#weirdly in the middle and vaguely uncomfortable

[bittersweet-mojo]

Ok so Barbie was a fucking blast and you should all go see it, I was delighted by the entire thing. I do not feel different though, it did not make me emotional like some reactions I’ve seen. I wholeheartedly agree with other trans people who’ve said that this movie is earth shattering to cis people who’ve never put any thought into the performance of gender before. If you are trans it is going to be old hat. The points made felt just so obvious but that’s because we’ve done this thinking before. Cis straight people mostly have not. Artistically tho I think it’s magnificent the commitment to the bit they were doing was spectacular. The only comparable thing I can think of is But I’m a Cheerleader. Like this movie is Weird I had such a good time

[primrosebow]

Idea I had

_--> Vox x reader //

//

!content warnings!: nsfw, vox is a warning of his own right

This is so goofy ya'll.......

//

//

He watches you through the cameras, he sees your every movement: every yawn from absolutely mind-numbingly boring paperwork, every sip of whatever drink you got to try and keep yourself awake, every flick you give to a page to try and make sense of the words after they start to scramble toguether in your mind... he.. felt a familiar pride rise in him as he noticed you do that last one in particular.

Vox... tries to be confident. Were it not annoying, you'd probably commend his commitment to "the bit" (that "bit" being his dominant act). His cold and controlled demeanor carefully stringed toguether by him holds up as well as a sugar cube in tea when he tries to still somehow hold it up even when you are mixed into the situation.

He had been observing you for quite the substantial ammount of time. In your bedroom. In your house. Through your electronics, your every move was permanently etched into his mind so he could look back at it during those times where the strain in his pants got far too uncomfortable to bare- he's getting sidetracked- (probably because that is the exact situation he is in right now) what brought him pride was the way you'd watch his shows with rapt attention, the way you'd talk of him so fondly to your friends, the way he was taking sleep away from you because of how in love you are with him! (Yes, his delusions do run that deep. Whatever it takes not to crush that fragile ego he has, I suppose.) Because you were anxious to be around him because you were flustered, of course, (because he is the equivalent of a ticking bomb except you never know when it's going to explode. But, whatever helps him sleep at night) and it definetly gets to you when you're trying to sleep, and THAT'S why you're so tired (the unshakable feeling of being watched at night doesn't exactly allow for much sleeping.).

And he calls you up to his office, having planned out everything down to his tone of voice. Down to the precise words he would say. His woven persona built with love for what he thinks is what you find attractive laid in front of you as you look at him mildly shocked, but weirdly unimpressed. While of course Vox would do something like this, there is also the "what the hell? What has gotten into him?" Aspect that can't seem to answer itself in your head.

Your silence and furrowed brows as you look at him don't inspire the same confidence he started with. The words that came from you next weren't the kindest, but they made the fuzzy feeling in his brain grow further. Your expression that went from mild surprise to a sly, malicious smile had him reeling- this- isn't going as planned-

"W-Well! Do something about it!" He exclaims after some moments of bickering between the two of you. His voice is slightly glitched out and his screen shows an occasional error message, but, despite that shameful display of vulnerability and lack of control over his emotions, you quickly grabbed onto his thigh and slowly brought it further up so you could get into a more comfortable position yourself. Your willingness to do this made the screaming voices of self deprication get quickly replaced by his unchecked ego. He felt like the most powerful man to have ever walked this earth.

You look at him again as you reach out to touch where he needed it most- and it was better than anything he could have hoped for. It made his entire body jolt as he finally got the reward he's been desiring for ages-

But he can't ever let things just be good the way they are without interfering in it unnecessarily. His resolve was breaking but he couldn't even tell, his screen brightened noticeably as even more glitches were escaping onto it along with a vague noise like building pressure in a lightbulb that was very hard to ignore. It was in the middle of that where he decided that this was a perfectly good moment to establish his dominance (which he hadn't noticed he was barely grasping at) and degrade you.

"You slu-" his voice is suddently cut off by a seeming "system default" one which overcame your senses with the message "[Error 404: "dominance" not found]"

You wanted to laugh-

This is just too perfect.

Your grin widens as he stumbles over an attempt to make up an excuse for what you just witnessed- though he is quickly cut off by you sliding your finger over the leaking tip of his dick.

Your turn.

// //

//

Goofy recreation of the last scene WHWHEHEHE

I had so much fun with this.

//

@bigfatbimbo as you accepted being tagged in my every post... and because it's vox

I had a blast with this. Not proof read. Not proof anything I'm just word vomiting. It is nearly 4am

[missmagooglie]

A double date with Buck/Tommy and Eddie/Kim.

Kim is charming.

So is Tommy.

Eddie is grinning from ear to ear, but always seems to be looking anywhere else except meeting Buck's gaze...

... and Buck is giving Eddie the exact same look as when Ana showed up at the firehouse and Ravi made the mistake of uttering the word "wife".

Tommy, at a certain point, manages to get Buck alone and tells him, "You gotta cool it with the way you're eyeballing Eddie. I think you're making Kim uncomfortable." (What he doesn't say is, "you're definitely making me uncomfortable")

And Buck's like, "Well something weird is going on. That woman looks just like Christopher's mother."

Tommy goes, "Lots of people have a type, Buck. It's not that unusual to date someone who kind of looks like an ex"

And poor Buck is like, "No, you don't understand. If I didn't know she was dead, I would swear to you that was Shannon."

And Tommy kind of frowns and says, "How well did you know her? I thought she died not that long after she and Eddie reconnected."

And Buck's like, "I mean, I didn't. Not really. I met her a few times. But, you know, I see her photos all the time when I'm at Eddie's place and Tommy it's weird how much they look the same."

Tommy's been to Eddie's house. He didn't look too closely, but he vaguely remembers asking after a picture of a woman with dark hair and bangs and being told it was Eddie's late wife. Kim is blonde.

The thing is, Tommy knows a red flag when he sees one. And his newly out of the closet boyfriend being weirdly intense about his very close best friend's new girlfriend? That's fucking scarlet.

But they're in the middle of a double date, and Eddie and Kim are probably wondering where they've gone, so now is not the time to open up a conversation about whether this particular red flag is a deal breaker.

So they head back to the table, and everyone is smiling, for the most part, but Buck is still being weird, and Tommy's definitely uncomfortable by this point, and Eddie keeps darting his eyes between the two of them like he desperately wants to know what they were talking about, and Kim seems kind of puzzled at how the energy at the table has taken a turn suddenly, but it's fine. It's fine.

At least, until the waiter clears their plates and asks if they'd like to see a dessert menu and Eddie automatically replies, "What do you think, Sh-"

And he catches himself before he actually says the wrong name, but it is not a graceful recovery. He kind of freezes for a long moment before he clears his throat and forces a grin and says, "Should we see what they have, Kim?"

And Kim tells him, "I don't really like sweets all that much. I'll take a potato chip over a piece of candy any day. But I'm happy to look if you'd like dessert."

Shannon had a sweet tooth. Even when they were really pinching pennies, she'd always reply to the offer of a dessert menu by saying, "Come on, Eddie. It can't hurt to look!" with a playful grin in his direction. And every time, he'd agree to split something knowing he'd only take a bite or two before letting her have the rest.

It takes Eddie just a moment too long to respond, so Tommy's the one who ends up saying, "I think we're good with just the check, thanks."

And technically, no relationships end on that date. But all four of them walk away with some uncomfortable new awareness of an extra person hanging over their relationship like a specter - Shannon's ghost lingering between Eddie and Kim, and Eddie creeping in at the edges of Buck and Tommy's relationship with Buck getting closer and closer to the edge of understanding exactly what that means.

No relationships end that night, but all four of them go home alone anyway.

[jetblackknight]

How do they respond when someone doesn’t believe them?

When they make a mistake and feel bad, does the guilt differ when it’s personal versus when it’s professional?

When do they feel the most guilt? How do they respond to it?

Weirdly Specific But Helpful Character Building Questions

Probably would call whoever it is a fool and dismiss them with a wave of his hand while telling them they are making a mistake . . . Vergil is quite used to being disbelieved, given his track record and such ; _ ;

Vergil doesn't make professional mistakes . . . but personal ones ? The person he is wronged is lucky they don't find him outside their home committing hara-kiri to atone, because when he makes mistakes in his personal life, they are usually quite great ( * gestures vaguely to the entirety of Devil May Cry's entire story * ) . If it's something lighter, like saying something wrong or making someone mildly uncomfortable, he does apologize. He didn't always used to, but he does now.

In the middle of the night, when his home is dark and cool and quiet, and he is left alone with his thoughts and his two halves. Urizen is a cruel demon, a demon that his humanity cannot often overcome, and its favorite thing to do is taunt Vergil in the echos of his own mind, where he cannot escape. Despite his new-found, outward politeness and general ability to be friendly with others, he is a deeply depressed and guilt-ridden man, but he's too prideful to confide in anyone, too afraid of being manipulated again and still too broken to feel deserving enough to feel the comfort of another person.

[claireelizabethsblog]

~September & October's Books Reviewed~

So, as one might be able to guess, it's been two rather slow months of reading... or rather there was a period of slowness in the middle as in theory I read one book in September, had a moment and then read two very quickly at the end of October. Rather than having two very mini posts though, I felt it was better to have one at least vaguely substantial one! So yes, here is September and October combined!

Bewitched by Laura Thelssa

(443 pages)

Objectively, and subjectively, crap. I try not to unreasonably bash on books since I know that just because I didn't enjoy it doesn't mean others wouldn't, and vice versa. For example, I know that many of the books I love and have reread several times are objectively not that great, and similarly, having looked at this book on Goodreads I know lots of people love this book and the authors style. I, unfortunately, am not one of them. I really didn't enjoy any of the characters, nor their relationships, and the plot wasn't nearly engaging enough for me to forget about that. As such, I would easily say this was the worst book I've read in a long time (or certainly the least enjoyable reading experience I've had). That being said, if you're into supernatural romances and willing to look past some morally grey situations then you might enjoy this more than me. It is 100% an 18+ book (you have been warned), and also, I really struggled with the dubious consent throughout it in regards to the main relationship, just to also put that warning out there. I think based off this review it can be no surprise to anyone that...

I gave this book 1 star ⭐

Four Seasons in Japan by Nick Bradley

(326 pages - hardback)

I'm contrast to the previous book (which can maybe be blamed for my break in traditional literature for a hot minute there), I really really enjoyed this book! It was rather different from the usual books I'd pickup, but I'd seen it recommended everywhere and I have to say it was everything I was needing from a book in this grey autumnal time. It was really gentle and comforting and just all around gentle. I did find the ending a little sudden, and I was waiting for the two storylines to become a little more interwoven to be honest (or at least the two principal characters from the two storylines - although I understand that they realistically couldn't actually, I was just waiting for a bit of a plot twist in the reveal of the characters I think - I realise that isn't very clear but I don't want to spoil it for anyone!). However, like I said, I truly loved this book, I wish I had read it quicker, or at least all in one go rather than starting and then accidentally taking an extended break from it because then I think it could even have been in contention for a full five star rating! I would really recommend this book to the majority of people, I've recommended it already to both my mother and my flatmate, two people with very different tastes in books generally, so that should be testament to the overall easy feeling and gorgeous prose of this book that I think makes it very accessible and enjoyable to a large audience.

I gave this book 4 stars ⭐⭐️⭐️⭐️

Yellowface by Rebecca F. Kuang

(322 pages - hardback)

I finished this book and felt weirdly chilled and illeasy. It definitely freaked me out in a very subtle manner. It is incredibly well written and you have no way of knowing who to root for, or even what to believe at times. It raises so many important moral questions, especially around racism and xenophobia, as well as around ownership and intellectual property. I think that's in many ways why it left you feeling weirdly uncomfortable at points as it forced you to confront a lot of unfairness and the corrupt nature of society that is still so prevalent and ingrained. I also especially enjoyed it for its setting in the publishing world which is obviously my own industry. It was largely very accurate about a lot of the technical sides of the industry, however I am thankful to say that my experiences on the other side of the industry from Juniper have not been nearly as fraught or riddled with controversy!

I gave this book 4.5 stars ⭐⭐️⭐️⭐️🌗

[redwinterroses]

Ok, so I just saw your post about the Desert Duo inadvertently setting up in Pixandria and then my brain decided to make it sad with the fact that means Jimmy dies in a land that was friendly to him in another life.

Jimmy always feels... strange in Pixandria. There's something about the horizon line that always feels so weirdly familiar, but just off... Like seeing someone in a crowd that you think you recognize, but then getting a better look and realizing they look nothing like the person you thought they were, and you're not really sure why you thought that in the first place.

He's safe here, he knows. Pixlriffs is a fierce and loyal ally, and the sands of Pixandria welcome him always. And yet... and yet there's a feeling of dread in spite of the friendliness. Something he can't quite place.

He asks Pix about it once. Well, not really asks.

"This desert is weird," he says, as they lean on a low sandstone wall and sip honey-sweetened water from leather flasks. The slime delivery has been fully unloaded, and they stand in the setting sun, letting the warm desert breeze dry the sweat from their cheeks.

"How so?" Pix asks, curious.

"I'm... I dunno, really." Jimmy tilts his head and squints at the horizon. "I just feel like I'm forgetting something every time I'm here. You know that nagging feeling that you left the smelter running or something? It's like that. But the whole place."

Pix squints at him, then his eyes go unfocussed and he does that spooky, far-away thing he does sometimes. Jimmy looks to the side, uncomfortable, but it doesn't last long—Pix can be "away" (what they collectively termed it, without really discussing) for hours some days, leaving whoever he's with to gently lead him into some mob-proof shelter. But this was only a few seconds before the haze faded and Pix took a deep breath.

"Ah," he said. "Yeah, I know the feeling you mean."

And that was that. Jimmy had a nagging suspicion that Pix knew exactly why the desert set his hindbrain to itching, but the copper king didn't offer and Jimmy found he couldn't ask. He wasn't entirely sure he wanted to know.

Maybe it was just that every time his feet sank into the sand, he thought of red eyes and dynamite hiding in the dunes and a bunker waiting to doom those it meant to protect.

Maybe it was just that the heat radiating off the sand felt more suffocating than warming. That he could remember what it felt like for those hot grains to grind into his knees as he knelt, peering through a narrow gap toward an oncoming army.

Maybe it was only that the heat that made his throat ache with phantom pains every time he landed on the sandstone roof of Pix's manor, causing him to rub at his neck and the small, star-shaped scar that sat in the hollow of his throat.

Or maybe, he thinks, as he trudges up the final dunes of a ruined and abandoned Pixandria, the desolate Codlands dead at his back, it's something even worse than that.

To the south, a flower forest beckons—familiar in the worst way. He sets his steps toward it, with the vague notion of "home" niggling at his mind. Sand was already drifting up the unfinished walls of Pix's great Anthill, filling its hollow center and slowly being buried—a strange and unnatural mountain in the middle of a dead desert.

A shiver runs down his spine, and he wonders if it's possible that the old superstition about chills from someone walking over your grave were true.

And he wonders if it's possible to walk over your own grave, a thousand years before it was dug.

[kitcat-italica]

My JCS Opinions No One Asked For

At this point in my obsession with this show, I’ve tracked down and watched lots of different versions through various legally dubious means.  Here are my thoughts on the ones I’ve seen so far!  (In a list of each show chronologically because why not)

1973 movie: This one is both great and ehhhh for me.  It’s great because it’s the original.  I love Carl Anderson’s Judas.  Ted Neely’s Gethsemane high note always tingles my spine.  Yvonne Elliman’s Mary Magdalene is just soothing and lovely.  The ensemble’s choreography always makes me chuckle, esp the cartwheeling before Simon’s song.  The setting is fun!  Hippies in the desert = basically what Jesus and Co were in 33AD. 

Its ehhhh points are that it just doesn’t *grip* me?  It doesn’t shake me upside down to make my brain fall out like other versions do.  Besides Gethsemane, Jesus in this version is leaning into the stoic-divine-savior depiction of him?  Which imo is not the point of JCS.  The Pharisees are…making costume choices.  Pilate is lame and forgettable.  Herod is supposed to be a WTF moment in every production, but this version just makes me vaguely uncomfortable and idk why.  And the slow tempo/boring choreography/weirdly-mixed sound during Superstar always puts me to sleep. Bonus points for Carl Anderson's heavenly leather fringe costume tho.

7/10

2000 movie: Here’s where things get interesting.  I briefly posted about my thoughts on this one in particular a while back.  This movie is such a trainwreck and I can’t stop watching it.  I’ll put on clips of it when I’m feeling down and need a laugh.  It’s…something.

The costume choices are just silly.  The overacting is comical.  The singing is either so weak (Jesus) or so overexaggerated (everyone else).  My throat gets sympathy pains every time Jerome Pradon’s Judas opens his mouth; he’s not a high tenor like the part requires.  But damn if he doesn’t sell the trash-man-surviving-on-Redbull-and-poor-life-choices version of this character in every single voice-cracking wail into the middle distance.  The devastation in his acting kills meeeee.  I also think Renee Castle might be my favorite Mary Magdalene?  I love her voice and her sweetness :) I also like the Pharisees in this!  They’re dressed like dollar store Matrix action figures and it absolutely works.  I also laugh at Simon’s frosted tips every time he’s onscreen.  The guy can sing tho! And it should be noted: between the costuming and the campiness and Judas’s every interaction with Jesus, this is one of the gayest versions out there.  I’m not sure if it was on purpose or not, but I’m grateful for it either way.

Lastly, special mention must go to Leather Daddy Pontius Pilate.  He absolutely fucks.

2/10 for actual quality, 9/10 for rewatch value

2012 Broadway revival: I like this one!  A lot!  It doesn’t *move* me, but it is extremely competent and everyone knows what they’re doing.  Jesus is kinda dull in this, but I’m ok with him not being the main character lol.  Josh Young’s Judas is aalskdjflsjdf yessss.  Belt those notes in your blue flowy robe my dude!!!  And the highlight is definitely the relationship between Jesus, Judas, and Mary.  They are 100% in a polycule and honestly good for them.  This is probably the only version where I will intentionally seek out the song Could We Start Again Please, just to see the three of them sing their verse together while holding hands.  It’s beautiful and deserves all the accolades.

I think the biggest downside for me in this is that since it’s a bootleg recording from faraway I can’t connect with their facial expressions as well as I would actually seeing this live.  That would probably make it one of my absolute favorites.

8/10

2012 UK Arena Tour: Oh, 2012 Arena Tour, my beloved.  I am such trash for you.  When I say that this show needs to latch onto my beating heart and refuse to let go, this is exactly what I’m talking about.  I will watch a clip from this, only to end up watching the entire show again because I cannot put it down.  It’s just.  So.  Good.

Lots of people have done write-ups in much more detail and eloquence about why they love this version, so I will be brief.  The casting in this show is just.  So top-notch.  There is not a weak link among them.  Often there will be parts I’ll skip in a JCS production because this or that character’s portrayal is kinda meh.  BUT NOT THIS VERSION.  I love everyone’s interpretations of their characters.  Jesus.  Judas.  Mary Magdalene.  Simon.  Caiaphas.  Annas.  Pilate.  Herod.  WHY ARE THEY ALL SO GOOD?????

This one also strikes the perfect balance in tone.  The ridiculous campy bits (like Herod’s song, Superstar, etc.) are played up as exactly that, but the serious bits are played deathly serious.  Everyone’s making choices according to their character’s internal logic, and it sucks me right in.  Ugh.  I love it.

Jesus and Judas are, of course, always the highlights.  And Ben Forster and Tim Minchin are just putting their whole hearts into this.  The chemistry?  The belting?  The facial expressions?  Every single choice they’re making, even when they’re not the focus of the scene?  The pained looks?  The eyerolls?  The moments of anguished violence, followed by immediate regret?  Ben’s Gethsemane (and making me care about his character’s emotional journey outside of Gethsemane)???  Tim’s death scene???  Superstar?????

Some people don’t like the modern aesthetic of this one.  Their tastes and mine are very different, because I adore it.  Some people say the autotune in the official recording ruins it for them.  It doesn’t ruin it for me; the vocals are still powerful and shake me to my core.  I can only imagine what it was like to see this live.  Probably the closest thing to a religious experience I will ever have.

10/10.  10/10.

2014 Swedish Arena Tour: Oooooh baby.  What a wild ride this is.  We got metal biker rockstar Messiah in the house!  Complete with leather pants and long flowing wigs :)  I love it.

Peter Johansson’s Judas is def one of my favorites.  He’s such a sarcastic slutty king.  I adore him.  

Speaking of slutty kings, did someone say Ola Salo’s Jesus????  This man is definitely hearing a voice in his head telling him he’s special, and thinking it’s God.  He is 100% down to call himself one part of a Holy Trinity.  His delivery of certain lines just gives me the happy wiggles.  It’s both ethereal, detached, and bitchy all at once.  My favorite is probably The Last Supper, when he’s taunting Judas with the lines “why don’t you go do it?” and “hurry, they are waiting”.  I don’t know how to describe it, but those two lines in particular just get me to my core the way he says them.

Then there’s the famous kiss.  Such a gay moment.  So good.

My complaint about this version is that everything else besides Jesus and Judas is bland at best, deeply uncomfortable at worst.  Yes, I am mostly talking about the Pharisees.  There is a whole other post I could make about how, since this show is based on the Gospels in the New Testament, a case can be made that it rests on a foundation that flirts with anti-Semitism, so it must tread very carefully not to lean into that.  (That also makes me question whether Christianity in itself is inherently anti-Semitic?  Maybe, maybe not, but again, that’s a whole nother conversation.)  And this version of JCS…misses the mark.  Hard.  And it prevents me from watching too much of this show beyond the big Jesus and Judas scenes.

9/10 for Jesus and Judas, 4/10 for everything else.

2018 Live In Concert: This one was a nope for me.  I liked Judas okay in this one, and his glittery, belt-y Superstar is probably one of my favorite versions of the song.  But John Legend was clearly cast as Jesus because he’s a big name music star who wanted that sweet sweet EGOT (and once he won an Emmy for being a producer on this show, he got it).  But he is a baritone trying to sing a tenor part.  I’m fine with him not going for the G5 in Gethsemane, but when he tries to climb up there for the “see how I die” part, *I* started getting lightheaded just watching him.  It’s painful.

Everything else is just boring and forgettable.  Not much else to say about it.

3/10.

Aaaand those are all the versions I’ve seen!  If y’all know of any others, lemme know and I’ll check them out :)

[andypantsx3]

subtle | shouto todoroki/reader

pairing: Todoroki Shouto / Reader

status: complete

length: 2,171 words

summary: Someone leaves chocolates on your desk. You're determined to track down the sender, certain it's a mistake, and Shouto Todoroki makes himself as unhelpful as possible.

tags: romance, reader-insert, fluff, valentine’s day

warnings: aged up characters (no smut though!!)

There was a box on your desk.

There was a box on your desk, and the sight of it was enough to instantly set you on edge.

The box looked normal enough, if a little fancy, maybe. Its lacquered top glinted brightly under the fluorescent office lighting, its smooth, polished sides waterfalling into the soft matte of your desktop underneath. You weren’t close enough to read the inscription, but you could just make out some elegant, curling script inlaid into the top of the box, possibly the name of whichever company had produced it.

The box looked very normal, in fact. Only, you knew it wasn’t. Boxes didn’t just show up in the middle of the Todoroki Hero Agency, a campus swimming with pros and armed with layers of security so deep it took even you--Shouto Todoroki’s manager--fifteen full minutes to get through screening every morning. It was something very much like being a prison guard at Tartarus.

So either this box meant the agency was dealing with a security breach the likes of which had scarcely been seen before, or someone had mistaken your desk for somebody else’s.

Which, considering it was Valentine’s Day, made a lot more sense.

Buoyed by the realization it wasn't a security risk, you crept closer, peering at the box, and the script resolved itself into the name of the extremely fancy chocolatier in Hiroo district that you made a point of drooling over every time you had to make a house call on Shouto. Their prices were literally insane, so you had never let yourself wander inside, unwilling to shell out an entire week’s pay for a tiny set of chocolates. Even if they did look absolutely fucking unbelievable from the window.

Your mouth watered.

That confirmed it--this was a Valentine's gift, and it was definitely a mistake. For the briefest of seconds, you’d wondered if maybe you had gotten obligatory office friendship chocolates, but this was too much. Some poor, love-sodden flop had gone out, spent their week’s pay on someone they were clearly very serious about, and then proceeded to fuck the entire thing up by plonking their gift straight onto your desk instead of their intended’s.

You frowned, quickly checking the box over for some kind of clue as to who had left it. There was no note included, nothing even mildly helpful that would give you the slightest hint of the person who'd left it here. Which left you with the question of how to return the box to the sender without knowing who they were, or how to pass it on to whoever they’d really meant it for.

You drew your bottom lip between your teeth, staring hard at the surface of the box like you could crack its code if only you glared hard enough. The box stared back at you, unhelpfully silent.

You were still skewering the box with your gaze some minutes later, determined to unravel its secrets, when a deep voice murmured from your doorway.

“You look puzzled."

You startled, whipping around to find Shouto propping up the wall, looking as unfairly handsome as usual. He was watching you intently, those heterochromatic eyes fastened to your face in that careful way he had, the one that always made you feel too warm and slightly unfocused. As usual, it was all you could do to remind yourself that you were a professional and he was something solidly between a friend and a coworker, and no matter how cute and attentive he was, you shouldn't get any ideas.

This morning, he was dressed in his hero uniform, tall and broad-shouldered, his distinctive hair only a little ruffled from his early patrol. It wasn’t often someone tried something in the districts he watched over anymore, probably too nervous to find themselves on the wrong end of the number four hero’s temper. You knew from the reports you received to your phone that the only trouble he’d encountered this morning was a pack of amorous school girls purposely misusing their quirks to draw his attention.

Thirty minutes ago, in fact, you’d almost spit out your coffee laughing at a photo of him looking wildly uncomfortable as he attempted to ice down some girl’s lava quirk with his right hand while fighting off her unfathomably enormous bouquet with his left. It was only right that he should suffer once a year, when every other day he got to stalk about as handsome as you please, oblivious to the effects his appearance had on every breathing person within a five mile radius.

You gave him an absent nod, gaze drawn back to the box on your desk.

“Somebody accidentally left something in here,” you told him, gesturing to it. “I’m trying to figure out how to track down who it was, or who it was meant for.”

Shouto made a small noise in the back of his throat, almost like a cough, and it was enough to startle you into looking up at him again.

“What?” you asked, peering at him. Was he coming down with something? It wasn't often he got sick, but when he did, he usually attempted to hide it and needed to be steamrolled into taking time off. You looked him over, trying to assess whether or not you needed to start badgering him now.

Shouto gazed back at you evenly, his expression deceptively bland. “...You think it’s not for you.”

You felt yourself blink at him, surprised by the comment and struggling to discern his meaning. What did he mean, you think it’s not for you? “Of course it’s not for me, Shouto, it’s from Grégoire Chardin.”

You knew he’d know the place, considering he lived in the same fancy rich people neighborhood as the chocolatier, but Shouto looked unimpressed.

“Why should that mean it’s not for you?” he asked, his tone dry.

The remark caught you off guard, as his comments sometimes did, and you bit down something like a smile. Bless his sweet, oblivious, rich boy heart. Either he overestimated your appeal to his agency staff, or he really did not understand the concepts of cost and return on investment.

“It’s expensive, it’s not something you would give someone as obligatory chocolates,” you explained, watching as a white eyebrow went up. His expression sharpened into something you couldn’t read well.

“It could be a secret admirer,” he said.

You stared blankly back at him, absolutely floored by the idea.

He thought you had a secret admirer? The idea sent an excited thrill all the way down to your toes, but you quickly squashed the feeling. So far, you'd never been on the receiving end of any furtive but romantic gestures, and you really didn't get any interested vibes from anyone in the office, no lingering glances or excuses to spend more time with you. The person who paid you the most amount of attention was Shouto, which was to be expected, considering how closely you worked together. And obviously he wasn't interested, he was just happy to stand in your doorway spouting wild conspiracies about his agency staffers like they were completely reasonable things to say.

“I don’t have a secret admirer,” you told him.

Shouto’s mouth pressed into a thin line and he took an intent step forward into your office. “Is the point of a secret admirer not to be exactly that--secret? How can you be sure?”

You couldn’t help it--you gaped at him, your face going weirdly warm. Okay, was he--was he serious? You obviously weren’t the most unfortunate creature on earth, and you even had your good days, but nobody in their right mind was going to attempt anything with you when there were girls like Nejire Hado and Ibara Shiozaki roaming the hallways of his agency. Even several of the analysts and most of the support crew had you beat out in terms of appeal--literally bless this man for his obvious indifference to your appearance.

“I, uh--thanks for your confidence in me,” you said, fighting down a laugh. “But I assure you, it definitely wasn’t meant for me. I just have to figure out who left it and who they meant it for.”

Shouto shifted impatiently, like he was waiting for something.

“You’re so certain,” he said, sounding frustrated.

“Of course I am,” you waved at him vaguely. It was actually super cute that he thought you could net yourself a dude who was willing to shell out Grégoire Chardin dollars, but you were just wasting time now, lingering over the least important part of this entire affair. “Listen, Shouto. I know sometimes men talk in the locker rooms. If you--if you hear anything, will you let me know? I just want to return it, it looks way too good sitting here.”

It was actually taking all your willpower not to open it and avail yourself of Japan’s finest chocolate, considering you would never have another opportunity like this again. Maybe you should just pretend it was for you....Really, no one could fault you for opening something left in your own office. But...no. No, you knew better.

Shouto appeared indifferent to your internal struggle. He watched you for a long moment, his features impassive. “Under one condition,” he finally allowed.

You cocked an ear to show you were listening, rifling around with the paperwork on your desk to distract yourself from the chocolate. You were strong, a good person. You had willpower like steel. You did not need to eat it, no no no.

“If no one comes looking for it by the end of the day, you will open it,” he said, moving closer.

You glanced up at him, shocked. “Shouto, this is someone else’s gift,” you hissed. “I can’t just open it.”

He placed a large palm down on your desk, leaning over you slightly. “That is my bargain.”

“You want me to steal somebody’s shit in your own agency,” you accused him. You tried not to pay attention to how close he had gotten, how straight his nose was up close, the way his eyes seemed brighter and his mouth pulled into a pout almost too pretty for a man.

The rest of his expression slipped into something like annoyance, matching his pout. “If no one comes for it, then it must be evident that it was meant for you.”

You suppressed a derisive laugh. Now was not the time to get shirty with your own boss, especially when his delusions were kind of sweet. It was honestly just short of a miracle that a man who looked like Shouto did could possibly think anyone on earth would have a thing for you, regardless of his own tastes.

“What if they’re just too shy to ask for it back?” you asked, watching those heterochromatic eyes flick over you curiously.

“If it’s as expensive as you say, someone will come looking,” he said. Which was actually kind of annoyingly reasonable.

A smirk flitted across his maddeningly perfect face when you failed to come up with another argument. He had a point, and he knew it.

You let out a gusty sigh. “Fine, but only because I’m certain someone will come looking for it. Please be subtle when you’re gathering info, okay? I'm sure this is embarrassing for whoever made this mistake.”

Shouto looked almost offended. “I am perfectly capable of being subtle,” he intoned in his deep voice.

This time, you did laugh. He was quiet, maybe, very perceptive, and unobtrusive when he wanted to be, but no one had ever accused the man of possessing tact. “Yeah, okay. Just, try to channel more subtlety than you think you need, okay? No one else but the sender needs to know about the mix up.”

There was a moment of silence, and then Shouto was leaning over you more fully, eyes glittering strangely as his clean, fresh scent met your nose. You froze in your chair, brain going horrifyingly vacant as he leaned impossibly nearer. What the fuck was he doing?

“It will be like I’m not even asking,” Shouto promised, his voice light. “Not asking anyone at all.”

You tried to scrape your thoughts back into something resembling order, but the effort was all but futile. You needed to get him out of your space stat before you embarrassed yourself.

”Okay, then it’s a deal,” you said quickly. “Now go...flambé a villain or something.”

Shouto lingered for a long moment, his mouth curling a little at the corner, like he was being let in on a secret you couldn’t hear. His eyes brushed over you, almost like a physical touch. And then he was gone, pulling open the door to your office, looking annoyingly pleased with himself.

“You will see,” he said by way of farewell. “You will find out how subtle I can be.”

You stared at him in confusion, but he didn’t explain himself. He just smirked, and closed the door behind himself.

[demonologistfucker]

In Love with an Artist💛✨

Obey me! Boys x gn! Mc who is a professional artist. I try to be vague about what sort of art you make so that anyone can fit in. As well as what your goals are as a professional artist. This could be someone who just posts art online, does commissions, whatever. I put in some gallery shows cuz those are fun to think about.

this is SFW Fluff💛 rest of the brothers under the cut

Lucifer

- he saw on your file that you did art, but wasn’t really thinking too much about it. Though when you arrived to your dorm you were greeted with a set of art supplies. A nice sketchbook, a couple pencils and pens. As well as rather high end paint set and brushes. He will never bring it up.

- if you do art out where others can see he’ll try to get a look as what you do, but if you’re private about it he would be respectful. Lucifer doesn’t enjoy when people step over his boundaries, and wouldn’t want to do that he you. He knows enough about artists to understand that ones work is personal.

- when he does get to see what you make he will be internally blown away, but outwardly just ask questions about your process. Trying to figure out if there is symbolism you are drawn to, or what you were trying to capture. There is always a little more to art than just the subject.

- if you want to continue being a professional artist in the Devildom he would be a great support. Would give you advice on who to contact and what venues would be best for your work. He seems to have had the information all prepared. He wouldn’t flex his power too much because he wants this to be your own effort, but is happy to help if you want it. 

- At shows he’s a an easy presence besides you. Though he likes to be admired. he knows when to step back at let you shine. If nerves catch your tongue or the social work becomes to much. Lucifer will step in with smooth answers. He knows your work backwards and forwards. So can easily answer any question a patron might have. 

Mammon

- “oh you should draw me!” It’s up to you if you actually do, but that’s one of the first things out of his mouth when he learns you do art. He does have a pretty face, and would make a good life model....

- Doesn’t verbalize that he thinks your art is cool, but he does want to see every little thing you make. Finds even your doodles to be mesmerizing. So if you’re do art while he’s around be prepared for him leaning over your shoulder to get a good look.

- If you’re trying to make money off of your art Mammon is extremely helpful. his sway over people’s spending could magically get people to be interested in you, but he’s also just good at setting prices. He will not stand for you setting your prices too low, and will come after people who try to skip out on paying.

- Will try to get your art hung up in every establishment he has a connection too. Not every place will be your vibe though so you get to choose where your art actually ends up.

- Though his room style is more modern minimalism. He has several of your pieces framed around his room. A couple you were sure had been sold...

Leviathan

- as a proud otaku he knows how to treat artists right 👏���👏🏻 if he wants you to draw something for him he’s gunna tip out of his ass. Leviathan has definitely worked with artists before. Commissioning cosplay, or fanart, and each time he tips outrageously. So be prepared for what he might do to try and impress you.

- Initially gets a little over eager with the commissions, but is able to figure out that.. you might want to do some art just for fun. Or enjoy other things too. Talk to him and he’ll relax. He just wants to support your beautiful art!

- really loves it when you show him what your working on. Especially when you show sketches or work in progresses. It makes him feel really special to see the unfinished product. Being trusted with your genuine ideas and imperfect thoughts means a lot to him. 

- if your art is story based at all. He will want to hear All about it. Might say it reminds him of anime’s he’s watched but he means that as the highest compliment. Your idea are just as good as his beloved shows. Your ideas might even be better because he gets to love the person who made them.

- If you have an art show... He will leave his room for you. He will look so dashing, but so uncomfortable. There with you as long as you need him, but if you are fine on your own he might hang out in a corner. Or go home early. 

-When you get home he will make it up to you✨

Satan

- He isn’t going to push you to show off your art if you don’t want too. Even if you are drawing in the same room as him. He just can’t see himself being able to interrupt you. Your focused expression is delightful. Though curiosity will eventually get the better of him if you don’t show him yourself.

- Once you do he is captivated. His face is still calm and collected. Expect for his eyes which are wide and sparkling. If you let him he’ll spend a full hour looking at just one of your pieces. Satan will try to spot every little detail, and see how it all comes together. Both as a reflection of what your are trying to capture but also you. What he see’s only makes him more captivated. 

- Asks good questions about what you’re working on, as well as complimenting by comparing to other artists in the realms. You had no idea what he meant when he said your worked reminded him of the great Venia the Dark Slayer. So he showed you his books on Devildom artists. You were surprised that Venia the Dark Slayer really did have something in common with your work. Weirdly enough. He also has sections for earth and the celestial realm artists. You are more then welcome to look through them whenever you like.  

- When you’re not around he talks about your art a lot. Always so proud of the latest piece he saw you working on. Satan conveniently forgets that some of his friends are gallery owners. He won’t sign you up for any shows without your informed consent, but he definitely help you get shows much easier.

- Whether he helps you get the show or not. He wants to help set up. His eye for detail makes hanging all the frames easier, as well as making good labels for the work. Whenever you can’t come up with a name for a piece. he’s pretty good at coming up with something clever. 

Asmodeus 

- Also going to lean over your shoulder to see what you’re making. Then is absolutely captivated by what you’re able to make.

- ART DAY! Asmo wants to be creative with you as much as you’re willing for. So you’ll both take up a table and have your art supplies shared in the middle. Asmo is planning his never dress design, or possibly a make up look he’d want to try. Stops to talks to you a lot. Wanders the room and ends up against you to peak at what you’re working on again. 

- He’ll ask for your opinion on his outfits and make up, as well as any other creative project they’ve gotten involved with. See’s you as a creative equal. 

- Thinks everything you made is brilliant, but also gives good constructive criticism when you want it. 

- When you get your first Devildom Galley. It’s going to be the biggest event that whole week. Asmo will not stand for anyone not going to this wonderful event. Takes over most of the party planning. Which makes you worried it’s going to be a big flirty party with Asmo at the center of attention. When you get there it is beautiful. Asmo has decorated the place to fit the theme or your art. There is catering and drinks. All of which again are themed to your art or just your favorite foods. 

- He’s so proud of you of course he had to make this event special. 

Beelzebub

- :OOOO 

- Really blown away by what you’re capable off. Asks you to send him photos as you work on pieces. Very quietly supportive. When you do art with him around he feels so happy. There will be a small smile on his face the whole time. Which breaks out into a beam whenever you show him what you’re working on.

- If you need a life model👀👀👀 Beel wouldn’t mind posing for you. 

- Very used to you coming up and asking him to hold something, or do something with his hands. So that you can reference it. Either holds the pose or asks you to take a picture if busy. 

- Commissions you to do art for his brother’s birthdays. Not only does he get to support your work, but he knows his brothers will be thrilled to have one of your pieces. 

- If you give him any art it will be treasured till the end of time. Neatly framed and kept somewhere he can see everyday. 

- Makes sure you stretch before and after doing arts. Making art requires a lot of fine motor skills that can put serious strain on your body. It’s important to take breaks and stretch. 

Belphegor

- His face makes a good desk when he falls asleep on your lap

- Might want to do art with you from time to time. He’s got a lot of thoughts in that brain and getting them out on paper feels really nice. If he can’t come up with something to make. he still gets to watch you make art which is always nice. 

- Wants to know the meaning behind your artwork. Even if he doesn’t particularly like an art piece. He wants to know what it meant to you, and its importance. Or lack there of. Some art is just shits and giggles. Belphegor just wants to know the intent of what you’re doing. 

- Has never gone to a gallery before, but for you?? He will be there on time. Hair brushed, face washed, and freshly shaved. Maybe even wearing a suit.

- “How many commissions have you been doing? no get your ass to bed.”

- Very good at reminding you to take breaks. Or getting in your way so much you can’t work and Have to rest.

[whumperscorner]

"Chained to bed" for the bthb please

Here you go anon! Enjoy this lil one-shot in which Prompto has a bad time!

BTHB#3- Chained to Bed

Fandom: Final Fantasy XV

Characters: Prompto Argentum, Cor Leonis

Whumpee: Prompto Argentum

Word count: 3260

Warnings: Stalker, Intimate whumper, creepy touching (though nothing sexual or nsfw)

Prompto groans and stirs awake. His room is still pretty dark, so it must still be night, and sure enough when Prompto reaches over to his nightstand and checks his phone it lights up with the time, 03:24. Slightly confused about what woke him up in the first place, Prompto switches the phone off and turns over to go back to sleep. He's meeting up with Noct and Gladio tomorrow for some training and should probably get all the sleep he can to really blow them away with his awesome moves. By habit he lets his eyes scan briefly over the room before laying down, and then his heart jumps. He thought he'd seen something. A shadow by the door. That's weird, Prompto thinks, he's kind of jumpy sometimes sure, but that's usually not when he's home. He knows the layout and shadows of his room well enough not to be scared, even when he's home alone like now, with Cor away on a days-long mission. That's why it takes him a second to notice why exactly his brain had lit up with warnings like that. That shadow was not one of the old well-known ones, it wasn't supposed to be there.

The realization sends eerie shivers up his spine and he bolts upright in the bed again to double check, expecting to find maybe a jacket or hoodie hanging weirdly and making the shadow. Then he freezes. That's not what he sees. What Prompto sees is the unmistakeable silhouette of a tall, broad shouldered man, now standing in the middle of his room facing him. Prompto's eyes widen, and he thinks he should scream, he wants to scream, but he doesn't. Instead, he sucks in a sharp breath, and freezes. Fear grips his chest tight. The kind of paralyzing fear that makes him feel like even breathing too suddenly will break the fragile standstill in the room and allow something terrifying to happen.

Prompto doesn't know how long the two of them stay like that. Tension rises and hangs heavy in the air between them until it's almost unbearable. Then the man takes a few steps forward, slow and calm in his movements, and the spell is seemingly broken. Prompto can move again. The breath he'd been holding in comes out in the form of a choked gasp, and without thinking he scrambles off of the bed. He needs to get away from this man. So it's purely on instinct and fear-fuelled adrenaline that he then moves forward, ducking around the man and making a dash towards the hallway. Prompto is nearly by the door when the man catches up with him and tackles him hard to the floor. The impact knocks the wind out of him. Strong arms twist him around, so he lays on his back looking directly up at the face leering over him. There's something weirdly familiar about it, but Prompto can't put his finger on exactly what and there's no time to wonder about it now. A wordless scuffle ensues on the floor. Prompto flails and pushes against the man, hoping to regain some semblance of control over the situation. The man is muttering to himself through it all, and his face twists angrily the more Prompto squirms. Coming to a head when he in a stroke of good luck manages to connect a hit to the man's chin.

The man looks taken back for one short moment, then he gathers himself and lashes out with an enraged snarl. Grabbing the front of Prompto's t-shirt and hoisting him up from the floor, then slamming him back down. The back of Prompto's head hits the floor and he cries out as stars explode in front of his eyes. Using the time as Prompto struggles to recover from the blow to his advantage, the man yanks him up from the floor and walks him back to the bed. Prompto is dropped down, and just barely manages to brace himself against the covers before the man is on him again and something cold snaps around his right wrist. He jerks the hand back on instinct, but the man holds it tight, and he gets nowhere. The handcuffs glint in the dim light from the window in his room, and a new wave of panic washes over Prompto when the man snaps them shut around the far-right bedpost. He strains against the cuffs, using his left hand to try to push against the man when he leans over him again. "Nono, WAIT-" he begins, but the man clamps a big hand over his mouth, silencing him.

"I didn't want to do this. I wasn't going to hurt you. But you keep struggling." He mumbles. Whether it's more to himself or more to Prompto is unclear, but he leans in closer and keeps going. "The Marshal is finally gone, and I have you all to myself and you keep fighting it. Don't! Don't ruin this." Prompto closes his eyes tight, wincing in pain when the man tightens the grip over his mouth. His body is tense, and every inch of his being wants him to fight back, to grab the arm covering his mouth and get it away. But there's no telling what the man would do then, and with his right hand restrained Prompto doesn't want to risk being lashed out at again. In a position where he can't properly defend himself. "You'll stay quiet now, won't you love?" The man's voice is calmer now, but no less intense or pressing and Prompto shivers. He does not like this new pet name. "You won't cause problems anymore, and I won't have to hurt you. Cause I don't want that, and I know you don't want that either." He lets his thumb slide gently over Prompto's freckled cheek, and an involuntary whimper escapes into the hand. "I'll take my hand away if you promise to behave, love. Can you do that?"

For a second Prompto weighs his options, albeit there not being a whole lot of them in this situation, and then he nods. He's hoping that by playing along he can placate the man long enough for some other solution to eventually reveal itself. In any case something has to happen in the morning, he reasons with himself in an attempt to calm down, if he doesn't show then Noct and Gladio have to notice something's up. Upon his agreeing, the man flashes a wide smile that stands in stark contrast to the chilling horror Prompto is feeling. The hand covering his mouth is pulled back, and the tension in his body eases slightly, though it rockets back up again when the man then grabs a firm hold of his free left hand. The man's eyes hold Prompto's in a cold stare, warning him against resisting as he lifts the hand and places a soft kiss on it. Warm breath against his skin is enough to send shivers up Prompto's spine, and his breath hitches uncomfortably. Seemingly pleased with this, the man hums as he pulls out a second pair of handcuffs and snaps one part around Prompto's left wrist. Prompto's breathing picks up pace at the sight and the feeling of the cold metal, he only has time to vaguely wonder through the fear where the man has gotten these cuffs before they are snapped shut around the far-left bedpost. Now forcibly sprawled out on the bed, Prompto feels more open and vulnerable than ever before.

"Good boy." The man says, extending his hand towards Prompto and pushing a few strands of blond hair carefully to the side and out of his face. He's smiling, but Prompto wishes intently that he could be anywhere other than here. The man is still running his hand through Prompto's hair, and his touch makes Prompto's skin crawl. His eyes intently scan Prompto's face, like an artist admiring his work, and then he fishes out an old, worn phone from his pocket. Prompto wonders at first what he's planning to do with that, but not for long, as the sudden flash of a photo being taken makes him wince and shut his eyes. When he opens them back up again and they readjust to the dark he sees the man standing a few steps back, looking at his phone, presumably the picture just taken. "This one might be my favourite." he mutters, and the words make Prompto's stomach churn.

Against his better judgement Prompto opens his mouth to ask about it, but finds it and his throat too dry for any sound to come out and swallows hard before trying again. He just has to know, needs to find out why this man is doing what he's doing. "I- I think I've seen you before?" He poses it like a question, and his voice is shaky. Prompto wishes it wasn't, wishes that he could at least feign confidence despite how astronomically not okay the situation is. The man laughs in response.

"Oh, you have? Happy to hear it love, but you probably haven't seen me nearly as much as I've seen you." There's that pet name again, and Prompto squirms uncomfortably. The word stalker lights up in bright letters in his brain, but he's not going to be saying that out loud.

"But-" Prompto tries, voice meek enough to barely be more than a whisper, so he tries again. "Why all this then? Why not just approach?" he asks. To which the man's expression drops. He approaches and sits down on the bed next to Prompto. The mattress shifts and creaks from his weight.

"They wouldn't let me if I tried, so I watched from afar." He says nonchalantly, but there's something cold in his eyes now that wasn't there before. It scares Prompto, this change in demeanor. He seems somehow angrier now that he leans in closer to Prompto, again bringing his hands up to play with his hair. Prompto squirms under the touch, wishing the cuffs would allow even just a little more leeway to get away from the man. "Someone like me would never be let close to the Prince, and since you're always with him- ah, that reminds me actually." The man interrupts himself and sits back up. First and foremost, Prompto is relieved not to have his hands on him anymore, and then his brain starts chewing on what was just said. Someone like him, does he have a record then maybe? Prompto knows there are strict rules for who are and who aren't allowed near Noct, and known offenders are definitely not. Then he's distracted from his thoughts by what exactly the man is doing now that his focus isn't on Prompto. He has a phone in hand, and with a slight jolt of surprise Prompto realizes that it is his own, having been taken from the nightstand.

"Can't have your charming friends interrupting tomorrow when you don't show up for training, can we love?" He unlocks the phone and Prompto's heart sinks. How did the man know the code for his phone? But there isn't really any time to worry about it, as the man types something quick on his phone, and then turns to face Prompto. "You have now told both the Prince and his Shield not to worry that you're not coming tomorrow, as you regrettably have to leave for a bit to do an errand for the Marshal before he returns." Prompto's heart sinks further, if that is even possible. The sudden show of just how much of Prompto's life the man knows about leaves a sour taste in his mouth, but that isn't the worst part. This whole time Prompto has been counting on Noctis and Gladio to check up on him tomorrow and figure out that something's wrong, without that there is nothing he can think of that could help him.

"No!" Prompto exclaims, slightly louder than he had intended to. It just burst out of him, and he's already regretting it, with the way the man's brows are now furrowing angrily. His face twists and he surges forward. Prompto gasps, straining the cuffs in an instinctual attempt to brace himself.

"Didn't I say not to yell?" The man hisses, his right hand curls around Prompto's throat threateningly. "Why are you protesting now? This if for you, love. For us." Prompto whimpers and attempts to shake his head, but the man tightens the grip and he gasps, eyes going wide with fear. "I won't kill you, love," the man says, and he lets up the pressure, though he doesn't remove the hand. "But if someone hears you and comes running, I can't promise the same for them. They can't get in our way. And you don't want that do you?" Prompto whimpers out a tiny 'no' and the man nods intently. He opens his mouth to say something more, but a sound from downstairs catches both his and Prompto's attention. It's the sound of the front door being opened and then closed again as someone enters the house.

In the next few seconds, Prompto's mind races. Cor isn't supposed to be home for another few days. Could it be a neighbour? No, they wouldn't just let themselves in, they'd ring the doorbell first. Is it possible he could have gotten lucky, and his dad really is home early? Regardless of how small the chance of that actually is, Prompto has to try.

"Dad!" He yells, it's a weird, choked sound that comes out and he hopes to the gods that Cor really is there to respond to it. The man over him curses under his breath and slams his free hand over Prompto's mouth.

"Prom? You up?" It's Cor's voice from downstairs, Prompto has never before been so happy to hear his dad's voice. The man curses again, and Prompto's newfound relief from hearing Cor's voice is lessened somewhat. The hand still around his throat tightens, and then tightens further, so Prompto's vision blurs and he arches his back desperate to get some air.

"Shouldn't have done that, love." The man says, in a low and breathy voice. He removes the hand covering Prompto's mouth, but before Prompto can regain his breath enough to yell again, something soft is roughly stuffed into his mouth. It's something made of leather, Prompto finds, and it tastes really bad. Gloves maybe? He doesn't know. "It wasn't supposed to come to this, but I promise you," the man presses on. "I will get rid of Cor the fucking Immortal if I have to." Then he stands up, finally releasing the grip around Prompto's throat, and begins rummaging for something one the floor just out of Prompto's line of sight. Downstairs, Cor yells for Prompto again, confusion and worry laced in his voice and the man gets up. He walks towards the door, and light from the window glints in a blade in the man's hand.

Prompto's eyes widen and he yells, but it's muffled by the gag. He has to warn Cor in some way. Prompto knows his dad is a good fighter, one of the very best in fact, but worry still clenches his chest hard. What if the man catches him off guard and he ends up hurt? He can hear yelling form downstairs now, both the stalker's enraged voice and Cor's own. Something breaks, and the sounds of the fight continue, getting more and more distant as the two presumably move to a different room. Wanting nothing more than to go check on his dad, Prompto struggles against the handcuffs. He twists and squirms and strains until his wrists are rubbed raw, but gets nowhere. Then he stops. It's gotten quiet downstairs. No sounds of a fight, nothing. He yells again for Cor, not caring about the gag muffling his yells, Cor has to hear them. Then the staircase starts creaking as someone walks up to the second floor, and Prompto's heart beats faster. He can already envision the man from before coming up the stairs, having done something horrible to Cor and coming to take him away. Tears are prickling in his eyes, and when a silhouetted man finally enters his field of vision, he chokes out a terrified sob.

"Prompto!"

It's Cor. It's his dad running through the hall towards him, yelling his name, and relief floods through him. The first few tears start to fall just as Cor reaches the bed and kneels down next to it. The gag goes first, Cor removes it carefully and tosses it on the floor while Prompto coughs involuntarily in the absence of it. "Are you hurt?" Is the first question he has, eyes scanning over Prompto intently, searching for any pressingly dangerous injuries. Prompto shakes his head. He doesn't try to speak, knowing he would probably just cry. Cor's brows furrow worriedly, but he moves on to the handcuffs without further questions. The one around Prompto's right wrist first, and he curses under his breath at how the metal has rubbed his son's skin raw, and at certain places drawn blood. He makes swift work of the first pair of cuffs, and moves on to the ones chaining Prompto's left wrist.

When both his hands are properly released Prompto moves to sit upright on the bed, and winces when the movement jostles sore joints and muscles. Cor is quick to help, placing a secure hand on his shoulder and supporting him as he sits up. And suddenly it's all too much for Prompto, it's like a breath of tension leaving his body and everything comes crashing down. Cor seems to have seen it coming just ahead of time and drags Prompto against his chest for a tight hug as the rest of the tears run unhindered down freckled cheeks. "Shh, shh, you're okay kid. You're okay now." Cor whispers in a soft tone of voice uncharacteristic of the man, rubbing soothing circles on Prompto's back.

Gradually, the trembling stops and the tears slow down. Prompto's breath hitches as he looks back up at Cor. His expression, previously one of worry and tension, has softened considerably as well. Cor poses the idea of going to the bathroom for something to treat his wrists with, and Prompto agrees, sniffling and drying the remaining tears on the way through the hallway. Seated on the toilet as Cor finds a potion to use, Prom asks about the man. His throat is stuffy and tight from crying, so it takes him a few tries to get the words properly out. Cor smiles bitterly, breaking the potion over Prompto's extended hands, and tells him he doesn't need to worry about it.

"He's out cold downstairs, I've called Monica to come get him and lock him up. We'll deal with the rest tomorrow." He explains, and Prompto nods, it sounds like a reasonable plan. However, when the doorbell rings, signalling Monica's arrival, Prompto hesitates. He doesn't want to go downstairs. Doesn't want to have to see the man any more times than necessary. Cor gets it, Prompto doesn't even need to say anything, his dad just gets it. Prompto waits upstairs until the man has been taken away, and knowing he's out of the house helps, admittedly not a lot, but it helps. Then Cor yawns, and suggests for them to go to bed, but truth be told Prompto isn't exactly keen on going back to his room tonight. Cor gets that too, and they both end up sleeping on the couch in the living room.

[wilwywaylan]

Here’s to pretty boys who went to our beds

Fandom : Stand Still Stay Silent

Canon-compliant, post-Adventure 1, Emil x Lalli, 5104 words, gen / K+

Béta-ed by the amazing @paon-de-jour​ ♥♥

Emil just wanted a bed for himself and some peace, but Lalli has other plans...

Please pretend that they stayed one night in town before leaving for Reynir’s place.

Also on AO3 !

-

Emil looked around the room, appraising each and every minute detail. It was nothing more than a small, square space, with a single person bed, a small nightstand that had seen better days, and a giant dresser that dwarfed the whole room. Impression made even stronger by the wooden floor and panelling that tried to pass as dark and polished, but was certainly black due to old age. The only fanciness came from paper-thin drapes hanging in front of the tiny window, and a copper lamp set on the nightstand. Emil could maybe have tried to get something a little better, but the cost would certainly have climbed to high heavens, and he wasn't even sure there was anything better in that hotel. And after months spent in cramped spaces with no privacy, way too much noise, and sometimes no walls, it felt more welcoming that any house Emil had ever set foot in.

He set his bag at the foot of the bed - the room was so narrow that it ate almost all the space between the furniture and the wall - but right now, the only thing that mattered was the mattress, and a great question : would it be comfortable, or hard as a plank ? He sat down, carefully. And promptly let himself fall backwards. Oh, it was comfortable. It was better than comfortable. It was soft, it was sinful, it was heavenly. It sank under him, hugging his body in a warm embrace. What was in it, Emil didn't know. Feathers, straw... didn't matter. But it was nice. It was perfect.

He quickly undressed, setting his clothes at the end of the bed, and slid under the - soft, heavy, warm - blankets. The bedspread on top of them looked handknit - handknit ! Emil burried his face in the pillow that was maybe even softer than the mattress, breathed in the smell of soap and something that was certainly not that of a pillowcase that hadn't been washed for months. He didn't want to leave, ever. No way he could go back to a measly cot in a boat or a tank. He burrowed a little deeper under the covers, enjoying the warmth, and the quiet. After months locked in a metal can or being in the wild every night , the silence of the night was almost deafening. No motor noises to keep him awake, no cat stepping on every bed in the middle of the night, no crew mates to fill the air with random sighs (Tuuri), grunts (Mikkel), mumbles (Reynir and Sigrid) or all those mixed with tossing and turning (Lalli). Nothing but the cracks of the rafters over his head, and a gust of wind from time to time, gently whistling around the building, rattling the shutters against the wall. Any other time, he would have got up to secure them and stop that noise, but the effort needed was way too important right now. Already, his eyes were closing, his body was getting heavier and heavier. Before he could muster the energy to get up, he had fallen prey to sleep.

To shoot up only an hour later, heart knocking against his ribs. That last crack hadn't come from above like the others, but somewhere from his left. Something was out there, something that could catch him at any time, and he had fallen asleep like an idiot, without a vigil, and he had discarded his weapons, oh no where were they, he only had a few seconds before...

The shutter rattled again, managing to cut through the rising panic and bring him back to his senses. There was no troll, or giant, or any creature prowling in the dark. He was not outside in the Silent World, but in a small hotel in a secure town, in a regular bed, with a roof over his head and a hefty meal in his stomach. There was no weapon beside his bed, because there was no need. He was safe.

But that didn't explain the crack that had woke him up. And another, even closer. Troll or not, something was coming nearer. Emil patted the nightstand, trying to find the copper lamp and a way to light it, when something landed on the bed, sinking the mattress.

If someone had asked him under oath to tell the truth, Emil would still deny that he let out anything else than a small noise, and certainly not a piercing shriek. Something knocked him lightly on the side of the head.

- Stop, stupid.

Emil's heart jumped once more, but it was more surprise than fear. Now that he'd grown accustomed to the darkness, he could vaguely see a human-shaped shadow beside him. A human-shaped with silvery hair barely visible and large, blue eyes, faintly glowing in the darkness.

- Lalli ? What are you doing here ?

Emil realized then that he had spoken entirely in Swedish, and probably too fast for Lalli to grasp what he was saying. But his point seemed to reach him, because he said, with a gesture that could have been a shrug :

- Tired. Sleep.

The words took two seconds to make their way through the fog of sleep still wrapped around Emil's thoughts, and not just because of Lalli's accent. In fact, it had got a little better lately, better at least than Emil's Finnish. But good Swedish or not, there was no reasons he cound envision that would bring the mage on his bed in the middle of the night. Maybe it was another trick of his mind, like imagining Lalli in his dreams. If it had been a trick, which wasn't neither here nor there.

Lalli must have grown impatient, because he pushed him aside. Or tried to, but his arms weren't strong enough to do more than move Emil an inch to the right. At least it made his intentions crystal clear, which only served to confuse Emil even more. He couldn't remember when or if he'd ever seen Lalli sleep in a bed in a normal way, only under beds, in small spaces, or curled up in a seat in a way oddly reminiscent of a cat. But in a bed ? No, never. Which made even more puzzling the fact that not only he wanted a bed, but he seemed to have set his mind on Emil's bed. It... didn't make sense. Not at all.

- Lalli, Emil said cautiously, this is my bed, and...

- I know. Move.

- You don't have a room ? Didn't Onni...?

Lalli scoffed at the suggestion.

- Move, he repeated.

Emil could have thrown him out. He could have nicely suggested that he went back to his own room to enjoy his probably-as-comfortable bed or his probably-not-as-comfortable floor under said bed, or a tent shared with his cousin, or wherever he wanted to spend the night. He could have defended his right to his own bed after months of rooming with the noisiest roommates in the world. He deserved it, dammit ! He had earned it !

Instead, he laid down again and moved against the wall, leaving some space. Not much, it was still a single-person bed, and not a very large at that. He was expecting Lalli to lie down beside him, like they had done every time they had shared their sleeping quarters. At least the Finn didn't take too much space, built as he was, as long as he didn't flap around too much. He certainly didn't expect Lalli to just pull the covers and flop down. On him. His head hit Emil on the chest, knocking the wind out of him and effectively cutting down on all his protestations. In the several seconds it took for him to get his breath back, Lalli had settled on him, one leg thrown over Emil's and an arm around his waist. His head nestled on Emil's shoulder, moving a little to make himself more comfortable. And he stayed like this, perfectly happy with the situation.

Which wasn't Emil's case. Not that he was complaining, but... Okay, he should be complaining, a lot. Saying something, anything, because this certainly wasn't normal. There wasn't any way Lalli was right now lying on top of him like he was just another pillow, not flinching away from the contact. It was just a dream. That, or Lalli was very, very drunk. And, then, it was very, very bad of Emil to get any enjoyment from the situation. He needed to do the right thing, before Lalli came back to his senses and killed him very gruesomely.

Carefully, Emil extracted his hand from where it was stuck, between the mattress and the wall, and shook Lalli's shoulder. He was immediatly swatted at.

- Stop, Lalli growled.

- You're not... Emil started, but he couldn't get farther.

- Tired. I sleep. Talk in morning.

His voice seemed assured enough for him not to be drunk, and enough also for Emil to guess that he wasn't going to move anytime soon. Emil could have moved him himself, rolled him out of bed and in the hallway, leave him to find his way back to his room on his own. But he didn't.

Instead, he did his best to make himself as comfortable as possible. It was made a bit easier by Lalli lying on top of him instead of beside him, leaving him a bit more space. And a lot, a whole lot harder by everything else. First, because nothing, be it in the army or during their little expedition, could have help him get ready for someone sleeping on him. It was... weird. He knew how heavy Lalli was (which was, not a lot), he'd carried him or dragged him around enough to know it. But right now, he was heavy enough to pin him to the mattress, keeping him where he was with no chance of escape.

Second, because Lalli was, there was no other way to put it, pointy. His cheekbone was digging in Emil's collarbone, painfully pressing against it each time he moved. His shoulder was tightly squashed against Emil's, and his knee was poking him in the thigh. He'd probably have bruises in the morning, he thought a little bitterly.

And third, because it was starting to be uncomfortably hot under the blankets. Lalli's body was giving an impressive amouth of warmth, and wrapped as he was around Emil, he was acting like some kind of weirdly shaped comforter. Except for his feet, which were still ice cold, and pressed against Emil's legs to warm them. Leaving, of course, two freezing spots on his skin.

Still, Emil didn't even try to make their respective positions better, only pushed the blankets down a little, burrowed his head in the pillow that Lalli had left him, and closed his eyes. But even exhausted as he was, sleep evaded him. He could feel minutes pass, one by one, jumping lightly over him, his eyelids growing heavy... but still, he was wide awake, glaring in the darkness at the ceiling he couldn't see. Come on, he had managed to sleep through the noise of the tank, the snores of three-to-five people (depending on the night), being chased by monsters, and now, such a minor inconvenience would be too much for him to sleep through ? Nonsense !

But could he really put Lalli down as an annoyance ? Granted, he was annoyed, yes. That he couldn't get the privacy and full bed he had been yearning so much after. But as the minutes passed one by one, slowly becoming an hour, Emil realized that he cared less and less about it. Maybe he was finally falling asleep. Or maybe he just couldn't stay mad at Lalli for more than a few minutes. Even at his worse behavior (the breakfast incident was coming to mind), Emil kept coming back to him, trying to make himself understand, and to break the icy demeanor. Well, it seemed to have worked wonderfully, if their position was anything to go by.

The Finn didn't seem to have the same hang-ups as he did, and had fallen asleep. His breath was even, and the grasp around Emil had relaxed a little. He didn't seem disturbed by the situation. The situation he'd orchestrated and that was entirely his doing, okay. But still. For someone who was so skittish and only slept in closed spaces, he looked perfectly fine sleeping in the open, in such proximity of someone whom he could barely communicate with out of the dream realm. Very unaware or uncaring of the predicament he had just thrown Emil in. Was he even conscious of it ? Or did he just get so used to sharing sleeping quarters that he just didn't realize how someone would feel in this situation ?

Because he was feeling weird, and it had nothing (next-to-nothing) to do with the normal weirdness of the situation. Unless feeling one's cheeks burn and one's pulse running fast were usual symptoms of having one's private space invaded. His heart was beating wildly against his ribs, so hard that Lalli would surely hear it and wake up. And then call him stupid. Which seem to be more and more common, these days. Not the stupid-calling part, even if Lalli still used the word a great deal.

He hadn't thought that much, at the start. Since the first days of the expedition, he'd taken an interest in Lalli. Maybe because the mage was intriguing, with his weird manierisms, his distant attitude and his piercing eyes. Maybe because he was aloof, and being ignored didn't stand well with Emil. He had tried his best, trying to get to him, seeking his attention, talking to him despite the barrier language, getting only weird glances and muttered groans for his efforts. But they had grown closer, slightly. The pull had grown stronger, keeping Emil drawn to Lalli, more and more, and Lalli, in turn, became a little less cold, a little... friendlier, even ?

And when he was around him, when he managed to make him lose the glum expression, even for half a second, even just a slight quirk of the lips, when Lalli let his shields down around him and acted a little more comfortable, Emil's heart started beating a little faster, and he felt... strange. The first time, he had thought he had caught a fever, and actually started checking everywhere he could if he wasn't developping the first traces of the Rash, even knowing very well that he was immune. But there was nothing, and the feeling had receeded. At the time, he had felt relieved. Until Lalli almost-smiled at him, and it came back, the heart, the heat, and clammy hands at the same time. And again, and again, until Emil started to see a pattern. It was Lalli. A Lalli-induced fever. That was stupid, but he couldn't deny the link. And still, he kept seeking Lalli's presence, because being with Lalli made him feel weird, but there was also a feeling of elatement when he could reach him, a rush of energy that made him smile no matter what.

And then, of course, the whole dreamscape adventure happened. It had been weird, to be suddenly able to communicate with Lalli perfectly. To discover that the Finn was way less silent and drawn than Emil had first thought, quite sarcastic, even, and seemed very perfectly comfortable with sharing a space with him. It had been fun, in a way, enjoyable, even, to spend time together, to chat like that, and Emil did regret not being able to do it anymore.

(His mind carefully danced around the events that led to said dreamscape adventure, pushing aside the fear at being lost far away from the others, at seeing Lalli's lifeless body, the low-key despair of dragging said body across a snowy waistland without a hint of relief in sight, the pain in his arms, his legs, his head, burning and freezing, the hunger, and the loneliness, and above all, the terror, neverending, squeezing his heart, and him counting the steps as not to think about what would happen sooner or later, counting the steps at day and Lalli's breaths at night, scared of them stopping and not going again...)

Maybe that was the reason of Lalli's presence right now. A way of thanking him for not abandonning him to the dusklings or in the middle of the snow, of taking care of him even in the face of impending death. Had he caught on Emil's efforts, or maybe those feelings that even he couldn't put a name on, that made him seek the Finn through his worst moods and stay with him no matter what ? Did he see his presence tonight, the was he was holding on Emil, as some kind of... reward ? A way of getting even ?

Emil's chest suddenly felt tight, and a sharp pain on the side made him wince. No, that could be possible, he didn't want to even entertain the thought. Lalli didn't just decide to come and sleep in his bed just in exchange for saving his life, like he would have bought him dinner or a trinket or something. He would certainly have retorted that Emil did choose to help him and besides, he had already thanked him. And they had saved each other's lives enough by now not to think that one needed to find a way to thank the other. No, it wasn't just some kind of weird, emotionless transaction. It couldn't be ! He didn't want it to be ! He didn't want it to be just give and take. He wanted it to be as meaningful for Lalli as it was for him. He wanted Lalli to want to be with him, to seek his companionship as Emil seeked his. He wanted Lalli to appreciate him. To like him. And the weight of that realization was as crushing as the one on his chest.

Lalli suddenly stirred, his arm tightening around Emil. His foot shot up, hitting him in the shin and made him yelp. The noise didn't wake Lalli up, but he started trashing around, his hand reaching up to grab at his hair and pull. All idea of sleep left Emil's mind ; Lalli's nightmares usually meant troubles incoming, and incoming fast. He listened intently, trying to pick on anything that would mean troubles, a noise, a signal, anything. But the night was silent, beside the small rustling of the blanket and the strangled whines ripped out of Lalli's throat.

A pitpating outside the door drew Emil's attention. Cat paws. A cat was going down the hallway. And it didn't seem to hurry in any way. Which meant that there wasn't any danger around. Good. Then Lalli's nightmare was just that, a nightmare. This came as no surprise for Emil ; with everything he'd seen and been through, it was even a wonder that he had been able to fall asleep. He'd probably had nightmares every night since he'd managed to get out of the dream world, and even before. And he had had to deal with them alone, without anyone to help. Not that Emil knew how to help someone he could barely have a conversation with, especially when one was awake and couldn't get into the dreamscape. And Lalli hadn't shown a thing to anyone, dealing alone with hurt and fear. It hurt, it hurt a lot to think of his friend having to go through it alone.

Gently, Emil laid a hand on Lalli's forehead, slid it over his eyes. It had worked, that time, in the cat tank, and it worked again. Lalli emited a low noise, that "mrrp" that sounded so much like a cat purring, and relaxed. His hand opened slightly, the fingers still curling around Emil's collar. His breath evened out, stroking Emil's throat, making him shiver, but he didn't push him or turn away. It was a mark that Lalli's sleep had become peaceful again, at least for the time being. It made Emil smile, to see that he could still be of help for Lalli. Of course, he wouldn't be able to do that every night, unless they slept in close quarters on the regular again, like they did in the wild, or shared...

Emil shook his head to push the idea out of his mind. Not because it was in direct opposition with what he wanted (privacy, a bed just for him), but because it made him feel strangely... giddy. No, he didn't want that ! He wanted his comfort, he wanted to be left alone ! But even as he tried to focus on this, on a bed larger and larger each time, he didn't feel as elated as he was previously. He was trying to picture the numerous pillows and the heavy comforter, when Lalli moved a little against him, mrrping again, and Emil immediatly forgot about his plans.

Very gently, he unstuck his arm from where it was caught under Lalli, and brought him around the Finn's shoulders to pull him a little closer. He didn't dare turning on his side and holding him fully. Even now, he wasn't sure of how much exactly Lalli would accept from him, and he didn't want to start pushing him too far. Especially not now, when he was sleeping and could not agree or disagree. So he stayed as he was, enjoying the warmth of Lalli against him, the lull of his breath and the low sighs he gave here and there. The awkwardness had dissipated, leaving him with contentment, and horribly exhausted. But it didn't matter if he could stay like this, Lalli's head on his shoulder and his arm around his waist, safe against him.

That's how sleep claimed him, holding Lalli, the blankets tight around them like a cocoon, keeping them close.

--

Emil awoke with a start. He'd been sleeping so peacefully, perfectly settled in his bed, when the shutters had slammed together with a bang. He sat up, heart beating wildly. It took him a second to remember where he was and what he was doing here. Sleeping, right. Enjoying the real bed with a real mattress. Spending a real, restful night in a real room. He let himself fall down, relishing in the dip under him. He spread his arms, almost hitting the wall in the process, and let himself drift away again.

Wait.

There was something wrong with the picture. He hadn't laid like that last night, occupying all the space he could, because there was no space to speak of, courtesy of Lalli. He could still remember the Finn's weight on his shoulder and how his arm had grasped him around the waist. But there was no trace of Lalli in the room bathed by the early morning light. No warmth beside him, no footprints on the floorboards, nothing. Like he had vanished into thin air. Or rather, abandonned ship as soon as he could.

Emil tried not to feel too disappointed at the thought, but he could have guess it would end like this. Lalli may have looked for a place to sleep, but it was on his terms. Being held too close by Emil certainly didn't factor in his decision, and he probably had run as soon as he realized their closeness. He probably hated him for catching him in such a position, now, and he would certainly never talk to him again. Not that Emil minded, of course. His bed would be his and his alone.

... oh, who was he trying to kid ? Of course, he would mind ! He had made so many efforts to get closer to Lalli, and he had thrown everything out the window because he couldn't keep his hands to himself. Stupid. Lalli was right. Stupid, stupid Emil ! He would have slapped himself, hadn't he been afraid of leaving marks on his cheeks. Maybe he could fix it by going into the dreamspace and explain everything to Lalli ? But one needed to be asleep for that, and he certainly wasn't ready to go back to sleep. Not to mention Lalli was awake, and wouldn't be there. Solace wouldn't come from there. He needed to find a way to apologize, and to apologize well, or Lalli would surely hate him forever.

The door opened, and Lalli walked in, a large serving of cookies in hand. He sat on the bed, plate balanced on one pointy knee, and started eating. Emil stared at him, bewildered. Here he was, trying not to feel like his heart was ripped out of his chest, and Lalli was just munching on his cookies like he didn't have a care in the world, like nothing had happened ! How could he ! Damn bloody Finn !

Lalli must have sensed Emil's eyes on him, because he suddenly turned towards him.

- What ?

Emil scrambled to find something to say something that Lalli would get.

- Last night... he started.

And stopped, because what could you add to that ? "Why did you decide to sleep in my bed and also cuddle with me like some kind of very big cat, and also I liked that because I've just realized I like you and it felt very good" ? First, he didn't know how to say that in Finnish, he had barely reached "good night", and Lalli's Swedish was only a smidge better. Second, because he wasn't sure this wouldn't get him on the business end of Lalli's knife. Or worse, rifle. In fact, he didn't know which option he prefered, because Lalli was deadly with both.

- What ? Lalli repeated, in the same tone.

He was expecting an answer, and probably wouldn't let him until he got it.

- Last night, Emil tried again. You.... angry ?

Lalli stared at him for a few seconds.

- No, he finally answered with a frown. Tired. Not angry.

- No, no, I mean... You know... the...

The words were evading him, so Emil made a tentative gesture of hugging someone. Lalli kept staring, in the same way he did that first time on the train, the one that made Emil shiver, head tilted on the side like a curious cat.

- No, he suddenly said.

And he went back to eat his cookies, while Emil wondered if one could die of a mix of embarrasment, anger and frustration. He certainly felt like it. But still, he refrained from screaming, pushing Lalli on the floor or grab the pillow and deck him on the head. That would certainly get him punched or worse.

- You didn't ? I mean... you're not... angry ? with ?

- No.

It was a little louder, and Emil got the message. With a sigh, he moved against the headboard and leaned his head against it, closing his eyes. Good, Lalli wasn't angry against him. And still, he couldn't help but feel a little... disappointed ? Because Lalli hadn't mentionned anything about his reasons, or would he do it again, or... anything, really. And certainly nothing about doing it again sometimes. And it would have been a lie to say that it didn't hurt a little to see him so... aloof again, like it didn't hold any meaning for him.

The mattress moved, and he opened his eyes, expecting Lalli to have grown tired of his silence and apparent moodiness and left. Instead, the Finn had come to sit beside him, the now half-empty plate still on his lap. They were so close that their shoulders were touching, and their legs pressed together, lightning each and every nerve of Emil's on fire. He didn't dare looking in Lalli's direction, didn't even dare breathing, less the moment be broken. Twenty-four hours ago, he was considering being able to have a conversation with Lalli the biggest step in their friendship. But in the last eight hours, Lalli had come in close contact with him, willingly, not once, but twice, and had told him he wasn't angry at being held through the night. From him, that was a great leap, and Emil tried very hard not to dwell on it too much, lest his heart start running way too fast again. He tried to focus on something, anything, how many explosives he should buy later, and how Reynir's hair was still a mess, everything to forget their closeness, but every thought was shattered each time Lalli moved and his leg brushed against his, turning his brain into mush.

Emil suddenly realized that Lalli seemed to be inching towards him. While two minutes ago, their knees and shoulders were barely touching, Lalli's hip was now against his, pointy as ever, digging into his own luckily protected by the waistband of his pants. And he didn't seem bothered by it. Granted, he still had a plate of cookies to distract him from the issue, but still. Emil knew him enough to know that food wouldn't be enough if he was really upset or uncomfortable.

On a whim, he unstuck his arm from between them, and carefully slid it behind Lalli. The Finn glanced at him, but otherwise didn't move. Fine. So far. Now, the most difficult part. Slowly, Emil lowered his hand, put it around Lalli's shoulder. This time, the chewing stopped.

- Does it... can I ? Okay ? Emil quickly asked. I should have asked before but... I... okay ?

There was an uncomfortable silence, long enough for Emil to start regretting everything he ever did wrong in his life, which seemed like a lot. He wanted to take his hand away, but maybe it would have been worse. Lalli was now looking at him, and there was something in his eyes (weird, unreadable, beautiful) that made Emil want to run away, or maybe stay where he was forever. But finally, Lalli broke the spell.

- Okay, he simply said.

It was just a word, but one that set Emil's heart to fly. He could feel his face break into the widest grin. Lalli didn't comment on anything, but he held out the plate, offering him one of the remaining cookies. Emil took it and munched happily on it. He didn't know exactly why Lalli did agree to that, why he was now standing so close to him, and there was still the why of his presence this night. All those points were starting to trace a pattern pointing in a satisfying direction, but he didn't want to think too much about it. Just staying like this was enough for him, and for Lalli too, he hoped. Maybe he could ask him later, when they both shared the dreamscape again. But for now, this was enough. And maybe, the next night, Lalli would come and steal his bed again. Emil was certainly looking up to that.

[imagineabrighterworld]

The Saint and the Prince pt.2

𝓣𝓱𝓮 𝓸𝓷𝓮 𝔀𝓱𝓸 𝓵𝓸𝓿𝓮𝓼 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓴𝓲𝓼𝓼𝓮𝓼 𝔂𝓸𝓾, 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝔀𝓱𝓸𝓮𝓿𝓮𝓻 𝓭𝓸𝓮𝓼𝓷’𝓽 𝓵𝓸𝓼𝓮𝓼 𝔂𝓸𝓾

You look at your mother through the mirror as she braids ribbons into your hair. Her hands flutter as they hold your locks of hair with infinite gentleness.

You were dressed in the color of persimmons and summer peaches, from the ribbons in your hair to the dye streaking your cheeks. You felt silly dressed so weirdly. It wasn't like your family to be so.. Colorful. Not on a day like this. Everyone was wearing black except for you.

You shuffle uncomfortably in your seat. Your mother was crying, and yet she was doing your hair.

“Mama?” You whisper, hating the way her hands began to tremble and lose hold of your hair. Why was she crying? What was making her so sad? “Mama you're scaring me.”

She sniffles, using the back of her palm to wipe away the wetness of her tears. “Forgive me..” The kohl lining her eyes is smeared, but she pays no mind to the smudges on her hands. “Forgive me.”

You want to comfort her but she coaxes you into staying still as she finishes with your hair. It is only when your father comes into the room that you begin to piece together what is happening. You were being taken away from her, but why? It was supposed to be a good day today. The Alshanun Iraziz, the Sun Saint was supposed to be coming to bring her blessings, just like your papa said.

Your mother’s cries of anguish grow louder now as your father guides you out of the room, his own sniffles paled in comparison to hers. The sound of shattering glass is your only goodbye from your mother.

“Papa? I'm afraid.”

He says nothing. His hand tightens around yours, the bones in your hand squeezing together, but you're too afraid to pull away from him. Afraid he might disappear, or go back home to mama, leaving you alone.

A crowd lays in front of you, the familiar black clothing of the Sun Saint’s day is before you. Why were you in color when they were in black? You felt like an ill beating heart in the crowd of bleakness.

Now, you stand in the center of your town.

The villagers around you murmur prayers as you pass them by. They reach out and kiss your palms. As if you were a saint in the books your grandmother had coveted so long ago. Whispers surround you, the sounds crawling on your skin uncomfortably.

𝓞 𝓼𝓽𝓪𝓻𝓼 𝓲𝓷 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓼𝓴𝔂, 𝓪𝓵𝓵 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓻𝓲𝓼𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓼𝓽𝓪𝓻𝓼, 𝔀𝓲𝓼𝓱 𝓽𝓮𝓷𝓭𝓮𝓻𝓷𝓮𝓼𝓼 𝓽𝓸 𝓝𝓪𝓭𝓪

Your father left you behind somewhere in the crowd as he ushered you to the platform in the middle of the crowd. His face blurred among the people, but somewhere in the throng you swear you can hear his cries.

As you look down at the orangewood platform carved with prayers, you know why your mother was crying. You know why the people have to hold your father back as his cries turn to screams.

“Bueirikan kembali! Khadhnaa!”

Give her back. Take me.

“Ahfuz tifli!”

Save my child.

The high priest stands behind you as the sun begins to rise.

𝓐𝓵𝓵 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓻𝓲𝓼𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓼𝓽𝓪𝓻𝓼

The orange sky is the last thing you see as a knife is plunged into your back.

𝓨𝓸𝓾 𝓪𝓻𝓮 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓵𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽 𝓸𝓯 𝓶𝔂 𝓮𝔂𝓮𝓼

---

Shoto returned to the others with his mind full of the color orange.

He mostly stayed quiet for the reminder of their tour around the town, his eyes constantly drifting to the blossoms covering every inch of the buildings. Their sweet scent was almost too much. Their flowers thick with nectar.

The town felt stifling, he didn't know why, but perhaps his talk with the mysterious woman would clear things up.

Bachar leads them back to his home and holds a feast with several of the neighboring lords as guests. Shoto isn't eager to converse, but he does his part as prince and answers their questions and occasionally offers up one of his own. They spoke of trade between the kingdoms and the benefits their people might have if they worked closely together. 

The Alshanun kingdom had bountiful amounts of herbal medicine, spices, and pastures full of cattle, while Todoroki’s kingdom had less greenlands. But where it lacked in greenery, it was full of libraries, a strong army to defend from invaders, gold deposits, and waterfalls that held water so clear you could see all the way to the bottom of their lakes.

A partnership could keep both of their people comfortable for years to come.

Night fell, and soon the group was off to their chambers.

“Todoroki?” Midoriya asks from behind him, his hand on the doorknob of his own room. “Where did you go? You know, earlier.”

Shoto remains quiet, his eyes shifting to his door. A phantom breeze brushes against his arm, eerily reminding him of a hand. “Nowhere.”

It wasn't in his place to question a prince, but it was in his place to question a friend. So Midoriya asks once more. “Are you sure?”

Shoto looks at his friend, his eyes roving over his face. He was worried, and it warmed his heart to know he had a friend who truly cared. But he didn't have answers yet. He couldn't reassure his friend without any information. All he had was the memory of a girl.

“I’m sure.” The corners of his lips tug upward. “Goodnight.”

Entering his room, Shoto looks at the wallpaper lining the walls and the stumpy candles lining the window sill. With a flick of his hand, he lights them, watching as the wax begins to melt at their center. The warm smell of vanilla fills the room as he changes and soon he is in bed, drifting off to sleep.

When he wakes, the sunlight is weakly filtering in, not yet a deep gold but a pale yellow that engulfs his room. He sits up slowly and looks at the window to where the candles had long been extinguished in their own wax. 

He listens for the sounds of life outside his door, but all there is is silence. Not even the servants were up yet.

Shoto sits up and pulls the sheets away from himself. He had half a mind to stay in bed and wait until the others were awake, maybe travel around the nearby towns and meet its lords. But he didn't listen to that half. 

Slipping out of his room, he quietly makes his way out of the mansion after dressing in simple black clothing. It wasn't what he was accustomed to wearing, not when it was the color of mourning. But it helped him blend in with the early risers already setting up shop, helped him not feel a fool when they waved good morning to him. 

Wending his way to the fountain from the day before, he sits at its edge, looking into its waters. Vaguely he could sense it, feel the way it would turn to ice beneath his touch. How its side would frost. 

He doesn't notice you as you look over his shoulder at the water. Doesn't see your reflection until you're smiling at him.

-

“Hello again princeling.” You step back just as the stranger in front of you whips his head back. His eyes widen before they narrow, his lips a flat line. 

“Hello.” He says warily, his eyes flickering to your orange and saffron clothing. “Why are you dressed like that?”

You sit next to him, undisturbed by how he looks at you. As if you were doing something out of line. He truly was a prince, one who obviously wasn't very social. “That’s the wrong question. I’ll grant you one answer.”

“Why do you speak like this? What are you hiding?” 

“Wrong again princeling.” 

Small ice crystals prick at his skin as a small pout forms on his face, a crease building between his brows. You hold in a smile as you see the gears turning in his head. You rarely got to have fun, and it was amusing seeing him so confused.

“Who are you?”

You let your smile show. Finally, he got it right. “I am the Alshanun Iraziz. The Sun Saint.”

“Were you always this way?”

Now he was asking the right questions, you muse as you inspect his hands that had folded themselves neatly on his lap, hiding the frost that was forming on his fingers. You could feel the power thrumming in his veins. The ice and the fire. If you were alive, you would have been concerned at how easily he might set you alight or freeze the blood in your veins. But you were an Iraziz, a Saint, and his gifts held no sway over you.

“No. I used to be just like you. Alive with a beating heart. I used to wear black, just like you. Now, all I ever wear is this.” You look at your silk slippers and the folds of your skirts embroidered with gold string. It was the most expensive thing you ever had in life. A gift from the High Priest that had ended your life, giving you this life in its place. 

“What is your name?”

So much for one answer, you think to yourself. But it had been so long since you've spoken with anyone. 

“I’ve forgotten my true one.” You dip your hand in the waters of the fountain, the cool waters soothing your warm skin. It was always so warm around this time of year, even when the sun was at its weakest. “I didn't know to hold it close, the day I became the Alshanun Iraziz was the same day I lost my name. I don't suppose I’ll ever get it back now.” It had been too long. Your people were long gone and replaced with their descendants. The faces you looked at now were watered down versions of your kin. 

“What is your name?” You ask him, looking at his face to find him staring at your hand and the waters that didn't shift with your touch. 

“Todoroki Shoto.”

You hum. “Todoroki. I’ve heard of it before. When your family was still only lords, not kings and queens.”

Todoroki’s face turns considering. “You've been alive a long time.”

“Alive is one way of putting it.” 

“Then how did you come to be? Is your gift to be an undead? A shadow?”

“I’m glad you still believe I’m some form of alive, but I assure you, my life was snuffed ages ago.” There was no bitterness in your voice, you had long ago come to accept your fate. “I was sacrificed to become the new Iraziz, my people decided my fate long before your kingdom was unified.”

You feel his ice before it crawls into the water, freezing the fountain as a look of diluted horror crosses his face. “Your own people let you die?”

You chuckle. “It’s not unlike parting your meal for your gods, or offering them a glass of wine. Or how you dedicate a moment of your day in prayer for good fortune. My people gave me to the Sun, praying for a miracle. When my life was taken, a new one was given.”

“Were you.. the first?” The ice behind you slowly melts, a hiss of steam telling you the prince was undoing his work.

Now you can feel the old ache. The ghostly touch of your mothers hands as she fixed your hair, the feeling of your fathers fingers curling around your own. 

“No. I wasn't.”

So many girls had gone through the same ritual. So many had their lives ripped away like pins in the hair. “I am, however, the last. After me, no other girls have been sacrificed.”

“Why?” What stopped them? You can see the unspoken question in his eyes.

“Each year, my spirit withers and turns weak, which is why they replaced the Iraziz each year with a new girl, a fresh spirit. But I’ve held onto this life, I’ve preformed miracles to show I’m still here. So no other girl has to die.”

The bubbling of the water fountain speaks for the both of you as you watch the people in their shops, readying their wares. No matter what their ancestors did to you, you held no hate for them in your heart. You could feel the remnants of rage that the girls before you held, but you had no such reservations. 

Todoroki watches your people with you, his eyes distant and unfeeling. You didn't understand what he was thinking, but you could feel. Feeling wasn't your gift, not like how his gift was ice and fire, but you were always open to others feelings. So susceptible. It was heightened now in death. 

“What is it you're thinking of princeling?” You ask. 

“You said something when we meant yesterday. That I needed you.”

“I did.”

“Why do you think I need you?”

“You're lonely. You feel lost, like a ghost in a living body. Something is holding you prisoner.”

He glances at you from the side. “I’m not lost.” 

“Then why do you have this look in your eyes, like you wish to be somewhere else. I felt a kindred spirit in you when I first crossed paths with you. Can you say you didn't feel the same?”

He doesn’t agree, but he doesn't disagree either. He simply stands up and begins to pace around the fountain, his hands clasped together behind him. 

You lay down on the stones of the fountain, watching his pacing. As a saint, you couldn't help but feel pulled to the needy. It was strange knowing he needed you. That a prince could be so deeply wounded that he needed a saint’s help. But you couldn't rest until he was happy, until that dark ache inside of him was soothed. 

“I.. I do not need you.” He says aloud, stopping across from you, the water fountain blocking your view of him. “I’ve already let go.”

“We both know that isn’t true.” You whisper, “I can feel you calling out. But I will be here for when you need me.”

“I don't-”

But you were already gone, and the sun was looming gold over the land. 

[baodurs]

i filled out this super cool button character profile by @extraordinarymage for sabrina! thank you for making this, it was a lot of fun to fill out <3 the bulk of it is under a cut and oh boy is it long !!!

Short, Quick Reference

Name: Sabrina Wiseman

Pronouns: She/her

Sexuality: Bisexual

Love Interest: Kent

Main personality trait: Confidence

Secondary personality trait: Morbidity

Relationship with Nick: Full of love, haunted by unaddressed guilt and frustration. But mostly full of love.

Nickname for Nick: Saint Nick (used sparingly)

Resentful or accepting?: Slightly resentful

Main strategy (interpersonal, insightful, innovative?): Insightful

Ethical or expedient?: Expedient

GENERAL

Name: Sabrina Larkspur Wiseman

Nickname(s): Sab, used by anyone; Sabby, only Nick and Sally; and, of course, Button for Nick.

Birthday: I think I made her an October Libra for the purpose of a template I did months ago, but I’m not sure! No concrete birthday yet, I’m always very slow to nail down details like this.

Age: 20

Pronouns: She/her

Sexuality: Bisexual

Hair color + style: Blonde. A little past shoulder length, sometimes wavy. Usually a middle part. For Aeon, tied back in a bun.

Eye color: Blue, entirely because of the section of Frank O’Hara’s “Meditations in an Emergency” that goes, “My eyes are vague blue, like the sky...”

Height: 5′5

Piercings: Multiple in each ear, but a couple have started to close.

Tattoos: None yet! Sab likes the idea of a tattoo but is worried about finding the perfect design, whether she’d end up hating it, that the pain might be greater than she expects and she’ll look like a baby in front of her tattoo artist. I’d like to think she eventually consults Sally and/or Glitch to come up with an idea that she falls in love with, but I haven’t come up with what that would be!

Clothing style: Mostly solid colors, not a lot of patterns. Nothing super bright, but a fairly varied mix of pastels, neutrals, dark colors, black. Partial to denim skirts and sweater tops. Ankle boots. Likes a good turtleneck. She’s bolder when it comes to formal wear, and especially loves suits. Big fan of silk and satin.

Since she has a pretty accurate face claim, I’ll link some gifsets I’ve rb’d for appearance ref if you are so inclined.

STATS

I’m always adjusting minor things and swapping scenes around, but these are from my most recent Sab run! Most scores hover somewhere around these values.

Personality:

Confidence: 53%

Humor: 5%

Morbidity: 22%

Resentful: 57% | Accepting: 43%

Strategy:

Interpersonal: 12%

Insightful: 50%

Innovative: 10%

Ethical: 43% | Expedient: 57%

KEY DECISIONS:

What is Nick’s nickname and why?: Saint Nick, used very rarely. It’s a joking reference to the time she thought Santa was an evil Ment out to ruin Christmas, and a point about Nick overdoing it with the cheer. “Saint Nick” is usually code for “I know you mean well, but please mind your own business.” Otherwise, she just calls him Nick.

What is their favorite type of cookie (and its name and why?): Salted caramel chocolate chip! No special name.

What was their initial reaction to Sally hugging them, as kids?: She just froze. That could just be me projecting adult Sabrina onto her childhood self; I don’t imagine that she was as uncomfortable around strangers or quite as cautious back then. But that’s what I’ll stick with.

How did they ace the ASE test?: The in-game option she takes is “My entire life has revolved around strategic avoidance,” but the one about being just plain smart also sounds like her. If Sab has the chance to thoroughly (over)prepare for something, she will do it. Her mind blindness also has her constantly (over)analyzing situations. So, hard work and relentless anxiety!

Did they manage to win their first assignment? How?: Yes, by having Sally block the door. I’ve headcanoned some slight differences in how it plays out, which I wrote about in-depth here. To summarize, Sab thinks of blocking the door as a desperate last resort, not a clever loophole, and she pushes back against Rosy’s praise because she wishes she could have done it the “real” way. Rosy goes from being impressed to being annoyed that she’s willfully missing the point.

What was the primary emotion Button felt during the Aeon bombing (love, gratitude, etc?): Guilt. She feels very guilty about how much Nick has given up for her in general, but I think that in the moment, it’s on a smaller scale. The fact that Nick was on the phone with her when it happened, coming to her rescue like always, becomes emblematic of their whole relationship for her, and she really fixates on that.

Who drove them home from the hospital from and why?: Glitch. Sab responds to her initial text with “Are you sure?”, and is relieved when Glitch takes that as “Yes, please.” She doesn’t relish the idea of being around someone more connected to her family or Nick at that point.

How do they feel about Nick riding around in their mind?: Worried, at first. Just because it’s so unknown and absolutely insane. After seeing Doctor Amari, she’s excited! Sab is thrilled to be a Pollard Five and intends to take full advantage of it. I am not looking forward to seeing how she reacts when that’s taken away from her.

Why did Button agree to do the undercover mission?: To prove she still deserves to be an MIV. Sabrina feels stupid and reckless for putting herself, Nick, and Aeon in this position, but she knows she’s smart, and she hasn’t worked this hard for nothing. She wants to prove what she could do with a normal Pollard Score and make herself too valuable to give up even when she’s back to Zero.

Told Glitch about your mind blindness?: Depends on the playthrough. I’m constantly going back and forth on whether Sab meets Glitch for coffee or wanders the city with Nick in her second chapter 5 slot (after trying to track down Kent). If she does meet Glitch, though, she absolutely tells her; with how touchy Sab is about privacy, she couldn’t stomach not warning Glitch that Nick could hear everything they said.

Figured out K’s secret?: Nope. She finds enough of the clues to be given the “I knew it!” option in-game, but she didn’t actually put it together. Sab is too angry and embarrassed by learning that Kent is an AMO to find any reason to interrogate it. “The random guy I met before school just happens to be a jerk” is a perfectly sound explanation to her.

Found Noh’s clues?: Not at the metro station. Sometimes she sees the Vengeance brooms in chapter 5 (again, depending on the playthrough), but that’s it.

ROMANTIC RELATIONSHIP:

Love Interest: Kent

Why them?: Sab feels an immediate kinship with Kent after learning about the NPO program. It’s kind of funny how quickly he moves from the least sympathetic position in her eyes (Ment who got past me and read my mind without my knowledge) to the most sympathetic (non-powered child of a prominent family aiming a league above where he “belongs”). A lot of new respect for his competence. Her fate is sealed when she realizes that his kindness at the hospital wasn’t him trying to make up for some wrongdoing, but just him being very sweet. (She had scoffed over “You needed help.” But now she’s like, “Oh. He meant that?! Fuck.”)

As they spend more time together, Sab realizes how weirdly similar they are in other ways, too. And she starts to feel safe/secure around him in a way that she’s extremely not used to. Growing up surrounded by Ments, Sab has a lot of issues about being too much, too difficult, needing to “be worthy” of love. So someone like Kent who is not a Ment, who has no “obligation” to care about her, and whose judgement she trusts implicitly? Being around him and being loved by him mean a lot, and I think will go a long way towards helping her reflect on her other relationships!

What are their first impressions of each other?: Okay, there are like 3 first impressions with Kent. First: he’s tall and handsome and secretly adorable, and they have similar career goals, so she’s drafting a five-month plan to woo him and get his number. Second: he’s a lying, self-obsessed loser who owes her many explanations. Third: oh no, the first impression was true! And he’s been continually, selflessly kind to her in spite of her overt hostility. Scratch the five-month plan, because the crush was only fun when it was entirely superficial; now she really, really likes him and that just sucks.

We know that Button makes a good impression on K by stopping for their dogs, but apart from that... I mean, the “we confused each other” from chapter 7 is very apt. Sab has lots of shifting personas, and Kent sees pretty much every one within 24 hours. The prevailing impression before everything gets cleared up is probably just that she cares a lot? About everything? Her stopping for the dogs, how seriously she takes the first assignment, the way she seems so deeply affected by something he said or did that morning. It’s a rare side of her to meet first because she usually pretends to be above everything.

What feature does your Button find most attractive in their RO (ex. appearance, personality, etc.)?: Probably his composure. And his... steadfastness? The way he seems unruffled by anything, his soothing presence. She really admires that about him and finds the calm contagious.

What do they do to spend time together?: Going on drives together! Kent driving while Sab plays songs she thinks he’ll like, talking or not talking. Cuddling on the couch while reading their own separate books. Museum dates. Walking the dogs together.

Do they argue? How do they handle arguments and disagreements? How do they make up?: I imagine that the first month or so of their relationship would be difficult, just because they’re both bad at expressing themselves and not used to relying on other people. Kent kind of negates a lot of Sab’s impulses to get defensive or hostile, so instead of arguments, I think there are more likely to be awkward periods where she’s just stewing in something without addressing it. Most of their fights would be, like, one of them becoming really distant for a concerning number of days until the other tries to awkwardly check in on them.

What does their future look like?: Uhh some random lore: I think eventually they do get married, despite neither of them caring that much about it. Sabrina would be excited to have something to plan, and she knows it would make the people around her happy. They have a long engagement; there’s never really an “official” proposal, just an acknowledgement that yeah, they’ll get married one day, and then eventually they get rings. The engagement is almost Sab’s favorite part, honestly. She likes planning and showing off her ring and calling Kent her fiancé, a lot of fanfare on her part for a wedding that ends up being very modest and chill.

OTHER RELATIONSHIPS (Feel free to go in depth!)

Relationship with Nick: When I first started developing Sab, I thought that with as difficult/prickly as she can be, her relationship with Nick would be worse than it is. Never bad, but certainly strained, with more jealousy/resentment on her side. However, she rejected this. She is resentful, but never towards Nick—she internalizes the negative parts of their relationship so they manifest as guilt instead. And that’s the problem, not resentment. Sab thinks he’s overprotective, but that doesn’t make her angry; it just makes her sad. She wishes things were different and he didn’t feel so responsible for her, but she also doesn’t know how she could manage without him taking on so many of her burdens. So, guilt! So much love, but always looming guilt.

Having Nick in her head has helped. It’s added a new kind of guilt (“I’m a horrible person for being so giddy that people can’t hear my thoughts even though that requires my brother to be in a coma”), but getting inside Nick’s head for once and really feeling his love for her changes things. Makes her feel way more secure, I guess? It’s easier to see her brother as human person, a friend who loves her, rather than a perfect selfless paragon who sacrificed everything to raise her, which is an important shift.

There are also Things happening with self-presentation in the fact that they’re both models, and flirts, and pretend to be shallow. And the ways that they’ve responded to vastly different expectations. And selflessness versus selfishness. But I have no idea how to talk about that yet.

Relationship with Father: Strained and distant. Sabrina doesn’t necessarily blame him for leaving, but she hates how he’s handled it. She’s incredibly frustrated that John insists on keeping them in this miserable limbo of uncomfortable visits, even though moving away was (to her) a tacit acknowledgement that she and her parents are better off without each other. He’s trying to force a relationship that Sab thinks is ultimately harmful for everyone involved. For Nick’s sake, she’s willing to grin and bear the visits, but it never works because John can obviously tell it’s an act. He pushes her, she gets defensive, and so on to infinity.

Relationship with Mother: Like with John, Sab doesn’t resent Hope for the incident itself, or for leaving afterward. It was terrifying, and the idea of being around Hope makes her panic—but she thinks of that as just another irrational anxiety symptom, and she’s trying to work through it. What she does resent Hope for is letting it get to that point at all. Sab is incredibly bitter that Hope will suffer silently to the point of almost killing her (during the incident) and potentially herself (with the BRS), while Sab has no choice but to be completely open. Especially because they’re so similar in that way—she’s almost jealous. “Oh, so your silence is allowed to almost kill me and it’s ‘nobody’s fault’ but I can’t pretend to enjoy a single lunch with Dad without him calling me out for lying?”

And even though she doesn’t hold the incident itself against her, Sab is very hung up on “Why are you never quiet? Why are you always there?” She knows, on some level, that this was not a Personal Judgement against her. But because Hope keeps so much quiet, this is the only honest expression of her mother’s feelings that she can remember! It would take a lot for Sab to believe that Hope was really, genuinely interested in reconnecting with her, rather than just pretending to love her "enough” this time because to do otherwise would reflect poorly on Hope as a mother.

Relationship with Sally: Besties <3 Sally is the only member of the Wiseman inner circle that Sab doesn’t have complicated feelings about. They both have hidden morbid streaks that they bring out in each other, and can laugh about. They both have competitive streaks that work well together because they’re always on the same team. And their wants/needs from the relationship complement each other well, I think. Sally has always felt valued because she’s useful and not because she’s loved, while Sab has always felt smothered by love/care without feeling like she genuinely adds value to other people’s lives. So it means a lot to both of them that they’re able to help each other practically, while also genuinely loving and supporting each other outside of that.

Relationship with Gray: Full of trust and genuine care, but predicated on distance. Sab loves him a lot for being so careful not to cross any boundaries, physical or emotional, with her. She’s grateful that he’s there for Nick in a way that she doesn’t feel she can be. But "I like Gray because he doesn’t push me and is good to Nick” means that any hand he extend makes her defensive, because she’ll either view him as an emissary of Nick or start to panic because their normal routine is being disrupted (she doesn’t tell him about Hope in ch 3, for example).

They get along very well in a friend-of-a-friend sort of way, and bond over being cautious counterparts to Nick. Also, Sab never had a crush on Gray, but she is not immune to tall superhero and thinks it’s fun to fake flirt with him. (You know Isabela’s “You have pretty eyes” routine from DA2? Sab does that to Gray when conversations steer towards things she’d rather not talk about.)

Relationship with Glitch: I’m really excited about these two! They click from the start, and Sabrina feels immediately comfortable around Glitch, which makes her feel distinctly uncomfortable whenever she catches herself. Externally, they have pretty different personalities, but they’re both perceptive and... socially manipulative? aware of their self-presentation?... in ways that they both pick up on right away. So it’s a lot of conversational maneuvering and trying to figure out what the other’s game is, while also genuinely enjoying each other’s company.

Relationship with Kent/Kenna: I could go truly insane here. See the romance section above instead.

Relationship with Kim: Sab wants him to like her sooooo bad. He’s one of the only people to ever really get through to her, re: my headcanon conversation after the first assignment. Authority figures tend to treat her as special, whether that’s negatively because of her mind blindness or positively because she’s such an overachiever. She had no idea how to respond to that not being the case (and didn’t handle it well at first), but chapter 6 solidifies her respect for him.

It also turns Rosy’s opinion of Sab around; he was impressed by her in class but left his office thinking she was self-absorbed and naive. But the bombing is a reality check, and her response is very measured and practical in a way that surprises him.

Relationship with Lev: She doesn’t mind the comparisons to Nick or the “maybe one day they’ll fix you” comments as much as you might think. They aren’t her favorite, but she prefers that sort of thing to the inspirational platitudes belied by coddling that she got from her family growing up. Sab has fond memories of Lev and is grateful that he’s always been kind to her, but doesn’t have any particular feelings apart from that.

Relationship with Clarence: Holds a grudge against him for causing a scene, making her late, and generally being a jerk. But she can’t fault him for being right, after what happened! Mostly she just wants to avoid him, but she’ll be thrilled to lord her success over him if/when she proves herself.

Relationship with Dean Branham: Like Rosy, another authority figure that Sab desperately wants to impress. But without the personal investment she has in Rosy’s validation, more “Oh, this person is in charge, so I should make her like me!” Despite Nick’s and Rosy’s reservations, Sabrina doesn’t really have a problem with being “strongarmed” or manipulated into cooperating; for now, she figures Branham was just doing her job and respects her tactics.

Relationship/attitude towards Ments in general: Mostly just uncomfortable and wary around them. Sab doesn’t want her mind read, and she figures that no Ment wants to be forced to read it either. So she has a pretty strict “no Ments” rule for close personal relationships (excluding Nick, Sally, and Gray, of course. But only Nick really counts because he’s the only one who can hear her thoughts whenever she’s nearby). Not out of hatred or resentment, just because she knows it will be easier for everyone in the long run.

Do they have any other important relationships, past or present? (Relatives, friends, etc.?): Not many, but yes! Sab dated around a lot in the 2 years before Aeon (more like year and a half, because she completely shut it down once she was more focused on preparing for the MIV program), but there are 2 relationships that were formative/important for her. A high school sweetheart, and someone Sab met through modeling. She doesn’t keep up with her high school ex, but the model is her best friend outside of Sally and Nick, and they still keep in touch! I’m still developing them/the relationships, and I’ll probably post more about them someday. They’re fun!

PERSONAL BIO

Describe their personality: Confusing and contradictory. She has two main modes that confuse people who meet both (e.g., Kent). She’s either cold, stuck-up, and sometimes hostile, OR she’s charming, frivolous, and sometimes flirty. Mode 1 is tense but stoic and inexpressive; mode 2 is seemingly relaxed but very posed and insincere. Mode 1 is for when she feels uncertain or has no agenda apart from “get to point B”; mode 2 is for when she’s more comfortable or trying to manipulate someone. Her actual personality is a bit closer to the second, but she doesn’t pretend not take things seriously or hide when she’s annoyed.

Strengths: Analytical, methodical, detail-oriented. Very driven and hardworking. May not always act like it, but does have social skills/charisma; a great liar, if you can’t read her mind. Unfailingly loyal and loving to her favorite people, so so so warm and affectionate and supportive if she really loves you. Very perceptive.

Weaknesses: Way too proud. Can be petty and vindictive. Self-absorbed (she doesn’t mean anything by it, but it’s hard for her to see past herself sometimes). Stubborn, hates being wrong. And... emotional isn’t the word, but strong negative emotions can really cloud her judgement. It ties into her being proud, petty, and stubborn; if she’s really upset about something, she can cling to that emotion instead of re-evaluating it or moving forward.

Phobias: From this ask about the phobias that are planned to show up in-game, there are a few that I could see fitting Sab, but I want to wait to see how they’re implemented before I fully commit. Which is very metagame-y, I know (and I am very metagame-y about IF), but “fear of X” is so broad that it really does depend on when/how it manifests in the text.

That being said, agoraphobia is almost a lock; crowds do make Sab very anxious if she can’t keep track of everyone within a certain distance, and if she can’t leave when she starts feeling antsy. Claustrophobia is a maybe. The choice that triggers it (in chapter 4, about hating MRI machines) suits Sab, but I’m not sure if she hates MRI machines because she hates tight spaces, or if it’s more related to her general anxiety about hospitals, medical tests, etc. Which she definitely has!

What activities/club did they do in school?: She avoided anything group-oriented as far as possible. She took piano (maybe violin?) lessons and did recitals, but wasn’t in orchestra. The one exception was maybe National Honor Society or some equivalent, which she would have joined for her resume’s sake. And I think she would have tutored!

Where do they escape to when they need space?: A little used library corner, where she can people watch without being seen/heard.

How do they feel about/cope with their mind blindness?: Sab hates it but tries not to dwell on it. She knows that it’s no one’s fault, and she mainly just tries to... minimize it? Drown out her thoughts, limit her contact with Ments. And, least healthily, very rigidly managing herself. Because there’s so much of her that exists outside of herself, without her control, she tries to either filter or completely suppress everything else. Part of why she got into modeling, she can perform and be perfect and have total control over the final product of her body in the photographs for whatever campaign. Some Day This Will Be Better. But definitely not where she is in current canon.

How has your Button changed since the Incident with Hope?: Developed many new anxieties and disorders and syndromes :) She also became way more self-conscious, as in literally conscious of and way more tightly monitoring herself, what she’s thinking, what she’s expressing, how she’s sitting, etc. Less emotive face, more rigid posture.

If they weren’t an Aeon student, what would they be doing?: Sab would have beaten herself up forever if she “proved everyone right” by avoiding Unity/Ments entirely, so she’d want to stay in the family business somehow. She probably would have ended up doing scientific research on mental agility. Maybe even working for Mirrortech or some other biotech company, which I imagine would have been an interesting conversation to have with the family.

RANDOM FACTS:

Zodiac sign: Like I said, I assigned her Libra months ago for the sake of a template. But I don’t know enough about astrology to commit. Libra or Leo, probably.

Hobbies: Music, reading poetry, “cooking” (i.e., sitting on the counter and not helping while Nick makes dinner)

Likes: Watching other people (Nick) play video games, dressing up, taking long showers/baths, dark chocolate with caramel, back hugs

Dislikes: Being patronized, hot weather, going to the doctor, driving, doing anything she is not good at

Type of bedsheets: Bamboo.

Drink of choice: Cucumber mint lemonade! For hot drinks, some kind of caramel coffee. For alcohol, she refuses to get drunk because she’s terrified of having even less control of her mental broadcast, but at home/around people she trusts she’ll have a glass or two of wine. Doesn’t know enough to be picky, but doesn’t like it too sweet.

Favorite food: Probably some pasta dish Nick makes with asparagus and tomatoes and a lot of garlic.

Favorite color: Like a light turquoise!

Favorite music: Music to her was another mind-shielding tactic before anything else, so she tends to like upbeat-ish electronic/pop stuff. Catchy and repetitive, and/or with lots of personality to drown out her own thoughts. On the other end of the spectrum, she does have a soft spot for crackly, lo-fi, old or old-sounding slow songs—something about fuzzy recordings simulating a weak telepathic signal.

Favorite season: Hmm, spring and autumn are both good. She likes either side of winter.

Anything else you’d like to share: My heart and a long, fulfilling marriage, with anyone who reads all this 💍

[ejzah]

A/N: Here is another story about Deeks attending FLETC. A couple people had requested Deeks being somewhat known or famous for the Sidorov case. I already wrote one fic on that theme, but why not have more.

In some ways, this is highly indulgent on my part. There is mention of some vaguely graphic things given the subject matter. And some angst, as usual.

***

Request

“Marty Deeks!” Deeks paused in the middle of the hallway, turning to find Special Instructor Daniel Flores with his head sticking out of his office. Flores taught, among other things, a series of trainings dealing with mental health and the psychological aspects that came with law enforcement. Deeks already had a class on counseling victims with him the week before.

“Deeks, can I speak with you for a minute?” Flores asked, waiting expectantly.

“Uh, sure,” Deeks said, trying not to show his reluctance. He’d been hoping to grab some lunch before his next class, but he was still leery of rocking the boat too much. He was two weeks in and the last thing he needed was to piss off one of the instructors who seemed to like him.

He switched directions and jogged over to Flores, who was waiting just inside the doorway with his Sam-esque arms crossed over his chest. His gray hair was buzzed short, adding to the overall no nonsense attitude. From Deeks’ brief experience, he was tough but usually fair.

“Good afternoon, sir, what can I do for you?” Deeks asked politely. He could just imagine Kensi laughing her head off at his deference.

“Have a seat.” Flores gestured to one of the metal seats in front of his desk. He didn’t sit in the more comfortable looking desk chair, but instead stood in front of Deeks, scrutinizing him several long, uncomfortable moments. “You nervous?”

“Actually, I’m having flashbacks to being called down to the principal’s office.” Flores barked out a laugh at that, nodding in apparent appreciation.

“I like your sense of humor, Deeks,” he said. “Most of the kids in here are so tense they look like they’re about to have an aneurysm.”

“It probably helps that I’ve had some experience,” Deeks said with a shrug and Flores snorted loudly, leaning with his back against the front of his desk.

“Some? Kid, you worked on an NCIS team for what, 10-12 years? You probably could be teaching some of these classes.”

Deeks smiled a little. He tried to keep his connection with NCIS to himself as much as possible. Given the rules that were waived to get him into FLETC in the first place, it seemed in his best interest to try and keep a low profile. He never knew when someone who has a grudge against Hetty, him, or just their team in general might decide to act on those feelings. And he only had one shot at this.

“That’s right, Sir.” When Flores continued to look at him expectantly, he added, “I started out as a detective with the LAPD and then was brought in as a liaison between the two agencies.”

“That’s what I read,” Flores said, his expression speculative. “You were employed by LAPD until earlier this year when they cut your position due to restructuring.”

“You’ve been looking into my history?” Deeks asked, unable to keep the suspicion from his voice. In his experience, it was never a good thing when people started searching without due cause.

“Don’t look so worried, I’ve only heard good things about you. Well, there were an awful lot of comments about your hair, but that’s the least of my problems.” His eyes narrowed as he looked at Deeks with an expression he couldn’t identify. If he was pressed he might say it was something like respect. “I actually knew about you before you came here. It took me a minute to place you when I read your name in the lineup, but as soon as I saw you, I knew.”

“Knew what, Sir?” Instead of answering, Flores grabbed a booklet with the FLETC logo on it and flipped to a dog-eared page.

“Did you know that we use real-life cases for many of training scenarios?” he asked.

“Yes,” Deeks answered slowly not really following the non-sequitur. “I’m not sure where this is leading, Sir.” Flores handed him the book, nodding to the page he’d turned to.

“You’re featured in one of them.” Only years of practice and conditioning kept Deeks from flinching as he glanced down at the page.

There was a full color picture, in nauseating detail, of him post fun times with Sidorov and his drill. God, he’d forgotten about all the blood, how swollen his jaw was. His hand was halfway to his mouth before he caught himself and hastily dropped it to his knee.

He stared at the picture for several moments, the words surrounding the image blurring together. It must have been taken immediately after the paramedics arrived. He didn’t remember anyone having a camera. Then again, parts of that day were entirely missing from his memory, some horribly vivid and forever burned into his psyche.

His hand trembled a little as he flipped to the next page, which fortunately didn’t have any more pictures of him. Deeks caught the words “dental” and “trauma” and forced himself not to clench his jaw.

“I, uh, I had no idea I was so famous,” he muttered flatly. “Why are you showing me this?” Deeks finally glanced up at Flores, who looked sympathetic, but also strangely eager.

“I was already an instructor here when this happened. One of my buddies worked with your team on the case and I’ll never forget how he sounded when he described the torture you and Agent Hanna survived. He quit after that,” Flores explained. His tone was casual, almost conversational, and Deeks was suddenly angry.

“Well, I’m really enjoying this, but I have another class in 30 minutes and I haven’t eaten lunch yet.” Actually, he felt fairly nauseous, but he needed to leave before he embarrassed himself or said something he couldn’t take back. He tossed the booklet to Flores, not caring when it smacked against the desk and crumpled to the floor.

“Deeks, I didn’t do this to bring back bad memories for you,” Flores said, grabbing for his arm. Deeks jerked away before he made contact and he dropped his hand, seeming to realize the foolishness of the action.

“Then why did you? You had to know this wouldn’t go down well.”

“I started teaching this course about six years ago. I pushed to have this case, to have you, included as once of the studies. It is horrific. And that’s why I knew I needed to show it to incoming agents. Nothing is as effective at showing what is possible as cases like this.”

Deeks was still not happy with him, but he understood the point he was making.

“And this was the best way you could think of to break it to me?” he asked. Flores actually looked a little embarrassed at that.

“I’ve never had a student with your experience before and I wanted to make sure you weren’t thrown off guard in class,” he said.

“Yeah, you, uh, might want to work on your technique a little. Cause this leaves something to be desired.”

“Point taken.” Flores paused, seeming weirdly hesitant to add whatever else he wanted to say. “I also had an ulterior motive for showing you this.” He held up the wrinkled book. “Sometimes I have guest speakers present and if you’re up to it, I’d like you to talk about your experience with Siderov.”

Deeks stared at him in disbelief for a moment and then started laughing at the absurdity of it all.

“No offense, Sir, but most people try and keep me far away from any type of recruit,” Deeks said, figuring they were past the point of tiptoeing around each other. Flores had certainly crossed that line. “I think it’s something to do with the hair and a failure to properly respect authority figures”

“And I bet neither of those things mattered much when you were letting that guy drill holes in your mouth to protect a colleague,” Flores observed. This time Deeks didn’t wince, but he still didn’t appreciate the images bouncing around in his head.

“I was tied down with two guys holding my head and some kind of torture device-and I mean that literally-in my mouth. I wasn’t in a position to “let” anyone do anything.”

He saw Flores grimace, but he didn’t seem shocked by Deeks’ description.

“You could have talked. You could have given in, but you didn’t and I admire that.” He stepped forward, holding out his hand and Deeks shook it robotically. “I’ll give you a couple days to decide what you want to do. Either way, know that I respect you, Deeks.”

“Thank you, Sir,” Deeks muttered, shaking his head a final time before he escaped from the room.

***

A/N: I probably shouldn’t offer, but should I do another part?

[josieandthepussycatsofficial]

one of the most annoying and stupid things that ever happened to me last year was when i was debating capitalism/communism with this mit guy at a frat party and it was a pretty productive conversation actually but like every time i spoke/made a point, one of my friends (who im not in touch with now really) who’s white, would go like “OOHHHH SHIT” “GET IT!” and dab. it was like... i was embarrassed for her and also annoyed at how silly she was making the discussion which was pretty mature

[lambourngb]

This Hard Truth

Fic prompt: “Are you drunk?”

THIS HARD TRUTH picks up immediately after THIS HARD LIE, an AU that explores the changes to Roswell and Michael if Alex had decided to tell the Air Force to go pound sand. It’s not all roses. Also folks, not sure if I’ve said, but I’ve been writing these each day literally from scratch off an old vague outline I abandoned a year ago, and today’s the first one that I’ve struggled with, so there’s your warning. Once Michael Guerin Week is over, this is going to a beta and will find a home on AO3. Thank you for loving the raw story. 

****

The solid black Range Rover parked in front of his Airstream didn’t surprise Michael in the least. 

It had been three days since Jesse Manes had succumbed to his terminal cancer diagnosis, those final days silent under a steady morphine drip. The doctors were correct with their less than a month pronouncement which had left Michael with the uncomfortable position of hoping that Jesse was going to defy those odds. It was a win-win of extended suffering for a man who had earned that and it would have kept Alex in Roswell longer.

He had seen Alex exactly seven times since that first night at the Wild Pony, all of them casual spontaneous encounters that became less spontaneous after he’d learned the nursing rotation of Manes brothers and home care staff. He’d shuffled his jobs at the garage to leave openings in schedule and stopped eating at home during the nights he knew Alex would be free, emptying out his dining out jar. 

This was a species thing, he had reminded himself as a curl of guilt had started to squirm inside him at the level of low-key stalking he had done to see his ex. Between Max’s somber admission that he still could remember in crystal-clear detail the day Liz Ortecho touched his lip almost eight years ago in high school and the reaction one of Michael’s attempts at dating had to his story of showing up on Alex’s doorstep two years after a breakup with no warning, well he was aware this wasn’t a normal intensity. The date with wide eyes picking up their phone, even though it hadn’t made a noise, saying, “You seem like a nice guy, but I need to take this call, it’s probably work, we can try again some other time-”

That was the proper reaction to his story he learned, not nodding sagely like Max had and encouraging him to go in the first place.

Humans couldn’t calculate within a minute the amount of time they had recently spent with someone the way Michael could. It was a full commitment of energy to stay carefully friendly with Alex, to keep his alien focus under wraps even though he probably tipped his cards that day in Nashville. On his good days he told himself that Alex hadn’t called the cops on him because he’d been happy to see Michael and on his bad days, it was because he didn’t want the press. 

With Jesse Manes dead, Alex’s reasons for staying in Roswell were over. It was time to say goodbye to this small interlude of where Michael felt completely himself, brimming in mitochondrial buoyancy with every cell alive and sparking. Back to the cards of Hallmark blandness and the short notes of congratulations after a song does well.

Alex looked up from his casual sprawl in the lawn chair, his phone in hand, and smiled at Michael’s approach, “thought I might return the favor, and show up at your door unannounced. I gotta say, an Airstream at Sanders’ was not what I was expecting as Casa de Guerin.”

Suddenly aware of the dark stain of dirt staining his cuticles, Michael shoved his hands in his pockets as he strolled up to him. Everywhere he looked was a reminder of the divide, from the shiny Range Rover Sport to the smooth manicure and high-end clothing that wrapped Alex’s frame. “What did you expect then, bedroll in my truck again?”

“Whoa,” Alex stood up, pocketing his phone to hold his hands up harmlessly. “Sorry, that’s not what I mean, I was referring to the doctor boyfriend you’ve got. Most doctors I’ve met are about the trappings, it looks like you found a good one that likes you as you.” Alex’s smile wavered, “I’m happy for you.”

Now even more off-balanced, Michael sputtered, “wait, I don’t-”

“I’m less happy it’s Kyle Valenti, but I guess it’s possible he’s changed, or received a personality transplant-”

“Holy shit who have you been talking to?” He finally cut in, looking over his shoulder back to the office at the auto yard, half expecting to see Isobel being helpful. She had never quite forgiven Alex for finding happiness in Nashville, and it would be just like her to spin a version of events to make Alex jealous. As if that was possible, even in a universe where Michael was capable of being a Stepford boyfriend worthy of a doctor, nothing compares to the life Alex has built without him. Not even zero-percent body fat doctors who did know quite a bit of anatomy. The mention of Kyle did remind Michael that he hadn’t heard very much from him since that last night shortly before Alex had rolled into town. “We’ve seen each other a few times now, Alex, I would have told you if I had a boyfriend. Anyway, Kyle has changed, but he’s not- we’re weirdly enough friends.”

A pang of longing shot through him at seeing Alex arch his eyebrow at him in judgment. “That is not what Maria says, or Arturo, or Old Man Sanders for that matter.”

“Well, they are wrong.” Michael said firmly, stepping around Alex leaving a careful amount of space as he flipped open the lid of his cooler for a beer. “It’s not like that okay? I don’t have a Dennis and a dog in my life, it’s casual and fun but nothing more.”

“I wish I was sad about hearing that, but I’m not.” 

Michael paused in the middle of popping the cap off his bottle, “Wow, thank you.” That stung more than he was expecting to hear that Alex was happy he was alone. Fame and fortune really did change people. Swallowing the lump in his throat, “Listen, I’ve loved seeing you Alex, and the less said about your dad the better, so thanks for coming by to say goodbye and eh, enjoy Nashville,” he grabbed the knob on his Airstream door to flee.

A hand covered his, keeping the door firmly closed against the frame. Michael cursed his species for the thousandth time as the touch sent waves of weakness through him. Alex leaned in close, too close for just friendly words, “Wait, that came out wrong.”

“Did it?”

“Yes,” Alex stated firmly. He held onto Michael’s hand, stepping into the space between them to block the retreat into the Airstream. This was the closest they had been to one another in four years, not since that last fight the morning before Alex’s flight east that ended with fucking on a bare mattress after Michael had packed their sheets for Alex to take. “Coming back here, seeing everyone, um, seeing you, it reminded me of who I was before I became this guy,” he gestured at his clothes and back toward the expensive car vaguely. “I’ve got all these things now, useless things, that when I look in the mirror, I see my dad, a guy who cared more about a uniform than he did his own kids.” 

“Alex, you could never be him, I don’t care if you become more famous than McCartney, it’s just not possible.”

Whatever Alex saw on his face made him shake his head gently in response, “I don’t get it, you still look at me like you did when we were dumb kids surviving on ramen, like nothing’s changed at all.” 

“Nothing has changed for me,” Michael insisted firmly, bringing the open and almost forgotten beer to his lips. A merger shield to employ. It was pretty clear that nothing ever would and that was his reality. It was as true now as it was when he had borrowed a guitar from the music room at seventeen. “But you knew that already, that’s why we broke up, remember? Things were changin’ for you, you were goin’ to bigger places than Roswell, and that’s a good thing. A great thing even.”

“I know. You should know that I’m not going back to Tennessee right now, Michael.” 

“What?”

“There’s no Dennis, I mean, not anymore. That kinda fizzled out after your visit, and the dog was his,” Alex kept his hand over Michael’s, slowly moving it up to circle his fingers around his wrist, “I do miss the dog, she was sweet.”

“Your house-” Michael started, his pulse back to pounding senselessly in his ears.

“That was mine but I sublet it to a guy I know who’s doing session work at the studio while I was here. I just let him convert the sublet into a lease.”

“And your agent?”

“Dealing with the fact I’m taking my first sabbatical in four years,” Alex finished smoothly, an answer ready for every disbelieving question that Michael could muster about his house and life. He took a step back, as if he was suddenly aware of how he had crowded him against the warm metal door of the Airstream.

There was just one question left to ask though, as Michael studied Alex’s face intently. The transparent way his eyes kept flickering from the beer bottle against Michael’s mouth and then away. “If you’re not here to say goodbye to me, then why are you here?” he asked challengingly, raising his beer back to his mouth to finish with a full lipped suggestive swallow.

Gauntlet dropped and accepted as Alex surged forward to press Michael against the door and kiss him. The glass bottle dropped uselessly to the ground, glancing off the metal steps as Michael reached behind him to turn the knob quickly. He stepped backward, letting Alex crowd him through the doorway, chasing his mouth hungrily.

The metal door slapped hard against the door jamb, as Michael fell back on his mattress. 

Alex gulped audibly for air from the break, pulling back to tug off his v-neck shirt over his head and then stilled as he took in the state of Michael’s small bed. His eyes widened, scrutinizing the setup and Michael had to look away in embarrassment, knowing exactly what Alex had just recognized. “You goddamn liar! When I said I didn’t want our sheets to take with me, you said you were going to burn them!”

“Yeah, well, it seemed wasteful.” 

Michael leaned back on the thin mattress, ripping his own shirt off to toss carelessly on the floor. He watched as Alex reached down to unbutton his pants. The yellow light from the trailer window brushed a gold glow of Alex’s half naked torso. He drank in the small, subtle changes in Alex’s body, like the corded strength in his torso that spoke of some sort of workout. Probably yoga or dancing maybe. The playful outrage on Alex’s face slowly changed over to a dawning realization as he took in the details of the small and cramped surroundings.

This was why Michael never brought anyone back here.  All around were the skeleton remains of that first apartment together. The same dishes in the tiny sink. The same cheap poster advertising Warp Tour was taped to the back of the wooden built-in dresser. The same stupid classic car clock that Alex had brought home, after Maria had bought the Wild Pony and upgraded the decor, all because the cars reminded him of Michael.

Everywhere in the Airstream was some piece of memorabilia from those three years together. It was as close to a shrine to their relationship that Michael could build without setting out candles and a full altar.

“Holy shit, you really do love me.”

“Uh, yeah,” Michael rubbed at the back of his head ruefully, before laying back to accept Alex’s warm weight over him. He closed his eyes as Alex kissed him, turning his head upward as those long, musician fingers tangled in his hair. Gasping softly, he confessed, “Never did figure out how to stop.” 

“My dad was wrong, I mean, I knew he was- but he was so convinced that your species weren’t capable of it-” Alex stopped abruptly, aware almost immediately that Michael had gone rigid under him. 

Dimly Michael realized that Alex was still talking but nothing registered after ‘your kind’. It was subterfuge earlier, when Alex joked that first night about his father being a lunatic lost in the ravages of a brain tumor. He believed Jesse, worse he seemed to know that Jesse was right, that Michael was different. 

Cool palms cupped Michael’s face, pulling him away from his spiraling thoughts. Any hope of laughing off the response was gone with the serious look in Alex’s eyes. “Hey. I don’t care, okay? You are still the first person, hell the only person, I’ve ever loved completely. Where you came from doesn’t matter to me. I know who you are-”

“And you know what I am.”

“Yes.”

*** 

Michael stared up at the ceiling of his trailer not daring to look sideways at Alex, who was pressed as close he could get against Michael on the narrow bunk. After a soft acknowledgment that he knew that Michael wasn’t alone, that he’d figured out that Max and Isobel had to be the same even though his father had died believing only Michael was an alien, Michael told him everything. 

The crash, the pod, the years in the system, the knowledge that he was different and the fear that came with that knowledge. The fact he has powers, that they all do. The joy he had in finding Max and Isobel again at eleven even though he didn’t trust why he felt that way toward them. Then the vow they had made for absolute secrecy. “Not even Noah knows about Isobel, and they’ve been married four years now.”

“And Max? He never told anyone either?”

“His partner knows Jenna Cameron but that wasn’t planned. They were driving back to the station after a long circuit patrol for speeders and got caught up rescuing some people from a flash flood. The Berrendo. Cam got hit by a tree branch, femoral artery, and yeah, Max healed her. No one saw him because it was a dark night, but healing leaves a handprint. Impossible to deny it.”

Alex ran his hand absently through Michael’s chest hair, soothing them both. “It was a relief when my dad had Flint show me the evidence.”

“A relief?” Michael joked weakly, his mouth twitching upward in the effort. “Low key worried now that learning I’m an alien was a relief to you.”

“I thought the novelty of being with me had worn off. I mean, my choice after telling the Air Force to fuck off was starving to death or splitting expenses with you for rent. I figured after 3 years, you were ready to move on, so you let me go.” Alex reached up to cover Michael’s mouth with his palm briefly. “I know how that sounds, but you have to understand, before you? No one had ever loved me. My mom left when I was eight. I mean, maybe my older brothers did for a bit when I was little and cute? At least until I was thirteen and my dad started singling me out. He would kick my ass in front of them, daring them to protest, and they didn’t. I didn’t even love me.”

“Alex,” Heartbreak was in every syllable. “I never wanted to let you go-”

“I know, I’m just saying, I could finally believe it when Flint handed me a piece of a 70-year-old spaceship.”

“Dropping in on you with no warning a couple of years ago wasn’t a clue?”

Alex pursed his lips together, and laid his head on Michael’s shoulder. “Honestly I had spent two years telling myself that you didn’t give a shit, and then when you showed up, I thought it was because I was making a name. All sorts of people come out of the woodwork when the first taste of fame comes along. Then you confused me, because you left and started sending me these terribly boring greeting cards.”

“Fuck off, I spent forever picking out those cards,” Michael protested with a laugh. “I was trying to show you that I had chill, that I wouldn’t boil a bunny or stalk your social media.”

“Well you succeeded, I did keep all your cards though. It might have been a factor for Dennis moving out,” Alex joked in return before sobering with a tired sigh, “but little did you know, the real stalkers here were my family. Ever since 1947, a Manes man has been tasked in protecting humanity from your kind, starting with my great-grandfather Harlan, and ending with my brother Flint.”

Michael echoed the sigh, tucking Alex closer to him. The idea of the government, especially the United States Military, believing in aliens was enough to send his pulse rattling upward with fear. Every fear made real. 

“On the bright side, my dad is dead, so that’s one less Manes hunting you.”

“What’s the other side?”

“I thought my brother was in Germany except he’s been stateside for the last five years working with my dad. He’s a weapons expert, and he’s so important to the project that the military forwarded his mail to Germany for the proper postmarks.”

“Well fuck.”

*** 

The next day, Michael took a rare sick day from work and guided Alex out to the desert to the cave to show him the pods, where his story had begun according to his memory. Then it was Alex’s turn for show and tell, as he directed Michael to the abandoned air base.

“I don’t know if we’ll be able to get in, but Flint calls it Project Shepherd. It was Dad’s center of operations in Roswell. He tapped into all the traffic cameras and even planted one on the gate to Sanders’ Auto,” Alex explained as he stepped out of his Range Rover. “You fixing cars must have bored the shit out of him.”

Weeds and scrub grass covered the broken pavement of the air base, lending to the air of disuse. The huge metal hangers covered the expanse, the domed tin roofs punctuated the horizon like a scattered group of D’s. Michael scanned the surroundings, a feeling of disquiet and dread filling his veins. It was probably the height of foolishness to visit a top secret bunker with only the company of a musician as back up, even if he did have the last name of Manes.

A dark shadow caught his eye, and frowned as he realized that they weren’t the only ones on sight. A familiar dark blue BMW was parked off to the side, mostly hidden by a building named B unimaginatively. As he crossed the parking lot with Alex a step behind, skipping over the broken slabs of paving markers, he drew to a halt in front of an open door.

Michael started forward, but Alex slapped his hand over his arm to halt him, “you should let me go first-”

“What, no!”

“I’m human, what if there’s some sort of anti-alien trap down there?”

“And you’re human, so what makes you think you’ll trip it?” Michael shot back reasonably, shaking off Alex’s hold. “If there’s a trap, I’m the one with the lock pick in my brain, besides, I think I know who’s down there.”

“This is like every bad horror movie, Michael.” 

But outside of that pronouncement, Alex let him take the lead down the stairs of the open bunker into the cool shadows of the underground facility. As expected, he made it down uneventfully and found exactly who he expected at the bottom, spinning around in a slow circle in a leather covered office chair.

“Did you know they’re selling a shirt at Planet 7 that says ‘I’ve been probed by an alien’? I should buy it, because I can wear it unironically,” Kyle greeted as Michael made it to the bottom of the staircase. He shut his mouth comically as he realized that Michael wasn’t alone, “Whoops, did I just blow your secret like I’ve blown you?”

In Michael’s experience with Kyle, working the almost-friends and all-benefits angle, he had seen him in a lot of states. Worn out from a long shift at the hospital, solemn because he’d lost a patient, giggly because of Michael’s tendency toward wild bedhead, horny strangely because of a good football game, and finally tipsy after a pair of IPAs. He had never seen Kyle in this state.

“Are you drunk?” Michael asked, disbelievingly even though there was a mostly empty bottle of bourbon on the long conference table, stretching along the width of the room under the fluorescent lights.

“I am very drunk. That is the only sane response to my dad, I mean my day, actually I had that right the first time, my dad.” Kyle nodded vigorously before looking over Michael’s shoulder, “Hi Alex Manes. I’m sorry I was a homophobic jackass in high school. I have really changed. Ask your ex. Or is it current? Am I the ex now? Are we both Michael’s ex? Exes? Fuck is that plural or possessive-”

“You are definitely an ex now,” Alex answered firmly.

“Holy shit you are wasted,” Michael shook his head, slightly amused in spite of the deep alarm he felt in finding Kyle Valenti deep in the command center of an alien hunting operation. It was hard to feel too afraid considering the words pouring from Kyle’s mouth unedited. 

“Listen I changed myself okay? I did the hard work examining my privilege and my toxic masculinity. I did it because I like sucking dick, but also because my dad is a good person and I wanted to make him proud. But I was fucking wrong. Not about sucking dick, that’s great, but my dad, he’s not good, Michael, he is really not who I thought he was.” Kyle pronounced seriously with the heavy emphasis of the inebriated. He staggered over to a computer system to press a key, pulling up a surveillance camera of a nondescript building on the set of command monitors. “He runs an alien GITMO,” the outside image clicked over, showing a line of cells, including an image of an all-too familiar man, “And he had Jesse Manes killed by an alien.”