#so i wrote this in like two hours and its probably a mess but. here you go ig.

[le-fruit-de-la-passion]

Say my Name, As if it’s Drowning in the Tide - Jayce x Reader (Chapter 1)

Summary: But Jayce is weak. So unbelievably weak. And the voice of temptation in the back of his mind insists you will never want him the same way he does you. It’s cowardly, and it’s spineless, and it goes against everything he’s ever been taught to value. Yet none of it seems to matter when he looks at you, bare in front of him, hair wet and sticking to your skin in heavy curls like a siren in the stormy sea. He’d sell his soul if it meant having you, and in more ways than one, he is.

Pairing: Jayce x Reader Modern AU, one-sided Viktor x Reader

Word Count: 6K

Warning: Explicit

Tags: Hate Sex, Emotional Roleplay, One-sided Attraction, Grinding, Dry-Humping, Premature Ejaculation, Coming Untouched, Switch!Jayce, Rough Kissing, Biting, Shower Sex, Angst, One Bed

Notes: I love my pathetic son Jayce, so I needed to make him just a bit wetter and sadder for… reasons. This is a two-parter, because it was looking too heavy as a one-shot and the second part still needs a bit more attention. I need to stop having too many multi-chapter projects at the same time before I go insane. Anyway, enjoy ❤️!!

(Chapter 2/End)

You tap your fingers on the wooden countertop, trying to remain calm despite the growing pressure inside your skull.

“And you're sure there's not a single other room left ?” you ask with a tense smile, your teeth grinding against each other almost audibly.

The receptionist gives you yet another blank stare. She's hardly older than seventeen, probably helping out her parent's business, and clearly not paid enough to care about whether or not you stay or go.

“No, ma'am, there are no other rooms available for the duration of your stay,” she repeats robotically. It's as if you've been stuck in the same dialogue tree for half an hour with a badly programmed NPC. “We're a family-owned business, and we only have ten rooms available at once. Your reservation was for a single bedroom, not two.”

The exaggerated sound of her slowly chewing gum is driving you insane. “She's just doing her job’, you have to remind yourself. It's not her fault, you know that; plus, if there's anybody to blame, it's Jayce.

You turn towards the culprit in question, large shoulders slightly slumped and eyes escaping your glare. Pathetic.

“Seriously, Jayce?” you state in disbelief. “I asked you to do one thing for the trip.”

Jayce visibly takes offence to that, raising one stupidly large hand in objection:

“That's not fair, I was also taking care of bringing the prototype!”

“And I signed us up to the conference,” you hiss back. “I prepared our lecture. I got our bus tickets here and back. I made our itinerary for the whole three days. I even wrote down where we could go to bring back souvenirs for Sky and Viktor!”

You point an accusing finger at him, tapping it against his chest:

“The only thing I wanted you to take care of was the fucking motel. And you couldn't even do that right!”

He throws up both hands in exasperation, rolling his eyes. If there wasn't a minor in the same room, you'd have no qualms about punching him.

“Fine, alright, I messed up, what do you want me to say? ‘I'm sorry I'm such an idiot'?”

You exhale in frustration, throwing him one last resentful look before turning back to the receptionist: “Yeah, that would be a good start”, you scoff under your breath.

He makes a dramatic groan of annoyance behind you, like this entire situation isn't his fault.

The Academy barely gives you enough budget to attend two national mechanical engineering conferences a year. You had originally planned to go to this one with Viktor, specifically because of its location: nice and remote, the air fresh and relaxing, the few roads leading to the major cities surrounded by millennial trees and mountain peaks. The perfect place for a spark of romance to ignite between the two of you.

Unfortunately, Viktor had already scheduled a weekend seminar on the exact same date as the conference. Sky, your fourth and youngest lab partner, wasn't equipped enough to help you present all the complex features of the university's mechanical arm project. Only one other person could.

Jayce fucking Talis, and his magical ability to never do anything right.

“We'll just get our money back and find another place to crash,” he argues, walking up next to you to the counter, resting his weight against it; it creaks disapprovingly. “It doesn't have to be a whole thing.”

“I'm sorry sir,” the teen flatly interjects, still smacking the gum between her brace-clad teeth. Squish, squish. “But we require cancellations to be made 24 hours prior to the reservation. We cannot reimburse you as per the politics you have agreed to on our website.”

You'd probably get more interactive answers from a chatbot. Jayce kneads the lines on his forehead, his practiced megawatt smile starting to crack from fatigue. The girl stares at him with neither sympathy nor sadness; she brings her lips together to form a small pink bubble, letting it burst after a few seconds. Pop.

“Okay, you know what,” Jayce sighs in defeat, “I'll pay for our rooms somewhere else. It's on me. As an apology.”

This would be an excellent time to not subtly sneak in a remark on how he's always using his parent's money to get himself out of the messes he's created, but the teen speaks up again before you get a chance to:

“Sir,” she adds with her irritatingly nasal voice. “You should know the only other motel in the area only accepts new reservations until 9 pm.”

She nods pointedly towards an old grandfather clock on the wall, and the two of you look at it in sync: it's 9:06.

Now you're genuinely hesitating between strangling her or Jayce.

“You really know how to make a guy feel better, huh?” Jayce attempts with a weak laugh, the plastic smile crumbling a little further.

She only gives him a vacant gaze.

Your legs are aching from the long ride in the overcrowded bus, and the arduous walk to the motel with half the disassembled prototype on your back. You've been dreaming of laying down on a bed for the last three hours, and even if another inn was open nearby, you doubt you'd have the will to carry everything there.

“I don't care anymore,” you sigh, massaging the side of your temple to relieve some of the built-up tension. “I'm exhausted, and we need to rest if we want to be any good tomorrow morning. We'll just figure it out upstairs.”

Jayce makes a non-committal sound of agreement; if you had more energy, you'd angrily ask him if he has any better ideas he'd like to share. But you don't, so you just focus back on the unexcited receptionist. Ironically enough, the letters on her cropped shirt spell ‘GOOD VIBES ONLY’.

“We'll take the room,” you conclude, worn out.

The teen barely blinks as she inputs something into her old computer, the vintage monitor buzzing unpleasantly before she hands you two scratched keycards mechanically.

“Room 207. We hope you’ll enjoy your stay at Grizzly Country Motel,” she deadpans.

You mumble a thank you, but she either doesn't hear or chooses to ignore it in favour of going back to her cell phone, like your entire interaction had been nothing more than chasing away a couple of flies.

Jayce at least has the decency to grab both your luggage and his before you both head towards the stairs; if he’s got all those muscles, he might as well put them to use. You feel a pang of annoyance at how easily he carries the bags that you struggled to hold the entire day.

“Don't you think it's weird when they say ‘we’?” he mumbles pensively as you go up the stairway. “It's like everyone who works at a hotel is in a hivemind.”

You can't even find the will to look back and glare at him.

“No, Talis, I was actually thinking about how I'd fix all the problems you've created,” you reply drily.

You reach the second floor, knees buckling. Room 201, 202, 203…

“You'll just take half the bed and I'll take the other half,” Jayce pipes up from behind you, grunting as he pulls the last bag up. “We'll put a pillow in the middle. It'll be like nothing even happened.”

Oh, to be in the mind of Jayce Talis, where the universe is so fucking simple and accountability is a myth.

You hate how he always has an answer for everything, like it’s all so easy for him. You've fought hard to reach this point — to earn your place in the Academy, to be seen as a true scientist, breaking through barriers in a field where women remain the minority. It’s taken blood, sweat, and tears, years of effort that people like Viktor and Sky understand and respect.

Room 204, 205, 206…

But for Jayce Talis, it’s all sunshine, rainbows, and candy-colored skies. His family owns one of the largest metallurgy companies in the country, and has stocks invested in some of the biggest steel producers on the globe. He’s never had to work a single day in his life to put himself through school, never had to sacrifice anything for his dreams. You don’t think there’s a single thing he’s ever actually had to put effort in: he barely studies and still aces all his classes, hardly puts any care into his appearance, yet always looks like he’s out of the cover of the Times’ 50 Most Desirable Men. It’s infuriating to an unspeakable degree.

Room 207.

You tap one of the keycards on the handle, letting out a small sigh of relief when the mechanism beeps joyfully. Today hasn't been ideal, but at least, you're only a few feet away from a soft, comfortable bed.

You open the door, walking in with little decorum. It's small and bare, as you expected: a single window dulled by years of exposure, a box TV taken straight from the nineties, a dingy light fixture barely illuminating a greyed-out wallpaper of a forest scene, and…

“Talis,” you pause. He almost bumps into your back, fumbling with the bags in his arms.

“What?” he asks in confusion, peering over your shoulder. “Oh,” he simply says when he sees the issue.

“Talis,” you repeat slowly, trying to maintain your tone even, despite how badly you want to scream. “This is a single bed.”

Indeed, not only is there only one bed, it's evidently sized for a single person. It's ridiculously tiny. It doesn't take a genius to see that with someone of Jayce's stature, you'd have to practically sleep on top of him if you wanted to share the bed.

“Wait, I swear I asked for doubles for both of us-” he protests immediately.

“It's fine,” you cut him off, despite it being the exact opposite. The headache is getting worse, and you don't feel like arguing with him any more than you already have. “I'll take the bed tonight, and you take the floor, and we alternate tomorrow.”

Jayce puts all the bags down on the carpeted floor, visibly dejected.

“Again, I'm really sorry about this,” he mumbles, and even though you can tell it's genuine, it doesn't make you feel any better. Every ambigious prejudice you might have had against him has just confirmed itself: he’s a spoiled mama’s boy, who isn’t able to navigate the real world alone, and who’ll simply cry when he messes up things for everyone else.

“Whatever,” you grumble, sitting tiredly on the edge of the puny bed that groans painfully under your weight; it doesn't even have the decency to be comfortable. “Just means I'll have to take care of everything if we ever do symposium together again.”

He looks like a scolded puppy, unmoving, eyes avoidant, his large frame blocking the doorway. Jayce is extremely talented at making people pity him, with his huge citrine eyes and perfectly rosy cheeks. It almost makes you hesitate before adding the next words, but bitterness takes the upper hand: “This is the kind of mistake Viktor never makes.”

He doesn't reply.

You can tell that hurt him just as much as you intended with the way his body slightly curves inwards, his fits visibly clenching inside his pockets. Well, good. He's old and smart enough to know actions have consequences. He's supposed to be your partner, not a child you're babysitting.

“I'm…gonna go take a shower,” he hesitantly adds after a few tense seconds. “I'm still sweaty from the bus ride. Is that… okay with you?”

You shrug with disinterest; you know you’re just being petty now, but thinking of everything that could have been, had it been Viktor on this trip and not him, is leaving a sour taste in your mouth.

“Fine by me. I'll take mine right after.”

He waits a moment, like he's expecting you to add something else; maybe extend the olive branch. When you don't provide, he sighs, making his way to the bathroom door and closing it behind him.

You let your body fall back on the mattress with a heavy ‘oomph’. It's not as uncomfortable as it first seemed; it's firm, but the covers are soft, and the single pillow feels nicely fluffed. A couple might actually be pretty cozy in this bed, one body on top of the other, their libs entangled lovingly. It could have been you and Viktor.

Viktor.

Viktor, and his honey-coloured eyes. Viktor, and his teasing smile that makes your heart skip a beat. Viktor, and the way his long fingers twirl in his chestnut hair when he's focused, the way he absentmindedly licks his bottom lip when he's lost in thought. Viktor, and-

“Hey, um,” Jayce's booming voice from the other room interrupts your reverie. “C'mere for a sec?”

You groan loudly, squeezing your eyes shut. Maybe if you pretend he isn't there, he'll disappear all on his own.

“No, seriously,” he insists.

No luck. You get up lethargically, cursing the man under your breath.

“Left side with the red is hot, right side with the blue is cold, Talis,” you ironize. You open the door to the bathroom to see him standing in front of the shower door, thankfully still fully clothed. “Do you need help opening the shampoo bottle, too?”

He glares back at you in annoyance:

“Fuck off. Look.”

He nods towards a paper sign you hadn't noticed tapped on the glass panel, amateurishly plastified with a clear file folder.

[PLEASE DO NOT USE THE SHOWER MORE THAN ONCE A DAY. 10 MINUTES OF HOT WATER PER ROOM]

Well, you were wrong. Jayce Talis isn't just a forgetful idiot with bad luck.

He's a fucking curse.

“The room and the bed, I could forgive,” you start, fuming. But the shower?!”

“How was I supposed to know?!” he yells back melodramatically. “You told me to find something cheap to not go over budget!”

You shove him in frustration, only getting more annoyed when it doesn't make his stupidly huge body move a single inch:

“I didn't mean you should book a fucking dumpster!”

A loud, pointed knock echoing from beyond the bathroom wall silences you both.

Delightful. The neighbours can hear everything.

You move a step away from Jayce, the width of the bathroom not allowing much in terms of distancing.

“Sorry,” you mumble under your breath. You aren’t, but it's that or getting kicked out of the only open motel in miles for a noise complaint. “Yelling isn't gonna lead us anywhere. You can take five minutes, and I'll take the other five. It's gonna be short, but that's probably the best we can do.”

He at least has the decency to look appreciative, sheepishly scratching the back of his neck.

“I can give you the whole ten minutes, to apologize. This is my fault,” he admits. It’s always like this with him, as if his never-ending self-pity cleanses him of any possible wrongdoing. You despise that.

“And have you stink up the whole place smelling like a football locker room? No way,” you scrunch up your nose. Just by sharing a workspace with him, you know Jayce has the hygiene skills of a teenage boy who thinks Axe body spray and cologne make sweat magically vanish; the sheer power of the unholy combination would keep you awake all night.

“Or…” Jayce trails on for a few uncharacteristically long seconds. He's usually more the type to say things before reflecting on them, but he's pinching his lips tightly, clearly hesitant about what he's going to add next. “…We could share the shower?”

You look at him with an expression frozen between incomprehension and disgust: “What?”

“I mean, it's big enough for two people to stand without touching,” he quickly justifies, raising his hands innocently. “I could take the flexible hose, and you'd just go under the showerhead. That way we'd both get ten minutes!”

He's using the overly excited voice he takes on whenever he's giving someone his sales pitch for a new, stupid idea he's had. It might work wonders on most, but you know better than to fall for it.

“So you're that desperate to see me naked?” you sneer.

“I'm trying to be helpful here!” he complains.

If you're being honest, it's not that bad of an idea. The shower is small in width, but it's quite long, making it a very viable option for two people to use at once. If you manoeuver everything right, it'll almost be like you're taking a long, nice ten-minute shower on your own.

“Fine,” you capitulate, making sure to enunciate the word painfully slowly so he knows you're not doing it out of the kindness of your heart. “But if you tell anyone this happened, especially Viktor, I'm cutting off your balls and using them to-”

“Yeah, got it, wouldn't want Viktor to think you like me,” he taunts mockingly, puckering his lips in a false kiss at the other man's name.

It's the first time you've agreed to an idea from Jayce, and you're already regretting it.

“Just shut up and get in the fucking shower,” you spit out, going back to the main room without sparing him another look. “Face the wall and call me when you're done. There’s no reason for this to be weird.”

—

He’s hard.

Very obviously and undeniably hard.

Jayce has been splashing his face with cold water for the last few minutes, to no avail. He's tried every technique he can possibly think of: running in place, breathing exercises, imagining his abuelita naked, nothing is working.

The only thing he can visualize is your body, completely bare in that shower, only a few inches away from his. The water pouring down from your hair to your shoulders, to your breasts, and then alongside the curves of your thighs, and your ass-

“Shut up,” he mumbles to himself in the empty bathroom.

It's not a secret to anyone that Jayce likes you. Neither is it a secret that you're utterly uninterested and only have eyes for Viktor, except perhaps for Viktor himself. It's kind of unfair how two-thirds of Viktor's lab partners are in love with him. He'd be lying if he said he didn't get it, and that his eyes never lingered on that little mole above Viktor's lip for longer than they should have. But damn it, he wants you. He wants you to want him. Is that such an unfair thing to ask for?

You've got so much fight, so much fire in you, and he gets dizzy off the smouldering look in your eyes whenever you disagree with him. And disagree, you do: he wants to use lithium batteries, you want to use sodium. He wants to focus on reducing energy intake for the prototype, you want to focus on adding new components to it. He offers to order pizza for the group after a long day of work, you'll hear of nothing but sushi.

It drives him insane, but less in a way that makes him despise you, and more in one that makes him angrily rub his cock raw every night at the thought of that angry pout on your lips.

“-ayce! You alive in there?” comes your voice from the other room. He groans in frustration. This is a spectacular disaster in the making, and he's sitting front and center for it.

He's made his own bed and now he has to lie in it.

“You can come in!” he yells back with a noticeable crack in his voice. Not a great start.

His heart skips a beat when he hears the door creak open and close. The rustling of clothes being taken off one by one, the sound of pants dropping on the tile floor, and the unmistakable click of a bra being unhooked.

The door to the shower slides, and he feels you enter the confined space. It's ridiculous how close you are to him; he can smell the sweat off your skin, the faded scent of your perfume. His cock gives a small twitch and he glares down at it in betrayal. ‘Not now!’

You don't say a word as you turn on the faucet, the old plumbing in the walls hissing slightly before water starts to pour down on the both of you. He's not usually one for the cold, but it's refreshing, washing away the feeling of stickiness on his skin. He hums under his breath in delight; maybe it'll actually just be an awkward but relaxing shower, in the end.

The temperature rises slowly but surely, from cool to tepid, tepid to lukewarm, and then… it stops. He waits a few more seconds, throwing a discreet glance behind him to find you haven't fully turned the faucet on the hot side.

“Could you… put it warmer?” he asks, clearing his throat.

“It's plenty warm enough as is,” you reply flatly.

Now you're lying just to go against him; it's barely any warmer than if he was bathing outside in the lake.

“Why would you even fight for the hot water if you're not gonna use it?” he mumbles.

You moan dramatically in complaint: “Fine, princess, I'll bump it up.”

He sees your hand reach for the faucet, grab it… and bring it less than a centimetre closer to the warm side.

“Seriously?” he asks in disbelief.

“Yeah, seriously, now start washing your greasy hair before there's no hot water left at all,” you scold him, like he's nothing more than a snivelling toddler, and not a man twice your size.

Alright, enough is enough.

“What are you-” you protest at his sudden movement, his bicep pressing up against your shoulder.

“I'm turning the hot water on so I don't die in here,” he snaps back, trying to get a feel for the faucet while still looking away from you for the sake of modesty.

“Absolutely not, stay on your side!” you admonish him angrily. You attempt to push him back, pointedly refusing to look in his direction as you blindly slap his arm away. “Wait, Jayce-”

It happens too fast for either of you to figure out what's happening. One minute you're back to back, a respectable distance from one another, and the next you've both slipped, his arms boxing you into the narrow side of the shower with your legs bumping together.

Your eyes are locked into his for a few long, painful seconds. Neither of you are moving. You're trapped in a precarious game of jenga, where you can't even see which parts can safely be removed without you collapsing on each other.

“Whatever you do,” you exhale slowly. “Don't look down.”

You visibly regret your words as soon as you say them; you must have forgotten it’s Jayce you’re talking to.

He immediately looks down.

You put an arm up over your chest with an indignant yelp, and he quickly defends himself:

“Why would you tell me to not look down? That's like saying ‘Don't think of an elephant’!”

You're staying silent, your lips into a tight line, but he's certain you're thinking of an elephant right now. He smiles boastfully and you shoot him a deadly glare, before looking away to the side. It's the first time he's ever seen that awkward little blush on your cheeks without the conversation being about Viktor. That's a win in his book.

“It's fine,” you repeat once more like a broken record, and it’s definitely more meant to reassure yourself than to keep up a pleasant conversation with him. “I'll just… squish back against the wall while you close your eyes, and I'll direct you back to the other side. No problem.”

You sound less convinced than he's ever heard you before. He must have succeeded in turning the faucet to the side during the whole debacle, because the water has grown noticeably warmer, clouds of steam starting to form in the air. The atmosphere inside the shower is shifting ever so slightly.

He doesn't want to move.

He doesn't want to close his eyes.

The colour of your cheeks has grown darker from the heat, your lips slightly parted around every audible respiration.

“Would you wanna stay like this… if it was with Viktor?” he asks breathlessly.

You look back at him with genuine confusion, and he's honestly just as surprised as you are.

“What?”

“I…” It's getting harder to think. All his blood is rushing south, leaving him dangerously light-headed. What is he saying? “I… asked if you'd stay like this if it wasn't me in the shower. If it was Viktor.”

Your frown deepens. Your eyebrows always do this cute little thing where one furrows just slightly more than the other, but he's never gotten to observe it from this close. He lets his thoughts travel into dangerous territory. Do you wear that same expression when you're on your knees, sucking some other guy off? Would you look like that for Viktor?

“I don't see how that's relevant,” you retort harshly, but your gaze is elusive. You can't hide from him, not when his face is merely inches away from yours.

“Humor me,” he requests again.

“Fine, yeah, I would! Are you happy now?” you snap, eyes locking back into his with fiery resentment.

You're embarrassed.

He's never seen you rattled like this before. The energy in the shower is electric, now, coursing through his veins like a drug. ‘There will never be another moment like this’, the voice in the back of his head provides, syrupy sweet. It’s without a doubt the worst idea he’s ever had in his life, but he can’t stop the words from pouring out of his mouth.

“I could show you what he's into,” he almost whispers, the deafening sound of water hitting the ceramic flooring almost too loud for him to hear himself.

He knows that you've heard him with the way your eyes widen, your breath hitching in your throat.

“I mean, guys, we talk,” he explains, the words now coming out of him like the rambles of a madman. He’s in too deep to back out: it’s sink or swim. “About the stuff we like, the stuff we dream about. I could tell you what he's told me, and you can practice. On me.”

An eternity passes before you speak again, mouth just barely agape. But you're not yelling at him. You're not slapping him in the face. In fact, you're not even frowning; the expression you’re wearing is oddly vulnerable and open, like you're seeing him in a different light than you ever have before.

“You're fucking gross, Talis,” you breathe out slowly. “You really think I'm that easy?”

This*,* whatever this is, is so fragile he’s scared of shattering it by being too loud. Like he’s talking to a wild animal.

“I don't,” he promises in a low voice. “But I think you're smart, and dedicated, and you wouldn't let an opportunity to know something so personal about Viktor pass you by.”

The steam has fully blurred the glass panels around the both of you, and it feels like you're inside one of those snow globes Jayce's mother used to bring back for him from her travels when he was a kid. It's weirdly ethereal, warm and cold, frozen out of any known space and time. He’s never heard you stay silent this long, and the anticipation makes his throat burn.

“Fine,” you finally say. “But if you tell anyone-”

“Yeah I know, you'll cut my balls off,” he lets out with a small laugh, slightly delirious. He's half convinced he's dreaming. “Are we good?”

You nod without a word, shifting your head to the side slightly to avoid his gaze. He hesitantly brings a hand to your chin, holding it like you're made of glass. You don't recoil at his touch, so he gently presses it upwards, making you look at him again.

“Viktor likes it when people kiss him softly,” he smiles shyly, his heart beating as loudly in his chest as it did for his very first kiss. It’s like he’s watching a movie, like none of it is truly real. He closes the gap between the two of you slowly, waiting for you to pull away; but you don't. Your lips meet his, and it's everything he could have ever wanted.

You taste of rainwater and cherry chapstick. You’re soft in the way described by jazzy love songs, smooth and electric, a puzzle piece that just feels so unbelievably right. He wants to wrap his arms around you, hold you so tight this never has to come to an end, leave marks on your skin no shower could ever get rid of.

But he doesn't. He can't.

This is a fantasy that’s only animated by mutual gain. It’s not the climax of a romance film where the hero finally gets to kiss the heroine under the rain.

But God, does he want to pretend it is.

You pull away first, and he doesn't miss it: the millisecond where your eyes open and you look at him like he's the one you want to be kissing. The almost imperceptible moment where you're still imagining you're kissing Viktor and not him, where your irises shine brightly with so much happiness and love.

But it's already gone, like it never even happened, and you quickly wipe your lips with the back of your hand. You’re not in a beautiful London street amid a gentle downpour with your soulmate: you’re in a cramped shower in a motel, with a guy you don’t even vaguely care for.

“You should shave your stubble. It's annoying,” you mumble.

‘Viktor doesn't have one’, the sentence heavily implies. It stings, but he's not about to back off just from that either. Not when he's been given a chance like this.

“Viktor also likes it when kissing is a bit of a fight,” he adds, sounding much too eager and desperate for his own liking. “Biting, tugging hair, that kind of stuff.”

It's not a lie, per se; he's only ever seen Viktor kiss someone once, when they were undergrads. It was an end-of-semester party, and Viktor had had way too many vodka red bulls for a man of his stature and health. Jayce had found him on a couch, limbs entangled with a stranger who seemed equally as drunk, and absolutely devouring their face off.

Viktor had asked him to never let him near caffeinated cocktails again the next morning.

You look slightly skeptical, analyzing him for any signs of deception; it looks as though you find none, because you're the one who initiates this time, and there you are, the fiery woman he's fallen head over heels for.

You're going to war on him, sinking your teeth into his bottom lip, savagely shoving your tongue in his mouth, one hand entangled in the hair at the back of his head while the other ferociously holds his throat in place, nails digging into his heartbeat. He responds eagerly, letting you mistreat him, encouraging you with muffled groans.

It hurts, and he wants it to never end. He can taste blood in his mouth, the metallic tinge making him dizzy, and he's so hard he could cum if you just touched his dick with a finger. He whines pathetically when you break the kiss for air, disoriented, a strand of saliva connecting you both still.

“A-aouch,” he can only manage to say jokingly.

You lean back against the tile wall, slightly breathless; you wipe away drops of red on your lip, smudging them down towards your chin, the look of a feral animal in your pupils. He feels his already rock-hard cock twitch. Hot.

“This is about what Viktor likes, not what you like. Toughen up, Talis,” you spit back.

Before he has time to formulate a reply, you're back on him, and now he's incapable of stopping himself from humping your thigh like an animal. You don't refuse him or push him away, even mercifully angelling your hip to the side to give him easier access. There's nothing but you, all over him, inside of him, tearing him apart and putting him back together. It's absolutely pathetic, and he knows it, but he can feel his release arriving in the pit of his stomach. He's wanted this for so long, there's just no way to delay it anymore.

It only takes a few more seconds before his orgasm hits him hard, the wave of pleasure making his whole body still as a plank, while you're still sucking harshly the vein on the side of his neck. He cries out once, broken and wanton, barely recognizing the sound of his own voice.

He comes down from the high in time to see the last of his cum painting your hip white before it gets washed away with the water. You detach yourself from him unceremoniously, putting some distance between your bodies with a frown.

“Did you just…?”

There's no room for pretending here. He's just had one of the most mind-blowing orgasms of his life from nothing but a fucking kiss from you. It's like he's a teenager all over again, face redder than a tomato and eyes escaping yours guiltily.

“You came. You came by just making out with me,” you repeat, visibly caught halfway between incredulity and mockery.

“I just haven't gotten laid in a while, that's it!” he justifies vehemently. He needs to change the topic quickly, or you’ll never let him live this down. “I'm always busy at the lab doing the paperwork you always skip out on!”

That thankfully seems to take your attention away from his premature accident; he's never been so grateful for your short temper.

“Seriously? You’re going to bring that up right now?” you bark, shoving him in the chest angrily.

He can still turn this around. He might not have much control over his first release, today ridiculously so, but he's been blessed with excellent stamina and a very short recovery period. Jayce is good at selling himself with speeches, and even though you're usually immune to anything that comes out of his mouth, he's willing to cheat this once and use the one chink in your armour he knows about.

“Do you want to know what Viktor likes or not? Because I haven't told you anything about what he wants in bed,” he tempts you in a tone of indifference.

Your silence speaks volumes; he's got you again. Yes, it's incredibly manipulative, and when this is over he's going to spend hours turning over in his bed and despising himself. He’s always believed in doing things the fair way, the right way, and that one day he’d manage to lower your defences and etch a place into your heart all of his own merits.

But Jayce is weak. So unbelievably weak. And the voice of temptation in the back of his mind insists you will never want him the same way he does you. It’s cowardly, and it’s spineless, and it goes against everything he’s ever been taught to value. Yet none of it seems to matter when he looks at you, bare in front of him, hair wet and sticking to your skin in heavy curls like a siren in the stormy sea. He’d sell his soul if it meant having you, and in more ways than one, he is.

What kind of man does that make him?

That’s a thought he’ll just have to keep for later.

Taglist Darlings: @soniiyi , @mischievous-piltovan, @urfavlarry , @luv-urself-first, @girlidkthinkofsmth , @starflesh-moth

[luvtak]

when you know, you know ✭ yji

✭ genre/tw sugary sweet fluff, est. relationship, innie being very sweet, innie and reader being so in love its sick, ‘tiny’ used as a petname, like one swear word ? mostly unedited

✭ w/c 1005

✭ a/n i wrote this in about 5 hours so it could be so bad, who knows :// also, i was listening to the most sickeningly soft love songs so this is where all my devastation went… i hope you love it!! (divider from @cafekitsune !!)

There's something about the morning air that makes you look like an angel: Flushed cheeks and bitten-red lips, your hair still mussed from his hands. He can’t stop himself from staring at you, eyes sweeping to your form huddled in the corner of the practice room. You didn’t want to be here, adamantly refusing when he woke you up this morning, only agreeing when he told you he’d buy you ice cream for breakfast–a deal that left him exasperated until he tasted the sugary treat from your lips. He was reminded why he loved you then… it was the way the sun glinted off your cheekbones, warm light encasing you in a glow that hit him right in the heart. 

When you arrived at practice, greeting all the boys with tight hugs and uncontained grins, the lovesickness started rising up in his throat, and Jeongin did all he could not to embarrass himself in front of his hyungs. He never thought he’d be this gone, so incredibly smitten for somebody, alas the picture you form in his life is endlessly heart breaking.

“You know, in the last ten minutes Innie has looked over here probably five times…” Laughs Seugmin from his place next to you. 

“I did notice that, yes.” you respond. In truth, there hasn’t been one moment of your relationship where you haven’t noticed when Jeongin looks at you. Something about his stare being so hot against your skin that even with your eyes closed you would know he was looking. 

It makes you shy to think about Seungmin noticing your boyfriend’s devotion– your love is so often a secret, a whisper in the dark, a kiss shared with the light off. A love so intimate that it’s often masked with jokes and incessant teasing, anything to make it seem less than it is. When someone is your whole world, when you could survive just off the air in their lungs, that love is too great to be shared. 

Although, you can’t blame Seungmin for noticing. Your boyfriend has looked at you an inane amount of times in the last hour, glimpsing and glaring at you while he should be focused on the choreo. You could count on both hands how many times he’s been yelled at for messing up a step, even now during their break, with Minho berating him, he’s staring at you. 

“See! look at that! What a love drunk dummy, Minho Hyung is gonna kill him.” You can only half hear Seungmin, your eyes stuck on Jeongin’s smile, so pretty and all yours. You didn’t want to be here this morning, having plans to laze around the house in nothing but his sweater and watch stupid tv until he got home, but he begged and begged you to join him; cuddling into you and kissing all over your face until you agreed to come. The ice cream he bought you was only the icing on the cake, as sweet as all the kisses he placed on your skin. How happy you are now that you’re here, getting to see your boy smile and laugh and stare. “Oh god, there you go… you’d think you two would be over each other by now.” 

Unfortunately, the boy is left unanswered as Jeongin finds himself walking towards you, shit eating grin on full display, love in his eyes and mischief on his tongue. He’s so desirable, so undeniably handsome that it kills you to have other people around. 

“Hey loser,” your boyfriend says, “wanna go get a snack?”

“Will that snack be another ice cream cone? Cause if so count me in.” 

“Whatever you want, tiny.” he smiles, grabbing your hand to pull you off the floor and out of the room. Arms holding you tight through the hallways of the company, yet before you can go too far, he’s pulling you into an empty room and pressing his skin to yours. 

It’s not a hug really, his arms aren’t wrapped around you, but he’s so close to you. His nose is settled in your hair and his hands are so warm around your wrists, and even with your eyes closed you know his eyes are settled on you. He’s looking everywhere, from your sneakers to his sweater that wraps around you. Jeongin thinks you’re the loveliest thing he’s ever seen, and if he was braver he would’ve kissed you in the practice room. He would’ve touched you where the light hit, breathed in your air before stealing the words from your lips. If he was braver he would take the teasing from the other boys, if he was braver he would share his love with the whole world… but it’s so safe like this. 

The planet goes silent when he’s alone with you, the only thing on his mind your strawberry kisses. 

“You’re so pretty, tiny.” he whispers, his hands coming around your waist to clutch at you, holding on to you like he’ll never get the chance again. 

“You’re prettier, Innie, like a daydream.” In any other situation, your words would bring a scowl to his face, but here all alone in this empty room, he can’t help but smile. How lovesick can he be that he doesn’t find your silly confessions corny anymore? 

He can’t wait another moment without kissing you, without feeling your life bleed into his. In seconds he’s decided, and without hesitation he’s settling his rosebud lips against yours. The kiss is slow, a profession of everything he won’t let himself say out loud: He loves you, you’re perfect, you’re all he’s ever wanted. He kisses you in place of words that won’t come, his palms encasing your face so delicately, a caress that's been perfected. 

After a lifetime he pulls away, leaving you with goosebumps and shaky vision, you understood what he was saying. Heard every word he put into the kiss, felt every feeling he needed you to feel. 

He may not be able to love you in more than a whisper, but it’s the prettiest lullaby you’ve ever heard. 

© LUVTAK 2024

[softspiderling]

your ex don’t do it for ya | m.d

summary:

He inclined his head towards Sam, who was standing in the backyard with a drink in her hand, talking to a cute guy, laughing. Her hand was on his arm, and he was standing a smidge too closer to her. Yeah, okay, you had to admit Miguel might be right about this one.

“So, you see that and you don’t even care?” you asked, turning back to Miguel with raised eyebrows.

“Yeah. I don’t care. See what I mean?”

OR; you give friendly advice one time and suddenly you’re the go to relationship expert

pairing: miguel diaz x reader

warnings: miguel and sam are dating at the beginning of this, there’s no cheating, mig and reader only become a thing way after sam and miguel break up. No smut, but alluding to it,

word count: 5,9k

author’s note: i can’t believe this is my first miguel fic. it feels like i’ve written so much for him already but this basically wrote itself 😭 it is also based on my dream, so rlly enjoy whatever my head cooked up! 🫶🏼 @katcoquette hoping this motivates you to finish cobra kai😔

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

“Hey, can I ask you something?”

“Yes, you and Tory are too young to get married.”

“What.”

You cracked a grin at your paper, looking up to see your best friend standing in the doorway of your bedroom, looking distressed. Which was nothing new when it came to Robby, to be fair. He had a knack for getting involved in situations that had nothing to do with him.

“I’m just messing with you,” you sighed, leaning back in your chair and stretching out your arms. You had been working on your paper for the last two hours, you could use a break, and whatever was on Robby’s mind, seemed like the best bet. “What’s up?”

Robby sighed, running a hand through his hair.

Yikes. You definitely weren’t going to like this.

“Miguel’s going through something and he asked me for advice… I wasn’t sure what to say, though,” he started and you gave him a look.

“… Advice concerning what?”

He pulled a face.

“Sam.”

You groaned, leaning your head back. Sam was… Okay. You didn’t really care for her. The way she treated Robby, kissing Miguel while she was still with Robby, causing the fight that lead Robby to make the worst decision of his life. Yes, he was on good terms with Sam now and yes, his life worked out despite its bumps, but still. You got along with Sam for everyone’s sake, but she definitely wasn’t one of your favorite people.

“They’re definitely too young to get married,” you said and Robby rolled his eyes at you.

“That’s not the problem.”

“Then what is?” you sighed. Miguel and Sam were probably the cheesiest couple you know, what sort of troubles could they be having?

“Miguel feels like they hit a roadblock in their relationship. Now with Sam graduating from UCLA soon... They were talking about moving in together.”

You nodded. “Makes sense.”

“Yeah, Miguel doesn’t want to do that.”

“What.” You stared at Robby and he threw his hands up.

“Exactly! He said he knew it was the next logical step in their relationship, but he just doesn’t want to.”

“That doesn’t sound good.”

“That’s what I said!” Robby exclaimed, clearly working himself up and you gently pushed his hands back down.

“Okay, Robby chill,” you told him. “I know you’re a problem solver, but honestly, this doesn’t sound like there’s much you can do to help.”

Robby only frowned at you and you straightened out the frown on his forehead with your fingers. “I mean it. Sometimes, all you can do is listen, alright? And it sounds like you did. So take a breather, give them some space to figure it out.”

He stared at you for a good while and you could tell that he was about to frown again, but he sighed in surrender, nodding. “Okay. Thanks for talking it through with me.”

“course. That’s what I’m here for.”

Robby gave you a small smile, knocking on your desk. “Don’t forget we’re having the party for the gatorade thing next Saturday.”

Gatorade thing, he said. His and Tory’s sponsorship that would be announced to the public next Friday, and the small party for their friends they were throwing at your place.

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world. Considering I live here.”

He gave you an exasperated look and you grinned at him, shooing him out of your room to return to your paper. When Robby left, shutting your bedroom door behind him, you thought this would be the last you’d hear Miguel and Sam’s relationship problems. Come to think of it, Sam and Miguel would probably have worked it out with no problems and go see some condos to rent, but to your surprise, you were proven wrong.

When Saturday came around, and people started showing up at your place, buffet decked out with every single Gatorade flavor there was, you saw Miguel and Sam arrive together, but quickly part ways as soon as they said their hellos.

You were no relationship expert, but that didn’t look like a couple that was excited to move in together. But who were you to judge? You pushed their business to the back of your head and continued to play co-host. A while later, you had finally given up your hosting duties back to Robby and Tory, you were walking around, drink in your hand, when you found Miguel leaning on the wall in the living room, sipping on his drink. He was staring into the distance, like he was on a different planet.

“Hey, you good?”

Your words seemed to snap him out of it, as he looked down to you, a small smile on his face.

“Hey, yeah, sorry, I was lost in thoughts.”

You nodded slowly, taking a sip from your drink.

“Uh huh.”

Miguel paused, his forehead creasing before he let out a soft sigh.

“Robby told you, didn’t he?”

You feigned ignorance, widening your eyes for good measure.

“What? No…”

Miguel gave you a look and you only shrugged with your shoulders. “Hey, you know he’s someone who likes to talk about things that stress him out, and he couldn’t really talk to Tory about it so it was me. And I’m not too thrilled about being dragged into this either, okay?”

Miguel sighed, nodding. “Yeah, yeah I know. I just don’t want this to spread like a wildfire. I don’t want to hurt Sam. I just don’t see us living together right now…” he trailed off, staring at the ground.

“Have you ever thought about just talking to her?”

“I have, but she’s just gonna take it the wrong way and it’ll start a fight,” Miguel huffed. “It’s not a problem in a relationship, it’s a problem with me. I don’t want to hurt her, I really care about her.”

“Okay, so you care about her, that’s good, right?” you said, but he didn’t look convinced. “Or… It isn’t?”

“It feels different.”

Miguel frowned, trying to find the right words and you let him, swishing your almost empty drink in your cup. You wished you had filled it up before talking to Miguel, this seemed like a good conversation to have while drunk.

“I care about her, but it’s not the way I felt about her before.”

“Like, that you care more about her, or…?”

“No, it’s like… I used to get so jealous when she was talking to other guys and laughing about their jokes,” he explained. “But now, it’s like, eh, whatever. That’s not right, is it?”

You bit back a smile. “Mig, that’s not necessarily a bad thing. It just means that you trust her. Not everyone has to be a raging jealous boyfriend.”

“Not even if she’s flirting with someone else in front of everyone we know?”

“What?”

He inclined his head towards Sam, who was standing in the backyard with a drink in her hand, talking to a cute guy, laughing. Her hand was on his arm, and he was standing a smidge too closer to her. Yeah, okay, you had to admit Miguel might be right about this one.

“So you see that and you don’t even care?” you asked, turning back to Miguel with raised eyebrows.

“Yeah. I don’t care. See what I mean?”

Wow.

You let out an exhale, nodding slowly before pursing your lips.

“When’s the last time you guys fucked?”

Miguel snorted and you rolled your eyes. “Sorry, made love,” you said, quoting with your fingers and he huffed.

“That’s not-” he broke off, shaking his head. “We haven’t had sex in a while, okay?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Meaning what? A week? Two?”

“Try four.”

“Four weeks is fine, Miguel,” you said, but he snorted.

“Four months.”

“FOUR MONTHS!?”

Your voice was louder than intended and everyone around you gave you a look, while Miguel snickered into his cup. You shooed the starers back into their own conversations before turning back to Miguel, slapping his arm.

“Why haven’t you guys had sex in four months? You’ve seen each other plenty,” you argued.

“I don’t know. I just don’t feel like it anymore,” he said, defensive. “It’s not like she’s initiating either. When we first started dating, we were all over each other, one little touch and I was ready to go but now?”

He looked away, taking another sip from his cup. It really seemed like it was bothering him and you softened a little. While you didn’t care for Sam, Miguel became a pretty big part of your life after he and Robby patched things up, even more so when Johnny married Carmen. If Sam was what made him happy, who were you to stand in the way of that?

“Maybe it’s a stress thing?” you suggested, putting your cup down. “When you’ve got a lot of things on your mind, sex is the last thing you’re thinking about. Let me try something?”

Miguel gave his go ahead with a brief nod, and you placed your hand on his chest. You felt a little awkward, with Sam being right around the corner and you being such good friends with Miguel, but he needed your help, so you placed your other hand on his bicep, like you were flirting with him. The touch was innocent enough, you just wanted to gauge his reaction. When you looked up at him, Miguel’s eyes were wide and you only cocked a curious eyebrow at him.

“Yeah, my libido’s not the problem,” he said in a tight voice, licking his lips before he gently pushed your hands off him. You were only slightly off put, taking a step back, feeling weirdly rejected.

“Well, then I don’t really know what to tell you,” you said, picking your cup back up to hide behind it. “I really think you should just talk to Sam.”

Miguel sighed, leaning his head against the wall, staring at the ceiling.

“It seems like it might be the only thing left for me to do.”

“PARTY PEOPLE!”

You jumped a little when Hawk came through the door, a speaker balancing on his shoulder, blasting 90’s music, Moon and Demetri hot on his heels. The vibe of the party immediately shifted, with everyone lifting their cups to cheer, pushing Tory and Robby to the front.

“Well, if that’s not the sign to break up this little pity party,” Miguel mused, gesturing towards the crowd. You rolled your eyes at him in exasperation before the two of you pushed away from the wall to join the crowd, with Demetri passing out a weird mix of gatorade and vodka.

The party lasted until the early morning hours. With everyone being so busy, it wasn’t often that everyone could come around, so you used every opportunity to catch up with your friends you could get. When the last people left, neither you, Tory nor Robby were up for cleaning up, so you pushed it for the next morning.

Which you deeply regretted.

It was past noon when you arose from your slumber with only a slight headache pounding in your head. You padded out of your room, and the house was still quiet, so Tory and Robby must still be asleep. As you made your way to the kitchen, you stopped in your tracks, seeing the remnants of the party, groaning.

“I need coffee,” you muttered to yourself, continuing your way to the kitchen.

After some coffee, you felt more awake to tackle the mess in the house, equipped with two trash bags. You were clearing away the empty cups on the kitchen counter when Tory found you, eyes still bleary.

“Hey.”

“Morning,” she said, yawning into her hand. “Have you been up for long?”

“Eh, like fifteen minutes or so. I made coffee.”

You jerked your heard towards the coffee machine and Tory only nodded, walking over to the coffee machine to fix herself a cup without another comment. You were used to it. Neither you nor Tory were morning people; a stark contrast to Robby, who woke up with sunshine in his ass. As Tory finished her first cup of coffee, you were wiping down the counter, because you distinctly remembered Demetri spilling gatorade all over it while he was mixing “vodkarade”, as he called it.

“Hey, thanks again for agreeing to host the party,” Tory said, putting her empty mug in the sink, coming over to help you with the empty bottles, collecting them in a box. “Brandon’s in a mood and I wasn’t going to force him to socialize with our friends.”

“It’s fine,” you snorted with a laugh. “It was fun

The two of you cleaned in silence, before Tory spoke up again, her tone hesitant.

“I saw that you talked to Miguel last night,” she started, and you tensed a little, trying to play it off. “Is he okay?”

Did Robby tell her something? Or did Sam?

“Yeah, he seemed fine to me. Why?” you asked back, trying to to deflect. Tory only shrugged, tightening the cap around the empty tequila bottle.

“I don’t know. I feel like he and Sam feel off, somehow. We used to hangout a lot but in the past few weeks one of them always canceled. And last night, I barely saw them together.”

Yeah, it was definitely time for Miguel to talk to Sam.

“Have you talked to Sam about it?” you asked Tory casually and she scoffed, giving you a look.

“No, that would just open a whole can of worms,” she said, vehemently shaking her head. “I don’t want to get involved in their drama. I’m just worried.”

“I’m sure they’ll figure out, whatever it might be,” you told her with an encouraging smile, really hoping that you weren’t lying to her. Tory nodded slowly, not entirely convinced as she filled the box with the rest of the empty bottles. The sound of Robby’s feet padding into the kitchen made you both look to the doorway as he paused, his hair still messy from having just woken up.

“Aw, you guys should’ve woken me up to clean!”

With the three of you, it didn’t take long until the house was spotless again. Eventually, Robby and Tory left, because he was taking her and Brandon out for dinner, and you had the house to yourself. After a nice long shower, you settled on the couch, clicking through Netflix to find something brain-rotting to watch, when there was a knock on the door.

“Come in,” you called over your shoulder.

“Hey, it’s me!” Miguel called out over the sound of the door closing again, before he appeared in the living room. “Robby and Tory out?”

“Yeah,” you replied, frowning at the tv. When did they take Law & Order: SVU off Netflix?

“You know you really shouldn’t be leaving the door unlocked for anyone to enter when you’re home by yourself,” he pointed out, dropping on the couch next to you.

“Why not?” you asked, eyes still trained on the tv. “I know some karate.”

“No you don’t.”

“No I don’t,” you admitted, finally turning to look at Miguel, an eyebrow raised. He looked unsettled, his cheeks a little red. “What’s up?”

“We had a fight.”

“Of course you did,” you sighed, the picture perfect view you previously had of Miguel and Sam’s relationship fading more and more. “What was it about?”

“I don’t even know,” Miguel groaned, rubbing his hand over his face. “We were just talking about how nice last night was and then she brought up how she saw us talking, and I said that she seemed pretty cozy with that guy and then everything just spiraled from there.”

“So you did care that she was flirting with that guy!” you said, triumphantly, like it was some sort of breakthrough, but he only shook his head, dropping it back on the cushions.

“No! I was just mad because it felt like she was accusing me of something!”

“Well, it sounds like you both accused each other of something.”

Miguel only grumbled something incoherent and you rolled your eyes at him. If this was what it was like to be in a relationship, you were glad that you weren’t in one. You smacked his arm to get his attention.

“Don’t you think that was the perfect time to bring up your thoughts? I mean, you were already fighting, what’s one more thing?”

He peeked an eye open to glare at you.

“I chickened out.”

“No shitting.”

You sighed, turning your body towards him while tucking your legs under your body. “Look, I don’t want to alarm you, but Tory asked me if I knew what was up with you.”

Miguel’s eyes widened comically, and if he didn’t look so panicked, you’d laugh. “She did? What did you say?”

“There isn’t much to say, is there?” you asked back, exasperated. “She’s worried, Mig. Whatever this thing with Sam is, it’s not going to resolve itself, if you won’t talk about it. Actually, I feel like it’s getting worse.”

“I know, I know,” Miguel huffed. “I will, okay? I promise

“Hey, you don’t have to promise me anything. You’re the one who’s suffering if you won’t talk to her,” you pointed out and Miguel pursed his lips, nodding.

“You’re right,” he relented, puffing out his cheeks as he exhaled loudly. He reached for the tv remote, zapping through the things Netflix was offering, and you leaned back on the couch, resigned. Despite what you had said to him, you worried that this could affect you more, if it went on any longer. Robby was already in the middle of it, dragging you right with him and now that Tory noticed, it was only a matter of time until more people would say something.

But not your monkey, not your circus, right?

Wrong.

Over the next few days, you spent more time with Miguel then not. You knew he was trying to avoid Sam and you kept reminding him to stop putting it off, but to no avail. Until it was a couple of days since you had seen him, which then turned into a week. It was weird, because you had gotten so used to him, but maybe he and Sam patched things up and he was too busy to let you know. You tried to be happy about it, but a part of you felt a little sick.

“I still can’t believe they’re sending you a driver.”

Robby only glanced back at you with a grin as he packed the last of his bag. He and Tory were headed out to a karate championship in San Francisco and their agency sent them a personal car to take them to the airport.

“You know I could’ve taken you.”

Or Miguel, if he had bothered to show up.

“Nah, we wouldn’t have made you drive through all that traffic, especially not by yourself.”

Robby zipped up his bag, shouldering it as he walked out of the house, while you followed him.

“Well, I was offering, so…”

“Offering what?” Tory asked, critically watching the driver stuff their bags into the trunk before looking at you.

“To drive us to the airport,” Robby replied with a small grin, putting his bag on top of the rest of their luggage. The driver made an almost imperceptible face, gently taking the bag to sort it himself. Tory snickered at you, wrapping an arm around your shoulder.

“Thanks but we got our own driver .”

“Yeah, yeah,” you grumbled, shaking your head for good measure. “Wasn’t Miguel supposed to come today? He would’ve agreed with me.”

“Yeah, he was supposed to. But I figured with everything going on right now, I’d give him a pass,” Robby said, brushing his hair back. Of course he did. Your best friend was a saint.

“Oh come on,” you huffed, rolling your eyes. “Just because he’s scared to bring up a problem in their relationship with Sam, doesn’t mean he’s allowed a pass.”

Tory gave you a weird look before she exchanged glances with Robby, who looked equally puzzled. Why did it feel like you were missing something?

“What.”

“You know they broke up, right?”

Your mouth dropped.

“What?”

“I thought he told you,” Robby said with furrowed brows.

You let out an indignant huff, shaking your head. “No. I haven’t heard from him for a couple of days, I figured they made up or something.”

“Quite the opposite,” Tory said, wincing. “But they seem to be doing fine.”

Huh.

You couldn’t help but feel annoyed, but there was no time to grill them any further, the driver giving them a sign that it was time to leave.

“Alright, you guys have a good flight,” you said, quickly hugging the both of them. “Text me when you’ve landed. And good luck.”

The two quickly got into the car, before the black, sleek Mercedes pulled out of the drive way. You stayed stood, until they disappeared down the street, like you were frozen in time, your thoughts swirling. With a frown, small sigh, you headed back inside. A few days go by, a couple of messages from Robby and Tory, telling you about their competition and possible new sponsors, but none from Miguel. You tried to give him space, that was what people needed after a break up, right?

Sitting on the couch, some mindless tv show running in the background, when your phone pinged. Quickly, you picked up, thinking it might be Miguel, but there were no new messages.

“Ugh!” you groaned, tossing your phone into the corner of the couch. This is the fifth time you were imagining your phone going off. Crossing your arms, you stewed in silence, your head spinning.

“No, because fuck that,” you finally muttered to yourself, grabbing your phone, keys and rushing outside the door, taking your car to Miguel’s place.

The drive didn’t take long, most of it done on autopilot while you were going through what you would throw at his head and before you knew it, you were pulled up in front of his place. You made quick work of parking and then, you were already pounding on his door with your fist.

“Hey asshole!”

The door opened, and Miguel stood in front of you, his eyes wide.

“Jesus, what is going on?”

You glared at him, poking his chest with your index finger. “So I’m good enough to come to when you’re having problems but I have to hear it from Robby that you and Sam broke up?”

Your voice was loud, undoubtedly offering free entertainment to Miguel’s neighbors but you didn’t care. Miguel cursed under his breath, grabbing you by the wrist to drag you inside, shutting the door behind you. You frowned at him, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Well?”

He shook his head at you. “Look, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you okay… I was…” he broke off with a huff, running his hand through his hair. You only stared at him expectantly and Miguel avoided your eyes, starting to pace back and forth.

“When Sam and I broke up, we talked and it just made me realize some things, okay?” Miguel explained, sighing. “I just needed some time to think.”

“Realized what?” you asked, but he only wrung his hands, unable to look you in the eyes as he kept pacing back and forth. You let out a loud sigh, throwing your hands up.

“Miguel, what?”

Miguel looked at you, taking a deep breath before he leaned in, pressing his lips against yours. You froze, not having expected it, and as soon as he noticed your lack of reaction, he pulled away, stepping back, his eyes wide.

“I’m so sorry, I should’ve-”

Before he could finish his sentence, you grabbed a fistful of his shirt, pulling him down to you so you could kiss him back. The kiss started out slow at first, before it started to deepen, with Miguel backing you up against the wall, your head meeting the back of his hand instead of the wall. The kiss turned messy, hot, tongues interlocking, and you were gasping into his mouth. This is not what you had expected to happen when you came here to yell at Miguel because of Sam.

Sam.

Miguel’s ex.

Whom he just broke up with.

“Wait wait wait wait,” you said, pulling away as you caught your breath, ignoring how Miguel was chasing after your lips. “What are we even doing right now?”

He quirked a grin at you. “If you’re still questioning that, I’m definitely doing something wrong,” he murmured, leaning in to pepper small kisses along your neck. You leaned your head back against the wall, sighing softly, letting yourself be selfish for a second, before you gently pushed Miguel away, who looked at you in confusion.

“What’s wrong?”

You looked up at him, and he was looking at you at you with those big brown eyes, and you only groaned, turning away.

“Miguel, you and Sam just broke up, I’m not gonna be a rebound hook up, not with you.”

His eyes softened a little, his hand reaching out to tuck a stray strand of your hair behind your ear.

“Sam and I didn’t just break up,” he started. “When we finally sat down to talk, we both realized that our relationship had ended a while ago. Somehow, somewhere, we both lost our feelings for each other. I still care about her,” he clarified. “But not the way I used to. Not the way I care about you.”

Your eyebrows shot up in surprise, your mouth opening to interject, but Miguel pressed a finger on your lips.

“Just let me finish?”

With a sigh, you nodded, and he continued.

“I thought something was genuinely wrong with me when I stopped being attracted to Sam, but when you did that thing at the party… I realized I just wasn’t attracted to her anymore. So I guess I did feel a little guilty when Sam accused me of letting you feel me up while I was still with her, even though she was just trying to have a talk.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, while he smiled down at you.

“I guess I always thought you were pretty, but I never realized how pretty you were until that night. And it didn’t help that you kept trying to give me advice to patch things up with Sam, even though I knew that it was getting on your nerves.”

Scoffing, you gave him a look and Miguel only laughed, shaking his head.

“Trust me, this is not a rebound hook up. I wouldn’t risk out friendship nor my relationship with Robby for that.”

You still weren’t entirely convinced as you thought it over in your head. “And you’re sure about that?”

“Yes, a 100%,” he confirmed, his hand cupping around the side of your neck, his touch gentle as his thumb gently caressed along your jaw. “Okay?”

You breathed out deeply, like you were collecting all the bravery you could muster, before you nodded, your lips tugged into a small smile. “Okay.”

Miguel leaned in to kiss you again and you eagerly returned it, wrapping your arms around his neck, the kiss deepening. It didn’t take long for Miguel to pick you up, your legs wrapped around his waist as he carried you to the bedroom, where he quickly made you forget everything but the two of you.

“I’m really glad you came here to yell at me.”

You were still catching your breath, chest heaving and that was the last thing you had expected him to say, out of all things. You glanced over to Miguel with a grin, his curls sticking a little to his sweaty forehead. The sun was shining through the window, reflecting the small specks of gold in his eyes as he looked at you. He looked kind of beautiful in this light, despite the sinful things he had just done to you.

“That a kink of yours, Diaz?” you teased, reaching out to gently brush his hair off his forehead and he only rolled his eyes at you fondly.

“I’m just saying. You coming here gave me the push I needed. I don’t know how long I would’ve just tried to avoid you,” he admitted, scooting up behind you to wrap his arms around your waist. “I’m not a confrontational person.”

“Excuse me?” you laughed, glancing over your shoulder in disbelief. “I recall you confronting Robby multiple times before you guys finally made up.”

“That’s different, I had no chance of losing a fight to Robby.”

“Okay El Serpiente,” you snickered and Miguel only squeezed your waist in retaliation, even though you could feel his mouth curve up against your shoulder blade.

“Speaking of Robby,” Miguel started, pressing a kiss to your cheek. “How do you plan on telling him?”

“Wait, why do I have to tell him?” you asked, furrowing your brows.

“You’re his best friend.”

“You’re his brother.”

“You’ve known him longer. And you live with him,” Miguel pointed out and you sighed, absentmindedly tracing circles into the back of his hand.

“Fine, I guess you make a good point,” you admitted with a pursed lips. “Honestly, I think he might be fine with it, it’s just gonna be an uncomfortable situation, like having the sex talk with your parents.”

“I don’t know whether I should feel insulted or honored.”

You laughed, but before you could reply, you could hear the distinct sound of the front door open.

“Mig, was that your front door?” you whispered, alarmed and he only looked at you confused.

“Miguel? You home?”

Both of you blanched when you recognized Robby’s voice, starting to panic.

“What the fuck is he doing back already?” you hissed and Miguel only shrugged, his eyes darting around his bedroom, trying to find a good hiding spot.

“Miguel?”

“In the bedroom, sorry I’ll be right out!” Miguel yelled back but you could hear Robby’s footsteps come closer, so you did the first thing you could think of: Hiding under the cover and lay as flat as possible.

“Hey, were you just talking to someone?”

Robby’s voice sounded close. Too close. You could only hope he wouldn’t see you behind Miguel.

“Hey man.,” Miguel greeted him, too cheerful to be inconspicuous and you bit back a groan. “Um, no, just here by myself.”

“Okay… Sorry to barge in here like this, I just wanted to see if you were okay.” Damn Robby and his big heart. “- so I thought I’d come check up on you. By the way, you haven’t seen her around, have you? I saw her car on the street.”

Damn it.

“What? No, haven’t seen her for a few days,” Miguel said, shifting under the blankets. “Maybe she’s just visiting someone in the neighborhood.”

“Hey if she’s around, how about the three of us go grab a bite?” Robby suggested. “Let me give her a call.”

“Wait, Robby-”

Your phone started to ring, echoing in the bedroom, in the back pocket of your jeans.

No no no no no no no.

Suddenly, your phone stopped ringing and the silence that followed was deafening. For a few seconds, no one said anything. Until-

“That better not be my best friend under your covers.”

With a defeated sigh, you slowly emerged from under the blanket, peeking at Robby from behind Miguel, a sheepish smile on your face, which your best friend only met with a blank stare.

“Hey Robby, what if you go wait in the living room for us and we’ll be right out…?” Miguel’s suggestion was carefully worded, like he was trying not to set him off and Robby only blinked at you, before sighing, turning to leave.

Miguel glanced back to you, his forehead creased in worry. “That could’ve gone better.”

With a frustrated groan, you let your head fall back onto the pillow and stared up at the ceiling, cursing whatever God that set this in motion.

“You should go.”

“You should go.”

You and Miguel both said at the same time, before looking at each other, frowning. After questioning your life choices that led you to this moment, you and Miguel both got dressed to meet Robby in the living room. He was sitting on the arm chair, with a look on his face that you couldn’t quite read.

“Someone should definitely go,” Robby said, pinching the bridge of his nose. Miguel sighed, a pained look on his face.

“This is my mom and sensei all over again,” he muttered to himself before leaning towards Robby, clearing his throat. “Look Robby, obviously we didn’t want you to find out like this.”

“How long has this been going on exactly?”

You and Miguel exchanged a look before you turned back to Robby. “Well, today…”

Robby squinted his eyes at you, then, he looked at Miguel. “When you told me you kind of had feelings for someone, that would be.”

“Me.”

“Her.”

“Did you know about this?” Robby asked you, accusatory and you only frowned at him.

“What? No! I came here today to yell at him because he didn’t even tell me that he and Sam broke up, I didn’t intend to-”

“Okay okay I don’t need to hear all that,” Robby quickly interjected, waving his hands at you until you stopped talking. His eyes kept darting between you and Miguel, like he couldn’t quite decide who to yell at first. Then, he sighed. “I guess I somehow should’ve seen this coming… You guys happy like this?”

You turned to Miguel, who was already looking at you with a smile on his face. “Yeah.”

“Ugh, you guys make me sick.”

A pillow was thrown in Robby’s direction, which he quickly dodged with a laugh. Meanwhile, Miguel scooted closer to you, wrapping his arm around your shoulder. Robby watched you for a second, before he shook his head.

“At least dad’s gonna be thrilled,” he snorted and you only rolled your eyes, leaning back into Miguel, who furrowed his brows.

“Why thrilled?”

“He always wanted us to date,” Robby explained, speaking over your loud ew. “At least one of his sons is following his wishes.”

“Let’s just wait before we tell people,” Miguel said, rubbing your arm. “Enjoy the peace and quiet before the crazy begins.”

You nodded in agreement and Robby only shrugged with his shoulders. “Fine with me if it means you guys keep the PDA to an all time low while we’re in public.”

“Didn’t you literally make out with Tory in front of like thousands of people on live tv?” you argued and Robby shook his head.

“That’s different. The world champion title was on the line.”

With a huff, you crossed your arms over your chest.

“I hate karate.”

“Hey!”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

author's note: your honor I love them

[wakebymoonsleepbysun]

Untitled Spamton X Reader fic Ch1

The stress of election night made me cave and start writing a self-indulgent Spamton x Reader fic...that I was hoping to finish that night but as you can see it took me a bit longer because writing 6k words in one night is hard. T_T

Anyway, he's my entry into the genre of "Reader finds Spamton in a dumpster and takes him home" fics. Maybe there's room for one more in that category? 🥺

Not sure if/when I'll continue working on this but uh. Here y'all go.

(Also sorry I spend the first few paragraphs writing an actual vent post about my actual job adfajdafjdal)

------

Today hasn’t exactly been noteworthy. It’s just another day, like so many you’ve had before. Wake up, trudge over to your desk, sign on to work, pretend you’ve been awake for at least an hour longer than you have been, and rub the sleep out of your eyes while you gnosh on a cereal bar because (as usual) you don’t have time to make anything else before your morning meetings start.

You pay no more or less attention than usual, picking away at your own tasks while two of your coworkers have an in depth discussion on something you probably don’t need to concern yourself with. With your camera off they are left to assume you’re listening just as raptly as they’d wish you to.

The meeting ends and you dive fully into your work. You enjoy programming. The product itself (some productivity-helper app that’s not much different than dozens of others) is not of particular interest to you. You don’t even use it in your personal life--only for checking on work-related things.

You get a ping from a coworker. The dev environment is down. Again. He doesn’t know how to fix it. He heard you do?

You suppress a sigh that he wouldn’t’ve heard through the screen anyway.

You fixed it once, about a year ago, out of desperation. It had been an easy fix but somehow it had been enough to convince people you Knew What You Were Doing, and a couple more fixes later, you found yourself in the unenviable position of “The Guy (gender-neutral)”. 

You close several windows and open several more, your previous task for the day forgotten. Two more people ping you. Did you know the dev environment is down? Yes. Your boss pings you. Did you know? Of course you know.

You dive back into the spaghetti code you still don’t fully understand. The person who wrote it left six months ago. You follow a thread of convoluted logic, only to lose your train of thought when another colleague messages you.

Did you know?

YES.

Line by line, search query after search query, you toil to untangle the mess.

And suddenly find your own code staring you back in the face. The very first fix you’d made had been defective. Impermanent. A flimsy rubber band that had finally snapped.

You frown. You wonder what you’d been thinking when you’d fixed it before. The flaw in your approach seems obvious now. And yet somehow it had been good enough for you to be crowned “The Guy (gender-neutral)”. 

You sure weren’t “The Guy (gender-neutral)” then…but maybe you are now. Or close to it.

A couple more keystrokes and dev is back in business.

…It’s also the middle of the night, your colleagues have signed off, and you forgot to eat dinner. Again.

You crash down from the high of your accomplishment--deflated, hungry, and tired. You message chat that everything’s fixed but you’ll be late tomorrow, and close your work computer.

How had you worked for twelve hours without even noticing? Maybe you like programming more than you thought.

You’re not sure how you feel about that.

You rise from your chair with a tired groan, padding out to the kitchen.

…Where you promptly see--and worse, smell--the bag of trash you meant to take out this morning.

“Ugggghhhh…” you groan in disgust and self-pity, your shoulders slumping.

You grumble to yourself in frustration as you pull on your coat, grab the bag roughly by the handles as if it had any more say its fate than you, and proceed to name-drop every one of your coworkers in your mumblings as you make your way down four flights of stairs.

…Only to realize it’s raining. Not exactly a downpour--light enough that you didn’t hear it from your apartment, but heavy enough that you’ll definitely be soaked if you try to get to the dumpster.

Whatever. You’re not lugging the trash bag back up the stairs only to get your umbrella. You were going to change into your PJs while dinner was cooking anyway.

You grit your teeth and cross the dimly lit parking lot to the three-wall, roofless structure that contains the dumpsters and recycling bins. 

The rain in your eyes, the dim lighting, and your own grim determination to be done with your task almost cause you to miss it, but as you’re attempting to dry your hands before stuffing them back in your coat pockets, you see it.

A small white boot sticking out from the gap between the dumpster and the enclosure. You’re not sure what draws you to it--at first you think it’s just an old discarded piece of clothing that fell out of the overflowing bin.

Your gut instinct realizes what your conscious mind hasn’t yet, forcing you to take a step towards it and get a closer look.

Your stomach twists as you realize the boot is definitely still attached to something. At first you think it’s a child, but the figure’s odd proportions dismiss the idea before you can even so much as cry out in alarm.

The head accounts for about a third of the height, and the shoulders are strangely broad, with the legs being rather short in proportion. Though all that is trivial compared to the distinctly inhuman face.

Well…it’s probably meant to be based on a human, you realize, but it certainly isn’t one. The large mouth is fixed in a permanent, uncannily huge grin, and the pointed nose is cartoonishly long. A pair of glasses cover the eyes, the lenses of which are currently dark.

It’s too big to be a doll. A ventriloquist puppet, maybe? The jaw looks articulated in the way that such puppets usually are. Not that you know much about puppets or puppetry.

But you think they’re usually expensive…though price aside, even this scuffed up, damaged figure seems deserving of a fate better than being tossed into some dumpster. You’ve always been the sentimental sort who feels sorry for lost and damaged toys, despite knowing full well that they’re not “real”.

Someone had once believed they were, and then they just…stopped.

You shake off the melancholy thought with a literal shake of your head, flinging raindrops from your hair. 

You crouch down beside the puppet, tucking your hands under its arms and hoisting it up, only to nearly drop it as your grip fumbles. It’s way heavier than you’d expected! You’d assumed ventriloquist puppets were mostly hollow, but this one certainly isn’t. Maybe your assumption had just been wrong?

It’s going to be more of a pain to lug this thing back to your apartment, but well…in for a penny, in for a pound. Or fifty. Whichever.

There’s also something a bit odd about its joints…its limbs don’t flop around as much as you’d expect, but you chalk that up to the joints being partially stuck.

You carry it upright, your arms around its waist while its arms drape over your shoulders. You swear you hear a slight groan from it as you push the stairwell door open with your hip. It must have a voice box? Did puppets usually have those? Either way, the low, droning suggested the batteries were almost dead. 

You finally make it up to your unit. If it hadn’t been raining you’d’ve been drenched with sweat now. As it is, it’s probably still mostly rainwater, but you try not to think about how much of a sweat you worked up carrying the heavy thing upstairs. 

You kick the door shut behind you, flinching when it closes a bit louder than you’d meant it to. You take the puppet to the kitchen, laying it on its back on the counter. Or trying to…one of its hands gets caught on the hood of your jacket. When you reach up to pull it free, you realize the joints of the hand had curled in at some point, gripping the hoodie.

There’s something…off about that, about this whole thing, but…it’s just a puppet…right?

There’s nothing else it could be, really…

You remove your jacket, tossing it over the back of one of the dining chairs for now. There’s really no reason for you to tend to the puppet before yourself, but…

You grab a paper towel and begin wiping the grime and rainwater from its face, occasionally glancing at the darkened glasses that obscure its eyes. What an odd looking thing…but puppets often are.

You can’t quite tell what it’s made of. Wood or plastic are your best guesses but neither of them quite fit. It has the smooth rigidness of plastic but somehow, paradoxically, it also seems somewhat organic and is a bit warmer than you’d expect a rain soaked toy to be. The material’s even a bit malleable. The nose even has a bit of give, you realize as you push on it experimentally, bending it downwards. Foam, maybe?

As you push on the nose, the head abruptly turns away, and another low, rattly moan plays from the voice box.

With a gasp, you quickly pull away. Does…this thing have some kind of mechanism to move on its own? Maybe it’s only meant to look like a puppet, but is actually more of a robotic toy? That would explain the weight, you suppose…

But it certainly adds to the mystery of why anyone would throw it away.

You cup its cheek in one hand as you use the other to wipe some grime from its hair.

Your gaze drifts downward and you realize its clothes should probably be removed and hung up to dry.

…Why does that thought cause your face to heat up? You’ve fixed up old dolls and toys before, with no particular regard for their modesty.

You’re just tired. You’re tired and had a stressful day and it’s making you just a bit silly. That’s all.

You reach down and start attempting to remove the puppet’s blazer. Before you can undo the first button, though, its arm shoots up, its small hand wrapping around your wrist.

“[[ Showroom model only--not available for purchase! ]] [[ Break it you buy it!! ]]” Two audio clips in two different voices play from somewhere within the puppet.

You scream in surprise, pulling back so quickly you accidentally drag the puppet off the counter before it can let go of your wrist. You don’t fare much better as your heel catches on the leg of a dining chair, causing you to land hard on your rear.

You place a hand over your chest, trying to calm yourself. There’s a rational explanation for the puppet’s movement on the tip of your tongue, but it flies out the window almost immediately.

The puppet stirs. His glasses go from black to grey static as he lifts a hand to his forehead, struggling to get his bearings. The corners of his mouth are turned down in what you guess must be the closest thing to a frown he can muster with his large, semi-permanent grin. 

“Wh-What the hell…” you breathe in a strained whisper.

“[[ Temp--Temp--Temporarily out of service!! ]]” This audio clip is yet another voice. It sounds like the clip was originally recorded in a peppy, upbeat tone, but the playback is so low and garbled you can’t help but compare it to someone at the brink of death struggling to speak.

The puppet goes limp once again, the grey static on his glasses fading back to black. He’s collapsed on the floor, laying on his side in a growing puddle of rainwater as it slowly runs off his clothes.

You stare at him in stunned silence for several moments.

It’s mechanical. Robotic. A weird toy robot…thing…with low batteries and probably a busted circuit board or two.

It’s not alive.

But why would an expensive toy robot be in the dumpster?

Why would a living puppet be in the dumpster???

Your brain’s just fried from work. You need rest. And probably food. The puppet can wait.

You bite your lip. He’s not alive, but…that’s no reason to just leave him on the floor, right?

You quickly grab one of your fluffy bath towels from the linen closet and wrap the puppet in it, carrying him to the living room and laying him on the couch with far more respect and dignity than a totally-not-alive puppet actually needs, even putting one of your throw pillows under his head.

The rainwater’s going to soak through the towel and you’ll have a damp sofa by the time you finish dinner, but…well. It’ll dry. Whatever.

Still…you take a moment to look him over again as you kneel beside the couch. You place a hand on his cheek, turning his head slightly towards yourself. The grimace from before seems to have relaxed into a fairly neutral smile…you guess that must be his “default” expression.

You brush a few stray locks of hair from his face, then adjust his arms so that his hands are atop his chest--a more comfortable resting position than them splayed haphazardly beside him. As you do, you lightly grip one of his hands. It’s a bit smaller than your own, and the joints are fully articulated, giving it the same range of motion as a human hand.

The hand twitches and you quickly drop it. It lands with a soft thud atop his chest.

Enough silliness. You can look over the puppet once you get your head together.

You go into the bathroom, finally stripping out of your wet clothes and hanging them on the curtain rod to dry before changing into your PJs--some flannel lounge pants and an oversize T-shirt. As you walk back to the kitchen, you glance at the puppet on your couch, but force yourself not to stop and check on him again.

You hope some mac and cheese will pull you out of whatever temporary insanity working for twelve hours straight has inflicted upon you.

*

Spamton stirs as the sound of the soft thudding of a wooden spoon stirring a pot of boiling pasta reaches him.

Where…is he? The towel slides off him as he sits up, and he glances at it curiously, running his thumb over the soft, fluffy fabric. There was never anything this nice in the dumpster, that’s for sure.

But he’s also clearly not in his dumpster. He takes in the sight of your dimly lit apartment, the only light coming from the kitchen.

It doesn’t quite look like any sort of Cyber City apartment he’s ever seen. He can’t quite put his finger on why, but…after a second of thought, the word “mundane” pops into his mind. This place is more mundane than any part of Cyber City he’s ever been to. Though…he supposes he’s really only seen the highest highs and lowest lows…maybe the middle tiers of the city are a bit more mundane. It would make a certain amount of sense, though he can’t help but think the answer’s more complicated than that.

He slides off the couch, looking towards the light spilling from the kitchen.

“Mundane” aside, how’d he get into any apartment? As desperate as he’d gotten, he’d never committed B & E…at least for the purpose of sleeping on some stranger’s couch. And how long has it been since anyone had invited him into their home?

How long has it been since…anything?

Spamton wracks his brain, trying to pull up his most recent memory, whatever he was doing before he ended up here. The last thing he can remember--clearly, anyway--is just sitting in his dumpster in the back alleys of Cyber City, about to doze off.

But…somehow that memory seems like it was from long ago. Weeks, at least. And there are glimpses of something more recent that he can’t quite place.

Green wires.

The rollercoaster, with three carts speeding towards him.

A blue-haired, blue-skinned Lightner.

The latter, he had no idea who they were…and that thought caused a pang of guilt in his chest. They were…important. Why couldn’t he remember?

His gaze drifts back towards the kitchen and he slowly steps towards it.

How do you fit into any of this, he wonders?

*

You’re pouring the pasta and water into the strainer when you hear a sound behind you.

The quiet click of hard-soled shoes on kitchen tile.

You turn to glance behind you, more out of instinct than any expectation to actually see anything.

The puppet is up and walking towards you, a sight so shocking on its own that you don’t even notice the curious, borderline timid expression on his face, nor the way his hands are raised slightly as if to assure you he means no harm.

You wish you’d simply frozen at the sight of him.

Instead, your fatigued, nervous, downright jittery brain panics immediately, spinning fully to face him, despite the pot of boiling water in your hand. Lucky for you it’s nearly empty, but “nearly” is still enough for a decent sized splash to land on your bare forearm.

You cry out in pain, clutching your burned arm to your chest as you collapse onto the floor, your back pressed against the cabinets as you stare wide-eyed at the puppet.

“WOAH !! RELAX [[ valued customer ]]!!” the puppet speaks, his voice far clearer than it had been before. Though there’s still a slight static to it, as if it’s being played over a worn out speaker. “[[ Apologies for the inconvenience ]], I’M NOT--”

Spamton cuts himself off when he realizes you’re now staring down at your burned arm. Your hands are shaking as you stare at your blistering skin, tears of pain--and probably fear--welling in your eyes.

“[[ It Burns! Ow! Stop! Help Me! It Burns! ]]”

Your gaze snaps back to him. “What?!” you yelp, incredulous despite the bizarreness of the situation. Why’s he acting like he’s the one who got burned?

No sooner than the thought enters your head than you notice his slack expression, his glasses once again going staticy. But once again, things seem to pivot on a dime and he snaps out of it so fast you wonder if you weren’t just seeing things.

“SORRY!!” he says, holding up his hands. “DIDN’T MEAN TO [[ all kinds of surprises!! ]] YOU!!”

Spamton steps towards you and you shrink back against the cabinets. He takes the hint and backs off, still holding up his hands. After a brief pause, he snaps his fingers, and to your utter astonishment, a miniature, cherub-like version of himself appears and flitters towards you.

You’re too stunned at the sight to even consider pulling away, your jaw going slack as you watch the little creature land weightlessly on your arm and gently pat the blistering, reddening skin. A wave of green sparkly lights washes over your injury and the burns, along with the cherub, disappear.

A one word question echoes in your mind and you can’t help but speak it aloud in a strained, wavering voice.

“Magic…?”

Spamton dips his head in a nod. He holds up a hand, and the cherub reappears, perching on his finger and giving you a little wave. “YEP! JUST A [[ simple, one-stop solution ]] FOR [[ all your routine medical needs ]],” he says, dismissing the cherub with a wave of his hand. He hesitates, then steps towards you again. When you don’t flinch away, he closes the distance between you two, lightly touching your arm.

“NO MORE [[ It Burns! ]]?”

“U-Uhm,” you stammer. The way his voice sounds so pained when switching to the “It Burns” line is unnerving…you guess it’s just a soundbyte, that he’s not actually feeling the pain or distress the voice line suggests. His expression certainly seems to hold genuine concern, despite the semi-permanent smile. “Y-Yeah…I…” You glance down at his hand on your arm.

He really did heal it. Just like that. The pain and blistering just…gone in an instant. You’d guess you were dreaming, but…there’s no way you’d sleep through such intense pain, imagined or not.

“You…do magic,” you say weakly. The laugh you let out borders on manic. “I mean sure, why wouldn’t you do magic?”

Either he doesn’t notice your sarcasm or chooses to ignore it, for he takes a step back, grinning and puffing out his chest. “WHY NOT INDEED? SPAM   SPAMTON G. SPAMTON [[ #1 Rated Salesman 1997 ]] IS A MAN OF [[ dozens of unique skills ]]!” he declares.

“S-Spamton? That’s…your name?” you ask.

He grins, pointing at you while a DING DING DING chime plays, his glasses lenses switching colors on every beat. “AND [[ who do I have the pleasure of speaking to? ]]”

You tell him your name, still dazed.

He stays silent, canting his head and looking up at you uncertainly, seemingly waiting for you to recover.

“Wh-What are you?” you blurt abruptly.

Spamton blinks, but far from being offended at the question, he tosses his head back and lets out a hearty laugh. “HEAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!” The cadence is a bit faster than a human would typically laugh, almost like the rapid fire of a machine gun…but as laughs go it’s far from unpleasant. “[[ Doll ]] I WAS JUST ABOUT TO [[ Ask Away! ]] YOU THE SAME THING!!”

You blink. “Um. I-I’m…a human. Surely…you’ve seen humans before?”

“OF COURSE!! [[ And don’t call me Shirly ]],” he quips. “BUT I’M NOT SEEING ANY [[ Heart-shaped Object ]].”

“H-Heart shaped object?” you repeat, absently rubbing at your chest. You assume he’s not talking about your actual heart.

“YOU’RE NO DARK >n3R…NOT A LIGHT >n3R EITHER?” he asks, canting his head curiously.

“I-I…I mean I guess not, not that…that I know of?” you say helplessly.

You’re a bit surprised he’s the one questioning you. It hadn’t occurred to you that he’d be just as confounded by his situation as you are.

“IS THIS THE DARK WORLD OR LIGHT WORLD?”

You stare blankly. “I…I don’t know? Neither, I…I think?”

“SO THEN…WH    WHERE IN THE [[ Tri-County Area ]] AM I?”

You stammer a moment, not even sure what sort of answer he’d want for that. “M-My apartment?” you say inanely. At his deadpan, unimpressed look you tell him the name of your city, and when that doesn’t ring a bell, you add your state.

He frowns, tapping his chin with one hand.

“Where are you from, then?”

“CYBER CITY, IN THE DARK WORLD.”

“Doesn’t sound like any place near here…I-Is it…really an entirely different world?”

“[[ Survey Says: ]] YES.”

It’s as likely as anything else. Living puppet with healing magic…why not add world-hopping on top of that at this point?

“[[ You may ask yourself, well, how did I get here? ]]”

“I…don’t know. I mean, I found you in a dumpster and brought you up here. I have no idea where you were before that…”

“BROUGHT ME [[ all the way up ]] HERE? WHY?”

“I um. Well,” you shift uncomfortably. “I…uh, thought you were a toy or puppet or something…”

“TOY NO, PUPPET YES,” he says. As he admits it, his glasses briefly go staticy and his smile fades, but he quickly shakes it off. “SO, DUMPSTER DIVING FOR [[ marketable goods ]], EH?” he chuckles.

“N-No! It was just--” You bite back your protest. You probably should have just said yes. It’s probably less silly than your real reason. At his expectant look, you feel your cheeks heat up. “I-I just…I like…fixing up old toys and it’s just…k-kinda…sad to see them get abandoned…and you just seemed too--” You cut yourself off again. You should have stopped a sentence or two ago, but once again Spamton is looking at you curiously and you feel compelled to complete your statement. “--F-Fancy…to just…be tossed in some landfill…”

You can see his eyes blink in surprise behind his glasses. His slightly open mouth closes with an audible clack and he chuckles. “WELL I AM A BIT OF A [[ Mr. Fancy-Pants ]]...OR AT LEAST I WAS,” he adds, his grin seeming to fade slightly.

A beat of silence passes as he seems to get lost in his own head for a moment, and you think you start to see bits of static appearing in his glasses. The corners of his mouth start to droop as his smile fades.

“W-Well, nothing a bit of mending won’t fix, right?” you say, assuming he’s only referring to his torn up suit and some of the scuffs on his face and hands.

Spamton snaps out of whatever trance he’s in, looking at you in confusion for a moment before his previous smile returns. 

“...RIGHT. WELL, ANYWAY [[ doll ]], THANKS FOR THE [[ solid assist ]] BUT IT’S ABOUT TIME I [[ hit the road ]].”

You blink. “Um. What?”

He raises a brow. “[[ Hit the road ]], [[ Make like a tree and leaf ]], [[ head off into the sunset in your brand-new cungadero ]]?”

You can’t help but blurt out an incredulous, “To where?” Your cheeks warm and you glance away awkwardly, rubbing your arm. “I-I mean, n-not that it’s any of my business, but…a minute ago you didn’t even know what world you’re in…”

Spamton stares at you a moment before throwing his head back in another laugh. “HEAHAHAHAHA!!” You can’t help but notice the laugh seems a bit forced. “[[ Doll ]], DON’T YOU KNOW A TRUE [[ #1 Salesman 1997 ]] WILL [[ never give up, never surrender!! ]]?”

You finally manage to give a weak smile. “Well…that’s all well and good, but…do you even have a plan?”

“DO YOU?”

“Heh,” you chuckle nervously. “N-Not…a super long term one, but…I’d uh…I’d…feel bad sending you away like this…drenched and dirty with nowhere to go…”

His head tilts slightly to one side as he regards you. “WILLING TO MAKE A [[ Specil Deal ]], [[ doll ]]?”

You blink at his phrasing. “I…don’t know about a deal, but…I-I mean…you can…crash here for tonight? Get washed up, dry your clothes at least?”

“AND WHAT”S THE [[ payment method required ]]?”

“No payment!” you say quickly. “Just…”

“[[ Complimentary service ]]?”

You laugh slightly. “Exactly.”

He considers, rubbing his chin as he tries to figure out what possible catch there could be. Finally, he holds out a hand. “[[ Terms & Conditions Accepted !! ]]”

You let out a more earnest laugh, nodding. “Alright, Spamton,” you say, wrapping your hand around his and giving a hearty handshake.

Spamton steps back, glancing around at the mess you’d made. The pan had clattered to the floor, and there was a puddle of spilled water and a few stray noodles on the floor. Luckily dinner itself is salvageable--the majority of the noodles are still safely in the strainer in the sink.

“[[ Tired of cleaning up after dinner? Why not let -- ]] YOUR [[ good pal ]] SPAMTON TAKE CARE OF THAT?” he offers, going over to pick up the pan, handing it to you as you finally get to your feet.

“Thanks, but…” You lift your gaze past him, seeing the muddy footprints he’s tracked into the kitchen. You smile weakly. “Maybe you should get yourself tidied up first? The bathroom’s just down the hall, I can finish up in here while you shower?”

He follows your gaze to the dirt he’s tracked into the kitchen, then smiles up at you sheepishly. “GOOD POINT. BUT WHY DON”T WE [[ get the best of both worlds ]]?” He snaps his fingers, and two cherubs appear. They smile cutely at you before one of them flies down to the ground to begin gathering the spilled noodles and the other pulls the towel off the oven handle and drapes it over the puddle.

“Heh…s-sounds good…” you say, once again caught off guard by his ability to just…manifest helpful little creatures.

The cherubs finish cleaning while you shake the last of the water from the pasta strainer, rinse out the pan, and start mixing the cheese in with the noodles.

They finish the cleanup before you finish the cooking, and all you have to do is open the cupboard so they can toss the floor noodles away.

“Um, thanks guys?” you say uncertainly.

Their little grins get even wider at your praise and they perch on the edge of the stove, watching you stir the noodles.

You notice they seem to be watching a bit…intently. Their heads bop slightly as they track the motion of the spoon, the reflective pink and yellow lenses on their glasses making it hard to read their expressions.

“Hey uh…m-maybe this is a weird question…” Though you wonder if anything’s a weird question when posed to a pair of tiny puppet cherubs summoned by a magic living puppet from another world. “D’you two…get hungry?”

Their attention perks to you so raptly that you have to assume the answer is a firm yes.

You chuckle weakly at that, scooping out a spoonful of noodles and blowing on it. “D’you like mac and cheese?”

They nod eagerly, making a squeaky trilling sound as they abruptly take off towards the spoon.

“H-Hey! Careful, it’s hot!” you say, holding up a hand to try to block them before they burn themselves.

Your attempt fails, but it doesn’t seem to matter. They dart around your hand and perch on either side of the spoon, greedily shoving the cheesy noodles into their mouths. If the heat is even remotely uncomfortable to them, they’re not showing any sign of it.

“Guess you were hungry…” you say, amused. You grab a piece of paper towel and wrap it around your finger, wiping the cheese from their faces. They make a faint sound of protest, the red on their cheeks growing a bit redder at your attention.

You set the spoon aside and turn the stove to low to keep the food warm. “I’d better check on Spamton,” you say to the cherubs.

As you walk down the hall to the bathroom, you hear the shower switch off and the door opens. A faint cloud of steam emerges, followed closely by Spamton.

One of your hand towels is wrapped around his waist and the other is around his shoulders. He’s using the corner of said towel to wipe the steam from his glasses lenses. Locks of damp hair fall across his forehead and cling to his neck and shoulders, a few droplets running down his bare chest.

His shoulders are wider than you’d expected--seems his blazer isn’t as padded as you’d assumed. His whole frame on the stocky side, and he has a slightly protruding gut that hadn’t really been noticeable under his blazer.

You wish you could blame the cloud of warm steam for your burning face.

“HEY [[ doll ]], WOULD YOU HAPPEN TO HAVE A [[ clean-pressed ]] [[ size L T-shirt ]] I COULD BORROW? MY BLAZER IS--” He places his glasses back on his face and cuts himself off when he notices you staring.

A beat of uncertain silence passes before you snap out of it. “Oh! U-U-Uh--Of course!” you squeak. “L-Let me just grab that for you!” you say quickly. You duck into your bedroom without waiting for a response, grabbing one of a large T-shirt and a pair of boxers. You’re not sure how well either will fit him, but you’ve got nothing better to offer right now.

When you get back to the bathroom, he’s standing on the counter in front of a portion of the mirror he’d wiped the fog from. He’s helped himself to one of your combs and is brushing his damp hair from his face.

You try not to look him in the eye--or anywhere else--as you pass him the clothing.

“THANKS, [[ doll ]]!” he says brightly.

You nod, mumbling some lame excuse about needing to check on the food before scurrying back to the kitchen.

When you get there, you see the cherubs have been busy. The table’s been set, and they’ve even taken a couple throw pillows from the couch and piled them on one of the chairs for Spamton. Glancing into the living room, you notice they even refolded the towel Spamton had been wrapped in.

“Oh, thanks guys!” you say, earning another set of happy squeaks from the little pair.

You busy yourself with dishing out the macaroni, and by the time you’re done, Spamton’s emerged from the bathroom.

The PJs you lent him are…suitable. They hang a bit awkwardly on him, but given how different your body shapes are it’s a miracle you had anything that was even remotely wearable for him.

“THANKS AGAIN FOR THE [[ brand-new threads ]] AND [[ hearty, nutritious dinner ]]!” he says, effortlessly hopping up onto the chair and taking his seat. He looks at the bowl of macaroni before him and hesitates, looking up at you uncertainly…perhaps even guiltily. “AND…YOU”RE SURE ALL THIS IS [[ complimentary service ]]?” 

“Sure,” you say easily. “The little guys certainly seemed hungry…I’m…guessing you are too?”

Spamton gives the two cherubs--who are now sitting on the table between you two--a disapproving look. “MANNERS,” he says, pointing the spoon at them accusingly.

You laugh, waving a hand. “Oh no, they were very polite!” you say. A bit overeager, and a bit messy in their own eating, but in your mind all the extra cleaning they did more than makes up for it.

“GOOD,” he says, waving a hand. And with that, the two cherubs disappear, leaving only a few green sparkles in their wake.

“Oh…you didn’t have to send them away…” you say.

Spamton chuckles. “THEY WERE SLEEPY.”

You give a bemused laugh. “I…see. You’d know best I suppose,” you concede. “I’ve never even seen magic before today…”

He glances up in surprise. “NO? NOT EVER?”

“Not real magic, no. Not like…healing burns and conjuring cherubs,” you say.

“MINITONS,” he corrects.

“Pardon?”

“MINITONS. MINI SPAMTONS,” he clarifies with a playful smirk.

“Oh!” you laugh. “That’s…actually kinda cute,” you say.

Spamton gives you a wry look. “IT’S MEANT TO BE [[ concise and informative ]], NOT [[ adorable ]],” he says, though despite his look he sounds more amused than exasperated.

“It can be both,” you retort.

“IF YOU INSIST,” he says with a good natured eye roll.

The conversation ceases as he digs into his meal. His manners are much better than the Minitons of course, but he can’t completely hide the urgency with which he eats…though he does decline your offer of seconds, you sense it’s more out of a sense of guilt at how much you’ve given him than him actually being full.

And possibly being too tired to eat any more. Even with his glasses you can see his eyelids starting to droop by the time he drops his spoon into the empty bowl. But as soon as you get up and make as if to take the dishes to the sink, he snaps back to life.

“WAIT!!” he says, hopping up to stand on his chair, grabbing his bowl before reaching up and taking yours out of your hand. “SINCE YOU COOKED [[ delicis 5-Star meal ]] I’LL [[ cleans and polishes your dishes with a sparkling shine, guaranteed no food residue ]]!!” He grins up at you. “IT’S THE [[ bare minimum as required by law ]].” He blinks at the last part of the statement, his smile turning markedly sheepish. Apparently those little phrases don’t always come out sounding quiiiiite how he wants.

You take it in stride, laughing. “It’s alright, Spamton, really.”

“I INSIST!” he insists, hopping down from his chair and pushing it towards the sink.

“W-Well…I suppose it’s fair…I’ll get the couch set up for you, then,” you say, assuming he’ll want to turn in for the night after he finishes the dishes.

*

Spamton isn’t sure why you’re so keen on helping him, but…he also can’t afford to say no. He assumes he’ll be on his way tomorrow…even though he still doesn’t have an answer to the question you posed earlier.

To where?

He has no idea how to get back to the Dark World, and he gets the feeling he’s not exactly going to fit seamlessly into this one.

If he were more awake, anxiety would be gnawing at him, but even his anxieties are too tired for that right now.

He finishes the dishes, and despite his fatigue he does get them spotless as promised.

He hops down from the chair, forgetting to push it back to the table, and trudges tiredly into the living room.

Spamton stops, staring in surprise at what he sees.

Apparently your couch has a pullout bed, which you’ve set up with two blankets and a couple plush pillows, despite the fact that the couch itself had been more than big enough for him to sleep on. Hell, he could have scraped by with just one of those pillows to curl up on for the night.

“ALL THIS FOR [[ lil’ ol’ me ]]?” he asks, stunned as you finish fluffing the second pillow and toss it into place.

You shrug. “Sure, why not? I got a pullout couch for a reason,” you say. “Besides, the cushions were still damp, and the mattress is a bit more comfortable, I think.”

Spamton looks up at you uncertainly, his mouth opening and closing a couple times. Insisting that the couch is fine would only mean you having to re-fold the pullout bed. He runs a hand over the soft blankets, far cleaner and softer than any bedding he’s had in a long time. “[[ …thank you… ]]”

Your cheeks warm at the quiet sincerity in his tone. “No problem, Spamton…” you say softly. “I-I’ll um…see you in the morning, then?”

He hops onto the bed, scooting to the pillow and pulling the blanket back. “YES. OF COURSE, [[ doll ]].”

You nod, readily giving him his space and heading to your own room and climbing into your own bed.

You’d said he could stay for the night, but in reality, you have the same doubts Spamton does…and if anything, you have a more realistic idea of how unrealistic it is for him to just…leave and make his way in the world.

A conversation to have over breakfast, you suppose.

[pumpkinsy0]

This one could get a bit chaotic but papercut going on a road trip? (And maybe some Pony trying to convince Darry to let him go??) Your headcanons keep me alive, i live and breathe papercut, so please keep up the good work or else I will die 💖

papercut road trip?? aw yeaaa baybeeee comin right up 🤵🏽‍♀️🍜

•it was def a spontaneous idea from curly, he was thinking one night and just wanted to drive somewhere, nowhere in particular just go around, he told tim and tim wasnt gonna fight him on it, if thats what curly wants thats his life, all he can hope is that he comes back in one piece (monkey d. luffy refrence⁉️)

•ik when he brought up the idea to pony it took a bit of convincing, not THAT much, but he still had to do it cause like, just a RANDOM road trip?????? pony joked that curly was trynna kill him, but curly did say they’d prolly pass the country side and he could take some pics as a remembrance so pony was down

•not gonna lie, ion know HOW, ponys ass is gonna convince darry to go, pony might be 18/19 but he is PUSHING his freedom here, ill tell u what tho it took a team effort from tim and buck (somehow), and darry probably slapped an airtag on pony or somethin so he knew where he was

•they were not taking curlys car, ill tell u that much, if u drove that thing for more than an hour i promise u theyre so dead before they even get to the 10th block out of ponys neighborhood, REGARDLESS OF HOW, pony kissed darry n soda goodbye (YES thats important to know)

•SKIPPING BORING DETAILS SO WE CAN ACTUALLY GET THE ON THE ROADTRIP, but they r STACKED w literally just snacks, no actual food, just chips, candy, juice and some water, lord help these two, they gonna crash on the highway🤦🏽‍♀️

•wether its a camcorder or just a regular ole camera, ponys documenting this, he also has a journal to write down his thoughts and draw, hes a man of many talents

•for every stop, when he can, he calls darry to let him know hes alive, even sends over post cards from the different places he’s at, stocks up on small lil knickknacks too!!curly also called to check in w tim and angela and pony made him send over letters too (curly HATESSSS writing letters)

•would it REALLY b papercut if i didnt say that one of em got them lost??? curly def cant read a map for shit and fucked up while pony was driving, that argument had ppl in other cars looking over

•they would take turns on who was driving but honestly just never let curly behind the wheel, be nearly missed an exit and pretty much drifted in the highway, curly would do WONDERS in a racing game, he did a “emergency” stop and almost catapulted pony out his seat when he was sleeping, hes such a lil asshole

•sometimes tho, they would just pull over completley and get in the back seat just to sleep, they had a blanket and like one pillow but its ok the one of em would just lay on the other, they had some pretty nice talks in there and pony wrote about it in his journal

•when they get to the country side, i could see pony having one of those nature books and finding what he could just to cross em off, hes a nerd like that, curly was way too fascinated by the insects to rlly make fun of him for too long

•took some good nature pics too, some silly ones as well, curly took some too!!

•one of em touched poison ivy, whoops

•how have i gone this long without mentioning that curly would def b the one blasting music, hes not the passenger princess, hes the passenger pain in the ass (pony doesnt wanna admit but video evidence proves other wise, he was singing too)

•pony is a pretty good driver i aint gonna lie, but maybe a lil too good, his eyes will NOT be leaving that road, curlys just gotta feed pony himself from the passenger

•they didnt pack enough clothes, they were def clothes shopping as they went, whoever car they took is a MESS by now

•at some point pony got sunburnt and curly was laughing at him bc it wasnt even all over his body, the sunburn just covered parts that his clothes didnt cover, had to make a stop at a gas station for sunscreen and aloe vera (if we r assuming curly packed enough money)

•they dont rlly go home for a while, they got too homesick

i need to stop here before i get anymore ideas,,,

[redr0sewrites]

Aaravos x reader Hcs

here r some aaravos hcs bc i am in pain i wrote this with killer cramps while running on 4 hrs of sleep and an energy bar so i cant promise this will be good.

🥀CW: fluffiness, teasing, smut, thigh riding, subby aaravos, oral (reader receiving), hair pulling?, wax play, overall filth

🥀minors dni with nsfw part

SFW:

after being trapped in the mirror for so long, aaravos is severely touch starved

whether u two are in a romantic or platonic relationship, your personal space is his personal space as well (unless u tell him to leave you alone, but even then he'll still probably tease)

He is the type to just walk up to you and rest his arm on your head

he is TALL

if you are short (like me) and you ever need to reach something up high, this man practically materializes behind you to grab it for you he will hold it above his head and giggle while you struggle but will eventually give it to you

i feel like hes the type of person to enjoy slow and "elegant" music he would love my way by frank sinatra you can not tell me im wrong bc im not

aaravos will pull you into a slow waltz at random times

he enjoys the arts, and i feel like he would enjoy painting and doing sketches of you

he LOVES it if you play with his hair, just run your hands through it and he will literally melt

if you can do pretty hairstyles or braids he will be very content in relaxing while you do his hair

aaravos definitely enjoys reading, and would totally read to you if you asked (he would tease u a little tho but thats ok)

"do you really enjoy my voice that much, little star?"

he has the most stunning laugh

normally he just lets out small chuckles or smirks but the first time you make him genuinely laugh you just sit there in awe

he is ✨fabulous✨and takes forever to get ready

the type to arrive fashionably late (he will make an effort to arrive on time for dates tho)

hes a total drama queen and will make a huge deal about kissing you

he acts all confident but in reality is ridiculously nervous when he first met you

you were the first person to truly capture his heart and he doesn't want to fuck it up

he knows he isnt the most easy person (elf??) to love but will make an effort to be better for you

he prefers to listen in conversation rather then talk alot, however if you ask him about something hes interested in or ask him a magic question or something he will gladly talk for hours

enjoys holding your hand, you two are practically linked at the waist

he worries more then he lets on and will enchant little objects and give them to you for protection when he isnt't around

NSFW

whether you are with him before or after his imprisonment, he is EXPERIENCED

he likes positions where he can be close to you such as missionary, but also likes you on top of him/riding him

SWITCH‼️

if you pull his hair or his horns he will immediately submit

he likes to use his size to his advantage and pin you down

really into biting and marking, esp after his imprisonment, he wants everyone to know your his

whether your human or an elf, he will overstimulate you

he can go for hours

i feel like he would prefer giving to receiving, he will eat you out or suck you off for HOURS until you are whimpering for him to slow down

if you have boobs, he will mark them and play with them there is no question

RIDE‼️‼️HIS‼️‼️‼️FACE‼️‼️‼️‼️

he is 1000% into wax play he can make his hands really hot or cold and the sight of u with wax slowly dripping down your chest makes him feral

wouldnt mind if you did the same to him 👀

i feel like he would be super into it if you rode his thigh, he would be mocking you the whole time but it would turn him on sm

"you couldn't wait at all, hmm? is your pretty little cunt/cock really so needy that you had to be this impatient? acting like a bitch in heat, covering my thigh with your slick. your going to have to clean up your mess dear~"

he gets pissed if he asks you a question and you dont respond

super into eye contact during sex, he thinks its very intimate and attractive

your pleasure ALWAYS comes first with him, he will make you come at least twice before coming on his own

i dont think he would be super into causing you a lot of pain, like i dont think he would want to hurt you alot but will pinch and occasionally slap if your into that

super into being in pain for himself though

edge him until hes sobbing, then overstim him until his thighs are shaking

GLORIOUS THIGH GAME BTW

cover them in marks, he will admire them later

overall a very attentive and sensual lover, but definitely has a dirty side<3

can you tell i have an obsession? lmao. i tried to make this super gender neutral, lmk if there are any mistakes! reqs are open, im considering getting into writing some more

[my-castles-crumbling]

Anon Advice Asks - April 10

Outlet anon, outed anon, snape anon (new), episode anon (new), first binder anon

Outlet anon

My trauma wasn't even that bad.

Why am I so fucked up?

Why can't I believe someone would ever care about me?

Why did the world give up on me before I was old enough to spell my name?

How did I survive myself?

-outlet

Hi <3 I need you to remember that a lot of these thoughts are your brain messing with you. You are not fucked up and your trauma is valid. People DO care, and there are people who believe in you <3 and you WILL survive.

I got 100/100 on the research paper from a few weeks ago!!!!!

COngratulations!!! This is truly impressive. Want to write my papers for me? lol

Hey Cas, Outlet anon here.

I have a bio exam in a couple hours that I'm probably going to fail, but oh well. I gave up on studying two minutes in and I've already used up my medication for today.

'No beta we die like men' but it's my GPA

I'll let you know how it goes <3

-

Hey Cas, Outlet anon here.

I got 98/104!!

HA! PROOF! Sometimes, your brain is lying to you and telling you bad things about yourself that aren;t true. Obviously, you're very smart and capable of hard things. I'm so proud of you!

______

Outed anon

Hello Cas, Its Outed Anon here!

I have a pretty light ask but this is something ive been trying to work out recently.

Basically I have a friend - lets call her A for the record - and she's a really nice person! Like a motherly-ironic type. However, no matter how nice she is, she has actually no filter in what she says. Whatever she thinks she will say. While this is a good thing a problem i (and other friend K) have with her is that she never says nice things like that. For example, we all have a mutual friend who is really into her. Not only romantically but also as a person and he geniuenly cares about her and her opinion. His parents are divorced and he has two sisters so his mom works extra hard to afford the food and everything. Because of that she works late hours and the house isnt messy but its a bit chaotic (it actually is far from being messy but theres just a lot of things happening). But his house is really comfy and its our place to just chill. When he wanred to invite us over for his BIRTHDAY she said she wont come because (in her opinion) his house holds (and here i quote) "bad energy" & its dirty. (Its really not)

Im a pagan so im into witchcraft anf the house was really fine, so im not sure where the comment came from but it was very hurtfull for him.

Another thing is that she really likes helping. Shes the type of person to help a random girl whos crying on the street. Its really sweet but it is a bit annoying. Example: i did my homework badly because i really wanted to be done with it and she asked if she can copy it. I gave it to her but didnt really want to because (as i mentioned) it was done wrong (which she knew about) and because last time i gave her homework she gave it to other people which did made fun of me so i was taken aback. Again as i feared she gave the BADLY done homework to other students in out class. I asked her why did she do it if i asked her last time not to do so and she just said she doesnt thinj she did anything bad. After all she just helped our friends by giving them homework. Except it was mine and i didnt want to share cause IT WAS WRONG.

Yeah so i basically wanted to ask for advice how to gently imply to her that her actions & words are actually hurting people and she doesn't realise it. She also never apologise on her own and when she does say 'sorry' then its only because me or K told her she was rude and she just should admit to that.

Ok this was longer then i expected. Hope your week goes well & youre healthy BYE

(ALSO CHAPTER 11 OF TSATS??? ATE?? I LOVED IT SO MUCH)

Hi! Thank you for the love!

Honestly, this is the type of thing that you have to be honest about. You have to tell your friend that she's hurting people. I mean, you can even show her a version of what you wrote here, or tell her something similar: That you know she's caring and likes to help, but sometimes her actions hurt. I know you're afraid of upsetting her, but the alternative is that she continues to act this way, you continue to get hurt, and your friendship eventually fails. It's okay to be honest with people when they've hurt you <3 Just make sure to sit her down and approach the conversation seriously so she knows you're serious. If she gets angry from there, then it might be a sign to take a step back from the friendship.

Sending love!

____________

Snape anon (TW: SA mention)

I'm so confused right now.. so I just saw a Pro Snape post and it was about the prank and how the Marauders were wrong and everything right cool,but my problem is the post had "SA is wrong no matter the victim" (which true) and basically the Marauders fans are protecting perpetrators. And I'm confused cause I've never read the books, so I don't know the exact specifics of the prank, but I've never heard anything about SA up until now. Was everyone not talking about this, or is the person who made this post just lying, or maybe I didn't understand the post?? I don't know. Please clarify if you know what's going on here. I'm so confused.

Hi!

Yeah, I like to think I have a pretty good knowledge of canon and the marauders never SA'd anyone, nor did Snape SA anyone. They were all awful to each other in canon, absolutely, but not like that. The main instance in the books that I can think of is that Merope, Voldemort's mother, used love potion to seduce Tom Senior, Voldemort's father, which a lot of people consider SA. But yeah...people can correct me if I'm wrong, but I can't think of anything. I'm wondering if maybe they were making a comparison? Like saying bullying is wrong, no matter the victim, just like SA is wrong, no matter the victim? Which...bullying is wrong, a thousand percent, but comparing it to SA is wild, imo.

Edited to add: okay someone wrote in to remind me that in the fifth book, in the chapter titled "Snape's Worst Memory" when Harry sees James and Sirius bullying Snape, there is a moment when they have him upside-down and they take off his pants with magic. They then threaten to (but Harry never finds out if they actually) take off Snape's underwear. I re-read it to double check. According to wikipedia, which I acknowledge can often be wrong, "Pantsing, also known as depantsing, debagging, dacking, flagging, sharking, and scanting, is the act of pulling down a person's trousers and sometimes underpants, typically as a practical joke or a form of bullying." It also says "Pantsing can be used as a form of bullying and is technically the crime of simple assault." So it looks like legally, pantsing someone is considered a form of simple assault, not SA. At most, if the intentions were different, it sounds like it might be considered sexual harassment.

I have mixed feelings because I'm not a survivor of SA, so I can;t completely understand. So part of me wants to argue that this is not SA, and saying it is minimizes actual instances of SA. BUT given this context, I can see why someone might personally feel like this is SA because it is very exposing. Legal definitions aside, it was a very horrible and violating thing to do, obviously. I'm open to hearing thoughts, but please send them to my DMs, not in the comments here!

___

episode anon

congrats to me ik it isn’t that big of a deal but today i saw the “This episode contains (redacted) and may be upsetting for some readers.” and decided that I should not read the episode at that time.

I always thought that the TWs were for ppl with traumas or severe problems or phobias but today I decided that, yes, this thing upsets me and I probably shouldn't read it at 6:30 am

This IS a big deal! Trigger warnings are for everyone and you did amazing setting a healthy boundary for yourself! Awesome job!

____

first binder anon

hi!

so funny story i’m kinda out to my parents now

not entirely by choice

it’s kinda complicated, but my moms coworker basically used my new name to her (assuming she knew) because i’m friends with her son.

but it went ok enough

my parents were very nice about it, i think my mom was upset that her friend knew before she did and before i told her (which like— im not super happy about either) but like as far as these things go it went pretty well.

my binder hasn’t come yet (it’s supposed to come in 1-2 weeks, i think it was just shipped?) but i’m really excited!

- first binder anon

Hi! I'm so glad your parents reacted okay, but I'm really sorry the decision to come out was taken from you. That's really frustrating, no matter what the result was, and it's okay to feel upset about it.

Keep me updated, I can't wait to hear about the binder!

[graysnetwork]

TOO REAL?

Brothers bsf type of au for Keegan making write more.

I wrote this in like an hour so bare with me as this isn’t very long.

Info: fyi, just so you know this is just a little imagine for what’s happened in the past when Keegan goes out with girls. But this isn’t set after that last part basically. FEM READER

Warnings: none.

Summary: Keegan pulls up to your house as he rushes for a date

Here Keegan was pulling up to your house, making a bunch of noise as he shoved the keys in the lock of the front door. You walked down the stairs opening the door expecting someone else like your parents. But Keegan quickly ran up the stairs while saying “thanks”

You stood there confused before looking out the door seeing his car, a girl in the passenger seat waiting patiently. You put two and two together and figured he probably left something in the guest room or your brothers room.

The girl noticed you, turning to you and waving, you realized it was a girl from your school— Emily, she was a nice girl, always had a things for Keegan from what you knew. She wasn’t rude or annoying, she was sweet and pretty. All good reasons for Keegan to go out with her.

He ran down the stairs with a shoe box in hand and the pair of Jordan’s on his feet,

“I left my shoes here, sorry, I’m in a rush” he explained while stuffing his normal shoes in the box. “It’s fine, uh.. be nice to Emily” you told him. “yeah, I will don’t worry” he told you nodding as he walked out to the porch.

“she’s a sweet girl, don’t blow her off like your last girlfriend” you informed him, he stood there forgetting about the whole rush he was in.

“yeah.. I’ll be good, promise” he said as he turned around and walked down the steps of the porch.

“alright, hope you have fun�� you said closing the door quietly. It never got easier seeing him go out with girls, first of all it was just weird,

second of all you wanted to be the girl to go out with him, you didn’t care if your brother would get pissed about it, you wanted to be the one going out getting dinner and getting a kiss goodbye from him.

You just wanted to be with him, but maybe it’d ruin everything for Keegan and your brother, maybe it’d ruin your friendship with Keegan, maybe it’d hurt your feelings. Keegan would be going off the university in a year so what’s the point of trying to go out with him.

Keegan stood there for a few second as he turned around to go back to you— he’d rather take you out. Have you all to himself, and be the only guy to ever kiss your lips.

He was met with the white door.

He walked down the steps and approached his car and got in, recklessly throwing it in the back seat. As he put the car in drive.

“That was y/n right?” Emily asked him, “yeah, yeah it was y/n” he said with a huff. Emily sat there quietly as she noticed his frustration, before she broke the silence.

Even though it did hurt to ask she did it anyways,

“Do you like her?”

“What?” Keegan said furrowing his brows, the “do you like her, you seem… agitated” she reiterated.

It sounded to real, saying that he liked you, it made it real. He wanted you, need you. But being truthful and saying it out loud would mess him up, probably make him more crazy for you. He would have to deny it his whole life if he never got to be with you romantically.

“No” he said sighing and placing a hand on Emily’s thigh “I don’t, plus we should be talking about you, no?” He lied. He did like you, he loved you. He can’t say it or else he’ll have to accept it for its reality.

She smiled unknowingly at his lie and started talking about other things, he tried to answer stuff she asked, and adding things in her conversation but how could he if he was thinking about the entire time?

—

Hope it’s good enough ☺️

[devilish-parrot]

TELL BE ABOUT CAR SEAT HEADREST NOW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

YAAAAAYYYYY enjoy my disorganised yapping

okokokokokok sO

imagine this. its the late 2000's. will toledo, a gay guitarist and probably based-on-lyrical-content depressed high school student starts a band named nervous young men. they release a couple albums (like four i think) he tells a couple friends about it and ppl in school so hes got a couple listeners already

its 2010. the summer after will graduated from school. he releases four albums in four months under the name car seat headrest to bandcamp. these are called the numbered albums, because their names are numbers. (my favourite is three) these were very loop based. he didnt tell anyone about it to see how many listeners hed get and it wasnt more than 100. the audio quality is so bad. theyre not on spotify :(

(my fav numbered album is three because A) the cover is made by cate wurtz (ill get to her in a second), B) portait of the artist as a young fag is a great song C) he makes callbacks to a couple of these songs on a later album (he keeps making callbacks its so great) and D) oh starving is here which is on living while starving which ill talk about later

the one-man-band car seat headrst is named so because he recorded the instruments on his computer in his house, and the vocals (again on the computer) in his car. he did all the instruments himself.

so cate wurtz! shes an artist who dated will and now theyre friends. i love her art style so fucking much, ive started reading one of her web comics. she did some of the cshr album covers and some of the cshr lyric books (eg my back is killing me baby cover and booklet). he has written. SO many songs about her and albums.

theres some albums that arent on bandcamp anymore like sunburned shirts and disjecta membra.

will had this scrapped project called stabby ode, which is one of my fav cshr albums. he reversed abbey road songs and looped them and played music on top of it and BOOM new music is made. this project was scraped and so these songs were moved onto an album named littlle pieces of paper with no written on them.

2011 - there was gonna be a fifth numbered album but it was renamed to my back is killing me baby aka mbikmb. its on spotify too! i rlly like this one. the song open-mouthed-boy is goofy oh my god

then, will starts working on an album called twin fantasy. this is his most popular album, and how alot of people are introduced to cshr. he releases a couple demos to tumblr. wee

twin fantasy releases and og wow. i am a sucker for concept albums. this ones about will being sad and gay and its about his relationship with cate (i read somewhere that shes a tgirl and they dated before she was out. idk how true this is though) my fav track is beach life-in-death its thirteen minutes and it references songs from three and it kicks ass. he references ana ng by they might be giants on the track cute thing! cate made the lyric booklet

will toledo is a furry and if you look at his album covers (especially mbikmb or twink fantasy) you can probably tell. his fursona is a jackrabbit named mortis

2012 - next album is monomania, another concept about cate, but this time its a break up album. v good album. souls is my fav track

2013 - next is the living while starving ep, which is one of my favourite eps of all tine (if it werent for devil moon. i dont like that song) theres a song on here called its only sex. thats one of his most popular songs, and its how i was introduced to the band. (the vid u reblogged from me was that song its so good) i cant choose a favourite. he made this album while messing about on logic (the music making programme)

next is nervous young man, title being a callback to his band nervous young men. its like two hours long. its basically a compliation album of a buncha songs he wrote between the ages of 17-21. he wanted it to kinda be like those top hits of an artist cds from all different albums. ive only heard less than half of this album but i love everything ive heard. fav track is definetly boxing day.

2014 - next is how to leave town. i havent heard it. he wrote the songs while he was moving across america so the whole album has that theme

2015 - will is signed to a record label named matador records and there are more people in the band now!!! their names are andrew katz the drummer, ethan ives the other guitarist and backup vocalist and seth dolby the bassist. they can record music in an actual studio now and these people know what theyre doing with their instruments so the quality is much better.

together they release an album called teens of style. there are new songs on here but also remakes of older cshr songs. nice album, fav song is probably something soon

2016 - they put together a proper new album with amazing audio quality and its called teens of denial. this is also how a lot of people are introduced to the band. i cant choose a fav track this album is so good

2018 - around this time, a band that car seat headrest is touring with, called naked giants, join forces with car seat headrest so now theres like 7 people in the band. their names are henry the precussion guy, gianni the bass in naked giants and keyboard in cshr and grant the other other guitarist

now that there are a shit ton of people in the band, will doesnt play much guitar and instead jumps and dances and screams around in live preformances

also they they remake twin fantasy with this bigger budget. lyrics are changed, song lengths are extended, audio is inporved. the 2011 version is called mirror to mirror or mtm and 2018 ver is called face to face or ftf. the new lyric booklet includes pictures of hojin stella jungs series of paintings called the lady. she talks about her paintings on the track high to death. i think shes a friend of wills

2019 - LIVE ALBUM LUVE ALBUM LIVE ALBUM LIVE ALBUM I LOVE LIVE ALBUMS

2020 - making a door less open (or madlo) relases and i have not heard this one. i think this ones more electronic than others. the cover is by cate and its lovely

2021 - they release madlo remixes and madlo influences (cover songs!!!). i havent heard either of them but the covers are again done by cate

2023 - ANOTHER LIVE ALUM and the whole time is will is either fursuiting or wearing a costume from andrew the drummers side project 1trait danger. i cant tell you anything about 1td other than will keeps dressing as a guy named trait with rabbit ears, a gas mask and bright orange costruction man jacket

also on the first day of pride month will released a five minute vertical video explaining what patreon is, and letting fans know that theyre on there now. i am so jealous of anyone whos subscribed to them i need to get a job lowest tier is only three dollars a month

no music since then :( will is doing monthly patreon streams yay also they have msic videos that are good. i like the something soon music videos (yes theres two. one from over a decade ago thats will dancing in his dormitory and you cant see his face. other is done with full band)

FAV CSHR PREFORMANCES!!!

cover of uncontrollable urge live on kexp radio 2018(?)

drunk drivers/ killer whales live at rock the garden 2017. he is so hot here ohhh myyy goood swooon (i mean, i swoon every time i see a photo of him soooo)

august 23rd 2013, wills 21st birthday. live at speaktree, he and three other people (katy on guitar, aurther on drums and joe-hawley-lookalike austin on bass) preform the only live preformance of jerks. im pretty sure will was drunk there lol

even though cshr was a one man band for a long time, he did live preformances with other people.

last time i counted how many cshr albums there are, i got like 28. rest in piss.

ive noticed that, while trying to learn their songs on guitar, that they use a lot of barre chords yipee :) which is where you put your index finger across the other fret board and use your other three fingers all over the place. unfortunetly i cant sing as low as will :(

so yeah theres a buncha info about them i did with no research so sorry if things are wrong. tis was probably quite disorganised lol

[synonymroll648]

no hummingbirds, no butterflies (just soft whirrs & peaceful daylight)

pairings/relationships: queerplatonic keefex, minor mentions of dex’s dynamics with his parents, + referenced dadwin (keefe & elwin as a parent-son duo of sorts)

tws: minor (autistic) overstimulation, anxiety, touch starvation, swearing, implied sexual humor (keefe’s here, what’d you expect), and i think that’s it - but please let me know if there’s more that should be added! 

summary: “I—okay, fine. You’re not patient with gadgets or alchemy or anything that’s a project,” Keefe laughs, and then his voice goes…gentle. Like midnight rain. “But you’re patient with people. You’re patient with me.”

You’re patient with me, Keefe says, and Dex thinks, What an interesting way to say ‘I love you’. 

-

OR: An exploration of what Keefe and Dex’s dynamic could’ve been if Keefe hadn’t run off to the forbidden cities.

additional notes: happy final day of @keefex-week 2023, even if this is for the day 1 prompt queerplatonic! i started this fic back in feburary as an ayyam-i-ha gift for the one and only wonderful @bookwyrminspiration​, but didn’t finish in time, and then i tried finishing it in time for its tumblr bday, and didn’t finish in time for that either. but at least i finished in time for this! i hope you enjoy the third draft of keefex being queerplatonic and neurodivergent (i wrote this with autistic!dex in the front of my mind. also, this entire fic was inspired by this keefex shitpost i made [and the really gay eckodon scene in book 4].) comments and constructive criticism are appreciated!

word count: 6.4k

ao3 link (recommended)

taglist: @gay-otlc @purplesoup-lad-le @when-wax-wings-melt @asexual-juliet @cowboypossume @xanadaus 

fic under the cut :)

Out of all the things that can surprise Dex Dizznee at 12:21am, getting hailed by Keefe Sencen isn’t one of them. 

The buzzing of his imparter laying on his bed cuts through the quiet ambiance of the noisemakers carefully placed in his room. The gadget Dex has mindlessly fidgeted with for minutes on end gets set down on his desk, and he carefully steps through the mess on his floor to pick up the hail. 

(After turning the volume down, because Keefe has accidentally woken up Dex’s parents from laughing too loud on more than one night like this.)

“Heeeey, Dexy,” Keefe deliriously croons across the line. 

Deliriously is the correct description, Dex knows, because Keefe only ever uses that tone when his guard is down—and after Loamnore, lowered guards only ever occur after a mental breakdown or from serious sleep deprivation. 

Or both.

“Hello to you too, at this totally reasonable hour for the two of us to be awake,” Dex sits down on the edge of his bed, tucking his feet up onto the mattress. 

A snicker. “Tooooootally.” 

Dex does a brief internal analysis of his face—he doesn’t have enough time to be thorough without being awkward, but no mental notes at all is bound to leave him floundering later on in the conversation. 

Dark circles → Keefe is probably at least halfway out of his mind.

Bedhead → Keefe is definitely at least halfway out of his mind.

Lots of blankets and pillows → Keefe is either content or in the middle of an existential crisis. 

Slightly more prominent freckles across the bridge of his nose than usual →  Congratulate Keefe on getting some sunshine. 

Keefe starts talking again, and Dex is glad that he doesn’t have to be the one to resume conversation. “What’d I interrupt?” 

“Me trying to get work done for the Black Swan or school but being too tired to think properly.” 

“I’m guessing you’re also too awake to go to sleep.” 

“Bingo,” Dull exasperation on Dex’s end. 

“Relatable.” Fatigue softens the ‘t’ so much that it’s only implied at best. Relatable is surrender wearing a humorous mask; Keefe’s favorite shield.

You need to say something. It’s the start to an all-too familiar chain reaction. He almost lists out all the ways You need to say something evolves into something much more panic-inducing, since lists usually help, but this is one of those few exceptions where listing it all out will screw him over. 

So Dex starts on the steps to prevent that, with an inhale quiet enough that Keefe hopefully doesn’t think he’s sighing. Next is grasping for something to contribute. Something silly, preferably. 

Dex is a second slower to reply than he’d like, but he finds something that works. His headspace relaxes once he asks, “Is the bingo card or the bingo pieces or the bingo itself relatable?” 

“Hmmmmm, good question…” Keefe tilts his gaze up to the ceiling of his starry bedroom at Splendor Plains. 

Dex takes his thoughtful pause as an opportunity to study Keefe further. He notes gulon pajamas, and eyelashes that are long and dark and confusingly nice to look at—which makes him think of the eckodon ride to Alluveterre, the first time he’d really noticed them—which makes heat begin to fester under his skin, because that was a lot of physical contact and—

—Keefe starts talking again, and it’s enough to get his brain to shut up. “Bingo pieces, probably. Sometimes I get put in situations where things work out, and sometimes I get put in situations where they don’t. Comes down to everyone else’s luck.” 

The Keefe is either content or in the middle of an existential crisis part of Dex’s mental notes from earlier resurfaces at the front of his mind, and he leans a little more towards preparing for helping Keefe through an existential crisis. 

Then Dex leans a few degrees back into the or part of the note, once Keefe cracks, “Kinda like all the backstories we came up with for Keebler elves.” 

Laughter, fast and loose and loud, threatens to explode out of Dex’s chest. He quickly covers his mouth, unable to help looking away and throwing his head back while he tries to not disturb the sleepy nighttime air that blankets Rimeshire. 

When Dex looks back down at Keefe, there’s a proud grin crinkling the corners of his eyes, smushed up against the cozy mess of his bedding. Keefe wrestles a hand out from under the blankets it was trapped under, and points directly at his imparter camera. “You thought it was funny, don’t deny it,” 

“I won’t,” Dex relents. A wistful sigh almost turns into snickers, since he’s apparently spent way too many nights talking with Keefe over the past few months. “That was probably the funnest reason for pulling an all-nighter.” 

A giggle. More than one giggle, actually. A whole stream of them, like a human song kids would get hooked on. (Giggles. Keefe is undoubtedly delirious, guaranteed to be more than halfway out of his mind. There’s no other explanation for him being so light and sunny at 12:26 in the morning.) “Best all-nighter eeee-ver! No school, just the silly.” 

Dex arcs an eyebrow like the sunrise that’s hours away. “The silly?” 

“The silly!” Beaming a childish grin, Keefe’s fist punches out of his heap of blankets and up into the air, almost as if he’s cheering for something. 

The force of it sends Keefe’s imparter—wherever it’s propped up on—toppling over. The view on Dex’s imparter shifts to close-up constellations behind glass. He hasn’t done well enough in his Universe class to be able to identify anything before Keefe cries, “Dex! Mrs. Stinkbottom! My dearest companions! Noooooooo!” 

This time, Dex has to gently bite down on his knuckles to keep himself from laughing too loud. 

(Dex has to stop himself from wondering too much about the depth behind My dearest companions too. Because he’s gone down far too many rabbit holes about whether or not he’s romantically attracted to Keefe and been left with a confusing answer of no, but also not being satisfied with the label platonic either. He just focuses on the joy of someone finding him valuable outside of his tech and alchemy skillsets.) 

There’s a smile on Dex’s face so wide it makes him feel dumb as he watches Keefe lean over his bed to try and grab at his imparter. Awkwardly angled footage goes a little fuzzy as Mrs. Stinkbottom gets pulled up before Dex. Well, not Dex, the imparter, since Dex is leaned back against his pillow and headboard and not collapsed on Keefe’s bedroom floor, but no one cares about technicalities like that other than Dex. 

Finally, Keefe’s hand presumably wraps around his imparter, and Dex’s screen is a blur as Keefe hauls ‘him’ up. “I got a little too silly for the world to handle,” he pouts. 

“The world? I don’t think me and Mrs. Stinkbottom count as the world. Pretty sure there’s a lot more to the world than that.” 

“Well, that’s the only part of the world I care about right now.” 

Don’t read into it, don’t read into it, don’t read into it— 

Dex doesn’t read into it. Because he’s a master at this seemingly mythical thing called self-restraint, if his friends are anything to go by. “I dunno, I’m pretty sure you care about your blankets and pillows right now,” 

Keefe’s lips thin into a disconcerted line. “...Yeah, I do. Caught me red-handed,” he mumbles, relaxing further into the comfortable disaster he’s wrapped himself in. “But that’s it.” 

You sure about that? he wants to ask, but takes the few seconds of silence to consider his options and turn the conversation towards something else instead. “How much have you slept?” 

Things That Would Replicate Keefe’s Hysterical Laughter at That Question When Mixed Together Properly:

Tea kettles when their contents are boiling. 

Monkeys screeching. 

Gasps from someone who almost drowned. Or ran a long distance at a high speed and finally got to stop. Or something like that. 

A recording of someone’s sobbing or laughing that could pass as both to unaware listeners.

It’s a little startling—startling enough that he jumps at the unexpected change in sound. Frantically, he turns down his imparter volume. And then Dex tries to climb under his covers as quietly as he can and curls up on his side, so he can fake being asleep if his mom pops in to check on him. (She’s a light sleeper, which she’s jokingly coined as her proof that she married into the Dizznee family instead of being born into it.) 

Keefe wipes at his eyes. “You gotta specify a time frame, Dex. Tonight? The last twenty four hours? The last week? Etcetera,” 

It takes a blip of time to remember what they’re talking about. “Last twenty four hours.” 

“I took a nap after lunch. Ro woke me up for dinner. After that, I painted until I spilled my water jar on accident. Cleaning up made me realize how tired I was, so I tried to sleep. Buuuuut…” Something about the way Keefe’s facial expression just barely shifts makes Dex suspect that he’s either gonna cough up a hard truth or lie to cover it up. “my brain wouldn’t shut off. And now we’re here.” 

Dex takes a shot in the dark—literally. The only thing lighting up his room is his open curtains. Moonlight washes the room in pale silvers and a whole scale of blues. “Was it that you couldn’t stop thinking period, or you couldn’t stop thinking about the wrong things?” 

The steady, easy rise and fall of Keefe’s form stills. It resumes when Keefe sighs and says, “Does anything get past you?” 

I’ve spent my whole life analyzing everything to the best of my ability, because I’ve spent my whole life out of the loop and fighting to get in it. It’s late at night, and your guard’s down. Of course nothing you do gets past me. Too serious, too blunt. Killjoy of a response. Dex condenses it into something lighter, but still truthful. “When it comes to you, no, not that I know of.” 

“I feel like that’s a sign that I’ve overshared on one too many nightly hails over the past few months,” Keefe tries to laugh it off, but Dex can sense the nervous undertone. 

“I mean, if it makes you uncomfortable, I can stop you next time you try to open up,” Dex offers. He hopes Keefe doesn’t take him up on it. 

Dread begins to stir in his stomach as Keefe pauses to consider. It dissipates when Keefe says, “Nahhh, I trust you to not take advantage of me being stupid. Also, like—actually, you know what? Can I ramble about something? The only way my brain can make points is through stories right now. But if you want me to shut up, that’s fine.” 

“Ramble away,” Dex says. It’s nice being your number one person to talk to, even if I’m sure it won’t last forever. 

“Okay, so, earlier today—well, technically yesterday now, but no one cares—anyways. Anyways.” Keefe clears his throat, fist in front of his mouth. Eyebrows downturn in a way that’s either ironically or unironically serious; Dex can’t tell. 

Dex poorly suppresses a smile. Turns up the volume again to hear him better, and resolves to just remind Keefe, No sudden noises please, if he gets too loud again. 

“So basically, after Ro woke me up, Elwin knocked on my doorway today and told me dinner was ready if I was hungry. It was in the usual spot he leaves it for me since being in the same room as people is hard and he’s cool about me eating alone, y’know? I feel like I told you about that already, but whatever.” (Keefe has indeed told Dex about this routine. On multiple occasions.) “I hear his footsteps walking away, and I open the door and I say ‘Elwin?’”

“Out loud, or using signs?”

“Out loud,” Keefe confirms.

It’s been a month or two since Keefe managed to start saying short phrases to people aloud again, but it’s still difficult enough—especially without preparation beforehand—that it’s always a surprise to hear him mention talking out loud face-to-face recently. Dex’s eyebrows nearly touch his hairline. He holds back the Wow, Keefe, incredible job—genuinely, ready to jump off the cliff’s edge of his tongue. Lets Keefe keep talking. 

“So he turns around and he tilts his head in this way that’s like, hey, keep going. My nerves started acting up, but I managed to ask if we could eat at the table together. I had to clear my throat and clarify—well, I was really just rambling, but whatever—that sitting, like, right next to him would be too much. And I’d probably have to sit on the opposite end of the table, but he told me that was totally fine. No disappointment or anything. And we—we actually had a conversation. Not just a few sentences. I could keep up with talking back and forth for longer than a few minutes. And there was this point where he said…” Keefe stops. “He said, um. Hang on.” 

Keefe flops his face into his pillow. Dex suppresses an instinctual smile at the unintelligible noises that come out of Keefe’s throat, because he doesn’t know if they’re positive or negative. Yet. 

So he asks. “Is this good or bad?” 

Keefe nods. Confusion forms in a crease between Dex’s eyebrows. Some absurd part of Dex suspects Keefe can sense it through the screen, because he turns his face towards his imparter and clarifies, “Good. I think. I’ve just forgotten how to handle affection in general. And I’ve never known how to handle it from parental figures.” 

Parental figures has delighted surprise lighting up Dex’s face for a split second before he smooths his expression out into something neutral again. Elwin’s always been a lot better than Cassius. Keefe maybe, just maybe, finding someone else to call ‘dad’ or something like it would be good for him. 

Dex hopes they get there. Eventually. 

Dex also doesn’t know if it’s too early to tell Keefe that, so he errs on the side of caution. “From what I’ve heard you tell me, I don’t think Elwin minds that you don’t really know what you’re doing. But what did Elwin say to you? You cut yourself off.”

Keefe blinks, a bit slow to respond. “Sorry, I was processing that first sentence. Uh. He said that he was really proud of me. For,” —Keefe’s laugh in between words is bittersweet— “being so brave about all of this. And I thought he was playing up how he felt to make me feel better, so I told him that he didn’t have to lie to me. Then he told me that he was being dead serious, and he was sorry he didn’t say it more often. And he tried complimenting me more, but, um, I—I told him to stop because I didn’t want to start crying, y’know? Especially since I couldn’t—can’t hug him. Or anything like that,” 

Dex doesn’t really know how this relates to whatever point(s?) Keefe was trying to make earlier about trusting Dex, but he’ll roll with the punches. “I’m not a professional on emotions or anything, but I think it’s okay to get overwhelmed by someone being nice to you when you’re used to literally nothing at best.” 

“That’s…” Keefe goes quiet. Dex wonders if he said the right or wrong thing. Hopefully it was right. It feels right, at least. “That’s good to hear. Thanks.” 

“No problem,” Dex says, and gives him a tired smile. Not because he’s tired of Keefe, but because it’s who knows what hour in the morning now and Dex has been on a losing streak with his sleep schedule for roughly a week now. 

Keefe sighs. “I wish I could hug you,” he whines. “You’re always so nice about putting up with my bullshit, and you’re cute when you’re tired, and I call you all the time but I still miss you because it’s not the same as when I could wrap my arm around you and say I’ve got you, Dexy, without physical consequences.” 

There are many, many things that Dex could think in response to that. There are many, many things that Dex does think in response to that. But the first thing that comes to mind is if this conversation had been a string of imparter texts, Keefe would have written something along the lines of “:(((“ at least once just now. 

Keefe bulldozes on. “Like, you’re so…patient,” 

And then Dex cuts him off with a snort. “You are the first person I have ever heard call me patient. Ever.” 

“I—okay, fine. You’re not patient with gadgets or alchemy or anything that’s a project,” Keefe laughs, and then his voice goes…gentle. Like midnight rain. “But you’re patient with people. You’re patient with me.”

You’re patient with me, Keefe says, and Dex thinks, What an interesting way to say ‘I love you’. 

It’s an observation. Not a revelation, because Dex has known for months now that his dynamic with Keefe is defined by oddities. They are misfits on the outskirts of everything they know. They are two boys that don’t fit neatly into any boxes—one with a genetically modified ability that’s drastically altered his life in ways no one knows how to fix, and the other the son of a bad match that’s become a regent at 15 and a Black Swan technopath even younger. They are more than that, too, and they see all of that more in each other. They see all the mundane more and the wild more and all the more in between that doesn’t fit into any box society likes. They’ve been seeing more of all the more in one another over these past few months, and scrapping their discoveries together like spare parts into something that’s probably confusing and worthless to the rest of the world, but it works for them.

Progressing without refining, coloring outside the lines—it’s not what mechanics or artists are supposed to do, but for this piece, for their style, for their invention, it works for them.

This weird version of love that they have, that seems to permanently float either between or outside platonic and romantic binaries (Dex is too sleepy to tell): it works for them.

It works for them.

“You make being patient worth it, Keefe. You always do, in the long run.”

Half-lidded eyes shoot wide, and Dex can’t tell if the glaze over icy irises is due to tears or lighting until Keefe’s turning away and whining, “Dex, what the fuck did I say about not wanting to cry?” 

Dex is glad that his words touched Keefe, since his hands can’t. Appreciation presents itself through amused exhales at the smile on Keefe’s face that won’t go away. “I thought you liked honesty, though?” he teases. 

Keefe rolls back over in his twist of bedding to glare at his imparter, but it looks more like a pout. “Yeah, but I also like not having a crisis over whether or not—I’m pretending I live in an ideal world that doesn’t hate me, by the way—I want to draw you a bajillion times or paint you a bajillion times or tickle fight you until you’re in hysterics because I like the way your laugh sounds or hug you for an eon normally or hug you for an eon the way we did on the eckodon or if I want to kiss you. And I know that last part’s probably overreacting, but also, I can’t tell if it’s wanting to, like, kiss you on the cheek? Or more than that? Or less? Which makes things harder and way more confusing,” 

Dex’s eyebrows aren’t practically touching his hairline, they are touching his hairline. (In spirit. Because eyebrow muscles don’t work like that in the real world. He thinks.) Dex adds You want a REPEAT of the eckodon ride? onto his mental list of conversation topics, then asks the slightly more pressing question he got from Keefe’s rambling: “You want to kiss me?” 

Because Keefe Sencen? Renowned heartthrob that had half the girls at Foxfire wrapped around his finger without even trying that hard? Wanting to kiss him? Him? Dex Dizznee? The sheer notion was fucking absurd. Bonkers. Ridiculous.

“I mean—like—listen—okay, just, just let me explain before your brain runs wild, I know how you are,” Keefe splutters.

Dex suppresses a grin at Keefe being the flustered one for once. “Oh, I’m definitely listening.” 

“Okay, so, first off, kissing was a brief idea that popped into my head when I thought, How do I show Dex how much I care about him? Kind of like an afterthought. And the original afterthought was, like, impulsively kissing your cheek. In a goofy way. Not full-on making out with you or anything.” Keefe pauses, and two things shift in the meantime: Keefe’s facial expression tipping off of panic into thoughtfulness, and Dex’s facial color gradually sliding from its pale base color to a blush that only gets more vivid as Keefe talks. “Though I probably wouldn’t complain if we made out, but it’s not something I’m yearning for every second of every day or anything. The possibility only just hit me, after all. I want it if you want it, I mean. But if you don’t, I’m all good. We’re all good.” 

Dex blinks. Throws all caution to the wind, and thinks about it. Thinks about whether or not he’d like that kind of kissing from Keefe. Keefe would most likely start slow, because that feels like a Keefe thing to do, so Dex imagines that. Imagines how he might feel if they were whispering to directly into each other’s ears instead of each other’s imparters, if Keefe pulled him in for a kiss instead of keeping his distance without compromising himself—

—and almost immediately thinks No thanks. Which is a little odd, since he likes the way Keefe looks and acts, but his stomach hollows out at the idea of another mouth moving over his, no matter how kind the intention. Mashing two mouths together is an overrated display of affection hyped up too much by mom’s romcoms and other romance enthusiasts is the explanation for it that pops up into Dex’s head. The lack of spark or pull that Dex feels towards kissing in general plus the weirdness of textures and germs interacting through mouth to mouth contact probably factors into his opinion too.

Overriding that kind of mind and body instinct feels wrong, so Dex offers up more honesty to Keefe. “I think I’ll pass on the kissing. Making-out kissing, at least. Kissing anyone makes me feel weird—a bad kind of weird, if you get what I mean.” 

“Sir yes sir!” Keefe barks out, giving him a cheesy salute, and Dex giggles. “Thank you for making it easier to make my brain shut up about kissing you. The identity crisis prevention is appreciated.” 

“Of course, of course,” Dex jests. “But for the record, I don’t think you potentially wanting to kiss boys in general is a bad thing. As long as they’re good for you, y’know?” 

Quiet overlays Keefe’s demeanor, and Dex can practically hear the gears in his brain turning. Processing. Then Keefe gives a small smile and says, “Thanks, Dex. I’ll keep it in mind. Buuuuuut,” Keefe claps his hands suddenly, and Dex nearly jumps out of his skin. “I’m not in the mood for heavy introspection right now! Soooo…maybe you could tell me about the things I said that you’d be okay and not okay with instead? For the sake of, like, boundaries and stuff.” 

“Ah, yes. Discussing boundaries when we’re both sleep deprived and not thinking straight. Incredibly intelligent move.” 

Dex apparently didn’t put enough lightheartedness into his deadpan, because Keefe scrambles to backtrack. “I mean, yeah, you have a point, we can do that sometime later in daylight, or later, or never. Whatever you feel like. No worries.” 

“I was joking. We can and probably should talk about it now, even if we’re not 100% functioning,” Dex reassures. 

“Okay. Um. Where do you want to start?” 

Dex references his mental conversation prep list, and plucks out a relevant item he hasn’t used yet. (He will use the sunshine comment before the end of this hail, or so help him.) “Can we talk about the whole ‘basically wanting a repeat of the eckodon ride’ thing? Because in the moment you seemed pretty eager to end that, and I’m simultaneously confused and curious at your…change of heart, so to speak.” 

A hypothesis Dex will never be able to test the accuracy of: If Keefe weren’t under the weak starlight of his bedroom walls and somewhere brighter in this moment, Dex would be able to see a flush crawling over Keefe’s ears. Perhaps even over his cheeks, too. The musing is based on evidence—the hand running through Keefe’s bedhead, the loaded exhale, the averted gaze, the upper teeth worrying his lower lip. 

Anxiously, Keefe chants strings of swears under his breath before composing himself a little. “First things first, just to know how much of my dignity I’m losing here at whatever time of night it is right now, can you tell me how often you think about the eckodon ride? And what you think of it, if you do think of it at all?” 

Oh god. Dex had not prepped for actually talking about that. At all. 

So much for not floundering later on in the conversation, he curses his past self. 

“Do you want me to start right now and then just pause and backtrack when I word things wrong, or do you want me to try and get things sorted out before I talk?” Clarification and a counterattack, a delay of the inevitable. 

“Take your time,” Keefe murmurs. 

Dex does. While Keefe breathes in a purposeful pattern he messes up every now and then, Dex rearranges the scramble of thoughts in his head until every piece is in the right place. And then he double checks to make sure it’s right. And when he thinks Maybe I should triple check, he forces the words out into a freefall and hopes that when they collide into the connection between him and Keefe, it won’t hurt. “Before I get into emotional vulnerability, I would like to say that I still stand by my opinion that your breath stunk. You need to invest in having carry-on breath mints at all times, dude.” 

Keefe bursts out laughing, and it’s everything from playful ocean waves curling and splashing at his lower legs on a shoreline walk to distant melodies whispered in the wind. “I’ll do that, next time I go out,” Keefe promises, and for now, only Dex will ever know how big it is to hear Keefe make plans for a more social future he said he’d given up on at the beginning of these nighttime hails. “But only if you do too. Because I swear, your breath rivaled gulon farts, my guy.” 

But only if you do too. My guy. It softens Dex like the glow of the stars outside his window. His smile is a crescent in the dark. “Fine, fine, I will. Maybe I’ll make my own and hail you so you can watch alchemy antics.” 

“Please do. But finish talking first.” 

Dex takes a deep breath. “Okay. Uh. Where was I?” 

“Emotional vulnerability, I think?” 

Exhale, trace back to which thought he left off on, and go. Hurtle out of comfort and into the brilliantly terrifying unknown. Speak before the end of the fall. “Right, emotional vulnerability time. I don’t think of the eckodon ride every second of every day or anything. But it pops up from time to time. More often when I’m talking to you, of course, but it’s not like I can hear whale songs or see Z-shaped objects without at least briefly thinking about it. As for what I think of the eckodon ride, I think…” Dex falters. Stumbles. His carefully constructed thoughts flutter just out of reach. 

What was I thinking earlier? What have I thought about it before? “I think it was nice. Confusingly nice, but nice. I felt—it felt—it was different. A lot more physical contact than I was used to. And I guess I liked looking at you close up more than I was willing to admit before. Noticing little details was interesting—like how long your eyelashes are, since I didn’t really have anywhere to look but your eyes and I usually try to look close to people’s eyes but not quite since I get distracted by their eyes when they talk if I make eye contact, but we weren’t talking, and I just got to look, and—ugh, I’m rambling. That sounds weird. My words aren’t, I dunno what the word is—wording? Right? That’s wrong, but whatever. My words aren’t wording. You get what I mean.” 

Dex drags his hands down his face, and grimaces at the light layer of sweat that’s built up there in such a small amount of time. Has the freefall ended yet? Will his stomach please stop hollowing out? 

The freefall crashes to an end, and Dex slips out of the wind into into safe waters when Keefe asks, “So you didn’t mind how close we were the whole time?” 

With only the moon as a witness, the timidness in Keefe’s voice is clear. With only the moon as a witness, all the air empties out of Dex’s lungs when he says “I didn’t really mind, but I thought you did,” into what feels like six feet underneath the sky. 

Thuds pulse loudly in his veins and ears in the real silence. Every gentle slide of fabric moving with the crests and troughs of Dex’s breathing feels like the edge of too much, but Dex doesn’t know which side of the edge it falls onto. Staring at his imparter is too much now, too, so he turns his face into his pillow and swipes his thumb back and forth across his sheets as a nearly futile distraction from his frazzled senses. 

Keefe reels him out of it, out of the increasingly weird stimulation levels and the imaginary water. “I didn’t really mind either, and I didn’t know what to do with that, so I shoved you away and jumped to something that I understood. And then I tried not to think about it. Which worked for a while, but then Loamnore happened, and now it’s really hard to not think about how much I miss being close to people, which makes it extra hard to not think about the eckodon ride when I’m around you, and now we’re here.”

A hum vibrates in Dex’s throat; it resonates with all the gadgets scattered around his room on sleep mode. “So originally, you didn’t want to fully process the eckodon ride, but now that you have, you miss that kind of proximity?” 

“Yes,” Keefe breathes out a syllable and longing. 

“That makes sense,” Dex nods to himself. 

Contemplation lulls talking from either end of the line to sleep for a little while, but not Dex. Yet. At some point, Dex’s imparter slipped so that he couldn’t see Keefe and Keefe couldn’t see him. Not focusing on the changes in his expressions and environment, when it’s so late and quiet and Dex woke up at 2am yesterday and hasn’t slept since, makes it a little difficult to stay awake. 

“So if I end up being able to handle touching people at some point in the future,” Keefe starts, and Dex starts at the sudden verbalism and the hope in his voice that they both thought he’d lost, “kissing you is a no, but hugs are a yes?” 

“Hugs are a yes,” Dex agrees. 

“What about, um—” Keefe stops short. 

Laziness compels Dex to flick his imparter upright with telekinesis instead of just reaching over and grabbing it. He raises an eyebrow at Keefe. “What about what?” 

Dex is the furthest thing the elvin world knows to an empath, and yet. And yet. He can feel Keefe’s embarrassment through the countless miles separating Rimeshire and Splendor Plains. Keefe’s almost completely buried beneath blankets, pressed deep enough into his pillow that only some messy blond tufts are visible. 

“This is so stupid,” Keefe grumbles into fabric. 

“I think this is rather funny, actually. Hilarious, even,” Keefe can’t see Dex’s shit-eating grin. “Share with the class, Keefe. How were you gonna finish that sentence? Be honest,” 

(Dex turns down his imparter volume to the lowest setting. Just in case a certain froster is wandering around the halls with those silent mom feet of hers and walks in at the worst time possible.) 

Dex thinks he hears Keefe mumble holding hands, but that seems far too innocent to be correct, so he asks, “What?” 

Keefe pops up out of his cocoon. He looks like he wants to shrivel up and disappear to somewhere that’s anywhere but near his imparter. “Holding hands. That’s how I was going to end the sentence.” 

Suspicion narrows Dex’s eyes. “Considering the kind of jokes you like to make, I feel like it takes more than the idea of holding hands to get you flustered,” 

“Not anymore,” 

Dex can’t tell if Keefe is whining or scraping the surface of loneliness that he’s shoved aside for tonight, and decides it’s a good idea to pull him away from that. He can lament his losses when the sun’s there to smatter more freckles along the bridge of his nose. “Getting back to the point—you wanted to know how I felt about you wanting to hold my hand?” 

Slowly, Keefe nods. 

“I don’t see why it’d be anything to get flustered about. We used to hold hands for light leaping all the time. Extending that doesn’t seem like a huge deal, in this hypothetical.” 

“How the fuck are you so chill about this but I’m not,” Keefe says, and yeah, he’s definitely whining now. 

Dex laughs. “My serious answer is because 1) I’m not touch starved and 2) we’re talking theoreticals, and my emotions kind of take a backseat during conversations like these so my critical thinking skills can take the wheel, since it feels like there’s no stakes since it’s all, as I said, theoretical. My joking answer, on the other hand, is because I’m cooler than you.” 

Keefe cracks a smile. “True, true,” 

“Anything else you wanted to talk about?” 

“Is there anything else I said earlier that you’re not cool with?” Keefe returns. 

“List it off again?” 

“Uhhhh…” What some humans would call Keefe’s ‘Adam’s apple’ bobs as he tips his head back and thinks. He raises one hand and flips up a finger for each item he rattles off. “Stuff we haven’t talked about yet: Me wanting to draw you a bajillion times, me wanting to paint you a bajillion times, me wanting to get into a tickle fight with you just because I like how your laugh sounds, and teeeechnically cuddling?” 

This is the kind of thing that Dex should probably have to mull over for a while, but answers come to him oddly easily. “All of those are fine, but I will warn you that I might kick you on instinct if you tickle me too much. Which isn’t that hard. My dad makes fun of me all the time for still being ticklish. He said that Dizznees usually have built up immunity to tickles by my age.” 

Keefe blinks. Numerous times. Exaggeratedly. “Normally I’d be losing my mind at you being cool with me using you as a pillow for no reason, but I’m way too stuck on tickle immunity being a thing you can build up.” 

Dex forgets to be quiet with his wheezing. “Dude, I have so many whack stories about things me and my family have done that have to do with tickling. Like, my dad said that when he was a level two he’d make elixirs specifically to give him vampire fangs so he could bite his siblings harder when they tried to tickle him,” 

The tea kettle monkey screeching hysterical laughter from before comes back with a vengeance, and Dex is very glad his imparter is as quiet as it can be without deafening Keefe out entirely. “I need the full story now,” he gasps out. 

“You’re in for a ride,” Dex says, settling into a more comfortable position on his bed. But then he remembers one thing he swore he’d say before this hail ended, and makes sure to look the camera head on when he comments, “Oh, by the way, before I don’t shut up for another three hours, good job getting some sunshine. The freckles look nice on you.” 

Horror rounds Keefe’s eyes comically. He frantically runs his fingers along his cheeks as if his aforementioned freckles were braille spelling out some awful message on his face. “You can see them?” 

“How else would I know they look nice on you?” 

Keefe groans and curls up like the roly poly bugs Dex loved to pick up as a kid. Keefe’s imparter falls forward, and the imparter screen thumps into fuzzy blackness. “I chase Bullhorn around the property so Elwin can have a break for a day one time, and this is how the world rewards me,” 

“As I basically told you already: I think it’s a great reward. Anyway. Wanna hear about just how petty my family gets or not?” 

“I’m 100% down, Dexy. Hit me with good old storytime.” 

Storytelling hasn’t ever really been Dex’s thing, but Keefe doesn’t seem to have high standards, which is nice. (The other explanation is that Dex is better at storytelling than he thinks, which he refuses to believe because he hates being wrong about anything ever.) He laughs more than Dex expected, and insists on getting his sketchbook at one point to draw out certain parts, and then they both giggle so hard they can’t breathe. They gesture and talk and talk and talk until Keefe says his throat and ribs hurt, and Dex agrees on that last part. 

Dex’s last thought before his breathing slows and evens out is some hazy musing of how nice it is that he can be Keefe’s person without having to feel hummingbirds or butterflies to get there. 

Both of their imparters are on when they fall asleep to soft whirrs and wake up to peaceful daylight.

[definitelydissociative]

Being in college has been a very strange experience for us so far--and I use "us" here because it's not just the school parts who are having a strange time. I'm absolutely not a school part, previous to returning from dormancy two years ago, I was only ever here to soak up the night time abuse. Now, somehow, I'm sitting here on a day off (it's reading week, thank god) and I'm typing this post to avoid doing homework. I somehow ended up roped into this whole mess, despite having been very, very vocally against attempting school again. I don't know how I feel about it now.

Initially, it seemed like it was all going to be one single part who handled our courses during the day and dealt with homework. Callie (the main school part) did it all on their own for the first few weeks, but I think they reached a point where she had a massive stress induced meltdown and has refused to touch homework since. Now it's just Callie who goes on campus, but there's a whole bunch of us who are contributing academically and in terms of support. There's a part who does all of our timed touch typing and typing drills. Phoenix gets us all ready to go in the morning. Luca is, apparently, the "bus guy" because nobody else can handle the stress of taking public transit here after being sexually harassed literally the first day we took the bus. I don't doubt there's more that I'm not aware of yet. Whoever is around contributes to homework, usually myself (Adam) or Jack. I'm working on a project for our graphic design-esque class, which is a brochure that's due tomorrow afternoon. Over the last week, I think it's passed between at least three of us, maybe four. It's incredibly strange to open up Canva and realize I have zero memory of what had been done by another part.

It's hard to deny the depth of our amnesia at this point. Memory sharing is weird, particularly between Jack and Callie, but most days when we get home from school and switch to home parts, nobody remembers that we'd had classes at all. Sometimes memories will be shared after the fact, though not always. It makes homework incredibly frustrating and difficult to keep track of--I've never had to be so rigorously organized before. It's just really, really fucking hard to sit down to work on an assignment and realize that I don't remember any of the lecture relevant to my assignments. It's exhausting, most of our extended homework sessions (some days I work six hours straight after school) are made so long because it takes up lots of time to track down the information we need.

Don't even get me started on dealing with trauma. It's a whole thing that needs its own post, but the short story is that we've been in deep, deep denial since disclosing to my mother went so badly last February. It's a huge part of why this blog was abandoned, actually. It's been a work in progress but that denial is finally fading and we're being forced to face the truth. The truth is just... unpredictable. It would be nice to keep, at the very least, the CSA flashbacks and triggers to at home, but it hasn't been working like that. I don't know enough about Callie's experiences to say what that's been like for her, but I am aware that it's been really distressing when she has her own school related trauma to deal with.

Anyways. I wrote this as a way to stall doing homework, but I should probably stop stalling and get the stupid thing done and over with. It's worth 20% of our final mark and I certainly don't want to get blamed for a shit mark because I refused to pitch in and be a team player.

I hate having to share my life sometimes. I just want to do my own thing, separate from the other chucklefucks and their bullshit.

[arkiwii]

Will start with this one then, that I wrote to pass time in the plane

It would be funny if we put an animal between the hands of two unfunctional divorced lesbians don't you think

There's a lot of mistakes and typos probably, I didn't had time to proofread and I'm not native English speaker, so my bad

________________

Somehow, Silence and Saria end up having to take care of an injured Musbeast… Of course, things can only not go well when these two have to do any sort of collaboration, especially when it involves a being's life.

Characters

Silence, Saria, Ifrit

Warnings

Description of injury, description of surgery, injured animal

________________

"May I know what you were doing here?"

A dry voice, normally known to be soft and calm, reached the ears of the silver haired person. This one is found forced to stop her tracks to look up towards the origin of the familiar voice, slightly moving the paper sheet she was observing from her sight.

It was a normal day, nothing really special; just a calm evening in Rhodes Island. In those summer days, it was common for operators to take it easy, simply doing the work they were supposed to do, without doing much, and rarely had to face emergencies. Adding to this, some operators decided to take vacations, taking profit of the sunshine, hanging out with their friends or family, which resulted in turning the normally noisy and busy ship into a calmer and emptier one.

Well, of course, with the exception of these two. The Liberi and the Vouivre simply had no concept of "vacation" or "break", it seems. Why spend days, or weeks, chilling at the beach, when you can work twelve hours per day? The Infecteds' lives don't take a break. Medicine and science discoveries neither.

And even less the condition of their protected one.

"I was printing a copy of Ifrit's health report." The taller woman replied in a monotone voice, with not a single emotion. The facts, straight and direct to the point, nothing else was needed.

A complete opposite to the medic in front of her, who frowned behind her round glasses, grasping at the documents she was holding. "How does it even concern you? You're not part of the medical team." Now that she thinks about it, how long has it been that Saria was looking at the reports of Ifrit's condition? Maybe since the very start - her heart skipped a beat at the thought, suddenly scared about what it could mean, or what intentions the defender had to do such a thing. Under the mess of thoughts, she slightly raised her voice, suddenly seeming aggressive, or at least, on the defensive. "Are you trying to keep an eye on your experi-"

"I'm just making sure she's fine." The tall woman frowned, yet her voice remained neutral. Finally a bit of emotion, even if it seems to be disbelief that her co-worker was still believing that she only had intentions to hurt this child. "Now, I will leave, to not bother you more. Good day."

With a tail wave, she simply just walked away, passing in front of the brown haired Liberi, who was ready to let her leave with not a single additional word, or a goodbye. But she barely took any steps further that rushed footsteps made her stop, followed by a screaming voice.

"Sillleenceee! Quick, I need your help!"

The sudden voice of the younger one immediately changed the hard expression on Silence's face, who quickly turned toward its source in surprise - followed by the Vouivre, who could not help it.

"Ifrit? Is everything alri- Wait, what is that?"

The owl squinted as the Sarkaz approached, noticing a mass of brown fur and feathers in her arms that she was unable to identify at this distance. Saria took some steps forward, closing her distance with the researcher until she was just next to her. "It looks like…"

"I-" The child finally stopped her course to take a few breaths, now just in front of the two adults. "I was playing outside and- And I found this beast… It seems very injured!"

"Wait, Ifrit, breathe." The concerned Liberi put a hand on the blonde child's shoulder. Her gaze turned then to the creature in her arms, quickly analyzing it. "It's still breathing, but it's rather slow… I will have to analyze it in a proper place, come with me."

She made a sign to Ifrit to follow, who did so, under the silent stare of the defender. But contrary to what Silence secretly wished, the horned child will not miss an occasion to include Saria in this affair. "Saria! You will help too, right? You're so good at helping people, I'm sure you would do amazing!" Her little tail swinged as she spoke, an excited smile on her face.

An excitement that was not shared by the two of them, the first was looking at the kid with surprised eyes, while the second ruffled her feathers up. "Saria is bus-" She went to grab Ifrit's arm to drag her away, but she dodged it and returned in front of the Vouivre.

"Busy with what?! It's summer! C'moonn, I'm sure she would help a lot… Just like with me before!" The bright orange eyes of the child seemed to wet up as she begged. Memories of the old times where she and Saria used to collaborate in Rhine Lab remade the surface, against her will. The former director did not know what to say in the entire situation, a part of her wished to accept, but never she would break the boundaries of Silence, boundaries that included staying feets away from the scientist.

"That's up to Silence if she wants help." That's all she replied, redirecting her gaze to the Liberi, this reply betraying that she was indeed up to offer a hand. That's now a situation that the owl has to face. Many replies, many thoughts appeared in her head, as she opened her lips slightly as to say one, but none came out. Her mind screamed to refuse, her heart screamed to accept, and she was just here, fighting mentally to make a decision. Just one, any, but one-

"...Fine. She can come." She deeply sighed, to herself or to the situation, she didn't know. "I might need more pairs of hands anyway." An addition that was not that necessary, if not to convince herself that she did not accept because she wanted Saria to be around. "Now let's not lose more time."

"It really is a nasty wound…" Silence squinted as she was analyzing the Musbeast on a large operation table that was carefully draped with a tissue. The creature was showing a big wound on one of its forepaws, similar to a bite, probably made by a hound. It was covered in dried blood, mixed with fur and feathers, despite the medic's attempt to shave around the it for a proper look.

"Will it survive?" Ifrit was still here, looking as well as the wound. Even if it was not a suitable sight for a child, she was not any child, and it was probably something she was very used to seeing, if not worse, in the operations she had taken. Her tone was concerned - even if she could play the overconfident side time by time, she can't hide her sensitivity to other being's health. In the meantime, Saria was preparing some tools in silence.

"The chances are high, yes… Don't worry, we will try our best to save it." She kindly smiled to the child, gently ruffling her hair with one hand, which was replied to with an awkward laugh from her. "You should leave us to take care of it now… You can go back playing outside, I will tell you if anything happens, alright?"

"Alright alright." The kid walked away, giving a last glance to the beast, but then her gaze switched to the two adults. "I will go but, I better not catch you two arguing or something, OK?" Ah well, it was not words she expected to hear from someone as young as Ifrit, so Silence couldn't help but chuckle at it, but nervously.

"Not when a being's life is between our hands, no." She only replied this, her voice suddenly lowering mid-sentence, realizing how much of a lie it was - after all, they both argued a lot about Ifrit's life. The young Sarkaz then squinted at them, doing the hand sign for "I am watching", before leaving the medical room, carefully closing the door behind her.

An awkward silence installed itself between them very soon after. Both simply just stranded here, their bodies turned to the door. Finally, the Vouivre was the first to break the quiet ambiance.

"...Just like the old times."

She couldn't help but raise the corner of her mouth in nostalgia, while the Liberi did not dared a look towards her, instead focusing her attention on the patient. "Except it's a beast. I hope that you at least have some knowledge in animal health." After putting on a medical mask, the brune owl grabbed a tool holding on a cotton that she dipped in disinfectant.

"I don't. I may be useless after all." She followed her co-worker by putting on a mask as well, but soon got surprised by the sudden reaction of the creature under the cotton being pressed on the wound. "Ah, wait, do you need me to hold it for you?"

"That'd be nice." The owl dryly replied, allowing the Vouivre to move to the other side of the table to place her hands on the creature, who was panicking and breathing. "Be careful to not hurt it. And don't let it go." She whispered a warning before going back to her task to clean up the wound.

"I'm not as…" Saria instinctively replied, but upon realizing this reply was surely useless, she finally just nodded. "Alright." She was holding the beast against the table, tight enough to not allow it to leave despite its struggling attempts, but also not too tight to hurt it.

Seeing this beast trying to break free under her hands only reminded her of another problematic little beast.

"Ptilopsis is not with you?" she finally asked, and realized that she had not seen Silence's assistant at all today, despite the fact that the two are normally always sticking around each other. The concerned one barely looked up at the question, still focusing on the beast who was now letting out small cries. "No. She went out with Mayer this morning. They're going to get new materials for Lutra Workshop. I thought that letting her go outside with someone else would do her goo-" She suddenly stopped herself to sigh, the noisy creature under her hands refusing to calm down, masking the words of the Liberi. "You're a noisy one, you know that?"

She gently rubbed a finger behind one of the ears of the beast, hoping that this kind action would help it to calm down, under the warm look of her co-worker. "Seems like the pain woke it up." She simply commented with a smile, not moving her hands one bit from the creature.

"At least it's a good sign." The brown haired one shrugged, finally setting down the tool she was previously using to clean up the wound. "But it's going to be a struggle for when I'd have to sew that wound."

As she spoke, she looked around for her next tool, while the Vouivre gave her an interrogated look with round eyes. "Shouldn't we put it asleep first?"

Her question stopped the owl, who then moved a hand on her chin, knitting her eyebrows. "Maybe? I don't know how it works… Ketamine?"

"That might be too strong for a Musbeast."

"You're right." The medic slided a look to the animal, who seemed to have relaxed now that the wound wasn't touched anymore. "Maybe propofol then? I'm really unsure what is the best…" she moved a hand to her forehead, grabbing some of her hair as she looked in the void, trying her best to think of a solution. Unfortunately, she really did not know anything about animal medicine, having studied human biology more.

"We can still make an attempt." Saria's voice, still calm, finally stopped Silence in her train of thoughts. "If anything, we would still have tried." She closed her eyes for a bit, finally moving one hand to gently give pets to the beast, brushing the long feathered antennas on its head.

"I don't want to make Ifrit sad if we fail." The Liberi turned her head away, showing a concerned expression despite herself. While the white haired defender was burning with the urge to put a hand on her shoulder, to gently stroke her feathers, to give her comfort like she used to do, she did nothing. She only responded, but in her normally strict voice could be heard some kindness.

"We won't. I promise you that I won't let it happen."

Silence only took a short breath. Can she really trust the person she wanted away from her? She ended up closing her eyes, but then adjusted her glasses with a gloved finger, before turning back to Saria and nodding to her.

No, she can't trust her. But she does not have much of a choice.

It's been such, such a long time since the two conversed this way. None of them can recall how long, but it's been too long, it's all they knew. It was hard for Silence to accept that when it did not come to Ifrit or Rhine Lab, talking with Saria was really pleasing. They both seemed to be on the same level, on some understanding, with a common goal; to protect those in need.

It's when Silence thinks about it that she could not help but feel a slight pain in her chest. On one hand, she craved to forgive Saria, to come back to her side, to feel the comfort she used to give her, this feeling of security and trust. But on the other hand, she was scared to do so; scared that she might be making a mistake, that she might lose the ones she wished to protect and save, that she would fall in the hands of Rhine Lab again.

It was not hate that she had for Saria anymore, not with those years spent with her in Rhodes Island. It was fear. For herself, for Ifrit.

The operation went well. The deep wound on the beast's arm was nothing to be afraid of anymore, sewed back and covered with a bandage to prevent any contact with it. The Liberi was now washing the tools she used, while the Vouivre was reorganizing them, peeping at the sleeping animal time by time. It should not be long before it awakens, now.

"What is the plan now?" The white haired one asked after another look, without looking at the other person in the room.

"Well, obviously it can't be left in nature this way." Silence replied, cutting off the water a moment to speak. "We'd have to keep it around until it's fully healed."

"In Rhodes Island?"

"Maybe. Unless you know somewhere else to keep it - I don't. In a dorm, with someone to watch it carefully, it would suffice." She finally dried up the tools she was washing, walking back near Saria to put them back in their places. "I'm not sure if Ifrit is a good candidate for this, however. As much as I trust her, you know how she can act impulsively…"

"And about you and Ptilopsis?" The dragon took a step backwards to not get too close to her co-worker, and decided to instead focus back her attention on the animal.

"I don't know if Ptilopsis would be alright with it. But even so, it might be difficult for us, as we tend to be often distracted, or focused on work…" Other candidates would surely fit better, but as she thought of Mayer or maybe Magallan, she could not help but decide to play a bit with Saria. "How about you? Let's see how great Lady the former Director is with animals." She caught herself smiling, suppressing this expression the moment she realized she was doing it.

"Not that great." Saria waved her tail, betraying how nervous she felt about it, despite her expression staying neutral. She stared at the Musbeast, who was now slowly waking up. "But I don't mind trying if it's better."

The room went quiet as the two were now staring at the little one. It seemed to be really confused, proceeding where it was and what happened. Instinctively, it went on its paws, and attempted to walk, but soon fell on the table, causing a pressed movement from Silence.

"Ah, be careful-" But the moment she took a step forward, her hands raised as if to grab the animal, it immediately freaked out, and tried to get up instantly to run away. It was not that fast, limping slowly, but still fast enough to escape Silence. Thankfully for her, Saria, who had way better reflexes in this kind of situation, jumped forward to gently catch the animal before it could fall. "Ah… Thank you Saria." the Liberi sighed with relief, glad that the beast was alright, despite its slow movements to escape Saria's grip. It seemed that it was still tired and confused from the anesthesia, but no less ferocious.

"You're welcome… I will have to be careful and keep a constant eye on it, then." her eyes moved to the Musbeast, trying to make sure to not hurt it with her firm hands.

The owl nodded to confirm it, before turning away slightly. "I will continue to clean everything up, and as well contact Mayer and Joye to bring some pet food while they're out, we'll definitely need it. As well as a cone… And pet special medecine…" she started to mumble, a hand to her chin, her eyes straying away. For a moment, the Vouivre was just standing here, the animal in her hands - who calmed down after realizing how meaningless its efforts were - her orange stare on her co-worker. At the moment, she simply just lost herself looking at her, not realizing it. In fact, it's Silence who remarked it first, frowning in confusion at Saria.

"Saria? You can go now. I'll take care of the rest."

"Ah- Right. My apologizes." She nodded politely, feeling her tail swinging in awkwardness, before leaving the room.

A soft knock on her door made her perk her head up.

"I'm coming."

Soft morning sun rays drowned the dorm in warm colors. It was the next day, and Saria had spent the rest of the day in her room, watching her new protected one. Even if it has been a single day, the place was now covered in an overwhelming scent of pet food that she felt like she would have a hard time to get rid of.

As she said, the draconic one stood up to walk to the mechanical door, allowing this one to open, revealing the short brown haired Liberi behind.

"Good morning, Silence."

"Good… morning, Saria." Silence's voice sounded strangely hesitant, as if she was not planning on greeting the person in front of her, but was still caught off guard by the greeting, politeness forcing her to reply despite herself. "I brought the medicine for the beast. Is everything alright so far?"

She tried to slide a look behind Saria, with great difficulty considering how she was built compared to Silence, but upon seeing her struggle, the Vouivre took a step aside to allow the smaller one to see - and maybe enter. "Nothing concerning. It seems to be doing fine, but is still trying to get used to it. Ah, you can enter if you don't mind."

If Silence doesn't mind? Of course she does mind. The idea of entering in the dorm of the person she trusts the least is not making her feel the greatest. She only looked inside, quietly, but decided to shut the thoughts in her head. She's here as a medic, a professional, to help a living being - she doesn't have time to put her personal life in it. Forcing herself to keep a neutral look, she entered the place, and quickly spotted the beast on the bed. At least, it seems like it got used to Saria's presence enough. She placed the medicine she brought on the desk in the room, noticing how clean and organized this one was. Of course, she already knows Saria well to know that her dorm would be very neutral and clean, as if it was unoccupied and untouched since she started to work at Rhodes Island. The only noticeable elements would be her shield, her clothes, documents, and… A slightly burnt feather. Silence frowned at this sight, but did her best to ignore it and focus on the matter, as the dorm's owner closed the door to make sure the beast wouldn't try to flee.

"So let's see this…" Silence muttered as she approached the animal, who was already staring at her with big eyes, the antennas and ears on its head perked up in alert, despite the big plastic cone around. The moment the Liberi was a little bit too close, it stood up, and walked backwards, until its butt hit the wall behind. "Still scared I see…" She whispered, but couldn't help a very slightly amused smile at the animal when it tried to turn around, but the cone hit the wall. Saria approached as well, but simply sat on the bed, before raising a hand carefully at the beast to allow it to sniffle it.

"It's alright, Quill, don't be afraid…"

"Quill?" The Liberi blinked at the name. She really was not expecting Saria, ex-director of the Defense section, known for her cold behavior and for being more sturdy than diamond itself, to be attached to a small fluffy animal that she met a day ago. And apparently, Saria herself was not expecting it, as she stiffened up, waving her tail around nervously. "I was thinking that a name would be more friendly… And, its feathers remind me of yours."

Ah. As soon as she said those words, a very awkward silence took place. The Vouivre, who was looking away, slided a look at the owl, whose expression was… really hard to describe. Surprise? Anger? Fluster? Guilt? Tender? Disgust? A mix of all of those at once? Whatever she was dealing with, something could be guessed; she did not want to deal with it. "I… Hum. Could you try to hold it please? I need to examine its wound."

After that, no more words were exchanged between them. Saria obeyed, picking up the small animal after gently reassuring it, and held it in a way that its arm would be easier to see. The Liberi quickly looked at it - maybe too quick, Saria can guess it's the fact that she had to be closer to her that was making her act this way -, before noting in a low voice that it seemed all alright and starting to heal up. She then went to take the medicine, asking for Saria to force the animal's mouth open for her to put it in its throat. Everything went well, and after being released from Saria's hands, the beast gently jumped out of bed - well, "jumped" in the best way it could -, before hiding under it.

Now, it was just the two of them. Silence did not dare to look at Saria again, instead turning around. "I'm leaving the medicine here. One pill every morning until it's all healed up. I guess you can do the check ups yourself." She walked away to the door, leaving Saria to reply with an agreeing growl, but she finally built the courage to call for the Medic before she leaves.

"Olivia."

"Don't-"

"I'm sorry."

The look of anger on Silence's face upon hearing her first name suddenly vanished at the apology. She finally let out a sigh, looking towards the door, but did not take another step. "Listen I… I just don't know what to think about it. I was hoping you would have forgotten…" she looked behind at the desk, towards the feather, where the defender's eyes followed. "I just need a moment." The feather tufts on her head lowered, but she finally left before Saria could reply anything else.

Since this day, Silence never visited again. Sometimes, it would be Mayer or Ptilopsis, even Magallan once, and of course Ifrit - always supervised by one of the first two. They seemed always glad to see the little beast, who started to feel more at ease at the sight of new faces. They would even bring some treats time by time, Mayer would bring a Meeboo to play around, or take note of its anatomy to perfect her robots. Ifrit was always eager to play or pet the animal, even though she was often asked to leave it alone, as it could not do much in its stade, and Ptilopsis took the role of checking in to keep track of its health.

But never Silence. Saria grew worried about it, sometimes asking news to Ifrit or Ptilopsis, but it seemed that she was doing fine. So she was really just giving her the cold shoulder - she was used to it after all. It was probably better for Silence, staying around Saria against her will probably have stressed her up.

It has been a week now. The cone around Quill's head - name officialized as Ifrit loved it - was removed, and it seemed that its situation was better. Saria would of course not spend all her time in her dorm, she would often wander to the training room, or check around Rhodes Island to see if any operator was in need of assistance or anything. The ship really was calmer and more silent in summer, it was almost boring. At least, she could somewhat entertain herself with Quill. And speaking of it, she was spending this evening sitting on her bed, the small animal laying down on her lap as she gave it a few strokes on its head, gently sliding her fingers on the length of its feathers, her mind somewhere else.

The feathers were extremely soft. She always loved the feel of the texture of those on her fingers, the palm of her hand, against her body. While slightly ticklish, they still brought something to her; a feeling of warmth, of sweetness.

Eyes closed, she could almost feel her presence again. Her head resting against her, and her hand gently brushing her hair and feathers. Bright memories of a past she could never live again. Why wouldn't she fight for it? She could - but she thinks she does not deserve it.

The accusations were false, but the guilt was here. She could, no, she should have known. She should have stopped them before. Before it happened, before these innocents were harmed. It was too late now to go back, but she will still try. She will keep on protecting them, and try to stop those who did it. Even if she was now alone, it was certainly better. So the ones she cares about won't be hurt if she fails. And she won't hurt herself.

She opened her eyes again when the fluffy creature yawned, moving her hand to not disturb it. But as she did, she caught something shining under the light of her room, on its forepaw. Muttering reassuring words to the beast, she picked up its leg to examine it. Now that she thinks about it, it has been a while since Ptilopsis did a check up, maybe she decided it was not necessary anymore. As Saria looked at the wound, she squinted, before catching up what got her attention between the black wires that were used to stitch back the injury; black crystals.

“Saria..?”

It’s a small voice that welcomed her as she opened the door. It was pretty late in the evening, but never too late for the literal night owl that is Silence. She was of course in her laboratory, where she spent most of her time, and that’s where Saria found her. The expression on her face was strange, she seemed surprised, but also not glad to see her; and the Vouivre could not help but notice how her hair seemed greasy and messy, as if she had not taken care of herself for the whole time.

“It’s about Qu… The Musbeast.” she hesitated, thinking that hearing that name again might not do her the best. Silence seemed to relax a bit, maybe was she afraid that it was about her or, maybe, the both of them. “Ah. Did something happen?”

“It got infected.”

She blinked once, then twice, before readjusting her glasses. “I did not know it could happen… I should have watched it more carefully.” Her eyes seemed to wander away, as she lost herself in her thoughts, the way she always did. “How is it feeling right now? Joyce reported to me it was getting better, and nothing was alarming.”

“That’s the case. There’s no sign of an advanced stage of Oripathy, just a few crystals have appeared on its wound.” Saria’s voice remained calm as always.

“...Alright. I will go take a look. Is it still in your room?” As she spoke, she took off the lab coat she still had on her, revealing her clear brown turtleneck under it.

“Wait,” Saria called out the moment the Liberi was leaving the laboratory, getting her to stop in her tracks to look at her. “Have you taken care of yourself recently?” She dared to ask this question, earning a frown as a reaction.

“It’s not about me.”

While Saria’s tone barely changed, someone who is used to hearing her like Silence could guess a certain concern behind it. “The beast can wait, it’s not in an emergency state, you should try to at least take a sh-”

“I can take care of myself- and, w-what are you trying to achieve with all of this anyway?” Contrary to the person in front of her, Silence could not keep her voice calm, and raised her tone slightly, showing a certain anger - or maybe fear, or maybe both, even. It was as if she was afraid of a certain conclusion, that she had been rejecting for long, so long.

Saria could play the innocence card, and ask what she meant by “all of this”, but she did nothing, only opening her lips slightly as if the words refused to leave. She already knew what she meant, so instead she simply looked down, her tail swinging slightly behind her, but soon rolling up around her legs. “I can’t forget.”

The next second, she could only hear a deep inhale from the owl, who closed her eyes as if to calm herself down. But instead of replying, she only turned herself to walk in the hallway. “We’ll talk about it later. But first, let’s take care of this.”

They simply walked for a bit, in complete silence, Saria staying a certain distance from her co-worker as if it was preferable for her to forget that Saria was here at all. Once they arrived, and after a scan from Saria’s ID card to open the door, they were greeted with the animal in the center of the piece, who immediately rushed under the bed upon seeing them. Silence took note of how it walked, it seemed that it was getting way better, only slightly limping. After allowing Saria to catch the Musbeast, she joined to take a look at the wound. Saria could hear her click her tongue before she stood up.

"It's not looking very bad, it's only at early stages… But I don't know how to deal with that." She sighed before sitting on the bed, but keeping a distance from Saria. She was tired, visibly, but still tried to hide it. "Is the treatment the same as humans? How long can it survive? I don't know anything about its biology either." Her eyes focused on an indeterminate point, as she tapped her fingers on her second arm, now turned into a wing. Saria stared at her for a moment, letting go of the Musbeast who decided that it was getting hungry.

The situation was awfully similar to what happened back in Rhine Lab. A patient both had to take care of, yet they could not understand, but a will to save it regardless. That Ifrit was a human child and Quill a simple animal does not change that both deserve a life. But this time, no one was to blame; it was only nature.

She balanced her tail, her hands now resting on her laps. "I guess there is not much we can do… But that does not mean we can't try."

"I guess." Silence's voice sounded deeper, surely due to her tiredness. It would be hard to deny that she has been neglecting herself. "I would have to take a sample of its blood when I will remove the threads… I just don't know how to announce it to Ifrit now."

"There's nothing we could have done to prevent it anyway." Saria nodded, before looking at the beast who was curiously staring at them, sniffing the air as if to get hints if Silence was an enemy or an ally. "The least we can do now would be to give it a good life."

Silence's feathers tufts dropped slightly at these words. "But… I could probably try to find a way to cure it. If I work hard enough…"

"Olivia, you already work enough." The taller woman's voice was strict at those words, but still somewhat full of concern. The Liberi could have been mad at the sound of her name, but at the moment, her mind was too focused on the matter, and too tired to pay attention, that hearing it again sounded more of a habit than something she would reject. "You do a lot for Ifrit. And not just her. For Ptilopsis. For this small Liberi woman you met as well. For Rhodes Island as a whole." She would have liked to offer way more than just her words - to be able to hold her again, to reassure her like she used to do. But not right now. "You need to take care of yourself too."

Silence sighed deeply, closing her eyes to not reopen them, feeling way more comfortable this way. "I feel like I'm hearing Joyce… Since when did you care about us?"

"I always did." The amber eyes of the draconic one looked away, at the Musbeast, who was now approaching them to jump on the bed, before taking place between the two of them - but closer to Saria, to whom it was the most used to. Both looked at it silently, eventually Silence dared to approach a hand to gently pet it, noting that it was as soft as her own feathers.

"I still don't know if I can really trust you." She finally started, her eyes not moving from the creature who was still showered in tender pets. "I'm afraid to. I'm afraid that if I go back, things will get worse, that I might lose her. But this time we spent together… Taking care of this beast… It just reminded me of the days in Rhine Lab, and how much I missed them." She finally let go, and now brought back her two hands together, before staring away once again. "Even if we were running towards a bad end, things were easier, and we were happy together… But now, I'm afraid of being blinded again. Of being used."

Saria could only listen in silence. Her heart tightened at the words, it has been so long since she heard Silence speak her heart open this way. She only nodded to show that she saw listening, even yet the Liberi woman could not see it.

"So long story short, I don't know what to do. But I need time. I'm still afraid for Ifrit. And I still don't trust you." She took a sharp breath, before sliding a look at Saria, finally. "But either way, we both are working towards the same objective, right? So you better not break my trust again, and my heart."

Maybe Saria was dreaming, or maybe she really did see a smile on Silence's face. Or maybe this one was so tired that she was not paying attention anymore. Her head dropped to look at Quill, now simply laying down against her lap, comfortably. "I won't. That's a promise you can trust."

"I wish." Silence whispered, her eyes closed, before letting once again calm install itself between them. It was a strange conversation they just had, never they spoke this way. Exposing each other's heart, so calmly, and yet, despite the terms they were on now, they could still somewhat find a common goal to fight for. To protect Ifrit.

"Alright," the owl finally stood up after a moment, feeling as if she was falling asleep, and despite having found a consensus, she absolutely refuses to fall asleep on her ex-lover's bed. "I won't take any longer. I still have work to do."

She walked towards the door, Saria looking at her do so, blocked by the small animal who seemed to have fallen asleep near her.

"Good night, Olivia."

Silence stopped just in front of the door, but did not look behind. "It's Silence, until otherwise. Good night, Saria."

And now, it was just Saria and Quill again. Now alone, the Vouivre could not help but drop a tender smile, whispering to the pet next to her, as if it could hear her.

"She really is something, huh…"

[spookydicks]

So, uhhh im really proud of this fic I wrote and its not really getting seen on a03 so im posting it here soooooo here ya goooooooooo

it isnt much, but it is enough for me

Matilda Bradbury, no, Laudna had been working on a special project for a couple of hours now. She was hard at work sewing bits of red thread into the body of a long-dead rat. She grabbed the bird skull, which she found on the floor one day, and sewed it to the body. To complete this creation, she took a piece of ribbon and tying it into a little bowtie around the creature’s neck, covering the thread. Once she was done, Laudna held the creation up to her, creating ichory strings from her fingers, and pondered to herself.

“Hello, little friend! I wonder what I should name you…. All good friends need a name, you know.” She thought for a while. ‘What about…”, she paused, Pate? Does that sound good?” Laudna tilted her head. “Oh, I have a better idea! What about Pate De Rolo? That sounds right for you. Alright, it is done!” She extended her arms while holding the newly named Pate De Rolo. “Your name will now be Pate De Rolo! How wonderful! We’re going to be such good friends; I can feel it now!”

She looked around her quiet hut. “You must be wondering where you are. Here, let me show you around”, she said melodically.

“This,” she started, “is where you were made, my little crafting spot! That’s rather obvious, I know. I like to call it my “Crafting Corner.” Isn’t that delightful?” The undead crafter showed off each little knickknack and trinket on the table: needles, thread, fabric scraps, scissors, ribbon, and other such materials. The needles, pins, and fabric scraps were their own homemade container. Each container was unique and made of wood. The buttons container was painted a dark blue with a little doll on it made of buttons. The pin container was painted silver with little bits of red coming out of a drawn-on hand. The fabric scraps container was painted blue with a drawn-on tree on it. The drawn-on dress looks as if it’s hanging from the tree. The table itself was made of wood, with lots of little holes in it, probably from many hours of crafting.

“Oh, don’t mind those. Nobody said crafting was fast, you know.”

Fabric scraps, ribbons, and needles surrounded the table floor.

The typical environment of a crafter.

“This” she pointed to an old mattress on an old, creaky bedframe that acts as her bed. The blanket is worn wool with what appears to be black stains on it. She likes the feeling of the wool on her skin at night. It reminds her of the blankets she used to have at her old home.

Before……..

That night……

That dreadful night….

“This is where I sleep. It may not seem much, but it’s comforting when I need it to be. Oh! That’s my pillow. It may not be the most comfortable but, it does its job. Since, you know, a pillow full of leaves isn’t exactly the most comfortable thing in all of Exandria.” She chuckled. “You know, I’ve had many a dream on that pillow: good ones,” she paused, somberly, ‘bad ones.” She paused, taking a deep breath. “Well,” her chipperness returned, “moving on!”

Laudna and her little newly made companion moved on to the kitchen area. “This is the kitchen! It’s a pretty sad excuse for a kitchen, isn’t it.” She motioned towards the small kitchen. It consisted of a small, rusted stove, a medium-sized sink, with a water basin and soap next to it, and wooden and rusted cupboards with miscellaneous ingredients and seasonings inside. “This is also where I do laundry. Oh! I apologize for the mess. I’m not used to having company!” She babbled, putting away the pile of dirty dishes in the sink.

“Moving Ooon!” She sang.

“This,” she pointed out, is a common area of sorts.” She motioned to a space in the middle of the cottage where two chairs and a little carpet lay, surrounding a small fireplace. “Do you like that rug? I made it myself.” Laudna grinned. “I heard one day the town was having an outdoor market of sorts so I decided to go! I was wearing a cloak, of course. The townsfolk don’t really…’, she paused, playing with her elongated fingers, “like me. They think I’m the witch in the woods and are all like She’s scary! She’ll get your children! Get her out of here! Pitchforks! Blaugh! Soo………” She said, playfully, eyes widening with every word.

After a hesitation, she chirped back up.

“So, I met a delightful woman who was running her little…shop. She was human with quite a warm disposition. Her daughter, I noticed, was sitting on the floor crafting. “

     "Hello, little one!,” Laudna said calmly, kneeling down to the child’s level.

    “H-Hi” The girl hesitated, wide-eyed.

    "What are you making?”

    “Um….”, she paused, “a teddy bear.” “That looks quite adorable! I’m a bit of a crafter  myself, you know. I’m thinking of making a rug.“

     “C-cool.” The girl said. She gets up and goes to her mom.

    “Hello.” The woman said. “You need rug fabric?”

    “Yes.” Laudna replied.

    “Well, these,” she said, carrying a stack of various fabrics in various colors, “should be  good to use. Any of these would make a great rug.”

    “Thank you, madam. I’ll take all of them. You can never have enough materials for           creativity, you know.

     The woman chuckled. “I understand. You never know what you could make.”

The payment was made and the woman said “Thank you. Happy crafting!”

“Once I returned here, I immediately started designing! I sat in that chair and got to work. It was rather soothing. I made sure that the fluffy side was facing out. That is the proper way to make a rug, you know. I mean, who would like to have a rug with the non-fluffy side out?”

“I’m going on a bit of a tangent, I apologize, little friend.”

“You know, I don’t just use this space for crafting. When it gets cold, I sometimes read a book by the fire, bundled up all nice and cozy. It feels warm, ironically enough.

‘Well,”, she concluded, “that’s it! No, it’s not extravagant or fancy in the slightest. But it’s home. It has all the basics. But, I have something to tell you, little friend. What this little cottage in the woods doesn’t have, it makes up in comfort. It makes up in creativity. It makes up in heart.”

Home.

Laudna had heard that word many times when she was fully alive. Home was the cottage she lived in with her parents. Home was Whitestone.

But, home was also the other children in her village. The children that mocked and teased her relentlessly. The children that made her feel like the dirt that was thrown at her by Whitestone Andy. That jerk.

Home was also the Briarwoods Castle. Home was being told “You’ll feel at home here” at dinner. Home was being bruised and beaten. Home was being tossed on a cart and hung on a tree. As a warning no less. Home was having her very own murderer in her head.

Laudna never really knew the meaning of the word, really. This very cottage is one of many “homes” she’s made for herself. With every town, it’s the same thing. Move in, get discovered, gain a horrible reputation, get chased out of town by an angry mob. The cycle repeats.

It always repeats.

“Pateeee, would you like to hear a story?” She paused. “Alright then. Sit down and get comfortable.” Laudna took her blanket and wrapped it around herself and the dead rat as she opened up a book, and started to read.

Somehow, even with the screams and jeers of the people outside, even with the bright light of the torches outside her very door, Laudna feels home.

For now.

[itsahotminuteinbetween]

Not a chapter of my lil fic cuz I'm still workin on it, but here's a short lil unfinished thing I wrote last night. I...think it's some sort of space story? It's loosely based off something I read on ao3 some time ago, but I dunno the title of it. This isn't too descriptive, just a short prologue to a thing I'll probably never write, but here it is anyways.

Hope the little skit satisfies for now!

Despite being on this ship for perhaps three weeks after your initial capture, you found yourself…much less panicked that you actually should be. 

I mean, yes, you obviously struggled when two beings unlike anyone or anything you’d ever seen before graced you with their presence by throwing you over their shoulder like a sack of potatoes. And yes, you were still very much on guard whenever they came in to check on you, hunching in on yourself slightly and regarding them with a wary gaze. You’d taken up your old college habit of staying up at obscene times, though this time it was to avoid being messed with without you knowing rather than cramming for exams. But aside from their first encounter with you, the strangers had mostly kept to themselves, only coming close to add to your new living space or bring you something to eat. 

That was another thing that threw you off, besides your strange lack of fear. You hardly had any idea where you were aside from the fleeting glimpses of brightly lit corridors and dark hallways over the shoulder of your abductors, but from what you gathered, this…whatever-it-is (you’d mentally associated it with a glorified flying saucer) wasn’t built to accommodate for more than two people. And yet immediately after entering, you’d been gently shoved into a room of your very own.

In what world is a hostage given their own room?

Not that it was the most glamorous room. It was the size of a typical bedroom, with stark white walls and no openings except a door which seemingly appeared from the wall itself whenever your captors entered. A few pillows and a meager amount of sheets that served as bedding had been added not long after, as well as some clothing you assumed they’d raided from your closet judging by how similar they were to your own wardrobe. It was a humble living environment. Not that you could complain. Beggars can’t be choosers, after all. You hadn’t thought you’d be given anything to eat at the start of your imprisonment, much less your own space without constant surveillance. There probably were cameras around here somewhere, though, now that you thought about it. (You’d twisted your ankle after the small scuffle in an attempt to escape the blue one’s clutches, and had received something equivalent to an ice pack not long after. )

Two trays had been set out beside where the door should be, constantly switched out with food and water your hosts had set out for you. 

It had become evident that these two knew very little about your species early on. The first few hours had been fine until your stomach began violently protesting its lack of sustenance (you’d neglected to have dinner the evening of your capture) through dying whale noises and short pangs that grew uncomfortably prominent with every passing minute. They’d presented you with...something, that time. You still aren’t sure what to call it, in all honesty. It resembled an octopus tentacle cooked over an open fire for so long it’d been charred, then cooked into a spoiled egg and topped with some gray sludge with ingredients you hadn’t dared to ask about. You had stared at the concoction in confusion and disgust for a hot minute before they’d taken your repulsion as a sign that whatever dish they’d made wasn’t going to cut it. They then tried with things you recognized to originate from Earth, but that hadn’t gone well either. You’d found a rock in the tray after that first attempt and eyed it quizzically, unsure of what exactly they thought you would do with it. You felt like someone watching their cat proudly show off the dead bird it had caught. 

It would’ve been funnier if you weren’t being actively starved.

  You’d struck gold when they brought you a mango a day or two after. You’d been so hungry from the extended period without food that you’d very nearly eaten the thing without removing the skin out of sheer relief to see something edible. 

You’d found a marble-white bathroom soon after that meal. How running water worked on a spaceship, you didn’t know, nor did you really care.

More complications had risen later on, of course. You’d taken note of the language barrier when you heard the pair conversing amongst themselves in a dialect unknown to you and everyone else on your planet. It hadn’t bothered them as much as it bothered you, however; You were the one being held hostage by extraterrestrials without knowing what they planned to do with you. They hadn’t made any effort to communicate with you outside of waiting for your reaction to their offerings, instead speaking over your head with nods and glances in your direction as the only indicator of your involvement in whatever subject at hand. 

Figures. They probably didn’t think you were capable of complex thought, considering the accommodations set up for you were akin to that of a dog.

That’s probably why they wanted you aboard, anyway. If they’d wanted assistance or information or something of value, they would’ve taken a scientist or an engineer or someone who had actual credentials to back up their name. They probably only saw you as some exotic pet or some strange new specimen to experiment on.

 You may be giving yourself a little too much credit, though. It might not have mattered who or what they were getting if they had the same opinions towards your species as a whole. Maybe they’d just picked you out of some random gamble for a test subject. 

In spite of all your concern towards the reason behind your capture, you were finding it surprisingly less awful than expected. Out of all the kidnappings to ever occur, you’re most likely getting the better deal here. You have free meals, a room to yourself, health benefits should you get injured…

Shit, is this how people felt in prison?

No, probably not. At least in prison the inmates were given something to do.

Your room was pretty much empty outside your basic necessities, which meant you essentially just stared up at the bleached wall upside-down on the pathetic excuse for a bed, scanning for any imperfections without books, technology, work or any form of entertainment to pass the time. You had taken up the habit of using the rock you were given to scratch out tallies of the days into the wall like you’d seen in the movies, watching your captors carry out whatever tasks while doodling aimlessly on the floor just for some way to fill the constant void of boredom. 

Three weeks in and you’re pretty sure you’re going to end up losing your sanity if you catch yourself counting imaginary dents in markless walls for amusement.

[arcadefloorvibes]

I don't have a title that I do for this anymore so uhhh

Hiya this is the text post, I am about to give a full rundown on how my partner and I have started dating because

my blog my house

I haven't been able to talk about this in depth with anyone except my siblings who do not care for the amount I am about to type and

my partner follows me on tumblr so kinda can't without it being blantantly obvious its about them (hi)

So this is going to be fun for me because i get to talk about this and this is going to be fun for my partner who pretty much got the summary of this

Quick thing: Partner will be referred to as Partner due to the fact I'm pretty sure his name isn't on here but I assume I will be told after this and Partner goes by He/they so I will be swapping

And now the readmore :D this is like a week and a half of chaos with additional 8 or so weeks before so we're back at it again with the long relationship posts nothing has changed

So to start this all off, you're going to need a bit more context on the mess that was us getting together.

We met through our dnd group, so immediately we're nerds off the bat and then became closer friends after we found out we both catch the same train from the same stop to go to dnd

We're also both very physically affectionate, which did make it difficult to work out whether we liked each other platonically or not later, but we'd hug and talk for an hour each way on the train

My partner is also an affectionate drunk and so within the first week or so of playing dnd, there were sweet messages in the group chat.

Somewhere along the line, more personalised messages go into my dms and eventually my email because I just thought "yea that makes sense"

About two or three weeks into dnd, we both decide to meet up in the city and go shopping because he knew manga stores and I didnt.

The shopping trip was fun! We got manga, I showed them the underground bookstore, we got ice cream (that i paid for, this will become important later) and at this point we'd been out for about 4 hours.

I, normally go shopping with my 3 younger brothers and therefore use "We" a lot. This does not work when you are no longer with your siblings

So being the genius that I am the checkout conversation goes as usual

"Do you need a bag?" "Oh no thanks, we've got one" (gestures to Partner)

And the SECOND we are out of the store, they just go "she probably thinks we're together" and 'Im already internally screaming at my social blunder so i just say "Yea we seem to get that a lot"

Then on the bus home the conversation turns to "if you ever need a fake boyfriend let me know because I'd do a great job at that"

And so it becomes a running joke that when we're out together, we look like a couple, because we kinda did, the hugs, they'd hold my hands when they were cold (highly unromantically mind you) and then the looks we'd get kept the bit running

Then during other conversations throughout the 2 months we knew each other, we had literally said we don't know if these feelings are platonic or romantic because we weren't used to it, but then the other would neither confirm nor deny, there was also a pickup line bit he did for a while and also pointing out that "its like the universe wants us to be together" with the amount of coincidences

Then came the second Monday of August, Partner had just gotten SIGNIFICANTLY fucked up on drinks and was not doing great, i don't remember much of the day but i do remember being very worried so i wrote at like 12 am a really long email about how important they were to me, it took me about half hour to write it

And then i open discord, and there's a message from him at 12:03 that basically read

Hey, i love you but like yknow in a friend way (idk discuss with sober me)

...yknow. after i just sent a massive email about how much I love them.

So i figured we're going to talk about this at some point, so i should just think about it! Yknow! Imagine a universe where we're together!

And i did

And I really liked it

And alllllllllll the denial I'd had over that past few months just for a little bit disappeared

So i did not sleep well that night, understandably, and i wake up the next morning to read what was basically:

Haha drunk me is fun to read, no need to discuss lol

...once again. Not confirming or denying.

And I'm just like okay I'll go back to thinking about you platonically and it just didn't work it just straight up didn't work because it just felt like the same denial I'd had previously

It is Tuesday now, I have early morning classes, so i went to class, i overthought, i denied and i tried so hard to get myself to like another guy in my class that i thought was cute but all i could find was more reasons to like Partner

So i get home after having what is essentially a 17 hour day and I get on call with my friends and we're just doing the usual of watching Doctor Who while screaming at our 3d program and I don't remember a lot of how we got to the point we did but we had cameras on, I had mine on but turned off so I couldn't see myself.

This part is fun because apparently Partner doesn't remember this but!

It was just a small thing of looking at everyone and one of our friends points out that you could see me in Partner's monitor but just like in the corner because of how the camera was angled and i reacted with "Ack!" Which prompted:

Partner: Whats wrong with you being on screen?

Me: I dont like looking at myself

Partner: Why? Youre beautiful

Me: ...Thank you...

And so they just tilt the camera away so i can't see myself and good news, my camera cant pick up my blushing but im just kind of losing it a little

I dont use "beautiful" for myself, its not a word that I think applies to me. Theres "cool" and "handsome" and "cute" and occasionally "pretty" but I've never liked when I was called beautiful growing up

And in that small moment, i really really liked the word, i still like hearing the word from them honestly, still don't think it really applies but sometimes i see it

At the time, this was NOT HELPING, especially paired with the coincidence of that day's wordle being "Lover" i was maybe going insane

Wednesday the ASMR bit starts.

Me and the asmr bit had a complicated relationship, on one hand its very nice, on the other hand i was trying to deny and this was also NOT HELPING. The asmr was basically compliments and the occasional ara ara

Thursday i make a playlist to try and focus on literally anything and i write down all my feelings out of hope that on the train the next day i would be fine

I get my hugs on the train, i get my random headscritches, we go shopping, i buy us cream puffs, they mention this is like a date, i dont confirm or deny, there's a small moment on the tram with a hug and a "haha wouldn't it be funny if you did the anime thing of falling on me?", and then because we have time we go op shopping

I got to learn a lot more about Partner's fashion tastes (alt) and i get to talk about mine (punk) and I'm talking about how i want a suit jacket but none ever fit me and as i say that they pull out one that looks my size

And like the fucking genius that i am im like "okay hold these for a sec" and i give them my bags while i try on the jacket

"I'm doing the boyfriend hold thing right now lol"

And I looked at them and just for a second I considered confirming and then i didnt and just did a neutral "yea my bad..."

And then I said "we" at the register again and I did acknowledge that to which the response was "At this point, it's probably easier if we just started dating, there's so many signs the universe keeps giving"

My response was "yea..." but in a way that didn't confirm or deny

Friday was my birthday, my body decided to just keep filling with adrenaline every time I thought about them, I had a few shots of vodka and accidentally told my siblings what happened

Saturday and Sunday I kept thinking about it at work and overthinking and rethinking

Monday I was on call talking the whole time, the asmr bit continues, the feelings don't go away, a conversation doesn't happen, its like everything is the same as always. There's talk of black lipstick and eyeshadow, the nerves get stronger

Tuesday was when I thought maybe they actually liked me back, there were "I love you"s, I was kind of flirting back maybe idk, and I decided that these feelings weren't going to go away and I should at least ask to work out if this is platonic or romantic or otherwise I will go insane

Wednesday I'm just thinking about what to say and nothing is working because even writing this now i still cant predict anything they say so i made up about 20 or so different ways of asking, the black lipstick couldn't be found and so i was a little more safe

Thursday. Thursday was planned to meet up early since their bus arrives earlier than i do so i walk up to the train station, playlist on loop, rehearsing and rehearsing and i get there to watch them arrive on the bus.

I like that image in my head, the fact that we both saw each other and waved, the massive smiles and oh my god the eyeshadow was giving me a heartattack. I have like 4 selfies of the eyeshadow now and it still gets me

We talk like always, I'm trying not to stare, I'm trying to form the words but every time i think I've got them the silence stops. We get on the train, the hug occurs and the week before I'd initiated a handhold so i was just there talking and thinking and terrified of fucking this up but it would've been worse if i left it.

4 stops until we get off and a silence stays long enough for me to at least try

Me: Okay so I told myself i was going to say something because otherwise it would get worse and this is really embarrassing but I'm going to try Partner: Okay...? A sigh and a breath Me: so you remember the message you sent on Monday? Partner: oh... yeah i do... Me: well i figured... we should talk about that...

And i explain a much shorter rendition of that Monday and veryyyy slowly his ears go red and it starts to spread:

Me: so like I'm fine with either, i just need to know what we're doing Partner: I wish i could give you an answer but I don't know either

That was not in the script so we just kind of sat and thought, doing the kind of shocked laugh thing and I'm just observing reactions while trying to think of what to say, I'm watching them fight their own denial in real-time

So i just said "I'm going to explain my past week and a half and if see if that helps"

And i explain pretty much all of that above and extra things, giving them a bit of time to process after each thing, noticing the denial again and kept going because all I could think was if I was going to get an answer I wanted one where we were being honest.

After explaining all that, and telling him to stop apologising and me apologising for dropping this all at once since they'd gone totally red and were shaking a bit, I let the silence sit for a while, 2 stops to go, before i said "Fuck it, I'm going to hold your hand properly and you can tell me how that goes"

And we both really liked it, and we held hands the rest of the trip and i initiated more hand holding as we walked around the train station. I then had to go to class but we planned to take the train home together, normally we didn't do that

So we got donuts and held hands again, I got the asmr bit irl so I did lose a lot of the control I'd had earlier in the day as now I was the red one

And that's it! that's how we started dating!

As of publishing this, our first date and week together is tomorrow and it's been incredible so far and they already know how much they mean to me because I keep saying it and I'm going to talk as much about my partner as possible because why not and also I know for an absolute fact they'll read this so

I love you, you're amazing, we're so bad at this, I hope we can keep trying until we get it right and I will keep writing until I can't write anymore

And that concludes the post! ah! I have a partner! the progress of the past few years is insane and I'm learning so much about myself while I'm at uni and if I've grown this much in one trimester I'm so excited to see what the next 3 years bring

And final note: this post is 2.4k words :D

[soulephant]

Sons of C3 teaser - How I Became Soul

It took forever to write this (and then I mostly sat on this for months), but I finally have a little teaser of what C3 of Shandon will be up to. Note that while this is probably the longest thing I have yet written, it is not a coherent chapter by any means. I literally started at a random point for the one scene that is most solidified. It would certainly be nice if this was good, but it's best not to outright expect it.

This is also not for the first story. Dawn of C3 would be the prologue about the first few successes of C3. Sons of C3 will come after that one. And as per usual, details may change as I often just winged it for the sake of at least writing.

I wrote this from the point-of-view of Vadim Baikal aka Soul, one of Sons of C3's main characters. In part I did this because Soul is fun to write first-person for, but mostly I just did this as experiment because I am starting to suspect I may write better when I do so first person. Note that this does not necessarily mean I'll actually write first person in the future.

Also, while you don't have to read every part of the exposition that is Gaspar's Diary, I do recommend reading the first two parts for context.

Anyway, with all that out of the way, here's a look into Shandon and its C3 division!

How I became Soul

To get this patrol over with quicker, I jumped onto the flat roof of Shandon’s postal office. That vantage point would help considerably. With a bit of clambering and hoisting myself onto the roof, I managed to get myself up there. Thank you, monster serum. That was still a two-story jump I just made though. I could see the surprise on the faces of the few Shandonese passersby that were... driven enough to still be out at this hour. They didn't say anything because they must have seen the C3 uniform, but the surprise is dead obvious. Then again, they could just as well have been surprised to see the C3 uniform at all. I guess the people knew that a couple hundred soldiers wasn't a big number. Fuck's sake, I wish they told me that before I agreed to be dispatched here. Hell, if they just told Secretary Hughes we wouldn’t be in this mess right now.

Regardless, us of the "Shandon Division of C3" learned that the hard way when a few companies split off to address the threat to Steelknot, only for Baron Grimvuul to attack Shandon right after. That blasted overgrown fox could have killed us all too, according to his plan. Afterwards, Ilta and I came to the easy conclusion that a division this size had no room for error, which is just a little bit of an issue for this line of work. Not like this is a matter of life and death or anything. Moira didn't take it quite as seriously and just returned to turning any male heads that weren't hospitalized or buried. I guess we instead agree that we'd rather just live our lives. I don't know about Moira but alas, there's the matter of my dad. Of his idea of living his life. Which is roughly the equivalent of throwing your Croican Marks into a volcano, if the volcano could talk and promise to eventually return the coins tenfold. To summarize it for the back of a book cover: I work so dad keeps out of debt. Captain Haghen was even so kind to get a government official to monitor my dad. It's obvious I have to put in the work. No matter what the work is. Or how the Croican government expects me to pull that off.

As I touched on already, the issue was that we had no reserves since a lot of our division was either out of commission or dead. This included our own division captain, by the way: Duff fought alongside those of us that Baron Grimvuul caught by surprise. His command did absolutely nothing for our worries, but he pushed his magic and protective amulet to their limits. Or rather Duff pushed them past their limits, and Baron Grimvuul in turn pushed those of his skeleton. I tried tugging on my uniform’s right sleeve to get it back in order. Then I remembered there was no sleeve to get back in order, as that burned away in the fight and our resources weren’t doing that much better than our numbers. Still, that was secondary to me at this moment. With few soldiers and no leadership the next monster attack would mean a repeat of the Fellholz Disaster, so there was a lot to consider. To my surprise, the first thing I wondered was how long it would take for Duff to recover. He was always very calm, seeming to think problems would solve themselves, which didn’t work out well for us that time. And yet, when we didn’t have a giant monstrosity knocking our door down? I couldn’t deny Duff’s attitude was reassuring, so hopefully his Helix God would get him back in shape soon. Annoyingly, I was drawing blanks on other potential commanders. Commanding on a larger scale was probably an ordeal and a half, and the first person I could think of with that experience wasn’t even in C3: That’d be chief Sauer of the Shandon police department, and there was no way I was going to count on him. Not because he seemed to be a bit of an uptight pain in the neck. Okay, also because he was an uptight pain in the neck, but mostly just because the police weren’t going to be of much help during a monster attack. That’s what the Contra Creature Corps was for. It’s kind of in the name.

A gunshot. From the old manufacturing district, if I heard correctly. Multiple gunshots, actually. I decided to leave it to the Shandon police as I had enough to worry about, and so got right to worrying. Ignoring obvious complaints about unusual hierarchy, who would we listen to? It was not like- Something being smashed. Hard to tell what it was, but I still wasn’t inclined to care. Except I started thinking I should. If someone was being riddled with bullets, what would be doing the smashing? Whatever was happening started to look like a job for the C3. Potentially. I still didn’t know what exactly was going on. Regardless, I had no desire to jog for several hours as punishment for not doing my job. At least, not when there was a job to be done. I grabbed my communicator and called Ilta. “I copy, Vadim! What’s the situation?” “We have gunfire in the old manufacturing district. Also loud crashing noises. Makes it sound like a job for us.” That was just the gist of it. I still had to get to the plan, though I didn’t have to. “I’ll make sure the police don't get involved.” Ilta and I had our occasional disagreements, but the definition of good or bad ideas wasn’t one of them. “Send our squad to the general area! And whoever Moira’s interacting with, to get her out here!” A sigh, and confirmation. I continued. “Get as many other squads on standby as possible! Our squad is not to be involved yet. We don’t know what we’re dealing with. I’ll go ahead!” Another confirmation. Ilta sounded like she was going to object to that last part but I wasn’t going to give her the time.

Another smash. As I jumped from rooftop to rooftop, I was glad to see police officers starting to block off the road towards the district. They would stay out of trouble. For that matter, they also wouldn’t be trouble. Loud voices. I can imagine screaming during whatever we would be dealing with, but I couldn't make much out at all. Finally, I arrived at a large warehouse. It had gone quiet. I didn’t see any unusually large creature. Actually, I didn’t see a soul in sight, as I’d hoped. Except for a toddler. Wonderful. I jumped down the back wall. “Wow!” I really hoped whoever was left didn’t hear the toddler. This problem needed to be solved fast. “Okay kid, go home. C3’s on the scene.” I wasn’t holding my breath for this to work. “Alone, mister? There’s lots of people in there!” Made to feel old at 18 years of age. Oh well. Already wasn’t planning to ask for an eyewitness account from this brat. Still, he needed to leave or I would be blamed for whatever harm came to him. “Yeah, I’ll solve the problem.” I probably wouldn’t. I needed to scout out the situation. “Oooh! Cool powers?” Not really, but thank you for the idea. “Yep! I’ll zap them.” I couldn’t. That was Captain Haghen, not me. Might not have been the best lie given he was literally one of Central C3’s biggest heroes. But the brat bought it, and was about to scream in excitement before I covered his mouth. “I’ll tell you all about it if you go home.” Again, I wouldn’t. Thankfully, I was dealing with a kid, so he went home to have sweet dreams. That made my task less of a nightmare. Still, whatever was happening had quieted down, and there was a chance whoever caused it heard the kid. I couldn’t wait for the squad even if I wanted to, so I entered through the back door.

I first found myself in a corridor. A quick look around confirmed it was abandoned. The administration office was dusty and hardly a sheet of paper remained. I say it was abandoned, but an open door further proved something had happened here. I continued on my way until I almost reached the main storage space. Figuring that space was the scene in question, I looked around the door. The room did not look good. What shelves were still there were on the ground. Most weren’t in one piece either. Support beams were cracked. The place was barely structurally sound. I was done with the state of the warehouse rather quickly, as there were more corpses all around the room than I expected there to be. A lot of bodies were scrambled, stuck in impossible positions. After glancing over one whose head I just couldn’t see, I spotted a sign of life. A girl roughly my age had either survived or arrived. She had a poor look to her, with messy dark hair, a patched-up green tank top and stitched together pants. Something was strange about all this. I entered the room as quietly as I could.

Hang on. Wasn’t I concerned with a kid who wasn’t at a safe place at a safe hour just ten minutes ago? I froze in front of a troublesome-looking guy and a brick not far from where his head should have been. Most women would be begging for trouble in places like this. Why was this girl here? “That’s enough fun! Why don’t you take a break?” The girl cheerfully said to a corpse. As she was putting his arms behind his head like he had merely clocked out. Okay, she was looking for trouble. Then she turned around to look at me. Crap.

As she was turning I finally noticed her bare feet. Of course, Fiend Recognition 101: Pay attention to what someone’s outfit might be missing. While Common Fiends wore as much clothing as possible to hide their monster features, this was not the case for Vonhoff Fiends: They could transform into their more monstrous forms if they needed to, but this would rip apart any clothing not made for those forms. In the case of the girl, I now sincerely doubted her lack of shoes had to do with a lack of money. In other words, I probably had the terrible luck of running into a rogue Vonhoff Fiend. One with even greater strength than usual, judging from what remained of the band of thugs. And I had her attention while my Banneret 6 rifle was still on my back.

“Oh! Did you invite yourself to the party? Because you are late!” The girl addressed me with her earlier cheerful attitude as she began to approach. I considered the options that remained. Having been enhanced by the serum, a punch from her wouldn’t instantly leave me like a ragdoll. Still, the serum wouldn’t fully bridge the obvious giant gap in strength and it was unknown what else she was capable of. There were a couple possibilities, even given her strength, of which I know none because I’m a soldier and not a scientist of the RDMF department. “Ah well! Better late than never, even though you are a little boring.” She was drawing close. I expected the girl to transform at any moment. If I had my rifle at the ready I might have been able to shoot her before that happened. Maybe I could have hit the Vonhoff Organ, and have her patched up for questioning. Or just fire and forget, as I wasn’t a great shot. “...On second thought I take that back because you are not responding!” The girl had stopped, leaning in as she said that. She was right. I wasn’t responding. Or at least my legs were neglecting to tremble in fear. That surprised her? Make that two of us. Even more surprisingly, I decided to open my mouth. “What response were you expecting then?”

A deadpan reply. Truly one for the novels. The girl, clearly unimpressed, resumed her approach as she grinned and wagged her finger. “Pay attention now!” I certainly did as my personal space was invaded. “Arms like this…” The girl grabbed my arms and raised them high into the air. I thought it best not to resist. Not that this was an option: I could swear I felt physical strength even in her normal human state. Or was my understandably fearful mind playing tricks on me now? “Body like this…” I was forcibly turned one-eighty degrees. The girl took a step back. “And off you go running and screaming for the C3!” She pushed me towards the door, sending me stumbling across debris and a broken leg. Miraculously, I broke my fall and just stood back up, dusting off my uniform as more words left my mouth.

“I’m sorry, I don’t do screaming. But I can run for myself if you want.” The only truth in that statement was that I could run. Fear seemed to flash across the girl’s face when she realized my affiliation, before that uncanny joy partly returned. Taking a step back and looking a lot more defensive, she said: “N-now that’s funny! I hardly see you guys here! Go figure!” “Ugh, don’t remind me! We are horribly understa-” I trailed off as my brain finally started to obey me again. In the unfortunate fight with Baron Grimvuul we lost a bunch of veteran serum soldiers and Fiends. And here I was, talking to a rogue Vonhoff Fiend with the strength to tackle monsters several times her size and whatever else surgery granted her. She sure seemed to enjoy being a Fiend too. I started looking around, somewhat absorbed by the possibility that I could use this to my advantage. “Oh, that guy? Don’t mind him, he thought the merriment was to die for!” The girl snapped me back to the moment. My gaze accidentally found a bald corpse whose face sported the most forced grin I had ever seen. I could find no injury on him before the girl jogged towards him and stuffed the body inside a shelf as if that undid my discovery. No longer lost in thought, I decided it was worth a shot and started.

“Suuure… Look. I have a proposition.” It was hard to interpret the girl's exact expression, but I seemed to have her interest. “I’m going to go out on a limb and guess this is your idea of fun.” I continued as I gestured across the aftermath of her scuffle. Our exchange continued non-verbally. The girl brought her hand to her chest as she feigned surprise. Was she seriously acting innocent now? If the lack of bullet wounds on the corpses didn’t make it clear enough, her words and actions earlier did: This was not a normal gunfight and the girl didn’t pass by skipping and jumping. I returned this blatant lie with a very blatant head tilt to communicate my skepticism. With that point across, the girl dropped her act and gave a disappointed nod, a cue for me to continue. “You now know that I’m a soldier of the C3. And I’m pretty sure you know what the C3 does. Why throw ordinary criminals for a loop, literally, when you-”. I was swiftly interrupted with obvious enthusiasm. “I can beat up any Fiend criminals you find?” That arrangement wouldn’t last very long. Fiend Engineering was pretty thoroughly regulated. I wasn’t sure what she was on about, and it probably wouldn’t be the last time. “...At the very least. On the side, I guess. What I wanted to say was you get to punch giant monsters and whatever else it is you did to these dregs.” I finished, referring to whatever happened to the grinning corpse on the shelf. The girl darted towards me enthusiastically but stopped short.

“Hold on! Aren’t there commanders or… What do you call them?…” She was searching for the right word. “...politicians that decide this sort of thing?” That question filled me with a temporary dread, reminding me that recruiting a superpowered stranger off the streets indeed wasn’t standard procedure. Then I remembered where I wanted to shove standard procedure currently. This needed to be done. “The politicians are far away in Ariocester and command has… seen better days, thanks to a certain fox menace. My proposal stands, and I doubt anyone is going to argue it.” I thought it best to omit the condition that the girl not do anything stupid and out-of-line for now.

The girl dashed towards me, grabbed my hand and violently shook it. “Then yes, yes, and also yes! Let’s go! Did I mention yes?” That did it, thank goodness! But she did need to let go. The brutal handshake stopped before she asked: “So when, no, how do we start?” “First, let go of my hand. Second, we need to leave fast. We can talk later.” That wasn’t an exaggeration: Several minutes had gone by and I expected Ilta and the others to be near the premises at this point. Maybe they were even deciding to approach. If I had to explain this arrangement with my new ally, I preferred to do it away from the corpses she left. The girl let go, and followed me to the door I came from.

“So, names! I’m Lunet! Who are you?” Asked the girl, Lunet, as we went back through the corridor. “Oh, I’m just a single soul who’s horribly understaffed for this sh… city, as I said.” Even though I just recruited a very strong pair of hands, I knew that wouldn’t make all the difference. For all I knew, I could still be halfway to a grave. For a moment I lost myself in thought again. I later noticed Lunet was also pondering something, but she soon broke the silence as if she had a great idea. “Alrighty then! Soul it is!” Wait. Did Lunet just assign me a name? “What?! No! Okay, it’s Vadim! Vadim Baikal!” I immediately responded, hoping it wasn’t too late to introduce myself. Lunet, however, just examined me for a moment, which gave me a sinking feeling. “...you don’t look like a Vadim to me.” This, of course, begged the question of what your standard-issue Vadim looked like. Try as I might, I couldn’t articulate the question. I only got one word in before Lunet pressed on. “Why are you so down on this, Soul? I like it!” At least I knew how to answer that one immediately. “Maybe because I don’t like it?” The nickname made zero sense. It wasn’t even shortened, like Vad, or Dim. The latter sounded even worse on second thought, so I opted not to bring that up to Lunet, who was going all in on that brainwave of hers as I slammed open the warehouse door. "It gives you that mysterious vibe, like a handsome stranger on the corner! Drawing the attention of those streetside women!" I gave up on trying to understand Lunet’s utterly insane thoughts. We were back on the street, and the brainwave still wasn’t done. “Don’t be a Vadim! Be a Soul, Soul!” I then began to give up on my own name. As we approached the police barricade, I recognized Brittany among the police officers. She was definitely one to ask me questions. Today, however, she looked thoroughly confused. Brittany must have caught our bizarre exchange. That was fine by me, for I couldn't begin to explain this. As we passed Brittany, I quickly stated the obvious fact that there were corpses, and told the police they could start cleaning up the scene. “...You’re not going to stop doing this, are you?” I asked Lunet afterwards, more as a formality at this point. "Nope! This is your life now, Soul!" Lunet proclaimed.

Evidently this was my life now. I managed to survive a close encounter with the most manic character I’ve ever met, recruiting her on the spot. Our odds improved ever so slightly, provided I was correct and my allies wouldn’t be difficult about this. Only a minute later, I saw those allies. They were about to enter. I just knew.

“Vadim! We were getting concerned!” Moira said. “We received no communication at all! Why?... More importantly, what took you so long?” Ilta asked. I glanced at Lunet to make sure she didn’t say anything just yet. She seemed content to listen. “It’s a long story. This Fiend girl here is coming along. I’ll explain when we get back.” For a second, I could see a worried confusion on Ilta’s face in particular. Clearly she already had a rough feeling about what transpired. But then she grabbed her communicator, calling… Malger? “Sergeant Wolf, do you copy?... The situation at the warehouse is under control. When we get back, I suggest you talk to Vadim… I don’t know, but he’s concocted something.”

Ilta’s report was telling. It seemed that Malger Wolf took temporary command. The good thing about that was we now had someone to answer to again, and I could think of worse candidates. Of course, this also meant I had to explain and justify my spontaneous recruitment to him soon. Malger was a man of few words, so I couldn’t be sure if he would agree.

Regardless, I did what I needed to do.

End of Teaser

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Notes:

I can imagine there being some readability issues. I tried to indent every smaller linebreak, like I've seen books do. Unfortunately, Tab does not work that way on tumblr. I'm sorry.

Again, details are likely to change. I already had to stop myself from changing more than I did during the last pass I did. I'll worry about that when/if I actually start writing for real.

While a lot of stuff is up in the air, there's two things I am certain of: C3 of Shandon's predicament will royally suck and they manage to come back from it, and Soul does meet and enlist Lunet roughly like this.

I wholeheartedly understand if Soul seems dubious right now. Every single incarnation of this character hasn't been exactly the nicest guy on the planet. Don't come here expecting a goodie-two-shoes. However, also consider this is but a small part early in the story.

Now that I've finally got this out there, I've honestly no idea what is next. But while I thought for a while that maybe Wildchalice would be dying a common death, chances are I'll find something else to write for it and procrastinate.

Regardless, see you later.