#like???bro it was written so sloppily and you eat it up from the floor

[shinjisdone]

bro I get so overwhelmed by all the likes and reblogs of my malleus draconia post; like, it's just brainrot. this is literally what i imagine if my oc was part of these events you guys it was written in like 10 min.

it like???overwhelmes me it just was plastered there on my blog and ppl keep liking it its just (つω`●） and (〃´∀｀〃)ε｀●)

at leat deuce is getting love too AS HE DESERVES

now my head is full of riddleriddleriddle

[dullahandyke]

One Good Deed Will Do

Summary: Cecil ‘Deceit’ Sanders isn’t often a good big brother, so when he is, it’s worth noting, or at least, Patton seems to think so.

Warnings: Sympathetic Deceit, there is a bit of swearing

Notes: Cecil is my personal choice for Deceit’s actual name - I have a whole post I can link people to if they ask. This is in an AU where all of the sides are siblings, and it doesn’t really matter much, but Deceit is 15, Logan is 13 (nearly 14, as he’d protest), Roman and Virgil are 12 and Patton is 8.

"Logan! Logan!"

Cecil watched through the sticker-covered doorframe as his younger brother knocked at the nerd's door. There had been some science fact in a show Pat had been watching, and he had long learned not to come to Cecil with questions unless he wanted to be fooled with lawyer talk that no 15-year-old had any right to be using.

"Logan!" Patton rapped on the door quickly, utilising both arms for Maximum Knocking Efficiency. Finally, after the knocking had gone from a novelty to a distraction from the liar's math homework, the nerd opened the door to his younger brother, eyebrows drawn and mouth burned into a scowl.

"What?"

It was at that moment that Cecil knew that Logan had fucked up. The syllable quickly fell from the stoic teen's mouth harshly, crashing to the ground and cracking like glass. Patton, bless his stupid fucking heart, didn't seem to notice his brother's agitation. "My show says-"

Logan bristled, and Cecil was almost regretting eating that popcorn earlier; he should have saved it for now. "Patton, I have an important test tomorrow, I can't waste time on things like this! Just… ask Cecil, ok?" Patton took a step back, but if Logan noticed that he was unnerved, he didn't show it. "But Cecil doesn't-" Logan looked backwards towards his desk, adjusting his glasses as a nervous habit. "Goodbye, Patton."

And with that, the door was closed and Pat was left there, before shuffling back into his and Cecil's shared room. He climbed onto his bed clumsily before flopping back onto the mattress, looking up at the ceiling dejectedly.

Cecil peeked at his disappointed brother, the Nice part of him suddenly whacking him in the head, which, like, now, bro? It's been months since I've seen you and this is the time you choose to drop in? Before he could regret it, he quickly looked back to his homework, scribbling down a new problem as covertly as he could, before surrounding it with an almost cartoonish amount of question marks.

"Hey, Patton?" He called for his brother in a manner that he hoped was nonchalant - the last thing he needed was someone thinking he cared. As his brother's head lifted from the bed, he plastered a confused look onto his face. "I need help with this maths question, do you think you could give it a shot?"

By now the kid was alert, looking at the super cool dude with a confused expression to match Cecil's. "Really? I thought you did Big Person Maths, I'm not good at that." Internally, the liar cursed his constant need to be better than everyone. Newsflash, ego, being smarter than an eight year old is not an achievement!

"No, this is Big Person Maths, but I'm stuck, and maybe you could figure it out." Patton tilted his head in curiosity, pausing for a moment before stumbling off of the very childish and not at all cool bed that Cecil didn't want for himself, padding his way over to the debonair man's desk.

"Here, can you figure it out?" Cecil pointed to the sum on the paper; 2+6. Patton looked between his brother and the book, almost in disbelief. "You don't know this one?" The liar shook his head almost earnestly, eyes on the boy before him. "Do you know it?" Slowly, Patton nodded, reaching for Cecil's cool as hell fountain pen before Cecil shoved a regular pen into his hands. It wasn't that Cecil didn't trust his brother with his favourite pen, but Cecil didn't fucking trust his brother with his favourite pen.

Sloppily, Patton wrote a 6 onto the page, setting down the pen carefully once he was done. He looked up to his brother as the man checked the page to see what wisdom Patton had bestowed onto him. Overdramatically, Cecil gasped, looking pointedly at the number written. “Is that really the answer?” Patton hesitated before nodding slowly, eyeing his brother with precaution. Quickly, Cecil reached for the graffiti-covered calculator sitting unused on his desk, thumbing in the numbers of the sum rapidly enough that it was a wonder he had even inputted the right numbers at all. As he pressed, the equal button with a very aggressive finger, he gasped again, going as far as to throw a gloved hand over his mouth.

“Oh my goodness! It is six!” He looked to Patton, flabbergasted, as close to having sparkly anime eyes as a human could be. “I didn’t know that! Patton, oh my gosh, you’re so good at maths!” Patton looked up to his brother, cautious of the praise; maybe constantly lying wasn’t the best thing to be known for when you were trying to compliment someone. “Really?” Cecil reached his arms out to the young boy’s shoulders, pushing enthusiasm into his voice. “Really! That was a total plot twist to me, and I do Big Person Maths!” Patton smiled up to him, clearly cheering up.

“Bro, you’re so good at that, thank you! I was really stuck on that one, for like hours, we had all week to do that one and I couldn’t get it done, you’re so-” As Cecil blathered on, turning his mouth to autopilot, he spent actual brain power on the decision as to whether or not he should hug his brother, and yikes, that was lowkey pathetic! Do it, you touch-starved snake bitch.

Whether he ended up doing it because of the Genuine Goodness In His Heart™ or because the voice inside his head was calling him a bitch, he ended up hugging the younger boy anyway, and like first off, whaaat????? Is this what hugs are like?? Oh boy, maybe Cecil should get some more body contact with people instead of hissing whenever people stepped near him. Secondly, Patton seemed to be enjoying it, if the tiny, tiny arms that were wrapping around him were any indication. Thirdly, Cecil should probably shut the fuck up now, please and thank you! The more he talked, the more Patton might doubt him…

As Cecil closed his mouth, there was precious silence for a moment- something hard to find in a house with five children in it at any given time.

The silence stretched onwards, Patton absorbed in the hug and Cecil just… sitting there. Is this what all hugs were like? They're boring once the initial shock wears off. Boooooooo! As he waited for Patton to break the embrace, the lawyerly bitch eyed Logan's door. If he hadn't already used up his One Nice Act For Family this year on Patton, he would probably go over and check on the dude. But he had, so fuck Logan.

Finally, Patton drew away from the hug, releasing Cecil from his grubby grasp. I mean, sure, Cecil was the one who started the hug, and for an eight-year-old Patton's hands were surprisingly clean, but the liar had a reputation to uphold, and if that meant never admitting to enjoying physical contact ever, then so be it.

Patton cleared his throat and Cecil threw his gaze back up to his brother's face instead of continuing to stare at the very interesting floor. "Thanks, Cecil. That was nice!" The liar quirked an eyebrow at the child; Cecil, nice? Preposterous. False. Incorrect. Fake news.

"No, I just let you do my maths homework for me." He drawled out slowly, avoiding Patton's eyes as he did and oh my god, was that wallpaper always there? Cecil eyed it warily, just in case, definitely not avoiding eye contact deliberately at all, no siree.

From the corner of his eye, Cecil noticed Patton's head bob as he nodded, and watched nonchalantly as the boy made his way back to his bed. Just as he was about to go back to his doodling in the margins of homework for the sake of Being Rebellious, he was drawn away by the voice of Patton, light and happy.

"Thanks for hugging me' It was nice." Cecil turned his attention back to the fountain pen in his hand, twirling it and watching the feather he'd taped to it spin. He made sure Patton was aware that he definitely wasn't paying any attention at all to him when he responded with a dull "Whatever."

Peace rang throughout the room, Patton making faint Patton noises while Cecil marked a 'deceit wuz here' note into the margins, because having an alter ego was very punk rock of him, if he did say so himself. If he strained his ears, Cecil would probably hear the sounds of Virgil and Roman bickering over something or other, but he couldn't be arsed to strain his precious ears, so he didn't, and the mystery as to what the two were probably arguing about would never be solved.

All of a sudden, out of the quiet came a voice that Cecil was sure didn't have anything else left to say. Transaction finished, no tip left, no small talk required.

"Does this mean I can hug you whenever I want?!"

"Fu-friiiiick no."

"Please?"

"No."

"Please?"

"No."

"Please?"

"No."

"Please?"

"No."

"Please?"

"No."

"Fiiiiine."

Victory.

[golden-geese]

“coping mechanisms”

           mac/dennis. post "the gang goes on family fight" season 10 episode 8. heavy mentions of mental illness stuff. ur classic mushy hurt/comfort trash. p much canonical. no mentions of self harm, suicide, eating disorders, etc; just panic attack/sensory overload stuff. one shot; 2,174 words.

  coping mechanisms

Mac had seen Dennis’ shoulders change when the buzzer went off for the first time. Seen him tense up. He could have written the user’s manual on Dennis, he knew what every shred of body language meant on the guy-- knew that this meant he was coiling up tighter and tighter with every nudge. And he kept losing, because the more he lost the more he was going to lose. The buzzer kept going off and Dennis kept cringing and covering his ears and smiling that maniac smile. Leaning back and forth, his eyes shut tight-- Mac had seen it coming. How could he not? And then Dennis started to go down and Mac felt himself jolt a little, moving his hands toward Dennis, before stopping himself--

 What do you do when the most important person in your life is sobbing and pounding on the floor of a game show set?

 What do you do when the most important person in your life is red-faced and writhing?

 What do you do if everyone is watching?

 Over and over again, these questions radiated throughout Mac’s world. What do you do? What do you do? What do you do?

What he ended up doing was standing, watching, feeling the thud of his pulse behind his ears-- glancing at Dee to see if she cared as much as he did, to see if she was feeling as heartbroken as Mac was--

 She wasn’t, of course. A teaspoon of concern lingered behind her blue eyes, but nothing more.

 He turned toward Charlie. Charlie just looked confused and Frank was just kind of staring off to the side.

 “This doesn’t represent me! This doesn’t represent me!”

 The host signed off and walked away, the lights lowering. Mac took the opportunity. Shoved past Dee and, because he didn’t really know what else to do, sank down onto the floor next to Dennis.

 “Hey, dude?”

 “It doesn’t represent me, it went so wrong!”

 “I know, bro, let’s just go home,” Mac said. Automatically, his hands moved toward Dennis-- but again he stopped himself. He knew better. Dennis was still covering his ears-- Mac knew if he touched Dennis right now, Dennis would cringe hard and tell him to get the fuck away. Knew from experience.

 “They can’t air that!”

 “Let’s just go home, Den, okay? Give me your keys.”

 He glanced up. Producers and assistants were walking around, starting to clean up the set-- Dee and Charlie and Frank were already long gone. For a second, Mac was furious with them for just leaving Dennis like this.

 “They can’t,” he said again, quieter, still shaking hard. His eyes had that glazed over look. The vein in his forehead was out.

 “Can you stand up, dude?”

 Slowly, he started to. Mac did too, watching Dennis in case he started to stumble. He realized how tight his jaw was set, so he loosened it. Loosened the fists his hands had become, too.

 Once they were both standing, Dennis slowly turned his face toward Mac. Their eyes met, dark brown and light blue, and Mac had to give himself a very stern silent pep talk about how he should absolutely not hug Dennis right now. Even though hugging Dennis hard enough that he was shielded from everything was the only thing Mac wanted in the entire world.

 “Let’s go home,” he said again, instead.

 Dennis nodded a tiny bit, turning his face back toward the floor. His stupid argyle sweater vest was crumpled, but he didn’t seem to notice or care. He trailed a pace or two behind Mac as they headed to the parking lot, but Mac glanced back at him every minute or so, making sure he was still there even though he could hear Dennis’ footsteps.

 They came upon Dennis’ car.

 “Dennis,” Mac said.

 He almost cringed. “What?”

 “Can I have the keys?”

 With a shaky hand, he fished them out of his pocket. Usually he would throw them to Mac, but this time he just sort of held them. Cautiously, Mac reached toward him and took them, trying not to touch Dennis’ hand because he knew the guy would hate it.

 Once he had the keys, he unlocked the car. Dennis didn’t move to get in the passenger side.

 “You gonna get in, bro?”

 He opened his mouth for a second, but didn’t say anything. He closed it again quickly.

 “Take a deep breath and get in the car, man.”

 He did it. It took him a few tries to buckle his seatbelt.

 Mac stared at him for a minute, again wondering what the hell he was supposed to do. Usually when Dennis got like this he yelled and threw punches and stormed off right after, or on rare occasions sobbed and shook until he exhausted himself enough to fall asleep. Now he was just crumpled up again, face buried in his hands against the dashboard. This was a far cry from whitened knuckles and broken beer bottles and blossoming bruises.

 So Mac turned the key and pulled out of the parking spot and headed out of the parking lot toward the highway.

 “You want music, dude? Would that help?” He asked after several minutes of silence.

 “No,” Dennis said, almost too quiet to hear. The anguish in his voice cracked at Mac’s ribs.

 “Is there anything I can do to help you? Anything in the world?”

 Dennis didn’t respond for a moment. Then; another almost unperceivable “no”.

 “Let me know if there is, okay? I’ll do it. I swear.”

 Dennis didn’t respond. Mac kept driving.

 It felt like hours before he was pulling into a parking spot at their apartment building. Again, he felt a hit of rage-- Frank was Dennis’ father, Dee was his twin sister, and Charlie was his best friend, and none of them gave a shit. None of them tried to help at all. Assholes, Mac thought harshly. Fucking selfish assholes.

 He turned back to Dennis, shoving the anger toward the others aside. He’d ream them later for it, he decided. Nothing he could do now. Anyway, right now he had something more important than anger to worry about.

 “Den, you wanna sit here for a minute or go inside?” He asked.

 Instead of saying anything, Dennis sloppily reached for the seatbelt and then the door handle. Mac got out too, checking to make sure Dennis’ car was locked before they headed inside. He stole glances at Dennis the whole way through the halls and staircases.

 When Mac stopped to unlock their door, he watched Dennis lean against the wall out of his peripherals. His shoulders were still shaking, his eyes were still glassy and distant-- but his face wasn’t red anymore. He just looked pale now. Mac exhaled.

 They went inside. Mac locked the door behind them and put Dennis’ keys in the little dish by the door. When he turned around, Dennis was just standing there, his arms crossed tightly, his head still turned toward the floor.

 “You should go lay down,” Mac suggested after a beat of silence. “Bed or couch, whatever you want. But you should lay down.”

 Dennis turned toward Mac and pointed his empty eyes at him. It was almost eerie-- or it would be, if Mac weren’t so worried and lovesick and heartbroken and all that bullshit.

 “Wherever you’d be most comfortable,” he heard himself add for no reason.

 Dennis nodded tightly and turned toward their rooms-- but then, instead of going into his own room, he went into Mac’s. Through the open door, Mac watched him sloppily kick off his shoes and lay face down on Mac’s unmade bed.

 He stared for a second, then took his shoes off, then wandered into his room and laid on his back next to Dennis. Far enough away that they weren’t touching. Dennis was always bragging about his king size memory foam bed. And here he was, face-down in Mac’s cheap queen size bed.

 For a minute or two, he just listened to Dennis breathe. It was coming out shaky, but at least he wasn’t sobbing anymore. He stole a glance at the back of Dennis’ head.

 Then he was bored, though, so he reached for the bible on his nightstand. Started flipping through the bookmarked passages. Re-read one or two of his favorite stories from childhood. If Job still had faith after losing everything, Mac could still have faith even though Dennis was suffering. He said a silent prayer toward that end. Said another silent prayer that he would be able to alleviate some of the suffering somehow. Prayed for peace for both of them. Prayed that he would be forgiven for the hard block of guilt in his chest that he hadn’t been able to explain lately.

 Eventually, Dennis’ breathing changed to soft snores. They felt like relief to Mac.

 As quietly as he could, he got off the bed. Went to grab a clean pair of boxers and an old tee shirt. Headed into the bathroom to take a shower.

 As he washed his hair, he tried to piece together what he would want if he felt like that. Beer, probably. One of their comfort movies on TV. But mostly he would just want Dennis.

 He stopped the water and started drying himself off. Shook his hair a little. It always felt so good to have it loose after being gelled down all day, even though it fluffed up and looked ridiculous.

 He got dressed. Pants had always been optional in the McDonald-Reynolds household-- many a movie night had passed with both of them wearing nothing but boxers, in fact. It was a relic of the times Mac had made the half hour trek to Dennis’ college frat in West Philly to watch action movies together.

 Once his hair was dry and his boxers and tee shirt were on, he wandered into the kitchen and grabbed a beer. He drank the whole thing in a few gulps, standing next to the open fridge, and then cracked open another and downed it quickly too. He stopped after two, though, already sick of the taste.

 Unsure of what to do next, he ended up wandering over to the couch and sitting down to watch TV. Law and Order reruns were on, so he settled for that, keeping the volume low for Dennis’ sake.

 After a while, maybe two or three hours, he heard Dennis stirring. A moment later he came out of Mac’s room and wandered into the bathroom-- and left the door open as he stripped his clothes off and got in the shower. Mac tried hard not to look. Why the hell did he leave the door open?

 He stayed in there for a long time. Mac could feel the steam wafting into the living room-- Dennis always showered so damn hot.

 When he eventually emerged, his skin was red and his curls were matted to his forehead. He went into his room, a towel around his waist, but again left the door open as he rifled through his dresser drawers. He came out a moment later in a long-sleeved shirt and boxers. He sat down next to Mac, avoiding his eyes.

 For a few minutes, they watched Law and Order together, Mac occasionally stealing sideways glances at his roommate. He wanted to put an arm around him, to stroke his hair, to feel Dennis against him somehow. Twenty years of sporadic drunken fucks and half-asleep snuggles and stolen kisses, Mac thought, he’d taken for granted. Hadn’t truly appreciated the way Dennis felt against him. Hadn’t banked the memories for when he needed them. He should have, knowing damn well he couldn't have it whenever he wanted.

 “You want a beer, dude?” He asked, breaking the silence during a commercial break.

 Dennis started a little. “Okay,” he said.

 Mac went to the fridge and got four bottles. He opened Dennis’ first one for him without even thinking about it, and they sipped at their drinks in silence for several minutes.

 Halfway into the second, though, Dennis put a shaky hand on the remote and turned the TV off.

 The room fell to silence. It must have started raining outside at some point, because Mac heard droplets against the dark windows. After a few hesitant moments, he turned to look at his best friend. Dennis was already looking at him.

 “If you weren’t there, I would still be on that floor,” Dennis said plainly.

 “Good thing I rode up on a white horse and saved your ass, then,” Mac responded. “Guess I’m your hero.”

 Usually Dennis would shoot shit right back. But then, usually Dennis wouldn’t point out that Mac helped him in the first place.

 This time, he just turned the TV back on, lowered the volume, and in one graceful motion, laid down with his head on Mac’s lap.

 Before he even realized Dennis was on him, Mac’s hands were in his hair. At least this was something.

 At least Dennis needed him in this moment.