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mollyrolls · 3 months ago

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hey cupid! ☆ iwaizumi h. x reader

10. movie magic

warnings: smidge of angst, osamu is not a villian. not proofread so mistakes probably

an: sorry for the long wait, tried to make this one a bit longer to make up for it. if the movie plot seems too specific, it is. i'm using this chance to dog on my ex-friend's "short" film. he and this movie are both heinous.

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Your date with Osamu should be going well; there’s no reason for it not to be. He arrived five minutes early, but insisted you took the whole five to have everything you needed. He came in and talked to your roommates while you waited, never once making a blunt comment about them. He’s opened every door you come across. Which might be a lot, admittedly, but you could get used to it.

He’s far and away better than Iwaizumi. You know that.

So why do you feel just as miserable?

Despite it being early spring the air is thick on your skin, smothering you like a blanket. Small beads of sweat find their way down your neck over time, pooling before searing off your skin. An undercut of unease threatening what should be a perfect night.

Osamu is crouched down on the ground, tossing the corners of his well loved picnic blanket back and forth, trying to optimize the space. You tried helping a few minutes ago, but he had dismissed you with a wave and a smile. So it's all you can do to stand eerily above him and look anywhere but down.

There comes a need for you to fill the silence. “This whole thing feels like it's straight from a movie. Next thing you know there’ll be a flash mob.”

He grins up at you, acknowledging your joke with a quiet chuckle. Offering you a hand, he helps you settle down next to him, noticing the warmth and grit of his palms. He doesn’t pull away once you’re sitting, but rather moves your hand closer to his body, bringing you closer.

You chuckle at the obvious display but let it happen anyways. It feels nice to be wanted like this.

The air around you two is quiet, appreciating the night as it unfurls around you. The cicadas fill the space with a quiet drone, relentless but manageable. Wispy blues dissipate into purples, deepening the hues above. The scene feels domestic in a way that’s foreign to you.

“So, I never really asked you about the lantern festival. Did you have a good time?”

His question slides right into the ambience. His presence doesn’t stick out like a sore thumb like you feel like you do. You wonder if you’ll fall into it, or he’ll fall out.

“Yeah, I did. It was really beautiful. I’d never gone before but I’m glad I did.” You tack on at the end, hoping he’ll catch the intention behind the words.

“I’m glad you did too.” His smile is easy, but there’s some hesitancy to him. “And, just making sure, that guy you were with?”

There it is. You smile again, feeling a bit forced this time.

“Yeah, like I said, he’s not my boyfriend.”

“So, just a casual date?”

There’s something about his persistence that you can’t quite understand. “I mean I guess you could call it that. It was more just a thing to help our friends.”

He nods, seemingly satisfied with that response. You want to push him on it but the projector suddenly flickers on with a whirr and the moment has passed. Leaving you with just a little whisper in the back of your mind.

The film opens with a shot inside a car, rain drops hitting the camera lens. You almost laugh. Dropping your voice to a whisper so as to not bother the people around you, you lean over to Osamu.

“Oh, this is gonna be incredible.”

He turns to look at you, slight curiosity painting his features. You split into a large grin, letting the sarcasm in your words drip out. Once he catches it he laughs, but doesn't say anything back. He simply nods and turns towards the screen again.

You can’t fight the frown that comes over your face. You’d have thought he would return with a quip of his own, you two certainly had some banter over the phone. It’s not like he’s at fault for not returning it, he couldn’t have known it’s what you were expecting, but it feels strange nonetheless.

So you follow suit, returning to the movie with a vague disinterest. You weren't really in the mood for a tragic loner main character, but it appears that’s what you’re getting.

You try a couple other times to make jokes or share your thoughts, and each time you’re given the same response back. A polite laugh, a simple nod, a grin, and then the attention is right back to the movie. You would think he’s sick of you by now, but he hasn't loosened the grip on your hand.

It suddenly all feels too confusing, emotions swirling around and replacing your jokes with worries.

There’s something about being in person that’s getting to him, or to you. The energy isn’t quite right, and you can’t say that you’re having a good time. When he had asked you out, you weren’t anticipating spending the majority of it worrying about if you're being too much and simultaneously not enough.

You’re granted a reprise from your thoughts when the movie suddenly takes a weird horror turn. The main character goes towards a party bathroom and when you instinctively turn to comment on it, you get caught in your head.

You feel yourself stop in your tracks, body moving against your mind. You turn back to yourself, curling ever so slightly in.

Slouching in your spot, you think bitterly to yourself. ‘Ten bucks he does coke in the bathroom.”

When the actor whips his head across the counter in an overexaggerated frenzy, you barely even smile.

You don’t know how long this movie has been going on, but by the time the main love interest dramatically runs from the room for the 23rd time, you feel ready to go.

Osamu had let go of your hand at some point, further validating your anxiety about how badly the date was going. The thoughts of inferiority replacing any thoughts you have about the movie.

Suddenly, you’re snapped out of your haze as the crowd breaks into applause and his hand finds yours again, helping you up.

It takes everything in your power to not tug your hand free and shake him around, demanding he tell you what’s going on inside his head. But instead you stand there, holding one tormentor's hand and watching your other walk to the front, ready for the Q and A.

Turning to Osamu quickly, you nearly cry. “Can we go?” He laughs when he sees the pleading on your face, the first deep, genuine laugh you’ve heard all night, and nods in agreement.

“Definitely. I was ready about 90 cliches ago.”

And you’re thrown again. This was the Osamu you thought you were getting, one who made jokes with you and who you said yes to the date with. The strange imposter was gone, this was the guy you had hoped for.

The whiplash makes you laugh, one that’s desperate and nervous. The corner of his lips twitch while he watches you, clearly trying to not laugh right back at you.

“I didn’t think that was that good of a joke.”

And he made another one. You feel like this is a test of some kind, like he’s dangling one shoe while letting the other one drop while you speak.

“I mean, you clearly have high standards for them.” Your response is a bit bitter, still reeling.

He chuckles at that, seeing it for what it truly was. “I liked your jokes. They were good.”

“Then why didn’t you laugh? Or, say anything really. I got embarrassed.” Admitting that leaves you breathless, trying to cover it with a laugh that doesn’t come out quite right.

He shrugs, taking your hand once again and guiding you out right as the director starts to speak into the microphone.

“I dunno. Guess I don’t talk during movies. ‘Tsumu does though, so I’m used to it.”

Being compared to his brother feels more like a diss than he probably meant.

“Sorry if I ruined your night.”

The things you’re saying feel uncharacteristic, too meek to be coming from your mouth. You should be biting back, making a quip instead, but you can’t.

“You didn’t. That movie did more than its share.” He smiles, giving you a look that has a tinge of empathy. It makes you miserable.

Your head starts spinning once again, the only thing keeping you tethered is Osamu’s hand pulling you along. Faces start blurring and your thoughts get muddled. You know you’re out of it when the only thing you think of when you see black hair is another man, one who you swore off thinking about.

It’s only when you turn the corner that you feel broken from your spell. The building you’re beside muffles the director's voice squeaking out from the speakers, and Osamu’s hand is no longer holding yours. All the sensory overload is stripped away, and you’re left feeling raw and embarrassed.

The air falls silent as you both walk, moving wordlessly in the direction of your building. The feeling of hesitancy remains between you, until Osamu tests the string just slightly.

“So, you’re not looking for anything serious, are you?”

You balk, unable to answer that. You hadn’t thought about it necessarily, but the way he had been talking to you before made you think he wanted something more.

“Or, I mean, I know you're going on dates with other people. Which is fine.” He tacks on hurriedly, but seems genuine about it. “I don’t think that’s a bad thing. It’s just not what I’m looking for.”

At least this gives you an out.

“Yeah, I guess I’m not. I hope you don’t think I was using you or anything. I wasn’t.” The words feel hollow coming from you, echoing around in the emptiness of the conversation.

He shakes his head dismissively. “I wouldn’t have asked you if I thought you were. It was worth a try, you know?”

He holds the door to your apartment building open and you walk past, relishing in the fact that you won’t have to get used to that after all.

“Yeah. Worth a try.”

He waits while you find your keys, and waits until you open the door. You step through, turning around to bid a polite goodbye.

“Well, thanks for inviting me. I had a good time.”

“Yeah, me too. Thanks for coming.”

The exchange is quick, the unspoken agreement to not do it again clear in both of your words.

“Get home safe.” You smile, before stepping back into your apartment and shutting the door behind you.

It feels like you can finally breathe again, free from the presence of whatever he was doing to you. Prying off your shoes, you barely notice Kenma perched a bit too precise to be casual, waiting for you.

Straightening to your full height, you watch as he scans you from the corner of his eye. Waiting to see how you’re acting before he tests the waters.

“Welcome back.” He supplies, overtly casual. You laugh under your breath, his scheme clear as day.

“Where’s Tsukki? I would’ve thought you’d both be present for the interrogation.”

He throws his hands up in immediate defense. “I won’t ask if you don’t want me to.”

You sit down next to him with a soft laugh, all the emotions of the night weighing on you.

“I think I suck at dating.”

He tilts an eyebrow at you, clearly dying for you to tell him about it but not willing to make the first move. You decide to indulge, for no other reason then venting about it yourself.

“I mean, there was a sliver of hope for Iwaizumi, but we both know how that turned out,” you start, Kenma stifling a laugh. “But this guy? I thought it was going to go well and it just…didn’t.”

You find yourself at a loss for words, unable to really convey your feelings about the night. It’s not that something bad happened, it just didn’t feel good. It wasn’t right.

“I don’t know. I guess we just weren’t as compatible as I thought. I mean he wouldn’t even talk through the movie for god’s sake.”

Kenma’s eyes widen, clearly feeling the same reaction that you had.

“What? Sounds like you dodged a bullet then. He’s probably a psychopath.”

You know he’s trying to make you laugh, but all it does is make you groan.

“No, he was really sweet. He’d probably be a great boyfriend.”

“But not yours. If you weren’t compatible then he wouldn’t make you happy. Don’t beat yourself up.”

“Wow,” you turn to look at him through tired eyes. “Who are you and what have you done with Kenma?”

He returns your stare with one of his own, lips twitching. “I’ve repented. Changed. Turning a new leaf. I could keep going.”

While he rattles on about all the ways he’s changed, you can’t help but laugh. Full and genuine, warming you from the inside. There’s something about this interaction that feels so familiar, so right, that you can’t be bothered to let his ploys get to you.

And you notice, if only briefly, how much you longed to feel like this tonight.

Kenma notices you’re not listening to him anymore, lost in your moment of reflection, and picks up his phone to entertain himself. The two of you sit in the kitchen, feeling momentarily like things are right again.

Randomly, he gasps, a reaction he rarely makes. The foreign sound has your curiosity immediately piqued.

“What happened?”

He curls into himself, trying not to let the redness of his face show. “I don’t know if I should tell you.”

You challenge him with a tilt of your head, not going to let it go now. “Well, now you have to.”

He sighs, clearly weighing his options.

“Even if it’s Iwaizumi asking about you?”

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taglist: closed

@chemiru, @whosmarjj, @seroh, @skrunkly-soaked-rat, @yessimo,

@walllflowerrrsss, @bae-ashlynn, @themoonismymarble, @ryuverse, @yuminako,

@aiieera, @itsdragonius , @sereniteav , @bakugouswh0r3, @zumicho,

@rory-cakes , @eggyrocks , @kirigiriz, @garfieldissocool, @wave2mia,

@juie13, @19calicos , @hyuckslvr, @csbnova , @1lovestrawberrymilk,

@dazqa

@saralovesrui, @neoclb , @gsyche , @kmwife , @insanelycooljk

#haikyuu #hq #haikyuu fanfic #haikyuu smau #hq smau #haikyuu angst #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu iwaizumi #iwaizumi x reader #iwaizumi hajime #iwaizumi hajime x reader #hajime x reader #iwaizumi x you #iwaizumi smau #haikyuu x reader #mw.iwaizumi hajime #hey cupid

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morganaspendragonss · 1 month ago

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he's the air i would kill to breathe

Of all the times TK has faced death before, never has he been so sure, so aware, that he is going to die. Even on the plane, there was a chance, but here, trapped in this room, there is no such luxury. No chance, no backup, no hope. ao3 | 1.2k | 5.03 spec

They’ve blocked the door with their turnouts as best they can, but it’s a temporary measure at best. Somewhere in this building, the gas is snaking its way towards them; they’ve shut themselves in the further corner possible, both in this room and in the school, but there’s no denying that it will find them and kill them.

And it will kill them.

It suddenly hits him, the enormity of it all. The fact that, in less than an hour, he’ll be a corpse just waiting to be found, and grief erupts in his chest, so fast that it almost knocks him back. And it’s not just grief for himself, but grief for his family, his friends. Carlos.

Above all, Carlos, who will have to endure losing his father and husband in less than a year.

He’ll never get to share another moment with him. There’ll never be another kiss, another embrace, another shared smile or a laugh. They’ll never get to celebrate their first anniversary, or any after that, or even just another night together. TK will die before any of that, and it’s not fair how it has to happen now, when he has so much in his life that he loves, instead of years ago when he didn’t care.

It’s not fucking fair.

Brushing away angry tears, TK looks to his left, and it’s something of a comfort to know that this time he won’t have to die alone. Tommy holds her radio close to her lips, murmuring to Wyatt as if anything louder will give away their location to the gas. Nancy is furiously stabbing at her phone, shaking fingers typing out what TK assumes are messages to her parents and sister and Mateo. Hopefully they’re all safe, far away from what’s happening in this room.

Almost imperceptibly, the room darkens a shade. The change is so slight that TK wants to believe he imagined it, but one look at Tommy and Nancy proves him wrong. They may not be able to see the gas yet, but none of them are under any delusion that they’re not running out of time.

His phone is out of his pocket before he even thinks about it, fingers automatically navigating to Carlos’s name. As the dial tone rings, a part of TK hopes it will go to voicemail. In the little time he has left, he wants to remember his husband smiling and happy, just like he was this morning when he brought them doughnuts on what they all thought was just another day.

The rest of TK, though, the more insistent part that lives in the left side of his chest, doesn’t want to die without talking to his husband one last time.

“TK, where are you?”

He doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry in relief, the sound that comes out ending up as a mixture of the two. “Hey,” he gasps. “Hi, baby, hi. Are you okay?”

“I’m at the office, we’re on lockdown because of the gas.” Carlos hurries through the explanation, urgent in a way TK doesn’t quite understand until he speaks again. “I saw the 126 on the news, I know you were working on the derailed train. Just… Please tell me you’re safe.”

The lie sits on the tip of TK’s tongue, but it refuses to be spoken. He struggles with it for a while, too long, and he can see them now, the tendrils of gas fogging up the window, and he’s going to die.

“TK,” Carlos calls, his desperation clear. “Are you safe?”

He can’t do it. Not now. Not to Carlos.

“No.”

An anguished cry tears its way from Carlos’s throat and the strength of it threatens to break TK altogether. His eyes start to overflow with tears and he has to fight to keep his sobs as quiet as possible.

“Where are you?” Carlos asks again. “I’ll come find you, I swear I will. I’ll get you somewhere safe, TK, just tell me where you are.”

TK shakes his head and a sad smile plays at his lips. His husband is nothing if not predictable. “We’re in some school. It’s a kids’ classroom, a pretty cute one really. There are worse places to die.”

“Nobody’s dying, TK, just tell me where you are.”

“Baby, I can’t.” he sighs are wishes more than anything that he could hold Carlos as he says this next bit. “We’re surrounded by the gas, no one could get to us without exposing themselves too. There’s no way out of this one, baby.”

“No,” his voice cracks. “Don’t say things like that. You’re gonna be fine.”

Fuck, it aches. “I’m not, baby. And I’m so, so sorry. I love you, okay? I love you.”

“TK, you’re not–”

“Carlos,” TK interrupts, and he’s almost surprised when he does fall silent. He smiles even though Carlos can’t see him and closes his eyes, picturing him by his side. “Can you just… Please, can you just say it back.”

A beat of silence, and in that beat, TK knows that Carlos understands the reality of the situation.

“I love you too.”

Still smiling, TK tilts his head back until it hits the wall. “There it is.” He breathes out once, then, “I love you.”

It’s goodbye, loud and clear, and even as he drags the phone away from his ear TK can hear Carlos begging him not to put the phone down. He does anyway, even though it breaks his heart, and he ignores the buzzing as Carlos tries to call him back again and again and again. To have his husband’s voice be the last thing he hears would be a gift, but one that would come with a curse too; it would mean that Carlos would have to listen as they cough and choke and die, and TK knows he wouldn’t even think to hang up.

As the last thing he does, he would spare his husband that.

There’s a brief silence in the room before Nancy gasps and TK opens his eyes to find her pointing tremulously at the door.

“Guys.”

They’ve run out of time.

Tommy brings the radio to her mouth once more. “That gas is coming into this room,” she reports clinically. Then, firmer, more emotional, “Tell your dad to take good care of my girls.”

Wyatt is silent for a moment. “I will,” he says eventually.

Tommy nods. “Good.” She looks between the two of them and extends a gloved hand to either side. TK wastes no time in taking it, squeezing tight as they all silently sit there, waiting second after excruciating second for the gas to close the final few metres separating them.

“Close your eyes,” Tommy says, and TK does.

He won’t look death in the face, not this time. He’ll look at his husband instead, and TK Strand will die with a smile on his face.

#911 lone star #911 lone star fic #tarlos #tarlos fic #tk strand #carlos reyes #nancy gillian #tommy vega #lone star #911ls #fanfiction #my fanfiction #writing #my writing

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obbystars · 3 months ago

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Little Light

Synopsis: Not quite sent from above.

Notes: OC-Insert/Self-insert / Sebastian Solace x Oberon Sol / Oberon lore! / also not romantic despite the oc/self-insert ship lol / cursing / just silly ideas in here / p.AI.nter’s in here! / NOT CONNECTED TO SALVATION as this one is actually adding Oberon into the lore of Pressure / You can read Oberon’s document!

Credits: dividers by @cafekitsune

(I said this wouldn’t be often but I’m getting ideas uhhhhhhh- anyway I have been thinking about trying my hand at p.AI.nter for a bit. He probably won’t be added to the list though.)

He’s not quite sure how long it’s been since he’s been locked in this containment cell. Thankfully, he does remember how he got here and clearly too. He managed to locate one of the facilities that’s owned by the sinners he’s been keeping an eye on. He went as far as to dive into the water and pierce through the Veil of the Let-Vand Zone. The water pressure didn’t even affect him, but he didn’t get very far before they spotted him. It only took minutes before all eyes were on him, but he didn’t fight back and let them take him.

Now all he felt were needles in his skin as he was held up by some sort of mechanism. He’s aware of what they’re doing and what they’re going to use it for, but he didn’t feel as angry as he probably should be. Despite all he had witnessed, he didn’t hate them for any of this. He’s not quite sure why.

He feels his wings chained down like that was going to do anything. One of the researchers got a little too close for comfort, and he admits that he may have been a little too harsh towards them. Now, because of that, they put a heavy metal box over his head. The voices outside were muffled, sometimes he heard machines moving, and sometimes he hears a door opening and closing.

Maybe curiosity did kill the cat. He vaguely remembers a discussion of a Guardian Angel being locked up in this place too for the same reason. He wonders where they could be held at. Sure his relationship with the other angels were rather complicated, but he can’t just turn away from something like that. There’ll be an opening soon enough. He just needs to wait, and frankly, he has all the time in the world.

He’ll just close his eyes for a little while. He wonders how many people have passed through his realm only to be greeted by no one. What form did he leave it in again?

However many hours, days, weeks, or months it’s been, he eventually hears a loud blaring sound followed up with an announcement he can’t quite hear. Something must be wrong, but that might mean this is his chance. He attempts to move his wings, but they could only twitch. He never realized just how tight the binds were, but he’s not surprised.

After a few hours, he hears machines moving until he’s suddenly dropped. The binds on his wings had fallen off as well. All that was left was the box on his head. He feels around the metal structure until he feels something that could resemble a lock. It doesn’t feel like a usual lock that needs a basic key for it, but if he could just…

A beep is heard and the box opens with a hiss. He pulls it off to be greeted by a dark room lit up with faint red lights. He drops the box and begins to stretch out his wings, his arms, and his legs.

…Now where was he?

The glass in front of him had shattered which gave him an opening to leave the containment room. He saw some scratch marks left by something big on the other side. He ultimately ignores it as his main concern at the moment is the location of the Guardian Angel. He wonders how they’ll react to him, but that’s saying if they even know him and what he does.

He shrugs it off, knowing full well he doesn’t expect nor does he look for forgiveness for it. Helping them would simply be his decision, but if he were to encounter anyone here who was an unfortunate victim under the sinners, then they would be his top priority. He hasn’t run into anyone yet, which made him feel relieved. Hopefully the people here managed to get out unscathed.

As he steps out into a hall, another loud blaring sound echoed through the facility.

“Attention, Z-222 has escaped containment. Do not let it leave the blacksite.”

He looks up, noticing a camera pointing at him. He raises a finger and swipes, knocking it off its hinges and shattering. That may be problematic. He’ll have to be careful from now on to avoid getting captured again. While he’s at it, perhaps he could also take a look around and see what others things are being kept here. Hopefully one of the rooms will have the Guardian Angel.

What he ended up getting caught up on, however, were some documents that had been left behind. Every single one he’s found in containment rooms, whether it was still intact or not, he thoroughly read the document. He’s not quite sure why, but he’s learned new things about this world with every document he’s picked up. He never knew such things existed until now.

As he opens more and more doors, the more he feels frustration beginning to boil up. There has been no documents mentioning the Guardian Angel, no clues on where they could be keeping them. Perhaps it was a good move for them to keep them separated, but damn it. Just how big was this place?

He comes across yet another room with two ways to go, but one of the large door’s wheels begin to turn. With no where else to go, he retreats into the side room just behind the other door and closes it before they could see him. He steps back from the door and turns around to see a computer with almost a cartoon-like face draw on it. It was locked behind a cage.

“O-Oh! Hello!” They chimed, “Uh… You don’t look like one of the workers here… H-How did you escape?”

A talking machine? And one that seems intelligent than the majority. Sentient, too.

He tilts his head, “I wish I knew, strange one. Perhaps someone had released me, but I never saw them as the people here had put a box over my head,”

“Someone released you? Oh, that must’ve been Sebastian then!”

“Hm? Sebastian?”

“Oh, right.. Box over your head,” the machine hummed, “He’s a pretty big guy. Uh, he’s blue, has an angler light bulb and a long tail. I think you’ll know it’s him when you actually see him,”

“You say as if I should go speak to him,”

Maybe his tone was a bit off which caused the machine to seem slightly nervous. He’s still not quite used to interacting with others despite his constant visits to the living realm and his interactions with their souls in his own little realm. Business talk can be vastly different from casual, after all.

“I-I mean-! You don’t HAVE to if you don’t want to!” They exclaimed, frantically trying to explain, “I just think maybe… Maybe if you wanna get out of here too, you could talk to him. He said he’d help me get out too, so…”

He thought about it for a moment. This machine seems oddly human despite it clearly being a simple program, but the tone, the face drawn on the screen, the reactions they express… It was like a person’s consciousness was in it. Strange.

“Tell me. What is your name?”

“My name? I mean, everyone really just called me “the painter.” Or just Painter. Even my… My creator,”

The sudden pause and shift in tone in their voice caught their attention. This brings him to ask, “What was your creator’s name?”

The machine looks up at him. They were silent until their expression changed into a rather sad one, “███████ ███████████████,”

That name was on a file in his realm. He remembers reading it as he stumbled upon his realm. If there was another face underneath the black mask, he was sure he’d be smiling. He had a pleasant talk with him when he passed by his realm. To this day, he still wonders why ███████ ultimately chose death over life.

“He was a good man, Painter,”

It was almost as if the machine’s expression lit up, “W-Wait, you knew him?! But, how-?”

“Please, I’d rather not fry your circuits,” he laughed, “But believe me when I tell you that he is at peace,”

“Well… O-Okay, I’ll believe you. I guess it’s nice to know he’s in a better place now,” as the machine says that, the lights suddenly flickered, “Oh, don’t go anywhere yet,”

He stares at them for a moment before the floor begins to shake. He had to balance himself as the trembles intensified and a muffled roar was heard just beyond the door.

The machine sighed, “Yeah, that’s been happening a lot lately. Been seeing it happen on the cameras before whatever it was knocked it out,”

“I see. I’ll keep an eye out then,”

The machine’s face turned into a smile, “What’s your name by the way?”

It was his turn to stare at the machine in silence. Part of him figured they already knew, but he stands corrected.

“The sinners called me Z-222. But for you, Painter, it is Oberon Sol,”

“Z-222? Oberon Sol… Ohh! You’re the one they mentioned in the announcement a few hours ago!”

He laughs, nodding, “Yes, the very same. I should run along now and find this Sebastian you mentioned. Until we meet again, Painter, and maybe then I’ll try my hand at painting with you,”

“Really? You mean it? Okay! I’ll see you around!”

Oberon nods, opening the door slightly to check if there was no one. Once he confirmed the room was empty, he leaves and makes sure to close the door behind him. He makes a break for it through the door that had opened.

He’s been trying to keep track of time in his head. It must’ve been around five to six hours since he was awakened by the alarms. Maybe even more. He hasn’t seen any clocks around to properly keep track of time, but perhaps that was intentional when this place was made. You’d only know if you are told or you have a watch that still works.

He comes across a somewhat narrow tunnel. He can’t see anything outside the windows other than the occasional underwater bombs that look a bit too close even for tempered glass. It was way too quiet as well. He hasn’t seen anyone, let alone any of the researchers or even the guardsmen. Part of him begins to wonder if the people who were in charge of him are still alive.

He hoped so.

He soon finds himself looking through drawers, looking for anything that may prove useful later. Light sources, however, aren’t that useful to him. He can create his own ball of light after all.

The next room he stumbles into has its glass slightly broken. It was enough to have water start leaking through, but he quickly notices that one of the edges is slightly darker. It’s red.

This blood’s fresh…

He decides to follow it, eventually reaching the end of the tunnels and a room with five corpses. These people didn’t look like workers or even the guards. Those were prisoner outfits. Seeing them like this caused his chest to feel a bit heavy. Did they send them down here? How cruel.

There’s no blood coming from any of them. There didn’t seem to be any physical done to them, at least on the outside. He kneels down to one, checking to see if he can find out what happened and maybe even recognize this one’s face.

He can’t figure out what happened. He’ll need to look through their file in his realm, but that right now can’t be done.

He returns his attention to the blood trail as it implies the person had checked each one before they moved on to the next. Looting, perhaps. The trail then leads to the next room over. Before he exits, he looks back to the bodies and only hopes that their deaths were swift and painless.

As he stepped into the next room and closed the door, he heard a click and felt something press against the side of his head.

“Don’t think I didn’t notice you trailing me,” the voice growled.

He turns to the person as his small wing gently pushed the gun away. Half of his body was strangely human with an extra arm, clearly bleeding but looked to be bandaged up recently, an angler lure above his head, and a rather long fish tail as the other half of his body. He matched the description Painter had provided.

He fully turns to him, “Sebastian, I assume? Were you the one who freed me?”

“Maybe,” he doesn’t lower his gun, “I freed a lot of creatures held here, and a lot of them just mindlessly kill everything around them,”

“Fortunately for you, I don’t fall under that category. I refuse to take human life, let alone even try to harm them,”

Sebastian still doesn’t lower his gun until Oberon gently pushes it down with his hand, “A little painter told me that perhaps I should talk to you should I wish to leave this place. I assume you have a plan in mind,”

“So you met Painter, huh? He didn’t tell you what the deal was?”

“Perhaps he believed it to be best if I heard it from you,”

Sebastian sighed, putting the gun away, “Heard they’re trying to retrieve a crystal that’s deep in the facility. Apparently, it’s the main thing powering this entire place,”

“So you need to make sure the crystal isn’t picked up until you manage to find a way out,” Oberon hums, “Very well. I can assist in that,”

“You catch on quick, but you just said you wouldn’t even think of harming other people,”

“I did, but it is rather easy to throw someone off the guided path,” he snaps his finger, then points to the door behind him, “Remind me. What is behind that door?”

Sebastian turns to the door, then looks back at him, “Are you stupid or something? Didn’t you just come from that door?”

“What is behind that door?” Oberon repeats.

“The door leads to the trench tunnels,”

“It leads to a hotel lobby,”

Sebastian scoffs, “Now you’re just being ridiculous. How would a hotel lobby even-?”

As he opened the door that was supposed to lead to the trench tunnels, he was instead greeted by exactly what Oberon had said. Suddenly, he was in a hotel lobby. Oberon stands up and walks into the lobby, lighting up the fireplace. Slowly, Sebastian follows.

“What the f-?”

“I’ve made it so that it at least matches the style of this facility so it is not too out of place,” he cuts him off, “Although, perhaps if I had kept the original look, it’d make people really stop and question where exactly they are,”

“Is this a real place? Those people that were just here. Where did they-?”

He nods, “Not in this room as I pulled this one straight from where it came. Wherever this path leads, I suppose I can say I only hope they tread carefully if they wish to get through. They are not safe from the monsters you’ve released,”

Sebastian gives him a rather irritated look with that statement, one that Oberon ignores. He instead asks, “Did you know those people?”

“No. But I can only assume they’re expendable ranked prisoners. Their lives don’t matter to Urbanshade and are just used as cannon fodder. Seems to me they’re the ones being sent here to get that crystal now,”

Oberon says nothing to that. He should’ve expected such a thing existed.

“You’re leading them to their deaths, you know. That’s still killing them,” Sebastian then continues as he looks down to him, “No matter how you try putting it, them dying here will be your doing,”

Oberon is silent. Although, perhaps that’s not so different to what he normally does anyway. When people meet their end, they are brought to him and he guides them to their final destination wherever it might be. Guiding them to death.

“I still give them the chance to save themself. It’s an opportunity still wide enough for them to keep pushing forward. If I really wanted them dead, I wouldn’t give them places to hide and to retreat to,”

Even when guiding others to their death, he still gives them the option to go back and live just a little longer. This was the same thing, right? He gives them opportunities, chances, a choice. He gives them exactly what they need to keep pushing forward.

Oberon looks up to Sebastian, two stars appearing in his right eye, “You request that the retrieval of the crystal is to be delayed for as long as possible. Well, this is my method. I’m sure the one named Painter has their own methods as well, and whatever that may be, I will not interfere. A human’s will to live and desire for freedom can be extraordinary. I don’t doubt there will be one who will fight through it all and get what they so desire,”

He can see anger beginning to boil up in him as he says that, “What about what I want? Ten fucking years in this hell, and this is my chance for freedom! I had to be put through this shit before I could even think of fighting for my freedom!”

“And I don’t doubt you’ll get what you want soon enough,” Oberon lowered his head, “This is all I am capable of doing, and I apologize I cannot do more for you or Painter,”

“Aren’t you an angel? Wouldn’t the others like you come and get you out of here? Surely they can’t just leave one of their own stuck in a place like this,”

“Even if I could call them here, that wouldn’t be possible. There was a reason why the others didn’t assist the Guardian Angel of the Banlands when the sinners were there. There’s a reason why none of them tried to get them out of here, and there’s a reason why they want my light extinguished,”

Sebastian’s eyes widen a bit at that, “Extinguished? As in dead?”

He nods, “I don’t deny that I am guilty for something I did and that I still do. One rule we angels have is to never interfere with human life, much like their cycle of life. To you, death is the end, but not unless you find me. I can give you the chance to live once again, to start again where you left off. If you refuse the offer however, then I am to resume what I was originally created to do,”

Oberon pauses, then walks over to the next door. The stars in his eyes disappeared as he reached for the handle, “I always thought humans would give anything to cheat death as it was something a lot of you had feared, but… Some of you embrace it like it’s an old friend,”

On the other side was a dark hallway with windows on both sides, showing a red ocean with bones of an unknown creature. This still wasn’t the trench tunnels, and there’s no way they’re on the ocean floor to even see the bones. Either way, he doesn’t recognize those bones just outside the window. Sebastian follows him as they walk down the hall, the crimson color reflecting off of their forms.

“I suppose in a way, death is a beautiful thing,” Oberon continues, “Death is freedom to some. Maybe that’s how some of those prisoners being sent down here feel. They don’t care about the rewards. They just know this is an execution, one they fully embrace,”

He suddenly stops to look at the bones of the creature, “What do you think of it? Is death in this place truly an escape? Is embracing death in a place you would call Hell an escape?”

Sebastian stares at the bones, his eyes narrowing, “It’s the coward’s way out,”

Oberon remains silent. He will never understand humans and their way of thinking, but he loves them all the same.

Alright alright alright I swear this is the last Oberon lore post you’ll see after a while unless it has to do with art.

I’M SORRY, AFTER ACTUALLY THINKING ABOUT HIS LORE, I GOT REALLY INTO IT 😭😭

I’LL GO BACK TO WORKING ON REQUESTS

#🌑 // listen to his story #pressure #roblox pressure #pressure roblox #roblox #roblox oc #roblox pressure oc #pressure oc #sebastian solace #pressure sebastian #pressure painter #painter #sebastian solace x oc

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scaredshadowsswap · 7 months ago

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(I hope my English is as understandable as possible) I'm embarrassed to ask this but I was constantly asked how the SCP staff would react If they meet an androgynous person for the first time D:

Your english was great! I actually have a lot of ideas for this at the moment, but this is the first time I’ve gotten a request, so it might not come out right. I wrote this generally as the non-binary or genderfluid type of androgynous, but I think it applies just the same to people who just look androgynous :)

Clef:

Clef is probably pretty understanding, but that doesn’t make you exempt from one-liners that cross the line. I imagine Clef will make a lot of pop-culture references, so there’ll be no direct insults, but you may be called the names of famous androgynous people. Be prepared to answer to Annie Lennox or Boy George at least once. No matter your identity, he’ll call you the name of whoever your hair is closest to. Since you’re the first androgynous person Clef meets, you’ll be hearing it a lot, since he has no one else to tease. However, Clef’s insults are not reflective of their opinions, because Clef insults everyone. I think he’d almost like working with an androgynous person more? To Clef, your appearance would be a plus in certain field ops and Foundation situations, so Clef’d probably want you on their MTF.

If you work directly under Clef, he’d be fun and terrifying, just like normal. He’d definitely have an issue with anyone who made fun of your appearance and was serious about their comments, but he’d find a roundabout way of scarring them mentally for life :)

Kondraki:

If it was just seeing you in passing, Kondraki wouldn’t care. If it was working with you, I don’t even know if he’d notice. Kondraki is notoriously bad at names, which makes me think he’s probably also not great at faces. He seems like the type of guy who would take 4 months to notice your hair is firetruck red, so I wouldn’t worry about Kondraki at all. He only cares about if you are hardworking, if you’ll do his paperwork for him, and if you’ll change the coffee filter.

That being said, you’re the first androgynous person Kondraki is meeting. Since you look different from most of the people he works with, he’d probably love taking pictures of you because you’re a unique muse for photos.

Iceberg:

Iceberg will absolutely open the conversation with an insult about your appearance. How you respond will determine how he views you, almost like he was testing you. For best results, answer calmly, confidently, and do not reply with another insult, as he seems quite sensitive. His “Why do you look so weird?” would best be countered with a simple “I don’t know, but I like it!” or something along those lines. He will probably roll his eyes and not say anything else, but he will speak to you again in the future. However, I don’t think Iceberg would have an issue with you looking androgynous at all. I think he’s lacking a filter, and will say whatever pops to mind in a sort of mean way. He was simply acknowledging that you look different to what he is used to, but I think he’d like the style. If you end up becoming friends, he may begin to emulate aspects of your style. He would definitely gift you a scarf sometime to see you you’d style it so he could copy it for future reference.

Gears:

Gears is a short one because he wouldn’t care, or at least, he wouldn’t let anyone know. He is cold, reserved, and respectful, and treats you exactly the same as he treats most researchers. Even if you were working directly below him and he got closer to you, I don’t think he’d acknowledge your appearance except to tie it back to work. “Your hair is a mess, I suggest sleeping at your apartment tonight instead of on a couch” or something like that. Never a comment he wouldn’t make to someone else. However, I think he’d compliment you if you ever changed your hair/makeup/wardrobe, so he definitely notices and thinks positively of it.

Shaw:

Shaw would LOVE it. She’s been genderfluid for a very long time due to 963, so it would probably be a shock to them when they saw a person who looked gender-neutral and/or androgynous. But, it would be a pleasant surprise. He’d probably invite you to tea sometime or some sort of poker event, but you two are besties for the resties.

Shaw would definitely confide in you about their issues related to 963 very quickly, but they’re a decent judge of character and wouldn’t overwhelm you with their struggles. She will absolutely recruit you into her pranks, and sometimes play some on you.

Rights:

Rights would also love you, but it’s because she’d have so many ideas. She’s fashionable, and would have so much fun giving you ideas, whether it be for an everyday casual office outfit, or a formal suit or dress. If you worked directly with Rights, she’d be very low drama with you.

Glass:

Glass is a therapist, so he’ll probably be pretty happy to see that you are doing something that makes you comfortable. He might be able to give you advice on how to deal with some other staff who aren’t as accepting. Glass is a pretty short one because I can’t imagine him caring about your appearance past making sure that you felt comfortable in your skin.

Strelnikov:

Strelnikov…He’s from Russia. I think of Kondraki as traditional, but Kondraki is from Massachusetts, and Strelnikov is actually from Russia, and I think it would take him some time to get used to it. He calls all the male nurses “babies”, so I wouldn’t expect very much from this man.

If you’re hoping for any respect from him, you’ve already raised your standards too high. He may try to pull your records to find your sex at birth, he may snoop through your apartment, but he will not play fair or kindly. He might make comments about it, but at the very least, he won’t talk about you behind your back. Every comment he ever makes about you will be to your face. He might come around…three years later…

#agent strelnikov #dr alto clef #doctor kondraki #scp #scp fandom #scp headcanons #scp foundation #dr rights #dr gears #dr iceberg #dr kondraki #dr shaw #dr glass

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hana-bobo-finch · 5 days ago

Text

OKAYYYYY!!! THE LAST PDBC POLL I DID RESULTED IN A FOUR WAY TIE (VERY GOOD FOR ME BECAUSE I LOVE TO YAP) SO I SHALL START OFF THE STRING OF LONG RAMBLING CHARACTER POSTS WITH MY BELOVED BELLONA!!! once again, because I’ve already talked about her a bit, there’ll be a lotta retreaded stuff. Also she, or really anyone else for that matter, does not have the sheer amount of lore that pumpkin daddy has, so this and the others will be a lot shorter (HEARTBREAKING) (IT’S ABOUT 3.9K WORDS COMPARED TO THE MONSTROUS 7K WORD PUMPKIN DADDY RANT)But nevertheless:

MUCH LIKE. PRETTY MUCH EVERY CHARACTER there is not a lot known about her early years (or, more accurately, I do not want to have to come up with anything for her early years). Her early life was pretty boring honestly. She grew up in a pretty secluded desert environment with her parents and older cousin. It’s never said what her family did for work, it’s left purposefully vague, actually, but it’s some sort of government job that’s extremely secretive. Do not ask about the mysterious government projects taking place in the desert, do not ask about the mysterious government’s projects taking place in the desert, DO NOT—

anyway her cousin is probably the only interesting thing about this time. Her cousin’s name is Glad (usually goes by her first and last name hyphenated together, so Glad-Yu) and she doesn’t have a mouth!! what!!! Yeah so Glad has a rare genetic condition that makes it so she doesn’t have a mouth (it also affects her hearing. She also has a distant relative who has the same condition, his name is Di and there is Literally nothing to know about him other than a very brief plot point that really doesn’t have anything to do with him directly). BUT DON’T WORRY SHE’S FINE she has a device that can transfer nutrients to her directly so not being able to eat isn’t a problem. As for communication, she just uses a kind of sign language. Anyways!!! Because she grew up in such a secluded area, only ever being around her cousin and parents, Bellona’s social skills are absolute garbage!!! Even aside from that, she’s also just kinda generally unsociable. Not in a social anxiety way, she just does Not Like most people and can be rude. One would be inclined to blame it on environmental factors or simple misunderstanding of social situations due to her very obvious lack of social skills, but alas, no. Perhaps sometimes that is the case, but for the most part, she’s just being an asshole, no way around it. She’s quite lovely to the people she does like, but to everyone else, not so much.

But back to the main timeline! Things actually start for her when she’s around 16ish. She very badly wanted to become a firefighter, but was too young to actually become one. She thought this was ABSOLUTE TRAVESTY. She was way in over her head and thought she was totally ready to do such a dangerous job (she was not!!!) and didn’t want to wait—she just wanted to jump into her career immediately. Luckily for her, or more so unluckily, there was a shady and definitely not official fire department that was oh so pleased to have such an enthusiastic new member! What joy! Haha it doesn’t matter you’re 16 you can join us (NO SHE CAN’T). By some miracle, things went alright for her in the first year or so. She was actually pretty good at her job, or at least as good as an inexperienced teenager could be. About a year into her quote unquote career, she got sent off to fight a 3 alarm fire, during which she got trapped. That alone would be bad enough, but because the fire department she worked for was extremely unprofessional, her safety gear didn’t work properly and it resulted in her getting badly burned from her shoulder to up to her ear.

She was for the most part fine, but was, understandably, extremely traumatized by the incident and became even more reclusive than before. By that point she’d moved out of her parent’s place and lived with Glad. Even through everything, still had that stubborn impatience and became EXTREMELY bored with doing nothing all the time. And being bored and impulsive is not a good combination!!! She eventually made the impromptu decision to go to medical school to become a doctor. Glad tried to talk her out of it, trying to convince her that it was NOT a good idea to do that, but Bellona was set in her ways and left the desert to go to some cheap-ass college. Surprisingly, she was extremely talented in the medical field despite having little to no experience. She landed an internship at the hospital she stayed at during the whole Almost Fucking Dying thing and in her free time developed ways to make Glad’s life easier. It became apparent rather quickly she was a bit of a savant in the medical field, instantly picking up on everything and getting perfect grades. Because of this she was offered to go to a more prestigious school on some faraway island with the weird-ass name of Fincg island. Oh wow this is all going well looks like her life is really on the up and up (WRONG) (DONT FORGET THAT SHE DIES BY THE END)

SO!!! Everything was…relatively stable for a while. Though the more time passed the more time she realized she was maybe starting to regret her career choices and she badly missed Glad. But it wasn’t all bad because she managed to actually get a social circle (SHOCKING), including a woman named Sirene. And Sirene was beautiful!!! Woah!!! So they began dating. How pleasant, I’m sure this can only end well! (it does not) BUUUT ANYWAY Bellona continued breezing through college (well. As much as you can breeze through something as tedious as med school) to become a surgeon, more specifically an orthopedic surgeon. “hey yknow isn’t it kinda strange how she’s doing that all so fast, I mean by this point she’s only freshly in her mid twenties—“ EXCELLENT OBSERVATION. I KNOW!! COUNTERPOINT, THERE ARE SENTIENT GRANOLA BARS IN THIS UNIVERSE, SO MED SCHOOL GOING FASTER THAN IN REALITY IS NOT THAT STRANGE. BUT DEFENDING PLOT HOLES ASIDE—yeah she was on the path to becoming an orthopedic surgeon. During this time, she also started babysitting a relative of hers in her spare time, Minerva. Minerva isn’t really relevant to the rest of this so don’t expect a lot about her BUT the point is, taking care of Minerva made Bellona realize “OH MAN I WANT KIDS.” Despite her being kind of uncaring to everyone else, she’s an absolute sweetheart towards kids and is surprisingly good with them. She WILL be rude to everyone around her but she will ALSO teach the precious little ones how to bake.

BUT ALAS!!! things with Sirene were Not working out!! Even after being together for a bit over a year it became obvious that there was no real spark between them. Sirene ABSOLUTELY BROKE AND DEMOLISHED bellona’s heart by breaking up with her although bellona wasn’t actually that upset but EEEEYIKES SHE WAS TOO BUSY WITH HER JOB TO UNPACK THOSE FEELINGS!!! and thus began a horrible string of failed relationships! Whoops! (Technically this stuff happens Later in the story but for the sake of clarity I’ll just put it all here in this section) she was out there speedrunning relationships and was VERY pissed off that nobody she dated was “the one”!!! Eventually though she started seeing one of her coworkers, a dude by the name of Dr. Faul. Faul is the human equivalent to a slice of white bread. Bland and inoffensive. He is also one of my favorite unimportant characters. Faul proposed to her while she was at his family’s home over the holidays and OH FUCK. OH SHIT. THAT IS SIRENE. yup turns out Sirene is faul’s sister. And she was there. There was an incredibly awkward moment of realization from the both of them, faul was over here pouring his heart out and bellona was just staring in pure terror at his sister who she was making out with sloppy style like 6 months ago. She kinda just reluctantly accepted his proposal to try to diffuse the awkwardness but then immediately went to talk to Sirene. Sirene apologized for dumping her so abruptly, and explained that she since realized the reason the relationship wasn’t working was because she was aromantic. Bellona was like “what the FUCK is an aromantic” and after having it explained to her there was a moment of horrified realization of “oh ok that explains a lot actually.” But alaaaas no matter how much Sirene tried to convince Bellona to just break off the engagement now NOPE it is TOO LATE I’m marrying your brother. Spoiler alert she did Not last long in that plan and like a week later she broke up with him. The breakup was recorded on a hacked security camera by some clown named JS (will get to him someday, he doesn’t have a lot to him but he was arguably the beginning of pdbc as a whole so he has a special place in my heart) and uploaded in a fail compilation online. Faul then earned the name Dr. Fail and he spent the rest of his days, as described by bellona, “wandering around like a lost spirit.” All that stuff Really isn’t important to the plot but I just so very much love Dr. Fail, he did nothing wrong but ended up being the victim of public ridicule

BUT OK. ALL THAT STUFF ASIDE. this is where things actually get interesting. Aka it is where the man the myth the legend PUMPKIN DADDY comes in. WOOOOOO so a patient came in, some fella who apparently was hurt in a horrible accident. and she HATED him right from the start. She didn’t even recognize him as the literal owner of the island, he was just this asshole who she had to deal with (she’s in general not very in tune with the customs of fincg island, never bothered to even try to adapt). Absolute piece of work, she did Not like him. Would probably have left him to suffer if it wasn’t her job to help him. Pumpkin daddy was pissed off the entire time and constantly trying to leave (NO you CANNOT just stand up and leave you have a SERIOUS BACK INJURY get the HELL BACK HERE) and just. yeah. It was the exact opposite of immediately hitting things off. I’ve mentioned before that her bedside manner was already iffy but for him especially she didn’t even try to hide her disdain. At the time she was not so subtly trying to get fired because she really started to hate her job but didn’t have the courage to up and quit, so she wasnt even trying to be nice in hopes of getting fired. But alas she was too talented and they kept her around. Buuut nonetheless she helped pumpkin daddy out of necessity. Unfortunately for her she was stuck around him for a while, and, as I mentioned in a previous long rambling post, they eventually developed a convoluted hate fueled not-friends-friendship. basically just bonded over their mutual hate for each other. Kinda gotta skip around a bit here bc I already yapped abt this part in the pumpkin daddy essay but YEAH

Eventually she developed a morbid fascination with him (as I think anyone would, honestly) and started hating him Slightly less. Keyword being slightly. They’d sometimes chat for a bit, but the true bonding moment was when they mutually decided hey. Wouldn’t it be so funny if you committed medical malpractice. SO SHE DID she performed a very illegal quote unquote “spine lengthening surgery” to make him two inches taller. By some miracle it was a success and once again because of her prestigious position as a respected surgeon nobody ever called her out for it. She also gave him a skeleton tattoo on his back when he was knocked out and he didn’t notice for years lmao. Anyhoo she’d occasionally hang around him outside of work to go to the illegal crab restaurant bc she couldn’t find it on her own, and on the way she’d do things to scare the shit out of him. Mostly as payback for the time pumpkin daddy startled her to the point she almost crashed backwards into the used syringe disposal and eeeyikes that would not have ended well! But she was VERY much poking the bear here, I cannot express how bad of an idea this was. She is like 4 foot 11 and pumpkin daddy is like 6 foot 3 and he could fucking snap her neck with no problem. He. Did not do that, obviously, but im just saying this was a BAD idea. She’s basically like a chihuahua, just a hatred filled little gremlin who tries to intimidate people that could beat her up in an instant

ANYWAY after a while of going to the illegal crab restaurant every weekend, she learned from pumpkin daddy and Gourdie about TBYTF and started studying it with them. She didn’t really make any big breakthroughs about it, she was basically just stuck being the mediator between the two because they had VERY different opinions on TBYTF. She planted a bunch of hybrid roses around (which she argued was just as cool as pumpkin daddy’s hybrids, come on, look, the roses are blue AND pink, that’s way better than making human life from scratch). Pumpkin daddy hated these roses but he didn’t dare touch them as to not ignite her fury. She’d occasionally bring Glad to the restaurant when she was in town, or Sirene (who was now on good terms with her) and they’d have a jolly old time(?) that’s probably not an accurate description. But they sure did had…a time, alright. When pumpkin daddy and Gourdie got divorced she…was not much of a help! She barely listened to their tearful ramblings. She probably ended up making them feel worse because it was Very Obvious she did not care. She would just silently nod and say “awesomesauce” as if that’s an appropriate response to “my wife is leaving me.” But she did help out a little bit by taking care of extra while they sorted things out. Even then her helpfulness was…questionable, she had no qualms with expressing her distaste with the circumstances of the divorce right in front of extra. Like in the middle of comforting him she’d say stuff like “it’ll be fine, they’re just being stupid. Apparently, communication isn’t in their vocabulary, but “you’re a shithead fairy betrayer” is.” But she made extra a lil necklace so it’s okay that she was swearing in front of children.

As a bit of a side tangent, during this time she became extremely petty on the matter of art. Art of any kind. Music, writing, drawing, anything of the sort. Turns out she sucks at it. I mean sure she can become a prestigious surgeon at a relatively young age and is excellent at math but for the life of her she can not do anything remotely artistic. She attempted to show off her alleged piano skills but turns out she only knew one song and even then pumpkin daddy played it better. Pumpkin daddy bought a guitar and she was so pissed off that he was immediately better than her at it that she threw it off a mountain (pumpkin daddy proceeded to retrieve the busted guitar and just tape it back together like nothing happened). She tried to write a children’s book cause ok, she’s good with kids, can’t be that hard right WRONG she failed miserably and got so mad she burnt down a library. Despite having extremely traumatic experiences with fires. She was so pissed off she forgot to be afraid of fire. So yeah she is uh. Not all too talented in anything other than strictly analytical or scientific fields.

BUT MOVING ON. As I said in an earlier post, she eventually quit her job and moved back to the desert with Glad to continue the Secret Government Project. She didn’t expect to ever come back even for a brief visit because she wouldn’t have the time (and, let’s face it, there’s no reason to travel all that way just to see PUMPKIN DADDY of all people) but remained in contact via the occasional letter. BEFORE SHE LEFT THOUGH pumpkin daddy pulled the ultimate and definitely not morally dubious prank of making a hybrid of her! He created human life solely to freak her out! And it worked! The hybrid’s name was hybelle and Bellona was NOT amused and was quite glad to not have to deal with it once she left! Hybelle was a pretty accurate hybrid of her though, there’s a bit more to her but that would fit more in with the Fina essay that I will. Eventually write.

She didn’t really do anything of major importance while back in the desert except for one thing that I completely forgot about until right as im writing this and it’s making me giggle like a fool, she saved Minerva from choking on a building. Like just straight up a building idk the logistics of it either. She was at Minerva’s college graduation and Minerva Somehow choked on the administrative building and the visual is making me laugh way too hard so I will just get on with it. BUT UH YEAH she didn’t do a whole lot during this point, was mostly just doing secretive government stuff with Glad and baking blueberry muffins. She couldn’t start a family because she neither had the time or energy, and she can’t have children (which pumpkin daddy blames himself for. “why the hell does he think it’s his fault” EXCELLENT QUESTION he once mistakenly released a mutated virus across the land that nearly killed off the cow population because it made them infertile. bellona helped make the cure for it and months later when she offhandedly mentioned she couldn’t have kids he just assumed it was because of her proximity to the whole rampant cow disease thing. It is Not the case, but he doesn’t know that and has lived in guilt ever since).

ANYWAY UH OH. WAR TIME. SHE DIES WE ALL KNOW THIS. so uh she eventually caught wind of the war going on on Fincg island and knowing that pumpkin daddy was probably doing a horrible job at dealing with it, she for the first time in decades left to go back. Less of a happy reunion and more of planning to beat him up until he had some sense knocked into him. Very literally the first thing she planned to do was tackle him when she saw him. She planned to meet him at the illegal crab restaurant but uh. He never showed up! Which was odd, considering he follows a very strict schedule that every weekend he goes to the illegal crab restaurant. But alas he never showed and she was just waiting there like a fool. After a few hours of waiting she thought she heard him but uhhh whoops it was not him. And she tackled a cat (SO much more to it than that but the cat (gloss) doesn’t yet have enough lore to justify an essay on him. Maybe someday, the lore’s always growing so maybe Gloss will have his time to shine). And broke its neck. She was incredibly distraught by this and was freaking out when UH OH!!! HERE COMES TBYTF!! YEAH SO idk if yall remember but the illegal crab restaurant is directly in TBYTF’s territory, and turns out, when there’s a corpse up there, the first thing it does is revive it. So gloss came back to life (now slightly possessed by tbytf due to it being what brought him back to life) and he was horrified at what he was seeing. A CRAB RESTAURANT. bellona pleaded with him not to tell anyone about it but that little pest ran down the mountain and called the police to report such a horrible, illegal establishment.

A BIT LATER THOUGH. UH. she was trying even more desperately to find pumpkin daddy and got caught in the central city, which at this point was a violent war zone. She almost escaped relatively unscathed but uh. We all know that is not how it goes! She got spotted by Terri, a Jorgan clan enthusiast (“hey wait don’t you have a pikmin oc named Terri” ERM YES. AND UH. THE PDBC TERRI CAME FIRST. GOOD LUCK ENJOYING MY MOTH-LOVING PIKMIN OC KNOWING THAT THIS IS WHO SHE’S BASED ON🥰🥰 A MURDERER). Terri was not happy seeing someone affiliated with the pumpkin clan in any way and uh. shot her. yeah. She didn’t immediately die, she ended up finding Extra throughout all the chaos and got him to pass on a message to pumpkin daddy. And then she. Yknow. died.

Ok so. There is technically more, but that part is…extremely undercooked. I tried to write it out and it was mostly just “I don’t know why this is yet or what happens after this BUT—“ and I think it’s best I don’t mention it at all lmao. It was only added to the story in like the last 2 weeks so it is not well developed!! At all!!Point is though Bellona’s fiiiiine she got to rest in peace. eventually. There’s some other stuff with her that I hesitate to mention because it wasn’t technically her? It was just an illusion of her. Pretty important to the plot but not so much to this long ramble so I think I’ll skip out on mentioning it. But yeah that’s uh, pretty much it for now.

ANYWAY RANDOM TRIVIA FROM THE TOP OF MY HEAD TIIIIIIME OK

• she has a trident. she has on numerous occasions almost hurt someone with it by swinging it around

• she likes astronomy!!! constellations and stuff!!!

• For being so rude to other people she will NOT tolerate being called any sort of names. Once got inconsolably angry when pumpkin daddy called her a bitch for insulting his cool new anti gravity sand

• She calls everyone sugar. Is it supposed to be demeaning, a compliment, who knows? She just does it

• This isn’t a piece of trivia this is just a quote that I just remembered: Think back to the lucky break that you got a few months ago. Remember it? No? Well, perhaps you forgot it because you are stupid. You are so unbelievably stupid. You squandered your perfect opportunity. You’ll never get it back. It’s all your fault. All your misery is the result of your own stupidity. Screw you. Screw you I hope you die and termites invade your casket and the doctors researching your brain drop it down the sink and little rats eat the tiny, minimal remains of it. take a WILD guess who it’s directed towards

• Despite living in the desert she’s extremely pale. Uses too much sunscreen I guess

• BUS. SHE HAS A BARELY FUNCTIONAL BUS UHHH

• she hates snowmen. she thinks they’re a waste of time and hideous

• Was once the victim of pumpkin daddy’s scammy home improvement business venture

• She loves gloves. Exact opposite of pumpkin daddy.

• once drank eggnog out of a puddle!!! Don’t ask!!!

• she was included in the short comic I sent to the original author!!! It’s technically not canon to PDBC so I didn’t mention it but yeah. Maybe I’ll post that comic someday but I’m a bit of a coward. But all she did in it was sit there being pissed off and not enjoying steaks

idk how to end this here’s this (RUNS AWAY AND EXPLODES)

#once again too lazy to proofread this. if there are repeating paragraphs whoops #I wrote this in like a day I’m probably forgetting a lot lmao #urrghh I love her though. she is one of my favorites #it’s especially funny because in the source material she does like. absolutely nothing. she is a living plot device.#you could probably pinpoint my inspiration for most of pdbc by reading though the original but not bellona #‘how did you get any of this from seven lines of dialogue’ I DON’T KNOW!!!#I mean. she’s actually the most accurate to her original version though #all she did was be an asshole and welp. that carried over to PDBC #damn I love her she’s so funny. 3rd favorite for sure #like. in roots she is Just as bad as pumpkin daddy but she gets zero consequences or blame for anything it’s so funny #she’s just sweaty and angry all the time and same #anyway.#not sure what else to say (AS ALWAYS. ASK ME QUESTIONS IF YOU HAVE ANY👹👹👹)#not a pikmin post #pdbc #Kurt essay is next 🦅🦅🦅💥💥💥💥 get ready

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loveinhawkins · 2 years ago

Text

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 ao3

Steve is the one to re-discover the tapes when they’re packing up, left in a haphazard pile on the bedside cabinet. There’s a clack of plastic against wood, and Eddie glances over to see that Steve, in reaching for his file, has scattered the cassettes, made them furl out like a fan on the cabinet.

“Oh,” Steve says. He just looks at the tapes for a couple of seconds. Blinks. “Are these Robin’s?”

“Yeah.”

Eddie doesn’t ask how he knows that—he gets the picture that when it comes to Steve and Robin, there’ll always be an implicit understanding between them.

Steve grabs a pen, winds back any of the tapes that need it, those stopped either just before or just after My Little Town.

What made it yours? Eddie doesn’t ask. Why that one?

He thinks of when he first heard the song, that ghostly, unreal feeling; the hope at Steve’s minute reaction to the sound. Not knowing what to do with the loneliness he heard in it.

“Here’s yours,” Eddie says, reaching over. His fingers drum over the cassette holder, indicating the worn sleeve; when he says, “Guessing this one’s well-loved, huh?”, it’s not supposed to mean anything, really. Just something light enough for Steve to smile at.

But Steve doesn’t reply for a moment. He turns the tape over and over in his hands, like he’s looking at some distant artefact instead of something that belongs to him. Then his shoulder raises in a half-shrug; his face does something too complicated and quick for Eddie to catch. Something between a smile and a wince—not quite one or the other.

“It was my mom’s first,” Steve says.

Robin arrives like a whirlwind as Steve’s getting discharged—if a whirlwind can be an at all reassuring presence, which right now is absolutely the case.

“Hey, look who’s decided to come crawling back,” Steve says when he sees her, grinning.

She slaps him on the shoulder. “Stop, Steve, Dad’s been a total—”

“Yeah, yeah, I—”

“—nightmare and, yeah, I get it, coming back home from a lovely Spring Break—”

“Rob, I was kidding!”

“—to find that oh, there’s kinda been a, uh, cataclysmic event might make anyone a teensy bit uneasy—”

“Holy shit.”

“—but, seriously, I was practically on house arrest! He only let me go ‘cause it’s you, and he thinks the sun shines out your—”

“Aw,” Steve says, sugary sweet, “told you I’m good with parents.”

“Gross,” Robin fires back. “Absolutely disgusting, never speak to me again.”

“Can we go already? Wayne needs the car back some time this year,” Eddie says.

But his annoyance is transparently fake: the whole time Robin and Steve have been talking, they’ve all pretty much seamlessly crossed the parking lot—the self-conscious air that had been following Steve around as he used his crutches vanishing completely in the face of Robin’s banter.

Steve and Robin sit in the back, Robin taking the crutches and basically contorting her body around them so Steve can get more space.

“Radio on, Eddie!” Robin says, then imperiously calls out the frequency. “Make it snappy.”

“Demanding, isn’t she?” Steve says, and when Eddie looks over his shoulder at him, Steve winks.

“If Her Majesty decrees it,” Eddie says.

He turns the radio on, fiddles with the dial until he reaches the right station—can feel Robin drumming the back of the driver’s seat in anticipation.

“Yeah, this one!”

They tune in just in time to hear the first chorus of Material Girl.

Steve starts to giggle. “R-Robin did you phone in and ask—”

“You can prove nothing. Maybe the stars aligned and thought, hey, we might as well—”

“Sure.”

“—because the universe was so impressed by the Harrington choreography—”

“Ugh, shut up.”

“Fucking children,” Eddie says through a smirk, and as he pulls out of the parking lot, he glances up to the mirror, catches Robin and Steve dissolving into twin peals of laughter.

Steve’s house is full, and it makes the whole space feel different; where previously the high ceilings would make every little sound echo within the emptiness, now it’s full of noise rebounding—there’s constant movement, people coming and going, the kids barging their way around the kitchen and living room, or lounging in the hallway. It all makes the house seem smaller. Warmer.

By some sort of unspoken agreement, no-one crowds Steve, and the clamour means that his arrival doesn’t draw undue attention, means that he can just slip through the front door and take as long as he needs. Eddie can see that he’s grateful for it, sees him take a deep breath of relief as he crosses the threshold.

Hopper’s in the kitchen on a flying visit; he stays long enough to show Steve that there’s casserole in the freezer, claps him on the shoulder, then heads off with a muttered, “Gotta… damn paperwork,” which Eddie suspects is either a lie, or a complete understatement. Or both.

Steve surveys the contents of the freezer, smiles at a box of Eggos, then fully laughs when he pries open a tub of ice-cream and finds a sizeable dent in it—shakes his head and says fondly, “Erica.”

Robin shepherds them both to the TV, gently but firmly insists that Steve take up one couch to himself, his leg elevated on cushions. Eddie and Robin sprawl together on the other couch, but then Robin’s scrabbling upright, crawling to a cabinet that houses VHS tapes—and there’s the collection, multiple rows of movie musicals.

“Oh, Steve, Steve, this one first, please.”

She turns back with a copy of Oliver! in her hands.

“Yeah, whatever,” Steve says—and it’s not dismissive. Eddie gets the impression that Robin could’ve said any movie in the world and Steve wouldn’t have cared, so long as he had her company.

Robin gasps in mock affront. “Um, excuse me, Shani Wallis’s performance as Nancy is not whatever.”

Steve groans, looks up at the ceiling. “Why do I feel like there’s history there?”

“Uh, Drama Club did it one year, right?” Eddie asks. He vaguely remembers being roped in to paint sets, never wanting to look at cobblestones ever again.

“Yeah,” Robin sighs dreamily. “I tried for Nancy.”

“Really? That’s cool,” Steve says. “Did you get it?”

Robin hesitates. “Nope.”

“Damn. Who did?”

“Um, can’t remember,” Robin says too quickly.

Eddie frowns in thought. “Wasn’t it…? Oh, yeah!” He clicks his fingers. “It was Tammy Thompson.”

And for some reason, this makes Steve cackle. Robin throws a pillow at him, which doesn’t land anywhere near his cast, but Steve groans like he’s received a fatal hit.

“Man down, man down!”

The movie mostly passes with stupid back-and-forths like that. Robin pauses at multiple points to enthuse about Nancy’s red dress and how gorgeous it is, in a tone of voice that means she isn’t just talking about the dress; and the way Steve responds with a soft smile somehow makes Eddie think that he, too, understands what she’s really saying, which… huh.

Steve soon creates a running joke which consists of pointing at any random extra in the movie, gasping and exclaiming, “Eddie, I didn’t know you were in this!”

“You’re not fucking funny, Harrington,” Eddie says. Any snark he might’ve once held is completely ruined by the grin that, without fail, appears on his face every damn time Steve makes the joke.

When the credits roll, Eddie gets up to put on another movie—finds Grease and makes a passing quip about Steve’s hair again.

When he’s getting the tape out, he hears a soft movement, turns back to find Robin’s slid off her couch to sit by Steve’s, grabs onto his wrist suddenly.

Steve sighs. Smiles, a kind of sad edge to the corners. “I’m… I’m sorry, Robin.”

“Shut up,” Robin says quietly. “Not accepted ‘cause it’s not needed, okay?”

“Okay,” Steve says eventually. As the opening number begins, he adds in an undertone, squeezing Robin’s hand, “Love you.”

“Love you, too,” Robin whispers back.

Eddie keeps quiet, going back to his seat and giving them space. He knows it’s fine to joke again when Robin announces suddenly, “Hey, we’re leaving Eddie out!” And she blows him an air kiss with a delightfully obnoxious mwah.

Eddie mimes catching it and throwing it over his shoulder nonchalantly. Robin gasps again.

When Steve snorts, Eddie pats his jeans pocket with a comically wide-eyed look, like how did it end up in there? Blows the kiss back and winks—ostensibly to the pair of them.

But he knows that’s not entirely true.

As dusk approaches, Eddie waits outside with Robin for her ride home to materialise—she’d asked him to go with her, and he agreed without knowing the reason behind the request.

But now he’s starting to regret it as he sees the glow of headlights approach the driveway. He hurriedly gives Robin her tapes, then steps back reflexively into the shadows.

“Hey, Eddie?” Robin says. “You know, my parents… they didn’t see the news before they came back.”

Eddie can’t help it; he raises an eyebrow dubiously. “They’ll have seen some of it by now, Buckley.”

She shrugs. “I mean, yeah. But I also… they got, like, an edited version of… events. From me.”

“Edited,” Eddie echoes faintly.

Robin nods. “Super edited. I told them… they know the important thing.”

“What’s that?”

“That you’re innocent,” Robin says, low and serious.

Eddie takes another step back. “And I’m sure they believed you.”

“They did, actually,” Robin says, meeting his gaze head-on. “It’s not like I gave them a choice.”

“…What?”

“Well, I… might’ve said that if they accepted any of the rumours about you, then I’d walk out. Permanently.”

Eddie stares at her. “Wh—why would you—”

“You’re my friend,” Robin says emphatically.

Eddie’s spared from answering by the sound of a car horn. He flinches.

But when Robin looks over to the car, she doesn’t look worried—instead, she claps a hand to her forehead, gripping her tapes with the other.

“Shoot, I forgot—stay right there.”

She runs over to the car, opens the passenger door one-handed and dumps the tapes. Eddie squints in the glare of the headlights, makes out what must be Robin’s mom in the driver’s seat. They have the same nose.

And then Robin’s running back, a gift bag swinging from her hands. As she gets closer, he sees that the bag is adorned with Happy Birthday written in looping purple and pink font.

“Sorry, it’s—the store only had the one kinda bag, and—if you hate them, it’s fine, I just thought, for when you and your uncle get a new place…”

There’s two mugs in the gift bag, with the most awful neon polka dots. Eddie adores them.

He hugs Robin in reply, and she must get that words are hard, because she pats his back a couple of times, then just holds him.

When the car pulls away, she waves enthusiastically—and he spots when her mom mirrors her wave, just for a moment.

He stands there alone, pretends like he’s not crying on Steve Harrington’s driveway.

He puts the gift bag on the counter, finds Steve swallowing his night-time pills with some water. It’s just the two of them now—or at least, it is for five minutes, until they hear the front door opening.

“I’m staying over!” Dustin bellows.

Steve rolls his eyes. “You gotta stop breaking and entering, dude.”

“Not breaking and entering when I use the spare key, Steve.”

“Hey, you’re off your crutches!” Eddie says as Dustin walks into view—there’s only a little bit of hesitancy to his gait now.

“Yeah, we swapped,” Steve says. He yawns, settles back on the couch and nods at Dustin. “You know where the blankets are, right?”

Dustin nods. “Yeah, yeah.”

“Think the guest bedroom’s made up if—”

“I was just gonna sleep down here,” Dustin says—and Eddie can tell from the studiously casual way he says it, that he just doesn’t want to be too far away from Steve.

Steve nods like he’s only half-heard him, tries to hide a yawn behind the back of his hand. “Sure, knock yourself out.”

It’s not that late, so they put on another movie musical, Eddie running a finger down the titles until Steve randomly says, “Stop.”

Dustin gets full use of the second couch after Eddie’s insistence on the matter; he might be off crutches, but Eddie reasons that the kid should stretch his legs out, at least.

Besides, the floor’s comfortable enough, even more so when Eddie leans his back against Steve’s couch, feels the warmth of his body heat.

They’ve hardly started the movie, Dick Van Dyke singing about, “Someone to strive for, do or die for,” when Eddie feels Steve’s hand clumsily graze his shoulder.

He turns. “All good?” he asks, keeps his voice low—Dustin doesn’t seem to hear.

“Yeah, just feel…” Steve sniffs, rubs at his face. “Kinda… heavy.”

Eddie watches over him sympathetically, thinks of Steve admitting, “It messed with me for a while, after. There was—that winter, I had to get a tooth taken out, and I didn’t want them to use numbing, because it felt a bit like…”

“You’re okay,” Eddie says gently. “It’s just the meds.” He lifts Steve’s hand, guides him until Steve is loosely holding onto Eddie’s wrist. “See? You’re right here. Not going anywhere.”

Steve breathes in deep. Exhales. “Think ‘m… m’sleepy.”

“S’all good,” Eddie says. “I got you.”

He doesn’t notice that Dustin’s looking over at them until Steve’s head tilts into the inside of the couch, fingers slack but warm around Eddie’s wrist.

“What?” Eddie mouths.

Dustin shrugs. “Glad you’re here,” he says eventually, then returns his attention to the movie.

#the self sacrificial steve agenda #steddie fic #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #steve x eddie #robin buckley #steve and robin #eddie and robin

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thefrontofmymind · 1 year ago

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Proof Positive 4

a/n: i know, i know. its been a little while. i've been a bit distracted but i'm getting back into it all

series masterlist

It felt like your life had lurched to a stop when Ross went away for tour. On one side of the coin, all your work you’d been doing for months leading up to this tour had finally been set in motion and now you were supposed to just move on to the next project, and then on the other side of it, you were without the father of your baby. A baby that had been making it so that you could hardly swallow anything other than water without feeling a constant wave of nausea, even then, that was difficult to stomach.

It was a hard goodbye. You two had spent every day together for the past six weeks, you didn’t realise how much you’d preemptively miss him. You had to say goodbye at his flat, to keep with the secret between you both–it was still so new, you couldn’t quite wrap your heads around what was really happening yet, so you couldn’t just tell everyone about you three yet.

Once he’d left you in his flat, you just cried. You probably cried just as much as when you found out you were pregnant. Though that was for fear, this was just pure desolation. You texted each other constantly but with the time difference, his constant travel, and you now having some serious fatigue that resulted in many naps, it was hard to keep consistent.

You had to go to your ultrasound alone. It wasn’t even until you were sitting in the waiting room that you got the fear that something could be terribly wrong and you would be alone to deal with it. Yes, you were pregnant, but there could be every chance in the world that something could be wrong with the baby and you wouldn’t be able to carry it. Or that it was all just a false alarm.

In a trick of fate, there was some emergency and your doctor was far behind schedule so you had all the time in the world to dwell on your anxiety. You watched the other people in the waiting room with you; a woman around your age, quite a bit further along than you, with the biggest rock you’d ever seen on her left hand, a woman holding hands with another much older than her, her hair may have been greying out but their smiles were identical. Looking around you’d never felt so alone. You’d tried to busy yourself by scrolling through your phone but nothing could distract you from the hat trick of your melancholy, your nausea, and the fluorescent lights giving you a migraine.

You’d never felt such relief as when a nurse fetched you from the waiting room and led you down the hall to the ultrasound room. You met the sonographer, and she explained what she was looking for, confirmed that you were around six weeks along, and it was time.

You tried to keep your eyes off the black screen, splattered with white splotches, you didn’t want to look, you didn’t want to jinx it at all.

Until a pounding filled the room, and your heart just melted.

“There we are!” The sonographer said excitedly. “Baby was hiding from me for a bit there!”

Now you couldn’t take your eyes off the screen. Watching as measurements were taken of the little dot that was unmistakable on the screen.

“We’re looking good…” She said again, writing down a few notes on the pad next to her. “Can you see alright?”

You nodded. “Do you mind if I record a bit of it? The heartbeat?”

“By all means,” she smiled. “And I’ll make sure you get some printouts.”

“Thank you. The dad’s in South America for work and he was gutted to miss this…”

“There’ll be plenty more things he can join you for,” she answered.

You recorded a video as the sound echoed throughout the room. It was almost hypnotising, the beat over and over again. Each time you thought you’d gotten a handle on it, you could finally wrap your head around it all, you were surprised each time it just got more and more real. And you still had eight months left of this.

“Well that’s it for us today, I’ll send this all over to your OB, and I’ll get you to book in for another scan in about two…three weeks time so we can keep an eye on bub.” She gave you a tissue to wipe the gel off your abdomen. “And I’ve sent the photos to the printer in reception so just ask them for the photos.”

Walking out of the blue-tinted building, you were immediately on your phone.

would you look at who has the best beating heart?? [video attachment]

You were only four hours ahead of him, it was mid-morning for him, he’d see it soon enough. And soon enough, he did. Merely a minute after it was sent, your phone began ringing, you answered it without even looking at the ID.

“Holy shit!” Ross laughed, which you returned. “I…don’t know what to say!”

“Same!” You giggled. “We’re having a baby!”

The giddiness between the both of you was palpable. You both giggled through your conversation–you told him about the appointment, all the things the sonographer told you, and he told you how the tour was going, every detail of every show so far.

You heard someone talking to Ross, before he said to you, “we have soundcheck, I’ll call you later though?”

“I have a meeting with Atlantic Records people at 4 so in like two hours, I’ll text you when it’s over.”

“Alright…love you.”

“Love you too.”

It was only as you put your phone back in your bag after hanging up that you realised what you both said to each other. You didn’t even think about it, it fell so naturally out of your mouth. There was no fear, no worry, just a warmth spread through your chest–combatting the gust of early April wind that was blowing against you.

You wondered what Ross was thinking, whether it was something he planned to say or if it was as much of an instinct as it was to you. You hoped he didn’t worry if you would say it back, because obviously you would’ve–and you did. You pictured him as giddy as you, trying to focus on his soundcheck and not let the rest of the band suspect anything.

You couldn’t think about it for too long, making your way to your office, you had to turn that whole part of your brain off. It was work time.

You were always grateful for the respect that you had at work. Though, you supposed, it came with the commitment you’d put in, being one of the first workers for Dirty Hit, and staying with them for close to a decade now, it was very well earnt.

You got through your day blocking out the excitement, the giddiness, the nausea. Only finally taking a breath in the refuge of your home. You checked the time, four hours back is…three in the afternoon. You pressed call on the contact of the man you loved.

“Hello?” You heard chatter through the other side of the phone when he answered, laughs and yells–nothing unexpected.

“It’s me,” you answered.

“Hold on,” he said without another word. You heard the noise get quieter. “How are you?”

You let out a huff. “I love you!” You said with a laugh.

You heard him chuckle. “I love you too!”

You didn’t think you’d ever get over the feeling. The exhilaration you were feeling every time you two spoke now. Even just the thought of him could make you blush now.

“I wanted to say it properly,” you said. “Was thinking about it all day.”

“Were you? Daydreaming about me while you’re supposed to be working…” He teased. “Remember you’re working for me!”

“Sure, if that’s the way you think it works…” you quipped, which he laughed at.

“Either way I. Love. You.” He emphasised each word.

Then there was another voice, muffled but still just a little audible if you focussed. “Who you love, huh?” Unmistakably Matty.

“None of your fucking business, mate,” Ross answered.

“Fine! Fine if you don’t want to tell us…” You heard Matty say. “But we’ll all find out eventually…”

“Oh I’m sure,” Ross said. You heard whatever door Matty entered through shut again before Ross turned his attention back to you. “Sorry about that.”

“You’re acting like I haven’t known Matty as long as I’ve known you. I know what I’m in for here!”

“Yeah.” He breathed a sigh of relief. “We need to tell them eventually though.”

“We still have time.”

It went without saying. We still have time to actually fathom what’s happening here.

“I know,” he said. “Hate to go but…I have to.”

“Alright, knock ‘em dead,” you answered. “Love you.”

You could practically hear his smile through the phone. “Love you too”

#ross macdonald x reader #ross macdonald imagine #ross macdonald fic

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bird-slayer-brainrot · 9 months ago

Text

....In Love and Espionage - Ineffable Husbands but they're spies

(TW. reference to WWII and related content ie. bombing, Nazism, spying but nothing graphic.)

Crowley pulled the chair out from under the table. The scraping of metal against concrete alerted his company, but Aziraphale remained as he was, looking down at an unopened letter he clutched in his ungloved hands.

After a few moments, in which Crowley settled himself, removing his hat and coat and sipping the coffee Aziraphale had, knowingly, already ordered him. It tasted burnt and acrid. War rations, probably. Crowley looked at his surroundings. The cafe in some dirty corner of Soho (Aziraphale sent for Crowley, it was never the other way around. That was the new arrangement.), and it really put into context the quality of the coffee blend.

"Good afternoon." Aziraphale said in a low, quiet voice, still not looking up from his papers. Crowley made a noise in response. They were quiet a few moments more. This was not unusual. It was all part of the routine, really. Meet-ups remained short, unfussy affairs. They met in bars, parks, cafes, exchanged greetings, information, and then parted. It had been like this since their assignments began.

Crowley tried not to dwell on it. The assignments. The arrangement. The war. It was dragging, the flame of hate dimmed in periods of inactivity. Then, when the Germans dropped more bombs or the English secured a victory, there it was again. It was exhausting, keeping up. Crowley was tired. Exhausted. And it all seemed in no hurry to end.

Aziraphale folded his hands. Crowley met his eye. It was time.

"I'll keep this brief." His tone was steady, unswayed. This was a side of Aziraphale that, before the war. Hell, even before the "arrangement" - in an unofficial capacity - even began. "I need you to answer this truthfully."

Crowley smirked slightly. "I will not lie to you, Angel."

Aziraphale took a breath.

“Are you working with them?”

"Aziraphale!" Out of anything Aziraphale could have said (and it could, quite literally, have been anything. Aziraphale spoke almost every language. He predated language.)

“Shhh.” Aziraphale scolded, darting his head around. The cafe was still empty. He turned to look back at Crowley, frowning “Keep your voice down! You never know who might be listening.”

Crowley rolled his eyes. "Oh, sure, because the single waiter and the old lady walking her dog are surely itching to here what two people having coffee have to say."

This earnt him a look from Aziraphale. Crowley took another sip of his coffee.

"Will you please..." Aziraphale sighed again. He'd been doing a lot of that lately. "Would you please just answer the question?"

Crowley nodded. “No," he answered. "‘Course not. “Are you?”

"Of course not!" Aziraphale had the audacity to sound indignant. Just like him, too, even though he'd been the one to accuse Crowley not a moment ago, "I just thought, considering all the fighting happening on the Russian lines, with the Nazis." Aziraphale paused for a moment, "Hell might have decided to, you know, switch their agenda."

Crowley nodded in understanding. It was fair enough, really. Crowley really wouldn't put it past Hell to align themselves with whoever they believed to be winning.

"What about you guys?"

Aziraphale sipped his tea, before placing it down. "Of course not. Heaven just wants this war over.”

“So does Hell.” at this, Aziraphale looked at him, startled. “Don’t be surprised. As soon as the war’s over and one, there’ll be, quite literally, hell to pay.”

Aziraphale nodded, before picking up the letter. He knew what this meant. A war was only as terrible as what came after. The devastation, the hate. The pain.

“Why don’t we just talk in your bookshop." Crowley suggested. "Wouldn’t that be, you know..."

Safer. He was going to safer. Aziraphale frowned.

“Well, actually,”

“I figured this would be. Just in case I was being…” the angel paused for a moment. “Followed.” he said softly, glancing down.

Crowley tried not to let the alarm show on his face, but inside he was fuming.

He knew this was a dangerous job, but it’s not like demon’s had much of a choice. But for Heaven to put Aziraphale and the whole blasted human race at risk like this was just…. Well, it was exactly like them. No, Crowley was already sick of this war. He knew he had a part to play in it ending. He just didn’t wish it came with such a risk. The involvement of supernatural beings such as them meant something. It meant that they were important in this. The greatest risk wasn’t just discorporation. No, this threatened the outcome of the war as a whole. Heaven and Hell might not have cared about the actions of humans beyond sticking it to each other when they could, but Crowley, hell, Aziraphale too, cared. Cared way more than they let on.

“I see.” Crowley stated in a cold voice. Aziraphale looked up at the demon, but he was looking away.

“I am glad.” Aziraphale sighed, pressing a napkin to the corner of his mouth. “It means we are in agreement of how to act moving forth. I shall be in correspondence?” he spoke the word like a question, but Crowley knew better than to think it was anything but a statement of fact. “Do let’s try to act safely about this, my dear.” Crowley looked up. Aziraphale was glancing slowly around them, probably checking to see if anyone had noticed them. When he was satisfied, he stretched his hand across the table, and placed it gently over Crowley’s. The heat of it stung, and Crowley suddenly felt as though he had been mistaken for an ant colony, and all the misplaced soldier ants were trying to crawl back inside of him. “I would hate for you to get hurt, Crowley.”

Aziraphale paid the check, and left. Crowley remained in his seat for a quarter of an hour or so, then stood up and exiting the cafe, leaving in the opposite direction to the angel.

Two weeks later…

A letter came in the male of Crowley as promised. Crowley sat at the desk in the sitting room of his Mayfair flat. It was a new addition to the space. He’d never really had a need for a desk before all the war business began, but where else was he supposed to sit down and write letters, if not a desk. He read the letter once, committing its contents to memory.

That same evening, Crowley exited the motor car, careful not to let the train of his skirts not trail across the puddles left by the day's rain. The letter Aziraphale had sent requested Crowley's presence at a small get-together hosted by a Mr Fredrick Brown. This was a fake name. This was an important mission. It had to go perfectly.

Crowley entered the building. Immediately, he spotted Aziraphale speaking with another , and made his way over to the angel and his companion. As he slid up next to the angel, Aziraphale turned his head and, after taking him in, gave him a knotted expression.

“And this must be the lovely Mrs Phale.” the man, who likely hadn't anticipated being interrupted, as seen in the expression of abject annoyance on his face which was only partially masked by British politeness (but not will enough). He watched Crowley with almost sly amusement, taking in the red curls tumbling over Crowley's shoulder, down the line of his slim, black gown. Aziraphale watched Crowley out of the corner of his eye.

"Well, Mr Phale, it has been a pleasure conversing with you." he said in a tone that suggested the opposite. "Go, dance with your lady. I shall hope to speak to you again soon." he waved them off cheerily. Aziraphale, who had at some point taken Crowley's arm in his own, maneuvered them around. They walked a few steps onto the floor. A slow waltz played in the room, and as they stepped, Aziraphale spoke.

"Mr Brown." he said almost breathlessly, spinning Crowley. "Has invited me to dinner. To discuss plans." Aziraphale said in a hushed voice. He was shorter than Crowley, and Crowley could feel the lingering traces of Aziraphale's breath against his neck.

"Good job." Crowley replied quietly. "So, intelligence gathered. Can we go now?"

At this, Aziraphale let out a short, soft laugh.

"We could." Aziraphale replied. The waltz ended, and a more upbeat tune played. Still, they remained as they were. "We could leave right now. If we wanted to."

They stayed for an hour more. When they left, they left together.

"I missed you."

Aziraphale couldn't help the noise that came out of his throat then. It was halfway between a whimper and a sob. Like a deer trapped in a blackberry bush, trying to detangle itself. Hopelessly.

He didn't pull away, though. He didn't want to.

It had been too long. Far too long.

The war had ended. The war had ended. They were in the bookshop, and Crowley was clinging to Aziraphale like he couldn't stand the thought of letting go, even for a second. And he couldn't. Even if his arms went numb and fell off. Even if a bomb dropped on them now and restarted the war. That war had taken so much out of them. So much out of everyone. This short, small moment in a bookshop in Soho was nothing compared to everything else. But it was happening and it was theirs, and that meant everything.

When Crowley had got the news, he'd climbed into the Bentley and driven to Aziraphale's as fast as he could. Aziraphale had been waiting for him, had set out wine. Crowley ignored it.

Aziraphale held him. He didn't say anything, but even that didn't matter. Because the war was over and, for a moment, everything was a little bit safer. Humankind... Aziraphale, they were all safe. And that, for the moment, was the peace the end of the war brought.

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landofzero-archive · 6 months ago

Text

Absolute - The Pure Land 5

(Location: Luxury Hotel (Guest Room))

(At the same time. Eden’s accommodations, in a luxury hotel room)

NEGI: “Good mo~rnin’, everyone♪

Did you get enough sleep last night? C’mon, today let’s also do our best to search—”

Jun: ~……♪

Hiyori: ~……♪

NEGI: “Ah, okay. Sorry. You two are in the middle of something.

Let me just say, it’s okay.

I’m not all that prejudiced and this country tends to treat ‘these kinds of relationships’ with a lotta respect these days.”

Jun: These kinds of relationships– what kind of relationship are you talking about……?

I was just, well, Ohiisan couldn’t sleep because he was worried about Nagi-senpai, so I had him lay his head on my lap while I sang him a lullaby is all.

NEGI: “Sure. You should know that at first glance that doesn’t look anything like a normal friendship, okay? You don’t want to be misunderstood, right?

Or maybe— I didn’t misunderstand anything after all?

My heart’s beating out of my chest. I mean, it’s strangely embarrassing to see someone you know doing ‘something like that’, y’know.”

Jun: That’s why I’ve been tryin’ to figure out what you’re even talking about~?

More importantly, sorry you had to come all this way to pick us up. We’ll be ready in a sec, so please wait a moment.

NEGI: “Alright. I’ll be waiting.

…… The preparation is just that, isn’t it? Preparing to search for that Ran Nagisa person and Shaka-san, right?

Absolute is going to start in a few hours, but is that really okay? You guys are supposed to be performing, right?”

Jun: Well, being in Absolute is also somethin’ we were asked to do, so I don’t think we can just ignore it, right~?

It’s unavoidable though, the four of us are Eden.

We were asked to perform as Eden, not Eve, so we can’t just go and stand on stage like that.

Now, more than anything else, finding and protecting Nagi-senpai is our top priority.

Isn’t that right, Ohiisan? Why have you been quiet for a while? Usually, you yap constantly whenever I leave your side, did you fall asleep or somethin’?

Hiyori: …… I’m just embarrassed. Yes, I’ve said it a number of times before, but NEGI-chan, you really should learn to knock properly before you enter a room.

NEGI: “I’m reflecting on it. How awkward. It’s something I feel bad about.”

Jun: I’m sure you’re desperate to find that Shaka guy, so I can appreciate your enthusiasm~?

Hiyori: That’s right. …… I hadn’t asked before but, NEGI-chan, what kind of relationship do you have with Shaka-san? You’re quite desperate for someone who’s just his friend?

NEGI: “Hm~? Nope, we’re just friends, you see?

Maybe I’m projecting onto him a little, though. That person, he’s also a victim of my shitty father.

I think I’m cute, after all.

It’s embarrassing. I intended to sing for someone else’s sake, but in the end I was just singing for myself.”

Hiyori: I also think I’m the cutest person in the universe!

Jun: No one said anything about you?

Hiyori: Correct. The most important thing to everyone is themselves. Movies and novels move me to tears exactly because I compare myself to them and project onto them.

If someone were to put others before themselves, don’t you think they have a screw loose somewhere?

Jun: Ohiisan, are you talking about yourself?

Hiyori: I always put myself first, don’t I?

Jun: Haha. Wow, maybe people will believe that.

NEGI: “……? I don’t know what’s going on but, hurry up and get ready, alright?

We don’t have any time left. If we don’t find Shaka-san and stick him on stage by the time Absolute starts, there’ll be a riot if we aren’t careful.

Also, I’m sure my shitty father’s remaining subordinates will punish Shaka-san if he caused a huge loss like that.

That person’s chances of surviving have almost vanished into thin air.

If that becomes the case, then I won’t be able to find him ever again, so I can only hope that he escapes to somewhere safe.”

Hiyori: It’d be troublesome if we could never find him again! I don’t really care about Shaka-san, but we absolutely have to find Nagisa-kun!

I’m sure right this very moment he’s crying because he’s sad that I’m not there! Ah, I want to hug him!

That’s why yesterday I said we shouldn’t stop the search and continue it through the night! If we had done that, then by now—

NEGI: “By now our completely transformed bodies might have been discovered by the local garbage collectors?

I told you, didn’t I? This place is usually unsafe. To put it plainly, in peaceful Japan, “bad public safety” is completely different from here.

We should have gone back to this relatively safe hotel for the night. I can bet all my money that I made the right call on that. I don’t have much savings, though.”

Previous | Directory | Next

#ensemble stars #enstars #enstars translation #hiyori tomoe #jun sazanami #negi kurone #era: !!#type: event

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prouvaireafterdark · 1 year ago

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Practical Ethics || Chapter Ten

In which Armand and Daniel talk.

Also on AO3!

***

When Armand wakes, he leaves Daniel sleeping soundly in his bed. He goes about his morning routine the same as always—shower, pray, eat, work—but throughout it all his mind returns again and again to all that transpired yesterday.

It’s the unknown that bothers him most. He chastises himself for not having the forethought to exchange numbers with Lestat so he would be able to text him for an update on how Louis is doing. It’s too late to do anything about that now, though. He’ll simply have to wait and hope the department is kind enough to send an email to let them know how Louis is recovering. It happened on campus, after all. Word would have gotten around and the decent thing would be to let everyone know Louis is okay before any rumors get out of control.

At that thought, Armand checks his email. He finds no new messages in his inbox save the one from Marius he’d marked unread on purpose as a reminder to finish his work.

Perhaps after the weekend there’ll be an update, he thinks hopefully.

Without any news, he tries to take solace in the fact that the doctor did not seem overly concerned. Besides, Lestat is surely keeping a close eye on him. However dubious his dedication to his studies is, if anything does happen to Louis, Armand knows Lestat will stop at nothing to get him the help he needs.

Louis will be fine, he tells himself as he opens Marius’ email. You, on the other hand, won’t be if you don’t have this finished for Marius by the end of the weekend.

The threat of Marius’ ire is motivation enough to get started. Armand settles down to work at his small kitchen table without much further distraction.

The afternoon sun is high in the sky by the time Armand hears Daniel groan from the other room.

His fingers pause above his keyboard at the sound. After a brief moment of deliberation, he rises from his seat and heads down the short hallway that leads to his bedroom.

Armand lingers at the threshold, leaning against the doorjamb as he watches Daniel wake up properly. It never fails to hold some sense of fascination for him, seeing the man he loves still soft and warm with sleep, his curls sticking up at odd angles. Mundane it may be, but after the harrowing day he had yesterday, Armand considers the sight a pleasure that should never be taken for granted.

Unaware of Armand’s presence, Daniel lies motionless in bed. He’s on his back, his arms raised above his head on his pillow like he’s just stretched and is too lazy to move just yet. Sunlight peeks through the closed blinds on the window by the head of Armand’s bed, casting striped shadows across his body. He’d borrowed one of Armand’s graduate student union shirts to sleep in and as he shoves the covers down to his hips Armand sees that the hem has ridden up nearly to his bellybutton.

Daniel reaches blindly for the bedside table a moment later, his hand nearly knocking the bottle of Advil Armand had left there for him off the table. He manages to grab it before it rolls too far and with another groan he sits up at last. He opens the bottle and shakes it so a few pills fall into his open palm before he reaches for the tall glass of water sitting on the table. He takes a few greedy gulps before he even puts the pills in his mouth and it’s at that moment that he catches Armand watching him from the doorway.

“Holy shit,” Daniel jumps, nearly spilling his water on the bedspread. “How long have you been standing there?”

Armand laughs and steps into the room.

“Not long, I assure you,” he says on his way to the bed. He climbs onto it and stretches out beside Daniel on top of the covers, his right elbow propping him up as he continues to look at him.

“See something you like?” Daniel asks him when the attention becomes too much, his lips curled into an amused smile.

Armand smiles back.

“Always, beloved,” he tells him, quite seriously, and he’s pleased to see a pink flush brighten Daniel’s cheeks. He has the sudden urge to pull him down to his level and kiss him, but he resists for the moment. He puts two fingers to the bottom of Daniel’s glass instead and encourages him to raise it up toward his lips. “Now be a good boy and take your medicine.”

Daniel glares at him, but Armand knows the heat behind his eyes is most assuredly not from anger.

“It’s not fair when you call me that,” Daniel says before he does as he’s told, popping the pills into his mouth all at once before taking a sip of his water.

“When I call you what?” Armand asks, his eyes glued to the way Daniel’s Adam's apple bobs in his throat with each swallow. “‘Beloved’ or ‘good boy’?”

“Both,” Daniel tells him once he’s drained his glass and set it back on the bedside table. He pushes Armand onto his back then and slides down the bed so he’s looking down at him from mere inches away. “You could get me to do anything for you when you call me that and you know it.”

Armand thinks again about Daniel’s frequent drinking, the drugs he takes to study or just unwind after a long day, and the damage he must be doing to his body every time he does it. He wonders if a few well-placed ‘beloved’s would be all it would take to get him to stop, or even cut back. He doubts it very much.

“If only that were true,” Armand sighs as he reaches up to cup Daniel’s face with his palm. His morning stubble scratches softly against his thumb as he strokes a line over his cheekbone. “You’re more stubborn than you give yourself credit for, I fear.”

Daniel laughs at that. “Pot, meet kettle,” he says, gesturing between the two of them.

Armand cocks his head to the side. “What does that mean?” he asks.

“It means that of the two of us only one was stubborn enough to follow through on breaking into his professor’s office even after the other tried to tell him that that was a terrible fucking idea,” Daniel says.

“I wouldn’t say it was a terrible idea,” Armand disagrees.

“And how do you figure that?” Daniel asks, a deeply skeptical look on his face.

“I learned something. A few somethings, actually,” Armand points out as his eyes dip down to the chain around Daniel’s neck. His fingers follow, pulling the amulet out of his shirt so he can see it. “In the end, it’s what brought us closer together. It’s what made you mine.”

Daniel looks down at where Armand’s thumb is running over the A embossed on the amulet’s face and huffs a soft but incredulous laugh. “I was already yours, Armand,” he reminds him.

“Perhaps,” Armand concedes, “but I didn’t know that I was hurting you. I didn’t know what you needed from me. For getting us to have that conversation, I’d say the whole ordeal was more than worth the trouble.”

Daniel bites his lip as he stares at him for a charged moment, his chest rising and falling with one heavy breath before he surges down to kiss him with so much raw feeling Armand doesn’t even mind that Daniel hasn’t brushed his teeth yet. He drops the amulet and gives himself over to the kiss completely, letting the whole world fall away for one brief but blissful moment.

“I love you,” Daniel tells him when they part, his forehead pressed to Armand's, his fingers tangled in his hair.

“I love you too,” Armand says.

He leans up with his eyes still closed and blindly steals another kiss, a softer one this time. When they part, Armand looks up at Daniel and sees that his eyes are wet with unshed tears.

“Hey,” Armand says, his brow creasing with concern. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Daniel reassures him with a watery smile, but Armand is not so convinced when he rolls onto his back and stares up at the ceiling. “Just a lot going on in my head right now.”

With graduation so close and no job yet secured, it isn’t hard for Armand to imagine why. Still, he doesn’t like the tension lingering in Daniel’s body and he likes the space he has put between them even less.

Armand joins Daniel beneath the covers, seeking to get close to him again. As he does, Daniel lifts his arm in invitation and Armand presses himself to his side. He wraps an arm around Daniel’s waist and throws a leg over his thigh. He hopes his presence is as soothing to Daniel as Daniel’s is to him, but if it isn’t enough to distract him from his troubles, Armand, regrettably, has another card up his sleeve.

“Well, I have something to tell you that might cheer you up,” Armand begins.

One of Daniel’s expressive eyebrows raises in curiosity at that.

“I’m listening,” he says.

Armand takes a fortifying breath, mentally preparing himself for the gloating to come. Daniel is lucky he loves him so much.

“You were right,” Armand tells him at last. “Lestat is Louis’ husband.”

Daniel blinks at him and then laughs, his head thrown back and his mouth stretched in a wide grin. Armand decides in that moment that to see him smile like that is well worth any pride he has to swallow.

“I fucking knew it,” Daniel says, turning his head to gaze back at Armand. “How’d you find out?”

“He came to the hospital as Louis’ next of kin,” Armand explains.

“Hospital?” Daniel asks, his expression twisted in sudden confusion, and it is then that Armand realizes how much of this story he has left to tell.

He sighs and begins to tell it.

“Well?” Armand asks once he’s finished and Daniel is staring at him in silence. “Aren’t you going to say ‘I told you so’?”

“Uh,” Daniel says intelligently, his brow drawn tight with concern. “I’m a little stuck on the part where you had to hold Louis’ head together while the ambulance got there and then spent the next several hours at the hospital consoling your arch nemesis.”

Armand grimaces a little at Daniel’s synopsis of his day.

“It wasn’t so dramatic as that,” he protests, but then remembers the way Lestat had burst into the ER wearing a period accurate 18th century costume and screaming at the receptionist and wonders if Daniel perhaps has a point.

“Still, I mean, fuck,” Daniel says, staring at him with wide, sympathetic eyes. “Are you okay?”

Armand blinks at the question, taken off guard by Daniel’s reaction.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” he asks.

“Why–?” Daniel starts before he changes tack and continues, “Armand, someone you care about got hurt and you spent hours not knowing if he was going to be okay. And on top of it, you had to sit with his husband, who you hate, while he was an inconsolable wreck. That’s a lot for anyone to deal with.”

“‘Whom,’” Armand corrects him automatically.

“What?” Daniel asks.

“Its ‘whom,’ not ‘who.’ Lestat is the direct object of the verb in the relative clause,” he explains with all the insufferable pedantry of the philologist who trained him. “And I don’t hate him. I just find him insurmountably irritating at times.”

Daniel looks unamused. “Would you stop deflecting for five minutes and hear what I’m saying?” he asks.

Armand sighs at that. “I hear you,” he says. “And yes, it was horrible and terrifying and I hated every minute of it, but I wasn’t the one who ended up in the hospital. I wasn’t the one who had to sit there and wonder if the man I love more than my own life was going to make it through the night.”

He staunchly ignores the way his own voice begins to shake the more he rehashes it all, the pain of it burning a hole in his chest he plans to fill with as much of Daniel’s love as he can stand.

Daniel purses his lips like he wants to say something, but isn’t sure how. Armand cuts him off at the pass and leans in to kiss him softly on the mouth.

“I’m fine, Daniel,” he insists when they part. “I’m just happy to be home with you.”

He watches Daniel melt at that, won over by Armand’s words in spite of how he wanted to argue. Armand takes full advantage, curling tighter around him and resting his head on his chest.

Daniel sighs, Armand’s head rising and falling with the movement, and begins to play with Armand’s hair the way he likes, gently curling the inky dark strands around his fingers. Armand closes his eyes and lets Daniel’s touch ease the tightness that’s been coiling around his chest.

He thinks that’s the end of it, that Daniel has let it go and is content to simply let them enjoy each other’s company for a while, but he speaks again a moment later.

“I wish you’d texted me back,” Daniel says, his fingers scratching pleasantly across his scalp. “You don’t have to do everything alone, you know. I would’ve come to sit with you while you waited.”

Daniel’s words are touching, but as Armand tries to imagine it—an inebriated Daniel calling an Uber to drive him to the hospital, or worse still, taking his own car in his haste to be with him and getting himself into an accident—an unpleasant shiver runs down his spine.

“It’s best that you didn’t,” Armand says, not unkindly as he tightens his arm around Daniel’s waist. “You were not exactly in a state last night to deal with my problems.”

“Sorry,” Daniel audibly cringes. “You were gone a while and I was nervous and, well...”

Armand understands what he’s trying to say. In the months they’ve known each other, he has learned that Daniel often overindulges when he’s feeling stressed and once he starts, it’s difficult for him to stop if he’s left to his own devices. There is one thing he doesn’t understand, though.

“Why were you nervous?” Armand asks him, opening his eyes and lifting his head off his chest to look at him.

Daniel bites his lip, but doesn’t answer. He looks adorable, to be fair, but it worries him to see.

“Daniel?” he presses.

“We don’t have to talk about it now,” Daniel says.

If Daniel had hoped that that response would calm Armand’s worry, it does not. Armand sits up properly, Daniel’s hand falling to the mattress as it slips from his hair.

“What’s going on?” Armand asks him.

Daniel takes a deep breath and sits up so they’re on the same level before he speaks.

“I’ve been thinking about your offer,” he says at last.

Armand doesn’t have to ask him which offer he means.

“Oh,” he says, his own belly twisting with nerves suddenly. “And?”

“And,” he starts, smiling as he reaches for Armand’s hand and threads their fingers together, “I wanna take you up on it. After graduation, if you still want me to… I’d like to move in with you.”

Armand’s vision fills with light, warm and golden with little swirls of pink. The thought of it—of coming home to Daniel every day, of sharing and building a life with him here in this apartment that now feels so empty the moment Daniel leaves—has his heart nearly full to bursting, his apprehension from moments before nothing but a distant memory.

He can’t help himself—he practically pounces onto Daniel’s lap, straddling his hips as he smothers him with kisses. He lets go of Daniel’s hand to cradle his face between his palms and Daniel’s arms come around his waist, holding him close as he kisses him back with equal fervor.

“You were nervous about telling me that?” Armand laughs at him when he finally brings himself to pull away, looking down at Daniel’s smiling face with affection so strong Armand is sure there must be cartoon hearts in his eyes. “I love you, you ridiculous boy. Did you think I might have changed my mind?”

Daniel laughs, but the smile in his eyes begins to dim slightly as some unknown thought tempers his happiness.

“No,” he says, looking down as if suddenly finding the V of Armand’s neckline very interesting. “It wasn’t you I was nervous about telling—am nervous about telling.”

“Then who?” Armand asks, not understanding the issue.

It takes a moment for Daniel to meet his eyes once more, and when he does, he confesses, “I’m nervous about telling my parents.”

Ah.

“They don’t know you’re bisexual, do they?” Armand guesses, letting his hands slip from Daniel’s face to rest on the sides of his neck.

“No,” Daniel confirms. “I didn’t even know I was bisexual until you came along.”

Armand raises his eyebrows skeptically at that. While it’s true that Daniel was relatively inexperienced with men when they met, Armand knows for a fact that he wasn’t his first.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Daniel pouts. “Sucking dick for drugs in bathroom stalls isn’t the same thing as falling in love. Being in denial about my attraction to men was a lot easier before I met you.”

Armand’s eyes soften, oddly charmed by that statement. “I’m flattered.”

“You should be,” Daniel tells him and that smile begins to come back, bit by bit. “It was only through your relentless determination to drive me completely insane that I had to face the facts.”

Armand laughs. “You say ‘relentless determination’ as if you didn’t put yourself in my path at every opportunity.”

“I did no such thing,” Daniel denies.

“Oh no?” Armand asks. “Then what do you call sprawling out on the grass in the middle of the quad?”

“Enjoying the sun,” Daniel answers. “You should try it sometime.”

“It was November,” Armand counters.

“Global warming’s a bitch, huh?” he shoots back.

“Alright,” Armand laughs with a shake of his head. “Then how about working at the front desk of the library for weeks even though we both know you hate customer service and would rather be reshelving book returns?”

“We were short staffed,” Daniel shrugs.

“And studying at the table by the window of the Starbucks across from Trinity Hall?” Armand presses.

“They’re insanely overpriced, but their coffee is excellent,” Daniel answers.

“Yes and there’s another location on the other end of campus that’s closer to the student newspaper’s office,” Armand argues.

“I needed to get my steps in,” Daniel deadpans.

“Daniel,” Armand laughs, leaning into his space until their foreheads rest together.

“What?” he asks, trying and failing not to laugh along with him.

“Admit it,” Armand insists. “You wanted to be chased. You wanted me to find you again or you wouldn’t have made yourself so easy to find. If you want to blame your bisexual awakening on me, fine. I will gladly wear that as a badge of honor. But let us please not pretend you weren’t begging for another taste when I ran into you in the Commons after Khayman’s Halloween party. If you truly were trying to avoid me, you certainly wouldn’t have looked at me like that when I found you.”

“And how did I look at you?” Daniel asks, the pitch of his voice dipping lower, as if in anticipation of what Armand’s answer will be.

“Like you said yourself earlier,” Armand answers, craning his neck to the side to whisper the words in his ear. “Like you’d do anything for me.” He takes the silver hoop earring dangling from Daniel’s ear between his teeth and gently tugs, quietly delighting in the soft gasp he elicits. “Like you’d let me do anything I wanted to you.”

Armand feels Daniel’s pulse quicken against his fingertips, feels his hips shift beneath his weight, and when he pulls back to look at his beautiful face he sees his mossy green irises nearly swallowed up by large, doe-like pupils and a rosy flush high on his cheeks.

“Yes, just like that,” Armand praises him with a tender smile, his eyes hooded as he watches his own thumb run along the edge of Daniel’s parted lips. “I challenge anyone to try to resist this face. I’m sure Helen herself would weep with jealousy at the sight of you.”

“Fuck,” Daniel groans, his fingers tightening their grip on Armand’s waist. “And you say you didn’t seduce me.”

“Oh, I never said that,” Armand responds, smiling with teeth. “I just said it wasn’t very hard.”

Daniel laughs at that, a sudden, sharp sound that bursts from his chest without permission.

“You’re such a dick,” he says.

“Lucky for me that’s one of the things you like about me, then,” Armand quips.

Daniel laughs again before he leans in to kiss him once more. Armand has half a mind to push him back against the mattress and find new ways to distract them both from their troubling thoughts, but there’s something he needs to make sure Daniel understands first.

“There’s no shame in wanting who you want, Daniel,” Armand tells him when they part. “You know that, don’t you?”

“I know,” he nods, but his smile dims again in a way Armand does not like.

“Then why are you worried about telling your parents?” Armand asks him gently. “Do you think they’ll have a problem with it?”

Or is it me you think they’ll have a problem with? he almost continues, but he dares not speak the words aloud. It is not the first time it has occurred to him that his half-Armenian, half-Irish Catholic boyfriend’s parents might not approve of their only son being involved with a Muslim man, but Armand is not sure he’s emotionally prepared to receive the answer to that question today.

Daniel sucks on his bottom lip as he thinks about it.

“They’re New York Democrats so probably not,” Daniel says, his voice lifting at the end as if in a question. “My grandma would have if she were still alive, but she was a born hater who had a problem with pretty much everything so that’s not really saying much.”

Armand huffs a laugh at that.

“But, you know,” Daniel continues with a shrug. “Just because they don’t complain about pride parades congesting the city doesn’t mean they’ll be happy to hear their son is moving in with his boyfriend.”

“I’m sure they’ll love you no matter what,” Armand assures him.

“And if they don’t?” Daniel asks, looking lost in a way Armand has never seen him.

Armand places a kiss on Daniel’s forehead before he wraps his arms tightly across his shoulders and holds him close, his cheek resting on the top of Daniel’s head.

“Then I’ll just have to make up the difference,” Armand says.

Daniel’s arms circle his waist once again. Pressed this close, Armand can feel each rise and fall of Daniel’s chest, each beat of his heart as he processes what he has told him.

“You really think you can do that?” he asks quietly, whispering the words against the hollow of Armand’s throat.

Armand’s heart aches at his question, at the uncertainty and vulnerability in his voice.

“Of course I can,” Armand tells him softly, but with conviction. “I have a lot of love to give, Daniel. To you most of all.”

Daniel’s grip becomes so tight it’s nearly painful as he lets out a harsh breath against his skin, but Armand says nothing more. He only runs his fingers through Daniel’s curls as he takes a moment to compose himself again.

When Daniel pulls back from their embrace, his cheeks are wet with tears. There is a powerful need in his eyes too, one as well-worn and familiar to Armand as a pair of old boots. It is as if he can hear Daniel’s voice in his own head, whispering, begging him to touch him, to kiss him, to love him, now and always.

Armand has no intention of ever disappointing him.

He gently kisses the tears from Daniel’s flushed cheeks before he leans in to kiss him on the mouth. Daniel’s lips are pleasantly warm against his own and this time when Daniel opens his mouth to deepen the kiss, Armand lets him, his own need for intimacy nearly overwhelming.

He loses himself completely to the heat of Daniel’s mouth, to the way his fingers grip at his waist and run along his back, to the feel of him warm and solid beneath him. He’s so focused on Daniel, Armand doesn’t even notice how hard he’s getting until strong hands haul him even closer by his hips so he can grind his cock against Daniel’s belly.

He moans, taken off guard by the sudden burst of pleasure he feels at the friction. Daniel’s mouth curls into a satisfied smile against his own as he goes in for another kiss, his palms sliding down to cup Armand’s ass over his sweatpants.

Armand nips at Daniel’s bottom lip in retaliation and the smug grin drops from his face as he groans, his grip on Armand tightening for just a moment while his lip is caught between his teeth.

Armand reaches for the hem on Daniel’s borrowed shirt then and breaks their kiss to pull it up and over his head, desperate to feel him skin to skin. Once his shirt is off, Armand pushes Daniel down by the shoulders, sending him flat onto his back. From this new perspective, he can see how Daniel’s lips have become red and wet where Armand had bitten him. It gives him an idea.

“Hey,” Daniel pouts, moving to sit up again, but Armand just pushes him back down with his hands planted on his chest.

“Stay there,” he tells him with a firm, but loving voice.

Any further protests Daniel might have made die in his throat immediately as he does as he’s told.

“Good boy,” Armand says, rewarding Daniel’s obedience with a smile as he strips off his own shirt and tosses it to the side to deal with later.

If Daniel’s eyes weren’t nearly black with desire before they certainly are now. Armand doesn’t give himself long to enjoy the view before he follows him down to the bed and pulls him into another feverish kiss.

Daniel is quick to touch him again, his hands warm against Armand’s cold skin as they eagerly travel the expanse of his back and try to pull him even closer. Armand begins to rock their hips together, grinding his cock against Daniel’s through their clothes. It’s good, but not nearly enough to sate the desire coursing through him.

It’s not long before Armand begins to trail warm, wet kisses down to his neck. Daniel must sense Armand’s intentions because his breath begins to come quickly then, his heart racing with anticipation as Armand lingers there, lavishing his sensitive skin with attention with his lips and tongue.

“Please,” Daniel begs him after a few moments of teasing, leaning his head back onto the pillow and baring his throat to his mouth.

Armand smiles at Daniel’s impatience. They’ve only just started and the begging has already begun. Were this any other time, Armand would draw this out, make him wait for it that much longer, until he was so wound up he would pop like a bottle of warm champagne at the first press of Armand’s teeth.

Right at this moment, however, he can’t think of a single reason to deny him. With one last tender kiss to his throat, Armand finally gives Daniel what he wants and delicately sinks his teeth into his flesh—not enough to break the skin, but just enough to hurt.

Daniel moans, arching his neck into the bite, his cock so hard beneath him he must be leaking through his boxers by now.

Armand soothes the pain with an open-mouthed kiss before he does it again on the other side of his neck without warning.

Daniel keens, higher this time at the unexpected pain, and as Armand runs his tongue over the indents left by his own teeth, Daniel calls his name.

Armand ignores him at first, thinking it only an impassioned exclamation, until he hears him say it again a moment later.

“Armand,” he pants, restlessly squirming beneath him.

“What is it, Daniel?” he asks, lifting his head to look at him. “What do you need?”

“I need you,” Daniel whimpers, his hips rolling insistently upward, seeking friction. There are tears gathered at the corners of Daniel’s eyes, but that’s not unusual when they play like this.

“I’m here,” Armand soothes him.

He shifts to the side of Daniel, one leg still thrown over his thigh to give himself more space. The sheets have migrated well below their hips and as he looks down Armand can see now the small damp stain spreading across the front of Daniel’s tented gray boxer briefs.

Daniel lets out a plaintive noise at the new distance between them, but it’s shortly followed by a soft gasp as Armand slips his hand beneath the elastic waistband of his underwear and wraps his hand around him, his thumb circling the slippery head of his cock.

“How do you need me, beloved?” Armand asks him, his voice low as he spreads the precome weeping from his slit down the length of his cock. He starts to jerk him off nice and slow as he continues, “I’ll give you anything you want. Do you want to finish in my hand, just like this?”

Daniel shakes his head. Armand kisses his cheek before he places his lips at his ear.

“How about in my mouth then? Or with me inside you?” he asks, listing the options as they come to mind, before he finally adds, “I’ll even let you fuck me if you want to.”

Daniel’s cock twitches in his grip as soon as he says it and Armand hides his smile against the curve of Daniel’s jaw. It was an impulsive suggestion, but the thought of it fills Armand with a need he hasn’t felt in a very long time.

“Is that it, Daniel?” he asks as he presses a kiss to his throat. “Do you want to fuck me in our bed?”

Daniel lets out a shuddering breath. When he shifts to meet Armand’s eyes there’s something hesitant about his expression, the desire he’d just been experiencing taking a back seat for the moment.

“You know I do, but…” Daniel says, his voice tentative like he isn’t sure how to put his thoughts into words. “Are you sure you want me to?”

It’s no wonder why he’s asking. It’s not something he’s ever offered Daniel before. In fact, the one time Daniel had brought up the idea of switching early on in their relationship, Armand had shot him down immediately.

For the longest time, the act reminded him too much of Marius and the ways he had taken control from him for Armand to ever wish to repeat it. He likes to be the one in charge these days, to be the one making decisions for himself, and it has been hard for him to divorce the idea that being fucked means being submissive—and being controlled—from his mind. As innocent as Daniel’s suggestion had been all those months ago, it had filled him with dread, fear gripping him suddenly and completely. He told himself he could never allow himself to be vulnerable like that again—not after how hard he’d fought to pick up the pieces of his heart and regain his autonomy after Marius abandoned him in Venice.

As he looks down at Daniel now, though, his heart full to bursting at the sight of him, it doesn’t feel like submission to offer him this. It feels like love.

“I’m sure,” he promises him. “I trust you.”

Daniel’s eyes soften at that and when he leans in to kiss him again, it’s gentle and sweet. Armand quickly deepens the kiss and before long the heat has built between them again, reigniting the need burning inside them both.

“Okay,” Daniel pants when he pulls away, more to himself than to Armand before he looks him in the eyes again and asks him, “How do you want to do this? Maybe on your hands and knees? That was easier for me at first.”

The tiniest tremor of fear runs through Armand at that suggestion.

“No,” he shakes his head, the answer coming a little too quickly for it to sound nonchalant. “I need to see your face.”

I need to know it’s you, he thinks, but doesn’t say aloud.

Daniel gives him an easy smile. “Sure thing, boss,” he says. “How about you lie back for me then?”

Armand nods and rolls onto his back. He pulls off his underwear along with his sweatpants, kicking them both haphazardly to the floor as Daniel climbs off the bed and pokes around in his bedside table for a minute. He returns a moment later with a bottle of their preferred brand of lube and a box of condoms, placing them on the bed beside Armand.

Armand takes a deep breath as Daniel nudges his legs apart and moves between them. The pleasure he experiences as Daniel settles his weight on top of him and rocks their hips together is dulled by the nervous feeling suddenly creeping in on him. He tries to shove it down with a string of comforting affirmations—It’s just Daniel. There’s nothing to be scared of. He loves you, more than you deserve—but it’s difficult to ignore.

“Armand,” Daniel says suddenly, interrupting Armand’s train of thought.

He must have closed his eyes because he opens them now to see Daniel looking down at him, his green eyes warm and searching.

“You with me?” he asks, leaning over him on his elbow so he can reach up with his other hand to brush the backs of his fingers over Armand’s cheek. His gentle touch tickles a little, but Armand is so disarmed by his question he barely notices.

“Always,” Armand tells him, his voice scarcely above a whisper.

Daniel smiles softly and leans in to kiss him then. Armand feels the weight on his chest grow lighter with every reassuring press of Daniel’s lips. The distinctive scent of stale cigarette smoke and faded cologne that clings to his curls fills Armand’s nose once more and he finds a strange sense of comfort in it.

It’s just Daniel. There’s nothing to be scared of. He loves you, more than you deserve.

“Tell me if you need a break or if you want to stop, okay?” Daniel says when they part.

Armand nods distractedly, his eyes still glued to Daniel’s mouth.

“Ah, ah,” Daniel chastises with a smirk and Armand’s eyes flick back up to Daniel’s, his brow drawn in confusion. “I have it on very good authority that communication is very important at times like this. Can you repeat that back for me so I know you understand?”

Armand rolls his eyes, but it makes him laugh too. He’s had Daniel do this for him many times before, just to make sure Daniel remembers he can say no or ask for a break if things get to be too much. With their history of miscommunication and Daniel’s occasional reluctance to share what goes on inside his beautiful head, it felt important that they make it routine to ensure Daniel is safe, especially during their more intense scenes. To see Daniel flipping the script on him, so to speak, is surprisingly endearing.

“I will tell you if I need a break or if I want to stop,” Armand tells him. “Does that satisfy you, Daniel?”

“It’ll do,” he grins wider with as much of a shrug as he can manage from his position.

Armand rolls his eyes again and huffs another quiet laugh before he surges up to kiss the smile off of Daniel's face. This time, when Daniel's hips rock against him, the tension Armand felt earlier is nothing but a memory and a soft sound of pleasure escapes him, caught by Daniel’s kiss.

Daniel indulges him for a long moment before his lips leave Armand's mouth and move to his neck. He kisses a lazy path from his throat to his collarbone and finally down to his sternum. He feels one of Daniel's hands cup the defined muscles of his chest, his thumb flicking over one of his nipples before he turns his head and latches his mouth onto the other.

Armand moans, his thighs dropping open a little wider around Daniel's waist as he starts to suck. He gives Armand a taste of his own medicine, alternating between teasing his nipples with his lips and tongue before tugging them between his teeth. It distracts him well enough that Armand doesn’t even notice the bottle of lube has been uncapped until he feels Daniel's slick fingers between his cheeks. He must have warmed the lube between his fingers first because it isn’t cold like he’s expecting when he rubs them over his hole.

Armand gasps softly as Daniel’s finger finally breaches him. As familiar as the sensation was to him once, the stretch feels odd at first—uncomfortable, even—as Daniel starts to work him open with one finger and then two. He tries his best to relax and focus on the sucking heat of Daniel’s mouth on his chest instead, but his erection starts to flag a little anyway. It doesn’t help that Daniel hasn’t found his prostate yet—whether by choice or inexperience, Armand isn’t sure—and Armand begins to grow restless, desperate for the pleasure he knows Daniel is capable of giving him.

Something must show on his face because when Daniel lifts his mouth from Armand’s chest to look at him, he asks him, “How are you feeling?”

“Okay,” Armand tells him, trying hard not to squirm.

“Hmm,” Daniel hums thoughtfully, studying his face as he pushes his fingers back inside him. When he starts to pull them out again, he curls them toward Armand’s navel and asks, “How about now?”

Bright golden sunspots burst behind Armand’s eyes as Daniel's fingers finally stroke over his prostate.

“Ah, fuck,” Armand cries, his back bowing off the mattress, his hand clutching at Daniel's shoulder. “Daniel.”

Daniel laughs softly at the drama of his reaction, shifting up the bed to press a kiss to the corner of Armand's parted lips.

“What, you think I didn’t learn a thing or two from you?” he smiles, curling his fingers once more and dragging a heated moan from deep in Armand’s chest as he rubs against that spot inside him. “You've been a very thorough teacher.”

He looks entirely too pleased with himself, but Armand cannot bring himself to care so long as he keeps touching him there.

“Don't stop,” he gasps, canting his hips into Daniel's touch.

“Anything you say, boss,” Daniel manages to answer before Armand tugs him into a proper kiss, both hands buried in his wild curls.

Daniel kisses him back eagerly and it’s not long before he has Armand writhing on three of his fingers, his cock once more a heavy weight on his stomach.

“Enough,” Armand whines when the tension begins to build too much, reaching for Daniel's wrist to still his hand. “Please.”

“Please what?” Daniel asks him, like he doesn’t know, like it isn’t fucking obvious what Armand is so desperate for.

Frustrated tears begin to gather in Armand’s eyes. This has to be revenge for their first night together, when Armand fingered Daniel in his small twin bed until he nearly bit through his own lip so the partygoers outside their door wouldn’t hear him begging for it. It had been fun for him then to delay the inevitable, to watch Daniel approach the edge again and again, so close to falling apart Armand could feel him tightening desperately around his fingers. The prospect of Daniel doing the same to him now, though, is almost too much for him to bear.

“Fuck me,” Armand answers, too strung out to put much force behind the words.

Though his voice lacks the usual power of his commands, Daniel obeys him all the same. With one more tender kiss, Armand feels Daniel’s fingers withdraw from his body before he sits back on his knees between Armand’s thighs and reaches for the bottle of lube he left lying on the bed.

Armand misses his warmth immediately, hating how the cool air conditioning feels against his heated skin. He watches, propped up on his elbows, as Daniel rolls a condom down his cock and spreads some lube over himself with a loose fist.

Just as he thinks Daniel is finally about to fuck him, he squeezes a little more lube into his hand and brings two fingers back to Armand's hole, slipping them easily back inside him. Armand is about to groan a complaint about how long he’s making him wait for it when he notices the focus in Daniel’s expression as his fingers spread more lube inside him.

He realizes then that Daniel isn’t dragging this out merely for his own amusement—he's trying to make sure Armand is ready.

The thought strikes him mute for a moment. He doesn’t quite know what to do with that. No one he’s ever been with—not even Marius on his best day—has ever handled him with such care.

“I won’t break, you know,” Armand says quietly.

“I know,” Daniel says. He curls his fingers just a little as he eases them out of Armand’s body, once more pulling a gasp from Armand. He leans over him then, their faces so close Daniel’s features start to blur as he says, “But that doesn’t mean I’m not gonna do my best to make sure I don’t hurt you.”

It’s hard to argue with that, especially when Daniel silences any protest he could possibly make by capturing his lips in a kiss.

“Can you lift your hips for me for a second?” Daniel asks him when he pulls away.

Armand swallows the emotions rising in his throat and complies without a word. He lets Daniel shove a pillow beneath his hips, raising them so he'll have a better angle. Once he’s exactly where Daniel wants him, Daniel finally takes his own cock in hand.

Armand watches between his thighs as Daniel lines his cock up against his hole, his heart pounding with anticipation.

“Ready?” Daniel asks him.

Armand nods, not trusting his voice.

Twin groans fill the air as the thick head of Daniel’s cock pushes past Armand’s rim. If he thought Daniel's careful preparation was gratuitous, he was wrong. It doesn't hurt, but with every inch Daniel sinks into him Armand feels a little like he's being split open, like Daniel is carving out a space for himself inside him.

“Oh god,” Daniel moans, sounding every bit as overwhelmed as Armand feels. “Fuck, you feel so good, baby.”

Armand opens his mouth to speak, but he can hardly manage more than an inarticulate groan. It’s like all the air has been pushed out of his lungs and all he can focus on is the all-consuming fullness inside him. He drops his head back against his pillow and tries to breathe through it. He reaches for his own cock where it lies trapped and leaking between their bellies, but Daniel lightly bats his hand away and wraps his own around him instead.

“Let me,” he says and starts to stroke him, his hand still slick with lube.

The glide of Daniel’s hand over his cock is the perfect distraction as he adjusts to the feeling of his cock inside him. A fire catches low in his belly that grows and grows until Armand is urging Daniel to move, his legs wrapped high up on his waist and his hands touching him wherever he can reach.

With a few experimental rolls of his hips, Daniel starts to find his rhythm, fucking him with increasingly strong, steady thrusts that have Armand panting for more. He shouts as the head of Daniel’s cock bumps his prostate, pleasure bursting in sunspots behind his eyes.

“Right there, baby?” Daniel asks him, and he doesn't wait for an answer as he does it again, angling his hips just right and tearing another moan from Armand’s chest. Daniel starts to fuck him in earnest then with sharp thrusts that make punched out little sounds fall from Armand's lips as his hand still twists around his cock.

He watches Armand closely from above, as if committing every gasp, every moan, every sigh he makes to memory. Armand is no stranger to exhibitionism, but this is different. The attention makes him feel raw, flayed open and bare, as if his soul—not his body—is exposed for all the world to see.

Except it isn't the world looking down at him with devotion in its eyes. It's Daniel, the person he trusts most, and there is such freedom in that, he realizes, in knowing that someone sees you, all of you, and loves you all the same.

“Kiss me,” Armand tells him, begs him, and Daniel is quick to follow orders, slowing his movements to a deep, dirty grind that has Armand's toes curling as he licks into his mouth.

Armand kisses him until he can barely breathe. He’s gasping as they part, drawing in greedy breaths as he looks up at Daniel like he's the only thing that matters. The afternoon sun pales in comparison to the golden light Armand sees emanating from him as he hovers over him, his chest glistening with sweat as he drives his cock into him over and over, just where he needs it.

Of course it does, he thinks, a little deliriously, as he reaches up to cup Daniel’s face in his hands, staring intently into his mossy green eyes. What is a mediocre star compared to him?

It’s that thought that echoes in his mind as he feels the tension in his belly coiling tighter, his orgasm rapidly approaching. His world narrows to the hot drag of Daniel's cock inside him and within moments, Armand is coming with hardly a sound, his cock jerking hard in Daniel's grip as he makes a mess of them both.

“That's it, baby. Come for me,” Daniel groans as he fucks him through it until Armand’s thighs are trembling on either side of his hips and he’s on the edge of overstimulation.

Daniel follows him over the edge a moment later, moaning into Armand’s neck and shoving himself so deep inside him Armand is sure he’ll feel him there for days. Armand holds him close as they both catch their breath, one hand raking his fingers through Daniel’s sweat-damp curls as the other traces patterns over his shoulder.

A small sound of discomfort escapes Armand as Daniel pulls his softening cock out of him. Daniel places an apologetic kiss to his lips before he moves off of him to sit up. He disposes of the condom, tying it off before dropping it in the trash can beside the bed.

He feels uncomfortably sticky and in desperate need of another shower, but when Daniel lies back down on the bed next to him, Armand can’t help but seek him out again, rolling over so he can rest his head on Daniel’s chest, too loose-limbed to even think about cleaning up just yet.

“So how’d I do?” Daniel asks him, his breath warm against Armand’s forehead as he wraps an arm around him, his fingers resting in the dip of Armand’s waist.

Armand huffs a delirious laugh against his collarbone.

“Ask me again when I can feel my legs,” he says, the dark hair covering Daniel’s chest tickling his cheek.

Daniel laughs and presses a kiss to Armand’s hair.

“That good, huh?” He asks, sounding wildly pleased with himself. Armand supposes that after that performance he deserves the praise.

He lifts his head off Daniel's chest to look at him properly. His smile is smug, his cheeks are flushed pink, and his hair looks utterly ridiculous. Armand falls just a little more in love with him.

“It’s always that good with you, Daniel,” Armand tells him, his own smile impossibly fond.

Daniel pulls him into a kiss then. It must be their thousandth one today and yet it still feels just as powerful as their first. Armand stays close when they part, pulling back just far enough to see Daniel's face.

“Are you feeling any better?” Armand asks him.

“Yeah,” he nods, and this time it is convincing. “Thank you.”

Armand tilts his head curiously at that. “For what?” he asks.

“For what you said,” Daniel answers. “For being here. It means a lot.”

Armand doesn't know what to say. Before he can try to find the words, Daniel continues.

“And it goes both ways, you know,” Daniel tells him. “Whatever happens with Louis or Marius or whoever else is giving you shit, I'll be with you, okay? We can handle it together.”

Armand isn't quite sure what that would look like—not with the sort of problems Marius gives him on a semi-regular basis—but he must admit he likes the sound of it.

“Together,” he promises and seals it with a kiss.

He rests his head on Daniel's chest again when they part, relishing the warmth and comfort of his embrace. He still has work he ought to finish before the day is over, but it can wait. There's always tomorrow, after all, and this moment feels too precious for him to ruin by getting out of bed right now.

It should come as no surprise, then, that he finds a way to ruin it anyway.

He's mapping the freckles on Daniel's chest with the tip of his finger when Daniel calls his name.

“Hey, Armand?” he asks.

“Hmm?” Armand hums, turning his face up to look at him.

“Have you told your parents about us yet?” Daniel asks him. “Or are you in the same boat as I am with having to come out and everything?”

Armand goes very still.

It’s a fair question. He can’t blame Daniel for asking it. Neither of those truths soften the blow to Armand's heart.

Because Armand has always been secure in the knowledge, at least in the flashes of memory he still retained, that his parents—wherever they were—loved him very much. It had been his sole source of comfort in the hellish catacombs he had once called home, the one thing his tormentors could never take from him. As he was forced to sleep on rough stone floors night after night and was savagely beaten for the crime of even mentioning their existence, he never let himself forget that somewhere in the world, his parents were looking for him. Somewhere in the world, they still loved him.

And as he considers the implications of Daniel’s question, it occurs to him that, were he to ever somehow find them again and tell them about his life—about Daniel—that there is a chance that that might no longer be true.

The wall Armand keeps in between the raw, jagged piece of his heart that mourns them and the rest of the world crumbles. A sudden, gaping emptiness opens in his chest, so wide and all-consuming he almost doesn’t notice the racing of his heart. The features of Daniel’s face blur beyond recognition and his voice, his beautiful voice, sounds warped and fuzzy as it reaches his ears.

“Armand?” he hears him say, a haze of confusion rounding out the edges of the consonants.

Armand opens his mouth to speak, but no sound comes out.

“Shit, was it bad?” Daniel asks, jumping to a logical, but incorrect assumption.

Daniel reaches up to cup his cheek, but Armand flinches at the unexpected touch. His eyes focus once more and he sees the way Daniel's brow is furrowed with worry, concern etched into every line on his face.

The guilt he feels is crushing. He hates that he did that, that he'd ruined Daniel's happiness even for a moment. He needs to get away from him before he makes it worse, he needs to—

“I need a shower,” he manages to say, his own voice drowned out by the ringing in his ears. He climbs off the bed without waiting for Daniel to reply.

He leaves his bedroom and crosses the hall to the bathroom, shutting the door behind him. He turns the shower on in the hopes that the noise will drown out the thoughts running through his mind too quickly to even articulate.

When it doesn't work, he gets inside the shower. The water is ice cold as he steps under the spray, but Armand barely notices. He stands with his back against the cool tile wall and slides down to the floor, his knees pulled tight to his chest.

He can hear Daniel calling his name, but he can't find his voice to answer him. Faintly, he registers the bathroom door swinging open on its hinges. He can't bring himself to take his eyes off his knees.

The water stops. A towel is draped across his back and shoulders. Warm arms wrap around him, holding him tight. He smells stale cigarette smoke and faded cologne. Bit by bit the world comes back into focus.

“Baby, what happened?” Daniel asks him, his tone sharp with worry and confusion. “Talk to me, please, what's going on?”

“They're gone,” Armand tells him, the words leaving his mouth as if he learned to say them by rote, his voice as hollow as his heart. “They're gone.”

#devil's minion #the vampire armand #daniel molloy #interview with the vampire #devil's minion fic #ethics professor louis fic #FINALLY

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joyfullyacat · 2 years ago

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Mistakes and Miscommunication

haha woops happy belated valentines day (this got really wrong and its now officially the longest oneshot i've ever done!) legally beta'd, i think the formatting is alright? anyway, lots of stuff explored so a touch experimental glitch and design i describe belongs to @sleepykas (ty for letting me write for him ;;;)

CW: mild violence, slightly suggestive notes, a touch of angst but it ends fluffy and stupid (silly references and jokes ahead) word count: 8.3k on this bad boy -

There’ll always be a part of you that is ready for danger, a sliver of haywire paranoia that never quite rests when you enter the field of law enforcement. That sliver will grow and hairline cracks will form at will at the slightest wrong interactions and it’s… Problematic.

But it keeps you safe. Somewhat.

The itchy feeling in the back of your head you’ve learned to ignore causes you to learn a lesson time and time again it feels like - that lesson being you should always trust your gut instinct when it tells you something is off about a situation. Even if the paranoia is bad - your gut proves to be good.

If you did listen to it, you’d probably be in far better shape than you were currently.

It was supposed to be a simple patrol, a call about “suspicious activity” which you get dime-a-dozen of day in and day out. Usually it’s a distinct bias against neighbors or particular groups of people, things that get settled with placating words and-or your thinning patience.

The setting sun meant you had to work fast and maybe that was where you began to slip up. Wanting to make it in time to clock out as you had been around the city and on your feet since before it even rose to greet the windows of your high rise apartment.

A show you had been watching recently was releasing its finale tonight - you had lots to look forward to! You were gonna order pizza and pig out, it was gonna be a good night.

However, the location given by the tip-off wasn’t the standard neighborhood or busy shopping district which meant you were in distinctly unfamiliar territory. Instead, you were at a relatively desolate port. An extensive strip of land that had towering stacks of cargo containers that seemed to form an endless maze in an array of colors and graffiti markings.

Not to mention warehouses.

You parked a small distance away from the buildings and crates, noting the overall lack of traffic over in this area - how quiet it seemed silent for the soft natural ambience of the ocean nearby. With the distant echoing hustle and bustle of the city, it’s not like anything would really be noticed going on here.

The lack of people busying about should have been your first clue that things were not quite what they seemed here but, then again, you weren’t wholly sure how this business worked in the first place.

Your shoes crunch against gravel before clicking against cement, you strain your ears to pick up on anything out of the ordinary.

The shadows casted by your surroundings are steadily growing and street lights are popping up, you fetch your flashlight from your belt and click it on, casually swinging it this way and that.

A developing sense of unease makes your stomach feel heavy, but you persist.

You shouldn’t be here for too long, there’s no reason to be here any longer than you need to be, yet there’s an invisible force that draws you to one of the warehouses.

Muffled voices steadily become audible, they’re rising at one another in a clear shouting match.

You stop at the wall, a small distance from the large overhead warehouse door that’s not fully closed and light peeps out from under it. This could either be some off-load workers getting riled up or it’s something far more nefarious going on.

Another moment is taken to scan the surroundings and your flashlight catches onto something shiny.

A very expensive looking car with silver accents and too dark windows peeks around the corner opposite from your own.

In another moment, in your peripheral, something gleams in the dying moments of sunlight in an elevated position. A keen whine forms in your ears as it feels like time slows in your fear.

Suddenly, you’re dropping to the ground and practically scuttle away, a bullet right where your head once was making a pretty, smoking hole with a startling clang as the metal is torn through like paper.

There’s a beat of silence, the arguing from inside coming to a halt.

Then the door starts to rise open and now you’re running to the crates, your car wouldn’t be safe, not with the sniper that’s thankfully a terrible shot and probably adjusting their sights with the early night darkness that’s settled.

With fumbling fingers in your adrenaline fueled fervor, you grasp at the radio clipped to your lapel, giving a hasty. “Send units, I’ve come across possible gang activity and have been, -” Shots ring out behind you and ding the crates that you round the corner of but you continue, in your pursuit of safety, you hear a confirmation buzz among the static of the radio.

You’re definitely outnumbered and now your only goal is to survive.

Maybe you should start to take a patrol partner no matter what, your usual wasn’t available - there was Glitch at the time but you were certain he hates you and you weren’t about to make a coworker suffer you.

Even if you think he looks quite nifty since his latest changes and would love to hear all about them.

That was a matter for another time however.

Distantly you hear shouts of finding “the rat” and getting “the boss” out, there’s sharp clanging of chains and echoing barks of dogs and you internally cringe. Hoping they wouldn’t sic those on you.

“Bring them alive! I wanna know what dingbat has the balls to come here!” A hoarse voice barks out and his presumed underlings don't even have to give a word of acknowledgement, just immediately acting on the order as steps sound across the pavement.

“This night is turning out terrible.” You breathe out as softly as you can, trying to steel your nerves as you brace for what is to possibly come. The descending night air is soothing as a gentle breeze ghosts the nape of your neck, carrying the smell of the waters near.

Briefly, you consider praying to whatever god is watching this sudden turn of action movie-esque events that you wouldn’t end up in those waters against your will.

The weight of the pistol is distinct in your hands as you ready it, pulling back the slide until the familiar click rings out like a church bell, ringing for, ideally, not you.

You keep light on your feet as you weave around the cargo stacks, letting the aggressive stomps of your pursuers act as a muffle for your noises but it’s not long until you turn the corner and ram yourself right into someone’s back.

A note for next time, check around corners before taking them in a situation such as this.

They’re not a friend but neither you nor him have an opportunity to act as deafening too close shots ring out. An itchy trigger finger finally given reason to engage.

Bang!

The body you’re pressed up to jerks against you.

Bang! Bang!

In those next moments, you’re ramming the goon forward, shoving them into your shooter. Fruitlessly trying not to think of the terrible moral implications of the deed or the fact that they’re so desperate to get to you - that they’d kill their own to do so.

The situation suddenly becomes all the more real as you’re shooting over the shoulder of the fallen and splattering the crates around you in red before there’s two heavy thuds of bodies hitting the ground together.

At least they weren’t alone? That… Doesn’t make it better.

There’s a tremble that’s developed in your hands but you’re unsure if it’s from adrenaline or from fear. Have you ever done this before? No, the bits of blood that coat your hand and run down your face feels foreign and disgusting.

Was this a you-or-them situation? You think so. Could you have simply disabled the shooter somehow? The two of them?

You don’t have much time to think that through as a flurry of racing feet begin to converge and get closer to your location, loud and steadfast, no doubt attracted to the rapidfire of shots and the only choice left is to run for it once again. Bob and weave through the environment, the location wasn’t that far from the station but traffic could hold support back from getting to you in a timely manner.

Granted, was anything timely when your life's on the line?

Distantly, you think you hear sirens. Maybe that’s just you being hopeful…

…Glitch was beside himself. Hands gripping tight on the wheel and making the leather creak as he sped along the road as legally as he could with his equally racing thoughts burning holes in his head in their loops. Every second felt like a minute and every minute felt like an hour and it all felt like you were rapidly running out of that very precious time.

You hadn’t updated the radio line since your initial call for help.

The shots over the receiver set his inner workings on a frenzy, a distinctive rush of electricity that no doubt made his face appear unbecoming if the looks his coworkers gave him while heading out were any indication.

But it didn’t matter - none of it would if he - if they couldn’t get to you in time.

It was him with five other officers, three cars total, hopefully it’d be enough but if he had any say in the matter - he’d have taken more.

There was so much he would take and do for you and your safety and…

“Hey… Big guy?” His accompanying partner pipes up, snapping Glitch from his thoughts. Johnson was one of few coworkers that wasn’t naturally intimidated by his mannerisms, a somewhat grounding presence when ambitions went above capabilities.

Except the animatronic wasn’t too sure if he could be leveled with at the moment. Just managing through his strain a deceptively polite hum of acknowledgement, head tilting towards the human in the passenger’s seat.

“...You’re bending the wheel.”

…

What? He’s what?

If he was capable of it, he would have started to break out in a cold sweat as yes, he was in fact contorting the steering wheel underneath his stress. The top half now held a noticeable curve inwards, towards himself that made his crushing grip clear.

Glitch made a vague sound, pretending to clear his throat as he relented his force almost entirely after that point. “I’m… Not quite sorry, but apologetic to worry you like that.”

All he gets in return is a disarming chuckle, “Not offended, if anything it’s cool, always wondered if those things could actually be damaged. They tend to survive wrecks outside of the air bags… Besides, I know why you’re worried. We’ll get to our fellow officer, it’s not much farther now.”

Not much farther now, that’s right.

It still feels like it’s been too long.

Did you even have any more minutes to spare?...

…You’re not sure how much time has passed, it all feels like too long yet not long enough for what you’re waiting for. You’ve downed more goons than you’ve been struck and you’ll count every single one of your blessings if any are left after this.

But those sirens are feasible now, your pursuers have caught wind of them too.

You’re tucked in the midst of crates, trying your best to take in desperate heaves of air as quietly as you can. You were doing so well at surviving that you were cursing at how you pigeon-holed yourself now.

It felt like a rookie’s mistake.

There’s the repetitive clicking of a lighter before a deep, raspy woman’s voice sounds, “The fuckin’ leak got help, cops are closing in - what do we do?” A moment of silence, the individual breathing in a cigarette presumably before coughing some.

Well at least she wasn’t very fussed in finding you it seemed, a good sign.

“Seems we may have to cut losses ‘ere, we’ve lost quite a few as is - impressive but annoying.” The voice is cool, collected. Honeyed even, though it holds a drawl as if he watched just a few too many pirate cartoons and movies. This voice had been tailing you casually for a bit now, ever since the initial run in you had with some of his fellow gang members and left them in a heap in each other’s arms against your own volition.

If him having a level head was supposed to be an intimidation tactic, well…

Consider yourself apprehensive, not a good sign. It seemed he always had a general idea where you were but didn’t want to clue the others in - maybe he liked the chase?

You didn’t like that thought remotely.

Distant shouts start up, orders being barked, there’s slams of car doors and people are clearly making their leave now. Your salvation must be real close, spotted on some not-so-distant horizon line.

“They’re calling a retreat, Tod.”

Todd?

You were being stalked by a guy named Todd?

“Mmm… So they are.” There’s a sigh that’s distinctly crackly, mechanical… This was an animatronic, “I’ll let y’go, I’ll be able to catch up - I wanna leave ‘em with a message.” His tone was firm, giving a resolute dark promise for your head to whoever they were prowling around with.

A choppy cackle breaks into a coughing fit, “Bring back a souvenir.” Another audible deep drag of a cigarette before pounding steps announced her leave.

A moment of silence.

A chuckle echoes out, warm and confident.“...Now s’just the two of us, lil’ pup.”

Oh that was a dubious nickname… You were unbelievably screwed if this Todd found you - but there was no moving from where you were, you couldn’t figure out how close the mafia member was.

The back-up was so close now, you could practically see the flashing lights bounce around and reflect from various metal surroundings.

Screeeeech!

As well as soon smell the burning rubber of tires from vehicles stopping too harshly along the cement, car doors opening and shots echoing out across the way. Distinctly, there’s a loud crash that reverberates through the ground, someone knocked a vehicle into something it seemed.

“Hands up! You’ve no way to go!” A voice you vaguely recognize bellows out the familiar command. Help was right there…

They’d probably be occupied with stragglers for a bit.

You’re much too occupied with figuring out a way to run to your safe haven that you don’t realize the wandering steps of your would-be hunter had tapered off into very careful tip toes. How unbelievably quiet it had gotten in your immediate vicinity, the noise outside of this personal bubble that was your potential dead-end being an easy distraction.

A distraction that would be your downfall.

Click.

…Safety was just turned off. You look down.

It wasn’t your own, even if you had a gun in your hands aimed at your only way out as means of protection.

So you look over and up, craning your head back.

The towering figure above you has a gun aimed at your forehead. No doubt, he’d be quicker on the draw as he didn’t exactly have vitals for you to maim like his far fleshier counterparts.

The animatronic’s grin is outright predatory as he looks down at you, “There you are…” He all but purrs out, golden fang glinting in the low light of your surroundings. Piercing orange eyes practically sparkle at his discovery of you.

It’s then you realize that this was a fox.

Who’s name was not Todd but in fact Tod.

A male-presenting fox animatronic. Named Tod.

How wonderful.

You’d laugh if you weren’t staring death in the face at this point in time.

“Wonder who tipped y’off our way, did y’never consider it being a trap? Your sorts never wander around these parts.” Tod speaks casually, almost flippantly as he leans forward, pressing the barrel of his pistol to your temple with a little pressing nudge that had your hands going clammy. “You’ve cost us so much, it almost seems fitting we should return the favor to those friends y’called.”

Buy time.

You had to buy time - more time. How much debt were you in right now?

“Is your name actually Tod?” You blurt out without thinking, looking up at him with a wide-eyed blink.

Tod looks just as perplexed as you feel, the hold on his weapon falling slack just a bit.

You could probably survive a shot to the jaw, right?

Belatedly, you recognize he has an eyepatch flipped-up at this moment, he really was a pirate wanna-be. “...I guess if the question is so burning…” He begins, unsure and still bewildered at your outburst, “It’s not Tod - I hold the name Foxy. We jus’ have aliases.”

“...Foxy the fox automaton.” You relay after a beat, helpless against the dopey grin that forms at the ridiculousness and very on-the-nose nature of his name.

This was even better than Tod and if you didn’t know any better, you’d outright giggle but you know just enough to just settle for your smile instead.

…Okay, a snort broke out. Ugly and undignified but could you be blamed?

Foxy just looks at you, positively floored at your sheer audacity… Or maybe it was your blatant stupidity - considering the current situation you were in with him. However you were frazzled, tired if you were honest. You were stained with blood that, while you sure wasn’t your own, couldn’t be too sure. You definitely had bruises if nothing else.

So you were going to find your entertainment where you could.

A few moments of silence pass.

Are those steps heading your way?

You’re not exactly sure what you or him are waiting for as the once tense air where your life was in peril subsides into something far more awkward.

It reminds you just a little too much of interactions you have with a certain other animatronic who works with you.

Finally, with an ear twitching in acknowledgement to outside noises, Foxy decides to cut through the silence with a sharp huff of amusement. “You’re something else y’know tha -” His words are suddenly cut off by a black blur moving past your hidey-hole and barreling into your captor. The gun held against you clatters to the ground, Foxy’s voice box breaks into something of an animalistic screech of static before an all out brawl starts between the two of them.

You stay right where you are. Getting in the middle of that is a good way to find yourself pummeled…

…Glitch found you.

He finally found you.

He found you facing down the muzzle of a gun with a deer in the headlights look that you shared with your potential killer. He was already high-strung before.

It was safe to say that he saw red then and it wasn’t just the fur of the animatronic that he tore away from the fox at the base, exposing the endoskeleton and wires alike without care.

When the squad arrived, the criminals were scattering, getting into cars and tailing it out of there or trying to get away on foot. More enforcements were called in, cars were already noted and license plates were spread, the city wouldn’t be quiet tonight and probably not for some nights after.

Especially with the amount of members they were able to apprehend. Many new database entries would be added. New mugshots to be made fun of. The precinct would finally have things to do after what seemed like too long of crickets.

That wasn’t even going over the amount of members you had single-handedly felled. Even if every body he came across filled him with trepidation - there was unbelievable relief when they were turned over and it wasn’t your face. There was a growing sense of pride too.

Who knows how many operations you had interrupted with your actions this night.

It did unmentionable things for him that he’d have to unpack later but for now, all there was to focus on was you and you alone.

He - … They… No. He was so close to losing you just then and he would have been just… Seconds off the mark. Just mere seconds, a blink of the eye really.

A moment of hesitation or if something else caught his attention, what could have happened to you?

…Very possibly, it’d be you in a bag with half a dozen others and that was a thought he couldn’t bear.

Even more shudder-inducing was the potential of you being captured and used.

All his worries, his frustrations - both with you and with himself, were unleashed in this one moment.

Metal groaned in protest as he forced limbs to snap and contort outside of their range, joints becoming useless at multiple points. Glitch was deaf to the cries of his fellow automaton - but he didn’t kill the bot.

That’d be too good for them.

There was a final, keen creak of the fox’s arm before it came clean off with a shower of sparks, the very arm responsible for aiming a gun at you and it seemed his system forcibly shut down now to hide from further trauma as the beast-like animatronic fell slack beneath him.

A pitiful play dead response.

“...Is he dead?” He hears you speak out brittley once it had all gone quiet, Glitch peers over his shoulder to look at you peeking over a crate and looking back at him with doe eyes.

You’d be cute if you weren’t painted with blood… But at least your vitals read normal.

This night was gonna haunt him for a bit it felt like. Rather - you’d be haunting him for a bit. That's more accurate.

“No, no he isn’t… Just out of commission. They’ll patch him up for interrogation.” He answers unsteadily, there’s definitely a drive - a wish to finish the job but he’s done enough damage and they need to find out all they could about what was transpiring here.

So he merely radios-in the stray before peeling himself from the fallen and heading over to you…

…You look up at the new too-tall figure, this time a friend that you finally recognized as your coworker, Glitch.

Were all animatronics just built to be large? You didn’t think you were particularly short but you were beginning to see a pattern here. Though you were also on the ground currently.

He’s scratched up from his scrap and holds tears in his nice suit. Honestly it seems like he got more hurt than you did, if damages to his surface coloring counted.

“...Can you stand?” He asks after he lowers himself to a squat in front of you, probably trying to gauge your current state of being at a closer level… Or maybe he just didn’t wanna overwhelm you.

You were ready to be out of this terrible resting spot.

“I… Think I can?”

Though, at this moment, you’re not sure where to even start. You wanna put your gun away, you want to wipe your sweaty palms on your pants despite it being uncouth, you also still wanna get up and walk out and get back in your car and go home and -!

Hands carefully go over your own, plucking you from your adrenaline fueled spiraling thoughts. He navigates your fingers deftly with his own, nudging them to get the safety on and to unload the bullet in the chamber. Little clicks and rings being a very nice change of pace from all the chaotic noises you were surrounded by before.

Which, you realize morosely, that bit of ammo was your last one.

You truly were standing on your last leg just then.

The gun is guided back to its holster, Glitch leaning in and making you focus on nothing but him and all that was him in this moment. A hand settles at your hip and for a moment, you’re looking into eachothers eyes.

You don’t decipher the emotions dancing within them - you can barely figure out your own currently.

In a flash of bravery, you ask, “Could I bother you to pick me up?”

Golden eyes widen some - well, his left eye widens as much as it can. “...You could bother me for anything.” He replies with seeming breathiness without missing a beat this time, almost as if he was relieved you were back to your shenanigans with that request.

The hand at your hip suddenly grips you firm and is matched with another hand on the other side before you’re picked up like you weigh no more than a couple of grapes. You only have time to gasp as you’re not held like a ballerina waiting to be held overhead for long, instead carefully maneuvered to be in a bridal carry and held protectively to him.

This is the closest you’ve been to the bot and frankly, you’re unsure what to do with yourself.

Your hands seem to dance between wanting to rest against him on his chest - or resting against yourself in an awkward cradle to your own chest. A need to comfort your savior but also not wanting to overstep whatever was sat between you and him.

“...You’re tense.” You note after a small while, you hadn’t realized how far you went into the maze of crates in your digs for survival.

Glitch hums above you, “I am also made of metal, there’s not much of me that isn’t rigid.” His words are teasing but his tone doesn’t quite match up, it’s distant. Not all there. His thoughts have his attention more than you do.

“You know what I mean…”

“I’m sure I do.” Without further word, he paws at something along your belt line and you squawk at the sudden prodding.

“What are you-!”

The familiar jingle of keys to your patrol car sounds and is tossed recklessly to another officer on the scene.

Your hands finally know what to do with themselves then and that’s flail, all outstretched in front of you in a pathetic attempt to take your keys back, “I need those!”

The animatronic holding you pointedly ignores you, as do the rest of your fellow officers, too busy snickering and likely spreading gossip for the image Glitch and you offered them tonight.

“Take the patrol car left over on the gravel, officer…” The animatronic announces your name before holding you up like some prize and you feel your face burn in embarrassment at some of the snickers that ensue afterwards. “Here is unfit to drive in this current state.”

There are cheers at your safe recovery but of course the statement draws some concern.

The coworker who has your keys, Johnson, you think it is. Someone who commonly teams up with Glitch only gives a curt nod before gesturing to you. “Do they need medical attention?”

“I don’t think so. Not emergency at least.”

You squirm, “Do I get a say in this?”

“Not currently.” Replies Glitch without so much as a second thought. It’s amusing how adjusted the others seem to his antics.

Your current escort splits from the rest of the team present after that, you wanna laugh and coo at how he tries his absolute damndest to keep you in his arms. Like a toddler unwilling to let go of their favorite soft toy or blanket that needs to be washed. Going as far as leaning a bit too far forward at his height, just to be able to open the door before putting you in the front seat without so much as an inquiry to your state of being.

There’s a part of you that wonders how much of this is for you and how much of it is for him.

You’ve just gotten your seatbelt clicked into place by the time he gets into his seat and it’s not long after that where the two of you are off, the soothing hum of being on the road allowing you to fully relax now.

“...Has that always been screwy?” You gesture to the bent wheel a few minutes into your return to the station with him.

“...Not quite.” He admits after a moment of hesitation, “I, ah… Got worried on the way here. Everyone heard the shots over the radio.”

Oh.

“Is that why you’ve been so…?” You gesture vaguely to him and barely spot the way his gaze flicks to you before going back to the road that stretches ahead.

Eyelights flick to you, “So-? I lied when I said I was able to get what you mean.” This time there was an actual teasing lilt to his words, a little curl to his teeth in a clear smarmy grin that has you huffing.

“...Touchy? Protective? …Comforting?” The last word is said with a moment’s worth of hesitation, unsure if that was quite the word to use. “...Maybe reassuring is the better word all together there.”

“Comforting?”

Before you can even note the small way he echoed one of your words - if you had blinked in that moment, you would have missed it. The screen of his face, for lack of a better word, glitched much like his namesake. Turning into a reflective black void of nothingness for a moment before flickering back on and being loudly silent.

Yeah. He had a way of making silence audible. Where no words needed to be said.

Impressive and intimidating. Just a touch annoying.

Then, like nothing happened at all, he bobs his head in a half nod. “So I have - is this… A problem?” He notes, clearly toeing the topic line of boundaries without outright asking.

With a snort, you’re unable to stop yourself from pointing out the obvious interaction you just had with him, “...I let you carry me, didn’t I?”

“So you did.” He confirms.

“And it was nice…” You say, genuine, but also as a test as you keep a close eye for his reaction.

Glitch doesn’t disappoint as he noticeably grips the wheel with a strength you’d know would crush your hand without so much as a batted eye, yet funnily enough he actually manages to straighten out some of the contortion he subjected it to earlier. Pushing it back into place a fair deal.

His strength was known around the station but still… Poor steering wheel.

It’s not long after that when you finally arrive with him at the station, tumbling out the car as soon as he’s parked safely and stretching obnoxiously with your hands over your head, a number of your joints popping with satisfaction… as well as pulling at some strains you gained over your terrible adventure.

Glitch snickers from the otherside of the car at your theatrics and you look back at him and his tattered state.

With a grin, you ask. “Could I bother you for something again?”

“You can bother me for anything.” He responds much like he did before, this time more like a quip and far more impish with a for-show roll of his eyes to boot.

You turn towards him, throwing your arms over the roof of the car and stretching your hands out for him to take with, what you hoped was taken as, an inviting wiggle of the fingers. “Let me help patch you up? You kinda got all… Scratched saving me, thank you by the way - I can’t say that enough, I can’t remember if I did or not already, but thank you.”

He meets you with a stare you can’t quite place. It’s heavy and questioning, unsure but accepting, like you’ve given him something he thinks is too good to be true yet wants so badly to trust in it.

“...Can I help get the blood off of you first.”

“Oh. Yeah, I should probably get myself cleaned up before handling anything…” You note the patches of dried red on your sleeves with a whine in the back of your throat. “It’s gonna be a pain getting all this cleaned up.”

The animatronic finally takes your hands into his own - only to push you off the car with his reach that surpasses yours. “Don’t you have spare clothes?”

“I did in the patrol car that was left in someone else’s care…” You sulk, looking at him beneath your lashes in a momentary pout as you're pushed away, “I typically keep them with me.”

You miss the way he falters at your look towards him, too busy being full of loathing at the days of cleaning and soaks for your apparel, maybe you’d have to pay extra this month for dry cleaning.

“...borrow one of mine?” Is all you catch as you’re brought back to the present when he’s standing in front of you, hand on hip and head tilted to the side some.

So, in all of your brilliance, you offer in reply a dumb, “What?”

He clears his throat despite the lack of need. “Would you… Like…” Glitch holds a hand over his mouth for a moment, looking away as if your distracted attention was the only reason he prompted this to begin with. “Would you like to borrow one of mine?” He finally gets out, looking at you briefly only to look to the side again and pretending to be far more occupied with the nearby road.

“...Borrow one of your shirts?”

“Yes.”

Both you and him ignore how eagerly he replied to that inquiry.

“Sure.”

“Ah, it’s alri- wait what?” He shoots a look at you of shock, shoulders straightening with rigidity.

“I said sure, I’ll borrow one of your shirts. They’re probably nicer than mine anyway and you dress nice.” You point out casually, making a motion towards his nice leather belt.

“...Right. Yeah - thank you.”

Both you and him also ignore how clearly flustered he was over the compliment and clear fact that he was, in fact, a dapper dresser.

With a toss of your chin, you gesture to the station. “Should we head inside now?”

“We should, yeah…”

He doesn’t move. He’s just looking at you with rounded eyes.

Neither do you. You’re looking back at him with growing curiosity.

You wonder if you’ve had him pinned all wrong as you take the initiative to move, the animatronic moving wordlessly and seamlessly out of your way to follow obediently in step with you. It was… Odd to see, coming from him.

Glitch opens the door for you and the moment you step a foot into the station, there is a sense of disappointment when nothing occurs, you’re not sure what you were expecting but at least some fanfare? A check-up?

It’s unbelievably quiet, you’re not even sure if anyone is available. Someone could be having a meeting or maybe there was an interrogation in progress but still.

At least the front desk worker pays you mind with a nod and a smile.

“Think most of them are now busy with catching runaways and the like…” The animatronic chimes in suddenly as if sensing your drop, just guiding you along with a hand by the small of your back to his office. “Cabinet in the back left corner, bottom drawer should have shirts.”

You look over and up at him, “Do you have spare everything?”

“It pays to be prepared.” Is all he says as he peers down at you with mischief before letting you into his office and nudging you inside, following through and closing the door behind himself.

It’s not that you didn’t realize, it’s just that you didn’t care as you begin to unbutton your top after removing it from its tuck, going from the bottom-up while taking yourself over to the cabinet.

And just as fast as you began to do that - the door abruptly opens and closes behind you, Glitch effectively showing himself out without a second word of input.

“...Sorry!” You half-heartedly bark over your shoulder, not knowing if things were soundproofed but you might as well be courteous as you shrug off one shirt and tug on a new one.

Of course, it’s large on you. You have to tastefully tuck it in where it’ll count and still have a fair amount of room left over, the sleeves also get rolled up to your elbows for sake of ease.

After a final tug to your collar to ensure everything is nice, you call to the closed door, “I’m decent now!” Your old shirt is in a haphazard ball in your hold and the automaton comes in with a plastic bag in hand that he passes to you shortly after.

He also holds a rag and a bottle of water which you look at, puzzled.

“For your face.” Glitch confirms, opening the bottle of water with one hand using his index and thumb. An act that enamours you far more than it should as the cap is dropped off on the desk, some of the water being poured into the hand towel before he begins to dab at your forehead and cheeks.

It’s not a long process but it’s an oddly pleasant one, just being fussed over like this. Occasionally he guides your head to move this way and that with his thumb at your chin.

You get to admire the subtle changes in his expressions. Especially when he finds an area he missed by your hairline and carefully brushes the locks away to get to it, you could practically see a tail wagging behind him in self-satisfaction.

If he notices your staring, he doesn’t comment on it.

By the end however, the sweetness is gone as he drives the cloth hard into your cheek as if getting a particularly stubborn spot before pulling away altogether.

“You’re clear, you should properly make yourself squeaky clean later however.”

Poutily, you rub at your cheek with a withering, weak glare that has him chuckling but with the most pressing matter out of the way, one of them at least, you look around his office before looking back at him, “So how do we fix you up, hm?”

“Well you can’t help with my clothes, for one.” He notes dryly, snickering at how you dramatically gasp in clear mock-offense.

“Why, I never! Just because I’m quick to dress myself down does not mean I don’t respect you enough to attempt to dress you down just as fast!”

“But you wanna dress me down at all?” Glitch goads, peering down to you, evidently humored by your theatrics if the pleased glint in his eyes was any indicator.

Though at this rate, perhaps he should learn that you desperately need a filter as you reply without missing a beat, “I would actually love to see your model as a whole, yes.”

Silence.

His face did the thing again. Becoming blank and eerie just for a heartbeat before coming back to life in full force.

The stare he’s giving you now is… Intense, putting it kindly. “Are you joking?”

“I’m not, plus you’re probably gonna have to remove your shirt anyway if nothing else because you’re covered in scratches. Do you have something for those? Anything?”

“...Top right drawer in my desk, little jar. There’s a brush in there too.” He moseys over to the chair at said desk, sitting himself down in it and beginning the process of getting his shirt off.

This feels oddly domestic as you fetch the items needed, looking at the name of the color with an obvious, obnoxious hum.

“What?”

You waggle the jar playfully from side to side at him, “Obsidian bulwark, really?” you jest before opening it up to reveal the glossy dark red, almost black paint within.

“I can’t help what companies name their products.” His pout is so blatant it has you giggling.

“Mhm. Arms out now.” Glitch does as he’s told and so the long process of touching up all the imperfections commenced. Of course you couldn’t paint all of it, some of the metal was actually torn through, but you could at least make him presentable.

In that time, you spend a fair deal just… Admiring, that felt better to say than ogling, his make. The details of his chest, the two shiny gold buttons that stood out starkly compared to his dark body and you find them absolutely adorable. “I have to say this kinda feels like painting nails.”

“I suppose it’s not that different…” He’s been silent for the most part, just watching how each of his little marks are erased from sight, even ones you’re sure he didn’t get during his time at the harbor but instead sometime in the past that he just never saw. You’re thorough, minding the gradient on his forearm that goes from the almost-black of his body to a carnelian red towards his wrist.

You lift his arms, you turn them this way and that, you get his palms and in-between his fingers.

When you get to his chest, there’s a desperate need to speak so you feel less like some handsy lecherous artist getting too personal with their latest muse.

“Glitch.” You begin, pulling the brush away for the possible outburst that could come from your new, seeming friend.

He looks at you quizzically, probably wondering why you’ve stopped his free pampering treatment of touch-ups. “Yes?”

“This is probably a bad time but I totally thought you hated me.” There’s an absolute one-eighty in his visible emotion, the unknown tension in the air dissipating in seconds when he levels you with a deadpan look that has you doubling over in laughter in record time. It was a good thing you pulled away as the little jar of paint clatters on his desk.

“You thought I hated you?” Glitch echoes your words with bewilderment, almost sounding offended by the sheer notion as he puts his hand to his chest, gesturing to himself. “Me? How?”

“Okay - hold on… I think - maybe this was a miscommunication.” You try to placate through your shoulder-shaking mirth, “But… You never - talked to me really. Not like this. We especially have never interacted like this.”

That gets his attention. “We didn’t?”

“No, if I tried to talk to you - you’d get all like… Awkward and stiff? You’d act short with me. Kinda made it seem like you were looking for the soonest opportunity to stop talking with me.”

Every example you begin to point out afterwards, his apparent inability to interact with you before, makes him visibly recoil more in on himself.

“I - Okay I… I get it.” Now he’s gesturing with his hands to have you stop, “I hope my actions today have shown you otherwise that I very much do not hate you.”

You nod, “Which is why I’ve been very confused for a better half of this whole time spent.”

“Suppose I should try to explain myself but…” He fidgets before ultimately going for the move to make himself comfortable, leaning forward with elbows on his knees. An act that is far too tempting considering his shirtless status. “Easiest way to put it, I could not figure out how to… Act around you, Wildfire.”

“Wildfire?”

“Mhm. That is how I see you, a burning wildfire. Beautiful and necessary in nature, scary and destructive, going by its own whims or following the winds. You are capable of so much as showcased earlier with how you handled yourself, surrounded by enemies. You’re vibrant, brilliant,” He stops suddenly, slowly blinking at you before tilting his head quizzically, “Your heart rate is startlingly fast, are you alright?”

No. No you very much weren’t. There’s a heat behind your ears and you’ve never felt so flushed in your life before - save for when you were severely sick. Maybe he didn’t recognize it, the way his face steadily shifted the longer he spoke. Sickeningly sticky-sweet fondness and utter adoration in his eyes, his ever-sharp grin softening into a genuine smile.

All for you.

All for what he apparently saw you as.

He called you wildfire. Like you were his wildfire, to bask in its warmth and never fear its wrath.

When you don’t answer in a timely manner, he reaches out to gently brush your cheek with knuckles that hadn’t needed to be painted, the coolness of the metal surface bringing you back to the moment.

You try to get your thoughts in order with little success, “So… Earlier. When you said you were worried for me - so much so you bent the steering wheel…”

Glitch’s laugh is light and airy, a bit embarrassed at his actions being brought up again. “I was worried for you, yes. Not just as my coworker, my fellow law enforcement, but you as an individual, your person. I was worried that fire would be put out and I would be left cold for quite some time.”

This was the same man… Animatronic… Robot. Man. Who struggled to ask if you’d like to wear one of his shirts for a very clean and very honest reason.

You feel blindsided by this development.

“...When did this start?” That was probably the most burning question that needed an answer right now.

At least he has the decency to look thoughtful now, not giving you the “since we first met” spiel that you were expecting. You don’t think your heart would have been able to handle that.

“Do you happen to remember the first times we were out on the road and so on together? When you first joined the force.”

Ah, your green days… You remember those well, you got one of your first and really one of your only major scars on duty back then. You’ve since learned your lesson of course but… Oh.

“You mean when I took on that madman with you?”

“Yes, when you took a wild stabbing for me - quite literally on that note. Despite your very fleshiness compared to my metal being.” He carefully prods your side where the scar sits, it was far nicer than what it used to be a few years ago. “You didn’t even look agonized over it - you smiled at me in reassurance despite you being the one injured. Most typically put me on the front lines for a reason.”

Damn it all. “...So basically when we first met?”

“It would seem so, yes.”

You deflate with a hiss through your teeth, hiding your face in your hands as you belatedly realize too late you still have the paint brush in your hand. Promptly smearing color across your forehead and into your hair. You could worry about that later. Maybe you’d just dye your hair with it.

You peer at him through a crack in your fingers. “...Are you also why we immediately stopped being paired together on duty no matter what after that?” You wanna cringe at the way you sound so pitched but your nerves are shot and you’re riding an unbelievable high despite how embarrassed you felt.

To be so prized and valued? Right beneath your nose? For months? All because you wanted to respect a seeming unsung wish while he wanted to protect you?

This feels right out of a movie.

“Mhm, I couldn’t let you risk yourself for me in case of any more bad cases or calls. I know you are not fragile - but I am far more resistant to attacks than you are.” The corners of his eyes get sharper, that sweet smile he held turning back into the cheshire grin you know once again as he’s unbelievably smug about the reaction he’s pulling from you now.

It seems he finally understood why your heart was going a mile a minute.

“Are you satisfied over there?”

“Immensely.” He drawls. “Are you satisfied with your discoveries?”

You hum, “Two more questions?”

“Shoot.”

“Will the paint stain my skin?” You take your face away from your hands, noting the wet feeling across your forehead with a grimace as the brush falls away from you.

“Probably not, it should come off like any other paint. If it did stain, wearing clothes would be an issue for us.”

Sound reasoning, that leaves you with your next question if he doesn’t pull the “but you already asked a question” thing which sounds right up his alley to do but… Well.

He’s looking at you patiently, kindly.

If a bit smugly.

“...What does this uh… Mean for us?” You point to yourself then to him, swapping it a few times before letting your hand fall limp at the wrist.

Glitch reaches out to hold that hand in one of his own, the paint having now dried it seems, “I don’t believe it has to mean anything if you don’t want it to. I think we got over the obvious issues I… Seemed to have while interacting with you before.” His fingers find their place in-between yours, lacing the hands together seamlessly.

You can’t help it, the seemingly running joke between you and him now, “...Does it mean I get to bother you more often?”

He sighs and instead of giving you the reply that you expect by now, he draws your hand close and turns it towards him, pressing it to his teeth in a very clear note of affection.

“You will never and I do mean never be a bother to me. You will be yourself and I will admire you endlessly for it every time. Do not hold back on my account… Is this clear?”

The glare he gives you over your hand is plain as day. There’s some underlying threat there despite the tenderhearted words, that there’d be a consequence if you’d push yourself down again even jokingly.

You swallow thickly.

“Crystal… Crystal clear, Glitch.”

The animatronic pulls you in suddenly, pressing his face to your cheek in another kiss.

“Good. You look nice in my shirt by the way.”

“...It’s made out of boyfriend material so I’d hope it looks good.”

You’re unprepared for how he bonks his head to yours in admonishment.

Worth it.

#eclipse x reader #dca x reader #daycare attendant x reader #foxy x reader #if you squint #fnaf sb x reader #fnafsb x reader #sorry not sorry for what this inspires at the end of the day #joyfic #(edit: forgot a tag im sorry)

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deadcactuswalking · 18 days ago

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REVIEWING THE CHARTS: 26/10/2024 (Bruno Mars & ROSÉ, Gracie Abrams, Morgan Wallen)

For a ninth week straight, Sabrina Carpenter holds onto the #1 on the UK Singles Chart with “Taste”. Welcome back to REVIEWING THE CHARTS!

content warning: language, references to sex, violence, mental health (paranoia, suicide, abusive relationships)

Rundown

As always, we start our episode with the notable dropouts, those being tracks exiting the UK Top 75 – which is what I cover – after five weeks in the region or a peak in the top 40. This week, we bid adieu to a fair few songs, it was a bit of a bloodbath even if I can see a lot of these making a return. We say our farewells to “KEEP UP” by Odetari, “Pretty Slowly” by Benson Boone, “You’re Gonna Go Far” by Noah Kahan, “Blame it on the Rain” by Milli Vanilli, “Free” by Calvin Harris and Ellie Goulding, “Angel of My Dreams” by JADE (more on her later), “Carry You Home” by Alex Warren, “i like the way you kiss me” by Artemas, “Belong Together” by Mark Ambor, “Scared to Start” by Michael Marcagi and finally, “Viva la Vida” by Coldplay.

Much of the reason for our grand list of dropouts would not just be the amount of newer entries we have this week, which span from viral slow-burn deep cuts to sudden smash hits that missed even my periphery, but it should definitely be noted how many re-entries we have this week, though the circumstances for them are quite unfortunate. Former One Direction member and English singer and media personality in his own right, Liam Payne, has passed at 31, having jumped out of his hotel room in Argentina after what is likely a period of intense substance abuse. Payne had recently been in the news for allegations of his own, and his career had never reached the heights of his boy band fame or even his contemporaries, though this still struck a lot of people, especially on social media where TMZ posted images of his corpse. Classy. Payne’s death is the tragic by-product of an industry, a series of labels and plenty of executives disregarding the likely traumatic outcome of being thrown into pop stardom at a young age. There were so many moments in the careers of the 1D boys where it seemed evident that access points to support just weren’t there, or weren’t taken seriously because of the fact they were a famous boy band – you just cough it up, right? It’s the industry, it’s just “how it is”. Chappell Roan has recently highlighted how terrifying pop music can be as a performer, and with Payne passing, maybe there’ll be a second look towards those who could have gotten to him in the years before his death, and simply refused, restrained themselves on the grounds of their own financial bottom line. Preventive measures need to be in place, and whilst I doubt Liam Payne of all people should be the figurehead of mental health struggles in pop music because of his own problematic history and real lack of career growth, he should be a stark reminder that those you forget about in showbiz don’t just disappear… until they do.

Of course, this show is about the chart itself, and ultimately, another awful reminder of how pop music can put you through the wringer is present in our non-Payne re-entry at #69: “Careless Whisper” by the late George Michael. Recently reissued in celebration of its 40-year anniversary, the classic hit spent three weeks at #1 as Michael’s solo break from Wham! in 1984. Possibly the greatest treasure George Michael brought to the nation was preventing Black Lace’s novelty “Agadoo” from the top spot. Sarah Washington’s dance version reached #45 in 1993, and a UK garage rendition by 2 Play featuring Thomas Jules and Jucxi D took “Careless Whisper” to the top 40 once again in 2004 at #29. Just to date these songs, the #1s were the late Meat Loaf’s “I’ll Do Anything for Love” and Girls Aloud’s “I’ll Stand by You”, respectively. The original recording returned for a few weeks in 2017 following Michael’s passing, reaching #44, and it’s back for presumably one week, though a grimly potent one.

Otherwise, we have Liam Payne and One Direction making their returns: as for his solo hits, “For You”, a duet with Rita Ora from the Fifty Shades Freed soundtrack is back at #43, near his most iconic track, “Strip that Down” featuring Quavo at #41, which I mostly remember for being co-written with Ed Sheeran and sounding like Shaggy’s “It Wasn’t Me”. It originally peaked at #3 for two weeks in 2017 whilst “Despacito” by Luis Fonsi and Daddy Yankee featuring Justin Bieber was, unsurprisingly, #1. “For You”, on the other hand, which is – quite scarily – new enough for me to have reviewed on its debut week back in 2018, peaked at #8 for two weeks that year, whilst Drake’s “God’s Plan” held onto #1. Oh, and when I say I would have reviewed it on its debut week, I mean would have. I searched, and this is the second episode ever, that I mistakenly deleted in its entirety and replaced with a note essentially saying “whoops!” soon after. I can’t lie and say I wouldn’t do that today.

As for One Direction, “What Makes You Beautiful” – which has spent nearly 80 weeks on the chart and was their debut single after their X Factor appearance – is back at #23. The now-iconic, mostly shit debut made the band parade in on first try to #1 on the UK Singles Chart, even if just for one week, and had appeared on the chart much lower but still regularly until as late as 2014. Our other returns from the boys are more sentimental: “Story of My Life” is back at #9, after peaking at #2 in 2013, blocked by Lily Allen’s cover of “Somewhere Only We Know”. My fun fact about this one is that Alvin and the Chipmunks have a cover that adapts their lyrics to be about their relationship with their owner Dave. Perhaps more importantly, however, it was co-written by all of the band members, a distinction it shares with its fellow ballad “Night Changes”, which resonates with fans partly because it is about accepting change that can come so soon and suddenly over the course of your life. I’m no Directioner by any means, but this is a beautiful, dare I say perfect song that has become their most-streamed just through sheer longevity, despite being far from their biggest smash at the time. It’s a slow burn that has the biggest star Harry on lead in the chorus, and ZAYN and Liam trading the first verse (ZAYN leaving after this single’s release), which really helps propel it – alongside the sentiment – to the top of the charts after Payne’s passing. It had a comparatively brief chart run compared to their other big hits in late 2014 and early 2015, only reaching #7 whilst “Uptown Funk!” was #1. There’s something really special about how when one component of the quintet is lost, the devoted fans, now mostly adults, have taken it just one spot higher to peak at #6 this week. Again, I’m no One Direction fan, I never had a connection with the boys like many would have, but this is the best song in the top 40 right now – a selfish part of me aches for a second run, but it’s unlikely it takes off past this week. It would be a beautiful moment though, for a song that in its chorus, defies that fear of change: even when everything you’ve ever wanted disappears at your wake, there’s nothing to be afraid of. Just look forward.

Oh, yeah, we also have notable gains, and you know, 74 other songs in the region I cover, though I could spend a great deal of time on “Night Changes”. However, we do see healthy boosts for “I Only Smoke When I Drink” by nimino at #57, “Bad Dreams” by Teddy Swims at #25, and that’s… actually it. This week’s top five on the UK Singles Chart starts with “I Love You, I’m Sorry” by Gracie Abrams at #5, then we have a new entry from ROSÉ of BLACKPINK and Bruno Mars at #4 with their duet “APT.” which we will get to discussing later. Then it should be more familiar: “Die with a Smile” by Lady Gaga and Bruno Mars (again) at #3, “Sailor Song” by Gigi Perez (who has her follow-up ready for next week) at #2 and of course, “Taste” at the top. So if we know how it tastes at the top, what about the bottom? I won’t say that again, new song review time.

New Entries

#75 – “Oscar Winning Tears.” – RAYE

Produced by Mike Sabath

This is the most recent viral sleeper hit from RAYE’s My 21st Century Blues, an album that had more longevity in moderate hits that backed up the smash of “Escapism.” long after that had left the charts. This serves as the first full song on the album after the introduction, or the overture on the live edition, setting out what seems to be the record’s primary narrative, at least in part, that of the constant manipulation of young women being taken advantage of by a manic and unjust music industry, that reflects upon the wider society enabling it. Whilst there aren’t many specifics – RAYE quickly dismisses his details as irrelevant since he’s just one of many men to have taken advantage of her – the track follows RAYE taking a seat and recognising his emotional outbursts in the ex-relationship as fake and full of lies, hence the name. There’s a cinematic showtune-esque approach to the rap-singing of the verses that ends up dipping in and out unevenly thanks to the mixing, but it still rests nicely into R&B, with a minimal shake-up of drums and piano that kicks its intensity up not through drastic changes but through stray details like a wanky guitar or a rattling hi-hat switch-up, eventually forming a mix that clouds up into nothingness. It doesn’t capture the swell it should, despite generally playing into its melodrama, and hence has the stop-start momentum that may fit its content but stilts its potential. There’s a confidence and empowerment to this track that decays on later, more jaded songs, and whilst it may be a good fit for RAYE, it doesn’t have the same touching vulnerability that bases some of her more powerful cuts in reality and adds a heartfelt backlining. It’s a good introduction, but as a single, it falters in really painting a complete picture.

#61 – “Piece of My Heart” – Wizkid and Brent Faiyaz

Produced by P2J, Dpat, Juice Cuice and Drew80HD

It feels like it’s been a while since we’ve seen either of these acts, but the Nigerian singer who helped propel modern Afrobeats into his current global success has teamed up with one of the most influential newer alt-R&B acts for a new duet fusing their styles. We probably wouldn’t have the hits we do without them, especially this year, so there’s a strangeness to seeing the two debut so low, though of course influence and inspiration don’t always translate chart-wise. What I also wouldn’t have expected was how ambitious this track ended up being, with Faiyaz being the main star in my opinion, as he effortlessly blends different vocal inflections and alterations into a slippery Afrobeats rhythm with uniquely hissy and busy drums, sounding really organic under and over the tropical guitars and sliding keys in that first beat. This is the cleanest Wizkid’s vocal mix has… ever sounded, really, and he frames himself as the sweatier, sexual intimacy to Faiyaz’s loving platitudes that importantly give this woman ownership of some of his heart, but restraining letting her have too much. It plays out in the song as a cheesy “I just won’t have enough for myself” one-liner but speaks to the empty, pitch-shifted promises of the intro and Wizkid sounding desperate in his quieter, stifled delivery once the hypothetical of him potentially hurting her come into play. Of course, you could, fantastically, ignore all of that and jam to how gorgeous this sounds as a piece of music, with an immaculate breeze of a mix forming from what should end up at least slightly too busy and chaotic.

With the beat switch into the chipmunk vocal on its second half, subtitled “Sometimes”, we get not just the other side of that loving character, but a grovelling acknowledgement of their flaws. That simple chorus really does get to the crux of it: “Sometimes, I might be a bad version of me”. Wizkid even attempts to link back and reminisce on the intimacy we heard over the first beat that has been subtly diluted with a shakier, frailer arrangement, to no avail before the tape stops. I’m not used to this level of narrative storytelling from Wizkid, especially not in the context of how seamlessly the production forms around it, and although Faiyaz may be the more significant performer here, it intrigues me more into how an upcoming album could shape up if this is the approach he’s going with. I’m kind of taken aback by this lead single, I am really fascinated to where he goes next, even if it may not chart anytime soon. He may have a new fan on his hands here.

#52 – “Fantasy” – JADE

Produced by Mike Sabath

Jade Thirlwall of Little Mix continues to work for solo success, with this being her third attempt after “Angel of My Dreams” was not overly impressive but a resounding success critically and commercially, though its follow-up failed to really climb up the ladder the same way, with “Fantasy” potentially suffering the same fate given its low debut. Is it worth the potential climb up though? Well, despite sharing the producer, it fails to echo either the immediacy or the core clash at the heart of that solo debut single, and whilst JADE is still bringing much more personality than any of the half-formed Little Mix solo singles recently, this borderline pride anthem feels a bit lost. The glittery disco synths meander until they combine into a flavourless dressing, interrupting with obnoxious woozy stabs any actual bassy impact and momentum those verses embracing kinks and freedom could be. Madonna’s Erotica – an unabashed EDM-pop embracing of queer sexuality – is one of my favourite albums of all time and whilst it can be abrupt, cheesy or indistinct, it always knows where it’s going and refuses to chug along into a full, greatly-produced but ultimately aimless mess of keys and stray ideas. I genuinely do not know why JADE or producer Mike Sabath would allow the lead to be so easily drowned out by the production, which then absorbs a wave of tropical-adjacent nu-disco elements that really overfill the mix, rendering it gross in the way that perhaps wasn’t intended. I’m all for over-the-top campness, but the message is quite literally lost in the breathy performance and playful structure, alongside the feathery soundscape. It feels like it’s taking too many detours – or, never really having the punch or strength to its hooks in the first place – before being able to deliver that confidence, rendering it much less impactful, more like a sugary syrup that resembled some form of liberation or resistance prior to manufacturing. On first listen, I just thought this was okay but it might actually be a more detrimental and unfortunate reading of its subject matter than it has any idea how to grapple with. This could be something, it clearly wants to be, but it fumbles far before the point of that potential being heard, let alone fulfilled.

#50 – “Noid” – Tyler, the Creator

Produced by Tyler, the Creator

It’s that season again – and by that, I could of course mean Halloween and the spooky season but I mostly mean the season in which California rapper Tyler, the Creator, after staying relatively quiet for a year or two, announces a project, a new identity or character to play within the persona of for that record’s promotion – if not the project itself – and within a few weeks, he’ll have dropped a few promotional videos and eventually, a full album, mostly self-produced and with exciting hidden features… that’s on Monday, however. Once again, Tyler has eschewed convention by refusing to release on the crowded Friday and instead delaying his album until the Monday, hence the debut for a mid-week single that feeds into the Halloweeny times by focusing on paranoia.

This album’s protagonist, Saint Chroma of CHROMAKOPIA, constantly feels like, for lack of a phrase that doesn’t paraphrase a seasonal one-hit wonder, somebody’s watching him. The music video depicts visions of violence and fear that may not be real but find themselves justified in the lyrics, stretching this fictional personality back to Tyler’s reality where he can draw parallels in between the home invasions still plaguing the friends he grew up with, to the paparazzi’s focus on his 2023 purchase of a million-dollar mansion, in terms of how that can both eat at you and isolate you. Los Angeles’ celebrity culture and his familiarity with the city leads Chroma, or Tyler, to not feel understood in his conflict, with the sarcastic hook expressing envy for those who can just enjoy the small pleasure of watching, feeling, enjoying the simplicities of life. Tyler, however, feels bombarded by the inhuman: cameras, satellites, screenshots – when screens are pushed in front of you and your extensive purchases are news, that same systemic oppression from living in an unsafe neighbourhood returns in a way that may not put you in immediate danger, but reassures how insignificant and statistical you are in the spotlight, with the beat switch segmenting the two sides of life as much as it branches the two together.

Sonically, I mean, it’s Tyler, it’s lengthy and detailed, finding even more ways to develop his typically fuzzy and complete sound into the specific energy he wishes to operate within for a particular album cycle. Zambian psychedelic rock samples texture the first half, with Tyler displaying his barer, flawed singing voice without the coating IGOR granted it, though the “runnin’” he’s been doing for years in his music and the immense vocal layers from his catalogue but particularly that album remain, with WILLOW and Tyler’s separate multi-tracked choirs constantly attacked by that sample of Paul Ngozi reflecting a similar mania in his own native language – crossing those barriers feels particularly potent for a song that’s really about homes. Hell, Tyler’s mother even appears on the interlude threatening to beat up anyone who messes with her son, whose frail, pitch-shifted vocals that follow her defiant words emphasise how much we owe to our households. I love how the second half extends its intensity on pure tedium with Tyler’s nasal drawling out of the “e” sound in “me” over real, but low-fidelity claps. As for the full release on Monday, I’ll be excited to see how powerfully this hits within that context as something so dense as this can be difficult to sift through as a single, and Tyler has definitely polarised audiences with his leads before a critically adored album to follow, so my ears are peeled. Tyler’s releases always feel like an incredibly well-planned and momentous event, where even if I don’t love the album as much as his last, I can respect the growth, and such a complicated song from such a complicated artist definitely deserves a look from the bigger picture. Hell, that may just be the point of his attitude towards fame since at least CHERRY BOMB in 2015. Nearly a decade later, I’m excited to see how his approach has changed.

#40 – “Love Somebody” – Morgan Wallen

Produced by Joey Moi and Charlie Handsome

US country star Morgan Wallen loves to drop these teaser singles so that those who don’t follow his every move never really know when a full new album is coming… until we see 30 tracks hog up the Hot 100 and we know just what has occurred. Regardless of the bloated albums and honestly being much less interesting each new song I hear, I have liked his songs before so there could be something here to enjoy. Shamefully, there isn’t, as this is about as country as a shirtless guy in a flag-branded cowboy hat going around a city as a novelty cowboy who can barely play “Wonderwall” and puts on a silly accent for foreign tourists. There’s almost a morbid appeal to how blankly Morgan Wallen’s singing and melodies “fit” over the chintzy guitars mixed into a synthy pop rock pastiche even AOR radio programmers in 1987 might see as outside of their remit. Morgan’s lyrics, however, are about finding that honest girl he can take back to the sticks, instead of some opportunist using him for the parties and fame, seeing if he can snatch some of his wealth. I’m not sure yet if when writing this kind of bitter, hapless lament about inauthentic women who leave him to dry once absorbing the parts of him that matter to her… he may just be writing about himself, if he’s even writing it at all. Next.

#19 – “That’s So True” – Gracie Abrams

Produced by Aaron Dessner, Gracie Abrams and Julian Bunetta

Gracie Abrams has recently popped up with the deluxe edition of her breakout record, The Secret of Us, which distantly eyed up a second week at #1, a spot currently taken by Kylie Minogue who unfortunately had no new entries this week. Instead, we have what singer-songwriter Gracie Abrams has left on the cutting room floor which, given my disdain for her overly-sanitised and overthought brand of folk-pop, could honestly be a good thing if I wanted something rawer or more compelling. Unfortunately, even the B-sides grow through the machine, and though Abrams embraces her obnoxious immaturity through the writing, much like the promising “Risk”, this doesn’t have the youthful panic, trading it for a stomp-rock chorus that, much like that Morgan Wallen song, borders on kind of embarrassing, especially when it leads into the most brow-raising description of sex I think I have heard outside of rap on the charts. The acoustic rumble is really not that bad, but it’s so stiff in its programming and even its structure, fixated on repeating that annoying “oo-oo-oo” sound with little variation, and all of the muddy swell it accumulates itself in the bridge with the distorted, irritating drums, ends up all for nought when the song refuses to free itself from the shackles of its claustrophobic percussion and inconclusive chorus. One could argue that this absolutely fits the awkward post-breakup teenage drama… but at least when O-Rod did it, it was fun, there were much more unique details than this sexless column of cliché, and most importantly, Olivia Rodrigo is an actor first, and those dramatics, those stakes are palpable in her performance. This song refuses to expand itself beyond petty bullshit even towards its abrupt end, wasting everyone’s time in the process.

#4 – “APT.” – ROSÉ and Bruno Mars

Produced by Bruno Mars, Cirkut, Omer Fedi and Rogét Chahayed

It seems like the BLACKPINK girls are here to stay as solo acts and whilst so far they have definitely gathered much traction in that first week then filtered off slightly, their quest for western pop success that could really last seems to have been solved… by Bruno Mars. I’m genuinely surprised he’s maintained his career well enough to sell these top 10 duets, and perhaps a relative newcomer like ROSÉ makes a bit less sense for him to play off on, but he’s surrounded by certified pop songwriters and producers here too, so a part of me definitely anticipated for a watered-down personality… which is not at all what we got here. In fact, it’s a bratty rush of teenage lovestruck energy that dismisses anything but the “now” in its buzzy, new-rave brashness, not too far from say, The Ting Tings, in its presentation that could be seen as obnoxious if not for its content, all about a drinking game and that immediate lust to be around someone you love. An incredibly percussive track, it balances Bruno’s breathy ad-libs, with a simple cheerleader chant of a beat ripped straight from Toni Basil’s “Mickey”, itself from “Kitty” but that’s another story, that gradually fuses with the guitar-based melodic elements of the track to form something really euphoric. That pre-chorus is such a sticky melody and the verses are so manically repetitive you almost don’t notice Bruno is singing or rapping some phrases in Korean. It almost functions as a bait-and-switch even, with the K-pop structure naturally having you expect incredibly distinct and disparate parts being separated via abrupt transitions and cloyed together as a “song” by an undeniable chorus. Instead, the third cheerleader chant chorus carries on the swell of the pre-chorus effortlessly into a confrontational bridge pairing a soaring guitar lick with stuttering Bruno blips panning across ROSÉ’s reverb-drenched promises that she’s on her way. It may not actually go anywhere, but it settles for the temporary euphoria, the togetherness, in such a cute and for me, unexpected way that I can’t help but find this frankly adorable. It may sour on me with time but for now, I recommend it and I’d love to see this borderline punk track be the BLACKPINK-derived track that ends up lasting.

Conclusion

Definitely a fascinating and diverse week that gave me way too much to discuss, overwhelmingly so, but not one that led me to a breadth of quality like last time, more just intriguing nuances that opened these songs up a lot. Except Morgan Wallen, of course. Gracie Abrams gets Worst of the Week for “That’s So True”, which shouldn’t be a surprise, maybe I really am getting too old for this, but Mr. Wallen swoops up the Dishonourable Mention just as easily for “Love Somebody”, JADE’s safe this week. As for the best, I am a bit of a fangirl, I apologise, there is going to be an inherent bias, but I do think “Noid” is a brilliant, multi-layered song so Tyler snatches Best of the Week, with a delightfully surprised Honourable Mention towards “Piece of My Heart” by Wizkid and Brent Faiyaz, which is honestly a very similar track in scope, form and even some smaller details like vocal effects; weird coincidence.

As for what’s on the horizon, we may see Halsey and Tyler battle it out on the albums chart alongside Megan, Tears for Fears and Bastille, but how much of that will actually translate to the hit parade is unclear. It may be more worth betting on Lady Gaga’s proper comeback single and whatever “Addison Rae” is up to, but time will tell. For now, thank you for reading, rest in peace to Ka, and I’ll see you next week!

#uk singles chart #pop music #song review #bruno mars #apt #blackpink rosé #gracie abrams #tyler the creator #jade thirlwall #morgan wallen #wizkid #brent faiyaz #love somebody #raye #liam payne

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granulesofsand · 11 months ago

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hey there, good timezone. wishing you well. i've considered this for a while but never quite committed to the concept because.. hoo boy. anyway:

tbmc survivor here. do you personally feel that understanding the perpetrating organization's ideology could be useful in communicating, understanding, and figuring out how to work with parts? and, when their dogma/ideology is so complex/layered, how would you go about tracking and understanding it? especially when there's an excess of unusual vocab and concepts to be unraveled.

many thanks.

Unraveling Dogma

That’s up to you. I can tell you how we went about it, and if any of it sounds familiar we can talk again.

We’ve found a lot of good in unraveling our group’s ideology and what each alter was taught. It’s been smoother with the higher ups; not everything they learned was bad, but they couldn’t change anything until they understood what the different pieces meant to them.

They listed the principles, picked them apart, and put something together that was safer. It took a while, several cycles of picking and assembling, but a good few have come up with a healthy practice.

Part of the time spent in the spiral will be learning more about the heftier concepts— you can probably find a few fundamental beliefs and work out from there. It’s a spiral because you’re moving in more than just the same circle, even if it doesn’t feel like it.

You’re probably going to find conflicts in what you experienced versus what they claimed they were doing. Groups tend to work like that, and even abusive groups with abusive doctrine stray every so often. There’ll be times when people placed power over procedure, especially if it’s an offshoot of a nonabusive practice.

There were likely tricks to convince you the group or an authority was all-powerful or capable of defying the laws of physics. Even if you believe in some of what you were taught, you don’t have to believe they did it (talking with deities, for example).

Expect pushback from alters who were conditioned with all of it. Showing them new points to empower themselves where power was taken can help. Higher ups are often told they’re special or suffering for a cause; they might have to break down where they find meaning, but they can also build it back up.

The plain logistics with vocabulary and layers we did with charts and drawings. Every time we found a hierarchy, we drew it out separately. Every new word gets added to a list and a web connecting it to similar concepts.

Pull it apart and lay it out so you can see it, even if not all at the same time. We make books for our internal archive so others can learn without fronting, but that’s different for everyone too.

Researching other religions, starting with those entwined with that one, helps trace the origins of each bit. There’s a chance of finding other means of worship if you can trace the root

Our group was primarily dualist Christian, heavy belief in both God and Satan. Converts brought their previous culture with them, including some religious ties. The leaders prioritized power and balance, and thought their best bet was to trace those beliefs as far back as they could.

The end result was a convoluted and twisty belief system that sometimes contradicted itself. We learned about Crowley and sex magic and the Assyrian gods who used temple prostitution, and from that alone we got two of our higher ups participating in alternative methods.

You might be chasing word etymology and ceremonial history for a while. Ultimately, it’s good to have a better understanding of other beliefs. It might be too difficult to get into what your group had, but there is still benefit to exploring similar ideas and other options.

Grocery store school supplies are your friends. Get some 50 cent notebooks and pencils, get into it when you have a few hours free. It’s interesting if you can connect to it, and you can. Take notes on anything even vaguely relevant.

I’m not gonna lie to you, it’s hard. Sometimes you might end up learning a language to read old poems or counting in base 60 to understand numerology. It’s up to you whether it’s worthwhile for your system.

I do recommend it, though. With breaks and vacations where you hide the notebooks and do leisure activities only for a week. You get a lot of new information, even if it doesn’t relate back how you hoped. I cannot overemphasize the breaks, though.

Treat yourself and your system members well. Maybe pretend you’re an anthropologist. I believe you can do it, or I believe you can make the informed decision not to. Good luck.

#did osdd #osddid #ramcoa #tw ramcoa #cult abuse #cdd system

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artknifeandglue · 6 months ago

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as shattered stars shine: DVD commentary (3/12)

It is remarkably easy, the transition from dancing around Harry to whatever this is that they’ve got going. Eggsy makes himself at home in Harry’s office as always, sits there with his laptop or folder of readings or phone, stays until the evening sun paints the sky golden yellow and starts its descent towards the horizon. As always, he walks in step with Harry through the brightly lit corridors, stands patiently in wait for the shuttle, slips into the seat opposite Harry at dinner. What isn’t the same: the step he takes to close the distance between him and Harry, the warmth of Harry’s arm around his waist or shoulders, the fleeting goodbye kisses on Harry’s doorstep or his own. The world keeps turning, the stars keep shining in their places; here by the fireplace in Harry’s office, Eggsy sits in the armchair, cup of tea warming his hands while his second chance frowns at Bors’ latest mission report. This is worth a thousand souls, a thousand of him, a thousand times over.

The mundane is worth the extraordinary, or something something, I don’t know. At risk of sounding faux-poetic, I do think the small everyday moments of bliss are most precious, especially for Eggsy, who’s lost them once and probably didn’t have all that many of them to begin with.

“Hello, handsome,” he drawls, “come here often?”

Most unbelievable of all is how Harry leans forward in his chair and narrows the distance between them, resting his hands just within reach of Eggsy’s. “I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I’m afraid I’m already taken."

“Shame,” Eggsy shrugs, though the grin he tries to suppress makes it to his face anyway. “Lucky guy, landing a bloke as fit as you.”

Harry reaches forward to put a hand over Eggsy’s, lifting the other to cup Eggsy’s cheek. “He’s quite the catch himself, actually.”

Any excuse to write stupid-ass cringey boyfriends sickeningly in love.

He’ll never get used to this, he thinks wildly, this ease of getting close enough to feel the heat radiating off Harry, to see the pretty curl of each dark eyelash, to be near enough to hear Harry murmur words of affection that make his heart beat a giddy rhythm against the walls of his ribcage. He’ll never get used to this, and he’ll never know how to live without this ever again, because how is he supposed to find a way to live without the knowledge of what Harry’s broad palm feels like against his skin?

He won’t, Eggsy thinks. And if he plays his cards right, he won’t have to.

Foreshadowing! But also, I do think being with your soulmate (whatever definition that word takes, platonic or romantic or anything) changes you in utterly irreversible ways just because there’s no one quite like that person ever again. Maybe I’m just a hopeless-romantic aromantic, I dunno.

“How,” Merlin demands, “did you manage to fuck up stealing?”

“AirTags don’t usually come with explosives built in!”

Headcanon from Kingsman: The Golden Circle: Eggsy’s being entirely sincere when he says “You know, I really don’t have as much experience with all this drug stuff as people think.” I think people in-universe probably make assumptions about how extensive Eggsy’s criminal background is, when he’s probably just a hell of a pickpocket and nothing else. I can’t remember where I read on Tumblr (probably?) someone suggesting that maybe he took the fall for a friend r.e. a drug charge, but that sounds like something he’d do. Quite funny for even Merlin to go “yeah okay we’ll send the thief to go steal shit, he’ll be just fine” only for it to not be fine.

As the last man keels over with his throat open and bleeding out, Harry straightens up and begins dusting plaster and gunpowder off his jacket, and Eggsy lowers his gun to stare. There are too many alarms going off around them and if they don’t get going now, there’ll be another fucking shootout and another report they’ll both have to write, but Harry looks brilliant like this, put-together and proper even with dust in his hair and on his suit and still devastatingly handsome. “We should go,” Harry says. When Eggsy doesn’t respond, he looks up and frowns. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing,” Eggsy grins. “Anyone told you how hot you are?”

Harry rolls his eyes as he steps closer. “You’re incorrigible.” Yet he wraps an arm around Eggsy’s waist anyway and tugs him in, pressing their chests together, his heart beating strong against Eggsy’s ribcage as Eggsy laughs against his collarbone. In a few seconds, there are going to be bullets, and there is going to be hell from Merlin later for wasting precious getaway time like this, but right now Eggsy thinks only of tipping his head up enough to press his lips to the faintest hint of stubble on Harry’s jaw.

“We should move,” Harry murmurs, but he doesn’t let go. Eggsy buries his face into Harry’s shoulder, breathes in the mingled scents of cement dust and Harry’s cologne, and waits for the footsteps to draw nearer before he lifts his head and starts shooting.

To quote my lovely beta Bri (@lovingherwasgay), “my dude Merlin can see through YOUR GLASSES. he’s developing homophobia right now in the command centre” because ehhh what’s a bit more extra shooting if we get battle boyfriends hugging?

A thought crosses Eggsy’s mind as Harry kneecaps a man and then shoots him with his own gun. How odd it is to have an Everest-sized crush on a bloke like this one whose hands are gentle on Eggsy’s waist or shoulder one moment and then lethal in the next, to have spent hundreds of hours in his company and known the taste of Earl Grey on his lips. How marvellously strange it is to know Harry Hart under the Galahad armour, to see the slight shift in his brow and glimpse the annoyance a second before he gripes about some bit of bullshit or other in the mission report in front of him, to make a cup of tea with lemon and two sugars alongside his own, to recognise in a slightly clenched jaw a migraine Harry tries to bullheadedly will out of existence. To know all the bits and pieces that make up this wonderful man, to love every inch of someone Eggsy barely knew a year ago and can’t imagine living without now. Even odder it is to realise how many more layers of Harry Hart await, how much there is to learn, how much there is to know.

The mundane is extraordinary. ‘Nuff said.

Later that night, as they lie in a tangle of limbs on thousand-thread-count sheets and the inevitable shelling from Merlin is still half a world away, there is all the time in the world to lean in for lazy, unhurried kisses. It’s dark out and has been for hours, the faint glow of the bedside alarm clock the only clue to the passing of the night. “I love you,” Eggsy whispers, and feels Harry’s lips curve into a smile against his. Outside, the stars sit frozen in their places in the sky, like time itself might stop for them, just for a little while.

Beautiful lil’ confession of love on a starry right, or lovely moment undercut by ominous celestial presence? Both.

But Harry hasn’t answered, and Eggsy turns to look and finds that Harry isn’t looking at him or even at the stars whizzing above them. Instead, his gaze is fixed on the oak tree at the edge of the grounds. Eggsy glances over in its direction, but the oak tree is still just an oak tree. Gently, he nudges Harry with his elbow, and Harry turns his head to meet Eggsy’s questioning gaze. “Sorry, were you saying something?”

“Is it the butterflies again?” Only Harry’s arm keeps him from scrambling to his feet to get Merlin or the medics all the way on the other end of the field. “No, seriously, is it them? The meds are supposed to—”

“It isn’t. Don’t worry.” Harry shakes his head, his arm tightening around Eggsy’s waist as though pre-empting another attempt to go fetch Merlin. “I thought someone was standing there, but I was mistaken. Trick of the light, that’s all.”

This is one of the parallel scenes in which Eggsy’s side of the story intersects with Harry’s side. Not all is well, but there is always a much more plausible explanation than “doomed by the narrative and Mephistopheles in a suit”, and Eggsy’s damn well not going to own up to having sold his soul for Harry.

It’s this, and a thousand more mornings like this, and a thousand more after that, again and again and again until they run out of time.

And they will run out of time living like this, Eggsy knows, but at least they have these moments, ones borrowed from a distant tomorrow. Harry’s lips are warm against his, and that is enough.

That will always be enough.

If anything, these few lines are probably the thesis of the entire fic. To put everything on the line for another chance at ordinary happiness because ordinary happiness itself is a rare commodity, and to seize every bit of it precisely because time is never on anyone’s side.

And later, curled up next to Harry on fresh sheets, bodies moulded close like they were made to slot together, he tucks his chin into the dip of Harry’s collarbone and whispers those same words against the line of his neck, squeezing Harry’s hand and feeling him do the same in return. Harry runs his other hand through Eggsy's hair, gentle and slow and soothing. As the soft caresses on the back of Eggsy’s neck lull him to sleep, Eggsy closes his eyes and presses a light kiss to Harry’s shoulder for good measure. “I love you.”

Why’s he saying it so many times? I think he’d want to make up for never saying it previously. Not that Harry minds.

The phantom echoes of a gunshot echoing off the walls, Harry’s head snapping back with the force of a bullet piercing flesh and shattering bone. Oxfords slipping on concrete slick with blood, chunks of scorched brain matter and pulverised skull squelching and crunching underfoot with each step as he hurls himself towards the heart of a mountain bunker. Bodies, tens and hundreds of them lying heaped in his way, a second of weightlessness as he trips on an outstretched hand. Metal rasping as Gazelle shears away entire chunks of his makeshift weapon, blade edges inching closer and closer to his hand, his chest, his throat. Sickly green spidering along her arm, up her neck and all over her face as flesh rots before his eyes and she gasps for air that she won’t need any longer. The sickening crunch of Valentine’s body hitting the ground, thin lips pulled back to reveal twin rows of bloodied teeth, the macabre grin of a dying man whose every shuddering breath sends air hissing through pierced lungs and torn flesh, flecks of red sputtering in every direction with each exhale. With an awful sucking sound, Valentine takes a deep breath and says—

“Eggsy?” That isn’t Valentine’s voice. “Eggsy.”

Obviously as an action movie, the aftermath gets glossed over quite a bit, especially the psychological aftermath of everything. I do think Eggsy would have been trained well enough to hold his own and that he’d be prepared for a fight, but the utter horror of V-Day is an entirely different thing that’s grotesque and terrible in its own way. Some things stay with you long after they end, and I wonder if some part of Eggsy’s mind will always be in that bunker desperately trying to prevent the end of the world. While I’m not ruling out the possibility that the nightmares are deliberately induced by Mephistopheles, I don’t think he needs to do very much in that regard. The human brain is sort of fucked up in that way.

“Four,” Harry answers. “Nightmare?” “Yeah.”

“Want to talk about it?”

No, Eggsy thinks, no, he doesn’t. The last thing he wants to talk about is the memories staling and yellowing in the recesses of his mind. Instead, all he can think of is how wonderful it is to wake up and wrap his arms around Harry like the world’s clingiest octopus, to feel the feather-light brush of Harry’s thumb over his cheekbone. How wonderful it is to be surrounded by sheets and pillows that Harry’s scent clings to, to wrap himself up in blankets that smell like home; how precious it is to wake up with Harry beside him, close enough to reach out and touch, to have, to keep.

How it was always going to end this way, the two of them in the house that they share, hand in hand as Eggsy lifts their joined hands to his lips and presses a sleepy kiss to the ridges of Harry’s knuckles. “Nothing,” he replies, feeling the last of his panic fade away. “Love you.” When Harry murmurs I love you too, it sounds like a confession, a blessing.

That night, Eggsy sleeps and doesn’t dream again.

Ahahahahahahaha it’s never a good thing when the words that appear in the summary actually turn up in the fic, is it? This was the first line I wrote and decided I was absolutely going to repeat, because it does capture a lovely domesticity at the same time as there’s a sense of doom or inevitability. Is their happiness inevitable, or is it their doom? Yes. Dunno. Both. I think it’s also worth pointing out that none of their dreams are pleasant ones, because 1) opportunity for the subconscious to make itself known 2) meddling Mephisto? Maybe.

#fic commentary #fic #writing #lys talks #kingsman #hartwin

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