could he be so-

He flinched as a water bottle was pressed into his raised hand, the lid already taken off. The water was so good, settling his senses and grounding him, like he’d been in hyperfocus before and it was dulled now. He gave the stress ball another squeeze, captivated by the way the slime moved, not even flinching as someone snapped in front of him.

Looking up for the first time, his first instinct was to crawl into a hole and die. Logan was sitting in front of him, slowly putting the cap back on his water bottle before handing it back to Patton, who was standing just behind him. Roman and Virgil had begun packing the chairs and bags agonizingly slowly and quietly. Impressive; they were almost done and he hadn’t noticed until now. He turned to his left and his heart completely shattered. Remus was sitting statue still, a few feet away, with a look of pure fear in his eyes. He sat on the edge of his knees, like he wanted to pounce forward and hug him but was holding himself back. He appreciated that. 

Logan snapped again and Janus turned back.

‘Better?’ He signed slowly. 

‘You know sign?’ Janus responded weakly, confused. 

‘Patton too. I go nonverbal as well. Are you okay?’

The younger nodded, returning his hands to the stim toy on his lap. ‘Yours?’

‘Yes.’

“Is he okay?” Remus whispered suddenly, drawing their attention. He looked so scared, like anything could break Janus and he was scared he would cause it. Oh. Did he think he caused this?

‘Not his fault.’

Logan looked between the two, a look of confusion settling in his face. “What?”

‘Not. His. Fault.’ He signed sharply, a frustrated hum emitting from the back of his throat. ‘Not his fault!’

“Remus, he’s saying it’s not your fault. What does that mean?”

“I- I took his hand, and then this happened…” Remus started, leaning back onto his feet ashamedly, “If that wasn’t the cause, what was?” 

‘Sand.’

Logan’s eyes filled with understanding, and he responded, ‘Sand?’ as if to double check that he got the right sign. Janus nodded again, slightly thankful for the mute state he was in. He wouldn’t be able to explain this as well as Logan would. 

“If I’m understanding right, then my first assumptions were correct. Janus, did you just experience a sensory overload?”

Janus could only nod, meeting his eyes shakily. This is the moment. Now is his segway. If Logan wasn’t already suspicious, he surely was now. And he’d rather not have to explain, or come up with some half assed excuse if he was confronted later on why sinking his foot into sand had made him break. 

 ‘I’m autistic.’ He fingerspelled it, not knowing what the sign was, or if there even was one. There was a beat of silence, the twins and Virgil exchanging puzzled looks, and Janus couldn’t even bear to look at the two people who would have understood. All his fears came rushing back. Would they think he was lying, or seeking attention, or or or-

“Oh, sweetie,” Patton crooned, sitting cross legged beside Logan, “We thought maybe… well, the possibility came up in conversation before. Lo was the one who brought it up.”

“Yes. Though our experiences differ, you seemed to exhibit symptoms that are common to the ASD spectrum. I thought it feasible, but did not wish to offend or frighten you by mentioning it.”

“We thought that if you were autistic, it would be yours to tell us,” Patton smiled softly. 

“Wait,” Remus interrupted, “Janus, you have autism?”

Janus’ nervous glance up must have been enough to clue the rest of the group in, because Roman sighed and ducked his head into Virgil’s shoulder while Logan messily signed something which roughly translated to ‘how dense can someone be’. Jan couldn’t tell if it was a joke or not, but he cracked a smile anyways.

“Shit. Dude, I’m so sorry,” Roman murmured into Virgil’s shirt, “All the times I made fun of you for not joining us or anything, that was way out of line. I truly apologize.”

The youngest gave him the worldwide gesture for ‘it’s okay’; not exactly ASL, but it got his point across. Everything was packed up now, and Janus realized the implications.

‘Home?’ He asked Logan, eyebrows scrunched together.

‘Yes. You need to rest.’ He was right, he was exhausted. Getting to his feet along with Patton and Logan, he reached down to grab his towel, only for it to be promptly swooped up by Roman.

“I… I got it. Don’t worry about it. Okay?”

As soon as Roman turned his back, Janus couldn’t help his heavy sigh. This was another reason he had refrained from telling anyone. He didn’t want to be seen as a burden, or worse, a child. He didn’t need help with menial tasks like grabbing a towel. Virgil and him lifted all the belongings again, with less complaining this time, and began the short trek to the truck.

‘He’s not babying you,’ Logan signed, as if reading his mind, ‘He’s just guilty. If you want my advice, get as much out of it as you can.’

“Logan!” Patton chastised, failing miserably at hiding a smirk.                            

“Guys?” Remus’ uncharacteristically timid voice prompted them to turn back, “Could I talk to Janus for a sec?”

“You understand he is unable to speak at the moment, correct?” Logan raised an eyebrow, probably coming off more harsh than he meant to. 

“I know. Just… please?”

The other two shared a knowing look that Janus didn’t understand, before Logan turned to Janus. “Is that okay?”

The youngest nodded, watching over his shoulder as the lovebirds joined hands, leaving him and Remus alone. When he met his eyes again, he was standing much closer, eyes searching nervously.

“Maybe this will actually be easier since you can’t talk,” he laughed, before his face fell dramatically, “Fuck, that’s not what I meant. I’m such an idiot, I didn’t mean-”

Janus held up a hand quickly, as if to say ‘it’s fine, settle down’, holding back a snicker. He’d understand if someone was upset by the comment, but he’d learn to take Remus’ jokes lightly. He never meant to actually offend, sometimes he just… blurted without intending to. He rolled his finger in a ‘keep going’ motion.

“Shit. Okay,” He’d never seen Remus blush, or stumble over his words before. Not like this, at least, “Now, don’t feel obligated to say you feel the same or anything, okay? This is just, my feelings, and mine alone,” A deep breath, “I like you, Snakey. I like you a lot. More than… more than a friend.”

Oh.

Oh.

Janus was ninety percent sure he died right then and there. But Remus kept going, tripping over his words in a way that was so unlike him, and yet so perfect.

“I have for a while. I never said anything because I thought, maybe you disliked me? After today though, I think… well, maybe I was misinterpreting those signals. Like I misinterpreted today. That you didn’t want to be around me, no matter how hard I tried.”

Okay, Janus took it back. He wanted to be able to talk now, but his voice came out as another low hum, and he slapped his hand over his mouth, embarrassed. Remus pressed on, unfazed. 

“Snakey, I swear to you, that you having autism doesn’t change those feelings at all. It’s not a bad thing, or a flaw, it’s just you. And everything about you is amazing, and perfect, and this is just another thing I get to learn about you. Any fears you had around telling us, telling me, you don’t need to have them.”

He’d never felt this kind of feeling before. In that second, he knew for a fact that this wasn’t a crush that he had on Remus. That wasn’t possible, because a crush had never made him want to break his social barriers like this. A crush had never made him want to make an exception, to stand on his tip toes and kiss him, even if the thought of a new touch usually caused goosebumps to rise on his arms. Because he felt so safe, so blissfully numb, so comfortable with Remus, that he’d be willing to give it a try.

This wasn’t a crush. This was-

“I love you,” Remus whispered, his statement accompanied by a large shaky breath.

He couldn’t say it back, not right now. Later, he would. For sure. Maybe a hundred times. So he did what he’d never thought possible and took that step forward, breaking his bubble that he’d always thought to be unbreakable. 

It’s okay. You’re okay. This is okay. 

For once, he actually believed it.

Janus reached a hand up, slowly, and rested it on Remus’ face. It wasn’t light, he couldn’t do half touches. It was solid, warm, real. Not a tickling touch that made him twitch, or a brush by that stole the very breath from his lungs. The positive response affirmed his will power, and he leaned up onto his tip toes. Remus looked absolutely stunned, but he didn’t pull away, he couldn’t if he tried. His breath caught in his throat as the elder glanced down, an unmistakable look to his lips.

Had Remus always had those green flecks in his eyes?

And he kissed him. Janus surged forward, pressing their lips together harsher than he’s intended, pulling a small gasp out of Remus. There was a whoop from the vague direction of where they’d parked, followed by a loud smack, and Janus couldn’t help the smile that tugged at his lips.

Remus’ hands were clasped at his chest, unmoving, probably afraid that if he touched Janus wrong, this would all be over. He’d have to explain half touches later. For now, he took one of his hands in his free one and guided it around, pushing it into the small of his back until Remus got the message to keep that pressure. He let out a small sigh through his nose, an action that sent a new round of butterflies exploding in the younger’s stomach.

This is okay. 

This is all going to be okay.

[im-a-space-gay]

Fic for the Mix-Matched AU

Why yes, I actually looked up what drabble meant, and found that is the wrong term for this writing and probably the one for the Gay Gamers AU. Whoops. Anyways, I didn’t label it when I posted for it earlier, but the Mix-Matched AU is a slow burn Analogical AU where Virgil’s a nerd and Logan’s a punk. Good day.

Edit: Why yes, upon getting half way into this three days ago, I accidentally deleted that version and I am upset but now going to try and rewrite it. Yay. Also, Virgil doesn’t care which pronouns people use for him, just a heads up.

~~~

Virgil pushed his glasses up and held his jacket closer to himself. Patton sighed, making grabby hands at the thing.

“Come on Virge, you’d already said you’d do it.”

Earlier that day, Patton begged Virgil if he could fix the jacket, since it had gained a new hole when he got cornered yesterday without anybody there to help him. The beating was easy to hide from the others, as it had all been aimed at his chest or arms, but one of the boys brought a darn knife that cut a huge tear into his jacket. He shrugged off questions about it pretty easy, only getting a couple suspicious looks.

Anyways, after giving in to Patton, he now had to uphold his promise and give the jacket to Patton to fix as they were about to turn separate ways to walk home.

Virgil frowned and hugged it close, having already taken it off to give. He squeezed it again before giving it to Patton.

“You’re really attached to this thing, huh?” Patton asked softly, holding it as if it’d fall apart at any crazy movements, which it’d probably would. Virgil shivered, rubbing his arms before nodding.

“I’ve been through a lot with it,” he smiled at the jacket before walking down the road, calling a farewell over his shoulder.

I wonder how I’m going to live as a naturally cold person without my only jacket, he thought hugging his arms closer.

——

When Virgil woke up the next morning, he sighed at the loss of the extra warmth the jacket provided, sitting up and fumbling for his glasses.

Only for his glasses to not be found.

“What...?” He mumbled, forgetting about the jacket in favor of finding his sight. He felt around the bedside table, the bed, and the floor, only to not find his glasses.

He huffed, standing up and shakily finding his way to the bathroom, stumbling more than once. He searched the counter with his hands before finally finding what he needed; his contacts.

Virgil put them in before picking out the usual long sleeved shirt under a T-shirt that nobody knew he wore thanks to his jacket. Doing what else needed to be done before he left (including trying to find his glasses, and he looked literally everywhere before he had to go).

The walk to school was pretty normal, besides trying to push up nonexistent glasses and shove his hands in his jacket pockets before settling with his jean pockets instead. What was decidedly not normal was how when he entered the school, he glanced around to find people staring in his direction, whispering.

Odd, he thought, quirking an eyebrow and listening in quietly.

The most common phrase among the females was “he’s so hot” while it was “I’d fuck her” for the males, making Virgil more confused. Perhaps there was a couple behind him? Or new students? That made the most logical sense to him.

So he continued on like normal, though if the halls were strange, first period was so much more strange. In advanced calculus, more students kept looking in his direction instead of the teacher’s.

They really need to focus, he thought quietly, glancing between the teacher and a small math problem he was doing for fun. This lesson was a... how would Janus and Remus say it? A “kill or be killed” lesson. They wouldn’t last after this if things kept going this way. Oh well. Not my problem.

The bell signaling the end of the period rang, and Virgil couldn’t even get up from his seat before someone was there. It was the second smartest teen in the class, smartest going to yours truly. His name was Matthew, if Virgil remembered correctly.

“Hey there miss. I noticed you didn’t seem to be paying much attention, and thought I would offer you some help, as this lesson could probably determine your grades for the rest of the semester.”

Virgil tilted his head slightly. Most people assumed him to be male, not female. How peculiar.

He quickly changed the confused expression to a smile, standing up and slinging his bag over his shoulder.

“No thank you, I’m quite alright. On the contrary, this is one of the more simpler lessons this class goes over.” Matthew looked surprised for a second at his slightly flowery language before his expression turned irritated, which Virgil felt a bit of himself from the reaction.

“No it’s not. It’s not easy at all, and most people have trouble understanding it,” he said, as if he was all high and mighty, which really peeved Virgil off. It was as if this guy didn’t know he was talking to the smartest kid in probably the entire school.

“I never implied it was easy. I implied that this course goes over harder lessons. Anyways, I’m sure if you looked, you are to find I am not most people, sir.”

“Bullshit,” the boy cussed, and Virgil felt his annoyance grow. “Girls are stupid without the help of men, therefore you are like most people.”

“Females are not stupid, and whatever gave you that impression is simply wrong,” Virgil glared. He should’ve known he was a sexist jerk, his aura was always too repressive around females. “Females are probably a lot smarter than any male could be, because they are given the opportunity to search and prove themselves to those with minds like you, you sick bitch. And maybe, you shouldn’t assume what is in a person’s pants sir. I could have a vagina, I could have a dick, I could be intersex for all you know, so don’t go talking to me like I am any lesser than you simply because you wrongly believe females have less intelligence and assume I am one without the question.”

Matthew stared at him with a jaw that has found its way onto the floor, and Virgil only vaguely registered another student’s gaze toward him. He huffed, and stepped around him, walking out.

“I hope you have an awful day sir.”

He heard a whistle from the classroom he left, trying to look as composed as he normally would.

What an absolute cretin, was all he could think, hoping to god the rest of the day would be normal.

Of course, these prayers were not answered as his day continued. Apparently overnight half the school now saw him as female and addressed him as such, not that he minded, but it was still really weird. He also got many stares from both students and teachers alike, and more offers for tutoring even though he was most likely smarter than the people offering. At least he got no more sexist people to deal with.

When lunch finally rolled around, he was relieved.

Finally. A moment of hanging out with idiots of which I am fond and reading. Thank fucking god.

Approaching the table, he could see the twins and Logan already there. At last, something that was ordinary.

He sat where he normally did at one of the corner seats, pulling out the book he was currently hacking away at.

Before he could open it though, Remus spoke.

“Well hello beautiful.” By the sound of it, he was flirting with yet another female, and Virgil didn’t see the harm of looking to see what unfortunate soul Remus had his eyes on this time.

Glancing up though, he flinched at seeing the three boys staring at him, expressions ranging from Remus’s poker face, to Roman’s confusion, and to Logan’s confusion that was quickly fading into a cold look.

He stared at Remus and glanced behind him before realization dawned on him.

“Are you talking to me?” He asked, feeling as confused as Roman looked.

“Who else would I be talking to?” Remus asked, leaning over from his spot at the opposite corner of the table, and Virgil didn’t back away purely because he was used to the invasion.

“Literally any female in this building,” Virgil deadpanned, and Remus didn’t have enough time to respond before Patton was sitting across from Virgil.

Virgil wanted to ask about his jacket, but also got cut off before he had the chance.

“Oh hello! I’m Patton, he/him!” The fashionista said joyfully, and oh god now Virgil was really confused. He couldn’t compute anything as he normally could.

“I know?” He said, more question than statement. Logan glared at him, which really freaked Virgil out because oh dear Logan’s never looked at Virgil with anger before.

“How do you know that?”

“Logan, calm down!” Patton said sternly before looking back at Virgil. “Although you do look awfully familiar. Do I know you from somewhere?”

Virgil froze, raising his eyebrow.

“Is- Is this a joke or...?” He trailed off, and nobody could react when Janus plopped between him and the still-glaring Logan, making him unreasonably happy.

“Hey Virge,” Janus waved at him, having been the first time anybody has gotten to see the nerd. He looked at the book in his hands with the tiniest bit of interest. “Whatcha reading today?”

Virgil teared up a bit as he suddenly hugged Janus, making the emo go stiff under him.

“You are the only person who has acted even remotely normal towards me today, and for that I forever thank you and ask you to never change, you beautiful creature,” he said, feeling Janus awkwardly pat his back as he slowly melted into the hug.

“Wait,” Roman said, and Virgil looked up to see the other four looking at him in shock. “Virgil?”

“Yes?” He answered hesitantly, raising an eyebrow again.

“YOU’RE VIRGIL?! THE VIRGIL?!” Roman shouted, and nobody looked over, used the group’s antics. Virgil got out of Janus’s arms and flailed his arms as he also yelled.

“YES?! WHO THE FUCK ELSE WOULD I BE ROMAN?!”

“WELL YA DON’T LOOK LIKE THE NERD! SAY SOMETHING ONLY HE WOULD KNOW,” Roman glared, crossing his arms. Virgil huffed as he started to count on his fingers.

“Logan really likes Crofters, Patton is fixing my jacket, Janus has at least three pet snakes that I know of, Remus set me on fire once -which really wasn’t cool, pun intended for Patton-, you’re a bitch, but everybody knows that, our group chat is called Idiots+1=Chaos, and if anybody offers me tutoring ONE MORE TIME I WILL LOSE IT, BECAUSE YES I KNOW CALCULUS, YES I KNOW WHAT A SYNONYM IS, AND YES AND KNOW THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN MITOSIS AND MEIOSIS.”

“There’s a difference?” Patton whispered to Remus, who shrugged. Virgil turned his hateful stare towards Patton, dimming it down some.

“Mitosis is the division of body cells and meiosis is the division of sex cells. Mitosis only splits into two cells while meiosis becomes four.”

“Yep. That’s the nerd alright,” Remus said, nodding, and Virgil slammed his head into the table.

“What. In the name. Of great Aristotle. Could cause you to think. I was someone else,” Virgil said into the table, and he felt Janus patting his back for comfort.

“Well, you’re not wearing your jacket or glasses,” Logan butted in, sounding guilty for the reasons of which Virgil did not know.

“Oh, so I’m suddenly Superman,” Virgil said, moving so his chin was laying on the table as he stared into the abyss. “One second I’m a nerd, and boom, before you know it, I’m someone suddenly everybody thinks is worth their time. Wow. So amazing.”

Virgil was endlessly bitter. Mostly for the fact that he didn’t get the memo sooner.

“Pretty good Superman,” Logan said, and Roman started.

“Yeah! Ending sexism left and right!”

“I guess...” he mumbled before he sat up straight and looked at Roman in question. “How did you know about that?”

“You didn’t see the video?” Janus asked in his normal dead inside voice. Virgil shook his head.

“Video?”

“Yeah!” Remus said this time, laughing. Virgil turned to him, feeling more and more like he was in a cliche movie. “A kid recorded you absolutely destroying that guy and posted it on every social media! Kids are calling you ‘Silvertongue’ because nobody recognizes you!”

Virgil felt his eye twitch. He stared at Remus, and everybody looked back with concern before he slammed his head again a lot harder than before.

“When will my jacket be done?” He near growled into the table. Was his face bruising? Probably. Did he have a nosebleed? Yeah. Did he care? Absolutely not.

“I can probably finish it today, and you can come over and we can have movie night since it’s Friday,” Patton said, and wow was that fear in his voice? Damn.

“Please. I just want something normal to come out today,” he mumbled. He sat up and stared at the others with a glare even as he felt blood starting to run out of his nose. “If I don’t see one of you four there too, I will either commit suicide or homocide.”

“Shit Virgil you’re bleeding,” Logan said, and that sounded like the overprotective punk he knew and loved. Virgil looked him dead in the eye.

“I am perfectly aware, and yet I cannot bring myself to care.”

Logan swapped seats with Janus so he could clean the blood off of Virgil gently.

“Where are your glasses anyway?” Remus asked as Logan finished up, Virgil leaning on the punk as he glared at the table.

“I don’t know. When I went to bed last night, I put them where I always do, but when I woke up I couldn’t find them anywhere in my house, so I had to resort to my contacts,” he explained, sitting up and checking he didn’t get blood on his book.

For the next twenty minutes of lunch, everything was normal. Roman and Remus fought, Janus was mostly silent, slipping in a suicidal joke here and there, Patton complaining about math class, Logan watching in complete silence, and Virgil reading. And if Virgil slipped his hand into Logan’s at one point, who could tell besides him and Logan?

Maybe that was the problem.

Virgil felt a tapping on his shoulder, and looked up to see a female standing before him.

“Yes?” He said, which at least got the attention of Logan and Janus as they looked over. The girl fidgeted before sticking her hand out towards Virgil, which he took with a questioning look.

“My name is Cherry.”

“It’s very nice to meet you Cherry,” he said with a smile, and was about to tell his name before Cherry continued.

“I was just wondering if uh...” she trailed off, glancing around. Virgil became confused, barely noticing the way Logan’s hand tightened around his or the chatter at his table stopped. “If I could have your number...?”

“Sure,” Virgil said, giving her a paper with a number on it and watching her walk away as he let the happy facade melt into irritated exhaustion.

“That number wasn’t yours,” Janus said, and everybody else looked at him as Virgil shook his head.

“All day. Females asking for my number and males giving me theirs. I’ve just started giving the numbers I receive.”

“Seriously?” Roman laughed, and he only laughed harder when Virgil nodded. “Oh those girls are in for a surprise!”

“Imagine how the males will feel,” Virgil snorted before looking back at his book. “That someone actually texted them. Can’t wait to see how long it takes them to find out they’re not talking to ‘Silvertongue’.”

“You are so cruel,” Janus said with a smile, and Virgil shrugged.

“Don’t suddenly give attention to someone who doesn’t want it, I guess.”

[anxious-logic]

Expectations

@tsshipmonth2020

Day 21: Pick your favorites (1 or more) and combine them! 

Ship: LAMP (Roman/Patton/Logan/Virgil)

Roman’s first words to all of them, Logan’s first touch on all of them, all of their eyes match Patton’s hair, compass pointing to Virgil. 

Warnings: Virgil panics a little, I think that’s it.

Word count: 1563

Summary: Roman, Patton, Virgil, and Logan have an... interesting first class of tenth grade.

Roman traced the handprint clutched around his right forearm. He’d had it since he was fifteen; marks could appear anytime after the age of twelve. One day he’d woken up to a handprint on his right forearm, a compass in his left palm, and yellow eyes with flecks of light blue. Apparently, he had three soulmates; of course, it was a possibility that he had another indicator that he wasn’t aware of, but it was unlikely. There weren’t many soulbonds with more than three or four people, so his current estimate of three soulmates seemed accurate.

He quickly threw on a jacket, grabbing his backpack from where it was sitting by the foot of his bed.

He had a good feeling about today.

***

Virgil tugged his hoodie sleeves down over his arms, hiding his soulmarks. He had two marks on his arms: a blob of black on his left upper arm – probably someone bumping into him or brushing past him (just his luck to have one of the easiest-to-miss soulmarks) – and a phrase with the words “well good morning, hot topic” on the inside of his right upper arm. Not great placement, but at least it was relatively easy to hide.

As he looked in the mirror to apply his makeup, he wrinkled his nose at his eyes. They had a base of yellow, but the flecks in them had changed over the years – light blue, pastel pink, even a red at one point. It clashed with his aesthetic, but he supposed that for a soulmark, it wasn’t too bad. Much better than losing a whole color or sense.

He took a deep breath as he glanced in the mirror, fixing his hair one last time. He could make it through the day. Maybe it’d even be a good one.

***

Patton stuck his tongue out a tiny bit as he applied the last bit of eyeliner. He didn’t usually wear this much makeup, but sometimes he just wanted to feel pretty. He tried to match his makeup to his hair if he’d just re-dyed it (which he had), so he had on a more natural look to match the brown streaks in his hair.

He was starting at a new school today, so he was just hoping he’d do well. He brushed his fingers over his soulmarks – a compass in his left palm, a black handprint on his left shoulder, and the phrase “you must be Patton. I’m Roman.” On his right side. He was one of the lucky ones, who had his soulmate’s name written on him. He knew the other two people were still a little iffy, but at least he knew one name, right?

Normally, he’d be nervous to be starting at a new school. But for some reason, today… today he wasn’t. And he was thinking that was a good thing.

***

Logan frowned as he glanced at himself in the mirror. It appeared that one of his soulmates had dyed their hair – his eyes were now scattered with brown flecks, instead of a faded green.

He gently brushed his hands over his other two soulmarks – a compass in the palm of his left hand, and a phrase on his right ankle. “Hey, nerd. Any thoughts for this?” It was a relatively benign soulphrase – no swearing or names, nothing that would particularly single Logan out. At the same time, though, it was unique enough that it was unlikely that anyone except his soulmate would say the words directly to him.

Today felt… different, for some reason. A good different. He was interested in seeing how it would turn out.

***

“You’ll be in small groups to get to know each other,” the teacher said. “I’ve predetermined your groups already. You get to think up an activity to know each other – maybe it’s a memory game, maybe it’s just talking to each other, maybe it’s Never Have I Ever. I don’t really care – I just want you to talk to each other and maybe make new friends.” The room groaned, and the teacher rolled her eyes teasingly. “I know, I know, friends, yuck, you’re tenth graders, you already have your cliques.” There was a pause, then the teacher grinned wickedly. “But I don’t care, you’re going to deal with it. Groups and where you should meet in the classroom are on the next slide, ready?” There was a general mumble of agreement from the classroom. “Great. Three, two, one, go.”

Roman looked at the slide to see that three other people would be meeting with him in the corner of the classroom by the bookshelf. He didn’t know any of the other people in his group; as he saw three other people coming to his corner of the room, he vaguely recognized two of them. One, who was wearing incredibly perfect eye makeup, was someone he wasn’t familiar with at all.

“Hi,” the first one muttered as they arrived in the corner. They were wearing all-black, with emo eyeshadow and bangs covering their eyes.

“Well good morning, hot topic,” Roman said jokingly. The other person jerked their head up, their eyes meeting his. They looked… shocked at something.

“Hello,” a new voice interrupted, brushing past the emo. The person in black froze, their hand coming up to their upper arm.

“Hey, nerd. Any ideas for this?”

The nerd’s hand shot out to Roman’s forearm – right over Roman’s soulmark. As their eyes met, Roman realized that they looked exactly the same as his – yellow, with brown flecks throughout.

“Hey, everyone, what’s going on?” another voice introduced. Roman and the other two turned toward the last voice, the nerd withdrawing their hand. It was the person wearing makeup. Their hair was a bright blonde, almost yellow, with brown streaks-

Wait.

Roman glanced down at his palm. Yes, the needle of the compass was pointing straight at the emo.

“I think we need to have some introductions,” he said. His voice only shook a little bit.

“My name’s Virgil,” the emo introduced. “He/him pronouns.”

The nerd nodded. “Logan. He/him.”

Roman jumped in, facing the last person. “You must be Patton. I’m Roman.”

The other’s eyes widened. “Oh, my goodness. Yes, my name’s Patton, he/him pronouns. Um-” He glanced down to his palm, letting out a little gasp as he looked up to Virgil, who was looking very pale.

Logan turned to him. “Are you… feeling adequate?” he asked. The question only seemed to make Virgil feel worse, as he started to breathe very quickly. Patton started forward, but Logan put a hand to his shoulder to stop him. “Give him a bit,” he said. “Virgil, can I touch you?” The hoodie-clad boy nodded frantically. “Okay,” Logan said, gently taking his hand and placing it to his own chest. “Can you breathe with me?”

There was a pause of a few minutes as Logan brought Virgil back down.

“Thank you,” he muttered quietly.

“Of course,” Logan said, gently sitting back in his own chair and disconnecting him and Virgil. “It seemed appropriate, considering we are soulmates.”

Patton sucked in a breath. “All of us?”

Logan smiled slightly. “Well, all of our eyes match your hair. Roman’s first words to me are tattooed on my arm, and I have a compass on my palm pointing straight at Virgil.”

Virgil nodded, slouching into his chair. “Yeah. What Roman said to me is on me too. And where Logan touched me first is there too.”

Roman sat forward, trying not to be too intense. “Yes. I also have Logan’s first touch, we already established that my eyes match Patton’s hair, and I too have the compass pointing to Virgil.”

Patton’s cheeks turned red. “Oh, gee, so all of the colors I’ve dyed my hair changed your eyes? I’m sorry, I didn’t know about that-”

“Don’t apologize,” Virgil cut him off. “We’ve gotten used to it, and we’re not going to tell you to stop doing something that you obviously like to do.”

“Your makeup is incredible, by the way,” Roman interjected. “Speaking of things that you like to do.”

Patton giggled, his hands coming up to fan his face. “You are just too sweet, thank you so much. I just like to look pretty sometimes.”

Logan gave a small smile. “I understand the sentiment.”

Roman turned to Logan, surprised. “Really?”

Virgil raised an eyebrow. “What, you think that just because he looks like a stereotypical nerd he can’t like makeup and looking pretty sometimes?”

Roman shook his head quickly. “No, I just- I- well.” He paused, pursing his lips. “I suppose my first impressions were based off of an incorrect stereotype. I… apologize.”

Logan shook his head, a small half-smile on his face. “No harm done,” he said.

They were interrupted by the teacher calling time.

“I want one person from each group to say one thing they learned about each of their groupmates,” she said. “Let’s start with the group with Patton, Roman, Logan, and Virgil?”

Roman grinned happily. “We’re soulmates,” he said. The class went silent.

“Congratulations,” the teacher said, her voice surprised. “Um… Any other groups want to volunteer?”

Nobody said anything.

“You know, that wasn’t really a suggestion,” the teacher said. “How about Maisie, from the group by the window?”

Roman tuned out what everyone else was saying, staring at his soulmates.

He knew that today would be a good day.