#my butthole hurts more than anywhere on my chest

[aliceundrground]

Recovery day 8

Awkward 'my chair is in front of a window' selfie + cat tax lol

Stayed up way too late because I've been socializing so much and my brain required Me Time (until like 4am). Woke up and it had been 9.5hrs since my last meds and HOO boy, not feeling great.

After waking up for a bit I started to feel a lot better. This was maybe from the meds but it was only ~15 minutes after taking them so I'm not sure 🤷 Could be from walking around a bit/stretching/adjusting mental expectations of discomfort lol

My right side is still a lot larger than my left and I'm hoping its still just swelling that will go down eventually. My surgeon was very open about supporting revisions down the line and thats helping a bit but I am kind of worried about the shape 💀

My right wrist and neck/shoulder have also been hurting because Ive been using/holding my phone so much 💀💀 might need to limit phone use lol

Tmi in tags

[wolfieonatypewriter]

Echoes Across Time And Space

Summary:

Bayonetta was very much ready to have a great and relaxing birthday in the company of Jeanne and a ton of free time when one of her gifts turns out to be more than what she bargained for.

The Remembrance of Time of the day she was born that their absent god had sent her way could prove to be too much, even for her.

Word count: 2.6k

A/N: Golem the discount store siamese is Jeanne's cat that she finds as a stray and he's pretty consistent across my fic universes

“Golem, I swear to fucking God that I will boil you in a big witchy caldron if I go back there and see anything broken!” She had opened the door to their swanky Manhattan high rise to the cute delivery girl for some of her birthday parcels but there was a distinct ruckus of someone breaking things. “I'm sorry, it's the cat you know.”

The other lady laughed and tucked in her signing machine underneath her arm, handing her the parcel emblazoned with ‘From: Luka Redgrave’ in swirly, obnoxiously composed handwriting. “This one is fragile, so maybe do keep it out of reach.”

Cereza carted the box back to her kitchen and to the source of the disturbance, only to find the balcony door wide open to the snow storm and Golem meowing in displeasure from the other side of the room.

“You shouldn't have opened this then, you butthole.” He pinned his ears back and harrumphed out with an upturned tail, showcasing such a body part right at her as he trotted away most imperiously.

“About as charming as your owner.” She mumbled to herself, rubbing her bare arms and crossing the expansive kitchen to shut the balcony doors before the blizzard parkered itself on their home.

The wind must have been truly hazardous to have slammed the door open. She spared a thought to Jeanne, out and about in the city probably getting some private party favours for a little birthday one on one fun. She loved her toys and not even the dreadful weather had dissuaded her, especially considering those had been a backed up special order that had been ready at just the right time.

With a graceful pivot, she hummed her way back to the kitchen island, her favorite marble monstrosity, when a twinge of magic rippled in the back of her head. She turned, looking around for what might have caused it. If angels decided to rain down on her for her birthday, she would march straight to Paradiso and punch Jubileus in the face.

Odd, there was nothing out of the ordinary and the flick had since passed with no hint that it had ever happened. With a shrug, she turned back to her parcel on the marble countertop.

Luka had promised something good and she had no doubt he would deliver. What could it be, he was very tight lipped about it but had sworn up and down she was going to love it.

When she looked again, the brown box was no longer anywhere to be found and in its place rested a single blue card.

Aesir.

Cereza jumped into action, looking around wildly and turning her living room around searching for any clues on where he might be. The apartment was as she had left it, everything undisturbed, not even Golem was around to make a mess of things.

“Come on, little one! You can't just drop by like this.” She called out, walking back to the kitchen island once more. Spotting a note that wasn't on her fridge before, she snatched it. “At least show up for a chat…”

Hey, Bayonetta! I got you a little something I do think you'll enjoy. I still don't think you look like a Cereza but after hearing about it, I could be convinced.

Cereza huffed, rolling her eyes. Couldn't anyone in her life not be a dramatic ho with a flair for the theatrical? The simple sheet did not reveal any other tricks so she pinned the damn thing back to the fridge.

The card rested face down and another cursory look revealed that the box Luka had sent was resting on Jeanne's favorite chair. A sense of exhilarating anticipation itched in her chest, a feeling she hadn't gotten since she asked Jeanne to move in with her. As soon as her fingertips touched the card, a rebound of energy coursed through her arm.

With a flick of her wrist, the card was now facing up and a picture of her mummy and Balder appeared. It was stylized in the same way as Loki's old cards, her parents back to back with their hands clasped together.

It was a beautiful figure, bold in it's intent but sad given all that she knew had transpired between them.

“Sentimental, little one.” She was about to grab it to stash it somewhere safe when it lit with a surge of incomprehensible power. The world around her turned to gold and blue, her living room ending up looking like it had been ran with a bad photo filter.

She was about to move when the distant cry of a baby started up. Bayonetta looked around her apartment for any clues, bringing forth her guns from her summoning pocket.

The sound was seemingly everywhere at once but no images materialized. In between whimpers and bouts of crying, a voice sounded over it.

‘My most precious starshine, it's your first morning. What has you ever so displeased?’ The man had a rich baritone, so loving and emotional that something stabbed through her heart at the realization. He wasn't speaking English, it sounded like something of a cross between Portuguese and Galician which could only be Vigridian. Cereza was astounded she could still understand it.

This was a remembrance of time and that was… ‘She’s so Umbra but reacts so well to your magic.’ A woman chimed in, voice low and somewhat hoarse. Tired but content and Bayonetta wasn't dumb enough to miss why. All in all, she had to thank Rosa for a job so well done.

‘Daddy loves his little girl so, he can hardly stand to part with her.’ The rustle of cloth followed his statement and she strained to try and picture what could be happening. Was he holding her? Passing her over to Rosa? ‘Mummy has food, tasty and delicious. Is that what you want?’

After a few seconds, the unmistakable sound of a baby nursing filled the silence. In that time, Bayonetta came crashing down to earth on what she was seeing and hearing. Her parents, her very own parents were there in echo on what seemed to be the day she was born. Balder sounded so soft, so in awe of what had happened. His tender tone was ripped right out of a fairy tale, of parents not filled with grief, not confined to the back of an annulment cell. Of all the things she knew of him, distorted and fragmented as they were, this facet was the hardest to swallow. Father Balder had been dramatic and violent, his younger self has been angry and hurting. In neither of those had there been any space for the loving care she was hearing.

Bayonetta didn't know what to do with that information but she didn't have much time to chew it over as Rosa started speaking again.

‘She is so small… felt much larger a couple of hours ago though.’ They shared a chuckle and a the sound of a couple of soft kisses reached her ears, the rawness of their affection was obvious even without visuals. Young spouses, newly minted parents with their whole world suckling peacefully in front of them. 'Well then, what will our daughter be called?’

'I think Cereza is a perfect match.’ he supplied, words reverent and Rosa laughed in reply, so joyful and unfettered like Bayonetta only heard a scant few times in her life. ‘And may her life always be bathed in the summer sun.’

There it was, oh there it was. A name that was a blessing of the highest calibre coming from her Lumen father. A prayer that had fallen on deaf ears.

‘She was born in the dead of winter, Balder. Might I add, exactly as a good little Umbra should.'

A small sob escaped her throat and before she knew it, a couple of stray tears made their way down her face. This wasn’t...it wasn’t fair and Bayonetta had no clue on how to process the turbulent tide of her overwhelming sadness, her unconfronted grief or even just the unfairness of her misplaced anger at her parents and their decisions.

“Cereza!” The rapid staccato of heels pounded across their foyer and Jeanne sprinted into the kitchen only to halt immediately at the scene that greeted her harried entrance. “What is…”

‘That’s precisely why she needs a summer blessing. To balance it out!’

That voice brought back a flood of memories and she raised her guns, teeth gnashed and all of her was ready to summon Madama Styx right then and there but when she noticed there were no threats at their gates, she uncoiled enough to take a good look around.

Her most beloved was crying, their kitchen felt like an hub of undetermined energy zapping through her whole soul and Jeanne, brightest witch in an age and Elder of the Umbra Witches, had no clue what was going on. So she did the first thing that came to mind. Envelop Cereza in a hug.

‘The daughter of the night and day, an auspicious portent. Though many would disagree.' Rosa's voice continued to sound in their spacious kitchen, gaining a harder edge and at some point Jeanne realized that it came from the card on their table. Oh no, a remembrance of time. ‘ How long do you figure this safehouse will hold? A month?’

She hugged back, burying her face on Jeanne's shoulder and biting her lower lip to keep from shedding more tears while the memory kept going like a stuck tape on a broken recorder.

'At best, yes.’ All of a sudden he sounded very tired and they heard a sigh. ‘For now, we can all rest. This is as isolated as isolation can be, it seems the legends about Fimbulventr are not as true as they seem.’

‘For now as well, the people's whispers are too loud to ignore.’

Bayonetta lifted her head from Jeanne’s shoulder and furrowed her brow at those words, turning to her. They had taken refuge on the Holy Mountain and somehow had been taken in with warmth. Her personal experience told her acutely that being received kindly in there was next to impossible.

A thousand and one questions burned inside her head but none more intense than the age old query: Had their absent God interfered? Had he taken pity in his own Eyes, harbouring the Left and Right facets of creation and their precious bundle of the apocalypse in his own domain?

Little whimpers broke up their strategy meeting and rustling cloth sounded up again. ‘You’re daddy's girl already and you barely know what a daddy is, moonstone.’

Balder chuckled at her words, whimpers growing louder. ‘Why do I think it's not a me she likes best. You might be right, she pays attention to my magic but it's not working now.’

A string of lilting bird calls, like one would expect from a songbird, followed his statement and Jeanne just held her close, commenting “Lumen sages are keen on their bird natures, it's part of their communication.”

‘See, she likes that.’ Rosa’s voice had a hint of smugness that sounded so very characteristically Bayonetta in its execution. However, despite having quietened down a touch, little Cereza still made her discomfort known.

‘Not enough to soothe her it seems.’ He replied, chirping a little more but without any further success. A rumbling purr broke through and that Bayonetta knew what it was.

Somewhere in the back of her memories, she remembered her mummy purring at her, as close as she could through the thick bars of her cell. Her chest rattled and rumbled and her little tiny self would bask in the comforting certainty of it all.

The lack of visuals was both infuriating and a boon, as they could only guess at Cereza’s adorable fussiness from the squirming sounds she was making.

But it also meant Bayonetta couldn't see the love in her parents’ eyes, couldn't see their weariness and their bone aching tiredness tinged with overwhelming relief of having found shelter just in time for their little one to be born.

Couldn't see all she had missed.

‘Fly me to the moon…’ Their perfect harmonizing jarred her from her thoughts like a vengeful poltergeist.

‘And let me play among the stars’ the song was perfect in it's execution, a performance born of repetition. ‘In other words, please be true.’ Of singing it many times together.

‘In other words…’ No fussiness could be heard anymore, only the well polished lullaby in the unique duet version Bayonetta had never even guessed could exist.

‘I love you…’

The magic faded slowly after the last bar like a record player winding down and the last she heard was the faint noise of another soft kiss.

At that time, she had stopped caring about the tears streaming down her face or the fact that she was hanging on for dear life on Jeanne. It was embarrassing and heavy but at the same time a part of it felt…

Good.

A soft purr vibrated near her cheek, breaking the uncomfortable silence of their apartment and Jeanne held her closer. The purr picked up, higher pitched and softer than her mother's great big tiger purr, causing her to scrunch her eyes shut for a second.

“In other words.” Jeanne started, her words vibrating through her rib cage.”I love you…” Cereza felt a kiss to her hair and she sniffed, wiping her stray tears with the back of her hand.

She lifted her head and Jeanne smiled, kind and caring and loving and all just for her. She replied with a watery smile, disentangling from her lover and taking off her glasses to rub at her eyes.

The card was facing up near them on the countertop, Rosa and Balder with clasped hands staring back at them, defiant. And wasn’t that the foundation of their life, a relationship forged out of defiance. A daughter born out of love.

“Please tell me you didn't get me an emotional gift as well.”

Jeanne chuckled, snaking her arms around her waist and kissing her lips softly. “I have some things you'll like in my bag of tricks but it's mostly earthly pleasures, I promise.”

Cereza was exceptionally hard to shop for so she just got her luxury spa days and shopping trips. She had gotten her a pair of heels her most beloved had commented she had her eyes on for Valentine's and Cereza had replied the fun was in the going. Going out shopping with her was always an event that had even the most upper brow places at the beck and call of Cereza’s inexorable charms.

With a tentative touch of her fingertips on the card, Bayonetta snagged it from the kitchen island and stashed it on her summon void. She hoped beyond hope it didn’t start up again, another tongue lashing of emotions and past trauma would surely leave her soul even more raw than what it currently was.

That would take time to process and she was sure to either yank little one’s ears when she next saw their absent God or thank him for giving her such a thing, she wasn’t sure which one yet. In any case, that was an issue for future her because for now…

“Earthly pleasures you say?” The flip to predatory was so fast that Jeanne didn't even have time to react before a nip to her neck dragged an embarrassing moan out of her. Cereza had snagged her up with feline proficiency, the back of her thighs bumping against the countertop and Jeanne found herself at the complete mercy of Cereza’s hungry grin “Did you find what you went out for.”

Oh yes, she had and she was more than ready to see how it worked.

“Yes.”

Golem wouldn’t even complain.

[crowned-ladybug]

Normality

Written from an impromptu AU idea I got on the bus this morning that piqued my interest enough.

Important, however, is that this fic isn’t a complete story. There’s no solution or great revelation at the end. To be honest, I’m only posting this to see if anyone is interested in it at all, because if no one cares for it I won’t spend more time developing this AU and the plot and writing about it.

Set in an AU that I may or may not already have a name for

Characters: Seán, Signe, Anti

Word count: 4k

Warnings: none.

Out of the two of them, Seán has always been the normal one. He has a stable job (which involves screaming at video games and posting footage of said screaming on the internet, but still, a stable job), a nice house and a happy relationship. Hell, as of recently, he even has normal coloured hair. While he definitely isn't without his own quirks (I beg of you, show me a person who is without any quirks at all), he very much counts as the normal one out of him and his half-sibling.

Because this half-sibling is definitely something. Anraí, or Anti as he prefers to be called, shares a father with Seán. He also tends to share a bunch of wild stories with him that Seán definitely wasn't sure he wanted to hear at first.

Anti is the weird sibling. He has bright green hair (what kind of weirdo has green hair, seriously? Weirdos like Anti and Seán apparently, because Seán can't just pretend he didn't also have green hair for like two years), a bunch of piercings, and unusually sharp teeth to compliment his metaphorically sharp tongue. He's covered in tattoos, some of which Seán is still yet to decipher, and there's a scar across his neck he got during some stupidly daring adventure when he was a kid. Okay, maybe that is something he kind of regrets. He prances around in an old jacket probably only held together by the countless patches he's sewn onto it, patches of monsters and swearwords and pride flags. He has one on the right side of his chest that says "Gender? No thanks", and Seán remembers getting that one for him. He looks like the kind of person to offer to sell you drugs in a dark alleyway, when really he will snap your wrist if you pressure him into lighting a cigarette.

Anti is...peculiar. He swears like a sailor when he feels like it but picks dandelions for the kids who come up to him in the park to marvel in his colourful patches and countless tattoos. He paints his nails black and poison green, but he happily accepts pastel pink or bright blue if Seán's girlfriend Signe decides to offer. He seems to know the darkest parts of any city he visits by heart and emerge from the shadows at night, but he's never done worse than shoving Seán a little too hard during a video game night and sending him tumbling off the couch. He loves knives and wields one like he was born to do nothing else, but Seán would swear Anti has never stabbed anyone. He usually shows up at random times, but he texts a day in advance to ask if it's okay for him to visit, and he only shows up without notice when he's bleeding and too hurt to go anywhere else, because sometimes punching his way out of situations doesn't work that well. He's the kind of person to spin the globe, point at a random spot and disappear for a week or two, then come back with a couple small gifts and countless exciting stories to tell.

Anti is the strange sibling. Seán is the normal one.

Or at least that used to be the case until now.

Because no amount of travelling and patches can rival summoning a handful of colourful balls of floating light when you sneeze. And that's just what Seán has just done, sitting in his chair in his recording room, about to start up the game he was planning on playing. He sneezed, a proper, loud one, and when he opened his eyes again there were little balls of light, five or six and all different colours, floating around him. They were about as big as a walnut each, flickering lightly as they floated about lazily, bumping into his cheek or his raised hand without burning him, and then slowly disappearing like someone had adjusted the dimming switch on them before turning them off completely. And now they're gone like nothing ever happened.

Now, don't get me wrong, this definitely isn't the first time Seán has ever seen something magical. Magic is real, everyone knows that. He's seen coal black deer with four eyes, the third one on their forehead and the fourth floating between their antlers when him and Anti had explored in the forest at night, and the old seamstress in her shop down the street has a sewing machine that never runs out of string. Magic is normal, everyone knows it exists, because it's everywhere amongst little mundane things in their everyday lives.

But summoning light when sneezing is not something most people just do. Magic is a mundane, passive thing that happens. People who can make it happen are special.

Once the lights are gone, Seán presses back into his chair firmly, breath shaky. He feels like he's just suffered an especially bad jumpscare from a horror game, except this was no horror game. He just sneezed light into existence or some shit. He breathes, slow and deep, to calm himself down before this sends him into an anxiety attack. He'll figure this out later. For now he has videos to record.

The rest of the day goes by as normal. He doesn't sneeze again (it's not like he's sick or anything, it was probably just his facial hair getting in his nose again that made him sneeze that once) and nothing out of the ordinary happens. He doesn't tell Signe or anyone else about the lights.

In the afternoon he goes out to the garden like he usually does. There's a little circle of rocks near the back, one of those that are said to be home to fae. It's nothing more special than having a birdhouse in your backyard. But the fae keep the plants in their garden happy and lively, because they're good pals. And in return Seán or Signe bring a bowl of warm milk to the circle every day, because that's what pals do.

He brings some milk this time too and puts the bowl down right next to the edge of the circle. He knows better than to touch the rocks themselves. He crouches there for a moment, watching as some nearby daffodils nod back and forth in the breeze, and he feels the tattoo on his arm tingle slightly. He's heard the fae like tattoos. He's surpised Anti doesn't have a whole army of them travelling with him based on that. He absently wishes the circle and its unseen inhabitants good night before he goes back inside.

That night he gets a text from Anti asking if it's okay if he comes to visit tomorrow. Seán tells him that he's more than welcome to.

After three deadly rounds of Mario Kart complete with Signe's comments on both Seán's and Anti's poor performance, Seán leans back on the couch and drops the controller next to himself. Signe has left to do something else in the middle of the third round, though Seán can't remember what exactly. He had been way too busy trying to not fall off Rainbow Road to listen properly.

"Okay, I need your two cents on something," he says, still staring at the TV screen in front of them. Out of the corner of his eye he sees Anti jokingly reach for his pocket, but Seán slaps his arm lazily and Anti laughs.

"Sure thing. What's up?"

"You know a lot of, like...random shit," Seán starts, and it's true. Anti is kind of a jack of all trades kinda guy who knows a bit about everything, usually some very unexpected details. "How much do you know about magic users?"

Anti hums thoughtfully. "Like, active magic?"

"Yeah."

"I don't know, a bunch of stuff," Anti shrugs. "They're rare, make magic happen, the affinity to use magic actively can be inherited, blah blah blah. Could you be more specific?"

"Alright," Seán brushes his hair to the side and realises a second too late that that might come off as a nervous gesture. "Can someone just...start using magic one day? Like, totally randomly? Even though they'd never shown signs of it before?"

"I mean, I guess, proba-" Anti's nonchalant tone suddenly drops, and he turns to stare at Seán with concern, eyes narrowed the smallest bit. Seán hates that look. Anti has some unreal green eyes and it makes his stares more intense than they need to be. Whenever he does that, Seán feels like Anti can see right into his soul. "Did something happen?" Anti asks, tone serious and worried. "Seán, are you...is everything okay?"

Seán lets out a small laugh, and maybe he's relieved, he's not sure. He reaches out and pats Anti on the shoulder. "Yeah, dude, I'm fine. Some weird shit happened the other day and I was curious if you could understand more about it than me."

"What...weird shit exactly?"

"I may or may not have sneezed some temporary light into existence," Seán shrugs sheepishly. In hindsight he probably could have phrased that way better, but there's no going back now, is there?

"What the-..." Anti makes a couple unidentifiable noises in the back of his throat out of confusion. "What in Satan's third butthole to the left is that supposed to mean?"

Seán throws his head back with sudden, shrieking laughter. Part of it is probably from relief, because he's actually doing it and talking to his sibling about this weird magical experience he had, but he also just loves Anti's overly complicated swears. Improvising stupid (or stupidly hilarious) swears and insults and threats is definitely one thing they have in common.

"Okay, okay," Seán takes a breath as he calms down from laughing. "I sneezed the other day," he starts slowly, partially because he honestly has no idea how the fuck to phrase this. "And then there was light. No, lights, plural."

"So you sneezed 'Let there be light' and then there was?"

"You are so not a help, I swear," Seán laughs again, but he feels happy and relieved. Suddenly somehow conjuring active magic is scary and confusing, but he's glad he can just banter about it with Anti while searching for answers. "There were a couple of these...wisps. Colourful and shit, about this big," he shows Anti by making a small circle with his fingers. "They kinda just...chilled out, and then they were gone."

Anti lets out a long puff of air as he thinks. Seán waits patiently.

"That definitely sounds like active magic alright," he scratches his head as he mumbles. With his bright green hair he looks a little like a very confused highlighter. "And I don't think it's unheard of to not show any sings of magic for a bunch of years and...then...suddenly do."

"I thought that was just about ten-year-old kids or something."

"Nah, I don't think it discriminates like that," Anti shrugs. He thinks but he doesn't know. He might know a bunch of random shit, but active magic is definitely not his area of expertise. "It might be something totally different, too. It doesn't seem likely, but...could happen," he shrugs again, then asks. "Does Signe know?"

"Nah," Seán sighs and he looks remorseful. "She knows jack shit about magic just like me, so it would have just been the two of us confused. I thought maybe with you we could figure out at least part of it before I told her."

"Well, sorry I'm not of much use either," Anti leans his elbows on his knees and props his chin up on his hands, thinking.

Seán sighs again. "It's alright, dude. Thanks anyway."

Later that day, they tell Signe together. She's about just as confused as the two of them combined, but she doesn't resent Seán for not telling her earlier. She gives him a comforting kiss on the cheek because he seems awfully nervous about the whole situation, and the three of them sit around brainstorming about what could have possibly happened.

"Maybe we should just wait until something else happens. Maybe it wasn't at all what we think it is, just...coincidence," Signe offers when they just keep running into dead ends two steps into any thought process. The internet isn't much help either, or maybe they're just looking in all the wrong places, but none of their searches turn up with anything useful.

"Yeah," Anti nods absent-mindedly as he fumbles with one of his many bracelets. "Are you sure nothing special happened before the wisps appeared?"

Seán gives a sheepish shrug. "I...sneezed?"

"Congratulations," Signe laughs. "You had a life-changing magical sneeze."

"Wow, thanks."

Anti decides to stay for a week, or however long he will be needed in figuring this thing out. The three of them make plans to go to the library, to ask around for magic users who could help them and to just keep looking for any sort of help or information anywhere they can. Anti makes himself comfortable in the guest room with just his belongings from his bottomless duffel bag. Despite the current confusing events, the three of them settle easily into the routine they always take up whenever Anti comes to visit.

On the second day of Anti's stay, him and Signe come home from their walk to the grocery store to find Seán sitting in the kitchen, staring blankly at one of Signe's cacti instead of recording like he had said he would.

"Seán?" Signe asks as enters the kitchen, voice worried. "Is everything alright?"

Anti slips in beside her and puts the groceries down before leaning on the table opposite from Seán to also stare at the cactus curiously. It's just a cactus, round and spiky and cutely sitting in its little pot. Not exactly something worth staring at.

"I..." Seán starts, eyes flickering to Signe and then swiftly back to the cactus. "I don't know."

"Come on dude, what happened?" Anti asks. He hopes he's being helpful, but he could just as much be causing damage, because neither him nor Signe have any idea what's gotten into Seán.

Seán shakes his head violently and presses his hands against his temples. Signe sits down next to him and starts rubbing his back to comfort him. Seán takes a breath and shakes his head again, more tamely this time.

"I don't...I don't know what happened, I just..." he's struggling for words, because he's so utterly confused and he hates it. "I just picked this cactus up and moved it so I could clean the counter and it...it just lit on fire. On its own," he shakes his head again. He just can't find any viable explanation for a spontaneously combusting cactus. "And then it stopped in like...two seconds. And it wasn't burned at all. Hell, it wasn't even warm," he stops to rub at his eyes, press his palm into them until he sees stars. He just doesn't get it. "I...I have no idea what happened."

Signe doesn't know what to say, but she keeps drawing little lines and patterns into Seán's back hoping that it will help him a little. Meanwhile Anti picks up the cactus and examines it. He can't do much other than staring at it and poking it (right into a spike. Ouch.), but he hopes to see some clue as to what had happened. He doesn't.

"Well, at least the cactus seems fine," Anti shrugs, aware of how unhelpful he's being but not knowing what else to do aside from trying to lighten the mood by joking.

Seán groans loudly, and at first Anti thinks it was because of his comment on the cactus's well-being, but then he drops his head onto the table heavily and mumbles. "Guys, am I going insane?"

"No, you're not," Signe says firmly before Anti could crack another horrible joke, and she pulls Seán up from the table and into a hug. "You're not insane, and we're going to find out together what's going on with you."

Seán wants to protest that he's just seen unprompted magical things happen two times with no other witnesses or physical proof of either of those actually happening, but he stays silent. He just lays his head on Signe's shoulder and nods gratefully.

Anti walks around the table and gingerly pats Seán on the back. He silently acknowledges Signe's warning look before he speaks. "Well, I guess that means we're going to the library."

They go to the library.

None of them are regulars, but they have entry cards, mainly due to some past events that also required them to hang out in the library and do their research there, because apparently sometimes the internet is really not up-to-date on magic, as surprising as that is.

The library is big and peaceful, with high, darkwood shelves packed with books and golden coloured reading lamps fixed to the tables. It looks like your typical old, mysterious library straight from a movie, where you can really get lost in time and hide from the world. It's magical in more ways than one.

There's wisdom spirits, not enough of them to be annoying, but definitely there and adding to the atmosphere. They're translucent four-legged little critters glowing with a faint white light, with big ears and big eyes and long, tufted tails. They run around the bookshelves and jump across the tables without coming in contact with anyone's belongings laid out over them. They don't grant you wisdom or help you in any way, they just naturally swarm to places of knowledge the same way you're bound to wind up with birds in your garden if you put up a feeder for them. But they're peaceful, friendly spirits that bother no one, and their presence is fabled to bring good luck. Whether that's true or not is yet to be determined, but either way people treat them nicely and welcome their presence.

One of them hitches a ride on Signe's shoulders before it rubs its head against her cheek as a thanks and jumps off, disappearing somewhere behind the shelves of contemporary literature. Signe laughs a little as she watches it go.

They gather a couple books each that they hope to find useful, and occupy a larger portion of one of the long tables running between the shelves, spreading out comfortably and looking through multiple books at the same time in their organised mess. It feels a bit like the old days of studying for exams, but it's different enough to be enjoyable. Maybe it's thanks to the library's serene atmosphere that their previous nervousness, even Seán's, is gone now and replaced with excitement.

Anti soon has three or four wisdom spirits hanging out around him as he searches. They are clever beings and know when someone enjoys their immediate presence, and Anti definitely does. He lets them stay around, sometimes talks to them, and politely asks them to move if they happen to be lazing across the exact book he needs. Signe also has one curled up on the table in front of her, seemingly sleeping most of the time but occasionally raising its head to nudge at her hand gently. Signe smiles at it softly every time.

It's surprisingly hard to find information on late-blooming magic users, and they still aren't even sure Seán is one. The documentation of magic isn't easy or at all uniformed, magic users are rare and apparently late-bloomers, especially ones who are over twenty, appear to be even rarer.

Anti is the first one to find a sliver of information they're looking for.

"Oh, hey," he perks up, successfully getting the attention of his friends. "It says here that late-bloomers can't learn to live with their magic and control it right from birth – duh – and so their displays of magic usually manifest in random outbursts at first, which they should later be able to get under control."

"Does it say anything about fake-murdering your girlfriend's plants?" Seán asks lazily while he reaches for a different book. Signe gently shoves his shoulder.

Anti shakes his head thoughtfully, then turns a page and quickly scans over it. "Nah, nothing about spontaneous plant murder."

"Bummer."

They keep searching. After it turns out that Anti's book was just offhandedly mentioning late-bloomer magic users so as to provide contrast to the ones who use their magic right from birth he places that book too onto the ever-growing pile of ones they're done with, disrupting the rest of the spirit on top of it.

Signe quietly mumbles about the damn convoluted language used in these books, not user friendly at all, then continues for a few more words in Danish as if out of spite towards the book's author. Seán laughs quietly at her and Anti shoots her an amused look, but she busies herself with the book again. Then...

"Jackpot!" Signe whisper-shouts with a wide smile. Seán immediately leans over to read over her shoulder and Anti jumps up to join them.

"Don't have fun without me!"

They both shush him.

Signe reads her find out loud even with Seán's head on her shoulder and Anti breathing down her neck, because damn it, she's finally found something and she's excited. "Newfound magic users need to take two immediate steps upon discovering their new talent: finding a tutor and acquiring a focus point for their magic."

"Okay, we can worry about finding a teacher later," Anti says quickly, waving a hand dismissively. "But what the fuck is a focus point?"

"It says turn to page 23, dummy, how am I supposed to know?" Signe shoots back, then slaps Anti's hand away when he reaches to turn the page. "Would you let me do it? My book. My discovery."

"Well, technically it's the library's book..."

"Shut up."

Seán chuckles quietly at the interaction and at least he waits patiently for Signe to turn the pages, even if he's all but buzzing with excitement. They might have just finally found something to help with whatever the fuck is going on with him. Whether it's actually sudden active magic doing this to him or not, they've finally found something instead of just looking through endless rows of books pointlessly.

Signe scans the newly opened page quickly for any crucial information, and reads it out to the other two again. "Focus points help the magic user channel their energy and keep their abilities under control. It can also help enhance their chosen genre or school of magic. Focus points are usually items kept on the person at all time, such as jewellery, or familiars," she chuckles and waits patiently at Seán's quiet "oooh" of wonder. "Focus points aren't crucial to a magic user nor do they damage their abilities if they are lost or destroyed, but they're supposed to aid them greatly."

Seán leans back in his chair and takes a long, deep breath. "That's...a lot."

"I'm pretty sure that's like...nothing compared to the whole picture here," Anti gestures vaguely, and Seán gives him a pointed look. "I mean, if we're even on the right track. Though I'm pretty sure we are."

"It's still a start," Signe comments, and she pulls the book down onto her lap for more comfortable reading. "You can go read up more on focus points if you'd like, Anti."

"Fine, fine," Anti laughs fondly and nudges her shoulder. "I know when I'm not wanted."

Seán shakes his head, watching as his sibling starts back toward the bookshelves for a second round. "What kind of...focus thing would we even get me?", he asks, just talking to himself really and not expecting much of an answer.

"We can get you a nice umbrella?" Anti offers before he disappears behind a corner, and Signe laughs.

Seán laughs too as he turns back to his own pile of books. "Sure, thanks."

[trashtfcanons]

Bots finding out about human!reader being on their period? No worries if you don't wanna do it.

Mmmm good ask anon but I feel like that’s already been done well by other HC writers like @letsdiscussrobots for example (I think). Also idk what continuity you were thinking of BUT I’m totally up for a certain asshole birb having a learning moment in particular?

Warning: below the divide there will be a pretty graphic description of how cramps feel

You curl up further into yourself underneath your sheets, tucking your knees towards your chest for a few moments before turning onto your back and jerking them out straight below you. The pain was excruciating and you couldn’t figure out why this time. 

You remembered to drink copious amounts of water (albeit Ratchet forcing you rather than regulating it yourself), you had been cutting down on the sweets AND your recent assignments had you working out a lot more, and yet the cramps hadn’t become any more forgiving. On top of that there were apparently no space equivalents of Advil or Midol, and the heating packs Ratchet had in stock were all too large and way too hot for you to use.

Suddenly, you hear the door to your habsuite slide open and you groan, pulling the covers over your head. Most bots generally didn’t come looking for you when you locked yourself away in your room; lest they either wanted to face a crying pile of blankets and Ratchet’s scary lecture about respecting a human’s space during certain times of the month, or an even scarier ‘talking-to’ from you that ended in something being thrown at them a fleshie of your size couldn’t possibly be strong enough to throw. 

You let out a small sob when you recognize the odd rhythm of the steps the mystery mech was making.

Whirl kneels over your makeshift bed, cocking his one-eyed head as he roughly prods you.

“Hey… hey fleshie.” he says. You whimper in response, kicking at your sheets in frustration and turning over to face the other way. 

He waits a couple moments in silence before prodding you again.

“Flesh baaaag.” he whines as he repeatedly pokes you with his giant claws. The pain becomes increasingly worse and you’ve had enough, throwing your sheets off your upper body, sitting up with a look that could render a god-fearing mech unconscious.

“WHAT?” you growl, throwing your arms up in anger.

Whirl is unfazed and stares at you with a squinting optic in silence, which makes you even angrier. You grab a pillow and snarl as you whip it at the side of his face with expert aim.

“What is it you giant monocled butthole?!” you screech. Another wave of pain hits you and you quickly shift back into your original fetal position, weakly continuing to shout insults at him as you scrunch up your face.

The helicopter chuckles as he watches your tantrum, scratching his ‘chin.’ “Heh, if I closed my optic for a nano-klik fleshie, I’d say you sounded exactly like that pile of slag Starscream just there.” he says, almost impressed. At this you open one of your eyes and raise an eyebrow inquisitively.

He realizes your confusion and waves a claw in a casually dismissive manner.

“A war story for another time. Right now….” he says a-matter-of-factly before leaning in close, inspecting you over. You can’t tell if he meant to pause dramatically or if he trailed off, but he wouldn’t finish his sentence and it irked you deeply. You moan and cover your eyes with your forearm.

“Whirl,” You plead, shifting again. “I’m in a lot of pain right now, so please tell me… what do you–” Whirl seems to light up as he sat back, raising his claw.

“Ahem! As was saying, right now I want to know more about that specifically.” he says before leaning in again. “Cyclonus told me you fleshies bleed once a month where the sun don’t shine, s’that true you little freak?” he asks excitedly, prodding you once more.

“Yes!” you exclaim, squirming at his touch. “And it really hurts, so if you could keep your huge metal crab claws off me as to not make it worse, that would be just dandy Whirly-bird.” you manage through a clenched jaw. You know he hated the nickname, but it was all you could do to stress your discomfort. “Even better, you could just leave me to ride it out by myself.” 

Whirl takes the cue and moves his claws away from you; but at this point he had basically sprawled himself on the ground beside your bed, laying flat on his front and awkwardly stuck his bent legs behind him like a girl at a sleepover, and it didn’t look like he planned on going anywhere.

“What does it feel like?”

“What?” you ask, suddenly surprised by his question.

“What does it feel like?” he repeats. “You know, the pain? I’m a sucker for this kind of stuff.” he asks with a glint in his optic.

You make a slightly disgusted, slightly confused face at him. His child-like fascination with this had somewhat disturbed you deeply; but it was Whirl after all, and only Whirl could get that kind of reaction out of a person. After a moment of staring into his bright yellow optic, you give in and try to think of how to explain it to him in a way he could understand, grunting in pain in between the sounds of pondering.

“Ugh, ow. FINE, fine… Hmm…” 

“Get on with it flesh bag!” 

“ALRIGHT ugh. Imagine… Imagine someone has really sharp claws.” you begin, laying on your side to face him.

You hold out a hand to emphasize, emulating a claw and he watches it, engrossed. 

“And imagine those claws are the claws of the devil himself” you say with a certain intensity, trying to channel your pain into the explanation. 

“Now imagine those, hot, searing, piercing claws deep inside your lower abdomen… or whatever term you guys use to describe below your stomachs.”

“Below our fuel tanks, ‘bots don’t process food, fleshie.” he corrects with a haughty tone. You roll your eyes impatiently and he motions for you to continue.

“Right, right… So imagine those claws sinking deep under your ‘fuel tanks’ or whatever, just latching on to whatever it is that you have down there,” you shush him before he can correct you again, continuing. He shrugs it off and leans in closer, large optic a few feet away from you.

You in turn lean towards him, watching your hand as it gnarls further. “Now I want you to imagine this claw holding fast to your insides, you barely feel it at the beginning, like a slight pressure. And then, all of a sudden…” you lower your voice waiting for him to draw closer. “BAM. Feels like it’s being ripped right outta you.” 

To your amusement, he recoils as if he felt the claws you spoke of. You start to laugh before the pain hits you again and you wrap your legs around a stray pillow, a low whine escaping your lips. Whirl’s one optic portrays his shock as he leans back towards you. 

“A-and your body does that to you? Every month?” he asks, uncharacteristically appalled. You nod and exhale forcibly, closing your eyes. 

“Mhm. For a whole week. Every month.” You lament, sounding miserable. “….Whirl, now that you know, could you possibly–”

Whirl fumbles to stand. “Yeah! Yeah, sure thing kid, you probably want to be alone.” he says sheepishly. It was an extremely rare opportunity to see the mech in another mood rather than smug, and a small smile spreads on your face.

“I was going to ask if you could grab me some water but that sounds okay too.” 

“Oh! Uhhh okay, yeah, yeah. I’ll grab you some water fleshie. Be right back!” He practically flies out the door, and you croak your grattitude as you pull the covers back over your head.

Whirl, as a result of your talk, has a new-found fascination with humans, and your story gets him a little more popular at Swerve’s bar. Needless to say the crew is collectively perplexed, and some of the bots even ask you about it afterwards, reacting in horror when you confirm the story to be true. 

[spicycreativity]

A Place Where I Can Breathe - Ch 4

Chapter: 4/7 Additional Notes: See Ch 1 for more information. Read on AO3 under "WizardGlick." Any formatting/italics errors are holdovers from AO3 that I was too lazy to fix. Chapter Content Warnings: N/A; ask to tag Excerpt: Poor Roman. He made it so easy. Janus leaned in a little, not so much that he was intruding on Roman's personal space, and touched his knuckles to his chin. "Bore me? You're Creativity. What makes you think you could ever be boring?" He cocked his head and looked at Roman with expectation, inviting him to read between the lines. Who told Roman he was boring? Who made him feel like a burden?

The plan went into motion the following evening. Roman kept inconsistent hours and worked in inconsistent locations, and Janus had accordingly predicted long hours spent listening at the basement door for a chance at catching Roman alone. He was already working on a plan to lure Roman down, but it was difficult when his knowledge was barely surface-level. He didn't know in detail what Roman liked. But the wheels of fate turned and Roman bade his friends goodnight and announced that he would be staying up late to work on a project.

"That's lucky," Remus said when Janus informed him of the news.

Janus smiled at him. "Where reason fails, the Devil helps." He fussed with his gloves and straightened his capelet. "It's showtime."

"Beetlejuice is my thing," Remus said as Janus sank out.

He couldn't help the pang of loathing that pierced his heart at the sight of Roman scribbling away in a notebook. Remus had never been afforded the luxury of creative freedom, and it felt so obscene to stand here and watch Roman revel in it.

Willing his face into a more polite expression, Janus sat down by Roman and waited to be acknowledged.

Roman caught the motion out of the corner of his eye, but was too busy writing to spare the processing power it would take to identify his visitor. Whoever it was, they knew better than to interrupt him while he was preoccupied. He finished up his thought, jotted down one final note in the margin, and turned to address his guest. "H--Uh-- Deceit!" He jerked backward in surprise, slamming his notebook shut. "I wasn't expecting you." Despite his best efforts not to stare, his gaze kept falling on Janus' scales, his slit-pupiled snake eye. Roman tried not to shudder.

Janus cursed himself for not anticipating this. He should have sat on Roman's left side. Ah, well. Nothing to do for it now but apply extra charm. "Good evening, Roman," he purred, turning his head a little beyond what was comfortable so Roman could see more of his human side. "Did you know that you bite your lip when you concentrate? It's cute."

"Oh, um." Roman touched his fingertips to his lower lip, equal parts flattered and confused. "Thank you?" The overhead lights caught on Janus' cheekbone, giving him a soft glow. He gazed at Roman with gentle anticipation. Roman looked into the rich brown of his human eye. "I was just working on a story about, um, well… Oh, I won't bore you with the details."

Poor Roman. He made it so easy. Janus leaned in a little, not so much that he was intruding on Roman's personal space, and touched his knuckles to his chin. "Bore me? You're Creativity. What makes you think you could ever be boring?" He cocked his head and looked at Roman with expectation, inviting him to read between the lines. Who told Roman he was boring? Who made him feel like a burden?

"The, uh, the others," Roman stammered, not wanting to talk badly about his friends.

To his surprise, Janus flashed him an almost guilty smile before hiding it behind one gloved hand. "The others don't understand your creative vision, do they? I always wondered how you put up with them trying to shut you down."

"I don't know that they shut me down, exactly," Roman said, making one last effort to be charitable before sliding over the brink. He lowered his voice to a whisper, "But they never seem to want to listen. Logan is always poking holes in my plots and asking boring questions about the worldbuilding, and Patton always spaces out and asks me to repeat myself, like he can't even be bothered to listen to what I'm saying! And he always says the same thing whenever I ask for feedback. It's like, I don't need criticism, but I'd appreciate something a little more in-depth than 'oh, it's fine,' you know?" Janus nodded. Roman took a breath. "And Anxiety. I don't even want to think about what he'd say. He's always trying to shut me down before I even start: 'What if someone has done this before? What if nobody likes it? What if you're not good enough?'"

Janus raised his eyebrows and looked away. Some of that certainly sounded like Virgil, but he had a strong suspicion that most of Roman's insecurities originated from within himself. "I agree, he's not good for you."

"Oh!" Roman ran a hand through his hair and looked away. "I don't- I didn't mean.. "

"You said it yourself," Janus said, preemptive triumph blazing beautiful and cruel in his chest, "he sabotages your function." He pictured Roman alone in his room, hunched over a notebook and scribbling furiously with a pen that would not and could not write. Or better yet, Roman with a functioning pen staring paralyzed at the blank page before him, his own insecurities stilling his hand. "He's bad for you."

"Hold on a second," Roman said, putting up a hand to stop Janus. How did they get here? He'd just been venting, and now suddenly Virgil was to blame for all his problems? He nearly smacked his own forehead when it clicked just who he was talking to. "I didn't mean that!"

"But you said it," Janus said, feigning misunderstanding. "So you lied to me?"

"No, no, that was true."

"Then we're in agreement. Anxiety is bad for you."

Roman shook his head emphatically. "It was true. Anxiety was bad for me. He's changed."

Janus couldn't help himself; he rolled his eyes. "He's Anxiety! It's literally his job to shoot you down."

"I used to think that," Roman said, anger spilling into his cheeks and turning his face red. "But I know better now. Anxiety isn't like you and my brother; he has a place with us and he helps us make Thomas the best possible version of himself. And if you don't understand that, then I don't think I have anything more to say to you. And don't even think about coming anywhere near Anxiety ever again. I won't allow it."

Janus took in a shaky breath, finally letting his hatred, his frustration, his despair show on his face. And he struck, envenomating the weapon Roman had unwittingly handed him: "Very well, Roman. But let me leave you with this: Anxiety has nothing to do with your inability to perform. You're only half a function, and nothing you make will ever stand up as long as you remain afraid of your own potential. You're just as inadequate as you think you are, and it's nobody's fault but your own."

And, still shaking with rage, he sank out.

--

"Shit!" Janus slammed his open palm into the wall and pressed into it, forcing himself to take deep breaths.

There was no reply but the scratching of pen on paper. Janus whipped his head around and the anger drained from him at the sight of Remus scribbling away in a notebook. At least some good had come out of his little confrontation.

"Well, I'm not sure what you did to my brother," Remus said, not looking up, "but he's definitely distracted."

"I may…" Janus said delicately, rubbing the heel of his hand with his opposing thumb, "have failed to account for certain unexpected variables." He sat down next to Remus, careful not to jostle him, and grit his teeth.

"Mm?" Remus said, turning a page.

"Such as your brother being too thick-headed and stubborn to listen when someone's trying to manipulate him." Janus scoffed.

"Mm," said Remus, still writing.

Janus glanced over at him. Just as Roman had been doing earlier, Remus was chewing at his lower lip while he wrote, his brow creased. Janus tapped his fingertips against his own lips. He shouldn't have called Roman 'half a function,' and not just because it implied that Remus was as well. He knew from experience that lashing out only ever made things harder for himself. Now a whole new barrier towered before him and it was nobody's fault but his own. Janus laughed humorlessly, not missing the irony. He would blame Roman, though. It hurt less that way.

"I suppose it's too much to ask," Janus mused out loud, "that things could just be easy for once."

Remus stopped writing, ignoring the pang of regret, and scooted over so he could put his arm around Janus. It was undeniably painful to throw away an opportunity to make his voice heard, but Janus needed him now. He never admitted when he wanted comfort, so Remus had become adept at picking up on unvoiced desires over the years. "Yeah, probably."

"Please do stop writing; that won't make me feel guilty at all."

"I was pretty much done anyway," Remus said. "There's only so much debauchery and vomit you can fit into one story."

It was an obvious lie, but Janus let it go. He leaned into Remus' shoulder despite the way it knocked his hat askew and tried not to think about Virgil. "I don't even miss him," he said, the lie ringing hollow even in his own ears. "We just can't let him start working against us."

"We won't," Remus promised. "He'll come back. We can be his favorites again." After all, they had been friends before. Whatever Roman and the others had done to charm Virgil could be undone. He would remember his friends again. "And besides, we have Plan B for Butthole!"

Janus laughed despite himself and let Remus pull him in closer. "Maybe let's wait to implement that one."

--

Roman couldn't breathe properly; something was wrong with his lungs. Every inhale hitched in his throat and his mouth ached like he was about to cry.

But he dismissed that ridiculous thought with a firm shake of his head. He was the guardian prince, the hero! Heroes never wept for themselves.

He swallowed down the ache and got to his feet so he could find Virgil and let him know what had happened.

If a few wayward tears slipped down Roman's cheeks as he ascended the staircase, he wiped them away without giving them a second thought. The jaunt up the stairs did nothing to help his erratic breathing, and he was almost winded by the time he got to Virgil's door.

He had to knock for a long time before Virgil finally answered. He had been listening to his music as loud as he could tolerate it, and had only noticed Roman's knocking during a transition between songs.

Virgil's sarcastic greeting died on his lips at the sight of Roman panting in the doorway. His lower lip trembled and his eyes were suspiciously shiny, but his voice was steady as ever when he spoke. "Anxiety! I need to speak with you."

"Dude, are you okay?" Virgil asked, letting the walls of his brooding facade fall away in the face of his concern for his friend.

"Never better!" Roman declared. He was determined not to let Virgil see just how deep Janus' words had cut him. "May I come in?"

"Uh, sure, I guess." Virgil stepped aside, trying not to feel too self-conscious about his unmade bed.

Roman didn't comment on it, just followed Virgil's lead and sat down on the floor with his back against the foot of the bed. Despite the persistent ache in his chest, he fought for bravado. "I've just faced off against a fiendish foe!"

Virgil's heart dropped into his stomach. "Oh, yeah?"

"Indeed. I went toe-to-toe with a certain sneaky snake and scared him silly!"

"What did he say to you?" Virgil demanded. Everything slotted into place in an instant, Roman's shaky demeanor and false confidence.

Roman waved a hand, annoyed to notice it was shaking. "Nothing of import. You don't have to worry about me, Anxiety, I can handle myself in these matters."

Virgil supposed he should have seen this coming. "So let me guess. You're worried about me ."

"Of course I'm not worried about you!" Roman said, puffing out his chest. "You have the best protector in the world."

"You?"

"Me!"

"So why did you need to come see me?" Virgil asked. Whatever Janus had said to Roman obviously hadn't altered Roman's opinion of Virgil any.

"Exactly that," Roman said. "That you need not worry. I banished the snake back to the basement where he belongs! And I told him that I would not allow him to see you ever again."

Virgil couldn't stop the look of horror that crossed his face. He pressed his hand to his forehead, trying to calm his own breathing. "What?"

"I stood up to that fork-tongued fiend and told him to leave you alone forever," Roman said, a little less self-assured this time. He knew better than to expect a wondrous display of gratitude from Virgil, but he had been expecting some sort of thanks.

"That's great," Virgil said weakly. He knew he wasn't selling it, but was too overwhelmed to really care. "Thanks."

Roman nodded. "Well, I suppose l'll, ah. I'll just go, then." He hadn't realized how badly he'd wanted to stay until he was faced with the idea of leaving. But Virgil just nodded, his eyes empty, so Roman saw himself out.

Virgil immediately started to chew on his thumbnail, mind racing. He knew should have asked for more details from Roman but panic had a way of demanding attention, choking out rationality. He was thinking clearly now, though. He had failed. Whatever Janus had said had obviously hurt Roman badly, and Virgil hadn't been a good enough friend to try to fix it, and he hadn't been a good enough protector to prevent it. The only thing he could do now was try to stop it from happening again.

Virgil sighed and let his head fall back against the edge of his bed. He was absolutely certain that Janus would be out for blood now.