#rushed ending oops

[rainsnz]

albedo, up in dragonspine with a headcold. thinks he can work it off, but the weather isn’t being particularly considerate regarding his current condition.

Dearest Anonymous Writer, I do hope you enjoy this fic I lovingly crafted for you!!! I was OVERJOYED to receive this in my asks and I really really hope you like it!!!!!!! Even though I am bad at writing (especially albedo who may seem ooc, but i tried.) Happy Holidays everyone!

Frostbite

g/enshin snzfic (sick!a/lbedo & k/aeya) (4k ish words)

The frost is extra frosty today.

Even clutching the furry blankets closer to his freezing skin does very little against the cold seeping into his bones; Albedo wraps the covers closer to himself, letting out a small shiver, wholly unwilling to get out of the warm fluffy sheets. At least, for a few more moments…

…

Just a few more moments… 

When the ceiling comes into view again, it seems like the room’s gotten even colder, and Albedo’s muscles feel like lead, and his eyelids feel as though an irresistible force, stronger than gravity, is pulling them down.

He has half a mind to close his eyes again and allow sleep to claim him once more.

…

Albedo’s eyes fly open, leaving the world reeling from how quickly light infiltrates his senses, and his mouth opens before he even has the slightest idea why, his mind still slow and stupid from the stupor of dreamless sleep - he’s plunged into darkness once more as quickly as he’d left it, his every thought now devoted to a singular cause - the insane, burning itch that has somehow invaded the very back of his nasal passages -!

“-h-hIH-!”

He wavers, mouth hanging open, nostrils quivering in frustrated anticipation, for just a moment - 

“..-h-hiihH-..!”

Before finally, thank the Archons, his nose releases him from the agony - he pitches forward, blanket raised up to catch the messy spray of his sneezes -

“-hIh’ks-Huh-! h’IHKSH-uh-!”

A pause, in which Albedo keeps his eyes squeezed shut, nose still buried in the fur of his blanket, waiting for the itch to summon more exhausting expulsions - 

Then the alchemist sighs, a wet sniffle escaping him as he lowers the blank-

“-hiHH’kSHhuu-!”

Startled, he gasps involuntarily, his breaths growing uneven as the itch burns powerfully throughout his nose, which responds with an aching twinge of agonizing sensation pummeling the sensitive insides of his red, twitching nostrils - 

“-hiiyyEiiii’kSHhiuu-!! …!”

That sneeze had been particularly wet, and he’s left sniffling furiously, trying to recover his dignity even as his blanket’s hopelessly soiled with the spray of his - oh no, his breath catches as a particularly sharp twinge in his sinuses makes his head rear back, and something tells him that his blanket’s going to be rather worse for the wear after -

“-hhaAHHH’EKkhsh-hIHH’kSShhi-uuuHH-!!”

Hurriedly, before he can sniffle reflexively, he shoves the fur blanket off of himself, all but catapulting himself out of the safe haven of the warm bed, eyes still squeezed shut -

“hhAHh-uhhKKSShhh-!! h’KKShh!!.....” 

Albedo swipes at his inflamed nostrils, groaning slightly as he finally has the chance to open his bleary eyes. Ugh.. With a slight sigh he sinks down onto the chair by his desk, a hand rifling through his drawers. He knew he should’ve gotten rid of that fur-blanket ages ago, as it had the tendency to coax a few sneezes out of his sensitive nose every now and again, but he hadn’t exactly expected the itch to be quite so strong so as to wake him up. The alchemist sniffles, fingers finally finding the handkerchief he’d been searching for, and, with a slight sigh, he blows his nose. Perhaps the blanket had accumulated some dust, or something..? 

Either way, best not to keep the thing about for now. Albedo sniffles once again, finding it rather irritating how much his nose is running. His throat at this point is starting to ache, which can only be from the chill that’s invaded the entire cave. Hmm.. must’ve been a particularly bad storm. 

Albedo frowns, hesitant, as he stares down the offending blanket, its furry exterior evoking a particular itch in the back of his nose. However, the sheer amount of shivering he’s doing is strongly dissuading him from exiting the cave to properly dispose of the thing, and for a few moments he simply clings to his own arms, trying to hide from the pervasive cold.

Oh, not again - his head tilts back, breath catching once more -! Albedo moans quietly, the back of his hand digging at his irritated nostrils, but still he’s helpless to stop the next series of -

“-h-hAHHhikSHH-! h’iIKSh-uhh-! h’iKKsh-HUH-! H’--!! h-hh-AKsHHiyuuhH-!”

A wet sniffle. His nose burns badly. In a rather embarrassing display he blows his nose into the poor, wet handkerchief, and finds barely any relief, as his nostrils ignite with renewed passion.

“Uhh-hhh-! hAAhhHKKHSHHh-!! ha’AKKHShhUH-!!”

As the itch starts to get utterly overwhelming he decides that enough is enough. With one hand pinching hard at his itchy nose, the other holding the blanket as far as possible from his face, Albedo (in a very dignified manner) thrusts the wretched fabric far into the snow.

He breathes a sigh of almost relief, that swiftly becomes a gasp of desperation -!

“-huuuhh-! H-uhh-..!!”

The agonizing seconds stretch longer and longer as his breaths come unevenly. 

And yet…!

Every passing moment feels more and more like a letdown, as the itch becomes more of a background hum, as silent as the snowflakes falling onto snowdrifts, yet as present as the chill they bring. Albedo’s hand lowers, taking with it the handkerchief and his spirits. He sniffles, hugging his elbows as he waits patiently, head still tilted upward.

It feels as if an eternity passes with his nose wiggling in the air, nursing the tiny itch until it’s formidable enough for him to finally expel it - and oh, that burns -! 

“-hihhh…h-ihh-!”

A small hitching gasp ignites his nasal passages with a brightly burning sensation. 

“..h-iihh-…” It’s only a matter of time, he can tell by the way his eyes are starting to water and the way his throat feels scratchy with anticipation. Yet, he is helpless to speed up the process, completely bent to the will of this torturous sneeze, the burning overwhelming his senses -

“…! -h-!! hihhh-..!”

His breaths are ragged, his nose squirming from the sheer irritation of it all, and - he gasps, itch finally freeing him from the agony.

 “iiih-iiHIHH-kSHUHH-!!”

That’s odd, he thinks, sniffling and shivering with equal fervor, brow furrowed as he tries to part the mist filling his weary brain, shouldn’t his nose be itching less now that the blanket’s gone…? Indeed, his nose’s itch is only growing in strength with every weak sniff and violent shudder. Irritated and annoyed, he blasts his nose into the handkerchief once more. Maybe the tickle hasn’t run its course yet.

Carefully he removes the handkerchief from his nostrils, wiggling them experimentally; fortunately, despite the fact that his every inhale feels stuffy and uncomfortable, he’s not out right sneezing. It probably was the fur after all -!

Albedo’s nose chooses that moment to twitch powerfully, and his fingers quickly reach up, pinching at his nostrils that are currently whining at him, hoping for some reprieve from the wild itching that is exploding like an overload reaction. As the tickle starts to invade his senses he finds that he cannot possibly ignore such a powerful adversary, and, dignity forgotten for a moment, he gasps - nose frantic for relief -!

“hhAHH-!!! h-aAHHEEKSSHH-!! hAHHESHHUHH-!!” The sneezes burn his throat on the way out and he’s left panting slightly, wincing as his entire head is suddenly spinning and pounding and full of sawdust. Albedo sighs, and his heart sinks as that innocuous breath becomes a slight cough as his throat rebels against him.

Well, there’s no denying it now. He’s sick.

A part of him had known the second he’d woken that morning, what with the slight tickle in the back of his throat, creeping upwards into his nasal passages. Now with the irrefutable evidence, there’s no way Albedo can ignore the facts. 

Good thing he can still ignore the symptoms.

Unfortunately, even if Albedo only has a head cold, the outside has a different kind of cold - a much more severe one, at that. A longing gaze turned towards his forlorn bed makes him sorely wish that he hadn’t been so hasty to throw away the warmest blanket that he possessed. Yet a stronger shiver running through his body strongly dissuades him from leaving to retrieve the probably sopping wet and frozen blanket.

Another shiver forces Albedo to his feet, and he stumbles to the fireplace, frozen fingers fumbling with the little firewood he had left. Hands graze against the box’s bottom, and he simply sighs, before tossing the last of the tinder into the hearth.

Normally that’s a sign to go out to fetch more.

Today?

He can barely keep his eyes open long enough to start the fire, fingers barely hanging on to the flint, as his breath shudders weakly in his chest -

He ducks his head into his shoulder, shivering as the itch once again takes control - “hAHkCHUHH-! h-ah-!!”

A pause.

“…hiih…”

The way his breath stutters in his chest is not a very encouraging sign as he wrestles with this fast-fading itch.

“…”

A wet sniffle, disappointment settling into his veins as the urge leaves him hanging, and he wearily turns back to his fire-starting efforts. 

Thanks to quite a few attempts, he manages to get a spark fanned into a small flame, and warmth fills Albedo’s veins. A contented sigh.

“…-ihh-!!” His nose suddenly ignites, a spark similarly bursting to life, and he squeezes his eyes shut, aching nose raised into the air -

“..-hihh-..”

The itch fades once more, and his throat complains furiously. These false starts are driving him insane. There’s nothing Albedo can do, however, but blast his nostrils and gunk into the abused handkerchief helplessly.

Ugh.

Illness is such an inconvenience.

There’s still much to do, and just thinking about it makes Albedo’s head spin. He’ll probably be alright, it’s only a little cold. From prior experience, it’ll most likely go away. The worst that this illness would be is an annoyance - although, his next hitching gasp makes him rethink that, as he desperately clears his itchy nose into his poor soggy handkerchief.

Albedo shuffles onto his chair once the warmth is sufficient to stop his whole-body shivers (somewhat, he’s starting to suspect that the origin of some of them are not in fact from the chill outside) - and even though his body flashes with freezing cold every few minutes or so, it’s enough to get him back to work.

With a careful hand guiding tweezers full of elemental dust, Albedo stares at the pan. Combining these two identical materials, borne of different origins, might have a novel effect, given the technique of mixing is precise. As he delicately handles the instruments, laser-focused on the mixture, he sniffles slightly, the itch in his nose omnipresent and omni-annoying. Wisps of smoke seep upwards, twirling in the cold air, and -!

His throat rises up in immediate protest, a scratchy sensation emerging and rearing its head throughout his respiratory system; Albedo stiffens, a hand automatically flying up to his mouth as he sputters a small cough. CLACK! The tweezers clatter to the floor, but his eyes are fluttering with a much larger issue -!

“hi-IHHHKShuuH-! hii-ihKSHhyuh-!!!”

He opens his eyes to find elemental dust swirling all throughout the frosty air, visible against the puff of his breath, sparkling like motes in the sunlight - and this is not a sight he sees for very long, before his eyes squeeze shut again, breath catching in a half-cough half-sneezing expulsion that grates at his chest - “aHIKSSHTYUUhhh-!! hI-AkkSSHiuhh-!! h-yakkSHUHH—!!!!”

His nose is weeping, and a wet snort does nothing but worsen the issue as more dust makes its way into his red, raw throat. The alchemist stumbles; eyes, nose, and throat burning with an unquenchable fire. Feeling against the wall, gasping as his breath leaves him in repeated coughs and sneezes sprayed against his elbow - “hyiIHHUkkSHH-h’KShhhUhh—!!” Albedo’s fingers find the entrance and he nearly faceplants into the snow from how quickly he opens the door, letting the blizzard-strength winds gust into his poor, frozen abode. The pitiful fire extinguishes itself with a spiteful hiss, but Albedo can barely care less as he refills his dust-infested lungs with fresh, freezing cold oxygen -

and that oxygen acts as a catalyst to the horribly irritating reaction blasting around in his nose; distantly, he wonders if this could count as a swirl reaction, before all thoughts leave his fuzzy mind in favour of I NEED TO SNEEZE -!!

“iiyyIIIEESHHUH-!! h-iihhKSHH-!!!! h-i-iih-kkshhiyyuhh-!!”

He reels in the frosty air, his lungs screaming as the harsh contrast between burning itch and freezing cold stings at his throat and sinuses. Before he can even register the sheer agony, Albedo’s mouth snaps open once more, breaths coming out as half-cough half-hitch abominations as the irritating sensations war with one another -!

“-h-aaHH-h’k-! ‘kSHIiyuh-’! h’k--h’iihHHk’kshhiHUHhh-kSHH-t!!”

The wind is unforgivingly frosty against his poor nose, which protests the sudden temperature change with a violent twitch, and Albedo feels himself falling to pieces even before he has time to draw breath.

“-hiiiIIIIHh-hh’iiHHKKshhHHUh-! h’akSHhuhh! h’kSHHihh-h’hHKhshuhHH!!”

The alchemist pants, his throat finally satiated with the desperate expulsions, and quickly he pulls the door shut as the wind bites at his ears and nose and fingers.

Sniffling fervently, and coughing quite a few times as well, he shivers as he turns back into the room. The lab has dropped in temperature once more. Albedo finds that his head is spinning so badly that he can’t bring himself to bother braving the storm for another heap of firewood. Maybe if he worked some more, he’d regain some energy. Furthermore the storm will probably have passed by the time his experiment has completed. At least, that’s what the alchemist tells himself, as he focuses bleary eyes on the table once more, shuddering as the intensified chill presents itself as an icy feeling through his veins.

For a while he simply works, ignoring how his throat curls with pain and how his sniffling keeps messing up the experiment. A shaking hand is no good when he’s working with delicate ashes, and he grits his teeth out of frustration - totally not because they’re chattering, forced together by the harsh chill in the room. His throat feels as though he had swallowed an entire bottle of sand, and the flask of water isn’t doing much to solve that issue.

His head is pounding - very annoying when he’s trying to measure out ingredients that he can’t remember clearly. Albedo grits his teeth, resolving to scribble down what he’d just added to the mixture, even though this would normally be child’s play. His fingers tremble as he writes - 3 g. Anm. Slime. 4.2 g. Crys. Fly.

The alchemist frowns, quill shaking slightly, as he tries to remember whether or not he’d added the fragile resin three seconds ago, and with a slightly frustrated sigh he shoves the concoction into the waste bin, restarting the experiment once more.

…

The ashes swirl into nothingness from a raw sneeze for possibly the fifth time, although truthfully he’s lost count. A soft groan, and his nostrils rebel, red rims expanding as his eyes flutter shut, and his handkerchief finds its way underneath; the feeling of his mouth opening is almost second nature at this point and Albedo gasps, his whole body gripped by the urgency of expelling this itchy sensation…!

“hy-hAHHKSH-hhUUH! h-hAKASSHUiuhh—!”

He rubs at his nostrils with the handkerchief, smothering a few harsh coughs into the fabric, utterly miserable as the congestion forms a pounding headache. He’s driven utterly to distraction by the freezing cold temperatures, which to his dismay have not improved in the slightest; as some semblance of night falls he finds himself clutching at his arms, shivering so violently that it seems his workspace is vibrating. It’s utterly ridiculous to even consider working still at this point, but Albedo is determined -!

His head pounds again, more powerfully this time.

He ignores it.

“You still kicking, Albedo?”

The alchemist in question suddenly starts, dropping the ingredients and groaning as he ruins the process yet again. “O-oh, coming..!” More pressingly, someone’s at the door, so he hurriedly whisks the mess away with a wave of his hand. The world seems to tilt to the side as he stands up too quickly, and for a moment he can only wobble in place, gripping his chair tightly for support as his vision blurs with many colours.

Freezing cold wind enters the room as he peeks out, eyes meeting a blue-haired knight of Favonius.

“Cavalry Captain..?” Albedo’s voice feels rusty from disuse, so he clears his throat slightly into his fist. “What are you d-doing here..?”

What indeed, would compel anyone to go to Dragonspine during the winter, during this awful snowstorm? Albedo can barely keep his eyes open against the frigid winds that are causing him to shake uncontrollably despite the layers he has on, and the head cold isn’t helping matters - letting the icy frost penetrate deep into his bones as his teeth chatter helplessly.

The man simply chuckles, shaking his head. “Did you seriously forget what day it is?” Kaeya’s expression is one of mild amusement.

Bewildered, Albedo glances up at the sky, as if the dark clouds and the blustery snow will tell him anything about the passage of time, and then back at Kaeya’s bemused expression. He strains his throat to be heard above the howling winds, teeth chattering so badly that his words sound unrecognizable. “I’m s-sorry, please remind me. If that’s alright.”

“The Acting Grand Master asked me to ask you if you were going to give us the heatshield potions for the mission anytime soon.”

Albedo’s eyes widen, before he regains his composure. How could he have forgotten? “I-.. I haven’t completed that assignment.” He smothers another cough, thankful that the other hasn’t mentioned it by now. “I can finish it by tomorrow, though.”

Kaeya tilts his head in apparent agreement. “Mind if I stay here, then? I’m supposed to bring the potions back.”

The blonde-haired man nods, though his eyes are distant; he can feel some sort of tickle in the back of his throat, migrating towards his sinuses, and it’s terribly distracting.

“You ok there, Albedo? You’re not looking too hot.” Kaeya’s voice drifts towards him, and vaguely he discerns a concerned expression on the other man’s face.

Albedo opens his mouth to respond, and…

His nose itches so badly, so suddenly, like a sharp feather-blade twisting its way into his nose, and he has to hold his breath, teeth gritted, in order not to sneeze directly onto the other man, and to his great relief, he manages to keep the nigh-inevitable itch from escaping all over Kaeya’s garments…!

“Albedo?”

He blinks, an apology already making its way out of his aching throat. But when he opens his mouth, a raspy cough escapes instead, turning itself swiftly into a burning itch in the back of his nose and throat and instinctively his body attempts to expel the sudden irritation - his hitching coughs spluttering into a - “h-hhaahh-kkshu-uhh-!! h’-AKSH-!! ‘aKsHHHUH—!!” 

A firm hand on his shoulder steadies the ailing alchemist. Albedo looks up at what appears to be three spinning copies of the cavalry captain, and he stifles a groan.

“Whoa, there. You alright…?”

Albedo blinks, trying to make sense of the gibberish flowing from the other’s mouth. “Um… Y-yes.” His words do not sound very confident, especially considering that he shivers violently right afterward. 

“Try again.” Kaeya lets himself, and a strong gust of frosty wind, into the cave, and as Albedo shudders the knight smoothly slips off his furry scarf, tying it loosely around the blonde-haired man’s shoulders. “Archons, Albedo, you’re burning up.”

“So I am.” The Alchemist’s voice is quiet, eyes rather distant as he leans away from Kaeya’s hand reaching for his forehead. “…O-or perhaps, y-you’re th-the one that’s cold…”

His poor attempt at a joke is interrupted by a quiet curse from the fireplace. “Do you not have any firewood…? In Dragonspine?”

“Did earlier..” 

He must’ve sounded rather pitiful, as Kaeya stands up immediately and makes his way to the door. “Stay right here, I’m gonna have to get some more.” Just like that, he’s gone, sending another chill into the room. 

Albedo’s attempt to stop him - opening his mouth to protest, has left his own nose protesting, and he stifles a sneeze into his palm - “h-iIIkhshUUH-!” Well, now it’s too late. The wind whistles outside and he has no ability to follow given his current state. Now the only thing he can do is to obey Kaeya’s order to wait.

Albedo listens for all of about three minutes, and that’s mostly because he’s summoning the strength to stand again. As soon as this capability is returned to him, he’s once again sitting at his desk, staring at the elemental dust in his workspace. He definitely has time to finish the potions before Kaeya returns.

He is about to mix everything together when he realizes he needs more flaming flower stamens. The most important ingredient in the potion. The only reason he’s not kicking himself, physically, is that he left some in the storage just a two-minute walk from this lab.

It’ll be a short trip.

Albedo’s opening the door before he can think twice about it.

The biting frost stings at his numb fingers. Albedo’s been shivering nonstop for the whole day so the fact that he’s shivering barely registers. 

By the time the shaking gets worse, the path is hidden under layers of snow. His feet sink into the powdered frost, leaving them soaked with cold. 

Everything looks so unfamiliar, even though he’d lived here for so long.

It’s another five? Ten? Minutes before Albedo finally admits he’s lost, coughing harshly into the scarf that Kaeya had lent him. 

Snow feels like nothing against his already-numb fingers and wet against his knees.

Navigating this is impossible, given that he can’t keep his eyes open for even a moment before the snowflakes catch in his eyelashes, fluttering as his nose compels him to duck forward into frozen hands -

“HH-iIYEESh- h’kSHIeyyUUUh!!!”

He sprays sneezes against the sparkling snow, the sound lost to the howling wind.

Albedo’s eyes are burning with cold and hot and the same time, as they stream with tears from the force of ejecting his tortured lungs via sneezing and coughing -

A warmth upon his shoulder, and he hazily looks up, sky and snow blurring together.

A certain blue-haired Knight of Favonius stares back at him, frightened concern clear in his icy eyes - his lips move, but Albedo doesn’t hear anything over the roar of the blizzard.

He simply melts into the other’s touch, too dizzy and too weak to move on his own, and thankfully the other man supports both their weight against the wind and snow. It feels like forever, struggling against biting cold that burns at his nose and ears and -

Albedo gasps, muffling a coughing fit into his frozen hand, and his nose, offended by the frigid snowflakes, immediately sends a stinging itch through his congested sinuses - he sputters, breathless. “hiIHk-sHuh-!! hikhssh-hiIhkSHHuuh-!!”

The wind lessens and Albedo manages to crack an eye open against frosty air to see Kaeya bracing himself against the snow, protecting them from the brunt of the storm as they continue to shuffle in the direction of Albedo’s abode.

“-hiiIh-! hih-! h-hiIHKHSH! h’ksHUH!” A dizzy sneeze leaves him leaning heavily against Kaeya’s chest, and luckily the Cavalry Captain does not falter. Instead he speeds up, all but dragging his companion into the safety of their shelter. 

It’s a single moment of silence after the raging storm outside.

Broken swiftly, a few seconds later.

“What were you thinking?!” Kaeya all but yells, breathless from exertion. “You’re sick! What were you doing outside?”

“I’m used to snow,” Albedo responds, weakly, and his own raspy voice sounds pathetic to himself. “Had to get some ingredients fr-from…” His nose scrunches up and his weak voice trails into nothingness, and he catches Kaeya’s wince of sympathy before his eyes slam shut. “fr-uuuHhkShu! uuhKSHHiyyuu—!!”

A wet sniffle, followed by a few congested coughs, and Albedo moans, involuntarily, from the discomfort. 

“Here, I gotcha -”

The next few minutes are a blur, and by the time he regains actual consciousness a fire is roaring in the hearth. He’s wrapped in a blanket. Albedo blinks slowly.

“Th-thank you, Kaeya-”

He sniffles into the blanket.

“Don’t mention it.” The man looks at him sideways, a soft huff of relief escaping. “Do you usually… do this?”

He does not usually catastrophically fail his commissions, so his back stiffens with offense. “N-no, I assure you, I do not tend to forget my tasks-!” Albedo’s voice starts to waver, “...It was… I…”

To his horror, his eyes are watering.

“...I…”

He has no explanation, really, for his failure.

“...I can g-get the potions made by tomorrow, so t-that y-you c-can-h-uHH-!”

Albedo’s arms feel like lead; he can’t raise them in time to cover his nose and mouth, so he instead ducks his head downwards into the blanket, nose burning - “iiIIHIhihksHHUh-i’kHShuh-hiiuuhh-uh-!!”

He raises his head up again, sniffling. “..so th-that.. snff.. you can leave qu-uickl-yiiiSShh-hi’ksSHHuh-!”

“Albedo. I didn’t mean it like that. You can’t just…” Kaeya sucks in a breath, eyebrows knitted together in concern. “Look, how are you going to make anything if you’re half-dead in a snowstorm? Which you were going to be if I hadn’t…”

His voice trails off. “Point is, you have to take care of yourself. You mean a lot to m- people, as a researcher… and as a friend.”

“I’ll take that into c-consideration.” The words have left a peculiar warmth in his chest, which does more for his cold than the fireplace ever could.

Kaeya smiles, holding a handkerchief to Albedo’s scrunched up nostrils. “Well, for right now… Let me take care of you.”

[hinamie]

色彩 [Shikisai]

[b1tstar]

🎈📱RELATIONSHIP DYNAMIC...THINGY!!! ⬇️

ALLAT JUST FOR A JOKE 0_o

[wheneverfeasible]

Based off this post because I’ve lost all control of my life.

cw: sex trafficking, reference to non-con

Modern au. FBI au. Stobin became inseparable when they both started training in the FBI around the same time, though it started as a bit of not-so-friendly rivalry at first. Robin felt like she had to prove herself as a woman in the FBI, while Steve felt like he had to prove himself as a legacy who has always been a disappointment to his father. A fateful rookie hazing that went a little too far bonded them inseparably, however, and now years later they are the go-to team amongst the younger agents.

Also if you try to separate them then all hell will break loose.

Anyways, so one day there’s need for undercover work. They’ve been tracking this sex trafficking ring for a while and they finally believe they’ve discovered the mastermind behind it all, some newly famous rockstar called Eddie “The Freak” Munson.

So someone needs to dress up like a prostitute and infiltrate their ranks to get hard evidence to put this lowlife away once and for all. As she’s really the only girl on the team that fits the age demographic, Robin is picked as the fake prostitute. Except…well, let’s face it, she’s never been the most feminine of girls. Not a true butch or anything, more a soft futch than anything, but dresses and high heels and makeup? Yeah no.

As soon as Robin wobbles herself out (falling face first in the process) it’s not just Steve immediately telling her no and to go change back into her FBI kit because she looks super uncomfortable and there’s no way they can make her do this, whether or not she could even convincingly play the role to begin with.

And so comes in Steve.

Now, Steve isn’t exactly femme either. While he’s certainly not the butchest agent on their team, he was a jock in high school and even now still picks up the occasional game with civilians or other agents when free time allows. What had once been a respectful firmness to his stomach was now a verifiable six pack, his biceps and thighs filling his clothes out nicely as his FBI workout regimen added some muscle mass.

But there was more to Steve than just the stereotypical musclehead jock. Steve had also been a bit of a prep in high school, and even now still brought some of that with him in his civvies and beauty regimens, especially with his hair. He also opposed to a bit of a shiny lipgloss when the mood hit. And secretly? He’s always wanted do undercover work like this. And it’s not like the victims were only girls.

Plus, though Robin would call him sexist for it, he didn’t like the idea of sending Robin or any other woman into the pits of hell alone like that.

Steve struts out of the changing room wearing the skimpiest outfit he’s ever seen in his life (think like, Julia Roberts’s first outfit in Pretty Woman), except he didn’t shave at all so his hair thighs and chest hair still poke out. There’s no hiding his physique, so he’s going for the whole hairy thing, and he knows it works for him. For any gender.

With a grace that might belie that this isn’t his first time in heels, Steve is on his way to the hotel where all this is going down, slipping in easily, Steve starts casing the place and compiling evidence before the big event that night where hopefully they catch Munson in the act of selling victims to the highest bidder.

Except, while sneaking around trying to gather as much evidence as possible, he runs into Munson himself. Not in some big penthouse full of drugs and weapons and whatever else used to keep the product in line, but in a small little unused room Steve had slipped into to avoid one of the muscled “bodyguards” Munson kept on hand.

No, Steve slipped in and found an anxiously pacing dweeb of man in Garfield sleep trousers and what looked like a homemade shirt with the graphic of a devil face on it, black polished nails being gnawed at by the hunched over form. The figure with frazzled hair matched the images of the mastermind he had seen, though he looked startling different from the persona he put on in public.

Munson’s eyes bugged out a little when he walked in, his eyes taking in Steve’s form with an appreciation that made Steve smug at being the correct choice for this sting after all, but then Munson was groaning in a less appreciative way and slapping his hands to his face.

“I told Dad I didn’t want a fucking hooker,” he mumbled to himself, before dropping his hands with a wince as he held up his hands beseechingly. “Sorry, nothing wrong with prostitutes, darling, I just…now is really not a good time.”

And…huh. Okay. This was the Big Bad Boogeyman who had been giving them the slip for almost a year now? He looked like a wet rat despite being completely dry.

So Steve struts some more, plays his part, simpers and encourages Munson’s eyes to focus on his bare skin and not the slight bulge to his thigh high heeled boots where his gun and handcuffs were hidden. And Munson looks, because Steve is hot and he’s only human, but he also looks really really nervous and lets out a choked giggle when Steve pulls out his charm.

And then Munson again apologizes, says he never met a prostitute before he and he seems like a really nice boy but that he wasn’t the one who hired him and he’s not looking for sex right now, just wanting to get through tonight and go home to his cats, Smaug and Shelob.

Which is unexpected. Even more so when Munson claims he didn’t even want to be there in the first place, that his dad was in charge of setting up the event, though he did so in Munson’s—Eddie’s—name, just as he had been doing ever since Eddie first caught a break for his music in high school. Had dragged Eddie away from his garage band and friends and instead threw Eddie headlong into being a solo artist and creating the persona of The Freak, acting as a kind of shadow manager. Working behind the curtains so that barely anyone even knew he existed.

And…oh. Ohhhhh. Suddenly, Steve didn’t think Eddie was the mastermind they were after. He just looked like nervous kid (who was technically older than Steve but whatever) thrown into the a spotlight not of his own making and made the scapegoat for all of his father’s illegal activities.

Not that Eddie knew anything about the current operation, that was more than evident. He thought it was an actual auction for like antiques and shit. Thought the only person being sold that night was a date with him, his father’s idea. It was why he was hiding out in an unused room to have a little freak out away from everyone treating him like a doll to do whatever they wanted.

But his father had suggested bringing in some hookers to help him calm down, which Eddie had rejected, but which he now thought was what Steve was. Just a hooker his father had bought for the night to help his son relax.

And Steve thought his father was a piece of work.

They talk, Eddie’s nervousness and discomfort in his life causing him to spill secrets he otherwise never would have, not just about his father’s past but also his own, talking about how much he missed his high school band, the Dungeons & Club he used to run, his uncle he hasn’t seen in years, and just a life where he could live it how he wanted.

Much to his surprise, Steve also revealed some truths about himself. Not about his real job, of course, but about his own father, about not ever being good enough for him or his mother, about how they had always held his inheritance over his head until he’d told them to stuff it and that he wasn’t going to marry some socialite of their choosing. He smudged some details about his work, which he felt weirdly guilty for, but needs must.

And well, Eddie’s babble reveals that they really have to change the focus of the sting, which means Steve needs to get a message to Robin pronto. Luckily, she should be nearby undercover as one of the hotel staff with a couple other agents.

Steve does get the message out, but in the process the truth is accidentally revealed to Eddie and he is devastated. He had known his father wasn’t a good man, but he hadn’t realized just how evil he was. He was also, surprisingly, hurt by the knowledge that Steve was just doing his job and the connection he had thought they’d formed wasn’t real.

Except, as Eddie worked with the FBI to take down the operation, getting shot by his own father in the process in a misguided attempt to protect Steve, Steve can’t help but wonder if maybe there was a genuine connection after all.

Later, Steve visits Eddie in the hospital, bypassing the armed guards outside because, while they have proof it was Al Munson behind the sex trafficking and forcing the victims into prostitution, Eddie is still a person of interest as a witness and they still need to fully clear his name regarding any knowing involvement.

Robin, of course, was sick of hearing Steve mooning about Eddie and encouraged the meeting, though she later regretted it when it just caused Steve to talk more about the former rockstar—Eddie was quitting, hating the lonely fame, and wanting to reach out to his old friends and apologize for abandoning them. She was fond of the man’s cats, however, going with Steve to make certain they were taken care of while Eddie was convalescing in the hospital.

Later again, once Eddie is cleared and the trial is over and Al is rotting behind bars, Steve meets up with Eddie when it’s no longer a conflict of interest. He also reveals that he kept his undercover outfit and the two of them put it to good use.

Robin, meanwhile, has likewise grown closer to one of the former victims, a young woman by the name of Chrissy. She had helped her and the others deal with everything, especially those who felt uncomfortable around the male agents. Eddie of course apologizes profusely to her when they meet, but Chrissy knows he wasn’t a part of it and actually helped save her and the others in the end, bringing him into a hug that helps heal the both of them a little bit more.

Steve and Robin and the rest of the team are honored for their work, but to them the real honor is in the loving embrace of those they saved, and who in their own way saved Steve and Robin too.

-

Hostage tags: @derythcorvinus @katyawriteswhump

[thxnks4themrms]

OKAY SO MY THING WITH THE MELANIE FANDOM IS LIKE THEYRE SO IGNORANT AND INSENSITIVE. THEY WILL LITERALLY GO OUT OF THEIR WAY TO COMMENT ON POST THAT ARE DEFENDING TIMOTHY AND SAY SHIT LIKE “WEARING/JUST BOUGHT HER MERCH!!! 🥰” OR “PLAYING MY PORTALS CD RN 💗” LIKE DUDE REGARDLESS OF WHOS ACTUALLY TELLING THE TRUTH AND WHOS LYING YOU DONT SAY THAT TYPE OF SHIT TO SOMEONE WHO COULD POSSIBLY BE THE VICTIM

What also is like really strange and kinda annoying is that the new earthlings or whatever the bitches who listen to portals are called. In this situation they’re kinda just like making shit worse and it’s like they’re making everything kinda all over the place. Ik not all earthlings are like that but it’s a majority of them who are making the fandom seem bad. What’s kinda weird to me is that like how there’s a whole ass group of collectors who have basically shrines dedicated to Mel but are surprised by these allegations being brought up. Imo if you say someone is your “fav artist” then like at least know more about them and their past - LIKE HOW ARE YOU SPENDING THOUSANDS OF DOLLARS ON MERCH AND ON TICKETS??? I kinda feel like the new people in the fandom just aren’t really normal (there’s ppl who don’t look into her past and there are ppl who literally stalk her and it’s fucking scary) .

I’ve probably said this like a trillion times before but I’ve been a fan since her cry baby era in 2015. Come 2017 when the first sa allegations came out I was pretty young so I didn’t understand it all too well. Now that I’m older I understand it more and like it doesn’t take a fucking smartass to be like “oh hey let’s not pick sides too quickly - let’s just see what’s happening and if anything new comes out” I feel like you need to hear both sides of the story to decide who’s side you’re gonna be on yk

There was some other shit I wanted to say but im kinda all over the place so ill add more shit later but sorry for the rant chat

[onethousxndvoices]

What inspired you to make hi fi rush overdrive?

the short answer: catastrophic levels of hyperfixation and an equal amount of hubris. this comic is a cry for help /j

the long answer: i really freakin like this game and wanted to create something tangible to show my love for it.

hi-fi rush is one of those games that completely captivated me in a way that most other media doesn't. everything about it was absolutely charming from start to finish and it altered my way of viewing art in a way only one other series has done for me before (mob psycho 100, if anybody's curious). it singlehandedly pulled me out of art block and for the first time in a while, it inspired me to want to do more with my art than what i'd previously done.

i guess in a sense, i'd been wanting to challenge myself to make something bigger for a while, and HFR just kinda waltzed into my life at just the right time. the sequel potential for this game is absolutely INSANE and i really wanted to take a crack at my interpretation of a hypothetical "Hi-Fi Rush 2" while we all waited for the real thing to come along (that original motive's obviously dead in the water now, fuck microsoft etc. etc.)

at first, overdrive was just a lot of "lmao wouldn't it be funny if ___" discussion in discord with my friends, and for a while i was happy with just leaving it at that. but time went on and more and more things started falling into place and suddenly i'm sitting in front of my pc at 3 in the morning staring at a bunch of character design drafts and 80+ pages of script and counting. i kinda just blinked and it manifested into existence LMAO

needless to say it's been a really fun journey so far, i've grown so much as an artist in the past few months of working on this alone and i'm learning by leaps and bounds with basically every page i finish. this is my very first webcomic (and honestly comic in general, i've only ever done illustration up til now) and it's 1000% me biting off way more than i can probably chew, but i adore this game and this community and i want to continue doing my part to contribute to the fanbase and keep the love for HFR alive. the story that's taken form in my notes is honest to god one of my proudest works and i'm really excited to get it out there to share with yall :)

(also, blame @batgirlteeth for enabling me. the screenshots that started it all.)

[steffyanie]

bow howdy am i stoked for the arc start on this weeks dungeon meshi episiode, but gosh, i've been waiting patiently to be devastated by the anime adaptation of chapter 49..... and it's *so close*

if there are to be 24 episodes in total, with ep22 covering Griffin & Familiars, my hope is that ep23 will be an episode including only one chapter -> Griffin Soup.....

then maybe we will get a sweet little end of the season with Dumplings and Dumplings 2..........

(๑o̴̶̷̥᷅﹏o̴̶̷̥᷅๑)

[the-barn-void]

I should probably put this here now because i am pretty pleased with it. My submission for the art contest on the Daniel Mullins server!

[nerdygirl2023]

Odyssey AU: what if… Telemachus was late?

It’s not angst I promise!

But this idea has been bouncing around in my head for while and i figured that now that i have tumblr ha finally have place to share it. Enjoy!

In this AU, the majority still happens.

Odysseus still takes 10 years at sea to get home after losing his entire crew, still gets disguised as a beggar, his old nurse still recognizes him and aids him before he goes up to the castle and sees Penelope, you know how it goes.

But, in this version, when Athena tells Telemachus that he should head home, something delays him.

Maybe the king he was talking to was being too hospitable. Maybe Poseidon was still salty with Odysseus and made him take longer. Either way doesn't matter, just know he takes a while longer then normal. But even without Telemachus, Odysseus still beats the suitors and kills them. But what happens next…. :

A servant comes and gets Penelope, who after talking to this 'mysterious beggar,' locked herself away in her room. "Come quickly your highness, someone has defeated all the suitors, they are all dead!'

Penelope rushed out to the main courtyard. (Athena chooses this moment to take off Odysseus beggar disguise. Maybe Aphrodite had something to do with that) Penelope couldn't believe it.

"Odysseus... it's really you..?” She had been suspicious that he was almost home but, she still couldn't believe her eyes. 20 years had done a lot, but it was still clearly him.

When he heard his name Odysseus turned around. It was her. After all this time. He made it. Relief washed over him. "Penelope..”

The couple ran into each others arms. Odysseus spun Penelope around. They both forgot that the rest of the world existed. They look into each others eyes. Odysseus caressed him thumb against her cheek. Penelope moved a strand of hair out of his face. They slowly leaned in until they closed the gap between them. They have been waiting for this moment for 20 years, and they would be damned if anything was going to ruin it.

Meanwhile, Telemachus finally made it home. He walked up to the castle…

Something was wrong. Different. It was quiet. Too quiet. “Where are the suitors?” Telemachus asked the guards.

“We heard quite a lot of fighting inside the courtyard.” Telemachus looked shocked. The guard tried to defend himself. “ we don’t move from our posts out here unless we are called. Our jobs are to look out-“ Telemachus didn’t let him finish his explaination. He ran inside.

Where’s mom?! What if she’s hurt? What if the suitors got fed up with waiting? What if-

Telemachus was thrown off by the shear amount of bodies scattered through the hallways. He didnt care that the suitors are dead, but who did this? And where was mom?

Perspective is a funny thing. When Telemachus enters the courtyard, he couldn’t she his mothers expression. He didn’t see the happy reunion that had just occured. He didn’t see that this man holding his mom wasn’t hurting her. All he saw was that this- this STRANGER was touching his mom. Enough was enough. Telemachus was done letting these suitors walk all over him.

It all happened so fast. In the matter of seconds Telemachus ripped his dad this stranger off of Penelope and pinned him to the ground. Telemachus pulled out his dagger and held him at knife point. “Get away from her.” He growled.

Odysseus was a bit more than peeved. After 20 years of blood and tears shed to get to this moment, being interrupted and held back by the gods themselves was getting REALLY old. “Excuse who are you to-“

“I am Telemachus, son of Penelope, heir to the Ithacan throne, I demand to know WHO you are before I slit your throat for trespassing.”

Penelope snapped out of her state of shock. “Telemachus wait there’s a-“ Odysseus signals her to stop. Penelope looks at her husband quizzically. Ody softened upon realizing who this boy was. (Boy is a loose term, hes roughly like 20-)

“I am Odysseus, husband to Penelope, the reigning king of Ithaca… and your father.” Telemachus is taken aback. “Hi, son.”

Telemachus looks to his mother for reassurance. Her warm, geneuine smile was all he needed. He got up and put his dagger away before helping Odysseus up. “Wow.. you’ve gotten so big.” The mans pride swelled. This was his son. That baby he had left all those years ago was now standing before him, all grown up.

“Yeah…I- uh…I’ve heard a lot about you…” Telemachus big and scary fasad crumbled as soon as he realized. This was his dad. The legend he’s been learning about for so long. The man his mother has been waiting for all this time.

“All good things I hope.” They both chuckle. The two lock eyes before Telemachus embraces him.

Penelopes eyes get misty, and Odysseus opens his arms so she can run in and join the group hug. “My boys.”

“Together at last. And I wont let anybody take that away again.”

[paintedscales]

Kink-/Flufftober 2023 :: Day 17 :: Cooking or Sharing Food

[oatmealdaydreams]

Polaris

Logan, my boy. He needs a f*cking hug.

Pairing: platonic Wrathloceit

Trigger/Content Warning: self-deprecation, suicidal thoughts & ideation, emetophobia (no actual vomit), sleep deprivation

Description: Logan is ignored, yet again, and the only one who checks on him is an unseen character. And perhaps a certain slithering truth-seeker as well.

Extra: this is a pairing of Logan, Janus, and Orange. Idk if there's already a name for it, so I'm just gonna call it Wrathloceit for now. This features my headcanon that Logan does feel things very deeply, but since he actively hides it or doesn't let most of it show (besides a few moments here and there), that it all manifests physically. It would make him sick, I think, to be constantly ignored like he is. All those icky feelings he swears he doesn't have? They all become physical and not in a good way.

[Masterlist] | ao3 link

[Read below the cut]

Once again, the core four Sides had a meeting to reason through another dilemma. To ease Thomas' worries. To sort out the best possible solution.

And once again, literal Logic was ignored and tossed aside like an old ragdoll.

Logan wasn't surprised. He won't let himself be. It's happened so many times before, it shouldn't be a surprise. He expected the probability of being disregarded again. A 30% chance of being listened to, a 70% chance of being glossed over. The majority always won, it seemed. He knew that.

So then why did he sit at his desk, head in his hands, thinking he should've just been louder?

If I am louder, will I be heard then? Would they finally heed my words? Would it make a difference?

No, maybe it wouldn't. Why would it ever make a difference, his volume levels? The decibels he spoke at? He stared at the work in front of him, sorted in piles and stacks. Charts, diagrams, schedules. A few footnotes of references. Cited papers. It all felt like a waste. He felt like a waste.

Or if I used better communicators? Referenced more slang to appeal to their interests? But I'm not that creative. I'm not one to actively make obvious puns. I'm not like them.

The truth hurt his chest. It burned his lungs. A self-pitiful fire licked at his brain, at his gut. He felt a twinge of nausea. He was never made to be like them. They all had a common understanding of something. Logan didn't.

If I'm not like them, perhaps I'm not worth being listened to. Perhaps talking is too much already.

Vague memories played in his mind. Memories of Roman calling him annoying, of Patton telling him to stop, of Virgil saying that he needed to listen. To listen to them, not him. Never him.

Will they ever hear me? Will they ever listen?

He doubted they would. That anyone would. Not even Janus or Remus, nor the elusive seventh Side. Why would they? Logan tried to rebut and 'throw a wrench' in Janus' plans. Remus was fighting with him to be listened to as well, and the eldritch devil was practically desperate. And Orange... Logan didn't know much about him, only that he had influence over repressed anger. Wrath and Jealousy. Dramatic outbursts.

Logan winced at the memory of his outburst at Remus.

I'm not worth it. This isn't worth it. They don't want me there. They did fine without me when Janus took my place. They don't need me there.

Literal Logic was unneeded, at least in his mind. Logan felt so isolated by the others. They rather him silenced than to hear his facts or research points. He missed back when Virgil and him had that debate. Back when Roman and him would geek out over specifics of video ideas, of how it would all work together. Back when Patton and him weren't so at odds, weren't seemingly polar opposites. When light blue wasn't as different as indigo.

But those times were gone, and they weren't coming back.

Perhaps I can succeed where Virgil failed. I'll be okay then. The others would be better off-

A sudden hand on his shoulder jolted him from his thoughts, and he slightly flinched. He looked over to his right, head now out of his hands. A yellow glove. Reptilian scales. Yellow.

Janus?

Janus stood beside him, with a gloved hand on his shoulder, wearing naked concern and worry on his face. He looked distressed. Despite that, he calmly set a cup of tea on Logan's desk. Warm steam came from it. It smelled of lavender and chamomile, the tiniest hint of sweet honey.

Logan was utterly confused. Why was Janus there? He hadn't thought a single lie. None of it was a falsehood. Nothing was so deceitful that he needed to be summoned.

"Tea is relaxing, and it is 2am," Janus spoke softly, in such a vulnerable way that it sounded caring.

Janus was caring, that's true. But caring towards Logan? He shouldn't be. No one was, no one would, no one should. It was an unspoken rule amongst the Sides, surely. Why else would they ignore his input?

Logan glanced at the clock on his wall. It was 2am, ticking closer to 2:30.

When did it get so late? The meeting was in the earlier afternoon. I haven't been in my room for that long, right?

If he'd been in his room for so long, then...

Then the others truly don't care for me. I knew it. Of course, they don't. Why would anyone?

But Janus was there.

Why is Janus here?

"Oh, sweetie. I know, it's going to be alright. The others are just assholes."

He thumbed away tears that fell down Logan's face, a hand now cupping his face instead of resting on his shoulder. Logan was facing opposite of his desk. Facing Janus, who knelt slightly to level with him. The smell of chamomile was still strong and drifting behind him.

Wait, tears? When did I start crying? I'm fine, I shouldn't be crying. Logic shouldn't cry. My function shouldn't be emotional. It isn't- it...

"Hey, focus on me. Don't drift over into your head again, okay?"

He was so gentle. His glove was soft against Logan's face. Warm. He leaned into the gesture, releasing a breath he didn't know he was holding. That is, before realizing and tensing up.

"Indigo, you'll be fine. You're safe with Yellow and I," another voice, uncharacteristically quiet and careful, echoed through the room.

Wait, who...?

Logan gave a questioning glance at Janus, causing him to give a comforting smile.

"It's just Orange, sweetie. Who insists on calling everyone by their colour," Janus glared playfully to the side, presumably where Orange stood.

"What? It's not like I'm calling names. I'm not f*cking Red-"

"Okay, I get it. Roman is a b*tch, we know."

Janus rolled his eyes, turning his attention back to Logan. His hand left the nerd's face, and he stood straight up. Orange eyes peeled out from the darker corners of the room, and out stepped the elusive arsonist.

Why would Orange be here? To cause another outburst? Make me more hated than I already am?

Logan's thoughts felt bitter, angry- upset. His eyes reflected that same hurt. Orange's eyes flashed for a second, and he gave a sympathetic look.

"You're not hated, you know. The others are f*cking brats, but they don't hate you. Especially not for showing emotion."

Logan raised a confused eyebrow. Orange shrugged.

"Green can hear icky, greenish thoughts. I can hear the angry and jealous ones. I'm sure Yellow can hear when you think a lie."

Janus nodded to confirm Orange's statement.

But I haven't thought a lie?

Janus frowned once he heard the echoing lie. Thoughts echoed, spoken words vibrated. It was weird, but that's how they sounded. The thing that bothered him was how sure Logan was. How much he believed what he thought. It made his heart sink as he recalled what exact thought had made him race over. Only to find a lost-looking Logic, a beautiful mind stuck in a self-deprecating loop.

'The others would be better off-' replayed in his mind. He knew the last part of what that thought would be.

'-without me.'

Janus wouldn't let him think that. And it seemed neither would Orange.

"Sweetie, you've been lying to yourself. You know you're important, right? And loved and wanted?"

Logan looked away from them both.

"Indie, you are. No one else can be you. All those greenish thoughts are lies, okay?"

Orange scanned his eyes for any budge, any sign he believed their words. There was none. He sighed as Logan crossed his arms stubbornly. How could they convince him?

Orange's eyes lit up as an idea sparked like a small flame in his head.

"You know how people always look up to the Northern Star? What was it called...?"

"Polaris?" Logan's first word since the meeting earlier that day.

His voice was soft and hoarse. He hadn't used it for a while. He was used to being cut off, anyway. His eyes sparkled with interest at the mention of a star.

"Yes, you're right. People love to stargaze and look for Polaris. It's a common activity," Janus picked up on the idea.

"Isn't it used for star maps? For sailors to find their way home? A guide, perhaps?"

"Yes, Polaris is often sought out as a landmark." Logan spoke again, his arms relaxing and becoming uncrossed.

Janus hummed, small smirk on his face.

"Then you are Polaris, Logan. We need you to guide us. You bring us back when we stray from the point," the cobra whispered gently.

"You're our landmark in the night sky, Indigo. Only you can do that," Orange out a hand on his fellow Side's shoulder, rubbing in a soothing way.

"I'm- But anyone could-"

"Hey, none of that. They aren't Logic, are they? That's you. And we love you for it."

Logan looked at Janus and Orange in utter disbelief, tears gathering again in his eyes.

"Indie, we love you. We're your friends, okay? No matter how little you may know me, I still care. We both will always care."

The logical Side opened his mouth to speak, but nothing but a wounded sound came out. A whimper. A whine. Tears rolled down his face.

"Oh, sweetie. I know it's hard right now, but we're here. If no one else, we are."

Logan shook his head vigorously, struggling to wrap his head around the truth. Everything as of recent was catching up with him. It made him feel nauseous to think of it as the truth. Guilt flooded his very bones. He wanted to believe them. He wanted to so badly. But he didn't deserve that.

I don't deserve this, I don't-

"Woah, hey. Logan, look at me. You're looking a little pale," Janus cupped his hands on Logan's face, examining him.

He looked pale, and possibly almost sickly. It was a little scary. Janus and Orange shared a brief glance of worry. His skin felt clammy and sticky. Sweaty. Like he was about to-

Logan's eyes slightly widened as the nausea crept up his throat. He swallowed harshly, not wanting to vomit. The very thought of throwing up sent spikes of fear throughout his body. His friends- he'd soon realize that they were his friends- watched him carefully.

Why do I feel like this right now, of all times? What... guilty? Sick? I feel like tearing my insides out.

He whimpered, wrapping his arms around his stomach. He leaned forward absentmindedly, resting his forehead on Janus' shoulder. Orange let go of him as he realized how nauseous he felt. He couldn't handle vomit either, it seemed. He scrunched his nose up at the idea.

Huh. Something in common with someone else, then? Interesting.

Janus embraced Logan, wrapping one arm around the nerd's shoulders to keep him steady against him. The back of a now-gloveless hand on his forehead. He hummed, thinking. He brought out another pair of arms, carding a hand through the sickly Side's hair. It distracted him, at least. Kept him from spiralling because of the nausea. A fourth hand summoned a thermometer, the kind that scanned temperature on your forehead.

Orange watched silently as Janus did what he knew to take care of Logan. Orange couldn't do much, anyway. Him and Logan shared the same fear. Vomit was disgusting.

"Feeling ill, sweetie?"

Logan nodded lightly, not wanting to move much. He melted in Janus' touch as he continued to card a hand through his hair. He didn't cry anymore. By then, he was far too tired and distracted to cry.

Janus retracted his hand from the nerd's forehead, replacing it with the thermometer. He snapped his fingers, and now the bare hand had a glove once again. After the device beeped and he took Logan's temperature, he carefully placed a kiss on the top of his head. He frowned as the thermometer proved Logan had a bit of a fever. He'd summoned away the device and sighed. All of the emotional turmoil swirling in his head literally made him sick. All the worrying and self-doubt, especially paired with not sleeping well. It was edging closer to 4am by now. Janus wasn't sure how Logan had managed to make himself this sick, but being constantly ignored clearly affected him.

Orange watched as Logan's eyes drooped in Janus' arms. He looked so f*cking exhausted. It worried him. How did he even make himself so sick? How come the others haven't noticed? Besides maybe Remus. He idly wondered why Green wasn't there right now, what with all those icky thoughts plaguing Logan. It didn't matter, though. Green would probably come by later, anyway. He cared for Logan as much as they did. How he wasn't already summoned was a mystery for another time.

Indigo needed help. He needed love. A reminder of his importance. Asking him how he felt so deeply about this wasn't a smart idea right now. Indigo felt a lot more than he liked to admit.

Neither asked about how it affected him in such a physical way. Logan's health was more important. He needed rest.

Janus hugged Logan with two arms now, a hand still carding through his hair. A fourth and final hand rubbed soothing circles on his back. The cobra placed another kiss to Logan's head, taking note of how he melted further into the affection.

"Orange, could you go fetch some of Remus' nausea tablets?"

Why would Remus have nausea medicine? Logan idly wondered.

"Yeah, yeah. I'll be back, Indie," Orange whispered a farewell softly to Logan.

Orange walked into the room's shadows, vanishing with a slight whoosh. Janus stayed, knowing Logan shouldn't be alone. Not when he felt so low and sick.

"It's not going to taste well, so maybe the tea will be of use."

Tea? The tea... oh. I forgot about that.

Logan felt shame heat his cheeks as he remembered the tea from earlier. It wasn't hot anymore, maybe a little warm. The smell of chamomile drifted into his senses. It was calming, at least. How did he forget about such an aroma? Losing yourself in your head does that, he guessed.

Janus noticed his embarrassment.

"It's alright, sweetie. I think we all forgot about it."

It wasn't much, but it eased Logan's shame. His face calmed down, now only a little pink instead of red.

Orange returned, walking out from the shadows yet again. He held a little tablet in his hand. He gave it to Logan, who held out a hand to take it.

"It's dissolvable. Put it under your tongue, and it should work," Orange explained.

Logan hummed, putting the tablet in his mouth as he was told. Just as Janus mentioned, it tasted awful. It made him want to throw up; the taste of rotten cherries didn't agree with him. He scrunched his face up as it dissolved.

Orange glanced at the forgotten tea, picking it up and cupping his hands around it. A vibrant flash in his eyes, and now the tea was steaming warm again. Hopefully not too hot for Logan to drink it.

"Here ya go, Indigo," Orange passed the tea over to Logan.

The nerd removed his other arm from his stomach, carefully taking the cup of tea. The smell was calming and relaxing, and certainly stronger now that it'd been heated up. The cup wasn't too hot; it didn't burn his hands. He took a cautious sip, sighing in relief at the soothing warmth sliding down his throat. It didn't hurt, so Orange must've done a good enough job at not boiling it.

After he drank most of it, the cup got set back on his desk. He'd forgotten about his work, the piles of charts and papers. He whined at it, not feeling up to work but hating how there was still work to be done. The other two notice, and Janus carefully lifted him up and away from his desk. He almost squeaked, not expecting to suddenly be in the air. Janus summoned one last pair of arms, using all six to hold and carry Logan. He slightly smiled as he felt the logical Side snuggle his face in the crook of his neck.

"Time for bed," Janus said before Logan couldn't even think of protesting.

Orange chuckled as Logan groaned in annoyance.

But the others- they need work done, don't they? Isn't that why I'm here, to produce results?

"Hey, you aren't all work, Logan. That's not your entire purpose," Janus calmly reminded him, hearing of the familiar lie of 'I am only valuable when I can produce something'.

Logan hummed as he was set down in the middle of his own bed. The pillows were comfy, and his space-themed blankets were so soft. He nearly passed out once his head hit his bed. He was still in his day clothes though, and it wouldn't be very comfortable to wake up in those. But he had no energy to snap himself into pajamas, or even his onesie.

Luckily, Orange caught on and snapped Logan into his signature unicorn onesie. It was blue and white, and so f*cking cozy. Logan melted into its familiar comfort, way too tired to care that other people were there. Janus smiled as he snapped himself in his own pajamas: grey sweatpants with a yellow snake design, a dual-headed snake that wrapped with his leg and rested its head near his hip; and a yellow sweater, decorated with tiny quotes of law and philosophy at the hem and on the edges of sleeves. The tiny quotes were in cursive, written in a darkish gold colour. Orange finally snapped himself in comfier clothes, mainly a pair of plain black pajama pants and a dark grey, long-sleeve shirt with orange accents. The orange accents were flame designs, from the hem to the middle of the shirt. The sleeve had a similar design to Janus', but instead of quotes, there were little flames at the edges of his sleeves.

"Do you mind if we stay, Polaris?" Janus asked gently, making sure Logan was comfortable.

Logan shook his head sleepily, exhaustion catching up with him. He didn't mind them staying; in fact, he preferred if they did. Not that he'd ever admit it, but the presence of people who genuinely care about you was a great way to chase the icky thoughts away. Not entirely chase them away, but close enough. Perhaps 'keeping them at bay for a little while' was more accurate. Either way, Logan wanted them to stay, both of them.

Logan didn't seem to catch the new nickname. If he did, he was far too drowsy to react to it.

Janus climbed in the bed, pulling back the covers so them three could settle in. He laid behind Logan, closest to the wall. He carefully put all pairs of his arms around the nerd's waist and torso, hugging him lightly from behind. Logan hummed contently, placing his hands on two of Janus'. A silent way of saying yes, this is okay. Yes, I am okay with this. Janus embraced him tighter, making sure he felt the love through his gesture. Logan did. He felt enough love from even just the cobra, so much that he nearly fell asleep.

But Orange still stood by the side of the bed, seemingly and oddly nervous. He wrung his wrist, thinking for a moment. He took Logan's glasses off his face before making a silent decision on something, setting the pair of lenses on a bedside table.

Oh, yeah. Glasses.

Now he couldn't see very well, but at least it was more comfy to fall asleep. Sleeping with glasses was ill-advised. And uncomfortable.

Janus noticed, raising an eyebrow from behind the astrophile as he rested his chin on the other's shoulder.

"Orange, sweetie? Are you okay?" he kept a soft voice, especially since he was near Logan's ear.

Orange simply nodded, sighing as he wrung his wrist again. Then he stopped himself, taking a quick breath.

"Just, um... I want to help Indie out, but I'm not great with touch. So..." Orange was uncharacteristically nervous, his voice slightly wavering as he confessed.

Neither am I. Most of the time.

A nice observation for Logan, to realize he had something in common with someone. Not so alone, then. Not as alone as he swore he was.

"That's okay. We can figure it out, sweetie. Come lay down."

Logan lightly nodded along with Janus' words, trying to show it was okay.

I'm like that, too, he wanted to say. Unless I initiate it or am just too tired to care. Like right now.

...you're like me.

A freeing warmth settled in Logan's chest.

He's like me.

Orange climbed into bed, pulling the covers over the three of them. Logan took a hand from Janus', holding it out to Orange.

Just hold my hand, was what it meant. Just holding my hand helps.

Orange seemed to understand, holding Logan's hand. The astrophile smiled sleepily at him, letting his eyes droop and close. He swiftly drifted off to sleep. Orange smirked contently, going to sleep as well. Janus gave a quick kiss to the forehead of each tired Side, finally resting himself.

They all slept through the night, and even through almost half the day. They watched over Logan after they all got up, getting him coffee and such. Reading with him. Helping him take a day off to recover from all the personal emotional turmoil. Listening to him talk, instead of ignoring him. Having a real conversation with him.

Logan ran into Remus a few days later, and they talked.

And Logan finally got what he deserved: people who listened to him, even if it meant facing those who didn't.

[glamfellens]

need 2 talk about the potential of a slow burn between aloth and the watcher. for normal reasons

[rileys-battlecats]

havent been able to draw lately this SUCKS

[number-1-kuaidul-fanboy]

Potential hot take: The Zwijo vs Manabu duel was a good Zwijo duel that showed his growth from the end of season 1 really well.

It's just that to do that they decided the best way was derailing Manabu's entire character for no good reason which is something I, and I think a lot of us, cannot forgive.

[opens-up-4-nobody]

...

[artistic-donnie-tello]

Day 2 (23 March 2023)

Donnie’s annoyed cuz I ran out of space at the bottom of my page for him