#like yes long and lanky lisa is cool and all but what if she was also a victim of 1980s fatphobia

[autismvampyre]

the only thing that would make Lisa Frankenstein(2024) better is if lisa swallows was a fat girl

[hangovercurse]

Blind Date (continued)

You invite Colson in after your blind date

Request: “I loved this so much! If you get the chance and are up to it, I’d love a second part!” ”I would like to read a second part of it”

Colson X Reader

Warnings: cursing

A/N: Have I edited this? No. Did I even look back over this after I wrote it? Also no

Word Count: 1974

Your hand touched the handle before you turned around, finding Colson in the same situation at his car door, still looking at you. “Do you maybe wanna… come in?” You asked, biting your lip. His face lit up, a smirk highlighting his features.

“I would love that.”

The man’s lanky figure strutted over to your front door as you opened it, pausing as he entered to take in the smell of your house that screamed you. He let his eyes wander around the place as he stepped further in, taking off his coat and shoes at the front entryway.

You moved into the kitchen, pulling out a bottle of red wine while he made his way into the space. You found a note on the counter from your best friend and roommate.

Staying at Eric’s tonight in case you and your date need the place to yourself <3

You rolled your eyes at the note, chuckling as you tossed it in the trash. You rustled through your drawers to grab a corkscrew, fiddling with the bottle as Colson shuffled into the room, standing behind you to encase you in his arms.

He took the corkscrew from your hands and opened the bottle with ease. “I was getting there,” you whined jokingly.

He chuckled, “I could see that.” You turned around and allowed your lower back to rest against the counter, squeezed between the surface and Colson. His arms rested on the countertop on either side of you, his figure leaning to be level with you.

You couldn’t help but admire his features, his bright blue eyes and the stubble on his jaw sparking your artistic mind. “I wish I could sketch you right now,” you murmured your thoughts aloud.

He smirked, leaning closer into you, your lips almost meeting, “why don’t you?”

You smiled, pressing a soft kiss to his lips before softly speaking, “you would get bored being my model.”

He pulled away from you, fingers running across your waist until they found your hands, intertwining your fingers. “I would be honored to be your model.”

You perked an eyebrow, “seriously?”

He shrugged, “I’ve done it before for cameras, and you are much more interesting than photographers.” He pulled you away from the counter, “go get your stuff and I’ll pour wine.”

Rolling your eyes, you walked towards your art room, which was really just your bedroom, “don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

When you returned, he was wandering your small living area, a glass of wine in his hands and one on the small coffee table. His eyes danced along the picture frames you and your roommate had placed around the house when you first moved in, which you honestly hadn’t looked at since.

You stepped into the room with your sketchbook and pencils, making your presence known. His gaze drifted to you with a smile, watching you settle onto the couch, “so, is this your roommate?” He motioned towards one of the pictures.

You glanced up, smiling at the goofy picture you two had taken at graduation, “yep, that’s us.” You turned your head back to your book, flipping to the next blank page as he continued asking about your pictures.

“Who’s in this one?” He asked, pointing to a photo of your roommate and her boyfriend, Eric.

You chuckled at the image of them pulling funny faces in the front seat of a car while you sat in the background looking bored, “that’s Eric, her boyfriend. We went on this huge road trip and they swore I wouldn’t have to third wheel, but I obviously did.”

Colson let out a small laugh, taking a sip of his wine, “and who is that?”

You had honestly forgotten about the picture he was pointing to, but seeing it made your stomach fill with unease. “Oh, I forgot that was still up,” you sighed at Colson’s curious expression, “that’s me and my ex, TJ. We broke up months ago, I thought I’d gotten everything of his out of here.”

Colson could see the discomfort in your expression, sitting down on the armchair next to your couch, throwing his legs over the side and posing dramatically. “Bad ex, huh?” You nodded, not wanting to make him uncomfortable with the conversation, though you wanted nothing more than to open up to him. “I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours.”

You rolled your eyes, turning so you could face him, “of all the poses, that’s what you pick?”

He smiled innocently, “yep.” A chuckle fell from your lips as you looked down at your sketchbook, pressing your pencil to the paper. “Fine, I’ll go first,” he began, “can’t really get to know each other if we don’t get at least a little bit of trauma out of the way.”

You looked up at him and giggled, “you got me there.”

He sighed, taking a sip of his wine, “Baze told me not to talk about it, but the look on your face when I asked you about him tells me you might be able to relate.” You raised an eyebrow but kept drawing, giving him a silent signal to continue. “I was dating this girl for a while, you’ve probably heard of her, Megan Fox.”

Your eyes went wide at the name, looking up at him in shock, “yeah, because that’s not an intimidating act to follow at all!”

Colson waved you off, “you’re doing great so far, don’t even worry about it.” You gave him a stern look, but he only continued with his story, “anyways, we were together for a while and she told me all the time she thought we were soulmates, and I believed her, you know?” You bit your lip, starting to feel slightly intimidated as he spoke about the woman. “But then she cheated on me after, like, 9 months. And I realized after we broke up how wrong we were for each other and how much she manipulated me.”

You frowned as he spoke, his tone getting sadder with each word. “That’s so shitty. I don’t understand why people cheat in long term relationships, especially after you’ve given them so much hope and trust. Like someone convinces you that they love you and then they go around and pull that shit. It’s evil.”

He nodded, a slight smile on his face, “I’m over it now though, in case you were worried. Came to the realization about a month or two later that I was better without her.”

You held the pencil in your hands still, trying to find the words you needed to say. “I, uh, I was dating that guy, TJ. We had been friends for a while and he asked me out and I said yes. Everything was great, you know? And then like almost a year end he starts acting all weird and possessive. Like just because we had been together for so long means he doesn’t have to treat me like his girlfriend anymore. He would make me feel like shit in front of our friends and just all around was being a shitty boyfriend.” Colson stared at you intensely with a frown on his face, eyebrows furrowed.

“A guy should never do that shit to his girl. You don’t deserve that shit, no one does.”

You nodded sadly, “yeah, well, then I found out like 4 months into all of this that he had cheated on me and gotten the girl pregnant so… I ended things real quick.” You let out a sad huff, turning your attention back to the book and continuing your sketch of the beautiful man in front of you. “I was really upset at first but now I’m just kind of angry. Dude was a dick.”

Colson let out a dry laugh as you took a long sip of wine, “sounds like it. I’m sorry you went through that shit.”

You shrugged, smiling up at him, “if I hadn’t, we wouldn’t be here.”

He chuckled, biting his lip, “guess something good came out of it.”

A blush spread across your cheeks, “oh yeah, the food was amazing.” Your words were full of sarcasm, yet the pout on his face still made you giggle, “I’m joking, loser.”

“You better be miss second-date.” You giggled but didn’t respond, turning back to draw him. It was quiet for a few moments, your pencil tracing along the paper.

He shifted, at which you glared up at him, “I told you you’d get bored.”

With a chuckle he said, “I’m not bored. I get to look at you while you draw, it’s far from boring.” You tried to look annoyed at him but failed miserably at his flattering words. “I was thinking though, since it’s my picture and all, I should get to make some executive decisions.”

You scoffed, “you chose your pose, what else would you like oh great model Colson?”

He rolled his eyes playfully, stretching his arm out to set his glass on the table. “Well, I mentioned that I have some tattoos,” he reached for the hem of his shirt, pulling it up, “you should draw them.”

Once his shirt was fully removed from his body, you couldn’t help but gawk just a little. His entire chest was covered in ink, designs beautifully engraved into his skin. “I was gonna make a joke about this only being our first date but holy shit, these are beautiful.”

He blushed, looking down shyly, ”I was honestly scared you weren’t gonna like them.”

You looked at him with wide eyes, “Seriously? This is so cool. I’m an artist, you really think I’m not gonna like tattoos? Its an art form in itself.”

Colson shrugged, moving back to his pose, expecting you to continue your drawing. Instead, your eyes wandered his torso, taking in every detail of the work. “If you’re lucky,” he commented slyly, “one day I might show you all of them.”

You rolled your eyes with a scoff, moving back into drawing position, “you think you’re so cool.”

A breathy laugh fell from his lips, “I do, actually.”

The two of you continued banter-laced conversation while you drew him, his likeness coming to life on your page. At some point it turned into 3 am, and you were struggling to keep your eyes opened, but you were finished.

“Here.” You turned the book to him, letting him take in your work. He didn’t speak for a few moments, causing worry to build in you. “I mean, it’s no Mona Lisa but-“

“That is fucking amazing.” He cut you off with a wide smile, “you make me look hot.”

You rolled your eyes with a grin, “I’m not going to feed your ego by saying something super lame like “that’s just what you look like,” but I’m glad you like it.” He chuckled at your response, climbing off of the chair to stand in front of you.

“Damn, I was really hoping to get my ego fed tonight.” He grabbed the sketchbook from you and threw it onto the couch next to you before grabbing your hands and pulling you up to stand.

You smiled to yourself, chest shaking with silent laughter, “does the sketch not feed it enough?”

He shook his head, “I need the approval of a really pretty girl to satisfy its hunger.”

Rolling your eyes, you leaned up into him, “you gotta work harder than that, Rockstar.” Your words came out breathy against his lips as he wrapped his arms around your waist.

His mouth connected to yours, the kiss deep and passionate. His soft lips meshed perfectly with yours, his hands pulling you up to stand on your tiptoes. Once you pulled away you stayed close to him, breathing in his intoxicating scent. He whispered, “I never thought a blind date could turn out so well.”

[brywrites]

Little Beautiful

Summary: In which Max’s art exhibit is a gallery of beautiful things, and Spencer Reid finds himself surprised by what it includes. Spencer Reid x Max Brenner

.......

Spencer Reid can name many beautiful things. He can talk in depth about the natural splendor of the Golden Ratio and why humans love symmetry. He can explain the history of the Venus de Milo and the Mona Lisa, recount the painstaking detail with which the Taj Mahal was built. He’s seen desert sunsets and shooting stars and the faces of parents reunited with children they thought they might never see again.

He loves all the great and beautiful things in the world. And nobody quite makes the world look as beautiful as Max does. She’s protective of her art, fiercely private about it, but the glimpses she allows him stun him. Then again, he figures he shouldn’t be surprised. After all, she’s beautiful.

Reid thinks he could never tire of looking at her. Her wide, brown eyes, her long eyelashes, the way her cheeks are painted pink each time he pushes her hair back from her face. Her smile just knocks him out. Her movements are graceful, elegant. And the sight of her bare body in the soft light of his bedroom makes him think that no word in any language could ever even hope to come close to describing this sort of perfection.

Everything about her puts a sunset to shame. Her laugh. The way she makes him smile on the worst days. The softness of her touch when her skin is on his. The warmth of her embrace. The kindness of her heart. There’s no doubt, Maxine Brenner is beautiful, in every sense of the grossly inadequate word.

But beauty has a way of reminding him of his own inadequacies. For all his love of lovely things, Reid knows the word is never one he could hope to claim. His face won’t ever inspire poetry. His hair is, at best, an unruly mess. His stubble is always a little scruffier than he’d like it to be. And while he managed to get physically stronger after Milburn, getting in shape didn’t quite happen. He can hold an unsub on the ground without worry, but he’s absolutely terrified each time he undresses before her.

But he loves her. Which is why when she hands him a flyer that reads, Little Beautiful, he knows he’ll say yes to whatever it is before she even explains.

“I have a confession to make,” Max says. “I didn’t want to tell you sooner because I was afraid I might jinx it, but now that it’s all official – I’m going to have an exhibition at Jolie Laide!” Jolie Laide is one of the District’s most revered contemporary commercial galleries, and Max is understandably over the moon.

“What?” he gasps. “When did this happen? How?”

“There was a call for submissions, and well I’ve been working on this idea for a while and I figured why not give it a shot? Spencer, they loved it! They actually loved my art!” she says, and the little hop of joy in her step makes him want to kiss her right there in the middle of the street. Is she even aware of how adorable she is?

“That’s incredible. I mean, I’m not surprised. Everything you do is incredible. But what’s the title mean?” he asks, pointing at the flyer.

“It’s a Van Gogh reference,” she says, and he smiles. Of course it is. The Dutch master will always have a spot in her heart, and in the small “Starry Night” tattoo on her inner arm. “Find things beautiful as much as you can,” she recites. “Most people find too little beautiful.”

She takes his hand in hers. Her hands are small and dainty. He could almost close his fingers around hers completely. It makes him think he must look so strange beside her, a mess of lanky limbs.

“I know that big parties aren’t really your scene,” Max says. “But the opening night is kind of a big deal and it would really mean a lot to me if you came.”

“Are you kidding me?” he laughs. They turn down the street to his apartment. “You’re my girlfriend. We’ve been dating for five months, three weeks, and five days. Of course I’m going to be there.”

“Well good. And tell your friends! The more the merrier. I think you’re really gonna like it,” she adds, with that mischievous sparkle in her eyes that makes his stomach flip.

“If you made it, I know I’ll love it.” Deciding the doorstep of his building is close enough, he leans down to kiss her.

Two weeks later, he finds himself standing in the lobby of Jolie Laide with the rest of his team. Many of them have decided to make a date night of the event, as it’s not often profilers have the excuse to attend a formal event. Reid shifts nervously from foot to foot as they wait for the doors to open. Somehow he still feels out of place in nice suit, wearing the “Starry Night” tie she bought him at a work trip she took to the MoMA. Everyone here looks so beautiful, and he feels like he’s playing dress up, like they’ll all be able to tell he doesn’t belong in a place like this. He’s all too aware of the way he hasn’t managed to tame his hair, of the way his shirt fits a little tighter than it used to, of the way the people around him exude an air effortless cool that he could never hope to.

To ease his mind, he takes comfort in counting the people waiting. They’re all here for Max, for the beautiful things she makes. The last time he was at a gallery opening like this he was standing in a sweater vest next to Gideon who was flirting with the artist while Reid tried not to stare too much at Lila Archer. The memory makes him want to laugh – how infatuated he felt at that time with her. And now with Max, he can’t imagine thinking such a feeling was love. It’s so different than the consuming warmth he feels when he’s with her, the way hearing her voice can bring him back down to earth when his mind moves too quickly, the way he he’s always hated touch but never seems to mind when it’s her. Rather he craves the feeling of her hand in his, her arms around him, her lips on his skin. He’s in love with her, and he’s in deep.

The clock strikes seven and the doors are opened. They step into the bright white gallery space. The moment he’s inside, he is in awe. He recognizes Max’s work immediately, and it’s everywhere. There are large canvas paintings of small objects that take up so much space. There are paintings that must be zoomed in, hyper-focused views of much bigger objects. And it’s all beautiful. Max’s work has the same mastery over colors as the Impressionists, but with contemporary details and precision. Her paintings don’t just look like something, they feel like something. There is a series of pieces of stunningly detailed school supplies – a crayon, a yellow pencil, a bottle of glue. They seem to reflect light, possessing colors far too rich for items so simple.

Max has made them lovely with her gaze, with her hands.

In one painting, a vibrant sunset is seen through a small window. In another, the trunk of a tree is made to look so close that the leaves the viewer stares up at are but a golden blur. Fruit, a butterfly’s wing, and a flower are made into a kaleidoscope of colors. He catches glimpses of familiar faces in portraits – her sister Michelle’s eye, her father’s hand, identifiable by his watch, holding a baseball with vibrant red stitching.

“Wow,” Simmons says, standing beside him. “This is amazing. I mean, I don’t always get art, you know? But damn. Max is talented.”

“She sure is,” Reid says. But he’s only half listening, because he’s taken in by it, by all of it. This is the world through Max’s eyes. All these little details, all the little beautiful things that she sees. And she has reflected them back to the world in a way that takes his breath away.

The unfamiliar voice of an man calls the gallery to attention through a microphone, and Reid makes his way back towards the entrance where all the guests are slowly gathering.

“I now have the pleasure of introducing tonight’s guest of honor, Maxine Brenner,” a man with tiny wire-rimmed classes says.

Reid joins the crowd, falling into place beside Garcia and JJ just in time to see Max walk over in a white lace dress. She is utterly radiant, resplendent. His heart quickens at the sight of her. She takes the microphone and thanks the man with a dazzling smile. “Thank you all for being here,” she says. “It’s truly an honor to share this night with you, and I’m thankful to Jolie Laide for the opportunity to do so. It’s no secret to anyone who knows me that Van Gogh is my favorite artist. He once said, find things beautiful as much as you can. Most people find too little beautiful. The concept for this exhibit was to find all the beautiful things that we overlook. I wanted to pay attention to their little details and find new ways to show the world what beautiful is and what it could be. Every painting is of something I’ve found lovely – whether it’s a natural phenomenon seen through a new lens or an everyday object that just needs someone to notice it or a person–”

She pauses and her gaze moves over the crowd until she spots him. And that mischievous glimmer returns to her eyes. “– who doesn’t realize how beautiful they are. I hope that tonight helps you all to see the beauty around you and in yourselves, and maybe encourages you to see things a little differently, and to find the world a little more beautiful.” As she bows, the room bursts into applause and he swells with pride. This is her moment, and she’s beaming, and he couldn’t be more happy for her.

He wants to go up and hug her, but a swarm of admirers immediately descends upon her with enthusiastic questions and curious remarks. This is her night. He knows that when she wants to talk to him, she’ll let him know. For now, he’ll let these strangers have their moment with her – he can have all of the time in the world with her. The team opts to take a break to help themselves to the refreshment table and Emily offers to grab him a drink, but he politely refuses. He wants to keep walking around.

He can’t help but smile as he does so, hearing the praise and wonder in the words of the other guests. Yes, he wants to tell them. Yes, she’s that talented. Yes, she notices things nobody else does. And she’s hilarious and generous and gorgeous and somehow, somehow I am hers. But how unsightly it would be of him, in his suit and crooked tie, with his messy hair and off-balance gait to interrupt these strangers reveling at the beauty before them. So he stays quiet, happy just to be here. Happy to have the privilege to even witness such beauty.

When he turns the corner, he’s grateful he declined that drink because if there were a glass in his hand, he surely would have dropped it. Many of Max’s pieces are gathered on walls or in corners in groups based on themes or subjects. And in this particular nook, he finds himself uncomfortably familiar with the face staring back at him from one of them. The same face he has stared down in the mirror a thousand times.

It strikes him – Max has painted him. Reid steps closer and realizes it’s not just one painting. The whole wall is him. There is a painting of just one honey-colored eye, gazing down. A hand on the spine of a book. His lips, slightly parted, just a little uneven. His shoulders and collarbone, the slope of his neck and the curve of his chin, a few wild curls visible in the narrow view of the painting. And two portraits where his face is fully visible.

The brushstrokes are so careful, the colors so soft. She paints him in curves and edges and tiny hints of unexpected hues. She paints him with such detail, as though she has tried to memorize every inch of him. She has painted him beautiful.

And for a thirty-six seconds he can’t breathe. He just stares. Because this is how she sees him. And she’s put it on display for all the world to see.

“There’s a level of precision in these that I didn’t see in the other portraits,” an older woman says to a young woman beside her. “I can’t explain it, but it somehow feels like they were more… lovingly painted.”

“Like she knew exactly how they should feel,” her companion agrees.

“The subject has such a striking jawline,” a man says to the woman holding his hand. “And I like the way she painted his hair. Every curl is so careful.”

“It’s really beautiful,” she says, pointing to one of the portraits. Max has painted him smiling, gazing upwards, and he isn’t even sure if he’s capable of looking that way. “I think this one might be my favorite overall.” When they step aside, he can read the small placard on the wall naming the paintings. It reads, “And if I asked you to name all the things you love, how long would it take for you to name yourself?” Series. Oil on canvas. 2020.

Reid swallows hard, past the lump of emotions lodged in his throat, and turns quickly to walk to another corner of the gallery, both to avoid recognition and because if he keeps looking he thinks he might cry. But when he turns, she’s standing right there. Looking up at him through her long lashes, her graceful hands clasped in front of her as she waits in that lovely lace dress.

“Do you like it?” she asks him, nodding at the corner.

“I don’t understand,” he says. “Why did you paint me?”

Max smiles. “I told you, Magic Man, I wanted to paint pretty things.”

He shakes his head. “But I’m not – I mean, look at me, I’m–”

“I am looking.” She reaches up to brush her fingers against his cheek, having to stand on her toes even in heels to do so. “And you are beautiful. My beautiful. I wanted to show you the way I see you. Because of all the beautiful things, none of them make me feel quite like you do.”

Max takes his hand and walks up to the paintings. She says nothing, just waits as he looks at them close up, unafraid of someone realizing he’s looking at himself. He stares at the light and shadows created by her paintbrush. The bright colors that draw attention over painted skin. The soft gaze, the eyes that seem to look so alive. Stray freckles, flecks of tan and gold. It feels so astonishingly intimate. There’s no denying that her work is remarkable. It is beautiful.

And this is how she sees him. Worthy of that sort of attention. Capable of bringing those kinds of colors to life. And when he faces her, he realizes – the painting with the smile. He does look that way. He can feel the movement of the muscles in his face forming a near mirror image as he realizes he only ever looks that way at her.

“Thank you,” he says. Max pulls him down to kiss him, her lips so sweet, and it feels beautiful. He thinks that if they were not here, surrounded by other people, that he would love nothing more than to avail her of that beautiful dress and paint patterns of her skin with his fingertips, give every inch of her the same level of attention with his lips that she did with her paints, and whisper over and over to her just how lovely he finds her.

But they’re not alone, not yet. “Well I’ll be damned,” Morgan says. All of his friends are there, having discovered this nook of the gallery. “Look at that! She somehow managed to make you look even prettier than usual, Pretty Boy.” Reid flushes crimson as they praise Max’s work. She joins them to walk around the rest of the gallery, her hand in his, and from time to time he swears he can see someone staring at the two of them, and he knows they recognize his face. But he doesn’t care. He doesn’t care how the rest of the world looks at him, so long as he knows the way he looks through her eyes. For the first time, he can see himself the way she sees him. As he is, not as he fears he is.

Somehow, this has become his life. Walking through a gallery of paintings made by his favorite person, while she gazes at him like he’s her only muse, telling him that he belongs among lovely things. Somehow believing it all. Somehow at home surrounded by strangers and a few of the people he trusts most. This is his life. And what a beautiful life it is.

[marsupials-of-mars]

Coping (We Like Girls)

Thomas stood at a filthy counter in the middle of a poorly lit house. How he'd gotten himself into a house party was a cliche narrative and a poor life choice. He took a sip of his incredibly non-alcoholic drink and tried to block out the noise. Before long he felt a hand grab his arm.

"Hey Thomas, cmon we're playing spin the bottle! You coming or are you chicken?"

Thomas scoffed, ignoring his heart beating immediately faster it was something to do, and it felt more cool and spontaneous than standing around waiting for the party to end.

"Hell yeah, I can do cool things!" He was led to a group of high school friends in a circle around a card table. He scoped out the girls, though it was mostly guys, less than a one to three ratio. He focused on Lisa, a girl hed decided to respond with whenever he found himself in a discussion about crushes. She was a pretty redhead with a sweet voice and Thomas always enjoyed hanging out around her just to hear her talk, and not to mention sing. She had the voice of a Disney princess though she ironically seemed to always play the villain in the school's musicals. There were a couple more popular girls around the table but he hoped for her.

"Well, as the initiator..." The kid who had pulled him into the situation spoke. "I've got the first spin!" Thomas barely knew the guy, he talked to him in a couple classes. Robin, or something. He was sweaty like everyone at the party, the tacky and again, cliche, rainbow fairy lights lit up his face, only drawing more attention to the glisten. He was drunk, obviously, like more than half the people there. His almond brown skin and thick veil of black curls helped him gracefully meld into the night life scene while Thomas stuck out like a sore thumb, pale and sober.

He watched as Robin took the bottle and spun it, jokingly pretending to reach out to stop it when it passed a cute girl. It ended up landing on a senior, a tall, lanky guy Thomas had seen winning track awards every year. They laughed and made crude remarks, gagging sounds. The circle chanted, beating their thighs in unison and bursting out in laughter when lips met lips. Thomas looked away. The two pulled apart, track kid spitting and wiping his mouth on his sleeve and Robin mock flirting and taking a bow. Thomas pulled a knee to his chest.

A few more turns transpired, every girl on guy gutting a chorus of whistles and teasing, every girl on girl getting risky remarks from the guys, and every guy on guy being met with jeers and mocking laughter. Thomas was about ready to stand to leave when he saw the bottle land, neck pointing to him.

A blonde, a recognizable good friend of Lisa, and two grades above him. His face flushed and he leaned in awkwardly. She clasped her hands on the sides of his face and pecked him quicky, but long enough for Thomas to know it happened. She tasted like cheap lip gloss. He forced a smile over his mess of anxiety. She winked as the circle once again roared with excitement. That wasn't so bad.

Thomas had started to return to his seat when he remembered that he had the next spin. He took the bottle in a shaky hand and spun, praying for Lisa, good ole Lisa.

The bottle slowed, swooping, teetering back and forth with the uneven setoff. It landed. Thomas's eyes traced the neck of the bottle to his challenge. Dark brown eyes stared at him through a mess of stray black curls. Robin smirked. The blood rushed to Thomas's face. He watched Robin stalk, catlike, to the center of the circle. He once again felt his face taken in a pair of hands, but Robin's were less tactful. They gripped him by the nape of his neck and he was pulled in, for far more than a peck. He felt Robin's hair brush his shoulders, heavy and sturdy like the rest of him. The taste of lip shimmer on Thomas's lips was overridden by that of a badly concocted gatorade screwdriver. Strangely when considering the dynamic, Robin was the first to pull away.

"You're good at that." He smirked as the circle spat mockery.

"Th..." Thomas stared a moment before promptly turning and leaving the circle, leaving the living area, and barricading himself in the hallway bathroom.

~~~

Roman blinked rapidly as a rush of something wonderful flooded him. He beamed and shot upright, ducking into the sides usual meeting area. He summoned them quickly, Patton, Logan, and squealed.

"Now Roman, I felt something too but we gotta use our words!" Patton seemed almost equally giddy, fiddling with the hemming of his sweater vest.

"Love! Love is blossoming! I knew it was coming, Logan didnt I tell you I knew we'd get there?!"

"You have indeed informed me of your hopes many times and every time I've agreed, but count it as a win if it assures you stop doing all of...that." Logan motioned to Roman's fighting stance/happy dance.

"Cmon Logan, let him do his little victory hop, you know he gets excited!"

"So to my understanding you're both rather happy about this? Not what I'd expect in such a situation."

"A situation like love? Of course we're happy, our kiddo is growing up and onward, why wouldnt we be happy? Now who's the lucky gal?!" Patton looked to Logan expectantly.

"Ah..." Logan adjusted his glasses. "Now I understand the lack of concern. Have neither of you looked?"

"Why would we be concerned, Isaac No-fun? Love is blind! We love without looking!"

"Oh..." Patton made a sound similar to gashing open a beach ball. Utter defeat. Roman looked over in confusion.

"What? You too?!"

"Roman..." Patton seemed both disappointed and terrified. "You need to look."

Roman groaned and closed his eyes, letting the current Thomas events wash over him. Recent memories. He let them play out, grinning excitedly when he saw a pretty blonde senior lean in for a kiss.

"She's so pretty! Why are we upse... " he wrinkled his brow. Something wasn't clicking. No rush of wonder. She wasn't the one. He continued to watch, the second spin. The feeling washed over him again, pulsing, his throat went dry and he shook his head. Dark brown eyes, firm hands. He ducked out of the images. "Well something isn't right then!!!" He looked back to Patton and Logan with panic flooding his demeanor.

"Indeed something isn't!" He felt arms wrap his shoulders and a face by his. "But isn't that a lot more fun than some girl?"

Roman growled and wrestled his way out of his brother's grip.

"YOU! This is you isn't it?!"

"Me?" Remus stroked his chin. "What's me?"

"Roman's right! You did something awful to Thomas, didn't you!? Cut it out young man, it's not funny!" Patton's face was bright red with a mix of fury and panic.

"You're all the gross, lusty, icky, unwelcome thoughts, how could this not be you!?" Roman shoved his brother. Remus giggled knowingly.

"I may be, I may be. Can't say I'm not jazzed about this hunk of a specimen, did you feel those hands?! I wouldnt mind feeling em a bit more if we're going into it." He bit his lip and rolled his shoulders. Puberty was making him an absolute monster.

"So you ADMIT IT!" Roman jabbed a finger at Remus's face. "Our CULPRIT!" Roman looked to Logan for confirmation, only to be met with a subtle head shake.

"Remus is admitting to being lust. Was what you felt purely lustful?" He gently guided Roman's train of thought.

"Well..." He looked at Patton, who was gripping his chest as if to squeeze the emotion out of it, his eyes wide, softly mumbling to himself. Roman's eyes drifted down in thought, then up to a grinning Remus.

"I do the 'gross' thoughts... and you do the romance! Remember?"

"It's NOT! ROMANCE!" Roman tackled his twin to the ground, enduring bites and hair pulling before he dealt his own blows.

"BOYS! NO FIGHTING! We have enough problems already!!!" Patton choked out over his turmoil.

"WHAT DID YOU DO TO HIM?!" A low distorted voice bellowed from across the room. All heads turned and the room froze. Anxiety stood panting, his hood pulled far over his face and his hands hidden, bundled and crossed in his sleeves. He glared gut twisting daggers from shadowed eyes, though the rest of his demeanor was rather unintimidating. He swallowed his panicked outbursts, shaking. He stalked stiffly, every muscle tensed, up to the group. "What's HAPPENING to us?!

"What does it LOOK like genius?!" Roman shoved Remus off of him.

Logan nodded somberly. "It now seems possible with this newfound information... that we're more than likely homose-"

"SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP!!!" base distortion shook Thomas's mind, Virgil pressed his hands to his ears so tightly it seemed his head would burst. "WE ARE NOT!!!" He bit down on the cuff of his hoodie to control the rattling that disrupted the living space. At Thomas's joyful age of fifteen, Anxiety generally took the drivers seat despite his general reclusivness, making him all the more dangerous when it came to his meltdowns. He knew this, and of course, he hated the pressure. Despite their all being the same age, he was a child at this point, dependant, terrified, entirely unprepared to govern a life. So he did the only thing he could think to make them all feel better. "DECEIT!!!"

And he was summoned.

"Anxiety?!" He quickly located his friend and ran over, wrapping him in a hug, securing him, keeping him at ground level as his panic surged. "Shh... what's going on here?" He looked over Anxiety's shoulder to meet the light side's looks of uneasiness at his presence with a glare and a hiss.

"Deceit..." His voice broke. Now that Deceit was here he didn't bother keeping up his tough guy facade even if the others were looking at him. He knew he was safe. "Deceit?"

"Yes Anxiety? Take your time..."

"We... we like girls, right?" He looked at Deceit with a terrified, pleading, begging expression. He wanted to feel better. He needed to hear the words.

Deceit was silent for a while, looking at his best friend, someone he'd sworn to protect no matter what, who he'd never disappoint. He looked at the lights, all confused but waiting with bated breath. He pulled Anxiety tighter, letting him bury his wet face in his shoulder. He nodded.

"We like girls."

The room stopped shaking, slowing to a rattle then nothing. The statement wasnt spoken in a tone more emotional then if he'd said any other clear and obvious fact, but somehow it was loud, impactful, clear, understood. He felt Anxiety take a deep breath. The others looked amongst themselves, nodding.

"That... makes a lot more sense. To me. I think that makes sense for Thomas, doesnt it?" Patton smiled, fake, forcing himself to be convinced. He took Deceit's matter-of-fact statement as truth, the only truth. Roman nodded slowly, convinced as quickly as he could manage. Logan and Remus looked on, each with their own sort of disappointment as their hands tightened around their mouths.

Deceit took Remus's wrist, his other arm still wrapped tightly around a shaking Anxiety, and sank out. Logan let his hand down, but stayed silent.

Roman tightened his fists with a new resolve.

~~~

Thomas threw open the bathroom door, ignoring the odd looks. He hoped she was still there. He lit up when he found her, alone in the kitchen.

"Lisa!" She looked over and smiled.

"Thomas. What happened back there, you flaked out on us!"

"I was nervous."

Lisa giggled. "About what? Robin?"

"About you, I was nervous it would land on you, because..." Thomas averted his eyes from hers.

Lisa smiled, gripping her lip in her teeth as she began to understand his intentions.

"I like you." Thomas looked back up at her. "And here I am, trying not to be even more of a wuss, to ask if you want to hang out sometime."

She grinned. "Finally!" She leaned in and wrapped her arms around his shoulders, giving him his third kiss of the night.

~~~

Roman pumped his fist. "YES!" He felt something rush over him, some sort of love. He didnt care what kind. It was there, and it was for a girl, a really nice, pretty girl who loved theater and singing. It was perfect.

"Yes!" Pattons face was flushed with relief and exuberance. "My little boy!"

Logan was silent, watching with an unreadable expression.

Back with the darks, Deceit sat with Anxiety's head in his lap, petting his hair comfortingly. He was asleep. He needed it.

"You're okay." Deceit whispered to himself as much as his best friend. "I'll protect us."

Disclaimer: this is obviously character thomas in this, I do not claim to know @thatsthat24 s real experience.

I had a theory before the most recent video came out that it would be pride related, and about how the sides dealt with thomas's coming out, or realization of his sexuality. It didnt happen, so I decided to make it anyway but more angsty. This is also my current hc about what drove the divide in Deceit and Virgil's relationship. Deceit tried to protect Virgil through his developmental years but did so in an unhealthy way and ultimately hurt thomas to keep Virgil happy, and when virgil found out, he hated Deceit because it ultimately worsened his anxiety tenfold.

[fluffy-marshmallow-heart]

20 Seconds of Courage -part 5

The Elementalist au

Beckett x MC (Oriana Miller)

Words: 1978

Master List

Oriana was fidgeting nervously under the table of the restaurant where she and Beckett were meeting with Jason and Michael from Adams Industries. She was bouncing her leg, twiddling her fingers, and just a total mess. She looked cool and poised as usual, the parts one can see over the table, but since Beckett was beside her, he knew she was internally freaking out.

He leaned in and murmured in her ear. “It’s going to be fine. Just remember he’s an idiot.”

“He’s not an idiot or he wouldn’t have this job.” She hissed, feeling pissed off that Beckett has no idea what he’s talking about.

Before he could respond, two figures loomed over the table. Beckett recognized Jason immediately, as he was lanky, with black hair and a crooked smile.

“Oriana! So good to see you again!” He exclaimed, leaning forward to kiss her cheek. She visibly stiffened.

“Hello, I’m Michael, it’s nice to meet you both. I hear you’re quite the team.” The other man said.

“Yes, Oriana certainly is quite the team player, always willing to put in long hours, and do anything that’s needed to get the job done.” Jason cut in.

“I can speak for myself, Jason, thank you.” She said politely, though on the inside she was already reaching for her knife to stab him. “Michael, it’s a pleasure.”

“And you, Mr. Harrington. Your reputation precedes you. Your family has quite the impressive portfolio.” Michael turned to Beckett.

The tips of his ears turned red. “Yes, that’s right. My family name is well known.”

Jason wasn’t even acknowledging him, he was still busy raking his eyes up and down Oriana, even though she was wearing an extremely modest pant suit. There was hardly any skin showing and although Beckett missed seeing it, he was proud that she didn’t want Jason to.

“Well. Let’s order a few things and get down to business, shall we?” Oriana asked.

As the four of them discussed the details, timeline, and budget of the project, Oriana kept feeling Jason’s eyes on her. Meeting him now, it was obvious the only reason he went for that job at Adams was to get back on this project and be closer to her. She was creeped out by it.

As the lunch meeting drew to a close, she’d never been more relieved in her life to be out of something. As the group head out the door, and called their respective taxis, Jason was suddenly at her side, holding her arm at the elbow.

“Oriana, I was hoping to have a moment alone with you?”

Beckett quickly stepped next to her. “Sorry, we have a lot to focus on right now. Maybe next time.”

Jason smirked, then reached into his coat pocket, pulling out a card. “Okay. Well, this has all the information on it that you’ll need. Lisa and I would love it if you came to our wedding shower.”

Oriana’s jaw dropped as Beckett’s hands curled into fists.

“Of course, I understand if it’s too much for you. And although the invitation is technically for two, we understand that you won’t have enough time to find a…”

“We’ll be there.” Beckett sneered.

Jason’s eyebrows shot up. “What? You weren’t invited. I don’t even know you.”

“I’m Oriana’s plus one. We’ll be there.” Beckett snatched the invitation out of Oriana’s hands and looked at it. “Though the location leaves something to be desired. Guess there’s not a lot of options when a wedding is so last minute, right? Pregnancy will do that to you. I’m guessing she wants it done before she starts showing. She must be a self-conscious type of person if she’s willing to rush the wedding like this. You’ve been together what, a few weeks?”

Oriana snorted, biting back a laugh. She liked having Beckett on her side.

“A few months.” Jason retorted, and Oriana froze, forgetting to even breathe.

“Well. I look forward to seeing more of you two, then.” Jason laughed, then turned and got into the waiting taxi.

“Ori…”

“Shut up.” She whispered, furiously. “Don’t even ask that question.”

Beckett rubbed the back of his neck nervously. He knew exactly what just happened, exactly what Jason’s comment meant, and what it probably did to Oriana.

“Well…our ride’s here too, come on.” He opened the rear door for her, but she stood rooted in place.

“Ori?”

“I’m not going back to the office. We’ve gotten a lot done and I think we’re good for the day.”

His heart sank. “You don’t…need anything?”

She shook her head. “Nope. My life is in my purse.” She laughed but it was hollow.

“Where are going then?”

She just shrugged. “Not sure yet. I need to clear my head.”

“I’ll come with…”

“Seriously, Beckett, drop it.” She snapped.

He sighed. “Fine. Call me if you…”

“I won’t.”

Beckett just got in the waiting car and left, feeling completely miserable. He was angry. Every time he thinks he’s turned a corner with her, she shuts him out. He gets she’s upset, and rightly so. But she shouldn’t treat him like dirt just because she’s feeling down.

Oriana watched as Beckett’s car pulled away from the curb and merged into traffic. Finally alone, she let the tears spill down her face. She didn’t want Beckett to see her cry over someone else. She’s beginning to really like him and doesn’t want to scare him away. All the same, she knew he was pissed for her being so short with him all the time.

She didn’t want to care about Jason. She didn’t want to care that even though she was in the public relationship with him, there was someone else the whole time. Thinking back now she saw all the signs. She’d seen Lisa around, but never paid attention to the looks on her face. Lisa actually smirked at her a lot. After Oriana would leave his office, he would usually ask her to close his door behind her. It never occurred to her it was because someone else was going to be slipping right in after.

She started walking aimlessly around, wondering what was wrong with her. Clearly, she must not have been enough for Jason. What could she have done differently? Eventually, she walked into a bar. She wasn’t one to drink much, but lately it’s all she wanted to do. She didn’t want to feel anything. She didn’t want to think about anything. She just wanted to let herself go.

Late that night, Beckett was lying wide awake in bed, staring at the ceiling. He was still mad at Oriana, and especially at Jason. He felt bad for leaving like he did, without even saying goodbye. He’d thought about telling the driver to turn right around so he could follow her to make sure she was safe. But then he thought he’d probably look like a stalker, so he didn’t. He hadn’t heard from her either. His thumb hovered over her name in his phone the whole rest of the day, but he never did press on it.

He heard his intercom buzz. “Mr. Harrington?”

He sighed. It was 11pm, what did the front desk need at this hour? He grudgingly got out of bed and stomped over to the speaker.

“Yes?” He barked, making sure to add extra annoyance into his tone.

“I’m sorry to bother you, sir, but there’s someone in the lobby for you…” The man trailed off.

“Well? Who is it?” He demanded.

“Her ID says Oriana Miller, sir. I do see that she’s on your guest list, however…she’s a bit…disheveled. I don’t suppose you would be willing to come down and get her, so I don’t leave my post?”

“Can you not just put her in the elevator and press the button?”

“She’s asleep.”

Beckett blinked at the intercom. “Are you freaking kidding me.” He grumbled under his breath.

“I’ll be right down.”

Feeling more pissed off than he already was, he threw on a pair of pants and shirt, grabbed his keys and went down to the lobby. When the elevator arrived, he strode straight to the front desk.

“Well?” He demanded. “Where is she?”

The night guard on duty gestured to the couch on the opposite side of the room. The two men walked up to her sleeping form.

“According to the cab driver that brought her here, she told him this address and nothing else. Then she passed out. Frankly, I’m surprised she still has her purse. Everything looks intact. If she wasn’t on your permanent guest list I would have called the police, but…” He trailed off before clearing his throat. “I still can, if you prefer.”

Beckett stared down at her makeup streaked face. It was obvious she had cried, and a lot. From the smell of her, she definitely drank away those tears, but didn’t care enough to actually wipe them away.

“The cabbie just dropped her off?”

“Yes, except…”

“Yes?”

“I paid for her ride. I wasn’t comfortable pulling money out of her wallet.”

Beckett sighed, raking his hand through his hair. “How much?”

“$80.”

He whistled lowly. “Where the hell was she coming from?”

“Some bar across town, apparently. Though, I have a suspicion that since she was asleep, he took an extra long time getting here, if you know what I mean.”

Beckett nodded. It’s unfortunate, but it’s easy to drive someone around aimlessly if they’re sleeping. They won’t notice if you take twenty roads to get to the one that was only two blocks away and they’ll pay whatever the counter says is owed.

“I’ll reimburse you in the morning.” Beckett told him.

“Thank you, sir.”

Beckett scooped her up in his arms, as the night security prepared the elevator. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Mr. Harrington. And good luck.” The doors to the elevator closed.

Beckett looked down at the limp body in his arms, wondering why she came to his building. When the elevator dinged, he carried her into his bedroom and laid her on the bed. She was a mess. Her clothes were stained, her face was stained, and her hair was sticking up all over. Still, she was beautiful to him.

He made quick work getting her clothes off and pulling one of his own shirts onto her naked body. He wasn’t sure if it was necessary considering they’ve been naked plenty of times, but he was out of his element here. She came to him. She could have gone home. That’s where anyone else would go. But instead, she gave the driver his address. He couldn’t stop the warmth that spread throughout his chest at that thought.

Next, he got to work on her face. He grabbed a washcloth and added a dollop of his own facial cleanser to it, adding in some water, then as gently as he could he wiped the majority of the smeared makeup away. She stirred, blinking open her eyes, looking at him in confusion.

“Beckett?”

“Sorry I woke you.” He murmured. “I was trying not to.”

“You didn’t respond to my text.” She slurred. “I’m glad you’re home. I really like you.”

He cocked his head to the side, glancing at his phone on the nightstand. He didn’t have any messages. “I didn’t get…”

But she was already asleep again. He chuckled lightly to himself as he crawled into bed beside her, pulling her close. She probably thought she sent something but didn’t. He set his alarm extra early, so she’d have time to run home and get fresh clothes in the morning before work.

 “I hope you mean that, Ori…because I really like you too.” He said aloud, even though she couldn’t hear him. As he drifted off to sleep, he was surprised to find that every ounce of anger had dissipated, and all that remained was the fire burning for her, and the desire to protect her heart from the one who crushed it.

    @annekebbphotography @gardeningourmet @zigortega4life @eileendannie @thequeenofcronuts @drakewalkerfantasy @friedherringclodthing @coffeebeandragon @drakewalker04 @jlpplays1 @alesana45 @mfackenthal

@walkerismychoice @confessionsofabrokegirl @llamasgrl

@emerald-bijou @feartheendlesssummer @elainew13 @brightpinkpeppercorn @paisleylovergirl @dottie-minerva-mikas @symonde @kendrasgue @timmagicktoad @pbmychoices @flyawayboo @the-soot-sprite @emichelle @divergentofhogwarts

[komahinasecretexchange]

Title: Infighting

By: @imakeideasnotart

For: @yusakidesu

Warnings: sad soulmate Au

Prompt: fluffy post hope arc, soulmate AU

Note: I’m so sorry if this isn’t what you wanted, I tried my very best, and I hope you enjoy! I ran into a huge technical difficulty, and had to type this on my phone. I pray that i caught all the errors ! This was a great prompt, have a super duper day!

Hinata leans back in his chair, glaring wearily around at his classmates over what should be the cheery clatter of tableware. Only it isn’t. He hopes they forgive his staring, but he can’t seem to take his gaze off of Mahiru and the way she studies her tie with Peko or Fuyuhiko around. Or the way Teruteru squeaks around Imposter like some pig caught red-handedly in some forbidden act. Or the way Mikan gets jittery around Ibuki and Saionji, playing with her hair and staring at the floor until she can find a way out. The way Gundam won’t stop sizing up Nekomaru. It’s just fascinating in some twisted, terrible-

“Ouch!” Hinata yelps as a foot rushes into contact with his knee-cap. “What was that for?”

His attacker is Souda, who he had been somewhat engaging in conversation with, somewhat ignoring over a quick breakfast.

“It wouldn’t kill you to listen to me, you know. Also, stop glaring at people. It’ll only stir up more drama. You know we don’t need any more of that around here. Get a grip, man.”

Hinata sighed. Souda was right. For all the bickering and hatred, they needed somebody to lighten everything up. It was just that Ibuki wasn’t the same type of carefree girl that she once was and nobody else was stepping to the plate. And Chiaki…

“I miss Nanami,” Hinata bluntly states, poking a sausage link around the eggs on his plate. He suddenly doesn’t feel very hungry thinking of his lost friend.

‘She could fix this I know she could. She would find a way.’

“So you do miss her,” Says Souda as their eyes catch for the first time in five minutes. Hinata stares at him and his artificial pink eyes as Souda sets down his fork himself. “Why?”

Hinata almost chokes on his own saliva at that question. “What do you mean ‘why’? She was my best friend- How could I not miss her?”

Hinata feels some sort of tension slip in out of nowhere and start to rise. Souda looked serious. To Hinata, he had two default moods and those were utilized only when he was panicking and fanboying. Souda suddenly leans backwards in his chair and looks him up and down, as though he suddenly doesn’t know him. It’s painfully obviously, but more importantly, it isn’t helping to cool the tension. When Souda finally speaks, suddenly it gets put into overdrive, and there’s not a doubt that he’s ever gotten so angry so from a conversation with a friend.

“You don’t exactly seem to be honoring her, dating that asshole.”

Souda spits the words out and then bitterly looks into his own cup of coffee like the Mona Lisa is in the process of being painted there. Hinata sees the way Souda’s fingers clutch at the cup a bit, like he’d love to beat that “asshole” into the ground or smash the plate Hinata has assembled to bring to his cottage later.

The fact that the rest of the dining hall is dead silent, and it draws attention to them in favor of noting that Souda would love to beat Nagito Komaeda into the ground. It’s almost entirely out of spite and a will to prove a point to a lost artificial intelligence.

And now those words are long and measured like somebody was tracking the duration between each one with a timer.

“What did you just call him…?”

And Souda has grown a backbone in the blink of an eye. “I said he’s an asshole. He killed Chiaki, and we needed her.”

He hadn’t killed Chiaki. Hinata’s hands slammed down onto the tabletop forcefully. He felt a twinge of guilty pleasure at the horrified look that jumped onto Souda’s face. “She is dead here, in the real world, Souda. Dead- do you need a fucking dictionary? She is dead. It sounds like you’re trying to throw your problems onto my boyfriend.”

“My problems?! I’m just saying what everyone’s thinking!” Souda snaps at him. Hinata feels even more upset at this because he knows that Souda only puts up this much of a fight if there isn’t a single doubt in his mind.

“You’re just feeling guilty that you couldn’t salvage her AI after her execution, and you’re blaming Nagito when he hasn’t done anything wrong!”

“I couldn’t save her, with the way that execution destroyed her, and he’s the one who got her executed! ‘Hasn’t done anything wrong’? He got Imposter and Teruteru killed, and now Chiaki’s gone- that’s his fault!” Out of the fuzzy peripheral of Hinata’s vision he could make out the two victims of the first trial flinch respectively. “He tried to kill us all!”

“Once!” And Hinata feels his chair skitter out from under him as he stands and bellows his words, only to hear his chair fall behind him with a heavy thud. “He was trying to give a fair shot for somebody to leave! He didn’t know the other rule until the trial began!”

“Yes he did!”

“Did you believe it at first?!”

“No, but I know first-hand that he did!”

“His brain was deteriorating, he- He had terminal cancer!”

“He’s a murder!”

“He’s saved our lives a dozen times over and you know it. He was smart and courageous and kind and you- you treated him like shit!”

“I was just a talent to him!” Souda protested.

“You never took the time to meet him, of course you were! You’re expecting him to have some kind of inherent good will towards you, and you never even made the effort to deserve that much!”

“He was insane!” Souda says in a vague attempt to bolster his argument.

“I don’t see you solving escape games and pointing a gun to your head on behalf of anybody! I don’t see you telling me to keep my movie tickets, or pointing out gummy bags, or handing out elevator tasks about compasses, or finding letters in cottages! Or- Or ending prizes, or portable stoves that nobody else would have noticed- But that all saved our lives.”

There’s a lull as Souda digests this, as everyone collectively digests words as opposed to food. And then, he speaks again, frivolously. “He was dangerous!”

“Well, I don’t see you trying your best, risking your life and saving a group of people over and over after they’ve bullied you, tormented you, shunned you, oh, and remember the time they beat you up, knocked you out cold, and tied up in a room where somebody died the day before without feeding you for days?! I don’t see you making those kinds of sacrifices, you-!”

“Hinata! Stop it!” Mahiru was upon him. “This fighting won’t solve anything. Nagito-”

“Shut up!” He barked. “You weren’t even alive to see it!”

It was as if he’d slapped her with his barbed, immediate response. Hinata felt the air being sucked out of the room. Looking at her hurt expression, he felt as though he were being vacuum-sealed. She actually lacked a sharp comeback for once.The lost, panicked look on Souda’s face was enough to make him want to leave immediately and, really, what was going to stop him? He grabbed the plate beside his own, and carried it towards the door. Before he left, he looked back, returning everybody’s gaze as they stared blankly at him.

“Does anybody else have an opinion about Nagito that I should hear?” He asked venomously. For a moment, the whole restaurant was caught in a brittle silence, tension all around them. Turning on his heel, Hinata left his toppled chair, half-eaten breakfast , and thirteen shell-shocked peers behind him.

___________________________________

Balancing a plate in his right hand and knocking with it at the same time wasn’t the easiest thing in the world. As it turns out, everything that happened in the program affected his muscle memory respectively and he found himself trying to use his left often. He knew and truly did love Nagito. He sure did make things complicated and it almost made him itch for the confines of the simulation, where romance and soulmates hadn’t been programmed in. Where they could go through a day being fully emotionally capable and not feeling guilty for the scars the other would suffer because of them.

Eventually, Hinata was able to tap the rim of the glass plate against the door loud enough to be heard from the inside.

“Come in!” He heard Nagito crow weakly. Nobody cared with formalities anymore. Nagito knew who was coming. Nagito’s cabin was treated as a lion’s den these days and he was tied up there tighter than ropes could ever restrain.

He did have to set down the plate on the floor to open up the door and had to stoop down low to pick it up again, which made him feel oddly embarrassed and violated, though there was really nobody to blame.

“Hey.” Nagito smiles at him from his bed. He’s still tucked into the covers with the usual bedhead, blinking heavily as Hinata kicks the door closed with his foot behind him and makes his way over to the foot of the bed.

“Sorry, did I wake you?”

Nagito shifts, pulling his lanky legs closer to his chin. He rubs his eyes. “Don’t worry about it… I was having bad dreams anyway.”

Hinata smiles, seeing Nagito’s bare chest peek out from the sheets, and his smile is only strengthened when he sees the fresh flowers that he had given him yesterday on the bedside table flourishing.

“About what?” Hinata pretends to ask, mindfully setting down Nagito’s plate on the plush surface of the bed so he can self-consciously mess about with his left hand for a moment.

He does take a moment to notice how frail Nagito looks in the bright sun washing over the room.

“The program,” He answers wistfully. “Killing myself, hurting you, hurting them. It’s all the same at this point. Just, the program.”

Empty words aren’t really Hinata’s style, and he knows there’s really nothing he can say to take back anything that’s happened. Sometimes though, it’s the thought that counts.

“Nagito you’ve never once hurt me,” He says as he reaches for the plate on the bed and offers it to his groggy boyfriend. “Maybe I didn’t understand what you were doing at the time, but I do now. I believe in you.”

“I would beg to differ,” Nagito mutters, but his argument dies the moment he has the plate with eggs and bacon arranged in a little happy face handed to him.

“Yeah, hey, can we not talk about depressing stuff for like 2 seconds?” Hinata asks sarcastically, pleased to see the surprised look on Nagito’s face.

Nagito would comply- very rarely did he ever oppose him. “…But may I ask what exactly this is?” He stares down at the soulless, eggy expression that emerged from the plate.

“I mean,” Hinata grumbles stiffly. “I thought it was cute.” He feels a bit self-conscious.

“Oh, I do, too, I just didn’t think it was like you at all. I thought you might be embarrassed to give something so saccharine to someone like me.” Then, Nagito picks up fork that came with it and- Hinata wonders if it was intentional- stabs the face in the right eye.

“So like…” Hinata stutters, because Nagito was right. It really wasn’t like him. He wasn’t some stay-at-home dad or anything.  Why was he making little faces in Nagito’s breakfast food? “I mean I guess things have changed. I thought you could use a smile…?”

“Things have changed, how?” Nagito asks with a forkful of egg hovering over his mouth for a moment as he spoke.

“I mean, everything just kind of-” It felt as though his next words would have been practiced, and he simply stops. He knows it would sound as though the words hadn’t come from him. “You know what, forget I said anything.”

“Whatever you say.” Nagito shrugs, but Hinata sees in his eyes that he still wants an answer.

“I guess it’s just so different now,” Hinata says, caving. He can’t resist Nagito. If he ever did try, it would end up in some perfectly calculated and contorted mind game, in which Hinata confessed at the end anyway. “Like outside of the program, nothing is the same anymore. We all seem to be at each other’s throats knowing what we can do, what we’re capable of. And it’s scary. Who can say if it’s just in someone’s nature? Like, can they still kill outside of the game, when the stakes are non-existent? Even in the game, we thought it was real life, and people still killed, but… things are worse now. Even worse than during the literal murder game. I don’t know… everything just seems a little out of proportion to me.”

They took a moment and Hinata flinches as their eyes met, watching Nagito’s foggy right eye staring forward blankly into his red one. Being someone’s soulmate was a curse. And with the two of them having more than enough scars to go around for even one person, it really did change things.

“Hinata you do realize that you could solve all of your problems by killing me? I haven’t heard but I can take a good guess at what the others are saying and feeling about you. Us. You can walk out now, I won’t stop you. In fact, I encourage it. It would do you so much good- I could make it easy.”

Hinata audibly groans. It is too early in the morning for this kind of conversation. But Nagito has been trapped in his cottage for so long that it’s starting to make a lot of sense that he would try to take some sort of action to get out, and extreme ideas were his forte.

“I don’t give a shit what they think,” Hinata lies. He did care, just not enough to sacrifice his happiness for it. “I’m not leaving you because a few of them have a problem with you.”

“Hinata, what they say isn’t the only issue and you know it.”

The problem is that he cannot technically can’t argue against that claim with any facts to back it up. The others do hate them, tie them up like cattle. The others were not ashamed to shut them out entirely or lock them up. Sometimes Hinata wonders if anything would really be worse if Monokuma were to show up now and force them to kill each other all over again. He feels like the others would relish in a chance to kill Nagito and by extension, him.

They, of course, have the opportunity now. But that’s the fragile uncertainty they live in. The price they’ve paid, really, in order to spare the world from themselves.

“Seems they now realize what a heartless foul piece of vermin I was all along.”

“They didn’t just start ridiculing you, you know? I get it, you’re a masochist. But can we not just have a morning to be happy?”

“And you believe happy breakfast faces are going to erase all the pain I’ve given to you and me alike? Hinata, please,” He supplements readily to Hinata’s hesitation.

“You’re changing the subject again. I take it there’s something you want then? I’m not in the mood to jump through hoops for you. If you want something, just say so.” He grumbles.

“How perceptive of you, Hinata! Truly, I can never fool you. That would be much too hard for useless trash like me…”

“Just answer the question.”

But Nagito just raised his eyebrows and drew in his knees under his chin popping the last of a bacon strip into his mouth.

“I suppose walking you in circles will be pointless. I guess I’m trying to really figure out why you think staying here with me is worth it…”

“Nagito.” But the moment his hand met Nagito’s, Nagito pulled away.

“Don’t tell me that it’s all okay. I sawed off my own arm, and you felt every second of it. You even have a limp arm because my prosthetic isn’t really ‘me’. You go through headaches, cuts on your thighs and wrists… You’re being shunned and hated. There is no two ways about it, Hinata. I am the root of all of your problems, not somebody you should be bringing happy breakfasts to every morning!”

Hinata opened his mouth to release a protest, but he needed another moment or two to sit with the heavy issues that he’d decided to address so early in the morning.

“What, am I going to abandon you and leave you to starve? Not a chance.”

“Killing me would give you your arm back.” he reminded him wistfully. “Sounds like a great deal could be done if I were cut out entirely.”

“Nagito, I’m not going to kill you to get my arm back.”

“It’s my fault.”

“Well, do you want to kill me? I’m not opposed to that. I’ve given you your fair share of hardships in return.”

“Hardly.”

Hinata splutters. “You are now half blind due to my heterochromia! How the hell is that not bad?”

Nagito suddenly looked like they had both lost their arguments.

“You lost your eye! That’s a huge deal.”

“You lost your arm and your status.”

“Yes, but not us. Right?” He says, shifting closer. “Here’s a novel idea: I love you, and I think it’s worth it to be here.”

“How is that at all an even trade-off in any sense of the-” But it’s too late, because HInata’s hand is already brushing up against his cheek lovingly.

“Look, you just woke up… Let’s not overcomplicate things until after lunch, okay?”

“Hinata, I didn’t mean-”

“Ah-pa-pa-pa-pa-pa-” He tuts, clicking his tongue in rhythm. “No more. I love you, and we can leave it at that. We don’t need to have some weird conspiratorial, mysterious understanding of it. It’s simple, and it’s not changing. Why bother making it into something it isn’t?”

Nagito can’t even protest before Hinata leans forward, and started to kiss him gently, his lips softly pushing against one another’s, as Nagito precariously balances the breakfast plate on his lap between them.

HInata’s hand rubs his cheek, back and forth, rocking into him, feeling Nagito’s hair tickling the back of his fingers as he goes, lips pulling apart only to meet again.

“Don’t… make… this… difficult…” Hinata begs between kisses. “It doesn’t have to be…”

Nagito moves the plate out of the way before taking the situation into his own mismatched hands. HInata feels Nagito grab at him around his waist, fingers digging into his lower back, before feeling a familiar tongue start to run up and down, licking his lips over and over, soft swishes, the air between them ceasing to exist. Nagito’s fingers suddenly jerk him forward into his expecting lap. His legs spread, Hinata sat proudly above him, holding Nagito in place as everything became a melting kind of needy. Nagito’s fingers especially, digging into the back of his hipbone so hard that it hurt, tongue pushing against the front of his mouth cruelly, yet never in his mouth.

Nagito seems fixated on licking his lips, swiping slowly and roughly the edges of Hinata's’ mouth, tracing them with precision, but pressing hard, just like Hinata’s di-

Down, boy.

It was sad that HInata could no longer grab at Nagito with two arms. Sad that he could only ever feel him with one, but there wasn’t too much he could-

“Fuck,” He thinks, because Nagito’s tongue was sliding into his mouth finally, dribbling saliva coated his lips, over sharp teeth. It only took a moment before Hinata had shifted his one hand to Nagito’s shoulder. It was easier to pull him in that way. Pulling their bodies together, Hinata’s legs wrap around his waist…

He was right. He didn’t need any explanation for this beyond love and hormones. He didn’t need Nagito to try and put some name on what really only had one.

HInata hears Nagito let loose a small, muffled giggle into his mouth. Hinata smiles, and then straightened his mouth because it’s hard to kiss that way. What they have is too strange or complicated to ever really be understood. Maybe that’s why the others reject it outright. If neither of them could understand it, how could the others, when they didn’t even have a hand in it? Maybe that was okay. They didn’t need to understand it beyond “I love you.”

Nagito takes another moment before he slows and eventually goes still, retreating his invasive tongue and lips, and Hinata watches a string of saliva break between their mouths as he leans backwards. Hinata really can’t think of anything else to do beyond open his one good arm, and engulf Nagito in a hug.

If they fight the good fight together, for each other, it should come together eventually. Who knew that it would be Nagito who gave him that kind of optimism? They can learn to look past the eyes and arms and the pointless infighting. Hope looks past it all. Does he really need anything else? They aren’t the only ones who have suffered.

He can say though, that forgiveness is inevitable.