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

hollandorks · 2 years ago

Text

transcendent -- motn oneshot

battinson!bruce wayne x f!reader

a/n: Hi! Long time no see! In honor of motn's one year birthday/ anniversary (I first posted on March 21, 2022), I decided to give you guys a little treat...without further ado, here's (most of) ch. 30 from Bruce's POV. I'm using the taglist from the last chapter of sitn, so let me know if you want me to remove your tag!

***this chapter is NSFW. 18+***

Series Masterlist

word count: 5670

Bruce was drowning himself in the Batman.

He couldn’t stop seeing the blade slide into the soft flesh of y/n’s stomach. Even before that, he’d gotten her beaten and stabbed and drugged and kidnapped–he was no good for her.

He craved her warmth, her company, more than anything, but he was a danger to her. She had almost died because of him.

So he stayed away, a punishment for himself and protection for her.

Working had always been his solace, so work he did. Every night he threw himself into the protection of Gotham and its citizens, even when he hadn’t slept in two days, when he hadn’t eaten in hours. He absorbed the blows of criminals like they were his own punishment. The pain kept him awake, kept him grounded…

Kept him away from her.

Alfred’s words still haunted him. Every time his eyes closed for a second, he heard the words. You deserve someone like her. You are good enough for her.

But he wasn’t good enough for her. Not even close.

Bruce took a deep breath in through his nose and held it, then went back to documenting his night in the Gotham Project journal before him. He ignored the mess around him. He’d set everything back up…eventually. Right now all he needed was the one table and computer. Everything else could wait.

A flash of memory–pain and guilt and so much anger–and he pushed it away.

The elevator started rattling its way upwards. He ignored it like everything else and kept writing. Probably Alfred, coming to chastise him some more. He deserved it.

He barely felt the chill in the air against the bare skin of his chest as he wrote. It felt good. It kept him awake. He needed to stay awake, because sleeping was dangerous.

When he slept, there was only blood and pain and death.

The elevator doors slid open.

“Bruce.” It took everything in him not to respond to her voice. If he ignored her she’d leave him alone. At least, he hoped. He kept writing as the video feed from his night played on. But of course she wasn’t deterred. “If you don’t talk to me I’m going to–I don’t know, put itching powder in your armor. Paint your mask pink. I don’t know! Look at me.”

He let out a breath of a laugh. He couldn’t help it. He briefly imagined her, frown on her face, sitting cross legged painting his mask pink, a smudge of paint marring her cheekbone.

She stomped closer to him and took him off guard by shoving him. Hard. His instincts kept him still, body absorbing the movement like it was nothing.

He took another slow inhale, then turned and paused the video.

He was a plant turning to face the sun after days of rain. He was drawn to her, to her warmth, her light. It was an impulse, an act of nature, something he couldn’t control unless he really tried. She was the brightest spot in the dim underground, the warmest thing for miles.

But Bruce kept his face cold, distant, as if the sun didn’t exist near him.

“If you don’t stop brooding, so help me–” She paused, eyebrows drawn together like she couldn’t think of another serious threat as bad as itching powder or pink masks. She pressed her hand flat against his sternum. Her touch was searing hot, almost uncomfortably so. He grabbed her wrist but couldn’t bring himself to push her away. He needed her touch like oxygen, and his body knew it.

“You can’t avoid me forever. I’m not quitting my job until you talk to me.”

His eyes narrowed as his heart stopped. “You’re still quitting?” he said, when really he wanted to shout, No!

“He speaks!” she said with a little twist to her lips, something like pride in her features. “I promised I would. But not until you stop being so–so–I don’t know, broody. I already told you I wouldn’t let you shut me out. I gave you time. Too much time.”

He still held her wrist. “I’m not brooding.” He let her go as if burned and turned back to the screen. He pressed play so he could go back to documenting his night. “I’m working.” She was too close to him. He needed her closer. He needed her to go. He needed her to stay. He needed–he had no idea what he needed, only that what he wanted and what was best were two completely different things.

She reached around him and smacked the button so the video stopped again. She shoved herself between him and the screen, forcing him back a few steps. The warmth of her was like a flare in the night. Her sudden invasion of his space took him off guard.

“You’re brooding, and it’s because you almost killed me.”

He couldn’t help his flinch, the words landing like a physical blow. He’d been doing–not well at ignoring it, exactly, but he’d been able to ignore it some. There had been so much blood, blood that still stained his hands–

“Go ahead,” she said, interrupting the memory. “Feel bad about it. It sucked. Is that what you want? Me to never forgive you? Me to hate you? To call you a bad man? A murderer?”

His breath came in panicked gasps. This was what he deserved but it still hurt. It ached. She wouldn’t let up, each of her words landing with such precision he half-expected to see blood blooming from his bare chest. She poked him right in one of the sore spots. Her eyes flashed. “Fine. You’re an asshole, I hate you, and I wish you would die.”

The pain of the words washed over him. He trembled even as his eyes narrowed. He knew her. She was going to make a point with all of this, he knew she would. But there was still that small part of him in the back of his mind that let the words hurt.

“Oh, is that not what you wanted to hear?” she continued scathingly. Her voice was pitched higher than normal and she was breathing just as heavily as he was. “Fine, how about the truth? It wasn’t your fault. There’s nothing to forgive. There never will be. I don’t hate you, so you can’t hate yourself. In fact, you big, dumb, stubborn asshole, I still love you.”

The words dropped like stones within him. He opened his mouth even as she glared. He didn’t know what he was going to say–that he loved her, that she shouldn’t love him, to leave him alone, that he wanted to kiss her. Before he could speak, she was jabbing her sharp little finger into his chest again.

“No! I’m not done. Since you’re finally listening. I don’t care if you–if you feel differently. If you see me as a friend. Or as just an employee. Batman’s partner. I don’t care! Even if it’s–fucking crazy! Because I’m in love with you, and I want you to know that you are still worth being loved. I don’t care what you’ve done. You’re a good man. Nothing will change that in my eyes. Do you get that? Nothing. You fucking stabbed me and almost killed me and I still fucking love you!” A single tear slipped from the corner of her eye and over the apple of her cheek. She swiped at it quickly, still glaring, still breathing hard.

I still fucking love you.

Bruce shoved away from her. His hands shook as he ran them through his hair.

The words were too big. Too much. The love he felt for her was overwhelming, especially since it was destroying her. He was dangerous, and he would get her killed sooner or later. He’d been lucky that she hadn’t died, that he hadn’t killed her. But there would always be another chance for that, if she stayed close. If he let her in. If he let her love him, he would get her killed.

Everyone he loved ended up dead, after all. Just look at his parents.

He walked over to his motorcycle, still on its side from his fit of rage weeks ago, and righted it just to have something to do with his shaking hands.

He had to make her see. She had to understand how dangerous a thing like his love would be. How dangerous it already was. “I almost killed you. I almost killed you.” The words were blades as they ripped from his throat.

He blinked, and she was in front of him. Her hands were blazing hot as she put them on either side of his face.

“I don’t care,” she said fiercely, the words utterly convicted. “It wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t you.”

“I’m not a good man, y/n,” he whispered. To his horror, a tear fell from his eyes. He loved her so much, and she loved him, but the universe was cruel and had already tried taking her from him too many times. It was for the best that he stayed away, that he pushed her away.

“You are,” she said. “In your heart, you’re a good man. Even good men do bad things sometimes.”

The hope, the love, shining on her face was too much. “You don’t get it. I’m–I’m no good for you. You deserve someone who is good. Not someone made for the shadows. Not someone…angry like I am. Someone who won’t put you in–”

“Stop it!” she said sharply. She grabbed his face again. “Look at me.” Reluctantly, he did. “I have seen the darkest parts of you, Bruce Wayne. And I am not afraid. I have seen the worst parts of you and I am still right here. I’m angry too. I’m–I have been just as complicit as you have in all of this. I killed James Maxwell. I–”

He shook his head vehemently as he closed his eyes against the onslaught of memories. “No,” he said. “You’re not like me at all, y/n. You’re too good.” Even the darkest parts of her were brighter than the lightest parts of him. He was made of shadows, made to stay in them, made to stay out of the light. And she was the sun, trying to burn those shadows away. But there was no light without shadows, and he could never be the brightness she deserved. Not ever.

“I love you,” she said. “Every part of you. I don’t care if you don’t feel the same way about me, I want you to know that. You make me feel safe. I love every part of you. ”

He shuddered at the weight of the words. “You shouldn’t.”

“When have I ever listened to you?” she asked with a small smile. His mouth twisted. Never. She’d never listened to him, and he loved her for it. “I love you, even though you’re impossible. And stubborn. You have to stop blaming yourself. I’m alive.”

“Don’t you get it?” he said. His voice broke on the words. “Don’t you see? I love you and I almost killed you.” His hands pressed flat against her back. He shook against her. He was coming apart at the seams, all of his grief and darkness pouring from him in a wave. Didn’t she see? “All these people I’ve been trying to save, and I would have let all of them die if it meant saving you.”

She stared up at him for a beat, mouth parted in surprise.

And then she kissed him.

It was a reflex to kiss her back, a starving man confronted with a feast for the first time. Her lips tasted like salt and he couldn’t tell if they were his tears or hers. He pressed her against the work table, hungry for more, his fingers spreading against her ribcage and her back, trapping her against him. Her warmth completely stole the chill from the air and he almost groaned into her mouth at the sensation.

She made a soft noise and his mind went hurtling back to her on the floor beneath him, black dress wet with blood, her eyes on his as she told him she loved him even as his blade tried to steal her life.

He pulled away, the memory turning the salt on his tongue metallic like blood. “I can’t,” he whispered, anguished. “Every time I look at you, I see your blood on my hands. I can’t do this.”

But oh, how he wanted to. How he needed to.

He forced himself to go to the elevator and make his way upstairs. A shower–a cold shower. Then he could go back to work. Maybe he’d even go sleep at the signal tower. He couldn’t be near her, couldn’t corrupt her anymore, couldn’t be confronted with the blood on his hands anymore. Her blood. His blade.

His body went on autopilot like it had so many other times in the past weeks. Alfred would probably call it a defense mechanism.

He shed his boots inside his bedroom then went for the makeup wipes he had stashed everywhere. He let his mind go blank. He couldn’t–wouldn’t–think about what y/n said.

But of course she wasn’t giving up. She appeared in the doorway to his bedroom within a minute. He loved that about her, he always had, but at that moment all he wanted to do was hide like a child under his blankets and not come out for anything.

“Bruce,” she said. He pointedly turned away from her. “Bruce, you can’t just–”

“Please,” he said, voice cracking. “I can’t do this. Not now.”

She stepped up to him and once again placed a hand on his bare chest. She traced one of his scars. Physical proof of his anger, his violence, his darkness.

“I don’t care. Please look at me.”

After a long moment, he murmured her name. It was all he could manage. He was scraped raw inside, every nerve and every emotion laid bare.

“Look at me,” she said. “I’m alive. There’s no blood on your hands. There’s nothing I need to forgive you for.” He looked down at her. Her expression was still fierce, still convicted. “I can’t believe you almost killed me and didn’t tell me all of this sooner, you fucking jerk.”

He let out a soft noise but didn’t smile. “I’m no good for you,” he said again. But he could feel himself losing the fight. Her proximity was a heady drug, and he craved it, just like he craved the love she was so desperately trying to give him.

“Bruce, I killed a man.” Something flashed across her face that looked a lot like guilt. Bruce wanted to take the feeling away from her, to carry it for her, to make sure she never felt it again. “I killed a man to save you,” she said again. “And here you are, beating yourself up over almost killing me when it wasn’t even your fault. If anything, I’m no good for you.”

He pulled her closer and breathed her in. “I don’t care,” he said. “I should care, but I don’t. Not when it’s–not when it’s you.”

“Don’t you get it, then?” she said softly. The love in her eyes was so intense it was a physical caress against his face. He unconsciously leaned into it. “That’s what I feel about you. I don’t care about any of it.”

He saw how clearly she meant it. She didn’t care. He tried not to let the hope take him over, but it crested on a wave and threatened to pull him under. “I’m sorry,” he finally managed to say. Sorry for hurting her, sorry for doubting her, sorry for loving her, sorry for all of it.

But there she still was, patiently waiting on him. She was stubborn, even when it came to matters of the heart. He stared at her in wonder. She loved him.

“You have nothing to be sorry for. Except for maybe not telling me that you loved me sooner.” She gave him the lightest of kisses and then closed her eyes. Her next words were uncertain. “Do you mean it? Because I’m going to be so pissed off if you don’t.”

He huffed a laugh and then groaned. “Yes.”

And this time he let himself give in. He let himself trust her. She was so much stronger than he realized, so he let himself fall into her, into loving her. She could hold him. She could carry the weight.

Her kiss seared through him. He groaned into her mouth, and then again as her hands started exploring his bare back and chest. Her touch lit him from within. He expected to open his eyes and see flames. It was overwhelming, the love and desire he felt for her. He had never felt this way for anyone. He had never expected to feel it, either.

He pulled away with his eyes still closed. He rested his forehead on hers and simply breathed her in. “Every time you touch me, it’s like–like I’m on fire,” he said softly. “It’s too much. It’s not enough.”

Her hands stilled their exploration and rested on his back. “I thought you didn’t want me, all those times you didn’t want me to touch you,” she said. “But I couldn’t make myself stop wanting you.”

“I never said I didn’t want you,” he said. He kissed her again to prove his point. “That night you first kissed me–” He groaned as her hands slid up over his ribs and around his neck. Tangled in his hair. He couldn’t think with her touching him like that. “–I wanted it to be your choice, wholly your choice. Not because you were upset at work, or because you were drunk. I have never stopped wanting you.”

Instead of responding, y/n kissed him again like she was desperate. Like she was afraid he’d walk away again. The fire in his blood built into an inferno.

“Touch me, Bruce Wayne,” she murmured against his lips. Those goddamn words, he thought hazily as he moaned and backed her up to the edge of the bed. He had never known desire like this. He lifted her so her legs would wrap around him and their bodies nestled together perfectly. He knew she could feel his hardness pressing against her. Her eyes were blown wide with desire, which only built the fire within him further.

“I love you,” she said as his lips sought out the soft flesh of her neck.

This time, when the words rose to his tongue, he set them free. “I love you,” he said against the fluttering pulse in her throat.

“I’m so mad at you,” she said breathily. He went still. Had he done something wrong? Then she groaned and ground herself against him. The movement was so unexpected that his hands fisted in her shirt. “I’m so mad that we could have been doing this sooner.”

His expression cleared, and he laughed. “I love you,” she said as she kissed him again.

“Touch me,” she told him as one of his hands scraped against her breast over her shirt. “Please.”

He was already lifting her, keeping her against him exactly as she was. “You’re a bully,” he said against her neck as he held her up with one hand and fumbled with her shirt with the other. His tongue traced her lower lip.

“If I had known that bullying you into talking about our feelings would–” Her words cut off with a moan as his bare hands glided up the skin of her ribcage beneath her shirt. “–lead to this, I would have been bullying you every single day for weeks.”

He kissed her again. She belonged in his arms, he thought. She belonged against him just as she was. He never wanted to let her go. “Well, maybe that would have been worse,” he said pragmatically. “The doctor did say absolutely no sex for six weeks.”

Her legs clenched around him. His breath left him in a rush at the sensation, and she was still clothed. He realized he might not survive this, because his heart already felt as if it were about to give out and they hadn’t even properly begun yet.

She seemed to realize the effect she had on him and, with a wicked grin, clenched her thighs again.

He had her pinned against the bed with his body in half a second. His hips settled against her like her body was made for him, and she let out a moan that almost made him burst into flames, it was so hot.

“Hey–” she said, pulling away. “He told you what the doctor said?”

Bruce rested his elbow on the mattress behind her while the other held her by the ass. His hand flexed on its own accord. She was so soft. “Like I said before, meddlesome old man.”

He didn’t want to talk anymore, and especially not about Alfred. Not when y/n was spread below him, her body just begging for him to touch and taste it all over. His eyes roamed over her form for a split second before he bent his head to kiss her again. She squirmed underneath him.

He wanted to devour her.

He gave in to the urge and yanked her shirt and bra off. Her breasts were perfect, so he paused to kiss them, give them the attention they deserved. Her skin was so soft, especially compared to the calluses on his own hands. The small noise she made when his mouth touched her skin encouraged him to do more.

It wasn’t enough. He wanted her to feel good, to know how much he wanted her, to know how much he wanted to swallow her whole in the flames of his desire.

Somehow his body knew what to do. Without thinking, he knelt and pulled down her shorts and underwear until she was entirely bare before him.

His mouth went dry at the sight.

“Jesus,” she said on a breath as his mouth drifted across her inner thigh. He kissed her higher, experimenting to see how she’d react. “Fuck.” He was on the right track, then. He kept kissing higher and higher, stopping before he reached the place he really wanted to taste.

His gaze snagged on the angry scar on her abdomen. The one he’d given her. Reverently, he lowered his head and kissed the puckered skin.

He looked back up at her, hoping she could see everything he was feeling, because he wasn’t sure how to say it out loud.

Then he lowered his head once more. She moaned the moment his lips touched her and her fingers tangled in his hair. Something about the sensation coupled with the taste of her on his lips made him twitch in his pants as he moaned against her. He paid her back by slowly, slowly sliding a finger into her wet heat.

She growled impatiently and it was so endearing that he smiled.

“Please,” she said, polite yet bossy, so he obliged with another finger. Every response he pulled from her with his mouth and fingers informed his movements. The louder the sound, the more she liked what he was doing. He experimented with movements, learning her body slowly but surely. He let his tongue circle her clit as his fingers moved in and out of her, seeing if she liked it when he curled them.

He’d had no idea that tasting her, pleasing her, would be so…erotic. He could climax just from this, he decided, especially with the sounds she was making.

He didn’t know how long had passed when her entire body suddenly shuddered and the noises she made changed. He could feel her clenching around his fingers as she shook.

“Fuck,” she said as she heaved for breath. “Fuck,” she said again. She was so utterly beautiful spread out before him, her body loose with her pleasure. Her body trembled again. Her fingers fisted in his hair. “Bruce–”

He watched her come down from her high, feeling pleased with himself. He had done that to her, had made her look and sound like that. Even inexperienced as he was, he had made her feel good.

She sat up suddenly, still completely naked, and yanked at him until he understood what she wanted. He stood to his feet and stared down at her. He watched her look at him, eyes roving hungrily over his exposed abdomen, before she pressed a kiss there that made him impossibly more turned on. She kissed one scar–the one from the night they met–and then the scar from the night she’d been kidnapped. Her eyes lingered there for a moment, her expression softening.

Then a wicked gleam sparked in her eyes as she rubbed her hand over him through his pants. His hips bucked involuntarily. She stared up at him and the sight was so erotic he nearly came right then and there. His mind spiraled forward to things her mouth might do to him and–

And what came after.

Something he’d never done before.

He suddenly felt unsure. Would she expect more from him than he could give? What if it wasn’t good for her? What if she knew he’d never done anything like this before? Would she care?

“I–” he tried to say, but the words wouldn’t come. Y/n stroked him through his pants again and all thoughts briefly left his head. He clenched his fists and tilted his head back because simply seeing her naked on the bed before him was almost too much to handle.

She didn’t notice his hesitation, unbuttoning his pants swiftly and pushing them down over his hips almost greedily.

He caught her hands in his own. “I–I’ve never done this–” His face was hot with embarrassment. “I’ve never–”

“Bruce,” she murmured gently. “It’s okay, we don’t have to–”

“No,” he said, then breathed a laugh. She’d utterly misunderstood him. Couldn’t she see–couldn’t she feel–how much he wanted her? “I want to, I just–”

She took that as permission to rid him of his underwear next and his words choked off. “I want to, too,” she said. Her eyes lowered. Her lips parted as she took him in, licking her lips absentmindedly. God, her mouth. She tore her eyes away from his nakedness and locked her eyes on his. “I’m yours,” she said simply. “However you want me. Even if you want to wait.”

“I don’t want to wait anymore.” As soon as the words were out of his mouth, her hand wrapped around him. His hips jerked again. There was a wicked glint in her eyes.

He grabbed her hands again to stop her. “Play later,” he growled. Because he really didn’t want to wait anymore. He wanted her, all of her.

She laid back on the bed with a soft sigh and watched as he fumbled in the nightstand for a condom.

He saw her watching and flushed again. “I…may have gotten these before the gala.” He tore one open with his teeth. He tried very hard not to think about how embarrassing it had been trying to find the right kind and how he’d had to call Alfred when the sheer amount of choices had overwhelmed him.

She laughed. “Feeling cocky, were you?” she said, with a pointed look and a wink.

“I was–Let’s just say–” He swallowed. He turned his focus to putting the condom on, trying not to seem too new at it. When he looked at her again, his gaze roved hungrily over her naked body as he said, “The night didn’t go like I’d wanted.” He got on his knees on the bed and nudged her legs apart. He settled between them, body trembling in anticipation. “I have never stopped wanting you,” he said again, softer this time. He leaned down and kissed her deeply.

“I’m yours,” she whispered against his lips. He pulled away to look down at her, already deliciously disheveled, his cock pressed against the soft flesh of her lower stomach. She squirmed slightly, making him twitch against her. The desire was going to kill him, he realized.

“And I’m yours,” he echoed softly as his hands explored the soft curves of her. Did she know how beautiful she was? How perfect she was? How much she had changed his life? “I love you,” he said, savoring that he got to say the words to her at all. That he got to mean them.

And then finally, finally, he pushed into her, sliding in like a puzzle piece designed specifically for her. And she said, “I love you,” as they connected, both of them moaning quietly at the contact.

Bruce practically shook with the need to move as he held himself still above her. Instead, he rested his forehead against hers. “Is this okay?”

“No,” she said, and a weight dropped in his gut. Of course he was doing it wrong. Of course he– “I–more,” she said, the word almost incoherent. Her legs wrapped around his waist and with one easy movement, her hips shifted and he sank the rest of the way inside her. For a moment, he saw stars. She must have too, because she moaned his name and squeezed him more tightly against her, a small tremble moving through her body and into his.

Again, his body seemed to know what to do, and his hips moved. She wasn’t close enough–he wanted her all over him, every inch of her against every inch of him. He grabbed at her waist and lifted her so that he somehow slipped even more deeply inside her. She cursed, drawing a smile from his lips. Her head was tilted back slightly, her eyes hooded, her body soft against him, all around him.

“Extraordinary creature,” he said just to make her smile. It worked, and seeing the expression on her face made his heart twist in his chest.

He moved against her, her fingernails biting into his shoulder blades, one of her hands tangling in his hair. And again, the sensation coupled with that of being inside her sent a jolt of desire through him so sharp he moaned. She smirked then did it again, making his cock twitch inside her. He’d had no idea that someone pulling his hair, of all things, could be so sinful.

He shifted his grip on her hips so he could lean his head against hers and drink her in. She moaned, approving of the new angle, and he stole the sound off her lips with his own. He paused to keep himself from going over the edge too soon. After a moment, he started moving again, hips bucking into her, the slide so easy and perfect it drew sounds from deep in his chest.

Faster. Harder. The more he moved, the tighter the desire deep in his gut coiled, making him moan her name in ecstasy.

He’d had no idea sex would be like this. He’d had no idea that loving the person you desired, that having them love you back, made it so much…better. Would it always be like this? He hoped so.

Her muscles tensed around him, her back arching as he moved. He was right with her on the building wave of pleasure. It built and built and built, her noises becoming desperate, pleading, until she shuddered around him. She clenched around him, the sudden tightening sending him over the edge right behind her.

His vision went white, her name on his lips, and the moment exploded into perfect ecstasy.

It was transcendent.

“Fuck,” y/n said quietly as they clung to each other. He rubbed small circles into her skin where he held her.

Bruce was too stunned to speak. She giggled at something, fingertips brushing his face before he captured them and kissed the tips. Then he leaned down and kissed her lips. The kiss deepened, and that feeling of transcendence built.

He had never loved someone like he loved her. He hadn’t even known he was capable.

There was a warmth in his chest now, like a piece of the sun itself was lodged there. He was aglow in its warmth.

“I love you,” she murmured when he pulled away. He gave her a lopsided smile. “Okay?” she asked, suddenly seeming almost self conscious. He kept grinning at her. Okay? Was he okay?

“Better than okay,” he murmured as he stood. It was the biggest understatement he had ever made. He threw the condom in the trash can next to the bed. “Are you…okay? Did I hurt you?” She had seemed to enjoy it as much as he had, but he had no baseline to compare the experience to.

She stretched languidly and smiled dreamily at him. “I am way better than okay.” He grinned at her again as he pulled on a pair of comfortable sweatpants. She watched his every move, eyes sharp as they trailed over his body. He felt a swell of male pride at that, enjoying that she was looking, enjoying that she was enjoying the sight of him. Enjoying the possessiveness in her gaze.

She rolled to her side and used her hands for pillows. Bruce couldn’t help but stare at her breasts and the curve of her hip as she moved. She was his, this extraordinary creature, and he was hers.

The warmth in his chest carried him to her to brush a soft kiss against her temple. She sighed happily as she stretched again and stood. She smiled over her shoulder, corners of her eyes crinkling, as she stepped into the bathroom.

Bruce thought about how desolate he’d felt just an hour before. How…alone. Guilty. Desperate.

And now…now y/n was naked in his bathroom, her love buoying him and lightening the load of his guilt.

A smile spread slowly across his face.

#motn #bruce wayne x reader #battinson x reader #the batman x reader #batman x reader #the batman #the batman 2022 #battinson #motn oneshot

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nvuy · 4 days ago

Note

your writing style is a dream of mine, and the pacing & humor in your fics are some of the many reasons i decided to follow you !

i'm trying to write fanfics myself & potentially even run a writing blog! could you share a few writing tips?

you are so cute.

i’ll let you in on a secret: i started actually publishing my fics in 2020, but i since abandoned them because they’re embarrassing. however, here’s one as a starting point. i look back at it and cringe A LOT, but it was my foot in the door, and 15 year old me was very proud of it, so i didn’t want to straight up delete it.

i didn’t start out on tumblr because i get nervous being forced to interact with people because im a pretty abrupt person and i talk about the things that i like too much and im aware that can scare people away. it was about halfway thru writing old habits before i actually posted something. that was this and i posted it because i knew what little audience i had knew ME because i wrote a scaramouche fic. so. scaramouche content.

and because of the tumblr tagging system, people saw it, they liked it, and some people wanted more.

i then interacted with other writers slowly even though i was scared and frankly still am. you dont have to go around asking to be moots or spamming hearts left and right and putting their dicks in ur mouth, but being nice and having a scope around on what other people do on here helped me develop this ugly little blog i have.

i got really into hsr so i write a lot of hsr. i get a lot of people that ask if i could write more genshin impact, and i could, but at the end of the day, it’s my blog, and if i dont want to, i dont have to. i lost interest, so i dont really have to care about it, nor pay it any mind. do i still write it? sure! rarely, but i do. i don’t play wuwa anymore, but im down to write a piece or two if i get an idea, etc etc.

another thing is: don’t write in the hopes that you’ll post it on tumblr. same way i don’t think artists should draw just for the sake of posting. i have so much shit laying on various docs that won’t even be shown on this site, because it doesn’t need to be here. not because it’s bad, or it’s weird, but because i don’t have to post it, because it’s my blog.

the thing is you just be yourself and write whatever the fuck you want. i write horror & weird shit; my audience is probably well aware of that by now, and im not really worried to post anything super weird because its sort of what’s expected of me.

i know horror and romantic cannibalism connotations and yanderes and unsubtle sexy threats is not everyone’s thing, and that’s ok! they don’t have to like what i put out, and i don’t worry about it, because people who like your shit will interact, and people who don’t will not. and people that don’t like ur shit and still interact are losers. hit the block button & move on.

someone is always bound to like your works.

i guess the ‘funny’ comes from the fact that i try to write dialogue how real people would speak. in fictional context, someone like kaedehara kazuha could wax poetry for three hours without stuttering in game, but realistically, nobody can probably do that without pauses, stammers, messing up words, etc. so i try to incorporate a sense of realism into everything, even if it’s a fanfiction in a world where a small boy in white tights is a god and everyone gets tiny little orbs that give them magical elemental powers.

i remember that even though these characters are fictional, i write them as though they could potentially be real people that do things real people do: fidget, stutter, blush, try and be funny and fail, they have problems large or small, etc. you have to mould your personality and writing style to make these characters alive on what you put out—childe seems like a great husband on paper, but is he all that good when he has unchecked mental health problems and has violent outbursts and desires? think about it.

another thing: don’t doubt your skill and prowess, especially in comparing yourself to posts with like 10000+ notes. most of them are note farming bullshit anyway—and a lot of the reader community is more likely to click on porn fics than normal fics. its why the popular posts on the x reader tags are usually porn. it’s half the reason why confiteor is infinitely more popular that old habits when im pretty sure scaramouche is a bigger character on the popularity charts.

strictly nsfw blogs that people make i can guarantee you are a lot more popular than their main blogs.

which brings me to: dont hop on trends. don’t do it. youll burn yourself out. just write what you want. fuck everyone. do whatever the fuck you want. if porn is popular but you’re extremely sex-repulsed or not comfortable, don’t write it. dont write to please people; it’s your blog and your time you’re putting into to do what YOU like, and you’re sharing your work for FREE on a public platform. a lot of people can’t do that. there’s people that follow my blog that openly admit they don’t like yandere/horror/whatever content. am i going to change what i post because of these people? no. not my problem. don’t care. i don’t exist to please everyone, and neither do you. stick to what you like.

don’t write for fandoms you don’t give a shit about just because they’re popular. even if what you like has a small, non-existent fan base, i promise you’ll enjoy writing for that more than something that you’re creating for clicks. notes are nice, but again, you don’t have to post everything you create. half the joy in writing is rediscovering old shit you don’t remember writing for a fandom you actually like. it’s like a reward.

#✦ ( love mail. )#✦ ( anon. )

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graysnetwork · 1 year ago

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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 ☺️

#imagines #x reader stories #fluff #call of duty #oneshot #keegan p russ #call of duty keegan #cod keegan #keegan russ #keegan russ x reader #keegan x reader #y’all better request for bbf! keegan or else i’ll be sad #brothers best friend

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wakebymoonsleepbysun · 5 hours ago

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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.

#spamton #spamton x reader #deltarune x reader #x reader #my writing

8 notes · View notes

synonymroll648 · 1 year ago

Text

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.

#qpr keefex fic #but it's the real thing this time!#qpr keefex #keefex #keefe sencen #dex dizznee #kotlc #kotlc fic #keefex fic #keeper of the lost cities #keefex week 2023 #autistic!dex #bisexual!keefe #aroace!dex #keefe feels alterous attraction towards dex in this btw. if i didn't make it obvious enough (sorry if i didn't)#dadwin #forever in mourning of how keefe isn't gonna get adopted by elwin :( ik grady and keefe is good but. KEEFE AND ELWIN [sobs]

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definitelydissociative · 18 days ago

Text

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.

#yay. posting.#adam #I guess.

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arkiwii · 1 year ago

Text

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…"

#arknights #fanfiction #arknights fanfiction #saria #olivia silence #ifrit #uhhh #stalkiwific #?#new tag dropped

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spookydicks · 11 months ago

Text

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.

#critical role #cr laudna #cr fanfic

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itsahotminuteinbetween · 1 year ago

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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.

#sorry to bother #don't mind me #uhh how do i tag this...#it's not really an x reader it's just an intro #is this a drabble? no not really cuz there's no real storyline #guess I'll tag it like that though cuz I can't think of anythin else #drabble #reader #y/n #this is sun/moon fandom but they're hardly mentioned so i don't think I can tag it like that #welp there's that imma try to figure out the storyline to where the stars don't shine #let's just say moon and y/n get a bit...well

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arcadefloorvibes · 1 year ago

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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

#arcade speaks #chaos tag

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