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so-langdon · 5 years

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Night of a Lifetime - Michael Langdon x Fem! Reader (Requested)

Summary: (Au) Michael and Y/N have been best friends and roommates for awhile. Y/N has been in love with him for awhile too, but tries dating someone else to get over Michael knowing he’s just a player. But when Michael sees her with someone else, he gets angry.

Warnings: Angst, fuckboy! Michael, jealous! Michael, possessive! dom! Michael, sexual tension, some dirty talk, biting, sexual situations, sensual touching, some choking, strong language

A/N: Finally had some time to write and got this written! @saltyshaggymeme wanted an AU fic of Michael with a “man-bun”, so I added that in of course, so hope you enjoy! Let me know! <3

I haven’t written in over a month, maybe even two, due to being so busy with work and I feel like my writing has already lost so much substance so I apologize if this is shitty.

And I will be posting my Xavier fic about loving his scars sometime next week hopefully!

Tagged!: @hecohansen31 @blakewaterxx @sarahandthejets @michaelsapostle @1-800-bitchcraft @ccodyfern @rocketgirl2410

(tagged some who i thought may want to read but just ignore if not !! )

The piercing blue eyes of Michael Langdon stare into Y/N’s, baring straight into her soul. Michael’s long layered locks are up in a bun, a few strands framing around his face perfectly, giving him an alluring and intimidatingly handsome appearance. He grins confidently and sultry, causing her heart to flutter, making her want to kiss his soft, full lips already, yearning to satiate the hunger inside of her for him.

But in just the blink of an eye, the vision of Michael in front of her fades away completely, causing Y/N to shake her head a bit and blink a few more times before narrowing her eyes on the actual person in front of her.

Brock, the guy Y/N was currently dating sits beside her on the couch, having had snapped his fingers to get her attention as she clearly zoned out and her mind wandered to a completely different person.

“You okay,” Brock asks as he scoots closer to Y/N on the couch, reaching over for the remote and lifting it up to the television to put the movie they’re watching on pause. “I was talking and you just weren’t saying anything,” he adds.

“Yeah, sorry,” Y/N forces a smile. “I was just, uh, thinking about what movie you’d want to watch next,” she smiles more to seem more sincere and like she wasn’t just fantasizing about another man.

Y/N and Brock had been on a couple of dates before, having met in a shared class last semester. She didn’t really have a thing for him, hence why it was so easy for her mind to drift off to someone else in particular. But Brock was cute, personable and seemingly good enough for distracting Y/N from her mind-consuming thoughts of her actual crush: Her roommate and best friend, Michael Langdon.

She and Michael had known each other a few years, having had bonded and really connected from the get go when meeting at freshman orientation. Michael didn’t have much family, and Y/N was the first person he felt he could really trust, the two forming a strong bond once meeting and getting along together so well.

Though, they had never been anything other than friends. Y/N had grown feelings for Michael over the months, but would never dare dream of telling him, knowing he didn’t feel the same way, especially with knowing how he jumped from girl to girl.

Michael was a bit of a fuckboy for lack of a better term. Michael didn’t date, didn’t have relationships, didn’t have crushes. Just flings, hook-ups, one time things. He was the stereotypical college boy, knowing how popular he was considering his handsome looks and flirty charm.

Michael was still sweet and friendly nonetheless, but he wasn’t interested in any type of commitment or relationship that didn’t end that night or following morning at the latest. He wasn’t ready to settle down in any way as of yet.

Y/N knowing this about Michael, could never imagine telling him of her feelings, figuring he wouldn’t just reject her, but would complicate their friendship too. Even with Michael being a fuckboy, player, whatever you wanted to call it, he still always made time for Y/N, letting her know she was the most important person in his life. So she’d rather have him in her life as her best friend, than not at all.

Since she knows she and Michael can never be together, she’s decided it’s time to start dating and to stop waiting around and hoping for Michael to admit some kind of love for her when she knew it wasn’t true.

Or so she thinks.

Nevertheless, when Brock asked her out, she went for it, figuring it would be good for her to move on from Michael and to get over her feelings. But, here she was, on the couch of her shared apartment picturing Michael as her date instead of Brock, attempting and failing to hide her feelings about everything.

Of course Y/N knew she didn’t really like Brock and didn’t have an actual interest in dating him. But she wanted to get over her feelings for Michael so despairingly, she was desperate for any kind of distraction and wasn’t going to waste the opportunity.

But, even as Brock proceeded with making flirtatious moves, scooting closer to Y/N, and turning her face to his and kissing her, Y/N knew it was going to be more difficult than she thought when all she could think about and picture was Michael instead.

So she tried to lose herself in the feeling, in any positive feeling when kissing Brock back, trying to push her feelings and desires for Michael aside in the process.

The two ignore the movie playing on the television, making out on the couch like a couple of high school teenagers who have the house alone for the first time. Y/N lets Brock wrap an arm around her to pull her closer to him, resting his other hand on her exposed knee just below where her dress cuts off, slowly moving it up as he seems to have only one idea in mind she knows.

Typical college guys.

Y/N doesn’t care and goes along with it, thinking maybe sleeping with Brock will break whatever spell Michael has on her and it’ll be a foot in the right direction of getting over him.

But before she can make a decision or even have another thought about it, the lights in the living room turn on, a voice clearing their throat, and an obvious tension overtaking the atmosphere.

Brock and Y/N pull away from kissing and turn their heads to the other side of the room, seeing who other than Michael standing there.

He looks intimidating, his crystal blue eyes still beautiful but showcasing an unusual rage as he glares lightly. His long, layered hair that reaches past his shoulders is tied up in a well kept bun, always adding a sexiness to him when he has his hair up.

His mouth is frowning, his light pink lips still looking just as soft and plump as normal, but having an irritation to them. Dressed in a casual black t-shirt that’s just tight enough to show enough of his fit physique as he crosses his arms over his broad chest, black jeans to match and Doc Martins. He looks devilishly handsome, practically jaw-dropping, per usual.

“What are you doing here,” Y/N asks, narrowing her eyes and trying to ignore the increase of her heart beat as she looks at him, her body reacting more to Michael’s appearance alone than she was when kissing Brock.

“I live here,” Michael states almost sarcastically, yet still impassive.

Y/N rolls her eyes, pushing her captivated feelings to the side and putting up her own irritated front. “I mean, what are you doing here right now? I thought you were going out to meet up with some people and wouldn’t be home all night?”

“Changed my mind,” Michael answers detached, eyes glancing over to Brock beside her and staring daggers into him practically, causing Brock to look noticeably uncomfortable as he tries to avoid eye contact with Michael.

Y/N sighs, leaning back on the couch and crossing her own arms over her chest. “Well. Don’t mind us then, we’re just watching a movie. So you can go to your room now or whatever and leave.”

“Didn’t look like you were just watching a movie to me,” Michael states angrily as he looks at Y/N, ignoring the second part of her words, glaring a bit more and diverting his eyes from Y/N to Brock again beside her. “Who are you?” He asks a little too harshly

“This is Brock, my date for the evening,” Y/N emphasizes, answering. “Brock, this is Michael, my roommate,” Y/N adds looking from Brock and back to Michael.

“And best friend,” Michael adds irritated.

“Well, um cool,” Brock begins lightly. “Nice to meet you,” he gives a small wave at Michael, smiling a bit in the hopes that whatever tension that’s in the air will dissipate.

But that fails as only more tension seems to rise as the seconds pass. “Not really. This wasn’t the most comfortable scene to be coming home to,” Michael states as he keeps his arms crossed and looks back over to Y/N. “He needs to be heading out. It’s getting late.”

Y/N narrows her eyes again, Michael’s words catching her off guard. “It’s like ten o’ clock?” She states obviously.

“And? It’s getting late,” Michael repeats, furrowing his eyes and diverts his gaze to Brock. “So, go on and get going,” he says, dropping his arms and gesturing towards the door behind him so he can leave.

“Uhm,” Brock narrows his eyes too, but more confused, unsure if he should actually be leaving or not and looking at Y/N for a clarification.

“He doesn’t have to leave, we’re in the middle of watching a movie still.” Y/N points out, uncrossing her arms as she sits up more.

“What does that have to do with anything? It’s getting late and--”

“It’s Friday night,” Y/N interjects.

“--And I’m going to bed, so I would rather not be disturbed by the movie, or whatever else that might go on,” Michael articulates.

“Whatever else? Are you serious?” Y/N glares, standing up and finding an anger building inside of her. “That’s so hypocritical.”

Y/N was no stranger to Michael having girls over, whether that be them in the living room on the couch like Y/N and Brock, or in Michael’s room. Y/N never said anything, never interrupting and disturbing whatever they were clearly doing, always letting Michael live his life because they’re adults and this wasn’t high school (and she never wanted to risk showing any jealousy too).

And yet, Michael has the nerve to demand that her date for the evening, whether she actually liked him or not, leave when Michael’s come home now, though he wasn’t even supposed to be home in the first place.

“Hypocritical how?” Michael raises his head, almost amused but trying to act clueless. “I’ve asked nicely for your guest to leave as it is late and I would like to go to bed knowing that my apartment is free of strangers.”

“Brock isn’t a stranger, he’s my guest, and you’re kicking him out very rudely, so that’s bullshit,” Y/N argues.

“Um, hey,” Brock interjects shyly, “I don’t want to get in the middle of.. whatever this is that’s starting, so I’m gonna just, you know, head out,” Brock says awkwardly, interrupting the current conversation and standing up.

“What, you are?” Y/N looks at him with a bit of disappointment. She wasn’t really that upset over Brock wanting to leave, finding more relief in it than anything. But she didn’t want him to leave because it would mean Michael would have won, and then she’d also lose further opportunity in trying to get over her feelings for Michael, or attempts, at least.

“Yeah, I’ll just see you later,” he smiles a bit and grabs his jacket off the couch and walks past Michael, still avoiding eye contact and leaves out the door without another word being said.

Y/N watches quietly as Brock leaves without even looking back. Y/N crosses her arms and glares back at Michael, a bit of humiliation and obvious anger showing on her face, remaining silent until the door shuts behind Brock.

“Glad that’s over with,” Michael speaks fluidly and walks off towards his bedroom door, thrilled Brock is finally gone and not just away from Y/N, but also that no other opportunity to be kissing her or whatever else will occur now.

"Glad that’s over with? What is wrong with you,” Y/N calls out, turning to him as he walks by her, obviously frustrated with the situation. “That was so rude and embarrassing! You had no right in doing any of that.”

Michael turns to her, “Look, I know it’s your apartment, but it’s mine too, and I wasn’t comfortable having him here.”

“He was here for me, not you,” she states. “Why would it make you uncomfortable to have him over when he’s not even here to see you in the first place, and we weren’t doing anything that would have bothered you anyway,” she says. “You weren’t even supposed to be here, but I’m allowed to have whoever I want over and when I want.”

“No you aren’t,” Michael snaps, his fists suddenly tightening by his sides. “Not when it’s some weird, random guy that you haven’t mentioned to me about.”

“I have mentioned him before,” Y/N points out. “He’s not some weird, random guy. He’s from a class I had last semester,” Y/N says like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

Michael narrows his eyes, “You mean that’s the guy you’ve been going out with and texting and shit?” Michael points, tone becoming more irritated. “You had one class with him and then ran into him on campus. You hardly know the guy, and you have him over in our shared apartment without me knowing?”

“Oh, what, I need your permission now in who I go out with?” She furrows her eyes. “You never ask me for ‘permission’ when you bring girls over.”

“That’s completely different,” Michael exclaims, gesturing out. “This is you and some guy you hardly know, and you two were fucking making out! Who knows what else could have happened!”

“Who cares?” Y/N speaks confused and frustrated. The way Michael was talking to her made her feel like she was some kind of child. She and Brock had been seeing each other for just the last few weeks but she knew him a lot better than Michael did with the girls he hangs with. “What does that have to do with anything? That’s between he and I.”

“No, it’s not. You can’t just be fucking making out with some random guy in our apartment without me knowing. You should have checked with me first!” He calls.

“Why are you so mad and yelling,” Y/N crosses her arms. “You’ve been so weird lately and just,” she shakes her head, “over-protective. What’s up your ass?” She asks, causing Michael to roll his eyes. “You know you have been, don’t you dare deny it,” she points.

Michael had been acting a bit strange lately whenever Y/N happened to mention the new guy she had been talking to. From a series of interrogating questions, to annoyed behavior and a short temper, always emphasizing that Y/N should be careful. Y/N never thought anything of it, always thinking Michael was just in a bad mood from class or work and she just caught him at the wrong times, while also being a normal best friend and warning her to be safe.

But she didn’t know that Michael’s “weird” and “over-protective” behavior was due to him being jealous and actually upset over having to hear about Y/N talk and gush about some guy she was apparently crushing on, her smiling and giggling over texts and saying how nice and great he was. Michel hated hearing it, but couldn’t tell her to stop without making it obvious the reason why.

“I’m not being weird or anything,” he glares. “You just can’t be doing this,” he says, knowing he didn’t have any other valid argument and his behavior wasn’t making any sense. But he was too scared to admit the truth.

Y/N stares at him, her expression implying that was the dumbest argument she’s ever heard, which Michael knows, but wasn’t going to be admitting that either.

“What,” Michael exclaims, shrugging his shoulders.

“I just,” she shakes her head in disbelief, “can’t be doing this? What, dating? Having guys over for movie nights and stuff? Having fun?”

“Yes, dating and having guys over for movie nights and stuff and having fun,” Michael clarifies matter of fact.

“You literally bring girls home all the time?” Y/N calls out. “What’s the difference? Plus, Brock is really chill and nice,” she explains.

“Brock? Really?” Michael crosses his arms over his chest and raises his eyes. “He’s just using you.”

Y/N drops her jaw, offended. “Using me? For what?”

“You know exactly what,” Michael drops his arms and gestures an arm out. “You’re not stupid, you know all he wants is one thing and that is all he is trying to get from you. And once he gets it, he’ll be done with you.”

“First of all, you don’t know anything about Brock. Second, you do the exact same shit to girls. All the time,” she emphasizes. “You bring them over here, without my ‘permission’, and you ‘hardly know them,’” she mocks.

“It’s consensual,” Michael steps forward. “Before I bring them home, they know it’s just a hook-up, a one time thing. But that’s besides the point,” he waves off. “You deserve better than some guy who’s just trying to use you for a one quick fuck.”

“Who are you, my dad?” She shakes her head dumbfounded. “I can make my own decisions, Michael.”

“I don’t want your first time having sex to be with some loser asshole who doesn’t care about you,” Michael states quite genuinely, because Michael is sincere about that and obviously cares for her, but is also indirectly possessive and doesn’t want her to be with anyone else either.

“Um, hold on a second, my first time?” Y/N raises her eyes. “I’ve had, you know, sex before,” she says as confidently as she can.

Michael laughs out, crossing his arms again over her response and the way she spoke it, shaking his head. “I’m sorry, I wanted to let you have your moment, but I just couldn’t hold it in.”

“I’ve done it,” Y/N says a bit shyly as her face heats up with embarrassment and annoyance.

“No you haven’t,” Michael grins. “Trust me, I know. Your response alone would have told me that too, but I just know you.”

“Wha -- I,” She trails off, her jaw dropping a bit, trying to think of something to say and to put Michael in his place in some way, even though she knows he’s right.

Michael raises his eyes, smirking, knowing the truth about her.

Y/N breathes out frustrated and a bit embarrassed still. “Fine. Whatever. Fuck you.”

Michael bites his tongue, holding back the urge to make her words a reality. He’s been waiting for a moment between them to happen for forever it seems now. But he’s always been unsure of when to make the move, always being worried and afraid of being rejected and to ruin their friendship in any way, of course being unaware of her feeling the same way back.

“You’re just mad because you know I’m right -- about everything,” Michael says.

“You’re so fucking annoying,” she scoffs. “Is this how it’s always going to be? Whenever I date a guy now and bring him over or anything, I have to get your ‘permission’ and check in with you? I mean, you’re not my fucking dad or brother or something.”

“I’m your best friend, and roommate,” Michael states, as if that has any power in the situation.

“Who’s currently pissing me off,” Y/N states harshly.

“I would just rather you wait to date a guy that’s actually nice and cares for you and treats you well and won’t use you for sex,” Michael says.

“That’s not your choice,” Y/N states confidently. “You may be my best friend, but you don’t know everything about me. How do you know I don’t want to just hurry up and have sex and get it over with?”

Michael narrows his eyes, surprised to hear her say something like that considering he knows the kind of person she is, thus leaving him momentarily confused.

“Maybe I don’t think it’s that big of a deal so I’m just trying to live my life. Or, maybe Brock really does care about me and it’s headed somewhere good. We both know you know nothing about him since you kicked him out so fast,” she speaks aggravated.

“I know how you think, Y/N. I know how you work,” Michael raises his head arrogantly. “You just have a half ass crush on that guy because he’s putting in all this effort and seems really great, but actually he’s just trying to fuck you one time and then move on to the next girl. And then, you’ll be left heartbroken.”

“Trust me, you really don’t know how I work, because I’m not dating him for that reason at all,” Y/N crosses her arms.

Michael gives a confused expression, more confused than he was just seconds ago.

Y/N just rolls her eyes. “Whatever. He’s gone, it’s done, and I’m done with this conversation now,” she says as she drops her arms and walks past Michael to go to her room for the evening. She’s too irritated and frustrated with Michael to continue speaking to him any further about Brock, sex, his annoying behavior this evening, or any of the events of tonight.

So she walks into her room, ready for this night to end and to think about what she’s going to do about her feelings of Michael since going out with Brock is now a total bust.

She pushes her bedroom door behind her as she steps in, allowing the door to close on it’s own. But her bedroom door slams shut a second later instead, drawing her attention as the shut was too harsh for it to be have been done by her.

Y/N narrows her eyes when she sees Michael standing in her room, clearly being the one to have slammed the door behind her and him now, too. She crosses her arms as she faces him, eyeing him bemused but still irritated from everything.

“I said I was done with the conversation. Don’t you dare try to--”

Michael strides over to Y/N assertively as she speaks, grabbing her waist and pulling her into him, causing her arms to drop as she presses her palms to Michael’s chest and he crashes his lips against Y/N’s, halting her words.

Shock and complete confusion muddles Y/N’s mind as she finds the moment to be too good to be true, her heart racing a million miles a minute. A breath-taking euphoria overtakes her, her not wanting this moment to ever end as Michael has just taken control of this situation and kissed her.

Y/N’s so immersed in the feeling of Michael’s lips against hers; his hands and arms wrapping around her securely, it feeling like he will never let her go; that she doesn’t process the next moment when she and Michael are stumbling back to her bed and falling over onto the soft mattress.

“You confuse the absolute fuck out of me,” Michael breathes out, almost hissing, once he pulls away from Y/N, kneeling up over her as she watches him pull his black t-shirt off and throw it to the side, exposing his fit torso. His bun is a bit messy now with all of the sudden actions, a few strands of his hair falling around his face like earlier when her mind had wandered off to him, looking unbelievably enticing.

“One day, you’re giggling like some innocent school girl over that idiot asshole, and now, you’re implying that you were dating Brock just to fuck?” He glares. “To get that shit over with?” Michael leans in, colliding his lips with Y/N’s again as a hand clasps against her cheek, hardly giving her any time to react.

Y/N moans lightly against Michael’s mouth when he bites down on her bottom lip, pulling back lightly, a hand of his gripping around her throat firmly.

“If anyone is going to fuck you, it’s going to be me,” Michael practically seethes against her lips, causing a shiver to run through Y/N’s core from the husky and possessive nature of Michael’s words.

Michael’s other hand roams down Y/N, feeling along her body before pushing the fabric of her dress up and allowing his fingers to brush and rub against her through her underwear, already feeling the wetness that’s beginning to gather at her center, causing her breath to hitch all together as she feels his touch against her.

“And from the feel of it, it seems like you agree,” Michael speaks cockily with a devilish smirk, kissing her again before Y/N can say anything, feeling like her skin is on fire, knowing she’s in for a night of a lifetime.

A/N: Let me know what you think! Any and all feedback is much appreciated! <3

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petertingle-yipyip · 4 years

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This Feeling - Thomas

//Requested by rycbar-221b: heyyy! can i request a thomas (tmr) x reader fluff, where tommy and r were in love before the maze, and they meet again in the scorch and reader has a bunch of scars? so tommy asks what they were for and r reveals that jensen (aka ratface) tortured her after tommy’s betrayal bc they were in love, and lots of fluff anf angst and kisses plz thankyou//

//Tags: @rycbar-221b @writingsbychlo (bc i’ve decided to tag you in anything tommy that i post) // Warnings: Angst, brief language, alludes to violence, mentions and slight description of scars. Also, I did not edit this so please be nice//

Pairing: Thomas x Reader

Word Count: 2,800

Summary: She remembers, he doesn’t. When her story is too familiar to ignore, it’s hard for Thomas to place “This Feeling”. But something is different now. She’s different now.

He slammed his fist against the table, causing you to flinch. You clenched your fists, leaning your head against them for a moment before sitting tall and stretching your fingers. You stared down Janson, refusing to break first. You folded your hands neatly on the table, tilting your head slightly with a sly smirk climbing to your face.

“Did you really think I’d tell you anything?” You laughed. “What makes you think I knew anything about this?”

“You and Thomas were extremely close…” Janson said tensely. He quickly rubbed his mouth in frustration, leaning back in his chair with a sigh. “If you have nothing to say, maybe we need to jog your memory.”

“Do what you want.” You shrugged defiantly. “I don’t know anything.”

“We’ll see about that.” He said with finality.

As he stood, two guards came in and hauled you from your seat. They led you down hallway after hallway, down three sets of stairs to a level of the Compound you didn’t know existed. You were pushed into a dark room, pushed so suddenly you fell to your knees. A clattering came from beside you, and looking over you saw a long spear had been thrown at you.

The ground was slick with a thick substance, too thick to be water. Your feet slid as you stood. There was a faint blinking red light coming from the other side, the creek of a door opening. Suddenly, the room was full of a squelching sound mixed with the scrape of metal against concrete. There were screams, hollow monstrous noises that echoed. Quickly, you grabbed the spear and gripped it tightly. You weren’t prepared for what happened next.

“Y/N?” Harriet asked, shaking you gently. You jumped slightly, your head snapping up to see your friend. “You alright?”

“Yeah.” You nodded carefully, running your hand through your hair. “All good.”

“Found something you might wanna see.” She smiled mischievously as she led you out the building you and the rest of your friends had been camped out in. Most of your group stayed behind, feeling safe at WICKED’s compound. You saw through WICKED the moment you saw Janson.

You managed to break yourself out along with Harriet, Sonya, Aris, and a few others. Your group was small, which made it easier to hide. You found a building that was seemingly halted mid-construction, the tarps providing easy cover for you.

You came face to face with a group of about ten boys. Some were familiar, you had seen them at the Compound before you escaped with your friends. You scanned their faces, trying to remember names.

“WICKED?” You questioned simply.

“Group A.” Harriet replied with lifted brows.

“Ah.” You nodded, stepping closer to examine the boys. “Group A, huh? You don’t seem like a first group.”

“First the worst, second the best, maybe?” Harriet offered from behind you.

You laughed slightly before getting their attention.

“So which one of you are in charge?” You asked, nodding towards them. They looked between each other, seemingly having no chain of command. You stared with raised brows, waiting for an answer. “Do you speak English or…”

“Yeah, yeah sorry.” The brunette in front laughed nervously. You felt your heart slamming in your chest when he spoke. “I guess I’m in charge.”

“Alright.” You swallowed hard. “You got a name?”

“Thomas.”

“Thomas?” You questioned. “Do you, by any chance, remember anything before the Maze?”

You knew it wasn’t the question to ask right off the bat. Once it left your mouth, you instantly regretted it. But you had to know if there was a chance that he knew, a chance that your connection was strong enough.

“Things are coming back slowly but no, not really.” He studied your face as you stared at him. He watched your eyes shift from curiosity to disappointment. He could tell you were hoping to hear something else but he didn’t know what you were looking for. “Do you?”

“We’ll get to that later.” You waved a hand dismissively. “You boys can head inside. There’s not many of us but you’re more than welcome to stay.”

“Thanks.” Thomas offered a small but honest smile.

As the boys filed in, Harriet pulled you to the side.

“That’s him, isn’t it?” She asked anxiously. “The one that you told us about?”

“Yeah, that’s him.” You shrugged. “Once he looked at me, I- I felt something, something I haven’t felt since I lost him… But it’s pointless if he doesn’t remember.”

“He will.” She comforted you. “Just give him a little time.”

“You’ve looked better, Y/N.” Janson said smugly from the other side of the table.

You glared at him, not offering any words. You felt your blood boiling in your veins, your muscles itching to act. Your jaw was tightly clenched, enough to give you a small headache. Your breathing was heavy, your anger hard to contain. But you bit back your cruel words.

“I have to say I am a bit surprised you made it.” Janson continued when you refused to speak. “Any recollection of why Thomas released classified files?”

“We all got expectations…” You said carefully. “Sometimes they go wrong. I have no information for you, Rat Man. Same as two days ago.”

“Hmm.” He sucked his teeth obnoxiously. “Fine. Let’s see how well you do in a second round.”

You stood suddenly, leaning onto the table. Your palms were flat against the cool metal, arms locked as you faced Janson. “If you really think whatever monster you have cooking down there will kill me, you’re gonna have to do better than that slime ball with the metal legs.”

“We can do much better, Y/N.” He threatened.

“You think that a scar on my face is going to break me?” You laughed slightly. A result from your fight was a long gash from your hairline to your chin, cutting through your left eyebrow and skipping over your eye. It picked up on your cheekbone and was a straight shot down. Every word from your mouth felt like it was reopening the fresh would, but you had a point to make. “In the end, it’s my decision. So it’s my fault when it ends.”

You woke that night in a cold sweat. Your hands were shaking, old scars pulsing. You let out a sigh, throwing your arm over your eyes. Sleep was harder to find, especially in the Scorch. It never felt safe, but you knew your friends were doing better than you. You were more concerned about them than yourself, so you kept your struggles to yourself.

You headed for the open space at the other side of the room. You didn’t know if it was supposed to be a window, or if it was just broken down when the world collapsed. You didn’t necessarily care either.

When you got there, one of the boys was already sitting near it. You sat opposite of him, offering a small smile in greeting.

“Need some company?” You said, leaning on the wall beside the opening.

He chuckled slightly. “Couldn’t sleep either?”

“I don’t know the last time I slept through the night, honestly.” You shrugged. “Different nightmare every night, always comes back to the same thing.”

“Need to talk about it?” He offered gently.

“You actually wanna listen?”

“I’d like to know your name first but yeah, I’ll listen.”

“Before the Mazes, there was this boy…” You started carefully. You decided to leave out the part about the boy being Thomas simply for the fact that he didn’t seem to recognize you. “He did something crazy that WICKED didn’t like, so they sent him off. They took their anger out on me and it kinda haunts me. I guess...”

“How bad was it?”

Thomas realized then who you were. He didn’t know if it was your story or your voice that triggered it for him, but something about you felt right. You were Y/N, the motivation for him to leave the Maze. The appeal of running into the Scorch. The deep, empty feeling in his chest when he was in the Maze. You were the name on the tip of his tongue, begging to be said out loud. You were the memory that danced on the edge of his mind, waiting for him to reach out and reclaim. And now you were sitting in front of him, admitting all your pain. Pain he put you through.

“Pretty bad.” You nodded slowly. “It was enough for WICKED to keep me in the Compound instead of sending me in.”

“You never went into a Maze?”

“Nah.” You shook your head. “Never had my memory wiped either. I remember everything about life before this.”

“That’s heavy.” He said sadly. “Is that how you got-” He gestured to his own face, mimicking the deep scar on your own. “That was probably not the right thing to say, sorry.”

“All your boys are curious, aren’t they?” You chuckled.

“Some more than others.”

“I’ll tell you a story before it tells itself.” You scooted closer to him, letting the moonlight illuminate your features. Thomas had forgotten how beautiful you were, and the hazy figure in his dreams didn’t do you justice. “WICKED needed someone to test their monsters. What did you guys call the creatures in the Maze?”

“Grievers.” Thomas said quietly. He was still trying to process the scars on your body, the permanent reminder of what WICKED did to you.

“I called them Skitters.” You continued. “Anyways, WICKED wanted them to be potentially deadly without being murderous, I guess. I never really understood why they needed them. But I guess they needed them to be able to fight and not just attack. Especially when you started to figure out the Maze.”

“You fought Grievers?” He asked in awe. “And you survived?”

“WICKED couldn’t let their favorite test dummy die so easily.” You laughed bleakly. When you saw the concerned expression Thomas wore, you had to quickly redirect the conversation. “So, Thomas. What was it like in your Maze?”

“Y/N, I- I’m sorry.” He said honestly, his eyebrows furrowed as he shook his head.

“Thomas?” You said to get his attention. He looked up quickly, apologetic eyes finding yours. “I never told you my name.”

“Yeah, you did.” He countered. “You said it…” He tried to remember, but he then realized you never did tell him. “Huh, guess not.” He smiled nervously.

“You know me, don’t you?” You pressed, inching forward.

“If I had known they were going to do that to you, I-”

“You couldn’t have.” You shook your head, planting yourself by his feet. “I didn’t even know they were going to do that. Once they shipped you off, they sent me into that fight within an hour. They told me think with my head, not that thing in my chest. They just wanted me to sell you out, to tell them the extent of what you did.”

“I don’t know what I did.”

“Nothing WICKED didn’t deserve.” You shrugged. “T, listen.”

“T?”

“Thomas.” You corrected yourself. “Everything that happened after you left- this -” You gestured to your face. “-had nothing to do with you. This was WICKED getting back at me because I cared about you. And if they couldn’t punish you, they’d punish me.”

“My point, Y/N, is that they never should’ve put hands on you.”

“Technically, they didn’t.” You said with a devilish smirk as an idea came to you. “But you can.”

Thomas chuckled, placing hands on your hips so he could pull you closer. You swung your leg over his lap, moving to straddle him. Your hands slid up his chest slowly before finding their way into his hair. Thomas closed his eyes and hummed in delight at your gentle, purposeful touch.

He didn’t even realize what he was missing without you. He didn’t realize how relaxing your touch was, how sweet your voice was. He had forgotten how truly beautiful you were, from every angle. Thomas was quick to decide his favorite angle was when you were on top of him.

He leaned forward, pressing his lips to yours gently. You smiled against his lips, loving the contact you missed from him. His grip on your hips tightened slightly as he pulled you against him. Your fingers tugged gently on his hair, drawing a small groan from him. You chuckled slightly as his hands found their way up your shirt.

Thomas quickly jumped away, pulling his hands back after his fingers ghosted the deep circular scar on the center of your stomach. You stared in confusion, your feelings slightly hurt that he would pull away so suddenly. When you saw where his eyes were focused, you understood why he pulled away the way he did.

“You feel bad for me, don’t you?” You realized, your voice flattening. “Hold on to your opinions and stand by what you said.”

You knew what they had done to you was terrible and you hated WICKED for it. But the one thing you hated more than WICKED was pity. When Group B arrived at the Compound, a couple weeks after Thomas entered his Maze, you were littered with cuts and bruises you couldn’t hide. You didn’t want to hide your injuries, because you weren’t ashamed of them. You always understood that they were purposeful, that you had fought and survived.

“I feel guilty, Y/N/N.” He sighed, casually using the nickname he had always used with you.

“Get up.” You said plainly, standing and heading outside. You heard the scuffling of Thomas following. You turned to face him once you were outside, pausing to admire him in the moonlight. “Why do you think I brought you out here?”

He shrugged slightly, his mouth open but failing to produce any sound.

“I brought you out here so you could actually see what happened to me.” You said simply. You pulled your shirt over your head, holding the fabric between tightly balled fists.

“Holy shit.” He sighed.

“Look at me, Thomas.” You said firmly when he tilted his eyes to the nightsky. “Look at me.”

“What do you want me to say, Y/N?” He snapped, throwing his hands forward dramatically. “You don’t want me to apologize. You don’t want me to feel bad for you. What do you want from me?”

“I want you to look.” You stood firm until his eyes finally met yours. “I am covered in scars and bruises. You felt this one-” You pointed to your stomach. “-and you bailed. Why?”

“I wasn’t expecting it.” He tried to explain.

“I was stung.” You began explaining. “WICKED knew they had to up the ante with the serum, but they needed to see the effects before they could send it in. Once they cut my face and I didn’t give them any info, they wanted to break my mind.”

“Y/N, I-”

“No, this is the part where you listen.” You said firmly. “Alright? You don’t need to explain anything or try to come to terms with what happened to me. This is my story.”

“Then what is it about?” He cut in. “You just said that they did this to you because of what I did. But I don’t even know what I did! I don’t know how hurting you was supposed to be some sort of punishment for me!”

“This was a punishment for you, you moron.” You rolled your eyes.

“How does hurting you-”

“Because obviously seeing me like this hurts you!” You interjected. “God, Thomas, how are you so oblivious? WICKED didn’t do this because they wanted to leave me scarred and fucked up. I mean, they probably did, but the main point was that you’d eventually have to see me like this. You’d see it and blame yourself.”

Thomas stopped, pausing to digest your words. He realized that you were right. WICKED knew him better than he knew himself. WICKED knew Thomas would see your scars, feel your scars, and blame himself. WICKED wanted to hurt Thomas by guilt, by forcing him to look at the pain they caused you. He could tell that the scars didn’t bother you, not anymore at least. Maybe they did at some point, but that was long gone. Now, Thomas could tell that you saw your scars as a personal victory. WICKED wanted to break you, but they didn’t.

“Guess you won after all, huh?” Thomas offered a lopsided smirk, closing the distance between you. His hand landed on your hip and pulled you against him.

“You’re the one that I want.” You said calmly, any anger or annoyance you felt had melted when he flashed that smirk. “And if that’s really so wrong…”

“Then they don’t know what this feeling is like.”

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margridarnauds · 4 years

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6-8 for Star Wars or the MCU?

Thanks!

6. Has fandom ever ruined a pairing for you?

THANKFULLY enough, I’m far enough away from the worst of the MCU discourse that I don’t REALLY hear it. I will say that, generally speaking, some of the worst people I’ve ever personally interacted with have been Stucky shippers, but I put that down more to it having a HUGE AMOUNT of shippers, specifically that Specific Brand of slash shipper who is more obsessed with “PURE. SOFT. UWU. BOYS.” without focusing on anything of substance and regularly say shitty, biphobic things to other shippers and toss female characters under the bus. I don’t HATE the ship and of itself, it’s just not my particular poison. (I will take this time to remind anyone of the audience who has never heard it that one of my VERY FIRST slash ships was Frostiron. So that kind of sets the mood there.) I like their overall dynamic, I do like the chemistry, so it isn’t a total no-sell, just not something I’ll sell myself heart and soul to.

I feel like a ton of the sequel trilogy ships that became REALLY popular on Tumblr were ruined for me by the, frankly, disgusting way that Reylo shippers were treated. Like, you want to complain about how your ship isn’t getting enough attention? Fine, but THEN don’t blame Reylo shippers for it not getting attention WHEN YOU DID EVERYTHING TO EXCLUDE US FROM THE PARTY IN THE FIRST PLACE. Including putting “Reylo shippers DNI” on artwork of your ship. Like, if you do that, then I will do as you say and not interact with it. And probably block you for good measure. So that you don’t accidentally ever put yourself in the unfortunate position of interacting with a Disgusting Reylo.

I walked out of the first film willing to ship ANYTHING. F1nnrey, F1innpoe, Kylux, and, yes, Reylo. Hell, even Darkpilot. But then, as Fandom evolved, the Reylo shippers, as a group, became more and more insular. I saw this happen BEFORE MY OWN EYES. It became more about hating ONE SHIP than about liking....anything else. There couldn’t be a SINGLE POST about one of the others without a backhanded swipe about Reylo in there. (Also, can I just say, as a bisexual in fandom, the way that Reylo was referred to as a Straight Ship™ when...like....a decent proportion of the Reylo shippers that I personally interacted with were in fact bi was...The two of them knocking uglies while having different plumbing does NOT in fact make either the characters or the shippers straight.)

I still do like Darkpilot and Finnlo, though. Among others (the smaller, the more niche, the better). But my God if I don’t interact with the fandom as a whole, because like...I’ll just get kicked down.

7. Is there anything you used to like, but now can’t stand?

I liked Ragnarok alright, as far as the Thor movies were concerned. Not the BEST, but it was a fun ride, even if the continuity bugged me.

Then.....the fandom. The FANDOM. The ongoing potshots at the rest of the Thor franchise (talking about HOW GOOD IT WAS compared to the OTHER THOR FILMS, which the film ITSELF didn’t help by making empty jabs at them for....daring to actually show EMOTION instead of endless butt jokes?)

And ignoring the way that it shat on two films’ worth of development.

And took out a significant part of the prior cast (including, not one, but three female characters.)

And....

Yeah, there’s a reason I have every possible tag for it blacklisted at this point.

In Star Wars....it’s actually HARD for me to look at the sequel series now, after TROS. And this is something I’ve heard a lot of. There’s just this...empty feeling. Which is hard with something that’s basically a PART of you because you’ve been a fan of it for so long. Star Wars isn’t JUST a franchise, it’s Five Year Old Rachel sitting in front of a TV and watching a boy only a few years older than her compete in a pod racing tournament as her aunt says “That’s going to be Darth Vader” and it’s asking for The Return of the Jedi EVERY TIME because she loved the Ewoks SO MUCH, it’s having a small lightsaber collection when by the time she was 7-8. It’s going to Star Wars Day at Hollywood Studios and not being overly impressed by MUCH, but then getting to see the fireworks go off overhead to some of the best cinematic music ever composed by man and it being a moment of pure MAGIC. It’s...it’s something that’s threaded itself throughout my life for YEARS. And it’s gone. Or at least a huge part of it is. I don’t know if I’ll ever quite get it back. What TROS did.......it wasn’t JUST a bad storytelling decision. It wasn’t JUST me not being happy that my ship didn’t end up together (the ship thing.....honestly wasn’t even the biggest thing for me). It was a BETRAYAL. And a particularly deep one. And I’m not sure when, or if, I can ever love it like I used to.

8. Unpopular opinion about [insert fandom here]?

Hating the MCU isn’t a substitute for a personality, I’m sorry. I know you’re embarrassed that you liked in 2012, but please, please deal with that on your own time instead of making endless posts shitting on the MCU. I get it, it’s not as good as it used to be. For my part, I decided to bow out after Endgame. But people saying that it’s as bad as CORONAVIRUS is....

wow. Like, everyone copes in their own ways, but YOU ARE AWARE PEOPLE HAVE DIED, RIGHT?

I’m REALLY going to make some enemies here, but Hanleia has ALWAYS creeped me out. I do NOT like the way he treats her, I don’t like their first kiss, and honestly? I was kind of glad they broke up in the Sequel Trilogy because it felt more natural for me. (As much as....a lot of the Sequel Trilogy can be natural.) There was a really good Youtube video on Harrison Ford and playing predatory romance, and it really articulated a lot of my feelings on that particular ship. I feel like people....tend to make Han better than he was, which is the counterpart to Dudebros imprinting on him and making him worse than he was.

#i'm ready to die now #long post #mssmartian

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sicklyscribe · 4 years

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hey so if you wanna hit me with that sweet sweet elijah’s characterization meta anytime please feel free. or direct me to any previous posts because my dumb ass is using this time to re-obsess over vampire melodrama.....

It appears that most of my non-tag and non-petty-casual commentary is still in drafts... so instead of finishing the ‘What the hell is wrong with season 4: an itemized list’ meta and finishing answering the ‘What would you change if you could rewrite any of the show?’ ask from a while ago, I’ll just pick out the Elijah bits and add on to them for garnish. (Those posts might exist at some point. But honestly not soon enough for me to worry about people getting annoyed with copy/paste so PREVIEW TIME: ELIJAH FLAVOR)

This is way sloppier and un-cited than I usually meta, by the way, but what the hell, The Fandom is Dead and I Only Have Friends to Entertain Now, so if anyone gets angry and tries to step into my asks then it’ll just be nostalgic rather than annoying. Here’s the starter, which is from the F*CK YOU SEASON 4 meta and quite a few of these points will be repeated later because you asked for it technically so.

The cracks in the narrative began to show as early as season two, and believe me when I say I’m not saying this because I love him - it began with Elijah. I can make a lot of arguments to this effect, but the only one that I am certain is not propelled by my very strong bias concerns the presentation of the Red Door.

Initially, I was ecstatic at the opportunity to explore Elijah’s past, his perspective, his darkest moments. I was a bit wary in that it seemed as though the narrative wanted to Explain Everything about Elijah through this device, but he was finally getting some attention so I tried to hold back judgement.The result was pretty promising. One of the most gorgeous moments on the show occurs when Klaus enters Elijah’s mind and tells him how much he needs him. It showcases the main pillar of the show - the structural trifecta of Hope, Klaus, and Elijah. And afterwards, as usual, Elijah pushes the experience away.Until it’s convenient.

Elijah begins to be erratically vicious. At first, I felt as though it wasn’t handled poorly, I could explain away my worries easily, and that was all I needed. But it happens over, and over, and over again, with the same excuse - protecting the family, protecting Hope. Elijah’s triggers, once so crucial, begin to break down, but we don’t see why or how that process occurs. He begins to be the character that is level-headed when it is convenient, and a violent one-track-mind when it’s convenient. Eventually, in order to maintain balanced tension with a softening Klaus, Elijah became violent without nuance in every situation. His continued development is no longer possible, since his character no longer displays depth.

Which is annoying, as a fan. But as a person who loves to analyze narrative, it’s a huge red flag. Elijah is necessary for this story. His love for Klaus, and Klaus’ relationship with him, is one of the things that holds the narrative together as it goes forward. The two of them need each other in order to experience growth, but cannot grow from each other any longer - and that friction is what provides energy and substance that can help drive a multi-year melodrama. This is why I mentioned above that Elijah’s violence was likely intended to balance with Klaus’ changing heart - but there is no balance in the level of development the two brothers experience. It has been shoddy in many places, but attention has been given to Klaus’ journey towards peace and kindness, while Elijah has been given a single metaphor, a single psychosis, and is expected to carry half of the narrative weight. The story has no choice but to make a plot device out of him - he simply does not have the required depth to be anything else, which is made obvious by the attempt to do so in the ritual to bring Inadu to the material plane, which I will discuss later.

When his development is ignored, when he is used as a tool to get from point A to point B time and time again - that’s when the pillar starts to crumble.

Zooming back in on s1, this was actually my only major structural gripe with season 1, so it comprises the entirety of the ‘what would you change’ for that season:

The poison that rotted the whole dang show started very small — casting Elijah too strongly as a white hat, to offset the darkness of the rest of the main family. This was the right move, of course, but it was pushed a twinge too far and it was the tiny weight that set everything wobbling. As an offshoot of that, this was also done with Hayley to a degree. I would have had them bond very similarly to the way they do in the show, but I would have had them connect at least once over the skeletons in their closets. (Only once or twice, again, since their ship relied in this season on the fallacy of each other being saviors). In fact, this was one I felt so strongly about that I actually did rewrite their scene in 1x07 ‘Bloodletting’.

Then season two when it gets more pronounced:

The rift in the show widened with the swing-and-miss that was The Red Door arc. Elijah became a Problem when it was convenient for the plot and A Fixer/Sounding Board when it was not. They used probably the most INTERESTING and INTEGRAL part of his characterization -- which had been a mystery for YEARS counting The Vampire Diaries appearances -- and Elijah discovering that either from trauma or his mother’s magic, he has repressed the moments which forged him. This lack of knowledge, this lack of control, should have been something much more cataclysmic and its effects should be clear when comparing ‘Elijah Before’ to ‘Elijah After’. Instead, it kind of served to take off Elijah’s ‘White Hat’ that he’d been illy-fitted with in S1, and allow him to accessorize with it or whatever version of Elijah fits the episode at hand.

This tension, and this chaos should have been much stronger and much more messy than simply putting the Suit back on and being Pretty Much Okay (barring one plot-insignificant diner massacre) only a few episodes later. It would make the therapy scene later with Camille even more gorgeous than it already is and it would then place Elijah’s moment of catharsis, and the beginning of his attempts to move on, with Klaus’ monumental forgiveness in 2x11. I think this is what was intended, but it was not at all achieved, because Elijah is such a tricky character to write, and it is so very easy to use him for whatever the scene requires. Because of this, Elijah’s struggles got dropped just long enough for Klaus’ forgiveness to hit powerfully in viewers for Klaus, but not for Elijah. The writing began to lean on Elijah as a Drama Everyman more and more throughout the show, and it’s just tragic to me that The Red Door wasn’t utilized to its potential. (And that we didn’t have a Klaus/Tatia conversation, but hey, I have an unfinished fixit for that whole saga on Ao3, you’re welcome and I’m sorry).

In season three, we got a few good glimpses of the kind of complexity that Elijah should live in -- the way he kills Arianne, for example, I’ve linked what I called a ‘headcanon’ but in retrospect it was pretty explicitly canon -- and we see the youth and terror and involuntary power in him in the flashback where he discovers that Klaus killed their mother. But the relationship between Tristan and Elijah? The man that he made, and that made him? That was far too pedestrian to have produced either of them. If Elijah learned ‘nobility’ from Tristan, learned what ‘superiority’ looked like, and this was the time that he began to change... we should have had words between them, or a scene highlighting just them, at least once in the flashbacks.

If this season was supposed to be about the creation of the Trinity, the First Children (because Finn didn’t tell no one that Sage is actually the oldest ‘cuz he’s an ashamed little bitch) why did we see only TWO of the THREE transformations? Klaus turned Lucien accidentally, trying to heal him. Rebekah’s sympathy and love were used as Aurora’s tool to turn herself. When and how did Elijah turn Tristan? It is explained that Elijah turned him in order to create a third vampire for his plot to trick Mikael into chasing them instead -- it is explained that Tristan, Aurora, and Lucien were compelled to believe that they were in fact Elijah, Rebekah, and Klaus in order to make their decoy impeccable. But when this compulsion was shattered -- when Lucien learned that he had been used and made monstrous as a tool for a monster who wasn’t even noble -- did he confront Elijah? Did they ever speak, or was their next meeting the day Elijah learned that Tristan had taken over Elijah’s coven? I would argue that Elijah needed equal weight in the France flashbacks even though he didn’t have a flashy romance (though if early press release rumors were true, he and Tristan could have had one and that would have been perfect)

Season four is really where you can pick an episode and Elijah will put on the stage makeup and play any part. It’s also -- BIG COINCIDENCE -- where the plot deteriorates completely. Here’s just one example from my Excuse You What the Hell? Season Four meta:

On to the next moment that showed major neglect (I know this has been Elijah-heavy so far, but again, this is where the problem started so I want to carry this thread through for a while before addressing other issues) - the ritual to bring Inadu to the mortal realm. The purpose of this ritual was to scare viewers with the risk of Hope’s safety and hype the Hollow’s “bad”ness, but also to make the first move in the ‘Letting Go’ thread between Hayley and Elijah. Elijah was supposed to be forced to choose between children's lives and letting the Hollow loose upon the world, and decide to kill the children. That was the dramatic point of placing this ritual in the narrative, but it isn’t mechanically sound.

It is stated outright that the ritual has to end with the death of the children linked to the spell. The children were linked via their totems found in 4x03 - placing Hope definitively in this group.

But we only ever see four of the five in one place. Maybe it was worth it to the Hollow to reach as far out as Hope was to bind her via her hairbrush, maybe it was worth it to the Hollow to drain her from afar, I’d buy that easily. But they made no attempt to kidnap her and place her with the other four children during the ritual. The ritual that required the deaths of five children. Unless it required Hope to be there only on standby, which is absolutely ridiculous. They had the kids on an alter, even if it was just for show. But why not all of them? If the real goal of the ritual was to lure Klaus and/or Marcel, wouldn’t kidnapping Klaus’ child be a more surefire way to accomplish that rather than just hoping the Mikaelsons would come to the right mystical diagnosis in time?

The reason why Hope wasn’t there was because the ritual was never thought through. The reason she wasn’t there is because it didn’t make sense for Elijah to want to kill Hope to stop the Hollow, which is what this ritual actually demanded if it actually worked the way Vincent claimed. In actuality, all that was desired was for Elijah to display a willingness to kill innocents in front of Hayley, and in doing so it demanded that Hope’s life both be at stake and not at stake at all. This failure to coherently execute a single-episode arc is plainly poor storytelling. It displays not only disrespect to the narrative structure, but a blatant flippancy towards one of their main characters and arguably the most complex one on the series. The sloppily contrived tension here between Hayley and Elijah does eventually contribute to the supposed theme, yes, but at what cost?

Elijah was neglected because he was hard to write, and even harder to write well as a ‘light’ foil to Klaus. Marcel should have fully owned that role, and not been similarly jerked around as a plot-serving every-man once the mystery of season 1 and the reasons behind Marcel’s ‘senseless’ cruelty were revealed.

Elijah was always the cornerstone of the family’s narrative, because he was complex enough to carry it. Camille provided an additional column of support to Klaus’ individual journey as a person/father, but she was bulldozed for Allmighty Plot as well. By the end of season three, both she and Elijah had effectively been thrown in the garbage one way or another, and the show tried to go on without them. It couldn’t.

I will say that Elijah’s conversation with Hope in that ludicrous backdoor pilot did make me feel things. I did also see the clip where Elijah and Klaus have a heart-to-heart in some sort of european flashback, which was touching, but felt incongruous for their relationship/dev at the time. Hope asking Elijah how old he was when he made his promises to Klaus, though? Elijah offering carte blanche to Hope for how to punish her friend’s bullies? TWO OF THE THREE SCENES INVOLVING ICE CREAM?

SOME of season 5 is valid but ONLY because it stole scripts from my headcanons.

#anamysis #preview of some metas in progress #hey guys does anyone here want to talk about ELIJAH?#*pepe silvia voice*#Anonymous #asks

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infinitum-imaginaerum · 5 years

Text

Dino | A.03 “Don’t tell me what to do.”

Words | 4,820

Please read the notes below extensively, they are INCREDIBLY important.

Notes | This deals with extremely heavy mental illness themes with intense depressive episodes. This is very read at your own risk and please do not read if you are having thoughts of suicide. This is one of the riskier things I’ve written to date and as someone who suffers from extreme bouts of depression myself, I do not want to send anyone in a spiral so please heed these warnings. I will put the proper tags for blacklists and put EVERYTHING under the cut. I apologize in advance if the read more feature does not work on mobile but all of your warnings have been posted here before you even read anything. There’s no acts, but there is inferences of suicide.

Send me a bias, a section and a number and I’ll write you a thing!

Things had been a little hard for you lately. To avoid being a self-proclaimed burden, you never mentioned anything about your difficulties to get up in the morning, your lack of interest in thing you used to find joy in, what would probably be classified as an eating disorder. Instead, you got quiet, you got distant, you stopped answering your phone for the most part and began seriously isolating yourself.

Of course, your friends were concerned. Often, they’d bring over a casserole or some dessert they made to make sure you were eating, and would actually sit down and spend time with you to make sure you ate. It was a little weird at first, but you should have suspected that your friends knew something was up with the way you ignored them most of the time, forcing them to show up at your door if they wanted to see you at all. They cared, that much was apparent, and you didn’t feel as guilty if they took the initiative to do something for you instead of you begging for help—you tried to stay out of their way.

Sometimes they’d bring over your favorite movie, or your favorite bubble tea, something to try and bring a smile to your face. Usually, it did, even if it was a little forced. They always told you not to mention it when you thanked them profusely, that they were just trying to take care of you and that they would be there if you ever wanted to reach out to talk to someone, even if they knew you never would. A couple of them boldly encouraged you to see a counselor, something you had considered multiple times; but you were stubborn, and you knew it was just a slump that you would fight out of on your own.

Maybe some of it had to do with the weather, lately. It had been raining a lot, keeping you inside for the most part and the gloomy weather tended to only hurt people who were already struggling. Although the idea of needing sunlight wasn’t by any stretch of the imagination a cure, it would at least be subconsciously helpful. Alas, the weather had not been in your favor for the better part of a few weeks now with constant daytime showers, cloudy skies and medium rains pouring across the city.

Your phone would have been going off obnoxiously, and sometimes you wondered why you didn’t just turn it off because even if it was on silent, every time you got a call or a text your screen lit up. One name in particular started showing up more and more often, sometimes multiple times a day to the point where you knew he wouldn’t leave you alone if you didn’t answer. So, reluctantly, you swiped across the screen to answer his most recent call.

“Hello?” you answered rather monotonously.

“Hey,” he tried gently. He didn’t want to bombard you about finally answering and letting you have it when he knew you would probably hang up on him if he was any kinds of threatening. “How are you doing?”

“I’m fine,” you replied plainly.

You could hear the dissatisfied noise from the other end of the line. You weren’t fine, and part of him was hoping you’d give him an answer with a little more substance. He should have known that was a little wishful thinking, though.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“Sitting on the couch,” you replied.

“Are you warm enough?”

“I suppose so.”

“Will you please just come open your door?” he finally said, getting to the point.

With a heavy sigh, you pushed off the couch, tossing your throw blanket off your lap and shuffled to the front door to open it. It would be a lie to say your eyes didn’t gleam a little bit at the sight of him. He stood on your porch, braving the light wind that blew through the corridor of your apartment with a small bouquet of hydrangeas and peonies, and a plastic to-go bag in his other hand. He looked at you with his typical sparkly gaze, head ducked a little bit as if to ask if he could come in, but instead presented the bouquet to you.

“Dino…” you sighed, taking them from him into your arms to pull them up to your nose.

“I wanted to come by to check on you, and hope that you hadn’t eaten yet because I brought your favorite,” he told you, presenting the plastic bag, too, before you were taking his now empty hand to pull him through your front door. He kicked his shoes off on the tile of the entry way and leaned over to gently tap his forehead against yours—a hug without a hug for the moment—and moved to put the food on the table as you rummaged through your cabinet for a vase to put the flowers in.

Dino set everything out, ready to eat before the two of you came back together. You pushed into his welcoming arms, his warm embrace, a place you loved to be as you thanked him profusely and apologized for being so difficult sometimes.

“You don’t need to thank me. I’ve been so worried about you lately; you’ve gotten extra absent,” he reminded you. Something about Dino that you particularly liked was that he always told you what you needed to hear, about your habits of being a little too quiet when he thought you were slipping in a bad direction. He always forced his way in when he knew you needed someone the most because he knew how stubborn you were when it came to asking for someone to be there for you.

“You’re right, I’m sorry; I’ll try to be better,” you muttered into his collarbone, a little smothered against his chest but you didn’t mind. He held you tightly for a moment more, resting his cheek against your head before he motioned to eat.

Dino’s company was your favorite because he had an aura that really controlled the room, and he was such a happy virus, he truly put you at ease. You didn’t mind that the whole time you ate, he did all the talking. You were happy to listen to something besides the droning of the TV or the sound of rain against your window; his voice was a refreshing break, and he actually engaged with you, asking for your thoughts and opinions which he genuinely valued. But you knew eventually, his command of the conversation was going to end and you were going to get down to business about you.

“How have you been sleeping?” he finally asked, reaching across the table to turn your chin up to meet his eyes. You looked tired, there was no escaping that, so your gaze was a little pathetic as you looked at him with a crooked grin. It faded as Dino frowned—that was an answer enough for him.

“I try, I really do. I’m so restless and even when I am sleeping, it’s not quality sleep. I’ve tried tea and natural remedies; I’ve tried sleeping aids and melatonin pills. I’m so tired of being tired,” you replied with an exasperated sigh.

“Have you gone to the doctor?” he asked.

You gave him a look ad he knew what it meant. Going to the doctor was the last thing you were going to do, even if Dino implied it was more about sleep than your current mental condition. If you weren’t sleeping adequately, you would never be resting enough to get better.

“You can’t ignore it forever,” he reminded you, “eventually you’re going to make yourself crazy. I know it’s hard but—”

“Dino—”

“I only care about you, okay?”

You swallowed hard at his abruptness, placed your utensils down to shove both of your hands into your lap and avoid his gaze. You knew his intentions were good, even if you felt like you were being scolded like a child. The frustration on his face was evident, but it wasn’t because you were being difficult, it was because he wanted to do more for you.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, tone softened significantly as he scooted his chair out, the awful screeching against the wooden floor jarring you a bit before he took your head with both of his hands to cradle it against his body. “I’m sorry for being rough, I just… I want to do more for you.”

“You do plenty,” you reminded him, albeit your hands were fisted in his shirt, making sure he wasn’t going anywhere. He squatted down next to you, a little lower than eye level and looked up to meet your gaze with the shake of his head and a small frown. “Don’t,” you told him, despite cupping one of his cheeks in your hand, begging that he not look at you the way that he was.

He nodded once and turned his gaze down to the floor before standing to take the back of your head. “Please eat some more,” he asked, although stated as a question, and kissed the top of your head before he cleared his empty container and got you a glass of water.

Dino felt welcome to stay with you even after you finished eating. You shared the blanket with him as you sat on the couch, leaning your head against his shoulder while you mindlessly watched TV. Somehow it was a lot different, a lot more comforting with another warm body by your side. You could probably have sat in silence and fared better with him there than by yourself with the TV on. His fingers were softly carding through your hair, calculated and repetitive because he was about as invested in whatever was on TV as you were—not even in the slightest.

The rain had gotten a little heavy while you were sitting there and even though the clock ticked a late hour, you weren’t about to send him home in that weather. His cotton turtleneck was soft against your cheek as you pressed it against his collarbone, eyes getting heavy as you stifled a yawn in the back of your hand.

“Getting sleepy?” he asked you quietly, only to be met with a nod. “Do you want to go to bed?”

“No, I want you to stay,” you weakly protested, taking a handful of his shirt across his stomach.

“But if you haven’t been sleeping well, and you’re tired, then you should sleep,” he reasoned with you, but adored the way you pawed at his shirt like a kitten, nudging against his shoulder a little more roughly with your head and pushed deeper into his side.

“Please stay,” you begged, albeit quietly.

He hummed, reverberating against your cheek pressed into his collar.

Although you tried your best not to doze off, between the soothing breathing, the rhythmic beating of his heart and the calculated stroking through your hair, you were out like a light against his side with your head laid against his shoulder. You were unconsciously sure that his focus was on the television now that you were fast asleep, but occasionally he looked down at you to check your status. Thunder rolled overhead, rain pounding against the window panes, the time late into the evening but none of that would cause him to disturb you from sleep you desperately needed.

Quietly, he cooed your name, causing you to stir and resettle. Somewhere, you could feel him shift, but that didn’t wake you fully. In fact, you only rose to half-consciousness when he shifted enough to lay his back against the length of the couch, sandwiching you between him and the backrest enough to weave his legs comfortably with yours and lay your head low against his chest. A harsh swallow and a deep breath later, you resettled from half-consciousness into unconsciousness again, but not without recognizing the weight of the blanket that decorated the backrest of your couch being pulled over the both of you, or the roll of thunder overhead.

With the television shut off, it was comfortingly quiet with just the sound of your breaths, the rain and thunder. It took Dino a while to relax enough to think about falling asleep. His worry about you clouded his mind, thinking of this way and that to try and help you even if he knew it was fruitless. The serenity of you sleeping against him was somewhat of a relief, despite the new-to-you situation. You and Dino were close, but this was the closest, literally, you’d ever been with each other outside of normal hugs.

Bringing him out of his thoughts, a loud crack of thunder seemed to shake your windows and caused the both of you to jump. The storm had rolled in much closer, right over your apartment, startling you awake. Dino’s arms instinctively tightened around you as you came to, shifting your head to tilt it up.

“Dino?” you asked groggily. He exhaled deeply, pawing at the back of your head to try and bring it back against his chest after it lifted with no response.

“Are you okay?” he asked you after a moment of contemplation, deciding the best thing to say to you.

“I’m fine… What time is it? I’m sorry for falling asleep,” you replied.

He turned his wrist to check his watch, difficult to see in the dark. “A little after two, I think,” he answered. Another deep breath lifted you a bit, and with his exhale sank back again. He finally tilted his head down to look at you, neck a little strained but it didn’t stop him. His left hand carded through his hair as he let his head drop back to the pillow he was previously resting on and looked up at the ceiling with a deep exhale. A turtleneck, you, and a blanket was a little hot with the heater running. The weight of your head resting back against his chest and nuzzling a little bit calmed his erratic thoughts—what were you thinking right now about the situation?

You took a deep breath, rubbing your cheek into his turtleneck, adjusting your legs with his and hooking your arms anywhere around him they would go, but not without adjusting the blanket atop of you first. He almost sighed, trying to quiet his thoughts about your thoughts, and tried to relax into the couch once more.

The thunder remained loud and close for quiet some time, making it hard for either of you to fall back asleep. The couch was a little small to be shifting around too much and he was still a million degrees so, with a gentle protest, he picked you up and put you on your feet, discarding the blanket onto the couch and walked you to your room to pull back the covers and usher you into bed. He could hear you protesting even as he left into the bathroom, tugging at the collar of his turtleneck and closed the door behind him.

“Dino…” He could hear you call from the other side of the door, but you were much closer to the door.

“Give me just a minute, okay?” he cooed back, trying to be gentle with you because he knew all you genuinely wanted was his company. After splashing some cool water against his wrists and drying off, he opened the door to your pouting face. You looked at him with glossy, sleepy eyes and stepped into him to wrap your arms around him.

“What’s wrong?” he asked gingerly, but continued to walk you backwards to your bed.

“Please don’t go,” you uttered, gripping against his turtleneck to tug at it a bit—a little thing you’d been doing all night that really tugged at him internally.

“Of course not,” he cooed back, ushering you back onto your bed. He tugged his turtleneck over his head, leaving a plain white tee shirt draped across his shoulders and discarded the heavy fabric to the floor and ventured under the covers with you. With the extra room and sans one layer of clothes, Dino was much more comfortable and fell asleep with you with ease.

By the time the sun came up again and you reached around to search for him, he had already left. You distinctly remember him saying something to you in a half-conscious state that you had forgotten about the second that you fell into full unconsciousness again, but at least you knew he didn’t leave silently. He definitely kissed the top of your head, you remembered, because you tried to turn up into it as if asking him to stay, and you were asleep again before you could even hear your front door close.

For some reason, the next few days were a little harder than normal. The weather continued to be dreary and you hadn’t heard from Dino at all, albeit you continued to make no attempt to contact him on your end. You found yourself somehow weaseling out of work early just to go home and crawl back into bed—you knew you were making a bad slump worse, but it didn’t stop you.

Faintly, you could hear your phone vibrating against your table, but made no attempt to reach for it. Whoever it was, whoever it could have been, obviously didn’t pique your interest enough to care despite the way you glowered at it as it noisily vibrated against your wood nightstand. You fell in an out of consciousness, typically with the rampant vibrating of your phone, of missed calls and text messages that you had no intention of getting back to.

The overwhelming desire to get away was eating at you hard; you’d already wasted a majority of three days laying around in bed and despite the fact that it was raining and that the sun had gone down, you pulled on a pair of shoes, grabbed your keys and your phone and left. It mattered not to you the way you were drenched almost immediately, or how cold it was with the wind and how you’d undoubtedly get sick being out there like this, but just the feeling of the rain against your face was enough to wake you from your inner comatose, even if just a little bit.

You walked for some distance of which you couldn’t keep track, but it had to be a long way because you weaved in and out of neighborhoods before coming across the river’s bridge where you stood, gripping the railing hard enough to turn your knuckles white where you listened to the sloshing of the rushing water below in combination with the rain and the thunder overhead. Occasionally, you could see the swiftness of the river when lightening struck, and it only tightened your grip on the railing as you swayed back and forth.

The wind carried you precariously against the railing and away, the dizziness you were feeling in the depths of your mind tossed you off balance a couple of times, the thought of climbing over the railing just to see if you would feel regret crossing your mind a number of times, but never amounted to anything. You wondered about your friends, about Dino. You wondered, despite all his calls going ignored for a few days, if he would come over to check on you, and if he did, if he would be looking for you.

You didn’t want it to matter, but some form of guilt ate at your conscience like a ravenous beast, thinking about Dino; thinking about how ashamed he would be to see you out here gripping the railing like some desperate prisoner begging to be set free. Would he be mad? Would he be sad? Would he be disappointed or scared or upset? You couldn’t know for sure, but all the while you continued to grip that railing despite the frozenness of your hands and the weight of your drenched clothes.

The incessant vibrating of your phone in your pocket pretty much hadn’t ceased for the last hour and somewhere in the back of your mind you could hear a masculine voice calling your name, urgently and repeatedly, until you became aware enough to look over.

“Get down from there!” he yelled at you urgently; you could almost see the whites of his eyes as he stared at you in shock, as you would interpret it, and he all but discarded his umbrella to the side as he rushed towards you.

“Don’t tell me what to do!” you screamed back at him, especially as he took your arms, prying your hands away from the railing despite your struggle. “Leave me alone, Dino!” you yelled, thrashing, trying to rip your arms from his grasp as you felt the hot tears sting your eyes against your closed eyelids. You’d been holding back the flood waters for quiet some time during this venture into the rain and although you had no intentions of doing anything drastic, it really hit you just how wicked life had made you feel lately.

“Are you crazy? What were you going to do, huh? You were going to leave everyone just like that? No note, no call, no message, no nothing, just disappear?”

He was pretty much screaming at you, demanding answers as he shook you around, obviously welling with emotions himself as he thought about the swift river below taking you away if he had been just a few moments too late.

“Stop yelling at me,” you growled, finally opening your eyes to look at him with a glare that turned him pale. Who was he to chastise you the way he was about something so sensitive? It was understandable to be emotional, but clearly you were already out there because you felt like garbage, and continuing to berate you like you were garbage wasn’t going to help the situation. So, his grip on your arms lessened a bit and the intensity in his gaze softened a bit as he looked at you.

“I… I’m sorry,” he uttered to you, jaw quivering as the rain poured on both of you. You were already soaked, so it didn’t matter, but Dino was well on his way to the same state. He just looked at you, unable to distinguish rain from tears even though it was clear you were crying with how red your eyes were. His hands removed themselves from your arms, cupping your cheeks in the both of them to look you square in the eyes. He compulsively stroked against your cheeks just to make sure you were real, even as you shook your head.

“I’m sorry, but I’ve been so worried. I’ve called you over and over, I came over to your house and let myself in and when you weren’t there, and hadn’t answered me… I was so scared,” he tried to explain before snapping into a different mindset all together. He muttered something about getting you warm and out of the rain and took your hands and held you against him to find his umbrella, even if it was much too late to stave off any rain at this point, and took you back to your apartment.

He fetched some dry towels out of your linen closet like he’d been over there a million times and began to towel you off, starting with your hair and pulled off your wet socks and any heavy clothing you didn’t need for the time being. After drying your face a number of times, it was easier to distinguish the tears that continued to silently fall against your cheeks, but he still diligently tried to warm you with no regard to his shivering self. At some point, you must have realized, because you reached out to stop him.

“What about you?” you asked, almost inaudibly.

“I don’t matter right now,” he tried to reassure you, but it wasn’t very reassuring. He’d at least shrugged his jacket off and left it hanging on the coat rack, but his sweater underneath was still pretty damp. You took the towel gingerly from his hands to dab the rain from his body, from his face and out of his hair and his neck and collarbones.

You’d been stripped down to a tank top, you drenched clothes flopped on the tile floor of the entry way, but that seemed to be the least of either of your concern as he watched your eyes as you diligently dried him. How could you be so caring and considerate of him after he had just screamed at you the way he did? It was part of what drew him so intensely to you, your capacity for compassion.

Even after he’d dried you to the best of his ability and had you change clothes and chucked what he could of his into the dryer while still being reasonably presentable, he immediately wrapped you in the blanket that had laid a crumpled mess on the couch since he left several days prior. He took you against him, against an even less damp tank top and into his body as he curled up with you on the couch, cradling you in his lap like if he let go, you’d be gone. Your cheek pressed into his clammy collarbone and even though it was slightly wet, it was his warmth and his embrace and his concern for you.

“I hope you don’t get sick,” he muttered, tilting his head down to almost speak into the top of your head. He still wiped silent tears off your cheeks as you sat there, never close enough for his liking as he continually readjusted his arms around you to pull you closer.

“Dino, why did you come look for me?” you asked him. “What if you get sick?”

“Then I will have gotten sick potentially saving the most important thing in this world to me,” he whispered back. “I came to look for you because I need you, life would be so bleak without you, and you are a big piece of me I’d never get back. I love you more than the sun loves to shine, you know this.”

Your brow furrowed as you clawed at his tank top, turning your face against his neck as harsher tears threatened against your waterline.

“Don’t lie,” you replied weakly.

“I would never lie, especially about that,” he responded, wrapping you tighter and tugging you closer.

“Dino…” you almost whimpered.

“I mean it,” he told you firmly. “If I lost you… well, I just don’t know. I don’t want to know. The thought itself rips me apart on the inside. All I want to know is you right here with me, the feel of your warm skin under my fingertips and your soft breath against my skin. All I want to know is that I have you, and that I always will.”

His broad hand stroked against your cheek, pushing your hair away from your face as he peered down at you. Although you wouldn’t look at him, he loved to look at you just the same as he took you under the chin and tilted your head up just enough to place a lingering kiss against your forehead.

“I always wondered why you didn’t come to me more—”

“I didn’t want to bother you. I didn’t know you felt that way or cared that much—”

“Bother me? Sweetheart, you could never—”

“I wanted to come to you,” you interrupted, after a long strain of interruptions, and pushed against him enough so that you could look him in the eyes. “I wanted to come to you because nobody can make me feel like you do. Your easy love, your tough love, your in between love; it speaks to me unlike anyone else. You always tell me what I need to hear when I need to hear it, you’re always there to take care of me even when I try—”

“All I ever wanted was to take care of you,” he interrupted, even though you thought it was over. He’d tucked your head under his chin again to bring you deep into his chest where you could feel his heart beat steady.

After a moment of calming some threatening sobs and forcing the tears out of your eyes, you took a deep breath. He fixed the blanket over your shoulder, ensuring maximum warmth to try and stave any sickness that may have been looming from the cold. Again, he tilted your head in a way to press another meaningful and lingering kiss against your forehead.

“You’re my stars in the night sky, and if my stars need me to pick them up and make sure they shine the brightest they can, there’s nothing I’d rather do, because the night just isn’t as beautiful without them.”

#dino #svt #lee chan #dino scenarios #dino angst #svt scenarios #svt angst #dino imagines #svt imagines #dino requests #svt requests #tw suicide #tw mental health #tw mentions of suicide #tw inference of suicide #I may delete this and write something else for this prompt but we'll see what kind of backlash I get for it #prompt game: svt fas

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sanderssidesfanfiction · 5 years

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We’ll Carry On - Chapter Thirty Six

We’ll Carry On Tag

General Content Warnings: Sympathetic Deceit Sanders, Substance Abuse, Abandonment, Minor Character Death, Transphobia, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Dissociation, Bullying, Homophobia

Chapter-Specific Warnings: Alcohol, Vomiting

October 31st, 2015

“Come on, Jess, your parents really aren’t letting you trick-or-treat this year?” Jack asked on the other end of the phone.

“Yeah, sorry, Jack,” Jessica said, feeling completely and utterly dejected but trying to not sound too disappointed lest her father find out. “My dad says I’m too old to go trick-or-treating.”

“That sucks. We’re only twelve, we’re not ‘too old’ to have fun tonight!” Jack protested.

“I know, but he doesn’t,” Jessica said, pursing her lips.

Jack sighed, causing static on the line. “I’ll smuggle you some candy next time I see you.”

Jessica smiled. “You’re the MVP, Jack.”

“Of course,” Jack said. “Try not to get too down on yourself tonight. You can have fun in other ways too.”

“Yeah,” Jessica said, nodding. “Talk soon.”

October 31st, 2019

Logan adjusted his wig in the mirror, feeling completely ridiculous but at the same time a little giddy. Dad and Ami were letting him go trick-or-treating with Roman and the others, and he was allowed to be the chaperone for them, while Dad and Ami stayed home to pass out candy to the other neighbors. Jack was going to one of the parties that the seniors were throwing, but Logan was just happy to go door-to-door with his younger brothers, collecting candy.

He grabbed his pillowcase and headed downstairs, looking at their group full of eclectic costumes. Logan was a mad scientist, complete with a wig that had hair sticking up in every direction. Roman was in full princely attire, right down to the gold frills on the front and the red sash. Dee looked straight out of a fifties cartoon, with a little cape and long yellow gloves that matched the old ones he had but he was outgrowing. He noticed that Dee had gotten Ami to put scales over half of his face, too, and Logan knew Dee would be demanding pictures once all this was over so he could remember being “a slimey boi” as Roman had put it. Patton had cat ears and a cowboy outfit on, and he was saying, “Meowdy, pawtner!” to whoever would listen. Virgil was a vampire, complete with a pair of fangs over his actual teeth. Virgil looked over as Logan came down the stairs and asked, “We ready?”

“We’re ready,” Logan confirmed. “Let’s go get some candy!”

The younger three cheered and bolted out the door, while Roman and Logan went at a slower pace. “You know Dad or Ami could have come with us to chaperone, you didn’t have to give up going to the Halloween party,” Roman said.

“I know,” Logan said. “But I haven’t been trick-or-treating since I was eleven. I missed it.” Then, when Dee was starting to become more of a shadow in the dim light than his actual costume, Logan called, “Slow down, Dee! Stay within my sight!”

Roman glanced at him. “Yeah, I haven’t gone trick-or-treating since I was eleven, too. Only I only missed one year. You missed...four?”

“Four, yeah,” Logan nodded. “Which, I might not have gone out every year, but I wanted to at least go when I was twelve, I had a really cool costume planned and everything.”

Roman nodded. “But now you get to do it again.”

“Yeah, now I get to do it again,” Logan agreed. “And maybe next year I’ll go to the Halloween party.”

They got to the first house at the edge of the neighborhood and they stopped talking, instead letting the younger ones yell, “Trick or treat!” when they rang the doorbell and a woman opened it.

All of them got candy, including Logan, and he felt inexplicably happy that he was able to get some candy again. They went to the next door, repeating the routine, and Dee got complimented on his costume, which he beamed at, and Logan thanked the teen on the other side of the door. “He’s very particular about his costume,” Logan said.

“Yeah, I could see,” the guy said. “Take a lollipop?”

“Thanks,” Logan said, grabbing one.

“No problem, Logan,” the guy said.

Logan frowned. “...Do we know each other?”

“Not well,” the guy said. “But we did hang out occasionally at the community pool.”

“Right!” Logan said, snapping his fingers. “Maybe I’ll see you around then, Casey?”

“You know it,” Casey said with a grin. “Catch up to your brothers, or else they might go on to the next door without you!”

Logan thanked Casey again and dashed after the others, catching up just before they rung the doorbell on the next house. Roman smiled but didn’t make a comment, and they went from house to house to house, going around the whole neighborhood in the span of two hours.

When the sun had completely set long ago and the boys had hit every door, they went back home and were greeted by a very excited Vanellope sporting tiny bat wings. All the boys save Logan went to the kitchen to compare what they had gotten and trade candy, but Logan’s phone started ringing, so he took his candy up to his room and answered it. “Yeah?” Logan asked.

“Logan,” Jack said on the other end of the phone, slurring slightly. “I think I need a lil help.”

Logan was instantly on alert. “I’ll come right over. Are you still at the party?”

“Mhm,” Jack hummed. “But everyone I came with is really drunk, an’ I don’ wanna be in a car when the driver’s really drunk. But I can’t drive ‘cause I’m drunk. D’you think you can pick me up?”

“Yeah, of course,” Logan said, already leaving his room and rushing down the stairs, signing to Ami that he needed the car keys.

“Something wrong?” Ami asked.

“Jack’s at the party but his designated driver didn’t stay sober,” Logan whispered. “He wants a ride back home with someone sober.”

“I’ll come with you,” Ami said.

Logan started to protest, “I don’t want to be an inconvenience—”

“No. Logan, that’s not a request. I’m coming with you,” Ami said.

“Okay,” Logan said as Ami passed him the car keys and the two of them got into the minivan. “Jack, I’m coming over, but I have to hang up now, all right? Stay safe, and don’t get into any cars.”

“Mmm, I won’, promise, Lo,” Jack slurred, hanging up.

Logan hung up and backed out of the driveway, glancing at Ami, who was glaring out the front window. “Ami? Am I in trouble?”

Ami glanced over and shook his head. “No, Logan, you’re not in trouble.”

“...Is Jack?” Logan asked.

“That’ll depend on his parents, I assume,” Ami said. “Did you know there was going to be alcohol at the party?”

“I didn’t know for certain, but I assumed someone might try and sneak in some beer,” Logan admitted. “Most people did. That’s why Jack went with a group, and they had a designated driver.”

Ami nodded stiffly. “Are most of the parties you and Jack get invited to like that?”

Logan squirmed in his seat a little, stopping at a red light. “Yes,” he admitted. “Which is one of the reasons I generally don’t go. I don’t want the temptation. And if I do go, I’m the designated driver. I don’t want to get in a car with someone when the driver is drunk.”

Ami was silent for a long while. “If you were at college, and you didn’t have to drive back to wherever you were sleeping, would you drink, even if you were under twenty-one?”

Logan swallowed. “I...guess it would depend on the situation. If I trusted the people around me, or not.”

Ami took a breath. “Thank you for being honest, at least.”

“You don’t like the thought of me drinking underage,” Logan said.

“I don’t like the thought of you drinking, period,” Ami said. “That can quickly become self-medication, especially if you deal with a lot of the stuff you go through, Logan.”

“I’m responsible about it,” Logan said. “The one time I ever actually...” he trailed off, realizing that might not be the right thing to say.

Ami’s eyes flickered dangerously. “Finish the sentence,” he said.

Logan swallowed. “The one time I ever actually drank, I kept an eye on my beer at all times, it was only one beer the whole night, and Jack was the designated driver. And he never touched a drop.”

Ami took a couple deep breaths, and Logan started to shake. “Ami...please don’t be mad.”

“I’m not mad at you,” Ami said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’m mad at me, and Emile. We should have educated you better about the dangers of underage drinking. We should have made it clear that if you’re at a party, we don’t want you drinking, or worse. We didn’t set clear boundaries, and as a result, you could have put yourself in danger.”

Logan swallowed as they pulled up to the house, cars lining the street on both sides and in both directions. Music was blasting through the walls and Logan could see plenty of people inside the house dancing, and drinking. Jack was sitting on the porch steps, looking like he might pass out. “Jack,” Logan called softly, walking over.

“Mm...Lo?” Jack asked. “Th’nks for comin’ to get me...”

Logan helped Jack stand up and Jack swayed. “How much did you have to drink?” Logan asked.

“Two beers,” Jack said, rubbing his head. “I left the second one at my waist, though, and I didn’t look at it for a sec, then after I sipped it, everything got hazy, and I called you.”

Logan stopped short. “Jack...did someone spike your drink?!”

“Mm...dunno,” Jack mumbled. “Possibly. No one tried anything, though. Slipped outside ‘fore anyone saw me.”

Logan paled. “Jack, we’re going back to your house, right now. We’re telling your parents, and we’re going to see if you need to be in the hospital.”

“Lo, ‘s not that bad...” Jack said, lazily waving his free hand around.

Logan led Jack back to the van. “Jack, someone spiked your drink, you are going home and we are telling your parents.”

“Lo, c’mon,” Jack begged. “They’re gonna kill me if they find out I drank.”

“Well, you can’t crash at my place,” Logan said. “Ami’s gonna insist you go home.”

“I’m debating taking him straight to the hospital,” Ami said simply.

Jack looked up at the new voice and squinted. “Mister Picani?” he asked.

Ami walked over and helped Jack get into a back seat. “You did the right thing, calling Logan,” he told Jack. “But if you’re in danger, we’re telling your parents.”

Even as Jack protested, Ami turned to Logan. “You’re sitting in the back and making sure he doesn’t tuck and roll out of the car.”

Logan felt his eyes getting hot, absolutely petrified, as he silently passed the car keys over and climbed in the back next to Jack. Jack fell asleep, head resting on Logan’s shoulder as they drove to Jack’s house in silence.

Ami got out of the car and signaled for Logan to stay inside with Jack. Logan did so, but opened the van door to listen to the conversation Ami was having with Mister and Misses Harkness. It was mostly too quiet to hear, until Misses Harkness gasped and exclaimed, “He did what?!”

“He had a designated driver,” Ami said. “But the driver didn’t keep their word, so he called Logan. I made sure to come with him and make sure Jack was okay. But it’s possible his drink was spiked. You need to figure out if he needs to be taken to the hospital.”

Jack stirred and gagged, and Logan quickly unbuckled him, helping him out of the car right before he emptied what little was in his stomach. “Don’ feel good, Lo,” Jack mumbled.

Logan didn’t doubt it. Jack was sweating all over, and shaking. “I know you don’t. We’re at your home, and your mom and dad are gonna figure out if you need to see the doctors.”

Jack looked at Logan with betrayal. “Why would you tell my parents?!” he slurred.

“Because he cares about you, Jack,” Mister Harkness said, coming over. “And you are going to the hospital. And once you’re sober, we will be having a serious talk.”

Logan swallowed as Mister Harkness took most of Jack’s weight. “I’m sorry,” Logan whispered.

Mister Harkness softened as he looked at Logan. “You helped Jack, Logan. Regardless of what either of you have done in the past, you helped him tonight. You might have saved his life. Thank you.”

Logan started to cry, shaking as he nodded. Ami came over and helped Logan back into the van, driving home in tense silence, only broken by Logan’s hiccups. When they got home, Ami hugged him and said, “Go upstairs and go to bed. We can talk about this in the morning when everyone’s calm and we know that Jack is safe.”

When Logan nodded, Ami let him go upstairs, and Logan silently crawled into bed, crying himself to sleep out of worry.

#we'll carry on #sanders sides fanfiction #logan sanders #remy sanders #our creations #danger gays

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simonlovelazy · 6 years

Text

Sun, I miss you - Vamp!Ray/MC fic

Belated happy Valentine’s Day!

Title: Sun, I miss you

Fandom: Mystic Messenger

Pairing: Vamp!Ray/ MC

Tags: post-apo AU, vampires, angst, brooding vampire with a thing for bad metaphors

Word count: 2580

Summary: The lower the sun set, the harder it was for Ray to resist his second nature.

or read on AO3

Behind the curtain, just enough to see without being seen.

MC was leaning over a shrub, her falling down hair successfully hiding her expression, but Ray could imagine what it was like. Halcyon. Peaceful, as she felt the warm kisses of the sun, immersed in the abundant perfume of the brilliant summer day, with the delicate petals between her fingers. Petals as blue as the sky.

Sometimes it stung, this mixture of happiness and sadness when he was looking without being seen.

Ray slunk back, deeper into the shadows.

Rusty hues were spilling over the earlier pristine skyscape. It was time to go back to her.

Ray corked the test tube up and put his observations down in his journal.

The method has so far shown no results. No indication why the test subject is immune.

He slipped his worn lab coat off, adjusted the ruffle on his shirt, and put his jacket on.

Rushing through the slowly lighting up corridors, he was vaguely wondering if the colourful clothing did anything to liven him up.

She was in – he could hear the rustling pages, her low humming, the rhythm of her heart. This time she was to notice him.

A sharp intake of air – unnecessary but at the same time so very needed – and then a knock at the door.

“I’m here to collect the dishes.”

The moment she saw him in the threshold, MC lowered the book and placed it with the cover facing upwards on her knees. “You came! Please do, but why don’t you sit down with me for a while first? Rest a bit.”

“I—” he shook his head. Cutlery clattered loudly against the tray as she tried to help him tidy up. It was... nice. Being asked, that is. “I cannot. But I’ll be back soon with your dinner.”

MC shot up from her seat in the armchair, the book landing softly on the carpet, and handed him the dishes. “You’re doing it again.”

“What do you mean?

“Ignoring my invitations. Stay – nothing bad’s going to happen if you let yourself relax.”

Standing next to the window, she had her profile bathed in the dying out sunlight. Her eyes lit up with trust. She was so wrong.

He pressed his lips into a thin line as if that could seal the threat off.

“Later, I’ll bring you your food.”

Preparations for the next day’s examinations took longer than usually. He was tugging at the sleeves of his shirt, un-cuffing them as he strode to her room, the jacket left at the back of his seat in the laboratory.

He hated it, how pitch dark sky glimmering in the passed windows put him at ease. No need to omit the blots of natural light on the floor, to squint his eyes. Darkness was so easy, so safe.

But he missed the sun. It allowed flowers to bloom, added colour to pale cheeks, and never failed to raise on the following day. And it wasn’t for him anymore – the most he could do was to step back and, fixed behind the pane, observe the spectacle of life and death that went on without him.

It was harder to keep safe distance now that MC was here. She was everything that he could no longer dream to be. And even worse, she was dangerously trusting.

Still, he was the airhead here. How hopelessly he clung to the scraps of humanity her ignorance allowed! To – just for a while – talk to a human and be seen as one was worth all the consequences he was likely to face afterwards.

The way MC gazed at him and called his name – oblivious of the effect she had on him; unknowing that her soft smiles and kind words filled his thoughts long after he’d left her room. Even if with difficulty, he was able to control his vicious nature while handling her blood samples, but somehow a mere glance at her drew him like a moth to a flame. It wasn’t only about his condition, if at all, there was something else in MC than blood that tempted him, something he was scared he wasn’t able to refrain from much longer.

Without doubt she would curse him once she knew, but until that... he was going to keep clenching his fangs and squeezing his eyes.

He couldn’t bring himself to stop loving the sun despite the pain it entailed.

Ray stopped by the kitchen, heated up the soup and roast he’d prepared in advance, and headed to MC.

“I was held back by work. I’m sorry to bring you food this late.”

She was sitting in the same place as the last time he’d seen her, but this time her gaze was wandering about the vast greenery outside. Her expression unreadable.

“Eat with me,” she said, finally looking in his direction, “You brought more than enough for two.”

The tray made no sound as it was placed in front of her. “Thank you, but I’ve prepared it just for you. I’ll eat later.”

MC took a spoon and stirred the smooth surface in the bowl. A slight line appeared on her forehead as she tasted the soup. Did he put too much spices? Or was it too bland?

“You think I haven’t noticed. How you look wistfully outside, but never join me in the garden. You always reject food, and yet you always seem hungry. Eat with me.”

Were these tears that added shine to her eyes? No... was is determination? He took a sit opposite her.

“No, but I can accompany you a little if you wish so. When I invited you here for the tests, I believed I would get to spend more time with you. I apologise if you are being bored here.”

“Bored?” MC spoke over the mouthful of food. He’d almost starved her here! He had to remember from now on to bring food more regularly. “No, not bored. Just alone at times. But I’m really glad I can help.”

For the most time MC ate in silence, speaking up only to lavish praises on his cuisine. She ate with such appetite, he regretted he couldn’t join her.

“So, what have you been doing today?” she asked.

“Ah. I run some tests and prepared for tomorrow. Everything’s looking good so far, I think you’ll meet the Saviour in the matter of days.”

And then you’ll know the truth and hate the thought of being with me in one room.

“Saviour,” she repeated. “Ray, what exactly happens after the oath ceremony? Will I become a member like you?”

“No. I would never allow them to do that to you.” He stood up, the armchair scraping the floor. “I see you’re almost finished, I’ll leave you to get some rest.”

He wasn’t expecting this, so he couldn’t react in time when she moved to grab his hand. Thankfully, she held onto the part covered with the glove, which saved her from discovering the unnatural cool of his skin. “Let’s visit the garden before you go. Please, it will mean a lot to me.”

Ray was about to refuse, but something in her face didn’t let him. After all, it was his fault that she was sitting here all days virtually without anyone or anything to occupy her time. And while his desires were by no means his priority, he really wanted to see the garden with her.

He nodded.

“It’s different than during the day,” said MC, walking three steps ahead of him, “but it’s no less beautiful.”

Ray considered her words with curiosity. He was used to visiting the garden in nighttime, tending to it to fill the sleepless hours. There was no arguing it was different, but could it really be compared to the lively spectacle of the day?

Following her, Ray tried to look at the familiar trees and patches with the borrowed enthusiasm. The majority of flowers had hidden their buds, but there were night flowers too, evening primrose and night gladiolus, opening only now to fill the air with their fuddling sweetness. The buzzing of bees gave way to the cicadas’ concert. None of it was new to him, but somehow he found himself smiling, enchanted by his own garden.

“I wish we could see the moon,” she said dreamily, and turned to Ray as if remembering something. “Aren’t you cold? Maybe we should head back inside, I’d hate it if you caught something because of me.”

“It’s fine, we can stay longer if you wish.”

She tilted her head slightly sending him a quizzical smile, “Tell me if you change your mind.”

“I will.”

The distance between them was comforting, but MC waited for him. Ray entangled his hands behind his back, anxious not to touch her. When he caught up with her, she filled his senses with a doubled intensity, a unique fragrance putting all the exquisite flowers to shame.

“Ray? About what you said in my room... Are you alright? You know you can tell me if there’s something bothering you, right? ”

His new name was a constant reminder of what he’d lost, but it rolled so innocently off her tongue, without a shade of doubt that it could possibly not suit him. The first thing he had heard as a reborn, unwittingly filled with tragic irony. A “ray” doomed for darkness.

She took his wrists in her hands and even though this time Ray had seen what she was about to do, he did not move away. If she noticed his body temperature she hid it well or did not mind.

“Right?”

Her blood vessels pressed against his flesh, pulsating with vital energy, hot and quick, inviting.

Ray gulped. He shouldn’t be here. He really wanted to be here.

“Please, forget what I said.” He couldn’t look her in the eye, he knew her face was flushed, her lips lightly bitten on. Instead, he redirected his attention above her – to the leaves, swishing in the night breeze, to the moths hovering over the bushes. Only one part of the garden had fallen asleep, the other lived on, partaking in the cycle of life, still here even if easily overlooked.

“You were right about my garden. It is beautiful.”

“Is it really yours?” Her head whirled around taking the view in as if she saw it for the first time. “I haven’t seen a garden like this in... never actually. How is it possible?”

“It was an accident.” She raised her eyebrows and he couldn’t help but giggle. “A couple years back I discovered a substance, by chance, really, which temporarily reverses the contamination of the soil.”

“Temporarily? Will the flowers wither soon?”

“Isn’t it how nature works?” he smiled lightly, but the sadness did not leave MC’s expression. “Don’t worry, they will grow the way they would have before the Crash if I keep the soil fertilised.”

She nodded slowly, and he wandered if it was only now that she realised that beauty could not last. Each attempt to congeal it in time could at best lead to making a caricature out of it. A fleeting sense of acceptance, a glimmer of happiness – that was all. He was lucky to get to experience these once more after his time had already passed.

MC let go of him, but not for long, his hand was soon after clasped in her smaller one as she led him deeper into the garden.

“I especially love these,” she said, and even before she stood next to them, he had known which flowers she meant.

Her fingers found the bud like so many times before, but this time he was next to her as she felt the petals. Her other hand grazed lightly at his, and he found himself cursing his gloves.

“I never knew that before the Crash roses came in so many different shades.”

In this variety of flowers she had to pick blue roses. He couldn’t bring himself to tell her. Would she hate them if she knew roses would never grow like this on their own? Would she hate him?

That’s when her finger slipped onto the stem, harvesting a glimmering bead of blood when it hooked on a thorn.

He froze.

Without a blink, she put it in her mouth.

“Isn’t it nice?”

“W-what?”

“Being in your garden like this. You should come by more often, you deserve it – doing things that make you happy. I wish—“

Her words were drowned by the rushing of her blood in his ears, interjected rhythmically by her quickened heartbeat.

Was her body finally sensing the danger she had got herself into?

The small cut on her finger became the centre of his universe before his eyes followed the mesh of veins, blue under her thin skin, leading up her arms, higher and higher.

You deserve it. You deserve it.

It was the movement of her lips when she got closer that hinted to him she was speaking. He looked her in the eyes. As trusting and filled with life as ever. He would never. He’s better than that. He started breathing in and out just to calm himself.

“—happy too. If you feel the same and if you let me, I’ll be telling you how dear you are to me every day for the rest of our lives.”

Her hands wandered up and rested on his shoulders. She was so close he could see a lost eyelash on her cheek, and moved to take it off before he could think about it properly.

“Let me care for you, for a change.”

His mouth was taking the shape of rejection, and he knew it would take only one word for her to leave him alone. She wouldn’t do anything against his will.

And this was why he bent a little and met her lips halfway, instantly melting into their warmth. Softer than he’d ever dared to imagine.

She threw her hands around his neck, and he didn’t know where his hands went, so completely he got lost in the moment; his rationality drown out by her raging heartbeat, so deafeningly loud.

Absently he noticed how desperate her movements were getting, losing their initial shyness. Their mouths opened more widely in unison, but she was the first one to caress him so carelessly.

He gasped in surprise when one of her hands tugged lightly at his hair. MC giggled, but didn’t stop, instead turning his attention back to her tongue, which was now gliding over his lips.

Another kiss – deeper and more hasty than the previous ones, and he parted unwillingly to let her breathe, grazing his teeth over her lower lip and pulling at it in a way mirroring her own teasing games.

She jumped back, yelping.

MC patted with the back of her hand on her puffed lips, but Ray knew what she would see. A droplet of her blood almost burned a hole in his tongue.

Slowly, she raised her eyes to his. Only then he realised that his own mouth was hanging agape. He draped his hand over the offensive view, but it was too late.

“R-ray? What...?”

He shook his head heavily as if it could nullify what had just happened. Now she knew. It was over. It was all over.

He managed a choked out “sorry” before running off.

He was going to miss her.

#mystic messenger #saeran choi #saeran #saeran/mc #saeran fanfic #ray x mc #ray/mc #mysme fanfic #mystic messenger fanfic #vamp!ray #i wasn't going to write it but then i did #writing instead of studying and then editing intead of packing #sorry for all mistakes it's literally past 5 am #simonsaysread

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