#just in case my brain decides caffeine does work that day

[angelsonthesideline]

Two of my favourite things ☺️

[colourfulbisexualities]

SUITS AND SASS ; aaron hotchner x female medical examiner

you’re the bau’s new medical examiner, oozing dark humour, sass, and a killer sense of style, ready to shake up the team. but when you butt heads with aaron hotchner on day one, sparks fly while the rest of the team bets on how long it’ll take for you to win him over.

YOU STRUT into the BAU like you own the damn place, and honestly? You should. The overhead fluorescents do their best to wash out your glow, but even the most soul-sucking government lighting can’t dim this.

The emerald green suit hugs you in all the right places, a sharp contrast against the deep red silk blouse that’s unbuttoned just enough to toe the line between ‘professional’ and ‘distracting.’ Your heels which are Louboutin, naturally - click against the floor with every confident step, the sound sharp, decisive, commanding attention even from the most sleep-deprived agents around you. And your jewellery? Impeccable.

Large emerald studs in your ears, a matching ring resting on your manicured fingers. Each piece a carefully curated display of wealth, taste, and an undeniable presence. You don’t just walk into a room; you arrive, and anyone with half a brain can feel it.

Today is your first day as the BAU’s new medical examiner, and if you’re being honest? You’re already unimpressed. Not with the job itself because you live for the thrill of carving open a fresh corpse before most people have had their morning coffee, but the aesthetic of this place is tragic.

Beige walls, government-issue desks, the faint, ever-present smell of burnt coffee and bad decisions hanging in the air. It’s the kind of environment that breeds stress wrinkles and caffeine addictions, and you’ve already decided that you will not be another victim.

No, you’re here for something new. Something interesting. The only reason you transferred was because your last job had become boring, and you refuse to let your skills stagnate among mundane cases and lackluster conversation.

The BAU, at least, promises a bit of excitement—new cases, new killers, new mysteries to unravel. And, if nothing else, the chance to shake up an office full of straight-laced federal agents with your dark humour and sharp tongue.

The bullpen is exactly what you expected. Agents in various states of exhaustion, stacks of paperwork threatening to topple, and the subtle hum of tense conversation punctuated by the occasional ringing phone. It’s an atmosphere of constant movement, of minds working overtime, and while you appreciate the energy, you can’t help but sigh dramatically as you glance around.

“This place is hideous,” you mutter to yourself, brushing a speck of imaginary dust off your sleeve. “Jesus, does the FBI have something against interior design?”

And then you see her ... Penelope Garcia, dressed in an explosion of colour, exuding the kind of confidence that comes from knowing exactly who she is and not giving a damn what anyone thinks about it. Finally, someone with taste.

The second her eyes land on you, she lets out a dramatic gasp, one hand clutching at her necklace like she’s just seen the Virgin Mary herself descend into the bullpen. “Oh my God,” she breathes. “Who are you?”

You smirk, tilting your head just slightly. “The new medical examiner. And, from the looks of things, the only other person in this building with a sense of style.”

Her eyes sparkle like she’s just found a long-lost soulmate. “Oh, honey, we are going to be best friends.”

“Obviously,” you reply smoothly. “Someone needs to help me cope with the tragedy that is this office décor. Do you think the Bureau would let me expense a new couch? Maybe some curtains? Anything to make this place feel less like a funeral home for the aesthetically challenged.”

“Oh, sweetie, they barely let me expense my glitter pens. You’re asking for a miracle.”

Before you can reply, a voice cuts through the air. Sharp, authoritative, and entirely unimpressed. “You’re late.”

You turn slowly, already knowing that this is going to be fun.

Aaron Hotchner stands before you, arms crossed, his expression unreadable but his eyes intense, scanning you like he’s already profiling your entire existence. And damn if he isn’t gorgeous. You hadn’t expected that. The way his suit fits just right, the sharp angles of his face, the sheer command he exudes—it’s almost enough to distract you from the fact that he’s clearly about to be a pain in your ass.

Almost.

You blink at him, deliberately slow, before glancing at the large digital clock on the wall. “It’s 8:59.”

His jaw tightens just slightly. “We start at eight.”

You sigh, placing a perfectly manicured hand over your heart as if this news has wounded you. “Oh, tragic. If only someone had told me that I was expected to conform to the outdated concept of ‘morning people.’” You let out a dramatic sigh. “Next thing you’ll tell me is that I’m expected to function without proper espresso. What kind of barbarism is this?”

There’s a pause, the kind that suggests Hotch is not used to being spoken to like this. Behind him, you catch the subtle exchange of money. Morgan handing Reid a few bills, Emily shaking her head with an amused smirk. Oh, they were betting on this. Good. At least someone in this building understands entertainment.

Hotch, to his credit, doesn’t rise to the bait. Instead, he exhales, slow and controlled, the only sign that you’re even remotely testing his patience. “Garcia, show her around the building.”

“Oh, I absolutely will,” she says, looping her arm through yours like this is the best thing to happen to her all day.

As you walk away, you can feel his eyes on you—calculating, assessing, already irritated. You turn your head just slightly, meeting his gaze with a slow smirk.

“He’ll recover,” you murmur to Garcia, low enough that only she hears.

She giggles, glancing back at him before whispering, “Oh, I hope not.”

Hotch watches you go, pressing his lips together as he forces himself to look away. You’re impossible. He already knows you’re going to be a problem, and the worst part? He can’t decide if that frustrates him… or intrigues him.

[suzukiblu]

Day thirteen of fic NaNoWriMo; obligatory sugar daddy Tim/sugar baby Kon AU.

Tim gets to the Gotham mall Tim Drake is meeting Superboy at fifteen minutes early because on-time is late, and is entirely unsurprised to have to wait twenty minutes for Kon to show up. Actually, if anything he’s surprised to only have to wait twenty minutes for Kon to show up. 

“Sorry I’m late. You will not believe this, but there was literally a cat stuck in a tree,” Kon says with a sheepish, guilty grin as he lands right next to him in full costume like that’s a perfectly normal thing to do, especially in Gotham. Tim is very glad he decided to wait in one of the security cameras’ more out-of-the-way blind spots. 

“I’m surprised the cat let you save it,” he says, raising an eyebrow at him. It is Gotham, after all. 

“He did not,” Kon says, making a face. “He tried to claw my eyes out and then jumped off my head and down into his owner’s arms, who proceeded to ask me why I thought I was too good to wear body armor.” 

“Well, why do you?” Tim asks, feeling a bit of quiet pride on behalf of his city. Gothamites have priorities. 

“Because anything that could hit me hard enough that I’d need body armor for it would trash the body armor anyway,” Kon replies matter-of-factly, gesturing illustratively at himself. “TTK only works on skintight clothes. Like, I did not go for Spandex as a fashion choice, it’s because anything else would shred right off me in an actual fight.” 

Tim feels his own eyes glaze over. 

“Uh-huh,” he manages vaguely. 

“Also I don’t know where I’d get body armor stronger than I already am anyway,” Kon says. “Cadmus doesn’t have any and that’s pretty much my whole supply chain, you know?” 

“Uh-huh,” Tim manages again, still attempting to reboot his brain. “Shred right off, huh?” 

“Yeah,” Kon says with a shrug. “It’s not exactly dignified, fighting crime naked.” 

“. . . uh-huh.” 

Tim blinks a few times. Blinks again. Then he shakes his head and forces the mental reboot. 

“First things first, are you hungry?” he asks. “There’s a pretzel place and a smoothie shop right over there, or we could just hit the food court.” 

“I could eat,” Kon says with another shrug. “I mean, who doesn’t appreciate a good smoothie?” 

“Well, don’t get your hopes up, Gotham smoothies are fine but unfortunately use a lot more frozen fruit than Metropolis ones,” Tim says, which is the one and only thing he will ever hear said against Gotham. 

“Isn’t frozen better anyway?” Kon asks, wrinkling his nose. “Fresh fruit makes it kinda watery sometimes. Frozen it comes out thicker and stuff.” 

Okay, well, Tim is apparently talking to someone who knows a lot more about smoothie-making than he does. Note to self. Also, what an incredibly weird thing for Kon to know. Like, even weirder than the caffeine. 

“Does it?” he says. “I just always hear fresh is better than frozen.” 

“From pretentious snobs who can grocery shop every day, I bet,” Kon snorts, rolling his eyes. Which . . . is a fair and accurate assessment, admittedly. “And it’s a smoothie, not a juice bar. They’re supposed to be frozen, yeah?” 

“Okay, well, in that case, guess we’re getting better-quality smoothies than I’d assumed,” Tim says. 

“Spoiling me, huh, pretty boy?” Kon says with a smirk. Tim experiences every possible flavor of mortification under the sun and smirks back. 

“If I wanted to spoil you, we’d be getting smoothies in California right now,” he says. 

“I mean, we could,” Kon says with a snicker, tucking his hands into his jacket pockets. 

“I appreciate the offer but that seems like a lot of travel time just for smoothies,” Tim says wryly. “Did you bring a change of clothes?” 

“No, why?” Kon says, looking puzzled. 

“. . . so we can hang out without anyone bothering you,” Tim says, wondering how that could've possibly not occurred to Kon. “Or interrupting the conversation every five minutes.” 

Kon looks–odd, briefly. Tim isn't sure why. 

“Hate to break it to you but I'm not exactly a scintillating conversationalist,” Kon says with a quick, forced smile. “You might want the interruptions.”

Tim thinks there might be a few more people to add to his supervillain vengeance hit list. Like, just possibly. Maybe. 

“What's your size?” he asks.

“Beats me,” Kon says, looking a little odd again. “I don't wear civilian clothes like . . . ever, really. Like, swimsuits at the beach, sure, but that's about it.” 

“What, never?” Tim asks, a little incredulous. Fucking–what is wrong with literally everyone Kon has ever known, for fuck's sake? 

“I mean, I have,” Kon says with an awkward little shrug, keeping his hands in his pockets. “Just not all that often, so I dunno what my size or whatever is.” 

“Okay,” Tim says, internally seething. Fucking Cadmus. Fucking Superman. Nobody ever even taught Kon how to fucking dress himself? How is that even a thing, for fuck's sake?! How is he supposed to ever get even five fucking minutes of being a normal person if he doesn't even own a goddamn pair of jeans?! 

Maybe Tim could do the supervillain thing a little bit earlier than planned. Like. Possibly. As long as he keeps the majority of his villain-ing outside of Gotham, anyway. That'd work, right? 

“Give me five minutes,” he says. “I'll be right back, just try to . . . uh, be . . . subtle, I guess.” 

Kon looks at him. Looks down at his bright costume and striking leather jacket. 

Tim despairs of his own capacity to do, like . . . anything. Ever. 

“Just wait right here, okay?” he says. 

“Okay?” Kon says skeptically. Tim takes the better part of valor and flees the scene. Four minutes and fifty-nine seconds later, he's back with a bag full of clothes that he eyeballed the sizes of that Kon hopefully won't hate, and that he also-hopefully eyeballed correctly enough. He's been learning how to do that more accurately, because you never know when you'll need to immediately get someone in new clothes in this line of work, but it's still a learning process. 

Kon takes out the dark wash skinny jeans and bulky forest green turtleneck sweater that should cover his suit effectively enough, as long as he takes off his gloves and jacket and maybe a belt or two, and the outfit's maybe a little heavy for the weather, especially layered with his suit, but it is Gotham and their chances of getting randomly rained on are higher than zero, put it that way. 

“You can get changed over there,” Tim says, pointing towards the nearest men's room. 

“What is this?” Kon asks, puzzledly rubbing the sleeve of the sweater between his fingers. 

“Cashmere,” Tim says, because obviously he sprung for cashmere. Kon wrinkles his nose, still looking puzzled. 

“It’s really . . . soft,” he says, almost hesitant. 

Tim doesn’t say “to be honest, I’ve always kind of assumed you’d appreciate nice textures more than most people, given the ‘tactle’ part of your telekinesis” and just shrugs. 

“I’ll get you something else if you don’t like it,” he says, and Kon bites his lip. “Or if it doesn’t fit.” 

“I mean–it’s just gonna get wrecked anyway. Like, I have a very developed history of wrecking things. Especially clothes,” he mutters, not looking up from the sweater. Which is, Tim cannot help but notice, not an “I don’t like it”. Actually, it’s just about the opposite of that, he can’t help but suspect. 

“Then I’ll get you another one,” he says with a shrug. “It’s just a sweater. I’ll buy you as many as you want.” 

“That’s very weird of you, man,” Kon says, rubbing the cashmere between his fingers again. “Like, you’re aware that buying superheroes sweaters is not a normal pastime, right?” 

“I wasn’t really concerned with being not weird,” Tim replies reasonably. 

“Uh,” Kon says, glancing at his face for a moment and then . . . pausing, briefly, before zipping off without actually saying whatever he was about to say. 

Well, alright then. 

Tim has several very weird reactions to the idea of Kon putting on clothes he picked out for him and immediately beats them all down because it is really not the time. Not even slightly is it the time. 

But Kon is also currently putting on clothes he picked out for him. 

Tim has possibly made a mistake or two here. 

Or definitely. Definitely Tim has made a mistake here, now that he’s considering how soft and pettable that cashmere actually was and the fact that Kon is about to be wearing it and therefore also going to be very soft and pettable and–

Tim has made so many mistakes here.

[dcficrecs]

brilliant (like a confession)

By kathkin on AO3

After knowing Clark Kent for eight years, Lois finally realizes she is in love with him. She obviously can't go to Clark about this situation, so she goes to the only other decent man she knows to seek advice from: Superman. Clark decides he cannot play this charade in front of her for any longer.

I love this fic for so many reasons. Clark Kent and Lois Lane are my favorite couple of all time and I think the description of Lois' feelings in this fic are so spot on. Lois knows Clark was in love with her when they first met, but assumes that he had simply gotten over it after so much time. She's wrong. I'm gonna include two of my favorite moments from it. The first is when she first realizes she's in love with him:

It’s hard to stay cynical in the face of Clark Kent and his relentless optimism. Looking at him there, still in his button up shirt from his business trip, sleeves rolled up, still focused even though it’s pushing midnight, she feels a warm, steady wave of fondness in her chest.

She wishes they could do this every night. Not the pulling a furious all-nighter right after someone tried to murder her – that part she could take or leave. But it would be nice to spend every evening with Clark. She’d always told herself she liked her space, but being with Clark was like having space and having company rolled into one.

It would be nice to have dinner with him every night. To just – come home with him every night, and eat dinner, and wash the dishes and watch TV together. It would be nice to have him in her life, all the time.

Then her highly caffeinated, sleep-deprived brain catches up with the implications of that thought process, and she thinks, shit.

Oh, not now. She can’t deal with this right now. She’s had enough drama for one day. She’s in the middle of a story and she doesn’t have the time or the space or the emotional energy or the – anything to deal with –

My second favorite moment is when Clark tells Lois he's Superman, and you can see Lois' thought process and emotions shift when she starts looking at things from his perspective:

She’s thought before, that Superman must be lonely. He’s gotta be, right? It’s lonely at the top. That’s what they say. He’s the only one of his kind on earth. The only one in the whole universe, maybe.

It’s one thing to think about that loneliness in an abstract way – to picture him alone in his ice palace, doing whatever it is he does when he’s not being a hero. It’s another thing to be confronted with the raw and immediate reality of that loneliness.

To spend eight years – longer, maybe – not letting your guard down, not even letting anyone hear your real voice. To be afraid to even touch anyone, in case you broke them. How did a person live like that.

The thing was – there were a lot of different directions you could look at this conversation from. She’s been turning and turning it over in her head for coming up on twenty-four hours and she’s still not sure she’s seen them all.

There’s Clark Kent is Superman but also Superman is Clark Kent, which in spite of sounding the same on paper were entirely different experiences, emotionally speaking. There was Clark Kent is an alien; there was Superman lives in a shitty apartment in south Metropolis and works as a reporter, which was a real blow-your-mind realisation. Superman once watched me throw up – god, what a mortifying thought.

Clark Kent had dropped everything and flown from LA to Metropolis to keep her safe. He’d flown three thousand miles to catch her in his arms.

Superman had come to her apartment with dinner to make sure she was okay. Superman had sat up with her for hours, while she was stressed out over her work and more rattled by the near death experience than she’d been willing to let on.

Now that she thought about it, this wasn’t the first time some version of this particular series of events had played out. She remembers a night – early on, maybe a year or two in – after that first incident with Brainiac. He’d sat with her till the sun came up, till her hands had stopped shaking – he’d politely pretended not to notice, that her hands were shaking. They’d watched a movie. She doesn’t remember which movie.

He's always been there.

Something about Lois realizing that Clark has always been there for her when it counts tickles my brain. I also love how the whole idea of being Superman makes him kind of lonely. In this fic, he has two different voices for Clark and Superman, yet none of them are his natural voice. Superman's voice is strong and commanding while Clark's is quite and unassuming. Lois notices this and realizes that Clark/Superman has literally been acting brave half the time and acting weak the other half of the time when he truly feels like he is somewhere in between. Also the short story of Lois being so traumatized by some early event with Brainiac that she spends an entire night physically shaking, and Clark is there for her, treating her like a normal person and only wants for her to feel better is so incredible and so telling of who he is as a person, and how much he cares for her.

Anyway, read this if you haven't yet. It's brilliant.

[ask-philgraves]

Cassie here!

Y'all probably have seen that I haven't been around a whole bunch, answering asks only occasionally and roleplaying as well.

Well, that is because my autoimmune disease flared up again, and while I'm looking for jobs, I'm prioritizing that over this blog for the moment.

Because of this, I'm having Rhi and Spooks sort of let me know what times would be good for people so we can still have that talk and plan out the organization. Don't worry that will still definitely happen. It will be taking place over Microsoft Teams I do believe.

So, because my autoimmune disease is flaring up, and I am disabled, I do wanna talk about my particular flavor of Autoimmune because everyone has something different. If you get squeamish, or pity me, then don't read further. I promise I'm fine, I know how to manage my disease, and at 21 there's not a whole lot I can do regarding medicine and treatment unless I truly want to fuck myself over in the long run.

So, my specific type of Auto-Immune disease is called Undifferentiated Connective Tissue Disease, or UCTD for short. It's a very long and medical sounding thing, but it basically means that what I have doesn't fit any KNOWN inflammatory arthritis, but they have deemed it an inflammatory arthritis. There's too little data (not in my case) for a conclusive result, OR like in my case, there's enough data but my puzzle piece keeps changing and having different symptoms that make it incredibly hard to give me one diagnosis that I fit all the criteria for.

However, my Rheumatologist that just retired, God Bless her, has seen my exact condition only one other time. I am positive for the ANA marker in my blood, which if you don't know, is one marker that they use to see if you have Lupus or a likelihood of developing lupus. In my case, I don't have lupus. Well, kind of.

Lupus is known to attack organs, so things like kidneys, and liver are most commonly known to be affected by it. (Kidneys moreso, but I mention Liver because my family has a history of going into Liver failure after they develop Lupus.) My arthritis however, attacks the connective tissues and eats at them, causing my bones to get creaky and crackle.

So my arthritis, in her own words, is Lupus Lite. It's not attacking my organs, but destroying my muscle mass, ligaments, cartilage, joints and last but not least, my actual bones.

So, it's pretty severe, but thankfully, it's only attacking my connective tissue at the moment. And it's pretty slow moving too. It's mainly in my joints, slowly eating away at the connective tissue there.

Because of the non-severity at the moment, my age, and the fact that I reacted HORRIBLY to one of the immunosuppressants they commonly use for cases like mine, my doctor and I have both decided that unless it starts getting horribly worse, or transforming into full blown lupus (which she has seen before), that we're just going to medicate the symptoms rather than the disease itself.

So, what exactly does that mean? Well, it means drinking caffeine when I'm super fatigued and exhausted, along with protein shakes. It means taking Celebrex when my joints start to become swollen and inflamed so I can move them without them feeling like they're in glue. It means when I have memory issues, we're going to take a day off work so I don't bother with the flow of things. (What if I accidentally give a customer the wrong order? Or I forget entirely what I was doing and try to go home in the confusion? Things like this make it to where I need to stay home occasionally.)

Now, that's not the only part of my condition that's affecting me as well. Because my brain is so hardwired to processing high amounts of pain, it gets a little weird. Hence, my second condition, very well known to many. Fibromyalgia. My specific kind, is when my brain is so used to processing pain and receiving pain, that it actually hurts itself when there isn't any pain. It processes pain as still there, or lingering, or maybe perhaps even stronger than what it technically is.

This can make it hard if I cut myself or burn myself while cooking. I can't tell off of pain when I should go to the doctor, because a small papercut can feel like my entire hand is on fire. Does it usually, no. But it definitely can. So instead, I have to learn how wounds look and because I'm in the USA, treat them myself most of the time.

Fibro also causes brain fog, and lingering pain. Imagine getting punched in the arm, and you felt it for the next 6 hours. That's the kind of thing that happens! A small poke in your back might briefly hurt you, but to me, it could cause my muscles to tense up and feel pain for the next 2 hours.

Well, if you have so much wrong with you, wouldn't it be easier to file for disability?

You would think so. In any other (first-world) country, I could probably file for disability and never have to work again. However in the USA, filing for disability is practically pulling teeth and locking yourself into poverty for the rest of your life. At no time can you have financial assets above 2000 dollars, so you are constantly on the verge of being homeless.

If you get above 2k, even 2001, you are instantly cut off from payments that the government hands out. Which can vary from 800$ a month to 1k. If they deem your disability bad enough.

On top of that, in certain cases, the government won't allow you to get married or you lose your disability benefits. Which is what many people rely on to survive.

So... Essentially you are forced to work until you are too sick to work?

Yes.

This is going to get slightly political, but this is why people are wanting to upheaval the government. It doesn't work, even for it's most compromised civilians. I shouldn't have to pay out of pocket for my care that checks if I'm going to get Lupus or not. My family shouldn't have been denied disability when dying of stage four pancreatic cancer. My grandma should be able to marry my grandpa, and I should be able to marry my boyfriend. Without them losing their benefits.

I shouldn't have to work if I very clearly am struggling to perform basic tasks.

However, there's a limelight at the end of the tunnel.

Since my conditions aren't bad enough yet... I can still make a career for myself. So, big life update, I'm going to be going to University either this fall or the upcoming winter semester. I'm gonna become a Veterinarian, Specifically Oncology (So pet cancer.) I'm gonna do my best, and save up as much as I can so I can help myself and my family out. It's aggravating, to say the least. But, I've been through worse, so I try to stay positive. That helps my pain a lot too.

That's all for now, I should be posting in a few days as my flareup stops being a lil bitch. You're welcome to send asks, or messages. I promise I'll get to all of them soon. Bye for now!!

[ruvviks]

pick one emoji u really want to answer from each section, for vitali and/or matvey teehee <3 👀

oc asks!

🤥 LYING - are they good liars? do they have tells to show they're lying?

matvey is a very strategic liar which makes it very difficult to tell when he's lying. he's good at giving structured answers to questions in general and his lies follow the exact same structure as his truths, and he usually delivers it in the same monotone voice as he always does. the only way you would be able to tell he's lying is if you know him well enough to know all of his other mannerisms; body language, how he usually moves his hands, etc. when he's lying, he will be a LOT more static than when he's not, because he's a lot more focused on what he's saying than usual

vitali is very similar to his father in that case but rather than outright lying, he prefers to talk around the truth. where matvey starts a chain of lies to dig himself deeper and deeper into his own grave, vitali likes to keep his options open and talks around the truth as best as he can as to not make things worse for himself- or others, for that matter. if he does have to lie, it's hard to tell on a surface level, but also he will give very short and straightforward answers without a lot of elaborating unless asked; he usually doesn't have much to elaborate with which is why he tries to avoid it if possible, whereas when he's not lying he likes to explain himself to people so they understand his perspective better

☕️ HOT BEVERAGE - do they prefer hot or cold drinks? what is their favourite drink?

matvey prefers cold drinks! he likes alcohol a lot unfortunately :/ became reliant on it for a while when he still worked at arasaka and then even more after he got fired, but nowadays only drinks it on special occasions- but still likes it more than most other drinks. he prefers to drink water rather than any sort of flavored drink or soda

vitali doesn't necessarily prefer hot drinks in general but he does like to drink coffee. generally sticks to decaf because it's better for him but especially on long days he needs the caffeine to get through it without passing out or losing his marbles. being a fixer can be very stressful sometimes

🌌 MILKY WAY - what was the inspiration behind your oc? what was the first thing you decided about them?

matvey is vitali's father and that's basically the whole starting point for him :^) i initially wanted to just create a guy who is so so sucks and who would make a good antagonist in a possible story for vitali and i was like. why not let it be his own father. but then i got attached to him and also started projecting a lot more from my own family on vitali's family so he's a bit less sucks now

vitali was supposed to be my corpo v! i initially wanted to make a v for every separate lifepath but that eventually got boring to me. also because i just couldn't create a nomad v :( my brain didn't want to stick with a design </3 so then vitali became a fixer instead! i did keep the frankfurt incident as part of his backstory but it's merged with the events of my own canon at this point so it's a lot more complicated than it all is in game but that's where all of the fun is at >:^)

🏊 SWIMMING - can they swim? or are they afraid of water? how well do they swim? how do they feel about swimming in the ocean?

matvey can swim but he really does not want to do that. it's been years since he's last had to swim and there's a big chance he would just drown anyway because of the time that has passed and also because he's an old man. he is terrified of the ocean and would rather die than swim in there

vitali can swim too but also hasn't done it in a while and he too would like to just not do it if he still has a choice. the ocean does freak him out a little and he's also been having recurring nightmares about drowning, so he wouldn't necessarily like swimming in the ocean but also if he has to he will do it. but preferably not

📣 MEGAPHONE - how loud are they? what do they speak like? got a voice claim?

matvey has a very controlled and low voice naturally, but because of his corpo history he knows that he sometimes talks too quiet for people to hear him so he has a more "performative" voice i guess?? that's at a bit louder volume. he doesn't yell a lot at all and doesn't like having to do so. he doesn't have a very heavy accent but it's also not subtle, it's woven into his speech nicely where you can clearly hear he's not american but you would need to pay close attention to fully pick up on What kind of accent it is if that makes sense. back at arasaka he mostly spoke with a fake american accent

vitali has a pretty similar voice but a lot more rough and there's a sharper edge to it. he doesn't speak as quiet as his father and tends to lean a bit more to the louder side, but that's mostly due to the fact 1) he's hard of hearing and 2) he tends to find himself in environments that require him to talk a little louder for people to hear him. his accent is heavier than his father's and despite him also having used a fake american accent at arasaka, he's had to do it for way less time so it didn't get baked into his regular speech at all. he struggles pronouncing some words and because of that tends to talk a bit slow to enunciate properly so people understand what he's trying to say; when he's more comfortable around the people he's with he will do that less, causing some words to get strung together a lot more but if you've known him for a while you get used to it :^)

🚲 BICYCLE - can they ride a bike? what do they remember from learning to ride a bicycle?

matvey can NOT ride a bicycle for his life. he would eat shit and die. and i think that's funny and that's all i have to say on it

vitali can in fact ride a bike because mikhail taught him to do that when they were young :^) he mostly remembers riding directly into a parked car and breaking one of its taillights that way LMAO

🌪️ TORNADO - what is the biggest change you've ever made to them? how have they changed from their original version?

matvey was supposed to die at first. the original idea for the broker arc was that vitali would end up having to kill his own father but i eventually decided that it's entirely against vitali's character to have him do that so then i decided that matvey gets to live :^) and THEN i decided that he's going to have a divorce with nadya and then he's having a slow burn enemies to lovers fake dating situation going on with viktor. the demons he was fighting were bisexuality all along

vitali was supposed to be a very serious corpo guy at first who is a very strict fixer with very high-end gigs only, for the best of the best mercs. i changed this to make him a more down to earth kinda guy because his family might be like what i first wanted him to be, but he's NOTHING like that; he wants to help people, he cares for his mercs, he keeps them safe both on gigs as well as outside all of that and at the end of the day he's just some guy and that's what makes him so interesting to me. and it just is a lot more fun to me than what i initially had in mind

💖 SPARKLING HEART - are they a subtle or a showy lover?

matvey is a subtle lover but mostly because of nadya. when they got together, their parents did not agree at all and they had to put on a performance for them to be allowed to be together which kinda just stuck to the rest of their relationship as well. nadya no longer liked being physically close to her husband and didn't allow him to love her in the way he had once loved her; because of that, he's very hesitant with showing any kind of affection and he's a lot more reserved than he once used to be

vitali is also pretty reserved but that's mainly because he does separate his professional and his personal life when on the workfloor. he will occasionally hold vincent's waist if they're standing beside each other or kiss his cheek or hold his hand while they walk (or let vincent hold on to his arm; that's usually what they do) but he prefers to do stuff like that when they're not at work or just simply chilling at home :^) he can get VERY clingy when he's sleepy and comfy at home

[iceman-kazansky]

Coffee can't Keep you Awake Forever

RK800 Connor x F! Reader

Summary: You need some sleep, and Connor thinks he can provide just that.

A/n: Yes, I know I don't even have Detroit:become human listed under the fandoms I write for BUT this idea has been plauging my mind for DAYS.

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙

"Would You like anything to drink?" Hanks voice sounds from the kitchen, "I've got booze."

Through your haze, you find your voice to respond, "No thank you, But thanks for the offer."

Hank comes back into the living room and sits in a lone arm-chair with his bottle. "Suit yourself."

You knew you couldn't handle any alcohol right now. Your brain was nearly haywire with exhaustion and alcohol would not do it justice.

A normal person would say "then sleep if you are tired." If only it were that easy. While you begged for sleep in all waking parts of the world, your brain had other plans. It refused to let you stop working for more than a few hours.

Truthfully, the only thing keeping you awake was a coffee every 2 hours and the pile of work that just kept adding to your mental shelves. That was to blame with how hectic the case had gotten recently. People turning up murdered by their rogue androids left and right had you drowning in paperwork.

So, yes, a break would be wonderful.

Getting up for another coffee, you trudged into the kitchen, feet heavy and limbs slow.

The coffee machine rumbled to life as you put your cup under the dispenser, a blue screen illuminating your face in the dim lighting of the room, showcasing an excessive amount of options to customize your drink.

Selecting the options that seemed most appealing to your tired eyes, the coffee machine got to work, pouring the contents of your liquid into the white mug you'd placed under it.

"You can't function on coffee forever. The human body needs sleep."

You jumped at the sound of a voice that had materialized from nearly thin air, "Jesus Christ! Connor! Don't do that!"

"I'm sorry if I alarmed you." He apologizes.

Waving a hand at the android you respond, "No, no. You're fine. I didn't hear you. That's all"

"I have noticed signs of sleep deprivation, recently. Bags beneath the eyes, Excessive yawning, little moments where you–"

You cut him off, "I'm not sleep deprived. I'm fine. Just stressed that's all."

Connor is quiet, his eyes staring at your back when you turn back to your newly delivered coffee. He contemplates, his programming running diagnostics upon diagnostics on the situation. Does he question if you are okay? Does he ask what's stressing you? Or does he just leave it alone?

He decides with the option that feels most right to him, "What is on your mind, lieutenant?"

You sigh and pinch the bridge of your nose. Something of a stress reliever. "The cases." Pausing, you continue, "I'm puzzled. Can't think of any logical reasons as to why this is happening."

While there are certainly hypothesis circulating within your posse of 3, none make proper sense. Androids were said to be mindless machines that didn't have the ability to decide for themselves, rather for the greater good of the whole. Yet, why were they each doing exactly what they were programmed not to do?

None of it made sense.

"Perhaps it would start making sense if you allowed yourself to get some sleep." He offered.

"I can't. That's the problem." Sipping the coffee in your hands to hopefully deter the fatigue overpowering you, screaming at your muscles and brain to stop working.

"I would like to help but I'm not certain if my services will be any use. I recommend staying off the caffeine for the time being. It will help coax your body into sleep sooner or later."

And with that, Connor was gone from the kitchen, leaving you alone with your drink.

With an angered and exasperated sigh, you dumped the remaining coffee in your mug down Hank's sink.

–

Sitting on the couch next to Connor, you began to regret not drinking that coffee. Your mind was in shambles, hundreds of things that could explain your cases involving deviants were swirling like fog, clouding your senses. Yet, you felt as if you were on the verge of discovering something big. Oh how you should have drank thar coffee! It was getting impossible to hold your eyes open any longer, each minute that ticked by adding to your exhaustion.

Hank stood up abruptly, still in his drunken stupor, and stumbled into his room, closing the door loudly behind him. That left you and Connor, side by side, on the couch with some movie going on in the background.

Connor had been focused (as much as an android could) on the movie for the duration of the time you'd come back. He wasn't interested in the show going on infront of his eyes, as an android he didn't process any particular attachment to the characters shown on TV nor feel any explicit interest in the plot point the two were reaching. It simply wasn't in his program to do so.

He could sense a pressure on his shoulder, and he cast a glance down to your sleeping form.

There, passed out from fatigue, with your head delicately placed upon Connor's shoulder, you fell asleep.

The android didn't mind. As long as you got the rest you deserved. As much as he knew you didn't want to hear it, nor talk about such a subject, he could see the weariness you carried over the past few days. Something in his programming told him it had something to do with the stress induced by the most recent homicide.

But yet, deep, buried beneath all his programming, he felt something arise within him. It made his LED turn yellow in deep thought.

But those were things he would have to figure out later, as he didn't plan on asking or moving from this position unless you did first. He wouldn't dare deprive you of your much needed sleep. Besides, you looked…

dare Connor say, cute.

[starglow-xx]

(About the brother!atsushi) aRE YOU READING MY MIND MISS?! Because that has been on my mind for MONTHS. TYSM For writing it was amazing!! If you don't mind, may I request (if requests are open) atsushi, still an older brother, but with a sister that's 10-13 yrs old? It's totally fine if you don't wanna do it. Keep up the good stories, ily mwuah!

*sobs* you’re so kind thank youu 🤧🤧

i wrote this a bit differently i hope that’s okay anon! at first i planned for this to be mainly abt atsushi and the reader, but i decided to add in relationship hcs with the agency bc i ran out of ideas

if you guys liked this don’t worry! im planning a special part two for this one so be the look out for it hehe

atsushi with a tween! sister

ft. the armed detective agency

like in my baby sister hcs, you’re still the most important thing to him period

the two of you got picked up by dazai and kunikida when he was 18 (obviously) and when you were 12

for a 12 year old, you were a bit small bc of malnourishment (which makes atsushi feel so bad) so both dazai and kunikida thought you were a bit younger than you actually were

they assumed you were about 9-10ish

you and atsushi both share a favorite food !! chazuke :)

so when kunikida treated the two of you, he made sure you got more bowls bc like i mentioned above, he feels really bad that you were malnourished and under weight

(don’t bring this up but kunikida felt bad too hehe)

when dazai went with your brother to the warehouse, you were with kunikida

imagine the surprise of the other ada members when kunikida came in with a little girl dressed in rags that popped out from behind him

kenji was the one who vocalized his thoughts 

“kunikida-san you have a daughter?! wow! i didn’t know that! :D”

when you found out your brother was a tiger, you were a bit concerned but you were actually kind of excited

you were even more excited when you found out the two of you were going to be taken in by the agency

anything was better than the stupid orphanage

and besides!

you got a tiger for an older brother and a bunch of other super powered agents to take care of you! who could want anything else?

at your age, you’re very impressionable and can be influenced easily so atsushi makes sure to teach you more in depth of good morals and the importance of kindness

his heart swells with pride and relief when he catches you being kind to others

pride bc he’s proud that even after all the two of you have gone through, you still ended up being a good kid and having a bright view of the world

and relief bc he hasn’t failed as a big brother

pfftt like he could ever fail

but please, from time to time reassure him that he’s perfect and the only big brother that you’d ever want bc he rlly needs that kind of validation

with his salary and savings, he tries to buy nice things for you

what a sweetheart 🥺

he saw you eyeing that one dress at a store window? fast forward abt a week and half and it’s inside a pretty gift bag for you

you wanted to try that dessert from the nice bakery? that’s dessert after dinner at one point

but other than buying you things, he sets money aside for you

like all the time

(y/n), here have this, you might need it”

“but nii-san you just gave me—”

“take it”

#1 spoiler

also your #1 confidant and source of physical affection

you tell him anything and everything (except crushies and those kinds of things)

atsushi loves it when you talk abt your day and he can see the big smile on your face and the sparkle in your eyes

it gives him the strength to keep going 😖😖

the two of you aren’t as touch starved as you’d probably think, but that’s only bc the two of you had each other

in your opinion, no one can match the hugs of your big brother

and it got even better bc YAYY he has tiger arms now ٩(◕‿◕)۶

if you ask, he’d carry you around too hehe

you also get nightmares quite often so he’ll always be there ready to calm you down, talk if you need to, and rock you back to sleep

god i love him 🤧🤧

atsushi will do everything in his power to protect you and make sure you get to grow up happy, supported, and loved

port mafia attack? oop he’s already taking you to the nearest escape route

someone is starting to harass you? they just got suckered punched into the next week

you want to go out to have some fun? he’ll go ask the president for a day off

you’re not feeling well? he’ll take another day off and take care of you

whatever you want to do, he’ll do it with you! (as long as it’s within reason)

will always be your #1 supporter! and he’s the president of your fan club hehe

he loves you so so much and will do anything for you; your life and happiness will always be more important to him

you are his reason to keep going

agency head canons !!

atsushi is your big brother, but kunikida is most definitely some sort of father figure

everyone can see it

except kunikida of course

kunikida scolds you lightly if he thinks your manners need work or if you make a mess in the agency

you listen to him of course and in turn as some sort of a reward, he’ll give you pieces of stationary

he always gives you the nice, good quality kind and you’re over the moon

atsushi adores it when you come running to him showing your new notebook or fountain pen and blabbering what you’re going to do with it

sometimes it isn’t even as a reward for being a good child; he’ll just give it to you and he’ll say smth like “i noticed you’ve used up your last notebook quite quickly, so here’s another one” or “did you run out of ink? here have this then”

he usually has a soft spot for children in general, but he most definitely has a soft spot (or a thousand) for you

yosano is kind of like a motherly figure to you

she gives you the guidance a mother should and goes on shopping trips with you!

atsushi always gets dragged along by you, but he thinks it’s worth it seeing you look so happy

yosano being a doctor also tries to teach the things you should know, or things that would be helpful to you

she’ll teach you the basics of cooking, sewing, how to treat a cold/fever, etc

also gives you excellent advice 1000% of the time

“remember (y/n)-chan if someone hurts you come tell me and then i’ll chop them into—”

“yOSANO-SENSEI DONT TELL HER THAT—”

fukuzawa is like a father to most in the agency but you see him more as a grandfather figure

bi weekly tea and gossip sessions hehe

along with cat talk!

most of the time though, it’s just you talking and him listening to you, but the two of you enjoy it nonetheless

“and then kunikida-san ended up crashing into a pole and dazai-san started to laugh at him and i did too because it was really funny but we ended up getting scolded—”

“hmm i see...”

he’ll let you stay in his office as he fills out paperwork; you’re usually doodling or drawing in your notebooks

sometimes he’ll meditate and you’ll join him, but 4/7 times you’d fall asleep

you always wake up with a blanket over you

dazai is like a cool but a highly concerning and kind of high maintenance uncle

frequently takes you out with him when he ditches work

walks in the park, eating at uzumaki so he has the excuse of treating you so he doesn’t have to pay his tab avoiding kunikida and sometimes chuuya and akutagawa, all that fun stuff

also tries to not talk abt suicide in front of you especially if it’s just the two of you alone

he knows that you mean the world to his pupil and that said pupil would probably hate him for putting suicide inside your brain

he teaches you random but useful things like how to pick a lock, how to steal kunikida’s notebook if you’re looking for some information, how to sweet talk your way out of things, etc.

is also the one to tell you that if you ever get a significant other to introduce them to the agency first

he always wants all of your gossip; some of them work pretty well for blackmail

“dazai-san! dazai-san! did you know that kunikida-san lost his glasses and he was looking for them for nearly an hour when he was just holding them the entire time??”

“woah really (y/n)-chan?! hey hey can you say it again into this recording device so kunikida-kun would believe me when i tell him—”

always ends up giving kunikida a heart attack when he says that you’ve been with him all day

ranpo is also like a cool but a highly concerning and kind of high maintenance uncle

will share some of his snacks, but don’t push it or you might not get anything at all

loves it when you compliment him

if you tagged along with him and your brother on a case, he will show off to impress you

“...and that’s how the crime happened”

“UWAHH RANPO-SAN YOU’RE SO COOL”

atsushi is lowkey and kunikida is highkey stressed that ranpo’s eating habits will rub off on you

“ne (y/n)-chan do you wanna try this highly caffeinated drink and this concerning amount of sugar filled snack?”

“can i really?!”

“rANPO-SAN NO—”

ranpo definitely does stuff like that on purpose 

the tanizakis are like siblings to you!

a weird set of siblings but siblings nonetheless

the two of them adore you and think you’re precious

atsushi definitely knows how to do your hair whether it’s long or short but he got even better at it when he asked the two

hehe braid trains are definitely a thing + kyouka and kenji (and maybe even dazai)

sometimes you have sibling swap days

you’re with junichiro for most of the day and atsushi is with naomi

strange i know

each of the tanizaki siblings try to make it fun bc they know that the two of you did not at all have a happy upbringing

junichiro likes spending time with you by taking you out to different places that naomi likes to frequent

like the mall, different stores and restaurants, the park, places like those

naomi does the same thing with atsushi so if you ever bump into them, you go out and eat together :)

besides atsushi, the next one in line who spoils you the most would be junichiro (and yosano & kunikida both coming in at a close third)

he honestly can’t help it; you remind him of how naomi was when she was younger

and besides

he’s always been a sucker when it came to the happiness of a little sister

“would you really buy this for me junichiro-san?!”

“of course! don’t worry about it” :)

wanna talk abt boys/girls/celebrity crushes things like that? naomi is your girl

you feel a bit embarrassed to go talking to yosano or your brother abt that and kyouka does not know a thing abt them either

“uwahh naomi-san look at all these people in this magazine! they look so good!”

“right?! but of course onii-sama is still the best—”

you get along with kenji and kyouka quite nicely being roughly the same age as them; they’re also like siblings!

just pure, wholesome vibes from the three of you

you’re over the moon when she finds out that kyouka is staying with you and your brother

atsushi is twice as happy seeing you talk your mouth off and finally having a girl around your age to talk to

“do you think demon snow can change how she looks?”

“hmm... im not sure...”

you and kenji talk abt anything and everything

he even teaches you how to take care of plants!

sometimes the two of you are kind of in the same boat bc you don’t know much abt yokohoma being stuck in the orphanage and kenji doesn’t know much abt cities in general

“wait where are we again kenji-san?”

“ah we’re close to the ports! but im not really sure how close because i don’t know what the symbols on this sign mean”

“don’t worry! neither do i!”

bonus things!

yosano was kind of too late teaching you abt you know what

“NII-SAN IM BLEEDING IN BETWEEN MY LEGS”

you’re sobbing in the agency’s bathroom and atsushi is panicking trying to get you to open the door

“Y/N?! H-HOLD ON LET ME GET YOSANO SENSEI”

ranpo overhears and cackles making everyone around him confused

suddenly atsushi bursts in the agency basically on the verge of tears rambling incoherent sentences abt the bathroom, you, and blood

it just clicked for everybody in the room

(im going to pretend that kenji has sisters back home so that atsushi is the only one who remain oblivious here hehe)

atsushi is genuinely confused and sort of concerned that no one is freaking out with him

yosano waves her hand saying smth like that she’d take care of it and junichiro pulls atsushi to the side to talk to him

fast forward like half and hour and dazai and ranpo are cackling on the looks of both of your faces

honestly not sure who’s more traumatized, you or your brother

“why does this have to happen” :(

“ne ne (y/n)-chan!~ you’re too young but at some point you’re not going to have it!”

“uwahh really dazai-san?” :D

“yeah! but first you have to have ANFK—”

next thing you know your ears are being covered by your brother and dazai is thrown across the room by kunikida

you know

the normal

you’re twelve and have never gone to school, but the agency takes care of that

it’s too dangerous to go to school so they teach you what’s necessary and whatever else they can

kunikida takes care of math (obviously)

yosano takes care of science/biology/anatomy/health (whatever you wanna call it)

ranpo even dragged poe to help you with english

atsushi even got lucy to help you out with english too!

as tanizaki and naomi used to be students, they give you their old work books and they try to teach you all the other subjects

sometimes kyouka and kenji are there learing with you too!

sorry if there’s some errors! i’ll read through it again later :)

and as always, reblogs and shares are appreciated! i hope you all stay safe! and just in case nobody told you they loved you today, i love you! you are enough! <3

writing belongs to me! please do not plagiarize! the reblog button is there for a reason

[aewinning]

@bittermachine sent the deep fic writer asks list to me in Discord and asked a whole bunch of them. I figured I'd go ahead and post my answers on tumblr in case anyone else was interested! And of course anyone is free to ask more from the list as well.

6. what's the hardest part of the writing process for you?

Getting out a first draft. Once that's there the revision and editing process is a breeze, even if involved. But actually getting words down is sometimes an extremely painful task.

7. how does receiving or not receiving feedback/support impact you?

If I don't receive feedback or support I'll drift along from project to project when my brain decides it's ready to write something. If people vocally support something I've written and say they want more, that tends to get me thinking about what 'more' would look like and sort of guide my interest that way for my next projects.

9. what's your writing process like?

Sit at computer, open Scrivener (which I have customized to look like the AO3 theme I read in, Reversi), open a cherry Bing energy drink, and start writing. From there I tend to have two modes: distracted, where I can't focus for shit and end up tabbing out often to scroll tumblr or twitter so I don't feel like exploding when the words won't come, or hyperfocused, where I'll sit down and write literally all night or until the fic draft is finished. There is no in-between for me.

10. how has writing positively impacted your mental health or overall mood?

I've used it to vent heavy feelings before back when I was writing for the Homestuck fandom, but it's also helped me find a fair few friends I wouldn't have found otherwise. It's a good hobby for connecting with people.

12. What’s your perfect environment to create/write?

Cool but not cold, quiet or with instrumental music that fits the vibe and doesn't distract me, no strong smells unless they're sweet (I'm very sensitive to smells), a dim or dark room, a second screen for research, an ergonomic keyboard and a comfy chair, nobody else around, and an endless supply of Bing energy drinks.

Yes, it specifically has to be Bings. I hate the taste of most energy drinks and tea and coffee but the original cherry Bings are a delightful way to perk me up and help me focus. They're also just part of the routine at this point - I think I pavlov'd myself into only being able to write with them or something, back in my Homestuck days. Something else cold and carbonated can at least help me focus in a pinch if I don't have Bings though - it's really the cold bite and the carbonation that help me more than the caffeine.

13. Do you take pride in your writing, or does it embarrass you? Why?

Pride, of course. Not in the sense that I think I'm better than anybody else, but why would I spend the time creating and sharing something I wasn't happy with? Also I have no shame. Live life free of cringe and judgment.

14. Do you compare yourself to other writers? In a positive or negative way?

Sometimes, and usually in what I guess would be a negative way. Either "wow they write so much, how do they do that?" or "wow, this is so good, I wish I could be that good/write like this." But then at other times I'll come across fic that's wildly ooc or has terrible grammar/spelling/formatting and I'll be like "but at least I'm not *this* bad" and click back out lmao. So it probably balances out.

Occasionally I'll see a fic that's just terrible or has a concept I don't vibe with that has more views/kudos/whatever than mine but in that scenario I tend to just lament for the state of fandom nowadays (old man shakes fist at cloud meme: "so this dreck is what's popular nowadays!?") But I'm aware comparing yourself to others is a bad habit so I try not to do it in either direction, it just manages to sneak through sometimes anyways.

17. What’s the best engagement/interaction/feedback you’ve received from someone who’s read your work?

Hard question but probably the fact that a few of the people that subscribed to me back during my Homestuck years read my Genshin fic even if they don't play Genshin. I personally don't tend to read fic without the context of the series because the interest just isn't there for me, so it's a huge compliment to me that someone would like my writing enough to stick with me through a fandom change.

18. Do you only write when you’re inspired, or do you try and sit down at specific times and write no matter what?

I usually only write when inspired because it's like pulling teeth otherwise, and not worth the time and frustration. It's a hobby, not an obligation. But by 'inspired' I really mean 'focused' because there are plenty of times where I have inspiration but I'm running up against a mental wall when I try to write.

I've been having this issue recently trying to write Foul Eggacy 3 - the whole thing is plotted and outlined, I have 2.5 scenes written, but for the past few weeks every time I sit down to try to write I only get a few paragraphs written even if I sit all night because I just can't focus and the words won't come easily. I'm trying to push myself more than I usually would on this one because I'd like to release it before Baizhu's release in 3.6, but I won't force it. I'm only going to release it before then if it's done and I'm satisfied with it. I want to get it right the first time.

19. If you could write an ideal fic, what would it include?

I don't really think there's such a thing as an 'ideal' fic but. I guess the dream would be to someday be able to write a longfic of people falling for each other convincingly, with good pacing, a believable scenario, and the hottest fucknasty sex as a payoff for sticking with it. It doesn't have to have much in the way of 'plot' as long as the character and relationship development is good.

I'm just not great at longfic because of my focus and memory issues; I often have to reread what I've already written even in a one-shot fic if it gets too long, to make sure dialogue and tone stays similar throughout a fic and I didn't forget anything. Something like the Foul Eggacy series is already pushing my boundaries since I have an entire AU constructed for it, so I've had to reread the first two fics multiple times while outlining/writing 3 to remind myself what I've already revealed to readers, catch the foreshadowing I dropped, etc. And of course lots of note-checking! But the bigger the work or series, the harder it gets. I have massive respect for people that write good longfic because of my own difficulties with it.

20. What’s the greatest gift you’ve gotten from your writing?

Friends and a degree of confidence! I've met a *lot* of people over the years through my writing, people that came to follow me on tumblr after reading my fic or talking to me in comments, some of who ended up being good enough friends that we talk regularly on Discord.

As for the confidence, I certainly can't say writing fic has 'fixed' my confidence issues, but getting even a kudos, much less a nice comment or a reblog/retweet/rec of my work, really boosts my mood. And it's nice to feel like putting fic out there is giving back to fandoms that pull me through tough times. Like yeah, I'm sure there are plenty of writers I'll never be as good as - but that's fine. As long as I'm putting a net positive into the world with my fics, helping someone get through a bad day by reading about their fave being wrung dry, that's enough for me.

[samuel-de-champagne-problems]

For the Sake of Science

summary: spencer finds himself thinking...like a scientist. he thinks about to the first time fell in love, but ended up scarred. he think’s he’s in love, but he first needs to carry out an experiment for the sake of science. 

pairing: spencer reid x fem reader

author’s note: i really hate writing summaries because it’s so hard to capture everything in one-two sentences. 

warning: spencer’s internal thoughts are a lot; vague sexual harassments

 For the Sake of Science 

Spencer Reid thinks that there must be something wrong with him. He’s nearly 30 years old and still can’t shake someone’s hand or welcome one of Penelope’s hugs. He knows he’s different, but this — this makes him feel like a freak. 

Maybe it was his childhood? Maybe because his mom couldn’t hold him or cuddle with him the recommended amount to develop secure attachment, he became touch averse. Maybe it’s because his dad left and he felt even more lonely with just his mom that the idea of being touched started to scare him. Or maybe it was the bullies — being stripped naked and mocked will do that to a kid, he thinks to himself. Or it could be even that he didn’t get his first kiss until he was 20 and the kisser being a boy, Ethan, threw a wrench in Spencer’s dreams of having someone who wanted to hold his hand in public or kiss him in the corridor and not care that people were looking. 

Spencer is a product of his environment. As a psychologist he tells himself that a healthy mix of parent issues, childhood torment, and being left by the first person he really loved would cause anyone to be insecure in physical relationships. 

But something has changed. He wants to hold someone's hand, and it doesn’t fill him with anxiety at thought. It doesn’t make him think of Ethan leaving him. It makes him feel light and floaty -- happy. Ever the scientist, Spencer decides to carry out an experiment on touch. And the subject of his experiment, Y/N, sits a couple feet away from him. 

Spencer couldn’t really pinpoint when he started feeling differently about Y/N. Maybe it was when he noticed when her grapefruit perfume changed to cinnamon and something warm. Maybe it was when he noticed that she got really quiet on cases that dealt with family annihilators and the lines on her face would seem a little deeper. Maybe it was when he realized that her touch was much different than JJ’s or Penelope’s. Her touch was a lingering sting that left him craving more. It was like she picked up the pen Ethan left and dipped it into ink to trace the scars of heartbreak on Spencer’s canvas.  

Her touch left him wanting more, needing more. Derek would tell him to ask her out. Take her to the movies and try to kiss her. But Spencer isn’t Derek Morgan, he’s Spencer Reid and hopefully that’s enough for Y/N.

________________________________________________________________

Spencer decides to carry out his experiment in the small kitchen that BAU shared with Sex Crimes. Like clockwork, Y/N walks from her desk to the kitchen at 9:34 to get a second cup of hot tea. She reaches up to the shelf to grab her cup that, much to Spencer’s delight, shared a spot next to his mug. He likes to look at the two mugs sitting next to each other and pretend that they aren’t shelved away in a small communal kitchen with a crappy coffee maker, but in their house, in their kitchen. 

He checks his watch at 9:31 and heads into the kitchen. Spencer stands there waiting for his coffee to brew, and an eye watching out for when Y/N would walk through to the kitchen. He almost feels bad for hiding her step stool. Almost, but if it means he’d be able to carry his plan out , he’d be able to forgive himself. 

“Hey, Spence. Isn’t that like your third cup in an hour?” Y/N says to him, smiling brightly. He moves the mug just slightly out of Y/N’s view. 

“Uh-” Spencer starts. “I, well you know me! I love coffee.” Spencer says nervously. 

Y/N looks at him, still smiling brightly. Spencer gives himself the benefit of the doubt, telling himself that she could be smiling at him, or even better because of him. 

“You need all that caffeine to stimulate that genius brain of yours, Dr. Reid.” She says  in a tone that Spencer could not decipher. 

He feels his face flush and warm at her using her honorific. Spencer reminded himself of his goal, to figure out if he really does love Y/N. Part of him knows the answer, and the other part of him is too scared to get left in the dust again. 

“Huh, that’s strange, where is the stool?” She says aloud, turning around to check the side of the cabinet for stool. 

Spencer, whose plan was panning out flawlessly, took the opportunity to reach on the highest self for his mug. It was a plain looking mug, dark blue with his name labelled on the bottom, altering anyone that it was off limits. Until now. 

He hands the mug to her in such a way that his finger tips would brush hers. Y/N’s surprised look melted into a pleased smile. Spencer does not want to let go of the mug, maybe it was a slight hesitation at the germs, or maybe it was him just wanting to keep her close for even a couple more seconds. 

“I think you grabbed the wrong mug, Spencer” She says, handing him the mug back to its rightful owner. 

“Hm, I don’t seem to see your’s Y/N. I guess maybe it-I don’t know” He says dumbly, this is the part of the plan that he was still a little unsure about -- talking to her. He turns, so his back is leaned up against the edge of the counter, so he hid her mug out of view.

“You don’t mind me using your mug, Spencer? Here I thought you wouldn’t shake my hand or even hug me?” She says with an amused tone in her expression. 

The only reason Spencer hasn’t tried to hold her hand or hug her is because he knows he’ll never want to let go. He’d be left again - cold and alone. 

“Germs don’t seem to be bothering me that much, Y/N” Spencer remarks.

“Hmm maybe it’s something about turning 30? Like you lose your germaphobia and start losing your hair?” She teases. 

And then the unexpected happened. Y/N reaches up and ruffles Spencer’s hair. Her fingertips graze his scalp and Spencer forgets how to breathe. He wants to lean down into the touch and fully appreciate her attention. 

“You know my birthday is coming up?” He asks. Maybe it’s just a coincidence, or maybe in some way Y/N remembers  his birthday. Even though Spencer couldn’t forget her birthday if he tried, the idea of her purposefully remembering his birthday is something that gave him those butterflies. 

“How could I forget the day that my favorite person was born?” 

“I’m your favorite person?” Spencer speaks. He could feel his cheeks heat as she looked at him like what she just said didn’t just nearly kill him. 

“Spencer, I’m pretty sure you are everyone’s favorite person. And well, only because Motel and Tzeitel are cats” She says with a wink, walking away with her hot cup of tea that Spencer didn’t even realize she brewed as he stood there. 

He’s her favorite person.  Her favorite person. Maybe this is going better than he expected. Maybe Spencer, a man of science, a man whose heart had been shattered one too many times would let himself have an ounce of faith. After all, he’s his favorite person’s favorite person. 

“Hey Y/N!” Derek calls as the team walked back into the bullpen, all very tired from the case. Y/N, who was ahead of Derek, but right behind Spencer and JJ, turned to answer her friend. 

“Whatcha going to do with Detective Dreamy’s phone number?” He asks, with a suggestive nudge. 

Spencer stopped his walk back to his desk. His bag bounced against his leg, he tried to focus on how many times his watch ticked, he tried his hardest to ignore this conversation happening behind him. But something kept him glued to the spot. 

“Huh? Oh you mean Detective Allen? Um, he’s uh...I don’t think it’s going to work out,” Y/N tells the group. 

“What do you mean, Y/N. Allen seemed cute, for a man I guess,” Emily says with an eye roll. Her comment elicited a small chuckle from JJ. 

“Yeah, and he’s a total pig head,” Y/N says, much to Spencer’s delight. 

The team looks at her with an expectancy to continue. Spencer turns to face his colleagues, who gather around Y/N. 

“He called me a and I quote ‘a fine piece of ass’ and that he ‘reckons girls with my job must know how to put out to get ahead’, so gross” She says, shivering at the thought. 

Emily and JJ’s eye rolls and small comments reassured Y/N that if she wanted Penelope could find that man in three seconds and tell his mother what animal she raised. Derek tells Y/N that he could pay Allen a friendly visit to remind him why he got into the FBI. Frankly, doors aren’t that different from a 5’10 man. 

Spencer sees red. There are times when he gets jealous of people who came and went in Y/N’s love life. He used to think that it was just a friendly protectiveness. He wouldn’t want JJ to get hurt by Will or Emily to get hurt by Natalie. But this is different. He feels mad that anyone would think that they could talk about Y/N like that. It’s not like he never thinks about her in less than professional scenarios. But they were usually thoughts about what noises she’d make or how beautiful her face would look like after he could kiss her as much as she’d let him.

If Spencer was a different man, a more confident, brazen man, maybe he’d pull Y/N to the side and tell her that she’s a brilliant agent. But Spencer still sees himself as that 22 year old who’s secret boyfriend left him for a gig in New Orleans. 

If Spencer was a different man, a more suave, smooth man, maybe he’d kiss her on the elevator ride to the car garage. But Spencer’s quiet on the ride down. He can’t even look at Y/N, he just sees his last chance of happiness flush down a toilet. 

If Spencer was a different man, a more assertive, romantic man, maybe he would have gone after Ethan. Maybe he would have chanced his chance at happiness, following the melody of the seductive jazz tunes, along with the pang in her heart. But Spencer thinks he just might let happiness slip through his fingers at the sad look on Y/N’s eyes as she leaves the elevator. 

She does something that stops his internal crisis. Y/N stands in front of Spencer as they walk together, but not together to their cars. Spencer swears to himself that even without his eidetic memory he’d never forget the look on her face. 

“Spencer, I um-” Y/N said, not making eye contact with Spencer. “I know that you don’t like to hug me or anything like that, it’s just I really need a hug right now,” she said, her eyes darting to the ground. 

Spencer doesn’t say anything, instead he wraps his arms around Y/N. He never hugged anyone besides his mom or Ethan. It’s very different hugging Y/N than it was hugging them. For one, she was much shorter and her smell was different too. Sweeter and lighter than Ethan’s cologne, but it had a familiar welcoming and safe aroma. He doesn’t really know what to do with his hands, so he settles on placing one to rub gently on her back and the other tenderly cupped her head. He holds her as he craved that she’d hold him. For now, it was enough to just be the person that she came to when she felt like the world was against her. 

“Thank you Spencer, I felt so gross and dirty from that asshat, so I just needed to feel like I’m not-” 

“A piece of um- ‘ass’” Spencer says, air quotes and all. 

Maybe it was the idea of Spencer cursing, but Y/N snorts at the sound of the unsavory word leaving Spencer’s lips. 

“A fine piece of ass, Spencer” Y/N counters. 

“Hey, Y/N you know that you don’t deserve that right, what I mean is that, you’re beautiful but that’s the least interesting thing about you,” Spencer says, taking his turn to stare towards the ground.

“Is that way you let me use your cup, Spence? You wanted to show me how you, uh, feel?” She questions, picking up his hand in hers. Her fingers traced the light lines on his palm. 

“Hmm, you saw right through me, didn’t you?” 

“I watched you hide the stool, Spence and you took my cup! You should have more faith in my profiling abilities” She says laughing. 

“I was carrying out an experiment, Y/N.” Spencer explains. 

“About what?” 

“Um, so you know that I don’t really like being touched, it’s been a thing for a really long time. But for you, I’d rather die than to never feel your touch,” he professes. 

“Hmm, well luckily for you, I think I can just make sure that doesn’t happen” She says, brushing his hair from his eyes. Her fingers graze over his cheeks, his eyes, his nose, and his lips. She’s careful in her touches. So light and tender, that she thinks he might break if she presses too hard or gives into everything she’s feeling. It’s so soft that Spencer has to strain himself to feel it. He moves his hands bravely to hug her waist.

Her light laugh breaks him from his trance. Maybe Spencer can remember what the poets were talking about when you hear the one you love laugh. Maybe he can recall what it feels like to be so important to another person. Maybe he can recollect what it’s like to have someone to call his and what it’s like to be someone’s someone. 

Both their hearts are beating so fast that they meld into one beautiful beat. He holds her cheek in his hand as she cups the back of his neck, her fingers latched onto his hair. If he gets a chance, he needs to ask her if she likes his hair, because between the ruffles and the tugging, he’s sure it’s a thing. He turns off the part of his brain that can never be silent, or at least as much as he could when Y/N is gently wrapping her fingers in his hair and looking at him like she wants to kiss him. 

“Spencer, um, you know for the sake of your experiment you should see if kissing elicits the same response. For science, hmm?” She reasons. 

“Well, I can’t fight the scientific method, can I?” Spencer says, before he leans in to meet his lips to hers. 

Y/N’s eyes flutter close as she presses her forehead against Spencer’s, who leans down slightly to reach her. Spencer feels dizzy with anticipation and a mix of pure euphoria. Her lips are softer than he imagined and she’s much more confident than him. She kisses the corners of his mouth, up his cheeks, and nose. It’s like she retracing the path that Ethan left open and raw. Her kisses heal him with the medicine of love and security. 

Spencer knows he would never be the one to break the kiss. Or any kiss that they would share, if he ever got so lucky. He never wants to let go. 

“Come on, Dr. Reid, I have an experiment of my own I want to try” 

As Spencer walks to her car, he thinks about how well her palm fits into his. He thinks about how those butterflies are uncaged and free. Those Ethan shaped butterflies morphed into Y/N shaped butterflies. This love was different, because after all, he was different now. And different, different is good.  

[reelwriter19]

Smooth(ie)

*Inspired by this image 😍 he posted a while ago & the fact that I literally got my blender in the mail this morning lol ENJOY!

It was the start of a beautiful spring day, and once again, you were sitting at the island mesmerized by the man maneuvering in your kitchen. When you’d first met Kevin, he pretended that your apartment was on the same route as his daily run. He later admitted that he changed his route in hopes to see you more often...and it worked. Now, in a full-fledged relationship for the past 10 months, he ends his workout 3 times a week at your doorstep and takes over your kitchen and Ninja to make a smoothie you can’t seem to function without.

He’s a morning person and you’re the direct opposite, so you’re always grateful that he doesn’t make a fuss. He just shows up, glistening from an intense workout, usually in some sleeveless black tee and makes you want to risk it all right on this kitchen counter before the day officially begins.

“Baby, hellooo...you gon’ stop staring at my arms long enough to try this?”

Kev’s hand was extended towards you with a piece of some exotic looking fruit he wanted you to taste.

CRAP, caught. “I was not…”

With a smirk on his face. “Yeah...ok.”

“What is this?”

“Just try it.”

You oblige and take a bite, juice almost immediately running down your chin.

“Ok detective...I like it.”

Before you can grab a paper towel to wipe your face, Kevin has made his way in front of you to slowly lick the juice from your chin. Boxing you in place on the barstool with his arms on each side, staring into your eyes. Not beat for the wait, you grab his face and move in to finally connect with those lips. Kissing him feels like all the energy boosts, caffeine and vitamins you’ll ever need.

“I like these better though.” You whisper as you continue to graze his lips.

“Uh huh beautiful…” He says as he reluctantly walks away to pour your respective smoothies into glasses. “I told you I have a case.”

He hands you the glass and walks towards your balcony to sit outside. This was also a part of the routine. He’d sit out here under the guise of not ruining your couch with his funk, but you knew it was his attempt to wake you up by blasting you with the morning sun. You pretended to hate it at first, but you honestly cherished these mornings with him. He’d talk about the craziness he’d seen at work the night before, the stress and how he sometimes couldn’t sleep. You’d fallen in love with him because of this vulnerable side.

Feet up and nestled next to him on the chair.

“Voight loves me Kev, I think he’ll be perfectly fine with me calling out for you today.”

“He does love you...which isn’t easy to achieve...but hell no. He’d send Ruz right to your door to come get me.”

You both chuckled thinking back to the night that very thing happened a few months ago.

“How long this time?” You began to pick at the fabric on your sweater as a distraction...you always hated the answer to this question.

“A month….....in New York.”

You sit up to face him, trying to hide the sirens of shock and concern currently going off in your brain. As calm as you can pretend to be, “What’s in New York?”

“I’ll be working with Lindsay out there undercover on a case. But Ruz will be checking in on you here ok?”

“He’s not going with you? I always feel better knowing he has your back out there.”

“I know babe. But Erin is a badass too now...I’ll be fine.”

You hear your phone ringing inside, breaking the moment. You grab the empty glasses from the table before walking back in, wiping a tear that you hope Kevin didn’t notice was about to fall.

“I promise you baby, the month will be over before you know it!” You hear Kev yell as you search for your phone. You find it in the other room and wonder when you could’ve put it there.

Kim Burgess/FaceTime: you take a breath and decide to answer.

“Hey Kim.”

“Y/N...you ok?”

Holding back tears…. “Uh huh, yeah I’m fine. Kev just told me about New York. Why can’t Adam go instead?”

You both pause to look at each other and simultaneously reply…. “LOOSE CANON”, which cheers you up for a moment.

“And you know Voight trusts Kev. It’ll be great for his career too.”

“I know I know.”

“Is he there? I need to ask him something really quick and he didn’t answer my text earlier.”

“Yeah he's outside one second.”

You walk back out to the living room to find Kevin facing you from the balcony on one knee holding a gorgeous diamond ring. You stop in your tracks, as Adam appears on the screen next to Kim whistling like he’s at a hockey game.

“Ha! It worked! Go Kev!!!!”

Kim elbows Adam “Hush! Y/N, we love you guys.”

Standing directly in front of your boyfriend, still in shock, Kevin takes the phone from your hand and addresses the excited pair on the other end.

“Thanks y’all.”

Adam, of course...“Wait man, leave us on speaker. Don’t  we deserve to hear the speech?”

Kim laughs as she disconnects the call.

After putting your phone down, Kevin grabs your hand and traces gentle circles on it with his thumb as he begins to speak.

“Y/N. I love you so deep I don’t even want to think about how empty my heart felt before you. I fight harder to survive out there because of you. I don’t care how grumpy you are in the morning, or how big these sweaters get that you put on when I wake you up...I want this with you every single day for the rest of our lives. Baby, will you marry me?”

With a face full of tears, you drop to your knees and crash into Kevin’s lips.

Breaking the kiss, he’s cheesing with the most adorable boyish look in his eyes. “Is that a yes??”

“YES. Yes of course!” Your hands are shaking so much he can barely get the ring on.

“I love you.”

[realcube]

rq; could you possibly write a one shot about the reader having AD(H)D and has a really hard time focusing on core academics (math, science, english, history) because they feel scared about stimming and/or fidgeting in front of people and so they ask tamaki for help?

tw; very mild angst, fluff, stimming, i use the word ‘embrassing’ too much, swearing

words; 2.7k

it only took a moment of skimming over your latest progress report for you to understand the situation.

you continued to thrive in practical subjects like physical education, graphic design and manufacturing — the three main reasons you managed to secure your spot in the support course — but your core subjects seemed to be lacking.

for the last two years, you managed to score flying colours in all your subjects. but now, it was starting to appear as though your golden era was coming to a close. what was once a report with only scores greater than 90%, was now a range of totals anywhere from 90 to 50%.

this meant you were still passing all of your classes but these grades were only indications of how you were doing now; you knew that if you continued to struggle in all of your core courses, you might not finish your third year of UA highschool.

you simply wouldn't allow for your grades to decline further, so like any good student would, you made a list of ways you could improve.

number one was, of course, study more. however, you were almost certain that discipline and diligence aren't the causes of the issue.

number two was to ask for help from your teacher and although this was a completely valid option, you still felt like the problem ran deeper than your ability to comprehend the material. after all, you had made it this far without having to do so.

before you could even ponder number three, your pen ran out of ink. with a huff, you reach out to grab a new one from your pencil case, until you noticed that in the spot where your pencil case usually sits on your desk, there was nothing.

it was as though the void had caused all your memories of yesterday to come crashing down on you in an instant; it was almost nauseating. yet it, ironically, provided some clarity as to the location of your stationary.

two days ago, after school, you paid a visit to tamaki's house to deliver the gear he had commissioned. however, what was initially meant to be a casual interaction, somehow turned into a game of pictionary (with mirio and nejire there too, of course), for which you needed to bring your pencil case out of your bag. amidst your awkward goodbyes, you must've forgotten to put it back into your bag, hence your pencil case is probably lying dejected on tamaki's coffee table.

this left you with no choice but to throw on your jacket and begin your journey to tamaki's house. fortunately, he only lived a bus ride away from your home, yet you still mentally rebuked yourself for the whole length of aforementioned bus ride due to the fact that every time you would interact with tamaki, it felt like you were digging a deeper grave for yourself.

partially because you always found yourself oversharing with him — not that it was a one-sided ordeal — and you couldn't begin to explain why; he kinda just had a comforting aura about him. albeit you haven’t said anything embarrassing yet but the possibility of that happening was way too large. plus taking into consideration your complicated feelings for each other, leaving your pencil case at his house was a disaster waiting to occur.

or perhaps you were overthinking it. either way, you were now standing in front of his door with your school uniform and backpack on during a saturday afternoon because you had no idea what else to wear.

after ringing the doorbell, you stood as a patient statue in the cold until tamaki reluctantly opened the door and only poked his head out. “hello?”

emphasis on ‘only’, because he was truly committed to not allowing you to see him in his casual-wear, for some reason. a part of him reasoned that there was no way you would expect him to be wearing his school uniform on a saturday, but the majority of his brain was screaming about how he had to hide his clothes from you at all costs. especially since he was wearing socks, comfy trackpants and — most shamefully — a sweater with a small octopus design on it. and what would you think of him if you saw that his choice in loungewear was so childish?! it would be utterly humiliating.

completely unaware that tamaki was having a crisis behind the door, you pulled your most authentic smile and said the line you had been rehearing on the bus, “hi, tamaki. sorry for coming unannounced, but i think i left my pencil case on your coffee table when we were playing pictionary with mirio and nejire.”

“oh.” tamaki was almost too panicked to process what you just said but once he did, he immediately recalled the moment he noticed that you had left behind your pencil case. at the time, he planned on calling you to ask if he could drop it off at your house, but his nerves got the better of him and he decided to keep procrastinating the call until he completely forgot.

though, if he remembered correctly, the pencil case should be lying on his desk after he moved it there in hopes that the convenient location would remind him to return it; which it evidently did not.

“yeah. uh, i’ve got it. i’ll just go get it.” his face tingled with warmth slightly as he retracted it from the doorway, resulting in him finally realising how cold it is outside. in fact, since the eaves of his house shielded you for the climate, he didn’t even notice that it was snowing!

the polite bone in him got to work before the rest of him could react, as he blurted out, “come in, make yourself at home.”

fuck! i mean, it’s not that he doesn’t want you in his house — quite the opposite actually — but rather now he had to dart off to his bedroom before you could catch a glimpse of his sweater. but at least now this gave him an opportunity to change into something less embarrassing.

closing the door behind you, you were now left alone in tamaki’s living room. your eyes followed his figure as he dashed towards his bedroom, “odd.” you murmured to yourself. you weren’t exactly tamaki’s BFF but you were close enough to him that you could tell when he was acting weird.

but you didn’t think to much of it. actually, you were slightly grateful for this weird spike in tamaki’s behaviour because if he doesn’t want you around, that just means you are less likely to overshare and catch feelings, which means better outcomes in the long run, right?

after changing into a plain blue sweater and collecting your pencil case, tamaki strolled into the living room and handed it to you with a weak smile, “here you go.” he almost whispered, patiently waiting for your response so he could mentally prepare himself for goodbyes or another hour (or so) of conversation.

“thank you!” you basically squealed, pulling off your bag to stuff your pencil case back inside. while adjusting the straps on your shoulders, you took a moment to appreciate tamaki’s familiar attire, “oh, i love your sweater; i have a similar one with a cute little octopus on it.”

tamaki concluded that neither of you would be saying goodbye for a long while.

“thank you.” he responded with a soft smile, folding his arms over his chest as he made his way towards the kitchen, “um, so how are you?” he inquired, assuming that it was a pretty harmless question that would simply help get the conversation off the ground while he prepared tea.

“i’m good. but i don’t think i can say the same for my progress report.” you said with an awkward chuckle, standing aside as you watched tamaki put the kettle on. “and how are y--”

“what do you mean?” tamaki asked, disregarding the fact that he didn’t answer the question himself. although, simply put, this was because he found that conversation came more naturally to him when he was with you; or perhaps that is a slight overstatement. he tended to be more curious and inquisitive when talking to you and it wasn’t hard to tell.

until now you and mirio simply brushed it off as tamaki’s interest towards the support course, since you were the one who manufactured most of his gear. yet nejire always teased him as she believed that tamaki’s interest was caused by a different sort of passion.

nevertheless, regardless of tamaki’s motives, you still found yourself consistently answering his questions, “eh, well, i’ve just not been performing as well as i hoped.” you replied plainly with a shrug.

“is that all?”

no matter how many questions he asked, each one still managed to catch you off-guard. “um,” your throat ran dry, which might’ve been a sign from a deity to stop talking, but your swallowing was your way of proving that you did not care. although you will probably regret it later, talking with tamaki always relieved you.

“well,” you started, the lump in your throat growing by the second, “i guess i have a bit of trouble focussing in some classes too. but i mean, maybe it is because i drink too much caffeine? i’m not even sure to be honest.” that was lie, you were  90% sure of what the problem was, but you wanted to hear tamaki’s response before you proceeded, to determine whether he’d be open-minded about it.

“there is no such thing as too much caffeine.” he joked, handing you a cup of tea while he sipped on his own. “so it’s probably something else.”

he’s too good. it’s as if he knew you were withholding information.

“well,” you began once more, trying your best to appear clueless, “i guess moving helps me focus, but no once else in the class does it so wouldn’t it be embarrassing if i was the only one?”

“i don’t think it would be embarrassing at all.” he spoke softly, leading you back into the living room and offer you a seat on the couch beside him, which you graciously accepted. “but if you think it is, then i have something to help.”

before you could say anything, tamaki got up and headed towards his bedroom; leaving you to drink his heavenly tea while he searched. though, only a few minutes passed before you felt his arms slither over your shoulders to hook two clips together by your neck.

“there.” he said with a proud smile, “this is one of my cloaks that i use in my hero costume. you can tie it together so it covers the whole front half of your body.”

observing your reflection in the blackened TV, you smiled upon seeing for your own eyes that everything he said was true. it was like wearing a cape that goes around your whole body, and it had a nice hood! “wow, this is so adorable!” you cheered, then paused, “but how is it going to help me focus?”

“well, you can do whatever you want underneath it and no one will notice.”

ignoring the shady implications of that sentence, you moved your hand around underneath the cloak and he was right! no one would see you fidgeting underneath the cloak, and hopefully the professor’s voice would cover any sounds you made. plus, it looked pretty badass.

“this might work! are cloaks included in dress-code?” you joked, but you weren’t laughing for long as you turned to look at tamaki who was wearing an upset expression with his head hung low, “no.”

“oh.” you sighed, unclipping the cloak and handing it back to tamaki with a slight smile, “it’s fine. thank you for your help, and the tea. it was delicious, but i’ll probably have to start cutting back on the caffeine.” you gave it a chef’s kiss yet he didn’t even chuckle like he usually does. it was almost scary how your true emotions reflected onto him, as it seemed like the whole atmosphere had changed.

“(y/n).” tamaki uttered with a much more serious tone; eyes filled with determination yet trained onto the cloak in his hands. “you shouldn’t be embarrassed-- or at least, I, um, don’t think you should be.”

your eyes widened at how sternly he said the first part; granted, he became flustered when it came to the second part, but it really showed you how firmly he stood by what he was saying. you nodded for him to continue as he looked like he still had a lot on his mind.

“it’s unfair that you have trouble focussing because of what other people think. so my two cents is that you should do whatever you need to do, and, um, not care about other people... well, i mean, you should care about them, but just not what they think about you. because like, you can’t really control that--”

he found himself having to abruptly shut his mouth to stop himself from prattling on any further. especially since most of what he was saying was probably none sense that he mistook for inspirational, or at least that is what he gathered from the shocked look you wore; it was ironic how humiliated he was.

“that’s nice to hear.” you hummed, a kind smile gracing your features in place of the previous stunned expression, “though it’s hard to believe coming from someone as cool as you, tamaki.”

“cool?”

“yeah.” you chuckled, rolling your eyes at his baffled look which he must have been faking. surely he knows how highly thought of and respected he is throughout the whole school. he is in the big three, for fucks’ sake! “there is probably a better word to describe it, but you are one of the most badass people i know.”

“badass?” it was as if all he was capable of doing was repeating these words to you with an innocent yet confused gaze.

“yes!” you enthused, “so, is there anything you even have to be embarrassed about?”

“i do!” he almost whined, and without thinking, he stormed to his bedroom only to grab the sweater he cast aside earlier to show it to you, “look! an octopus sweater, isn’t this embarrassing?”

you deadpanned, unsure as to whether he was joking or not. “stimming is very different from a octopus sweater but go on.” however after a few moments of actually analysing the design on the article of clothing, you exclaimed, “oi, i have that exact same sweater! how is a cute little octopus embarrassing? plus, it would be extra cute on you because you have tentacles.”

in a moment of frustration and wanting to prove a point, he threw the sweater aside and began to sheepishly grab at the ends of his sleeves, “well, you know what’s even more embarrassing? having a crush on someone for three whole years and not having the balls to ask them out! and on top of that, being to nervous to return my crush’s stuff after you left it at my house.”

you weren’t sure if he meant to switch out ‘my crush’ with ‘you’ on purpose or if he was just confused. either way, you found yourself leaning in to wrap the poor boy in an overdue embrace, smiling against his chest as he hugged back. “that was..” you faltered, allowing tamaki to interject with “mortifying” but you were quick to correct him, “i think that was a very unique way to confess, and i'm just glad you did.”

your chuckle that followed was left to echo around the room as tamaki stood still and silent, simply enjoying the comfort in your arms as feeling the pleasure of time escape him. until eventually he whispered close to your ear, “so since i know more about embarrassment than you thought, will you take my advice now?”

you snickered, gently tracing shapes onto his back, “i was going to take your advice either way because if i don’t get good grades and remain in the support course, how will i graduate with you?”

“good point.” he hummed, not-so silently enjoying the relaxing sensations near his spine, “but we are not wearing matching octopus hats.”

how did manage to shoot down your idea before you even proposed it?

[eliemo]

What Matters

Summary: It’s not that Virgil thought the dream would ever become a reality. It’s just that sometimes, it’s nice to see the flaws in his logic laid out plainly in front of him. 

Notes: past abuse mention, past violence mention, nightmares, sympathetic dark sides and light sides

Taglist:  @self-taught-mess @itawalrus @mygenderisidiot @a-very-gay-raccoon @dawnfire7 @cr4zyart @ray-does-stuff @whydoifeeltheneedtoorganizestuff @bunny222  @the-blue-recluse @bisexualdisaster106 @basilthefourth @snowtrashowl @thefingergunsgirl @trashtm @stubbornness-and-spite @kieraelieson @alias290 @darkch1ld @craz-ewaters @damy-02 @frogdog145 @gattonero17 @madamedraconis @stoicpanther @@love-to-read02 @that-spider-fan-over-there @thatoneloudowl @rich-flower-17 @demigodbookdragon @i-gobymanynames

Masterpost

Virgil stumbled into the hallway, shivering under the blanket wrapped around his shoulders, breaths coming in panicked, shuddering gasps as tears blurred his vision. 

“It was an experiment, Virgil.” 

“It seems the others were onto something, after all.” 

Logan’s voice kept ringing in his ears (it wasn’t Logan’s voice, he knew that. He knew Logan would never say those things), cold and calculating, but smiling through the nightmare, relieved for things to finally return to how they were supposed to be. 

It was a dream. Just a stupid, stupid dream that his idiotic brain had decided to torture him with tonight. 

He’d never...had a dream like this before.

Virgil paused at the top of the stairs, hesitating with his arms wrapped around himself, squeezing his eyes shut as he tried to decide what to do. 

He knew it was ok to get someone after a nightmare. The others had practically insisted after they had learned how frequently he had them. 

They all helped in their own way. Patton would chase away memories of the past, holding him close with promises that he was safe, that he would never be trapped again. 

Roman offered distractions from his fears, colorful stories and grand reassurances, the prince swearing to fight off anything that might threaten his safety. 

And Logan...Logan brought him back to reality. Logan calmed him down, grounded him, reminded him where and who he was. He pushed aside irrational fears and worries with his usual logic, his reasoning slowly putting Virgil’s racing mind at ease. 

Logan was who he should go to now, after his dreams had warped reality, made him question his own safety in the waking world. 

But...

A flash of pain, a hand grabbing the collar of his shirt and slamming him to the wall, hard enough to leave him wheezing. 

It hadn’t been Logan. Logan would never. He’d promised, and proved his good intentions time and time again. Virgil wouldn’t be where he was without the logical side’s help through his recovery. 

He trusted Logan. He loved him- he loved all of them more than he knew how to say. He owed them everything. So there was no reason his stupid brain should come up with something so horrific. 

The things he’d been told hadn’t even made sense. It was just exhausted, paranoid thoughts that had unfortunately come to life in an incredibly vivid nightmare. 

It was something he’d used to worry about, back when the others had first accepted him, Virgil’s terror and confusion convincing him that their kindness was fake, that they would turn around and hurt him too as soon as they were fed up. 

He knew better now. They showed him every day, over and over and over again, that he was safe. That they loved him as much as he loved them. That he wasn’t the only protector in the mindscape. 

That he didn’t deserve the pain. He never had. 

His mind played tricks on him all the time. Hell, sometimes it liked to torment him just as much as the Others used to. He should be used to dreams like this by now. It shouldn’t be leaving him so shaken. 

But the feeling had been so familiar, the dream so eerily vivid, digging up old, long buried fears. It had been confirmation that the Others had been right, that he’d deserved it all, that no one had ever actually wanted him to feel protected. 

It was so stupidly unrealistic. And so, so terrifying. 

He wrapped the blanket tighter around himself, held his breath to make as little noise as possible, and descended the stairs by himself. 

Besides, if he told someone about this particular nightmare, he’d only end up upsetting them. They didn’t deserve that. 

So that was how Virgil ended up pressed into the corner of the couch, wrapped up in a blanket and willing himself to stop his violent trembling. It was just a dream. Just a stupid, unfairly realistic dream. 

He didn’t turn on the television, despite knowing the sound would help distract him. His hands refused to move, still clutching tightly at the blanket around his shoulders. 

He stayed where he was, distantly aware the other sides would be up in just a few hours, staring blankly at the wall, letting the awful dream replay over and over again in his head.

The first rays of pale sunlight had begun filtering in through the mindscape’s windows by the time Virgil heard movement upstairs, the familiar creaking of someone moving through the halls. 

He didn’t move, despite how his back protested the way he’d been hunched over for quite a while now, watching warily as Janus made his way downstairs. 

Virgil wasn’t sure if he should be terrified or relieved, but he couldn’t help but smirk at the way Deceit did a double take when he saw the anxious side huddled up on the couch. 

He knew Janus had only recently learned what had happened to Virgil, the beatings always happening when his back was turned, and since Virgil hadn’t actually been the one to say anything, he had no idea how much Deceit knew. 

It still made him uneasy sometimes, the worried, guilt ridden looks he occasionally caught the snake watching him with, the glances he and Remus would share, the less than subtle attempts to give him his space.

Virgil seemed to be the only person Remus was actually careful around, the Duke sure to lower his volume and tone down his movements when the anxious side was in the room (which wasn’t saying much considering the energy Remus had, but Virgil appreciated it regardless), and ever since the panic attack in the kitchen, Virgil hadn’t seen his Morning Star anywhere in sight. 

It was a work in progress, Virgil still wary and unsure around him, but the two of them were gradually learning to coexist and understand each other. 

Janus was...a different story. 

A blind man could see the guilt Deceit was carrying onto, the denial, shock, and anger that never seemed to give him a moment's rest. 

Or maybe Virgil was just able to pick up on it because he’d gone through the exact same thing. He still was. 

Deceit, self proclaimed lord of the lies, hadn’t picked up on the violence and abuse the others had put Virgil through, never once allowing himself to pick up on the little white lies thrown around to keep Virgil helpless. 

And as much as he wanted to sometimes, Virgil couldn’t blame Janus. It wasn’t his fault- the others had known what they were doing, and they’d known Janus would put a stop to it the second he found out. Kicking Virgil around was a pastime they were far too invested in to lose. 

But there were days when pain and sickening fear from memories that wouldn’t leave him alone, when flashbacks and nightmares and panic attacks became too much to handle, that Virgil wished, more than anything, that Janus had intervened. That he’d let himself look closer. That it all could have stopped sooner. 

And he knew Janus wished the same thing. It was probably why he was awake at five in the morning looking like death warmed over. 

Janus was still standing at the bottom of the stairs, and Virgil offered a shaky peace sign in greeting.

“Hey,” he said, grimacing when he realized that it absolutely looked and sounded like he’d been crying for the past hour and a half. Great. “You’re up early.” 

Janus seemed to visibly regain his composure, quickly straightening his back and offering a smirk that didn’t reach his eyes. “Look who’s talking.” 

“I’ve been up a while.” 

He saw Janus frown at that, fiddling with his sleeves, uncertain. “Are you...alright? Do you want coffee?” 

And yeah, that was as much of a heart to heart as either of them were going to have this early in the morning. Virgil wasn’t exactly in the mood to talk about how one of the most ridiculous nightmares he’d ever experienced had left him trembling and crying like a child afraid of the dark. 

“Fuck, yes please. Go get me caffeine.” 

It was enough to get a genuine smile this time, some of the tension seeping out of Deceit’s shoulders as he made his way to the kitchen. 

He was fine. He was home, he was safe, and things were good. The nightmare would fade, as dreams do, and in a little bit they would all eat breakfast together like a family. Like they always did. 

There was absolutely no reason he should still feel so scared. He should be looking forward to everyone waking up, not feeling like he was being led down to the gallows with every tick of the clock. 

Janus was back in just a few moments, two plastic mugs in his hands, and Virgil tried to ignore the way his stomach dropped at the sudden thought of what would happen if he spilled on the couch after he was handed his drink. 

Nothing. Nothing would happen and no one would be mad. God, he needed to get a hold of himself. 

Nothing was going to change. And yet…

“Janus?” he asked quickly, the other side stopping in his tracks. “Where...where are you going to be today?” 

He could feel Janus staring, but Virgil now kept his gaze firmly on the steaming coffee in his lap. 

“My room, most likely,” he said. “I have some things to attend to today.” 

“Could you-” God, this was stupid, this was so needlessly stupid. “Could you like...leave your door unlocked? Just- um...just in case?” 

“Just in case...what, Virgil?” 

“Y-you know.” And really, what was he supposed to answer with? Just in case he’d suddenly been granted the gift of prophetic dreams and he needed a place to hide when Logan started beating him? “Just...in case.” 

He risked a glance up, relieved when there was no ridicule or annoyance in Janus’s eyes, just gentle confusion like he was trying to silently pick apart Virgil’s thoughts. 

“Alright,” he said quietly. “My door isn't open if you need anything.” 

It was...new, Virgil realized, having these careful, honest conversations with Janus. He wasn’t about to drop all his defenses and retell the details of his nightmare, and Deceit knew that, but they were still miles better than they’d been just a week ago. 

“Thanks, Janus.” 

Janus made his way back upstairs, hopefully to get some more sleep, and Virgil settled back against the couch, significantly less shaky than before. It was just a stupid dream. He’d be ok. 

Virgil was aware he was being a complete asshole. 

He’d made the mistake of assuming the paranoid jumpiness from his dream would fade as soon as the mindscape came to life and everything continued on as normal. He hadn’t expected it to get worse. 

He was pretty sure Roman and Patton could tell something was up, but Virgil managed to plaster on a nervous smile and force himself to breathe easy as he was seated at the kitchen table, listening to Roman ramble as Patton started cooking breakfast. 

And then Logan was walking in, muttering a quiet greeting, and the panic had hit full force. 

Which was completely ridiculous, especially as Logan just offered him a warm, tired smile and made his way over to the pot of coffee. 

It was the same Logan he saw every morning- welcoming and safe, and a very large part of the progress Virgil had made over the months. 

Logan would never hurt him, nobody would...no one was going to…

“Come here, Virgil.” 

There were hands grabbing at him, nails digging into his skin, overpowering and so painfully familiar. 

“Virgil!” 

“Virgil?” Logan was looking at him now, brow pinched, and suddenly they were all staring at him and Virgil couldn’t breathe- when had it become so hard to breathe? 

He stood up from the table, the chair scraping against the floor and nearly tipping over in his rush, stuffing his hands deep into his hoodie pockets to hide the way they were shaking.  

“I- uhm, I’ll be right back.” 

He didn’t have any other excuses. No good ones at least. But the panic was wrapping around him like a vice, cold, cruel hands squeezing his neck, and Logan was taking a cautious step towards him--

Virgil sank out without another word, his mind momentarily set back to the old, terrifying mindset, screaming at him to get out, to run and hide before someone grabbed him…

God, what was wrong with him? 

He ended up locking himself in his bathroom, turning on the sink so the rushing water would drown out his rapid, panicked breathing, turning harshly away from his reflection in the mirror. 

He was fine, he was fine, he was...trying really hard not to plan out escape routes and hiding spots in his head. 

It was an old habit that had practically been second nature to him before living with the light sides, and even a few weeks after. It had helped him feel at ease, pinpointing places he could keep himself hidden and out of the way, even if it often proved to be pointless. 

It was how he’d ended up in the closet, covered in blood with shards of glass coating his skin, so deep in his panic he’d been convinced his family was hurting him. 

He couldn’t risk falling back into old habits. Not now, when he’d been making so much progress. Not over something as meaningless as a dream. 

But he couldn’t bring himself to leave the bathroom. Not when so many eyes would be on him the second he stepped back into the kitchen. 

So he took extra time to do his makeup, layering on black eyeshadow to cover up how utterly exhausted he looked from his restless night, and took another few moments to stare blankly at the wall when he still wasn’t quite ready to come out. 

When Patton came to check on him, Virgil blamed it on a bit of queasiness and promised to eat something later. 

The guilt became suffocating when he realized the panic didn’t return with Patton’s voice, but it definitely was back with a vengeance when he heard Logan walk down the hallway a few moments later. 

Logan didn’t deserve this. Everything the logical side had done for him, the endless patience, assistance, and careful compassion, and Virgil was right back to being a pathetic mess. 

So maybe that was why he didn’t bother to be subtle about trying to avoid Logan for the rest of the day. Besides, even if he did try to hide his uneasiness, the logical side was always able to pick up on the little things. It would just be a wasted effort. 

Virgil stayed cooped up in his room as much as he could, blasting music in his headphones to drown out any sounds. 

When he did leave (at Patton’s gentle insistence that he eat something for lunch) he was sure to never end up in the same room as Logan, quickly retreating or sinking out whenever the logical side walked in. He resolutely ignored the twisting guilt in his gut at Logan’s small frowns when Virigl would blurt out some half hearted, see-through excuse each time. 

He just needed a day or two. Just a little bit of time for the residual panic to fade and for things to go back to normal. It wasn’t logical, maybe, but...Logan would understand if he knew. 

Except he wouldn’t, and that was part of the problem, wasn’t it? 

Virgil was well aware how difficult he was to deal with, especially earlier on. Logan had sacrificed so much time and effort to teach him, and the others, how to gradually undo the mindset Virgil had been conditioned to have. 

All that work, all that trust, and Virgil was letting one night of nightmares influence him more than any of it. Logan...Logan would probably be furious with him. 

But not enough to hurt him. Never enough to hurt him. 

Virgil wasn’t...afraid of Logan. Despite proving the exact opposite every time he so much as caught a glimpse of the logical side today, Virgil was still coherent enough to know Logan wasn’t going to turn his back on a year’s worth of progress to strike him. 

It was just...instinct taking over. Besides, in the nightmare, Logan’s reasoning for needing to hurt Virgil hadn’t been completely unreasonable. 

Hell, before Logan had explained otherwise, Virgil had thought it was totally understandable that he needed to be hurt. He hated it, but it helped Thomas. That was a fact. 

And like Logan always said, numbers didn’t lie. If Virgil being in pain was beneficial, then Virgil would stay in pain. 

But Logan had been the first one to tell him that was false. He’d been the one to lay out the real facts and evidence to show how Virgil hurting would only worsen Thomas’s health, and his own. 

They’d all helped Virgil realize, for the first time, that he never should have been hurt. He’d never deserved it. Any of it. 

That was why he just needed to wait it out. He couldn’t talk this one out with the others, couldn’t face Logan just yet. It would just end up hurting him (that was what Virgil did best, after all) and Logan didn’t deserve that. 

Unfortunately, Virgil was starting to really wish he’d had the courage to ask for reassurance when the sky grew dark and the mindscape quieted, and he quickly realized he was far too on edge to go to bed. 

He was right back on the couch where he’d started the day, somehow even more jumpy and paranoid than he’d been that morning. He stared blankly at his phone, wondering if the dream would return if he fell asleep. 

Great. He’d probably be pulling an all-nighter. Maybe multiple if he couldn’t get a grip. Patton was going to kill him when he found out. 

“Virgil?” 

Virgil’s anxiety skyrocketed at the voice from the staircase, breath catching in his throat as he dug his nails into the couch cushions. He didn’t look up, even as he felt Logan’s eyes on him, completely frozen under the weight of his gaze. 

“Virgil,” Logan said again, steady and emotionless, impossible to read. “May I speak with you?” 

Virgil’s heart was beating in his now tightening chest, and he furiously told himself to calm down. But his body wasn’t cooperating with his mind, panic overpowering reason, and Virgil desperately searched for an excuse before Logan could realize how terrified he was. 

“I- um...I was just heading to bed, so--” 

“I only require a moment of your time,” Logan said. “As you usually sleep at a much later hour than this, I’m sure that won't be an issue.” 

Virgil took a shaky breath, wincing when he realized how obviously unsettled he must look. Logan didn’t sound angry, but...well, it was always so hard to tell. 

But there wasn’t a way out. He just hoped he could play it off long enough for Logan to give up. “Ok. Yeah, what’s...what’s up.” 

He tried not to think about how eerily similar this was to the nightmare. How Logan had calmly asked to speak with him. How he’d pulled out his notebook and presented neatly recorded data of Virgil’s health paralleled with Thomas’s. 

“It seems Thomas’s productivity has only decreased since we began treating you as an equal, Virgil.” 

“It seems the Others were right, your pain does make life easier.” 

“We will, of course, have to return to that method. You understand, I’m sure.” 

Virgil resisted the urge to flinch as Logan sat down at the other end of the couch, careful to keep his distance. 

He wrapped his arms around himself, shuddering under the phantom feeling of hands grabbing him, so tight it bruised his skin, both from nightmares and memories he could never let go of. 

“You’ve been avoiding me today.” 

Virgil did flinch this time, curling into a tighter ball. “N-no I haven’t.” 

Yeah, that was convincing. He could practically picture the exasperated eye roll Janus would give him if he were here. He kind of wished someone else would show up- anything to cause a distraction. 

Logan wasn’t here to hurt him. Logan would never hurt him. No one would hurt him. 

“I can...see my presence is causing you some distress,” Logan said, and Virgil felt like crying. “I do not wish to force you to speak with me, but I’ve clearly done something to trigger a reaction.”

He paused, obviously waiting for some kind of response or confirmation. Virgil squeezed his eyes shut, and Logan sighed before continuing. 

“It was never my intention to do anything to upset you. As is always the case, I only wish to identify the trigger so it does not happen again, and offer my sincere apologies. But I cannot do that if you won’t talk to me, Virgil.” 

God, why couldn’t Logan just be angry? He wouldn’t go back for anything in the world, but sometimes…

Sometimes it felt like being screamed at, punched and kicked and thrown around until he couldn’t move had been easier. At least then, he knew what to expect. 

Nobody had cared about him back then. And now...now Logan, Patton, Roman, Janus, and even Remus just wanted him to be ok. It scared him sometimes, how much he loved them. 

“It...it’s not that,” Virgil said, voice barely above a whisper. “It’s...fuck, you didn’t do anything Logan. You...you’re fine.” 

Logan was silent a moment before responding. “I find that hard to believe. You are currently under visible distress, which didn’t begin until after I made my presence known. This has happened every time I have walked into the room today. You skipped breakfast after I--”

“Look, I’m sorry, ok?” Virgil winced at his own outburst, now looking anywhere but at Logan. God, why was he always such an asshole? “I’m...sorry. I’m really sorry I didn’t mean to...it’s just me, ok? I’m being stupid like always and--” 

“You are not stupid,” Logan cut in, that stern but gentle tone he always used to talk Virgil out of a self deprecating spiral. “You tend to overthink and jump to often unrealistic conclusions, but as I have told you many times that does not change how intelligent and thoughtful you are.” 

Virgil shrugged, the praise just making him feel more guilty about what he was putting the logical side through. “I’m still being stupid, though.” 

“Falsehood. Something has frightened you, and clearly I am at the source. I only wish to assist.” 

Well. Now he was going to have to tell Logan. Even if he was upset afterwards, annoyance was far better than Logan walking around, weighed down by guilt and blaming himself for something he didn’t do. 

But apparently Virgil hesitated just a second too long, and Logan was suddenly speaking again. 

“Perhaps we can try a different approach,” he offered. “Could you...explain why you don’t want to tell me what’s wrong?” 

Virgil took a shaky breath. “You’re...gonna be mad.” 

“At you?” Logan asked, and Virgil nodded. “I sincerely doubt that. Why do you believe I’m going to be angry?” 

Virgil hunched over himself, and suddenly everything came spilling out. “Because...because you’ve done so much. I owe you all everything and I still...I’m still letting myself panic over a stupid fucking dream. After everything! And you...you don't deserve that. I-I’m sorry for avoiding you I didn’t mean to- to make you think--” 

There was a hand on his shoulder, barely brushing the cloth of his hoodie, but Virgil still flinched back before he could stop himself, and Logan quickly pulled away. 

“Sorry,” Virgil muttered. “I- I’m not--” 

“No apologies necessary,” Logan said, sounding much more calm than Virgil would have expected. “There’s no shame in being affected by a particularly bad dream.” 

Virgil scoffed, glancing up just enough to see Logan’s worried frown. “Sure.” 

“I mean it, Virgil. Especially considering your past. I understand if a vivid nightmare was enough for you to revert back to an old mindset. Staying vigilant and avoiding threats is what kept you safe back then, isn’t it?”

Safe was a strong word- he had never really been safe before, but...avoidance had been a survival technique. If he thought someone was angry, the only thing he could do was stay out of their way and hide. 

“But it’s you,” he argued. “I...it was so stupid you- you were saying that they were right. When...when they said that hurting me helped Thomas, and then...and then you showed me all this- this fucking data or whatever that me being safe hurt everyone and I...y-you all said I had to go back to how it was and I…” 

He trailed off, face burning when a few traitorous tears slipped down his cheeks, and he furiously wiped them away with his sleeves, breathing deeply. 

“Virgil--” 

“I’m fine,” he said quickly. “I’m...I know it’s dumb, ok? It’s just a stupid dream and you would never...I mean, if any of that was true you would have said something months ago, right?” 

For the first time, he looked up to meet Logan’s gaze, suddenly finding himself speechless at the sheer amount of emotion behind his glasses. Warm but worried, calculating and understanding. 

And then, slowly, he was standing from the couch. “Please wait here just a moment, Virgil. I believe there is something you should see.” 

And then just like that he was gone, hurrying up the stairs without another word. For just a second, Virgil considered retreating, and apologizing for this entire conversation tomorrow when he was more put together. 

But he didn’t need to make this any more unfair for Logan than it already was. Besides, the logical side was back in less than a minute, something held tight in his hand as he returned to his spot on the couch. 

“What’s that?” Virgil asked, hoping his voice didn’t betray just how sickeningly nervous he felt. 

Logan held it out to him, slow enough that Virgil didn’t flinch at the movement. He took it in his hands, realizing it was a plain black spiral notebook, and his heart clawed its way up to his throat. 

“What’s--?” 

“Flip through it, please,” Logan said calmly. “I believe you’ll find it interesting. And it may do something to set your mind at ease.” 

So far it was doing the exact opposite, but Virgil obeyed and slowly began turning the pages. 

It was clearly well-used, the some of the pages bent or wrinkled, but other than that it was still pristine and organized like everything that belonged to Logan. 

Some pages had hand drawn graphs or what looked like data tables, others had written entries in Logan’s writing. Virgil skimmed through them, catching glimpses of his name, and occasionally the other’s, all of the descriptions of events and conversations vaguely familiar. 

He had...absolutely no idea what the hell this was. 

And Logan apparently picked up on that, the logical side suddenly clearing his throat and scooting closer, still far enough away for the couch to not feel crowded. 

“It’s, uhm...well, you see when we had first learned of your past I wanted to ensure that we found the best methods to help you feel...safe. And at home. I suppose I should have told you, I completely understand if you’re--” 

“Wait a second,” Virgil said, the pieces falling together. “This is...you kept notes on me? On...my recovery?” 

It was Logan’s turn to avoid his gaze now, and Virgil’s heart sank when he realized Logan looked nervous. 

“I apologize if it is invasive,” he said quickly. “It wasn’t my intention. It’s a bit of a habit, I suppose. I tend to take extensive notes on things I find...important. And finding the best way to help you was incredibly important to me, Virgil.” 

Virgil felt like crying again, but for an entirely different reason this time. “Lo, that’s...god, that’s so fucking sweet.” 

Logan’s head snapped up, eyes widening when he saw Virgil’s widening smile. “I- you believe so?” 

“Dude, are you kidding? I’ve never...sometimes I just...can’t believe how much you guys care.” 

Logan matched his smile, and carefully, slowly enough that Virgil could pull away, scooted closer to see the open notebook. 

“I’ve been sure to document all of your progress at least once a week, no matter how small. And there has been a lot of it, even if you don’t always think so.” 

“Logan--” 

“But the reason I wanted you to see this today,” he continued, reaching over to turn a few pages. “Is because I occasionally compare your progress to Thomas’s productivity and overall wellbeing.” 

Virgil had absolutely no idea what the graphs and symbols Logan was pointing at meant, but the other side was right there to explain it to him. 

“Your progress, as well as how safe you began to feel around us, directly parallels Thomas's increased mental health. You being safe and healthy makes him better, Virgil. You being happy makes us better.” 

And...yeah, there was absolutely no way for Virgil to stop himself from crying this time. He didn’t really have any intention to stop, anyway. It was a nice change of pace to cry from happiness for once. 

Logan, unfortunately didn’t seem to know the difference. “I am...so sorry, I didn’t mean to--” 

Virgil cut him off by pulling him into a hug, holding on tight and squeezing his eyes shut. Logan relaxed against him, and slowly moved to wrap his arms around Virgil’s back. 

“I was going to offer you space and time to recuperate,” Logan said, and Virgil tightened his grip. “I’m pleased to see you are considerably less afraid of me now.” 

“I’m not afraid of you,” Virgil said quickly, not yet ready to pull away. “I’m not...and I wasn’t, I promise I just...my stupid brain is always--” 

“Your brain is not stupid,” Logan chided, and Virgil dropped his arms when he pulled back. “It’s had to learn to keep you alive under very unfortunate circumstances. It’s a survivor.” 

Virgil snorted, despite the way his chest felt light at the words. “I mean...I guess so.” 

Logan leaned back against the couch, the notebook still open in between them, and he drummed his fingers against his thigh before speaking again. 

“Something I need you to understand,” he said. “Is that in the grand scheme of things, the contents of this notebook don’t matter.” 

“But it’s--” 

“We were correct in assuming that helping you would, in turn, help Thomas. But even if we were wrong, it wouldn’t matter. It wouldn’t matter if there were benefits, and it wouldn’t matter if keeping you safe negatively affected Thomas. You would never, ever be struck. You would never be beaten or grabbed or screamed at or threatened. No matter the situation. It would never be an option to us.” 

There it was again, like he’d heard so many times before but so, so much more intense tonight. The compassion, the dedication, the emotions Logan denied while feeling so strongly. 

Virgil blinked away a new wave of tears. “I...I don’t ever want to hurt Thomas.” 

“Then it is a good thing this is only hypothetical,” Logan said. “You very clearly do no such thing. I only wanted you to understand that no matter the circumstances, your place with us will never change. You will never have any reason to fear for your safety again.” 

Virgil didn’t know how Logan did it, how the side who claimed to be the most alienated when it came to emotional responses, always seemed to be able to make everything right. 

The jumpiness and awful paranoia had already almost completely faded, leaving behind a soft blanket of soft fatigue. 

“Thank you,” he said quietly, and Logan smiled. 

“Of course. I’ll remind you any time you need. Would you like to be alone, or would you like to stay with me tonight?” 

Virgil smiled, wiping his eyes again. “Can I stay? Please?” 

Logan reached out a hand, his own smile gentle and warm, and Virgil knew they’d both be passed out to some old space documentary like they usually did when Virgil had a bad dream. 

“Of course, Virgil.” 

[windblooms]

topaz devices | ch. 01

if zhongli isn’t a the brightest individual blessed by the archons, then he’s socially inept, and spends his days stuck behind a desk as the heir of wangsheng incorporated.  frustrated by seeing his best friend burn through his days like paper over a bonfire, childe decides that if there’s one thing worse than a permeant desk job, it’s being converted into a corporate machine in one’s mid-twenties.  and he’s not going to let that happen to zhongli. 

gender-neutral reader x sugar daddy!zhongli.  modern au, slow burn.  chapter 1/?.  2213 words.

as usual, zhongli awakens a minute before his morning alarm goes off.  

and as he lays on the daybed, adjusting to the faint lighting of the moon that floats through the floor-to-ceiling windows of his office, the first thing he does is reach for his phone.  but when he pats down the area beside him, then above his head, and feels nothing, he begrudgingly props himself up on his elbows, and blinks the final bits of sleep out of his eyes.

this isn’t the first time he’s fallen asleep at the office.  admittedly, it’s probably over his hundredth, since he’s found it more practical to crash near his workspace than drag himself three floors up to his room.  but, oh, where did he leave his phone?  zhongli glances around, eyes no longer bleary; it’s not on the coffee table next to him, nor on the floor between it and the daybed, and for a split second he believes he left his phone at the tea station across the hall. 

and then it chimes with his alarm on the marble floor just before his work desk.

“ah,” he sighs to himself, voice still somewhat choked from the morning.  as the tone plays, he runs both of his hands through his hair, pulling back his bangs before letting them fall to the sides of his face, and takes a glance around his office: he vaguely remembers staying up until four in the morning to finish scanning over a forwarded contract, and the three empty cups of caffeinated tea that surround his desktop computer can attest to his commitment; there are reference binders on his desk that zhongli hadn’t put away after using, likely too engrossed in the project to tidy up as he worked, and the most damning evidence of his corporate devotion is easily the fact that, well – 

“conference in one hour,” his phone alarm is interrupted by the sound of its virtual assistant voice.  “conference with,” it continues in robotic fashion, “mrs. ningguang at seven-thirty-a.m.”

– he had scheduled an impromptu meeting after he finished reading said document.  as in, he intended to follow through with a meeting arrangement on less than four hours of sleep.  as in, arranged a meeting when it was three in the morning.  

as in, he also expected others to attend the conference on a four hour’s notice.  

such is the way of wangsheng incorporated, an institution where everyone involved is asked to sell their soul to the matriarch, all for the prosperity of her company.  the matriarch in this case being, of course, zhongli’s mother.

 “conference with,” his virtual assistant repeats, and zhongli hauls himself up from the daybed and onto his feet, padding over to his phone before swiping over the screen to silence all of his notifications. “mrs. ninggua – ” beep.

he inhales, stretches his arms, and then gazes out to the liyuen skyline. 

the horizon is still dark, with only hints of warmth leaking onto the expansive blanket of night.  below, however, the streets are illuminated by commuting vehicles and establishments opening for the day.  from his place on the higher floors of the company building, zhongli can only imagine the hum of life – he’s much too far up to actually hear anything.  

it’s at this moment he realizes that the last time he’s actually stepped foot out of the building was over a week ago – and a grimace becomes his first expression of the day.  archons, he didn’t think he was that busy, but begins mentally count the days regardless.  yeah, 9 days.  zhongli’s frown deepens; knowing himself, it’s probably also been 9 days since he’s left his floor on the building.

as much as he would like to leave, though, the company is more important to him.  until there’s a convenient time for him to take a break, he’ll keep working.  it’s what he’s always done – it’s what he’s good at.  

so he inhales once more, as the skyline is washed with violet.  exhales.  

the clock reads six thirty-three. 

. . . 

it’s around four in the morning when childe decides that zhongli is officially insane.

who the fuck arranges a meeting in the dead middle of the night?  granted, he’s only zhongli’s secretary, so it’s not like he has to take part in it – the gripe here is that he’s the one who manages zhongli’s entire schedule.  so when zhongli goes out on his own, arranging things without telling him first, that’s when the issues start.  

childe receives the conference notice just as the other executives do (while on a comfortable date with his bed); reading zhongli’s attached note with gunk wedged in his eyes and a screen flashing blue light directly into his irises makes him think – 

there’s no way zhongli’s in the right state of mind.  and after three whole years of working with him, others would think that childe’s used to his mercurial behavior by now.  but he would give himself more credit, insisting that he’s not that deep into the corporate mentality to put business before rationale – but maybe it’s the luxury that comes along with being a secretary and not anyone more important.

now, where was he?  oh, yeah.  plotting exactly which words to tell his boss when it’s an acceptable time in the morning.  

that means grumbling obscenities until he falls back asleep, brain power exhausted.  that means waking up at an appropriate time (read: six), rolling out of bed, then heading to the tea bar, and concluding that, well, this is just how zhongli operates.

as in, he can’t be angry at his best friend for long.

ceramic cup in hand and bedhead as thick as a haystack, childe recalls two things that were previously clouded by his indignance: one, that the business life is all zhongli’s ever known, even when he was a kid (that much was made obvious when he couldn’t even list out how many hobbies he had the first time they met).  two, the fact that, when asked, zhongli didn’t know which would be worse between losing stock investments or entire contact with the outside world. 

sheltered is probably the closest word childe can think of, but zhongli isn’t stupid either.  maybe socially inept is the better way to describe him – not like it cripples his personality entirely though.  he’s got some redeeming qualities – childe tells himself to think positively of zhongli for the entirety of his stroll down the hall towards his office – but stops short once he opens the door and realizes that, well, 

“three,” childe mouths incredulously, nearly dropping the ceramic in his hand.  “three cups of tea from last night alone?”

“good morning to you too.”

childe doesn’t have much time to gawk.  he would drag his face down with his fingers if his hands weren’t occupied, but knowing zhongli, he wouldn’t even make note of his dramatics.  absorbed into his work first thing in the morning – and childe, looking down at himself, isn’t even dressed properly.  just a dress shirt and pants, while zhongli has already decked himself out in a full-piece suit.

that’s what happens when zhongli decides that his office is where he’s going to live.

“you know,” childe starts, sighing for good measure.  the ginger makes his way over to zhongli’s desk, replacing the three cups with one of fresh tea.  glaze lily tea, to zhongli’s preference.  “staying up late isn’t good for your health.  especially when you’re high on caffeine six days a week.”

well, duh.  the words come out dumber than he intended, but it gets the point across.  it’s not childe’s job to sound intelligent, only that he knows how to manage someone else’s schedule.  

it takes a few seconds for zhongli to respond, as his fingers are busy typing away at the keyboard.  drafting another email, most likely.  in that time, childe hooks his fingers through the handles of the three cups zhongli had downed the previous night, preparing to carry them out.  “i do what i need to get things done,” the workaholic counters.  his eyes don’t leave the monitor for a second, and childe has half the mind to think that he’s a robot.  “we’ve talked about this before.”

zhongli’s not wrong, but childe’s face sours nonetheless.  “i can’t have the heir of the company sabotaged by his own toxic work ethic, and insist that you take a nap whenever possible, my liege.”

his dramatics doesn’t earn him any points.  he worries briefly that zhongli’s already gone into his own world, only able to be hauled back to the surface once the sun is far gone, and his eyebrows furrow.  but now bent on getting a constructive response from zhongli, he refuses to budge from his spot across the desk.  

almost as if he’s uncomfortable, zhongli looks up.  childe knows he’s not actually peeved, and that the brunette is just thinking of what to say.  three years of working for him taught him as much.  “if i have time to, then i will.”  the young heir averts his eyes towards the screen before meeting childe’s again.  “thanks for your concern.”

if childe were any other person, he would believe zhongli.  zhongli speaks without a falter in his voice – as if it weren’t already as smooth as velvet – and his eyes are resolute when locked onto his.  but he’s not someone else, and the closest individual to a friend that zhongli has.  it would be a disservice, both as a friend and coworker, to leave zhongli to his devices.  so childe doesn’t relent.  it’s his turn to be stubborn and set in his ways. 

he places the cups back onto the desk, and the other man looks up curiously, just in time to see childe’s eyes narrow.  “i mean it, zhongs.”

and, with just as much performative sincerity as before, zhongli says the same thing he always does, with a straight face and empty eyes.  “i do, too.”

“no, you don’t.”  childe’s scowl is as deep as his concern.  he wasn’t joking earlier when he said that zhongli would be murdered by his own obsession with work – “responsibility,” as the younger of the two would insist, but he’s blind to his own persistence, and time has made that blatantly obvious.  “i know you have a meeting soon, so i won’t stay long.  i don’t care if we’ve talked about this before,” he rushes his words, determined to get them in before zhongli quips, “it doesn’t make it any less important.”

a pause.  zhongli’s typing has halted and is instead replaced by silence.  hell, he even folds his fingers together on top of the keyboard, as if telling childe that he finally has his full attention.  but the void in his eyes hasn’t changed: amber, clouded with vermillion, and burning in coals.

childe assesses him sternly, extending the stillness of the moment, before proceeding.  “i’m going to block out your schedule tonight after eight, and we’re going to have a talk.”

zhongli tries not to look fazed.  to his credit, he really, really tries, but his posture bristles just enough to cue the secretary in on his client’s displeasure.  “no, i’m not going to watch over you for the rest of the night to make sure you sleep,” he reassures just as swiftly, half-teasing and half-serious, “but we are going to make some plans.”

both of childe’s hands are flat on the desk as the two of them regard each other.  although zhongli is the taller of the two, his position in the office chair gives childe the height advantage in the current situation.  “after you get enough rest this week, i’m going to get you out of this building,” childe vows to zhongli.  neither of them blink.  “you’re going to walk on the streets and breathe fresh air.  you’re going to spend time with people your age and eat at a restaurant.  you’re going to have fun.” 

it is at that moment, when zhongli’s face falters as if he’s being spoken to in python when his input is java, that childe realizes that he has no strategy, and that he’s just saying the things that he wants for zhongli: he refuses to believe that zhongli will continue to regard this room, conditioned with with frigid air and tailored to each tile on the floor, is his only future, and instead wants his 25 year-old boss to have some semblance of life in his days instead of bleeding through each, only to tear through the next.

childe had the choice to dream towards the life he currently lives.  on the other hand, zhongli never did.  inheriting a multi-million dollar company, especially being the son of the ceo, outwardly sounds like the opportunity only the archons could bestow.  childe would have thought the same too.  

until he realized that predestination sucks, and that zhongli is too good to wither his youth away behind a desk.  

childe has exactly thirteen hours to come up with a plan.  from the thoughts floating in his head, it can turn out in one of two ways:

one: zhongli is integrated back into society and lives a happier, more animated life than what he currently has. 

two: childe loses his job.

[sagamemes]

the sheridan tapes  📼  part one.   here and under the cut, you can find a little under 120 lines of dialogue from the horror podcast the sheridan tapes, specifically from episodes one to three, edited for roleplay purposes.  tw: police, murder, supernatural elements, mentions of apocalyptic scenarios, near death experiences, injuries, vehicular crash, recreational drug and alcohol use.

❝  jesus, [name]. you’re not making this easy, are you?  ❞

❝  makes you wonder... do these things follow me because i chase them, or were they always following me?  ❞

❝  darkness and complete disorientation does a number on the human brain.  ❞

❝  i don't think he was a werewolf.  ❞

❝  i’d call it the customer service smile. you know, the one that says  ‘ thank you for shopping with us, please die now ’.  ❞

❝  i’ve found the more showy the text, the less impressive the actual phenomena.  ❞

❝  my job here is kind of… shaky at the moment.  ❞

❝  [name] was also engaged in the study of the impossible in his free time.  ❞

❝  so it’s just me who drives you up the wall then?  ❞

❝  well, you’ll be happy to hear i haven’t been having any fun. no weed, no ghosts.  ❞

❝  there hasn’t been a new lead on her case in more than half a year.  ❞

❝  so here i am, wrapped up in a blanket, staring at my little fireplace, so bored i actually decided to call my sister for once.  ❞

❝  it’s a little town near bandon. very little. nice little mini-market, and that’s about it.  ❞

❝  i doubt i’ll sleep much tonight. that’s okay. i just feel like looking at the stars for a while.  ❞

❝  it's probably for the best. i am simultaneously exhausted from the drive and absolutely wired from the coffee.  ❞

❝  i wonder if there will still be ghosts out there when that happens?  when the earth is gone?  ❞

❝  glad to hear you’re enjoying yourself, then.  ❞

❝  knowing doesn’t make things any easier, but it does make them a little less frightening.  ❞

❝  that’s all just a lazy way of saying that the real explanation is too difficult—or too horrible—for them to accept.  ❞

❝  it almost killed me, but in the end it settled for putting me in pt for a year while i figured out how to use my hands again.  ❞

❝  he muttered something about my time being up. or maybe he said it wasn’t up.  ❞

❝  i don’t really care that i didn’t get any writing done today.  ❞

❝  nothing. not a single idea worth writing down, no itch i needed to scratch or question i needed to answer.  ❞

❝  guess there really is no such thing as bad press.  ❞

❝  i have no idea what a writer’s  ‘ process ’  usually looks like, but i’m pretty sure it’s not this.  ❞

❝  see what i have to deal with?  god… siblings, am i right?  ❞

❝  what can i say?  i have a soft spot for gothic architecture.  ❞

❝  computers have never been very good at reconciling paradoxes.  ❞

❝  they’re pretty much over funding my little expeditions.  ❞

❝  that kind of smile doesn’t normally show that many teeth.  ❞

❝  you know, that’s only scary the first few times you do it.  ❞

❝  one day, it will be dead. one day all the stars will burn out, go dark and silent. one day, everything will be so dark and so cold that no new stars can ever be born. the old ones will blink out one by one, like candles going out, and then… nothing. silence. darkness. void.  ❞

❝  the simplest explanation is almost always the right one.  ❞

❝  i don’t remember getting in my van, putting the key in the ignition, or speeding away from that house, but i must have.  ❞

❝  no, no, i’m fine, i’m fine, just go bother someone else.  ❞

❝  i haven’t eaten, moved, or written anything all day.  ❞

❝  but maybe that's just the fact that it is two in the morning and my brain is running mostly on caffeine.  ❞

❝  given how good a [job] he is, i know it’s not the first time he’s done it.  ❞

❝  i escaped, but i knew that whatever was in that house has just marked me as prey.  ❞

❝  calm down. think. you’re just going to confuse yourself.  ❞

❝  just wanted to tell you a couple of us are headed out to marvin’s for drinks if you want to come.  ❞

❝  one of the most disappointing things about living in america is the lack of genuinely haunted houses. out of all the supposed haunts i’ve visited, maybe one in ten seems like the real deal.  ❞

❝  sounds… peaceful. not many distractions, then?  ❞

❝  something tells me this tape wasn’t played in court.  ❞

❝  one of the neighbours must have called 911.  ❞

❝  my infamous accident. it almost killed me.  ❞

❝  i just woke up to footsteps in the kitchen. i don’t know who, or what, but there’s someone in here with me!  ❞

❝  could you shut the door on your way out, please?  ❞

❝  uh, wasn’t expecting to hear from you so soon.  ❞

❝  the fire that i said went out?  yeah, it just started burning again.  ❞

❝  so i asked him to lie.  ❞

❝  it'd really be just a few of us. maybe me and [name] and one or two other tagalongs…  ❞

❝  apparently, the press had a lot of questions too.  ❞

❝  i’ve driven more than 8 hours and drunk enough bad coffee to give an elephant heart palpitations. i’m sure as hell going to get my money’s worth.  ❞

❝  oh sorry, am i bothering you now? what happened to  ‘ call anytime you want, [name] ’ or,  ‘ you’re always welcome here, [name] ’ ?  ❞

❝  i’ve forgotten to charge my phone. again.  ❞

❝  i… think i’m going to turn around now.  ❞

❝  well sorry if i wanted to have a nice talk with my sister for a change.  ❞

❝  will it just be left there forever? our legacy? look upon our works, ye mighty, and despair?  ❞

❝  no matter how far away from home you are, no matter how different the constellations might look from where you’re standing, you can always look up on a clear, dark night and feel like you’re about to fall right into it—the terrifying, endless expanse of nothingness.  ❞

❝  i know authors can do some crazy things to get out of writer’s block, but i’ve never heard of one resorting to arson.  ❞

❝  why do you always think there’s something wrong?  ❞

❝  ours is not to question why, ours is but to digitize and stay the hell out of trouble.  ❞

❝  so let’s try walking backwards. just keep an eye on it.  ❞

❝  i got lucky. or maybe i was just fast enough to escape.  ❞

❝  maybe there are secret passages behind the walls and corridors.  ❞

❝  no matter how far i walked, i couldn’t find the way i came in.  ❞

❝  well, i /know/ i’ve had worst nights. i just can’t think of any right now.  ❞

❝  i do want you to have fun, [name], i just don’t want you to get yourself killed doing it.  ❞

❝  i mean, obviously, i do care, that’s the whole reason i made this trip. to get away from the noise and focus.  ❞

❝  i might have… forgotten to tell anyone where i was going.  ❞

❝  before i get started, there’s just one thing i need to say. i have absolutely no patience for the unexplained, or the things people call  ‘ unexplainable ’,  ‘ supernatural ’, or  ‘ paranormal ’.  ❞

❝  i told [name] that i needed to get out, to get inspired.  ❞

❝  okay, if someone is messing with me, they’re going to be very sorry, very quickly.  ❞

❝  [name] lied his ass off to save yours.  ❞

❝  a crash like that does funny things to your head.  ❞

❝  i still don’t know how he got there without me noticing.  ❞

❝  any plans i had to travel abroad went up in smoke.  ❞

❝  i thought of pulling out the bad cop routine.  ❞

❝  strange how something so dead can be so beautiful.  ❞

❝  it hated me:  hated what i do, and more than that, hated who i am.  ❞

❝  lots of tall tales. and more than a few ghost stories.  ❞

❝  oh good, you’re still here!  ❞

❝  reviewers absolutely grilled it:  said it was a nonsensical rip off of the dark tower, whatever that means.  ❞

❝  i jumped out the window. cut my hands on the glass, but thankfully not bad enough to need stitches  ❞

❝  i told her, tonight.  ❞

❝  for a minute, i wondered if that would really be so bad. it was a fitting way to go, given my… well, everything.  ❞

❝  i suppose that’s a universal constant—maybe the only one.  ❞

❝  i never let myself get this turned around. especially not at night.  ❞

❝  i don’t know if it’s actually haunted. but if not, then it was sure as hell convincing.  ❞

❝  i’m not one of those people who thinks she’s the spawn of satan or something ridiculous like that.  ❞

❝  unless i’m prepared to accept that she was murdered by something that crawled out of a funhouse mirror, this isn’t much help with the case, either.  ❞

❝  i have to try and work some actual cases the rest of the time. you know, cases that might have some answers i can find.  ❞

❝  it's cold, damp, and dark as night. i'm in my element, at least.  ❞

❝  your place is waiting for you.  ❞

❝  yeah, i’m all good. great… hanging in there, you know?  one day at a time.  ❞

❝  oh, i see you. you think i’m still scared of [thing], huh?  think you can freak me out?  ❞

❝  trust me, i’ve had a hell of a day, and you do not want to mess with a pissed off…  ❞

❝  and tell my sister i'm sorry.  ❞

❝  oh god, it's cold.  ❞

❝  the night sky really is beautiful out here.  ❞

❝  tell him he shouldn’t have been such a good liar.  ❞

❝  i’ve been listening to this for the last two weeks now.  ❞

❝  it’s not even that i’m having bad ideas. i’m not having any at all.  ❞

❝  can’t get away from the work, no matter what i do.  ❞

❝  i made sure i switched off my phone before i came up here, just in case.  ❞

❝  god, these things smell of weed.  ❞

❝  yeah, well… just wanted to make sure you’re okay, you know?  ❞

❝  [name] is dead. that's all there is to it.  ❞

❝  no, i need to get out of here. it’s been a long day.  ❞

❝  a lot of the art i found was just paintings of a night sky full of stars.  ❞

❝  my job is to look the facts dead in the face and find an explanation. one that will hold up in a court of law.  ❞

❝  personal and career choices, i guess you’d call them.  ❞

❝  damn. i could’ve sworn i felt something strange about this place when i hiked through this morning… or maybe it was a different part. hard to tell this late at night, anyway.  ❞

❝  well, let’s just say a middle-aged man-child running out panicked and tearing at his eyes would hardly be a marketable image.  ❞

❝  i didn’t mind that i’d be alone—i always expected that to be how i went.  ❞

❝  i’m sure that’s on my personnel file by now, as if it could get any more problematic.  ❞

[amiechuchu]

Magic, Mayhem, and All Things In Between

Chapter 3: Background of the Study

[A/N: finally some y/n and loki development. soft loki moments. i am once again back with the self-indulgent fic and i hope you enjoy :’)]

other chapters can be found here

Weeks had passed since you had accepted Mr. Stark’s small favor. Weeks had passed since you began spending the majority of your time with the Asgardian brothers and dear Uncle Bruce. Though the days were filled with chatter, the late nights in the lab were quite the opposite. With only the low hum of machines to keep you company, you realized how lonely it can be. It was unlike the times you spent in the hospital, where you’d be surrounded by fellow doctors, nurses, and patients even at the dead of night. Despite how these late night duties meshed with early mornings, dulling your own sense of time, you didn’t mind it because of the company that you had. Research work, on the other hand, was a different story. Despite your years of experience, the burnout and loneliness that accompanied research work slowly made its way to the deepest parts of your brain.

“Hey,” a voice said as a hand waved in front of you, snapping you out of the trance you were in. It was Loki. “Are you okay, pet? You look rather dead.” The God held up a cup of freshly brewed coffee and passed it on to you.

“I’m fine,” came your quick reply as you received the cup from him, your hands nudging his slightly, “thank you for the coffee by the way.” You gave Loki a weak smile before beginning to sip from the warm cup of comfort that was given to you.

The lack of reaction was unusual. How many times has Loki seen you flustered with just the tiniest forms of physical touch? Probably every single time. Confused, he grabbed a chair and set it down beside you. “Are all you Midgardians always so dishonest about what you feel?” There was that usual bite in his manner of speaking. Though, no matter how hard he tried to hide it in his cold demeanor, he could feel the concern dripping from the words he uttered; the loneliness he saw in your eyes hit too close to home. Did he get too close? Maybe showing that he cared was a mistake.

Keeping your eyes on the warm mug, you hummed in reply, refusing to answer a clear yes. Your eyes glanced up at the God beside you, longing to understand why he’d even bother. Clearly, you were oblivious to any form of care or concern Loki has shown. It wasn’t as if you had your guard up, rather you were quite unfamiliar with the intimacies of talking about your own feelings. Although the question he asked was clearly rhetorical, you still wondered: Do Asgardians not repress their own feelings to prevent them from getting distracted from things that truly matter?

Green orbs stared at yours, noticing the ever darkening bags under your eyes. “I was just concerned,” Loki began, voice softening. The God looked away and focused on the variety of glassware set up on the table adjacent to them, “it has been a while since you’ve left the laboratory. You didn’t even sneak out to the medical wing for a little breather.”

You raised an eyebrow at him in disbelief. How could he have noticed all that? How could he have cared at all? After all, you were just a lowly Midgardian, as he put it, and he was a God, a deity, someone with power and importance. “How did you-”

“It pains me that you put me on the same level as them, little doctor,” the God interjected as he faced you once more, “out of all the weeks we’ve spent in this laboratory, you really believed I wouldn’t have noticed.” He noticed the closeness of your proximity; his form inches away from yours, yet your mind was elsewhere. 

“In my defense, everyone else I’ve met in this tower described you as a narcissistic asshole and a war criminal,” you shrugged, “so, naturally, I didn't think you would care at all about my well-being.” You took a sip from your cup, and indulged in the buzz the caffeine began to give you. “But I don’t think you’re as bad as they make you out to be. They just didn’t think of the whole story. Just took out a portion of it. It was unfair - what they did to you. It felt as if you always had the short end of the stick.”

Silence. 

Now, it was your turn to shock your Asgardian companion. Being on the other end of empathy was foreign to Loki as everyone treated him quite harshly. He grew up in the shadow of Thor, the more loveable sibling, and, as much as he wanted to show off his capabilities, that he was just as worthy as Thor, Loki was left in the darkness, to wallow in promises unkept, to wallow in dreams broken, to wallow in his own great tragedy. 

Eyes feeling heavy, You turned your head towards Loki, waiting for a response; though you were a naturally perceptive person, the look on his face was filled with emotions you couldn’t make out. Was he mad? Did you say too much? That analysis was unwarranted, of course he’d be mad. Embarrassed, you looked down on your cup of coffee once more, “I apologize if I said anything out of line. There are just too many things in my mind right now. I don’t think I was able to filter my thoughts very well.”

“Pray tell, dear doctor. What are you thinking of?” Loki replied, deciding to change the course of their conversation. With brows slightly raised and his gaze set at your exhausted form, you felt the God studying you, attempting to break down the essence of what makes the little physician tick. 

Deciding to be a smartass, you replied, “like I said, many things.” You set down your cup of coffee on the table and crossed your arms. “Why do you ask, Loki? These past few weeks you’ve been awfully helpful to the point that Uncle says it’s weird and unlikely for you to do that just for a human. I appreciate it though, but I just don’t see why you should go out of your way to listen to me.”

“Your words wound me, doctor,” Loki chuckled, emerald eyes piercing yours, “can I not be concerned? I see years worth of loneliness and unfulfilled expectations in your eyes to the point that you can’t even deny it. I’m sure you understand what isolation and over independence can do.” Your eyes softened, glistening under the incandescent lights. You were cracking slowly, and the God knew this. He knew what you were seeking: comfort, validation, a shoulder to cry on. It was clear as day.

“Well, I could see all the walls you’ve built. You know everything about everybody, but barely anyone knows anything about you,” you attempted to reply proudly; however, your words were breathy, already beginning to shake. So much for an attempted bark. Embarrassed, you looked away defensively, not taking another moment under his perceptive gaze. It felt as if all the skeletons you’ve kept inside your closet were being showcased all of a sudden, and you hated every second of it. Your stomach churned as your defenses slowly came undone; it wouldn’t take a while now for you to start oversharing, possibly even crying your eyes out. His hand tenderly reached out to the edge of your chin and tilted it towards him. It was warm, soothing. Comforting.

“I could say the same to you, darling. You act as if you don’t build walls around you, yet you keep everyone else at arms reach. I know what loneliness and distrust does to people, and I also know that you shouldn’t hold yourself accountable for all these expectations.” There was a slight pang in Loki’s chest as he said all these truths. He too bore wounds invisible to the eye. He too carried scars from the past. These emotions were far too familiar to the raven-haired God much like old friends, and he was afraid that, by reading these off your face, he’d become attached somehow, mended together by a mutual understanding of each other’s pain. What would become of his plan then? His glorious purpose?

Looking up to him, you realized how small you were, how fragile, how easy it was for him to see through your façade. It was oddly nice to have someone who had a grasp on your inner demons, albeit without consent. You felt a connection in the making.

 Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to trust him.

 *

Days have passed since the God of Mischief and the doctor have shared a portion of the thoughts they hid away in the darkest parts of their head. It was needless to say that the two now had an unspoken connection, a commiseration of loneliness, self-doubt, and crushing expectations. Often, they’d find their gazes focused on one another, with smiles shared and laughter exchanged. Other times, a helping hand would linger longer than usual atop the other’s. A gentle squeeze or the light encircling of one’s thumb, a sign of care and concern; these gestures only happened when the two were alone, knowing that dear Uncle Bruce would be highly against it. However, it wouldn’t be long before the others noticed.

You were grateful that today was a relatively slow day in the laboratory. Majority of the specimens that were scheduled for today’s tests were finished earlier than usual along with the case presentations and progress reports Mr. Stark had asked you to make. Though it seemed like such a small feat, you took it positively; today, you could finally take a breather. You hummed happily as you began arranging the mountain of paperwork around the main table.

Upon reaching for the next pile of papers, a familiar hand laid atop of yours. You smiled and looked at your raven-haired companion, admiring the way his tousled locks framed his oh-so ethereal face. 

“Do you need help, my dear doctor?” Loki asked as his thumb drew circles on your hand. Though his silvery voice tugged at your heartstrings as they always did, your cheeks were slightly tinged a light shade of red at mention of the pet name. The God never called you his doctor before.

“I can manage,” you replied as you turned your hand, interlocking your fingers with his. You kept your gaze on your hands intertwined with his, the way they fit together so perfectly. “It’s surprisingly not as busy today.”

Loki leaned down, his face close behind your neck. “A bit bold today aren’t we, pet?” he jested, breath tickling the side of your ear.

Thor observed the scene from afar, shocked. He never thought that his brother would’ve established a bond with the doctor, not in the way that Loki didn’t deserve any type of social interaction, but in the way that his brother wasn’t the easiest person to get along with. With arms crossed, the God of Thunder continued to watch as the two continued on with their intimacies, wondering when and how this managed to start. He watched the way your eyes lingered on his brother attentively; the way you were able to tug a smile on Loki’s face; the way his face lit up when you were around; the way your gentle touch was able to open a different side of Loki. 

Though he was wary of his brother and his antics, Thor disregarded his suspicions: the two of you were much too happy occupied in your bubble of… friendship? No, it was more than that. So much more. Something was blossoming, and the God of Thunder was sure of it. He was unsure of the status of you and Loki’s relationship, but nevertheless he was still happy. However, he wasn’t so sure if your uncle would be so accepting of it, knowing the bad blood between what had happened in New York.

The doors of the laboratory swept open, startling the two friends. Thor coughed loudly to alert his brother and the doctor, but it was already too late for them to fall back to a more believably platonic position. Out came Mr. Stark and Uncle Bruce from the elevators, both shocked at the closeness of you and Loki. Tony looked more curious than shocked at the development. Your uncle, on the other hand, radiated a crushing aura, and, although Uncle Bruce’s face seemed calm and collected at the moment, you knew very well that there was anger hidden underneath it. He always warned you about Loki and the danger he could bring if you got involved, so it was no surprise to you if his anger came from both concern and disappointment. 

Awkward air filled the room as the two made their way towards the laboratory’s main table. Loki stepped back away from you, whispering something along the lines of you being okay. You nodded in affirmation then looked down, averting any type of eye contact, and started to fiddle with the sheets of paper you had in hand. 

Sighing, you knew it was taboo to speak of the laboratory’s peace out loud since it always brought bad luck. Now, you’re going to have to deal with the consequences.

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