#you told me to write a nerd thread what

[powderblueblood]

How about Lacy finding Eddie's writing? 🤭

need you to imagine me listening to a fifth of beethoven from the saturday night fever soundtrack whilst writing this because i became insane and filled it with Clues.............

it's like trying to understand the fucking zodiac killer.

it's all codes and ciphers and scrawls and-- well, she thought she might have been reading that one upside down but it's actually indecipherable any way you twist it.

and it's not like any of it is even written on paper either. torn open cigarette packs, napkins, burger wrappers from the diner. one time a leaf.

because eddie's not like lacy in the way she keeps a journal but eddie's like lacy in that if he's roundhoused with a thought that he needs to remember, he's got to write it down now immediately pronto on any available surface.

which is pretty pointless, since he keeps losing all this garbage and she has to pick it up after him.

she bears over the spread of scraps like an fbi agent, palms braced to the table. there's a thread here, but she can't quite untangle it. she's staring at a pile of shit that says shit like

crabs incident-- bruised like a peach worth biting-- violet like violence??

red tights. tingly. carnelian little carnivore.

track two. treasure.

persephone's hall pass.

seventh grade & as many minutes in limbo. shoulda ripped off band aid.

mage in a mink coat.

well, that last one--

"you dumpster diving now? hard times."

fuck! fuck. told you, rat blood. appearing out of nowhere with no noise no notice to then become the loudest thing in the room. he's like thunderclap, this fucko, like a spontaneous combustion.

he also doesn't even recognize his own handwriting, seems like. she blushes, furious. doesn't know why.

"community service. they have me picking up the trailer trash's trailer trash."

"snitty!" he shoves the bag of chips he's holding at her--an offering, he can't do anything normal around her--and reaches for one of the scraps. lacy watches him like a scientist watching a guinea pig for brain activity-- and his eyes go all wide and panicky. "wait."

"eddie-- hey!" but he's scrambling now, going for all the little pieces of writing she'd been trying to arrange on the table like a pointless puzzle. "don't--"

"where'd you get all this shit, huh?! going through my pockets now, is that it? like a cop?"

"i-- hey, don't you fucking dare-- look, you shed!"

"i shed?"

"you shed. you've got shit falling out of that stupid, enormous nerd binder every goddamn day because you just shove shit in there and don't organize anything, and i wasn't gonna stand around and let you just litter everywhere and--" now it's her turn to be like. wait. crosses her arms, eyes narrow, she's mother superior serving nailed ya bitch. "--why are you all skittish?"

"huh?"

"it's just-- trash, right?" she snatches a burger wrapper out of his grasp. oh this is delish.

"yeah," he grabs, but she's holding it behind her back and god her face is like stupid smirky, "but it's my trash. my--giveit--private... trash."

eddie munson is blushing.

"who's the mage?"

"the fucking.... the what?"

little crinkle as she unfolds a piece torn off a brown paper bag. "mage in a mink coat. who's that?"

"nobody."

"i have a mink coat."

"oh. does that really say mage? 'coz it should say mange." he's such an asshole. she's grinning so wide.

everyone says revenge is a dish best served cold but she bets she could use eddie munson's cheeks as a hotplate and eat right off 'em. it'd taste so much better. lobster bisque. filet mignon. michelin star.

"have you been writing about me, munson?"

his face is all stone-set, mouth all i can't fucking believe this and eyes all i'd cut the brake lines in her van if she wasn't the one scamming rides off me all the time. "li'l miss my life is incomplete without eddie munson wants to talk?"

"called you a neanderthal in the next sentence. don't forget that."

"you're such a beastie."

"carnelian little carnivore, you wrote."

"what makes you so sure it's all about you, huh?"

"context clues."

he glances down. she is, in fact, wearing the aforementioned tingly-feeling-inspiring red tights again today. shit.

"what happened in seventh grade?" she's pointing to the scrap in his hand, one he's managed to keep out of her snatchy little fingers.

she doesn't remember anything significant about seventh grade. but he does, and a knot tightens in his chest and he's about to lie and say something crass about my fist, a stopwatch and a view of you from underneath the bleachers at cheerleading practice-- then final bell rings.

"that is for me to know--"

"--and for me to die ignorant?" she's an active listener.

"precisely, you wench. now get the fuck outta here, i got hellfire."

lacy leaves the scraps.

"i will find out, y'know."

he knows. "you're like a bitch with a bone that way."

"the bitchiest."

[jtl-fics]

WIP Wednesday 11/15/23

Back at it again this week! Thanks again to @kedreeva

CHECK OUT LAST WEEK'S WIPS: HERE

It’s WIP Wednesday, time for a little accountability, sharing your work, and getting a kick in the pants.

Here’s how it works:

In a reblog of this post (so people can find you in the notes) or new thread (w/ rules attached) if you want to play on your own, post up to five (5) filenames of your WIPs; not titles, file names.

Post a snippet from one of them. Snippet must be words you wrote in the last 7 days. We’re posting progress here. If you haven’t made any, go make some and come back to play!

After you’ve posted, people can send you an ask with one of your file names. You must then write 3 sentences in that file. If the filename is one you can't share from (for example, an event or gift fic), write 3 sentences on it anyway, and then 3 more on another to share.

That’s it! You can invite others to join in, or just post. I’ll be searching the reblogs to find people to send asks to!

If you’re reading this, you’re invited!

If you see someone posting a WIP Wednesday Game snippet, send them an ask! Make them write.

Here are my offers this week & feel free to ask for more than one:

1. Math Nerd AU

2. New Kings AU

3. Smalls AU

4. Foxhole Bake AU

5. Dealer's Choice - What I write is up to me could be one of the 4 above or something else I'm working on.

Dealer's Choice Possibility under the cut (Pretty Boy):

"Well the cops took him away. We gave them Neil's contact information in case they need to talk to him." Matt says from the back. "How's your head doing Neil?"

"I'm fine."

Groans sound through the car.

"Neil, you have stitches in your pretty face." Nicky says.

"Yeah, I got stitches. I'm fine." Neil reiterates stubbornly, "So the cops might call me?" he asks.

"Don't worry, we already told them that you're bad at responding and to leave a voicemail." Matt reassures.

"I don't know how that'll help since his voicemail message just says he doesn't check it. I think Andrew is the one that clears it for him." Kevin huffs.

< PREV | FIRST | NEXT >

[imagine-silk]

kissing it better + bandaging/stitching up an injury for platonic yandere peter b? (itsv or atsv version.)

》 I had to redo this after writing a whole thing so another thing will come out after this and you'll see the resemblance.

He didn’t like the first time you tried to leave and the second time you lost the privilege to walk around the apartment while he was gone. The fucking 'privilege'. Typically he wasn’t gone long but he was gone long enough for nature to call. There wasn’t a bathroom attached to the bedroom and it drove you insane.

Unlike the front door the restraint on your leg was simple, an ankle restraint that was less than fancy, just something from some sporting goods store no doubt. So you wrapped it around the bedpost and pulled until it snapped. Just like that you made it out and into the bathroom before looking for a place to leave. 

There seemed to be no way out. All the possible exits were baby proofed with Peter’s nerd shit and you already knew you couldn’t break down a door. You made a sandwich in the meantime to think for ways to leave and ways to make excuses if he got back. Then you crunched on lettuce next to the window.

Ten seconds later you threw a chair through it. The sound of the shatter broke your brain. The way out was right there.

You didn’t waste a second. You grabbed the sides with no reservations. Being careful would hurt so much more so you scrambled out, cutting your hands, cutting your feet, and cutting everywhere else. As you tumbled down there was another sound of something landing next to you. Spiderman was looking down at you for two seconds before he took you. You thought he was going to swing away or something of the like but he jumped inside and all but dumped you on the table.

It was all so fast. There was a medkit next to you in an instant and the second you tried to get up he pushed you back down and opened the box. You started to tell him he needed to help you leave but he kept shushing you until he yelled, “Shut up! Fuck!” You stopped moving completely and he took the chance to set up things on the table, tweezers, needle, thread. “We will talk about this later.”

All of it was so familiar, but the last time he told you that you were ten. “You are not talking to a child.” The thought of Peter being Spiderman left the building and stood on the side of the street.

“You are bleeding on my table, bullshit you’re an adult.” He snapped, wiping flecks of glass off you before taking out the shards.

You were so mad you weren’t wincing at his treatment, pulling out glass with pointed metal through torn flesh. “Are you serious right now?”

“Look at yourself. You really think this is going to make me think I should let you out?” He was so aware and you didn’t know if that was good or bad but you hated it.

“I had to jump out a window to leave this fucking apartment all because I wanted to go out of state and you decided to kidnap me.”

“What was wrong with Fordham, huh? Are you too good for Manhattan?”

“You’re not listening to me. Ah-” He lifted your leg without warning, clearly out of spite, and pulled the glass out there. “You’re so petty.”

“If I was, I would tell you to do all of this by yourself.” You growled back at him and dropped your head back on the table. All you could do in that moment was listen and feel the anger fuming off of him like he was the person wronged. It was obvious he took no joy in it but he didn’t feel bad about it. “Jump in the shower, we need to clean you up.”

“We? You better be speaking French because that sentence doesn’t check out in English.”

“It became ‘we’ when you jumped out a window so don’t give me any of that crap.”

“You are not getting in the shower with me.”

“You’re right, I’m not. I’m staying on the side. So shut up and go.”

It hit you then and embedded itself in your brain. You said it a lot but it didn’t truly set in until that moment; He didn’t see it as wrong because you were a ‘child’. Why would you let a kid covered in mud back in the house without wiping them down. You wouldn't. “I don’t want to get naked in front of you.”

He gave you a look that said ‘that’s stupid’. “Then keep your underwear on and start sitting before you paint my floors red.”

Peter was being petty and you both knew it, but both of you had something to prove. So he didn’t help you to the bathroom and you limped over without asking as fast as you could to say you were fine and to save you prolonged pain. You started the water and sat under the spray. If you were in a better state you would have pulled yourself in but your everything couldn’t take that. 

He came in not too long after that with some stuff and he changed into normal clothes. There wasn’t one of those sprays you could take off and aim so he had a tupperware to fill and pour. “Spread your legs.”

“What?”

He didn’t answer, just pushed your head down to drench your head and flicked through all of your hair. It was uncomfortable but you saw it; there was glass in your hair. With no warning he pulled you up and you blew water out of your face while he poured water on your hands. You were still too proud to look at anything but the wall but you could still feel it, he was pissed. Then he stopped and your curiosity got the better of you. You gave in and looked to see him looking at you but not in the eyes, above them. He squeezed your eyebrow and washed his hand while you groaned and cursed.

It changed after that, you felt his anger starting to wane, fizzle into nothing while he dumped alcohol on your arms. He froze when he got to your knees. “There’s so much left to do.” He said. He was right, your legs were cut up all over. It wasn’t what he said but how he said it. It was almost a breath that could’ve just not happened. “There’s… so much left.”

“Peter?” You thought he was tired and he was going to tell you to finish by yourself. That he was going to bed and say ‘I just can’t with you’.

But he was haunted. “You were in pajamas. You weren’t even wearing shoes. And you hit your head. And you got it on your back.” He was just staring at your legs. Very bloody legs that streamed red down the white tub. “You were just going to walk on the street like this. You were going to bleed out cold in an alley. Someone was going to jump you. I barely got here. If I wasn’t here you would be gone.” He was never an emotionally detached man by any means but he had been so large and in charge it was a shock to see him cry in that moment, when he had been so authoritarian.

“I’m not going to die if I go outside.” Your accusation had weight behind it. He had been like that five months ago and only came out of it because you busted down his door. It was too close to home and you wanted to stop it before it happened, before he could shut off of the world. There was no telling of what would happen if he did.

“Rhino could’ve been running through the streets. Prowler could’ve been on the loose. Some car could’ve hit you.”

“None of that is going to happen.”

“You don’t know that.” He held your knee and thumbed over it like it would break. It did hurt but you decided against showing that. “And I don’t want you to be another person who tells me that.”

Showering after that was quiet and quick. Wrapped, clothed, in bed. Peter had given you painkillers that put you to sleep. And Peter wasn't there, he was losing his mind in the living room walling off the window. After everything he’s done to lock up the place it was safe to say he was never getting his safety deposit back, absolutely not. He’d have to get some wood to keep it closed until he could replace the window but he’d had to settle for cardboard. The blood on the floor was dealt with, kit put away, suit in the sink. He didn’t want to think about any of it. But thought always found him.

Just a peek.

He told himself he wasn’t going to look at you until tomorrow to not see what happened up close but that didn’t happen. One peek turned to two turned to checking every ten minutes. It wasn’t like he was going to get sleep anyways after the day’s events. One of them scared him. He didn’t know why, you didn’t move from your previous position, or maybe that was the exact problem. He rushed to your side and put two fingers to your neck. The blood was running and he could feel the heart beating slow and steady. “You’re asleep.” You were.

But he sat next to the bed all the same. He cradled your hand and kissed it. He could smell the blood, practically taste it and it relieved him just as much as it disgusted him. If you were awake you would tell him you weren’t a kid and that his boo-boo kisses weren’t welcomed so he stole them, for his sake. When you woke up he was still sitting there, his face down and drooling on the sheets, hands holding something that wasn’t there anymore.

[clockworkspider]

So @mishkakagehishka's other post here reminds me of some of my own observation on ! and !! era, and since it's a huge derail I figured I might as well make a separate post.

So the central thing about enstars is that it's always been character focused. The story tend to takes an amoral and apolitical stance and isn't really about who's right and who's wrong. It's really about characters and their individual growth. And for the school era, that works out really well. The characters are in an isolated fishbowl where their decisions can change their world, but doesn't really impact the world outside.

So on one hand, this means it's hard to place much material weight to the character's actions. Like... okay, the 5Es were "executed" during the "war", but they're still alive... And it just seems like a lot of the stakes are more metaphorical than physical.

Contrast this with the (sometimes comically) insane consequences in the !! era. When Alkaloid are roped into ES's pyramid scheme they're literally gonna be in debt to ES for the rest of their lives if they fail. That's serious shit. They're not gonna be metaphorically killed. It's literally close to indentured slavery. And like... you also know that ES is benchmarking for the idol industry going forward, and they're making an industry where idols are paid in scrip. So how they do things has real consequences to society. (See RhyLin neighbourhood gentrification/renewal project during Succession Match.)

So like... yeah it's cool that enstars is dipping its toes into social commentaries now. But as the scale of the plot gets grander, I personally find it distracting from the character's personal drama. (Who cares about Keito and Rei's nerd drama when there's a whole racialized neighborhood's fate hanging by a thread?) Which is insane because THE PERSONAL DRAMA IS WHAT THE NARRATIVE WILL ACTUALLY RESOLVE! And like... here's the thing. I love social commentaries. I love politics. But Enstars narrative continues to be, for the most part, stubbornly amoral and apolitical. The idols are (most likely) never going to unionize no matter how much the narrative implies they're in a capitalist hellscape. It's not that kind of story. It's about individual characters finding their individual happiness.

Which brings me to Korka's point earlier. I do think there is a noticeable tonal shift between ! era and !! era, where I feel like a lot of the ! stories feels more focused and... while it's not at all down to earth, I get the illusion that the character in focus and their issues are the whole world due to the limited scale. While the !! stories can sometimes lean a bit heavy on the shock value and also feel a bit... scattered with all the themes/commentaries going on.

(As an aside, knowing some meta info, Akira had a bit more directions/shackles from HappyEle back in ! era.)

Anyway I think there's give and take for both. With the stories I've read so far, I'm actually among the people who prefers ! era writing. (Sad!) But !! def has its draw too.

(As an aside, I've been told Akira had a bit more directions/shackles from HappyEle back in ! era. And like... maybethatwasgoodactually... maybe he got a bit too drunk on power for SS... But that's my subjective opinion.)

[catboii]

← Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8 → Full Thread

[Excerpt taken from Agent 23's personal diary]

[Day ####]

Today was interesting. 

I’ve been going into the room and talking to the crow, I’ve been calling it Crowvid because it sounds cute. Like crow, corvid and david all rolled into one. Like a people name. I need to call it something other than “the anomaly”, it just sounds… out of place. And it’s almost big enough to be a person. A small person at least, like a three year old. I almost feel like it’s gotten bigger since I first saw it, but maybe it’s just because it was far away from the camera.

Anyway, I was telling Crowvid that I used to play in a chess club in school, and it tilted its head like it was trying to work something out. So I told it all the rules of chess, and it seemed very interested. I mimed out moving the pieces, and it followed my hand around the floor like a little mime-bird. I gave it a little quiz on which pieces move which way, and it did little jumps diagonally or forward! It wasn’t right most of the time, but it did get a couple right, and there was one or two where it looked like it was thinking, and started taking a step, then looked up at me questioningly. Like on the knight, it took 2 steps forward, then looked up at me, and slowly put one of its little feet out to the side, but didn’t put it down until I nodded encouragingly. When I said it was right, it jumped up and down and flapped its wings. It was so cute. 

I even went over some of the pieces again, and it got them wrong the 2nd or 3rd time. I’m not surprised though, it’s a lot to remember. It took me years to get it right!

[Day ####]

After a few days of the back and forth talking about chess, 23 decides to bring something up to her Overseer. She asks if she can bring the wildlife book in the room, as the creature has been making some major progress, and she wants to prove that it can be safe around other objects. After an apparent review to someone higher than her Overseer, she’s allowed. 

So on the day that she brings it, she shows it to ‘Crowvid’ through the first section of glass. The creature perks up, and then hops over looking excited. Once she’s in the room the animal plops itself down where they normally sit, and she sets the book down, then herself, and opens it to the last page they were on. 

“Ermines, or Stoats, are Mustelids native to Eurasia and North America. They are very brave and sometimes take on prey up to five times their own size!” 

The crow is now settled beside 23’s leg, pressed against it so she can feel it breathing. Or not… It doesn’t seem to be breathing. As she talks, she studies it, watches if its feathers are moving with the motion of breathing or not. After what must be a few minutes, she can’t see anything. Strange. She should write this in her observational notes, but she’s not sure if she wants to.

[Day ####]

On this day, 23’s Overseer had approved a request for her to take a chess set from the Archive into the chamber. 23 was honestly surprised that they had one after she had been searching through the log for over half an hour with no luck, and nothing similar in sight aside from ‘One Complete Connect 4 Set’, but she had still been hopeful. She thought possibly there could be a small plastic set that she could borrow, she didn’t have a set of her own at home, and even if she did, she wouldn’t be allowed to bring personal items into the chambers. If they even had just a little travel set, or one of those ‘5 games in 1’... 

Eventually though, she came across the listing she was hoping for. ‘One Complete Chess Set x1 Board and x34 Chess Pieces’, she wondered at first why there were 34 pieces, when you only need 32, but it was probably the chess nerd in her that was hung up on such a tiny detail. She’d found a set! 

Although, it wasn’t as easy as just grabbing it, stamping something and going on her way. First, she had to sign a lot of forms, one for every single article, each piece has its own complete form, and has a faded letter-number code scrawled on the bottom: White Pawn A-1, White Pawn A-2, etc. Upon the process of signing it out, she found out that there were actually an extra pair of Queens. There's no rule book in the set, so she decided to look up why once she got home, since she had no devices on her to look it up right now.

Once everything's finally checked out, she takes it all down to Crowvid’s chamber, and once inside, sets it up on the floor. The Anomaly even tries to help her set it up. Its awkward and keeps dropping the pieces on their sides as its too big to hover, just tries to take off from the ground and nudge the piece it has along the floor, before it flops down on the floor again, bringing it with them. But it does get them closer to her, and its just nice to interact with it. It becomes a little activity. 23 even tries to see if Crowvid can figure out where each piece goes, and it does get all the pawns in the right places, and the knights and bishops are in the right places after just a little prompt. 

The set is quite big, larger than any board she's played on before, and the pieces are quite heavy, so it can walk over the middle of the board without knocking too much over. She asks it to move one of its pieces first, and it uses a clawed foot to pull a White pawn forward, without even being told which colour to choose. Although the fact that the black pieces are in front of Agent 23 could give that away, if it’s clever enough to take that hint. They make a few moves each, nudging the pawns around, then it hesitates at a non-pawn piece. She reminds it what moves it can make, but forgets to make any hand motions, but it tries to move the piece. It turns out that the piece is too closed in by pawns and it’ll knock them over, so after trying to reach through with a clawed foot, 23 moves the piece for it, and hovers the piece over the possible moves it can make, moving over one space, then the other. The Anomaly nods its head lightly when it’s hovering over a space, and 23 is surprised at the motion, but puts the piece down.

They keep doing this, the Anomaly moving the piece if it can reach, 23 moving for it otherwise. The Agent wins of course, she didn’t want to pull any punches, she just wanted to show it what moves you can make and how to win. The Anomaly seems excited. It jumps up onto her shoulder and she jumps, making a small gasping noise at the sudden contact. The creature jumps too and flies over to the far wall.

A faint alarm goes off with a rotating red light flashing above them. Another Agent enters the first interlock and 23 realises, no; remembers is more accurate, that they’ve been watching the whole time. The new Agent stays in the first interlock but asks Agent 23 if she’s alright. 23 asks them to turn off the alarm and leave… The Agent hesitates for a moment, but looks at the Anomaly, which steps further back, ducking its head with its feathers fluffed up, and they leave. The Alarm turns off. 

23 sits in silence for a while, then puts her hand out to the Anomaly. It doesn’t move. 

Eventually it’s time to end the observation.

[generic-doors-ask-blog]

The beginning #1 ----------------------

The excited pitter patter of footsteps filled the once silent dusty air. Muffled giggles and the soft scratching of wood as two friends desperately tried and failed to keep silent.

“I TOLD you it was real! I told you! I told youuuuuu! You owe me ten knobs nerd!”

“SHhhHhHhhHg! Screech!! Your gonna wake everyone up!!! I don’t wanna get into trouble with your parents aga-“

“Tada!”

Screech gestured to a large wooden door. Upon it’s surface contained hundreds of tiny intricate wooden engravings depicting tiny ghosts.

Most of them were asking questions to larger entities, writing or perhaps drawing in what appeared appeared to be even tinier books. Others did their daily routines beneath a large orb with strange rays beaming from it and wearing sunglasses while eating, sleeping, playing..sewing.. Hiding from ..something..scratched out... And it in the middle of it all..contained a quote in a strange language that neither child could comprehend..but ended in a large question mark that was the center of it all. Window brushed its fingers over the tiny intricate wooden engravings on it in silent awe.

“I’ve never seen a door like this before..”

“Cool huh?” Screech said, popping its head out from an even smaller door that was integrated into the larger one.

“Heck yea!” Sally said with an excited shake of its tail.

“Cmon cmon! There’s more inside!”

Sally slipped through small entranceway with ease. It was greeted to a room with a single desk, scattered blank scrolls pelted the floor, bits of shredded fabric lay askew, sewing thread and needles ran amok and small shards of shattered glass peppered the ground. Sally thumped its tail in excitement, carefully lifting up a dark green spool of thread. “This one reminds me of my dad! But..darker!”

Sally reached for another spool, but still with tiny flannel squares.

“Ooo! This one reminds me of ‘60!” Sally said with a little wave of its tail. It tucked the spool into its back fur and kept rummaging through the scattered debris.

Screech picked up an old knarled long peice of wood and twirled it for a second. “I found this earlier. This looks like one of Snare’s arms..but uhh.. wood? Wood thing!”

Sally stopped what it was doing and turned its head to look. “Ooo! Lemme see!”

“Nope. Wood thing is mine!”

“Gimme!” Sally cried.

“Nope! Mine!” And then Screech unceremoniously whacked it over the head with a stick.

“Ow..Gimme!”

Whack.

“Ow, stop! Give it to meee!”

Whack.

Window snapped around, grabbed a large spool of and turned around grinning before striking back with a quick and horrible vengeance. “MPH-“ Screech recoiled, rubbing it’s head. "That..didn't even hurt!"

"Yea, sureee..Now- Gim-"

A loud, ominous creaking sound filled the air from behind the two young entities. Both turned to see the source of the noise only to find a large locked chest behind them. It is somewhat different from the ones that normally appeared in the hotel. It was made from a lighter-colored wood and larger than usual... That, the varnish on it made it look newer than it probably currently was. "Hell yea! Treasure time baby!" Sally said, its hand already reaching into its fur to grab something. "Wait- Sally this wasn't..This wasn't there before.." It's voice trailed off as Sally plucked a pair of lockpicks out of its back fur. Sally took notice, briefly it paused and tilted its head. "What.. Are ya scared?" it said, twirling the the lockpicks around for a second before pointing them at Screech like it was a microphone. Screech recoiled, it's smile became slightly uneasy."PfFT N-no! Just..open it up already!" Window rolled its eyes and began to carefully pick away at the the lock. After a few minutes of non-stop digging, it's eyes narrowed and it's smile began to fade to into pure concentration. "What's taking-" A finger was swiftly jammed into Screech's face. "ShhHHhhhAAAAAND-" Click.

“‘Tah-Dah!”

Screech’s eyes widened in surprise, before curiosity got the best of it and it scrambled over to see what the box contained.

Sally slowly opened the box.. - Only to see 100 pairs of beady eyes stare right back at it. .. ... ...... Two screams were heard across the hotel. - About thirty minutes later -

The sound of a ticking of a grandfather clock was the noise that filled the room once the two children finished retelling the events to several exhausted hotel denizens.

Seek stood at the center of group of parents, its hands had long since risen to cover its face and a muffled groan could be heard from behind them.

Rush, the smile of whom had long since faded away into a look of pure emband concern. and a tiny bit of pride that its child had managed to pick a lock all by itself. started first. "Aaaah, well uhhhh uhmm.." it tapped it's fingers together for a few before clapping its hands. "ANYWAYS, I think it's time you go to bed Sally. You ahhh.. little stinkers shouldn't have been outa bed in the first place-..!" Rush began to scoot Sally out a nearby door with a massive cartoonish hand. "But Paaaaar!! What about the ghosts??" Sally whined. "The adults are talkin about it. Goodnight, sleep tight and don't go around pickin any locks without permission!" It said, it's smile growing slightly wider before lowering its voice. It turned it's head to quickly check before reaching into its fog and pulling out a pair of lock picks and stealthily gave the smaller entity a pair of lockpicks. "Or at least don't get caught, ya coot!" Sally smile grew wide, it grabbed the lockpicks and gave its parent a hug before racing off into the hallway.

Seek raised its head from its hands slightly.

“You too, Screech. It’s late and you shouldn’t have been up in the first place.”

“BuT-“

“Bed. Now.” It said icily, it’s voice no longer cascading and resonating but instead was filled with withering exhaustion.

Screech shrank a little before reluctantly creeping away. Seek’s eye softened a little before raising its head and turning to address small ensemble of entities that sat encircled near the the fateful box.

“Have any of you seen..such a room before?” Seek rubbed it’s eye.

“Nope.”

“Nein.”

“Nah, never seen it.”

“No, have you..?”

“Wait- the kids ain’t in danger?”

Figure shook its head.

“No. ⁿᵒ.”

Jack slowly crept away, while Rueben whispered something to Figure who quietly nodded before quickly departing soon after.

Seek sighed before shaking its head. “How..? How has this room evaded our sight this long? It doesn’t have a label…number..nothing.. and I can’t even find it with ANY of my eyes.” It said, blinking away visions of rooms after fruitless rooms.

“ More ᵐᵒʳᵉ importantly ⁱᵐᵖᵒʳᵗᵃⁿᵗˡʸ. ⁽ˡʸ﹖⁾ why ᵈⁱᵈ did ⁱᵗ it ⁽ⁱᵗ﹖⁾ ˢʰᵒʷ show ⁱitself ᵗᵒ to them ᵗʰᵉᵐ﹖ ᵃⁿᵈ and ⁿᵒᵗ not ᵘˢ us?” Eyes mused as their gaze drifted towards the box.

“Seek, should we em..be keepin them in there?”

“Here.. let me have a look at them.” Hide calmly over to the chest and knelt down.

“Be careful Hide, we don’t know how they’ll react once freed.” Seek said cautiously as Hide gently opened the chest.

“Shh..” It quietly answered as it carefully cracked the chest’s top open just a peek to peer in. It’s eye dilated before making itself relax.

After a few seconds, it opened the lid wider and slowly placed a hand inside..

..For a few minutes, the room was silent as Hide waited patiently with its hand in the in the box’s lid.

Finally Ambush spoke up. “Should we do somethin because it’s-“

“No, wait- here we go…” Hide murmured, before carefully standing back up with an asker in its hand.

All the entities stared in shock for a moment.

“oh dear.”

“Wait ʷᵃⁱᵗ Didn’t ᵈⁱᵈⁿ’ᵗ..ᵈⁱᵈⁿ’ᵗ Sally ˢᵃˡˡʸ ˢᵃʸ Say ᵗʰᵉ The ᵇᵒˣ Box ʷᵃˢ Was..ˡᵒᶜᵏᵉᵈ Locked..?”

“W-Wait Seek what’s going on-..?”

“-Is that a fuckin kid…?”

“..Oh my god…how long were they in there?”

“W-wait..T-this one isn’t a c-child..I can tell from the energy they give off..But..” Hide melted a little, still keeping the asker comfortable as possible as it did.

“-yes..I-I did see some b-babies in there-..” Hide said with a hint of despair in its voice.

Ambush’s face fell into a deep frown.

“Oh ain’t that any better? Don’t really matter if they ain’t fuckin kids or not- Some..asshole locked a buncha small entities in a dark cramped container for potentially days on end.”

“I think I’m going to be sick..” Figure trilled, still trying to find its words and with its hands now firmly placed on its ears.

“From..what I can hear..it’s..That’s..that’s just dreadful..but that can’t be true, right Ambush? Besides from Shadow, Halt, and well……..Jeff and El-Goblino….There’s so few resident in the hotel who aren’t here tonight..” Figure’s voice trailed off, unsure of what to say anymore.

Rush’s pupils grew increasingly wider and let out a creaking noise whilst Ambush licked its teeth.

“..Very interestin you mentioned Jeff, Figure.”

Eyes shivered, while Hide quickly put the asker back into the the box and slithered away into a nearby closet while Seek began to bubble.

“But it wouldn’t be all that out’ah his ball park considerin what he and that prey thief did to A-60’s face..”

“We don’t know if he’s done this yet.” Figure gently clicked. “While..I hate Jeff too..I don’t think this his or the prey thief’s doing..I don’t think we should jump to conclusions without reasonable evidence.” Figure’s clicks became more nervous.

While the two talked, Rush carefully pulled the chest toward itself and pulled a granola bar out of its fuzzy fog. Carefully cracking the top of the chest just a little to feed it to them. "Anyone hungry in there..?" Crunch crunch crunch. "There ya go.."

“You don’t have any idea, do ya Fig? Do you even REALIZE what the prey thief is even capable of..? And IM PRETTY DAMN SURE from day one that it hated us for pretty much existing given all it’s done to us so far!!!”

“Ambush, please listen to me! That’s..a good point..but listen..something about this doesn’t seem like..I don’t know-..would..Jeff have something to gain from this..?” Figure trilled back.

"I dunno..I mean what would he have 'ta gain from what he allowed It to do to Wrath..? Knobs? Power?...Is he 'datin the damn thing? I'm as clueless as you are Figure but what he did to it was pretty clearly fuc-!"

".. Cease the chatter about Von Tentacle this instant."

Seek interjected loudly, its voice gripping the room like a vice and its body tense and still.

"..." ".." It melted partially into the floor. "..It is..it is very late... I am very tired..and there are more important things to worry about." Seek said gesturing to the box with a melted hand. "Yea..I don't..Well uh Hey seek?..I'm sorry for bein that guy but I don't think any of these little guys hunt too well..Are you sure it's a good idea to uhhh.. be keepin them up here?..andmaybeweshouldtakethemoutoftheboxnowbecausetheyaregettingreallyantsy.." "You're right. Let me check in on them. Once everything is fine, I'll ask where they want to take up residence or if they even wish to stay." .. Seek carefully opened the chest. This time fully exposing the ghosts to the open air. "Hello in there, I am so very sorry for keeping you in here for so long. Are you all okay? Do you need any food or water?" --------------------------------------------------------------------------- - ASKS ON -

Also I ONLY HAVE ONE REQUEST OF YOU GUYS..YOU CANNOT REMEMBER ANYTHING BEFORE THE BOX!!!! (unless your human in origin, in which case you know you were human. But not how you got into the box.)

Originally.. I was just gonna have them take the askers to their room. But I figured that it wouldn't be right for Seek or anyone else to leave you guys in the box without at least checking on you to make sure you aren't injured or gaining input on were you guys might want to stay.

So yea ask away!!!

[ircnwrought]

ROLEPLAY EXPERIENCE ASKS

*cracks knuckles* ❤️, 🦄, 🔑, 🛍 !! xo // @manupropria

❤️ my first roleplay memory

the very first roleplay i ever did was a tumblr submission based thg simulation in like 2012 lmao !! we all had ocs and there were tasks that we had to submit posts for (what we did during the day, what our interview answers were, etc) and the mod would throw them all into a single narrative story that was posted once a week where you'd see if you made it to the next week/task. the experience made me think of other ways to start writing on here and i joined a closed modern au hunger games group writing annie shortly after ( she's my oldest muse since i still write her !! )

🦄 the best thing that’s happened to me in roleplay this year

is it a cop out answer to say that i'm still incredibly proud of how much i've grown as a writer this year and in the 11 years i've been writing? i came back to rp in 2021 after a several year long hiatus at the suggestion of @heygutlcss & worked really hard to cultivate a space that i'm proud of and comfortable with. even some of the growth this year, like becoming okay with cultivating my muse lists more often ( once upon a time i would have NEVER dropped muses as much as i do but look at me now lol ) and making more of an effort to reach out to people , is a testament to how i've worked on managing anxiety and making this a fun place to be and enjoy after some bad experiences chased me away.

🔑 my favorite type of threads

i'm a hoe for all the threads. i think my favorite tend to be in the 2-3 para range since i can reply to them more often ( longer and i usually have to wait til weekends or several weeks later to come up with things ) and can still add a good bit of detail ( i am LONG WINDED okay i admit this ). i love fluff and angst equally but i always want my threads to focus on the personal dynamic between characters. how are they growing ?? how are they changing ?? how are their words and actions going to affect one another ??

🛍 the one thing i wish all of my followers knew about me

i have been told on more than one occassion that i can come off as intimidating. i'm not sure what i do that gives off that impression, but i would love followers to know that i'm really just a big nerd that likes to yell about things in caps on disco/dms. if we're mutuals, it's because i WANT to write with you and talk to you. i want followers to know that it's totally okay to message me, send memes, like starter calls, etc even if we've never spoken or plotted with each other in the past. it will seriously make my day.

[peacerisendove]

Dove Reads Big Ethel Energy #2-11 (62-71)

Alright, I said I was going to read through this season and I did get to episode #3 before I completely dropped off for a while.

So I'm back and once more into the breach we go. Time for Dove's Big Ol' Review/Comment Electric Boogaloo cause this is going to be big.

Episodes 2

Not much to say there honestly. It might just be me personally, but I feel the writing is clunky or zipping by too fast in setting up problems for Ethel, such as the chapters about the all-female Olympiad and regarding women in Riverdale for the biography being removed from the book. It sucks of course, but also the way these problems are set up feel like it's a problem simply to be a problem rather than naturally occurring. Perhaps I'm being overly aware of how BEE goes about setting up issues regarding gender and sexism, but it feels rushed and doesn't jive with me.

Episode 3

My same complaint as before is that the issues and how they're present feel shoe horned. Also applied to Ethel and Moose's dynamic just doesn't feel cute or clever.

I do however love their idea for Coach Treadwell to use Moose being in her position as a reason for her to get a pay raise. That is a good idea.

Episode 4

Ethel needs to pick a lane on whether she want the distance from Seth or not. Like I get it being sudden and weird, so it's weird for her to figure out the boundary, but I believe she is also the one who brought up needing Seth to keep his distance.(Though I would need to check back near the end of season 1)

Also he just helped you up. That's it. That's him being nice and isn't something that should be read into.

Ok see? This is cute and natural sounding writing that I love.

What I don't like is what feels like the set up for a love triangle/Ethel potentially developing feelings for Seth. I really get a sense of developing guilt in her talking to Seth while she's dating Moose. Though this may also just potentially point toward the writer making Moose a jealous boyfriend like I've mentioned in the past, and perhaps drawing from his angry personality in the comics.

Hm. Dilton is a teacher? I guess we'll get more out of that later.

Episode 5

MOOSE BOOY WHY ARE YOU LYING ABOUT THE NEW TEACHER BEING DILTON?!?! I hope Ethel told him about what happened with Veronica and the cyber bullying.

I also do not like what they've done to my precious nerd Dilton :c . Honestly no one is like themselves. They merely have the facade of them.

Hmmm...questions about long distance. Who do we know that is away?

Seth.

(I know. I know. I'm pulling at nonexistent threads, but my brain immediately thought of Seth. Then her life in New York of course.)

Episode 6

Ok, I know I'm nitpicky, but why did they not put Nancy in a different outfit than her regular one for the poster?

The veneer of perfection in Ethel's life and her having these moments to gush just don't endear me to Ethel as a character.

Episode 7

I smell jealousy and more misunderstandings on the horizon. Honestly, all problems in this comic can't be based on misunderstandings.

Episode 8

Considering we spent a good portion of the first season revolving around Ethel's woes and the reader is meant to feel sorry of her/empathizing with her and her problems and now we are seeing Ethel have access to a very luxurious apartment, that her life is relatively problem free, except for social problems, once again makes her a very unrelatable character. There's a dissonance I feel here as a reader. She feels less like a rounded character and feels more like dream fulfillment.

Now if it was Veronica helping her out then it would make more sense for me. At least it would feel like the comic is playing within the rules of the universe and using established characters. And it would have been nice and fun!

So basically they just have a nice time together in New York and Ethel sorta/implicitly wants to convince him about New York/wants him to like it there, which I get if you're worried about the future of your relationship when you and your partner live in two different places.

Also minor complaint: I know it's webcomic and that this is a job with time constraints, but if you're going to do the sprawling city scapes and the message is to sell the character to the setting then I think it should look nicer/sell the scenery to the reader too.

Episode 9

Now in contrast to the last episode which focused on the scenery this episode focuses on culture and it does so well to sell you on it. Talking about the rush of getting a seat on the subway, that Ethel would tackle someone for a set is fun and entertaining! It draws you in!

Also showing Moose unable to fully adapt to it all and that he was tired due to the fast paced nature of the city was nice too.

Seeing Ethel's growth and that she is comfortable to say I love you to Moose is nice as well. This is what I like seeing from characters.

Episode 10

This episode focuses on Seth and Trula. Seth talks about how his last relationship was five years ago. Truly talks about being aromantic.

And maybe I wasn't wrong about what I said about connecting the dots earlier. Seth seems to have feelings for Ethel perhaps? That's what I think this is hinting at at least.

This response from Ethel is unnecessarily aggressive. I don't think they've really talked about it in detail, so I don't know why the response is aggressive. Like you can't be mad if you haven't talked about it. Now if I'm just forgetting and they have had this conversation repeatedly then I understand why she would be annoyed with Moose's comment.

When it comes to Moose and Ethel together Ethel is the lead I feel like and there is a lack of balance between them. Or perhaps it's that despite the fact they are portrayed as happy together they don't actually compliment each other as a couple.

Perhaps it's just me, but I don't see their relationship lasting in this comic.

Episode 11

I've connected the dots. I told you! I'm not the only one!

Me: -DISBELIEF-

This is not going to end well. Moose's jealousy is definitely going to be part of the death knell of their relationship. Remember what I've said. Mark my words.

Ethel also talks about feeling guilty regarding talking to Seth since he isn't Moose's favorite person, and I feel like while part of the guilt is due to Moose's on insecurity affecting her, I also think that a sense of guilt may be due to her potentially having underlying feelings toward Seth.

And that's if for my commentary on the episodes so far!

[scrvivorisms]

ITWV Spoilers Below along with Thread Ideas, some final Parallel and Discussion

TLDR: The Mun is basically just word vomiting about his favorite characters, their similarities and pains as well as desperately wanting to write and be a collective nerd.

Honestly, the twist I don't think I saw coming was the sheer fact it was our man Lestat who had in fact, saved Louis, when Armand either wanted or was simply letting it happen. Maxine has been on both sides. She went through hell for Chloe. Into time loops and back. But as we've also seen, she's sat there and watched Chloe or other's die. Directly in causation to her.

And honestly the way Lestat controls peoples minds is just similar in physical punishment to Maxine's own Rewind? Ear and Nose bleeds? Just a small detail between bias. Also the way he touches his temple when Maxine has to hold her hand out to invoke said control from either party.

But the symbolism in both of the series with waiting. Whether it be across decades or centuries. Or in Life Is Strange's Case: Realities. Mind Bendingly so, sometimes.

But also the absolute Catharsis of both series. It doesn't seem to be a reuniting between Lestat and Louis. But they both finally know the truth. The extent of what they have done or what they would do for each other. No matter when or where it was. They also began to settle with the painful truth of something they've done which is irrevocable. In the case of Max, it was letting the storm she manifested in Arcadia Bay remain a continuity. To see memorials and the graves. For Lestat and Louis, it was Claudia. Their daughter.

And then of course, the pain of making a choice for survival or love or jealousy, however twisted the reasoning or direction of it. Armand made a choice to do nothing if not encourage and direct the Trial and the death of all 4 that night. And Max has done that, also regardless of reasoning or feeling. She let Nathan kill Chloe. She let Jefferson kill Victoria by not warning her of any danger whatsoever. Chloe has scolded her for making a change and to sometimes even let things like a car crash, to happen. If only because the consequences, as we had seen in the game itself, are sometimes far greater than we could have imagined.

Of course the first thread idea I have is with that beast of a hurricane on the night Lestat and Louis reunite and have that painful catharsis. What if Maxine had caused it? Or you know, Max or Chloe meeting someone in New Orleans in the Modern day simply because they were there in the comic series.

Or the ever interesting idea that maybe Maxine was convinced to take back a choice or kill or save someone and we watch the alternate reality, the consequences, play out. In this verse, Max would have to care about the person, and still be told or convinced in order to make such a big decision of that type. She's seen and felt the ripples things like that leave behind. Because you might have saved, but also see the further, deeper pain you have wrought. See what you have deprived. Things taken away. Time was a scale, Max would agree. But again, if you matter to her, she will do it- experience whatever pain awaits for them. Because there will be pain. And not just for her.

And of course, Maxine or even Chloe being turned. Both would be interesting to me. Though, assuredly, Maxine would be more interesting. Simply because of the HC her Time Manipulation abilities would only strengthen. But I also HC my dear, sweet Chloe does know and or remember her having died over the years. So being able to explore someones view of immortality as someone who is close with death even in another ramble or thread would be very interesting. Honestly Chloe is a modern day definition of Innocence Lost and in my opinion, she has had a life of pain and loss. So, again, interesting.

[dreamofthe-wild]

20 Questions for Writers

Tagged by @faelynny (nerd) 1. How many works do you have on AO3? 33 as of this post. 2. What's your total AO3 word count? 35,905, it seems low for the amount of works i've posted, but I have some old 100-300 word drabble challenges posted and a few crack fics.

3. What fandoms do you write for? I used to write for Linked Universe (LOZ), but I don't anymore. Right now I am writing actively for Genshin Impact and I have some unposted Fire Emblem Three Houses fics in the works.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos? - some things can't be solved by being cut with a sword (376) - you probably couldn't see for the lights but you were staring straight at me (234) - if i had a boy (207) - mighty pumpkin soup for the soul (194) - pouring out a cold one for your homie (170) (all are Linked Universe)

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not? I try to when I can, if I can come up with an answer then 9 times out of ten I will respond. Sometimes I even just comment to thank them for reading. I won't be holding conversation threads much though.

6. What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? There are definitely angstier ones that haven't been posted, but I'd say probably you mean nothing to me, it has an ending where essentially one of the characters sacrifices himself to bring back the rest of his team from the dead and wishes he had never met them to spare him the heartache, it ends with him dying alone and with regrets.

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? It's not posted yet, but my Genshin Fic "Our Converging Paths", after a tense battle, the characters end up bonding on their way back home.

8. Do you get hate on fics? I have before, but no one can hate my fics as much as I do /hj/jk I just kinda delete the comments and block, because if my fic is causing them that much distress that they need to comment that, then maybe it's for the best that they can't interact with it anymore. /lh

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind? I do not, but the closest I've gotten is writing a crack fic about how a character's ass jiggles.

10. Do you write crossovers? I may have one or two in the works but they aren't my favorite, I generally like to write things that could be plausible in canon, where canon has left things unfortunately empty.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen? Yes but it was way before my ao3 account, on wattpad someone was stealing my fic and I ended up just deleting my account lol.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated? No, but I wouldn't say no.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before? Yes, but none have ever been finished or posted.

14. What's your all-time favorite ship? I don't ship things very often, and can probably count my ships across all fandoms on just my two hands, but right now my all-time favorite ship would have to be Dimitri/Claude (fire emblem)

15. What's a WIP you want to finish, but doubt you ever will? I was working on a fic about the First Link and Hylia and it turned into a cool medieval political drama with heavy fantasy elements, but I don't think it will ever get done.

16. What are your writing strengths? I have been told I'm really good at dialogue and banter.

17. What are your writing weaknesses? Finishing fics lol/hj I'd say seriously that being descriptive of the environment is very hard, I can describe a wound or a situation fairly decently, but trying to make the world exist and not make it feel like this is happening in some dark void is difficult.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic? I never have, because I only know English, but if it is done well and not just some random google translated phrases thrown into a fic at random, I think it can add a lot to a story.

19. First fandom you wrote for? Technically my first fanfiction was about Hetalia. But, I've basically wiped my old fanfics' existence from history, so now I suppose I could say Linked Universe.

20. Favorite fic you've ever written? It is still in progress, I have a story about Dimitri that will come out eventually, but I haven't been able to work on it recently, I don't know who to tag lol I don't use tumblr really that often.

[sideofmango]

The Warrior Queen & Her Pharaoh: Part I

Part I: In the Beginning

In honor of Black History Month (that’s coming up), and because I’m a nerd for mythology of any type, I thought it would be fun to write about one of my favorite time periods, Ancient Egypt. 

We didn’t really get to spend much time on them in school, and I love learning about these powerful Egyptian gods, goddess, pharaohs, and queens. 

So N E ways...ALSO THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR 400 FOLLOWERS...um WTF ILY <3

I TOOK SOME CREATIVE LIBERTIES (all characters are 18+ in this)

Pairings: pharaoh!god! Bakugou x warrior!princess! Reader Warnings: cursing, disrespectful people, bad bitch Mitsuki Description: Before the new pharaoh can be officially crowned, he must wed. You, the queen of a large warrior tribe called, The Zodos Tribe, are in the same position...the only problem? The future pharaoh is a bit of an ass.

*Extra info: this is written in third person so even though this is a reader insert, I’ll be writing it as if you’re another character so basically no me/my*

and yes, I’m aware it is kinda short and Bakugou isn’t in it that much, but it’s to set the scene lol...I promise there will be a lot of Bakubitch content in the next part

**Tag List is at the bottom**

𓂀 PART I  𓂀 PART II 𓂀 

The arid air and blazing sun didn’t make for the most comfortable environments, and yet many people called the desert home. 

In a secluded river valley lived the Zodos Tribe, the most fearsome warriors throughout the land, known for their brutality and unmatched strength. Though to (y/n), they were her family and her people. 

Princess (y/n), the eldest of seven children, sat in the ornate palace that overlooked the main river. She had recently been crowned the queen of her people after her father chose to abdicate the throne. Her attendants sat around her while others waved large palm leaves, blowing the dry air in an attempt to make it cooler. 

“(y/n), ready your belongings! You are to depart with your father within the hour.” The 18 year old turned seeing her mother’s slim form approach her. 

Eshe was the personification of grace, similar to her only daughter, though she was taller. Her smooth dark skin glittered in the sunlight and her golden eyes searched her daughter’s face for any signs of backtalk before a content look crossed her face when (y/n) simply sighed and nodded. 

“We readied her belongings already, Queen Mother.” (y/n)’s attendant, Subira, answered as she bowed upon her entrance to the room. 

“Very well.” Eshe nodded, her snake like eyes shifting from her daughter and her servants to the landscape. “Go ready yourself. You are to meet royalty, Girl.”

“I am royalty, Mother.” (y/n)’s tone was laced with boredom as she stood from her seat. “What’s so special about these royals I am to meet, anyways?”

“That is not my place to tell.” She replied before pushing her daughter towards her room and into the large bathroom. The cool stone rubbed against her warm skin as (y/n)’s attendants unrobed her and bathed her while two others released her hair.

Some time later, the teen was redressed and her hair had been braided again, this time with decorative gold beads and thread woven into her thick dark hair. She had been dressed into a white sleeveless sheath dress, over that a sheer white and gold kalasiri tied in place with a gold and intricately beaded sash. A wide beaded collar was secured around her neck, brightly colored stones and metals woven and set into the necklace.

(y/n) slid on a new pair of reed sandals after Subira had finished her makeup, the dramatic black liner around her almond shaped eyes made the golden hue that she had inherited from her mother shine in the light. “Let us depart.” (y/n) motioned to her ladies as they nodded, following after her as the teenage queen adjusted the heavy silver and gold bracelets around her wrists.

“You look like a true queen, (y/n).” Her mother said as (y/n) walked past the room she had once been in. 

“Thank you Mother. I will be off now.” (y/n) called back, not waiting for a response before walking out of the palace and towards her royal chariot where her father stood talking to one of the servants.

“Prepare the chariots.” Her father’s deep voice commanded as the servants nodded running off to get the large chariots ready for the journey. (y/n)’s father turned to look at her, his dark brown eyes looking her over once before smiling. “You look beautiful, Daughter.”

“Thank you, Father.” (y/n) smiled back as the servants ran back over stating that the chariots were ready to go.

(y/n) didn’t ask many questions of her father, mainly because she didn’t really care where they were going, though butterflies seemed to fill her stomach when the large palace in the capital city came into view as they crossed over another dune.

“Your mother asked me to remind you of your manners and your station before we left.” (y/n)’s father told her, as the girl sighed and rolled her eyes. Her father chuckled at her reaction before the pair stepped off of their chariots and were met by royal attendants from the palace.

“King Nafi, Princess (y/n), please follow me to the throne room. The Pharaoh and Great Royal Wife, are eager to converse.” 

“I am a-” (y/n) didn’t finish her sentence, feeling her father’s strong hand come down on her shoulder before he stepped forward and followed the attendant up the stairs and inside the large palace, leaving (y/n) to catch up.

“Stupid man. I’m a queen.” (y/n) mumbled to herself as she followed the men into the throne room. 

The teen stood beside her father, her eyes gazing over the two royal figures in front of her. One was a man with dark hair and dark eyes. A woman sat beside him, her hair ash blonde and her eyes a crimson color. They were both dressed lavishly as the woman sighed, mumbling something to her husband, before offering a smile to (y/n).

“I am sorry. My son seems to be unable to be found.” She told the girl who simply nodded before giving her father a look.

“(y/n), why don’t you walk the grounds? I have business to attend to with the Pharaoh and Great Royal Wife.” (y/n)’s father brushed her off, shooting her a look before practically pushing the girl towards the door.

“He doesn’t even have any power anymore! How dare he treat me like this. Why the hell did I even come if I’m not sitting in on the business? This is so stu-” (y/n) ranted to herself, not realizing where she was walking before she bumped into something...more like someone.

“Watch where you’re going, Extra!” The boy’s gruff voice said, his tone laced with venom as his red eyes glared down at where she sat after being knocked over.

“Oh get off your high horse! You can’t talk to me that way! I’m a Queen!” Her eyes finally landed on the boy’s face, his ash blonde hair wild and spiky as his crimson eyes seemed to darken and narrow. 

He didn’t wear full linens, only enough to cover his lower half, leaving his chest exposed. His skin was tanned from spending most of his time in the sun and a thin shine of sweat covered his muscles as if he had just been doing some type of physical activity before they had bumped into each other.

“Well here you aren’t.” The boy told her before scoffing and walking off down a corridor, not even bothering to help (y/n) up.

“Sorry. It was nice to meet you though.” A spiky redhead said with a small closed-mouth smile. He had been following the rude blonde along with another blonde male, a dark haired male, a pink skinned girl, and a dark haired girl. 

The group of teens were about to say something else to the girl when the explosive blonde from earlier could be heard yelling, “Kirishima, I didn’t allow you to socialize!”

“Uh r-right. Bye!” The red haired boy said before they all disappeared down the expansive hall.

“What a jerk.” (y/n) scoffed thinking back to the ash blonde. Getting up and dusting her hands off, she continued to walk around the halls.

The black girl returned back to the throne room after some time, having gotten lost though she was too proud to ask for help from one of the many servants scurrying around.

“Ah, you’ve arrived just in time for dinner, (y/n).” The blonde woman spoke, gesturing towards a large open room that overlooked the river, a large table filled with food sat in the middle.

“I apologize.” (y/n) said simply before taking a seat where the blonde woman had gestured, unfortunately across from that annoying boy from earlier. “Where is my father? My servants?” (y/n) wondered after a moment of silence, noticing that the people in question were missing.

“They’ve left some time ago.” She answered. “This is your new home after all.”

“Excuse me?” (y/n) and the blonde boy had the same reaction, choking on their food with wide eyes.

“Yes, your father never told you of the agreement?” The brown haired man asked.

“Agreement?” She repeated.

“Yes, you are to marry our son in two days time. It’s been arranged since before you both wore garments.” The blonde woman said with a small laugh.

(Fun fact: Ancient Egyptian children didn’t wear clothes until they were six years old, so they ran around naked except for the jewelry they wore)

“Him?”

“Her?”

“Show some respect to her Katsuki! She is to be your wife!” The woman said, slapping the boy’s head quickly causing (y/n) to smirk and laugh lightly.

Katsuki didn’t like that very much, glaring at the golden eyed girl with a low growl.

“Mitsuki, Katsuki...” The man started to say softly, flashing at smile at (y/n).

“You’re right Masaru. If only our son wasn’t such a brat.” Mitsuki sighed, slapping Katsuki again before going back to her food.

“I am the Pharaoh, you can’t treat me that way!” Katsuki protested, angrily cutting his meat.

“What was that?” Mitsuki questioned, her red eyes narrowing as she shot a warning look at her son. 

“Nothing.” Katsuki mumbled, his eyes narrowing into a glare at the black girl across from him.

What a dick. What did my parents get me into? (y/n) thought to herself as she stared back at the boy across from her.

Tag List: (Let me know if y’all wanna be added. Just send me a message)

@bakugous-mamas​ 

TAGS:

[drsteggy]

Since you are posting the meta-questions thread, I'll take the chance to ask the following:

7, 11, 17

Needless to say, feel free to answer only if you like to. Personally I don't perceive you like someone who's "envious" of others, but rather like someone who might look at others to learn a skill you would like to acquire or improve. That's how I have interpreted question 11.

Hope you're having a nice Sunday ^^

Thank you for the ask @pinkraccoon !

7 What do you think are the characteristics of your personal writing style? Would others agree?

I feel like I write pretty much the way I tell stories in person. There are some differences, of course. Telling a story becomes a performance and I’ve learned to tell stories in a way to be funny. I can think of one example of a story that I tell in person that I’ve also written out to “tell” like on Discord and it’s pretty similar though when I’m telling it to a chat room I word things a little differently because my vocal tone would be all you need in person.

I’m not sure others agree because the audience I tell stories to is different from the one who reads them. I’ve been told I use metaphors well, and can make people experience a space or a thing well.

11 What do you envy in other writers?

So, I am a very, very competitive person. I will attempt to rise to the slightest of challenges with the stupidest reward attached to it. Give me a buzzer based trivia game on any subject and I will come for your eyeballs even if I know nothing about the topic.

This serves me well in a lot of ways and is pretty destructive in a lot of ways. Like I was absolutely a slave to my AO3 stats page and comparing my brand new account to people doing this ten years and it didn’t go well until I realized I should only be comparing my stuff to my own work and not to someone six fandoms and a million words in.

Having said that, there are a few writers who I will read almost anything they write because it flows well, has a sense of humor I love or I really like how they do their smut, or write emotion or whatever. I try to treat it more like here’s a thing I should break down and learn from rather than just freaking out how I’ll never get close to this.

There are also a few people out there who I’d really like to be friends with but holy cow I get really awkward and come off as a stalker, I think, so I do envy folks who seem to be able to execute that smoothly.

17 Do you think readers perceive your work - or you - differently to you? What do you think would surprise your readers about your writing or your motivations?

So, having said that I’m kind of awkward and shy one on one, even in a format where you don’t know my real name, I don’t generally have a great sense of how my work or I am perceived. Like I think I’m a great big nerd but I’ve been told I come of as cool or intimidating or whatever and I never really see that at all. I promise I am not nearly as standoffish as I apparently come across.

Also have no idea if this is surprising or not but I don’t have a ton of very formal English/ creative writing training. I was all pretty hard science and writing for that is a very different beast. I read a lot and I know what I like to read but I haven’t ever really thought much about the mechanics. I’ve definitely been in chat rooms where people are discussing breaking down how story functions and beats and whatever else and I’m definitely the dumb one. Like I don’t even know enough to know what questions to ask.

Link to original ask post

[yournameyn]

Feeling Deeply

Genre: Fluff so much fluff. Arranged Marriage fic.

Pairing: Namjoon x OC

A/N: Aaaaaa this is the first fic I'm posting ever ever. It's basically a way to follow the red thread of my desires. OC is named Brishti. She's Indian. She's Bengali & curvy & an introvert. This whole fic is 90% going to be a slow burn fluff fic about two introvert nerds getting to know each other. Seriously there's like hardly any real angst, maybe slight angst about okay when are these two going to bang - if you look very carefully but basically its just slooooow fluuuufff. Hopefully you all like it. Please let me know what you think.

Current Chapter: Remember this is all happening in the 1960s. OC & Namjoon are both really well off first gen immigrants. Nowhere is this the general representation of immigrant experience. Just a special exception because I want to write fluuuuffff. A bit of how this weird marriage took place. Lots of character details.

Previously in Feeling Deeply: Preface-ish

CHAPTER 1

The doorbell rang. Brishti got up to answer it. She handed the cheque to the movers. She was proud to have chipped in. Namjoon hadn’t had a problem with it. Brishti had tried really hard to react as though that was a very normal thing to have happened in a marriage (it wasn’t, not in the marriages she’d seen). Namjoon had taken part in picking out the furniture too - something that was always delegated to the woman. In fact, both of them had been clueless about how to decorate a home. All the same, they’d put together the basics. Today, they had received and unpacked all of their furniture - a two seater sofa, two tables - one for him, one for her & a set of four chairs. And a bed. It had been four days since the wedding.

“Brishti…” Namjoon sighed softly, without her knowing.

He seemed to be drunk on her beauty & her words. He was just noticing how her skin reminded him of the colour of the dark chestnut wood in the warmest evening glow.

Many of his relatives were upset he’d chosen a dark-skinned woman as his wife, a woman who was four years older nonetheless! He knew what the gossip-mongers would say, since he was one of the most eligible bachelors in their social circle, back home in Korea - ”She’s 30! Indian! I didn’t know the Kims had such bad money problems!” Even thinking about the snide comments they would be saying made him livid.

He was thankful his parents only wanted him to be happy. Happily married, that is. Happily single was not really an option. Only two weeks ago, Namjoon was approaching 27 and being severely pressured by his parents to get married soon. They were so tired of their son’s fickle mind that they were even prepared to accept a white woman for their daughter-in-law. When his parents heard about Brishti, they were overjoyed that she belonged to the same continent as Korea.

Namjoon would later learn the strange events that landed his would-be Indian bride in the pile of photos sent by his parent-appointed-official Korean matchmaker-cum-defacto-grandmother.

Brishti had avoided marriage like the plague & had tried to keep her freedom. So much so, the shame she’d brought on had forced her parents to cart her off with her brother to London, claiming they’d found a suitor for her there. And so it fell to Bikram, Brishti’s elder brother - who wanted to frolic in London while trying to be a lawyer - to get her married & send word (and a few photos) of his sister’s wedding as soon as possible.

To be in London, to be here in the swinging sixties, Brishti was happy as can be - she was freer here than she had ever been. She cut off her hair to a pixie-cut the first week of being here. Just this would have caused a month-long conflict at her home. Here, she could finally put to use the education she’d received intended as certificates for the trophy wife she was supposed to be. Here, she could dream.

When the novelty of the new place wore off a bit, Brishti missed the forest. She was from Bengal & had practically grown up in the Sunderbans. And that language, the language of forests, that was truly her mother-tongue. There, in the forest everything was equal. A mushroom & a tree, an elephant & an ant - all worked together to create something bigger than the sum of their parts. Out here in the human world, Brishti had noticed a lot more parasitic creatures.

There weren’t many forests in dreary London. Libraries, however, were aplenty. The next best thing was to be surrounded by books. Brishti began dreaming of a life around books. She wanted to work.

When she approached her brother about wanting to apply for an apprenticeship at The British Library, he scoffed at Brishti’s dream. So, a bargain was struck, Brishti would shut up and marry someone that would let her work (just wording it like that enraged her) in exchange for the permission and travel allowance to be an apprentice librarian at the British Library.

Bikram had rushed to his parent-assigned-defacto-Bangla-grandmother-cum-matchmaker but it seemed that she had been rushed to the hospital right before his arrival. Not willing to take any chances, Brishti’s brother had approached the only other matchmaker-cum-asian-grandmother in the building - Namjoon’s. It had taken him an hour and a bribe of 50 pounds to convince the halmeoni to include his ‘wrong-age, wrong-nationality, wrong-colour, wrong-figure, wrong-attitude’ sister’s photos in her pile.

Namjoon saw her in the pile of photos labelled ‘trash’ in Korean - the black and white photograph of Brishti, with the big bright black eyes. And the antics of a woman who clearly didn’t want to get married - she was huffing angrily in the picture, but was about to break into a smile, as if the photographer was teasing her, trying to ease her into taking her picture. There were three pictures, in one of which, Brishti was trying to swat the lens with the book in her hand. Namjoon had studied the picture carefully to find that the book she was reading was Anna Karenina. ‘How fitting’, he had thought then.

He’d told the matchmaker and his parents right away that this is the girl he wanted to meet - the first of all the photos ever shown to him. This was the one right he’d fought for with his parents - he gets to have the final say. His parents had agreed to let him have an almost-arranged marriage. Mostly because of how proud of him they were.

It irked him a little, how proud they were - of their son who had chosen to be a lawyer instead of his thirteen-year-old self’s dream - to be a poet. He knew they meant well. They meant for him to have a stable, settled life. He knew he was a grown man now, still, it scared him to think how they would react if they knew he still wrote poetry and intended to publish, someday, if he ever found someone he could actually read it to. That it was still his dream.

Namjoon got back to the present when Brishti said “Done!” as she handed Namjoon’s pen back to him. She smiled a little smile at him. He felt her smile getting warmer toward him since the first time he’d met her, over a week ago.

Wanting to keep the conversation going, Namjoon asked her, “Is there anything you’d like to ask me?” Half expecting her to ask - ‘How did you decide so soon that you wanted to marry me?’ or ‘Did you ever see me before we met?’ but she turned around to face him & simply asked a question he’d forgotten people could ask each other-

“How are you?”

Just then, it seemed like the universe had conspired for him to meet his dream again - A simple question that carried a hug. Namjoon smiled wide because he found himself married to a poem.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Oooooh god you read it?! Thank you so much! Please please let me know what you thought! Get into my messages about it! I would love nothing more than to hear what you felt about this!

[crackededges]

Starry-Eyed

Pairing/s: Analogical

Warning/s: Kissing, implications of anxiety, and self-deprecating thoughts. If there should be more, feel free to let me know.

Summary: One night, Virgil finds Logan alone, gazing at the glittering sky. It takes Virgil every ounce of his being not to fall for the starry-eyed nerd in front of him, not knowing that he already has... 

Genre/s: Hurt/Comfort, Fluff

Word Count: 4366

Author’s Note: Leave it to me to make a Moceit ficlet and write this monstrosity after. Likes and reblogs are highly appreciated.

AO3

*****

“It’s getting pretty late…” Virgil stood solemnly across from Logan.

The night was warm. Warm enough to make the air heavy with musky scents of nature. From the sickly sweet smell of freesias to the shallow whiffs of grass, every little detail stood as an unashamed reminder of spring.

The evening breeze grazed his skin, wrapping him in its sultry embrace when he found Logan, seated on the ground, lost in his own head. The surroundings sighed. It was a delightful change from the usual cold nights that blew mercilessly at whoever was found awake and rattling with restless thoughts.

Restless thoughts like Logan’s.

Logan stiffened. He looked to the source of the voice, and let his muscles loosen once he recognized the figure in front of him. A short, relieved exhale could be heard escaping his lips. If one were to be quiet enough, maybe they’d hear Virgil’s curiosity spark in weak but volatile bursts.

“Virgil,” he began. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

Virgil stepped closer. The grass brushed against his shoes, delicate but assertive. He usually didn’t like the sound. It was much too unsettling, especially at a time where darkness enveloped each corner with its presence, rendering anyone weak and helpless. But at that moment, it was the least of his worries. 

It wouldn’t be a part of his worries for quite a while. 

“Shouldn’t you be asleep by now?” Virgil stood beside him, making sure to maintain a comfortable distance. “You’re usually so strict with your own schedule.”

In one swift move, Logan brought his hand up to inspect the watch on his wrist and his eyes went wide. “My apologies.” He looked around, clearly disarranged. “I didn’t seem to notice the time.”

“Distracted?”

Logan looked up. “Pardon?”

“Were you distracted by something?”

His gaze retreated to the ground, shame and embarrassment flooding his face. “Yes…” He admitted. “I suppose that would be a good assumption.”

Virgil cracked a smile, finding amusement in Logan’s sudden loss of order about himself. He glanced at the sky above them. A dark blue canvas had covered its entirety with clouds bleeding into the thick veil, sporadic and untamed. Stars were scattered across the heavens, enthralling in their unaligned pattern. It provided balance in some way. A solitary flaw in a sea of flawless elegance. Now that was a sight to see. 

“I don’t blame you,” Virgil said. “The sky’s pretty clear tonight.”

“It is.”

“It’s rarely like this.”

Logan sighed, melancholy lacing his tone. “Unfortunately.”

A wave of empty silence passed. Logan cleared his throat, clearly not wanting to tolerate the awkwardness that hung in the air. “Speaking of nights, I should be preparing myself to sleep now.” He took one last glance at his watch before heading in the opposite direction. “Thank you for reminding me, Virgil.”

Virgil turned to look at him, his face tightening. He weighed his options, creating thousands upon thousands of reasons that spoke against what he was about to do. Yet... 

“Wait.”

Logan stopped in his tracks. He looked over his shoulder and Virgil could’ve sworn his heart fluttered inside his chest, repeatedly colliding against the walls of his ribcage, when he was greeted with curious eyes he would willingly lose himself in.

“Virgil?” Logan asked, soft and cautious. “Is there something wrong?”

Virgil’s mind scrambled for something to say, desperately hoping that incoherent gibberish wouldn’t erupt from his lips. Luckily, they didn’t. “Like I said, the sky’s rarely like this. And it’s a weekend. It wouldn’t hurt to stay up for a little longer if you want to…”

Logan raised an eyebrow. “I don’t see how that would be a logical idea.”

“I didn’t say it was.”

Logan stayed bolted to where he stood, unwavering. Virgil sighed. “Things don’t always have to be logical, Logan-”

“I highly doubt that.”

“And I saw the way you were staring before I interrupted. You seem so... intrigued.”

Strangely, Logan’s voice diminished, possibly subdued by the last word. “What about it?”

“Nothing. It’s just that…” Virgil paused, scratching the back of his neck. “I don’t see you like that often. It’s a good break from being…”

“Unapproachable?”

“Stoic.”

“‘Stoic’?”

Virgil nodded.

Logan opened his mouth, hesitated, and said, “Should I take that as a negative observation?”

He shook his head. “No,” he replied. “I don’t think you should. You have a lot of self-control. That’s admirable.”

Logan stared at the ground, his face contorted into something Virgil couldn’t read. A crease formed between his eyebrows and that was enough of an indication for regret to start seeping into Virgil’s handwoven cloth of conscience. With an uneven voice, he quickly added, “Unless you don’t want to be called ‘stoic’, then just forget I said anything. I’m sorry if-”

“No.” Virgil cocked his head to the side, feeling the pricks of fear disperse and disintegrate. “It’s fine.” Logan turned to properly face Virgil. A hint of a smile could be seen upon his lips. “‘Stoic’ it is.”

It was Virgil’s turn to exhale with relief. 

Logan went and sat back down, letting meaningful silence pass between them aside from the faint rustling against the grass. Virgil shifted his footing. He tried to decide if his presence was still welcomed or not.

“Virgil?”

Virgil glanced back. “Yeah?”

Logan smiled. His next words were enough to make Virgil numb from the long-lasting buzz of excitement that jittered through his bones. 

“Would you like to join me?”

***

That was how it started. Every week, after all of the strain, after all of the fatigue, the worry, the tightness that slithered and branched from every shortcoming, they found themselves in the same spot at the same time. There was never any formal discussion about it. Neither of them told or urged the other to meet them there. A specific time was never set. It simply happened. Every week, there was an itch in the deepest parts of Virgil’s insides, slowly but surely growing until it was impossible to ignore. He needed to be by Logan’s side, and he feared trying to form a sensible reason behind it.

Maybe he didn’t need a reason. Maybe they could continue this small routine of theirs, forever gazing at the endless sea of stars above them while ignoring Virgil’s agonizing feeling of wanting more. So much more. More of Logan’s presence. More of his demeanor. More of his calming voice that cascaded along crevices of Virgil’s uncertainty and distress, filling them with nothing but mellow security. 

He wanted what lay beyond civil words and shallow smiles, but he would be a fool to say that it wasn’t far from his reach. Wanting more was a luxury he couldn’t afford. And what he had in that spot, beneath the stars, was all he could ever claim as his.

If that was the only thing he had in his grasp, he was going to savor it.

Logan had just finished discussing Sirius A, the brightest star that could be seen from Earth’s sky. Earlier, he pointed towards three stars spaced uniformly from one another. They eventually led to a ball of light that seemed to outshine the rest, grand and dignified with its superiority. 

Virgil thought it was lucky.

“Do you remember the other day?” Virgil asked, poking through the wall of silence between them. That was another thing. Silence was rarely tense; never rigid. In some miraculous way, Virgil found comfort in the lack of noise. With Logan next to him, taut air was left with no room to settle. And Virgil was thankful. “When you said you were unapproachable?”

“I rarely forget things, Virgil.”

“I know.” A shaky hand ran through his bangs. “I just wanted to be sure.”

Virgil felt Logan’s stare. He didn’t dare to meet it. “Yes, I remember.”

There was a pause.

“Is that seriously what you think of yourself as?”

Logan turned to him, giving a confused look. Something dangled behind his voice. Hurt. Hurt that wasn’t his to carry. He couldn’t understand how the word could have affected him. Maybe he was tired. That must be it. 

“Yes,” he answered matter-of-factly. “Is there something wrong with that?”

“No, it’s just that…” Virgil’s hand traced against his jeans, taking a stray thread and holding it between his fingers, a faux expression of focus plastered on his face. “Don’t you think that’s kinda harsh?”

“Being unapproachable?”

“Calling yourself unapproachable.”

“I don’t think so.” Logan reached up to adjust his glasses. Virgil still didn’t look at him. “It’s merely an observation. I know the others find it particularly difficult to consult me for dilemmas. Making an assumption based on their selective interactions was a logical thing to do.”

“Do you think we see you as unapproachable?”

Logan frowned. An answer stood stalling upon his lips. Maybe he didn’t like that. Maybe the question wandered to a place where it shouldn’t, and he couldn’t decide what to do with it other than wave it away like a fly that was much too adamant for its own good. “It would be a reasonable assumption…”

Virgil finally looked up and met Logan’s eyes, shiny with doubt. He barely noticed how close they were to one another, and that revelation almost made him choke. He took a breath and finally said, “Look, take it from someone who rarely leaves his room half of the time and hisses at anyone who tries to make any form of social interaction. You’re not unapproachable.”

Logan blinked, but their gaze didn’t break other than that. He stared into Virgil’s eyes, examining them. Waiting for something to falter. Something to hang back, show delay, and possibly give him a reason to believe otherwise. After a while, he turned away. Virgil had punched the air out of his arguments. When he spoke, his voice sounded lost. 

“Is there any logical evidence for that claim?”

With that, Virgil inched closer. He placed a hand on Logan’s shoulder. The touch seared into his skin, but he didn’t pull back. He didn’t shy away. His hand stayed, rubbing fond circles on Logan’s back. Logan didn’t protest.

“You’re a lot of things, Logan. Unapproachable isn’t one of them.”

***

Logan's eyes rarely left the glittering sky. Virgil never complained. In fact, he found delight in it. Logan was in the middle of explaining the expansion of the universe, but Virgil couldn’t help but steal a small glance. He was glad for that. Studying the way Logan’s face lit up from uninterrupted immersion, a jolt of warmth danced without rest.

That was Logan’s effect on him, and it was certainly going to be the death of Virgil one day.

“I never got to ask why you were interested in space so much.”

“Hmm... ?”

Virgil shuffled, his shoulder brushing against Logan’s. They were lying on the grass now. What Virgil once considered as a comfortable distance was thrown out the window, forgotten, and replaced with a new meaning. He cleared his throat. “You always seem so excited whenever space is involved. I mean... I’m pretty sure that’s the reason why the two of us are here every week, isn’t it?” Among other reasons. “Why?”

“It’s big.”

Virgil snorted, nudging Logan slightly. “That’s why?”

Logan laughed at that. Virgil had heard Logan’s laugh before. No, not the stringent one that he uses around the others for the sake of emitting laughter. He had a real one. Raw and vulnerable. He heard it every time he was done with another one of his rambles about the origin of certain constellations, laughing off the far-fetched beliefs made by the Greeks and the Babylonians. He heard it after Virgil recounted an instance with Roman, on the brink of losing his mind after being told that he needed to have facial hair before he could shave, let alone use a godforsaken sword to do it. He heard it when a firefly strayed too far and found itself landing on Virgil’s nose. He wasn’t a stranger to Logan’s laugh. Even so, that didn’t stop his chest from stirring with endearment every time he did.

Logan shifted. “There’s something intriguing about large things, Virgil,” he began once the lighthearted jests had died down. “There’s always more to learn, more to explore, more to understand. Even with that in mind, space is something beyond that; it’s beyond our understanding.” He gestured vaguely towards the sky. “It’s a seemingly infinite void that holds non-Earthly phenomena and continuously expands even before we’ve had the chance to witness it all. Space alone proves that our knowledge compiled after millions of years is only a speck in our universe.”

He paused, taking in the view in front of him, relishing in it as if it was the only time he could do so. His eyes reflected the same fervor that spilled and oozed from his words. “Many think it’s overwhelming, perhaps terrifying, but I think it’s interesting. I even think it’s, dare I say it, beautiful.”

Logan sighed. A smile hung on his face, reaching past his cheeks and up to his eyes. Seconds later, his smile fell. He cleared his throat as a faint blush started forming on his face. “My apologies for rambling. I got quite carried away-”

“You don’t need to apologize, L.” Virgil’s hand trailed to Logan’s, squeezing it gently. At the corner of his eye, he could see Logan’s smile reattach itself, and Virgil couldn’t have been anymore lovesick. 

“I agree,” he said, but he wasn’t looking at the sky anymore. “It’s beautiful.”

***

One night, it was different. The usual balmy and cordial breeze had come and gone, leaving nothing but tight air that stung Logan’s nose. Virgil laid on the ground, frigid and quiet. There were no cynical remarks. No skepticism towards the constellations and the history they held. No glint of clever retorts. Not even a dismissive chuckle that acted as a sign of Virgil’s confusion from the overwhelming buckets of knowledge Logan threw onto his lap. 

Something was wrong. 

“Virgil?” Logan finally asked, having decided that he couldn’t withstand the sudden shift of the air between them. “Are you alright?

It took longer for Virgil to respond. Much longer. “Kinda…” His voice was worn and raspy. “Just had a rough day today.”

Logan sat up, facing him. He could see the restraint on Virgil’s face, clear as day despite the low glow of the night that only highlighted the sharp lines of his caricature. The view tugged at his chest, almost wounding. Since when did he feel like this towards another’s sorrow? Was it the way Virgil was clearly being selective with his words? Did he not trust him enough to be more open... or was it something else? Something he had yet to understand… like the dark veil above his head that held more questions than answers. Whatever it was, it tugged harder when he noticed Virgil turn away. It only added to his pain.

“Would you still be able to tolerate my presence for today? If you would rather be alone, that’s completely understandable-”

“No.”

Logan paused. Virgil tried to sneakily wipe his eyes, but it failed to get past Logan.

His expression softened. Virgil was struggling, but Logan didn’t want to be another stone for him to carry on his already weakening back. 

“You can stay,” Virgil said, his voice as quiet as a whisper. His face remained hidden. “Only if you want to.”

Virgil didn’t give him time to respond when he continued with, “If you don’t, that’s fine-”

“It’s okay.” 

Virgil’s chest rose unevenly. He looked up, exposing his tear-stained face, and caught Logan’s comforting gaze. For a moment, maybe that was all he needed; a look that held sincerity without an ounce of selfishness. 

He didn’t want to look away. He was afraid to. 

“I’ll stay.”

In a heartbeat, Virgil leaned into him, his face gently pressing against Logan’s shoulder, warm with tears. Logan wasn’t used to it, to say the least. Consoling someone was far from what he usually knew. Normally, he would leave the emotional complications to Patton. He knew more about emotions than Logan ever could. Quite frankly, Logan found himself vexed by it which meant that it would be doing both of them a favor. But today was different. Virgil was different… and he’d be damned before he’d catch himself sending Virgil away to someone else.

With his lack of experience, Logan only did what he felt was right. He wrapped his arms around him, placed a hand on the back of Virgil’s head, and he held. He held, and he held. He held Virgil close as if he had all the secrets of the world kept in his pocket. No. It was more than that... 

He couldn’t quite wrap his head around it. Maybe what they had was beyond wanting. Beyond the usual things they craved from one another. At that moment, they held each other. They held without wanting anything in return.

Logan and Virgil sat on the grass, the sky twinkling without pause, and against all odds, they would stay. As long as Virgil needed him, as long as he had more tears to shed, they would stay.

In the midst of it all, Virgil’s words broke through, wobbly but certain.

“I’m really happy you’re here…”

***

A week passed.

Logan wasn’t there.

At first, Virgil didn’t know what to make of it. More days passed... and he still didn’t know. He knew the reason behind his absence. Thomas had started on another project. As a result, both Logan and Roman were whisked away, tucked back in their respective rooms, drowned in schedules, blanketed in pressure, and wrung dry with expectations as high as the stars. Virgil was no exception. That’s the thing with him... he’s never excluded entirely, is he? The sudden change in the flow of things left him winded; it left him gasping for air more than it usually did. Was it because of the anxiety that came with it all? Was it the tension and weight that he had to endure that disrupted the calmness of his days? Or was it... 

No.

No, it wasn’t. It shouldn’t be. Logan had every right to shift his attention to something else. After all, it was for the betterment of all of them. A victory for Thomas was a victory for all. If Logan wanted to dedicate his time to something that was clearly more productive and more worthy of his effort, who was Virgil to stop him?

Still, the pain that clawed in his chest didn’t cease.

Virgil didn’t expect Logan’s absence to be as hollow and bleak and... empty as it was. Surely, a little more than a week wouldn’t hurt much, would it? Oh, how wrong he was. As the yesterdays bled into tomorrows, something deep within him ached. It twisted and crumpled into a misshapen mess of longing and yearning. Yearning for the slowly expanding void to disappear until it morphed into a dismal hum, forever to be ignored and overlooked. He wanted it to shrink into what it should have been: something to pay no attention to.

He wanted... but he couldn’t afford wanting. He never did.

Maybe, if he tried hard enough, he could pretend it didn’t bother him. He could pretend that the barrenness Logan left didn’t gather into a thunderstorm, raging and merciless. Menacing and violent. He could ignore how it lashed against his skin, the icy wind thrashing to and fro until he turned numb. He could lie. He could hide. He could find another way to ease his mind.

He could do that.

But if he could... then why was he sitting on the grass, looking out into the darkness, desperately wishing to hear who Orion was and why he was considered as such a great hunter from a voice of familiarity?

Why was he here?

“Virgil?”

It was Virgil’s turn to stiffen, but he didn’t turn and look to the source of the voice. He didn’t need to. The way his heart leapt to his chest served as undeniable evidence.

“It’s late,” Logan said, words drenched in fatigue.

“I know.”

There was a pause.

“Shouldn’t you be asleep?”

“This sounds familiar.”

Logan smiled through his words. “It does.”

Silence stretched. It stretched much longer than they would have liked. Logan shifted uncomfortably. “Virgil, why are you here?”

Virgil’s chest rose. His mind scraped every corner for a reason. When he turned up empty-handed, he replied with, “I’m not sure.”

They were met with silence once more. Logan took one step towards him. Then another. And another. He sat down, and the warmth of his presence was probably enough to tip Virgil over the edge from his precipice of constraint. For a while, they stayed like that, scared of saying the wrong things and making the wrong moves. Maybe it was better that way. Maybe talking wasn’t worth their time anymore. Maybe Logan had decided it was for the best that they stopped. For the best... 

Why did the best always seem to hurt the most?

“I’m really sorry if what happened last time put you off.”

Logan glanced at him. “What makes you think that?”

“I don’t know.” Virgil scratched the back of his head shamefully. “I thought I scared you or something.”

“I don’t get scared.”

“You know what I mean.”

“I... don’t think I do.”

“Why do you always-” Virgil stopped and took a breath, letting his head drop into his hands. “Did I do something wrong?”

“Virgil-”

“Did I upset you in some way?” His tone started to waver like how a gate shook and rattled before bursting open, letting loose whatever creature that panted for freedom.

“Of course, not.” Logan’s next words were soft. Light. Delicate. “I was busy. You know this.”

“I do.” Virgil sighed. “I do know. I’m sorry. I just…”

For a while, Logan looked at him. Thoughtful and evaluative. He still had a hard time grasping why he cared so much about the words that left Virgil’s mouth. It wasn’t even merely the words anymore. With every action, every mannerism, every breath that filtered through his chest, he was left to dangle on a limb, desperately trying to understand more. Perceive more. Absorb more than what Virgil was letting on. Maybe, by some miracle, he could finally decipher the weird language of Virgil, and he could offer him what he wanted. What he needed. The chances of Logan actually giving him that were ridiculously low, but for Virgil, he would try. As long as Virgil’s mind went rampant with whirlwinds of disquiet, he would try.

Again and again, Logan would try.

Virgil lifted his head, still avoiding Logan’s gaze. “I’ve never had something like this.”

Logan’s brows furrowed. “Like... what?”

“This.” Virgil gestured to the space between them. “Just talking and listening and looking and…” He paused, taking his time to consider his next words. He ran a nervous hand through his bangs. “It’s always just been me, y’know? I’ve never had anyone else to talk to and help forget that the rest of the world exists. It’s nice. It feels nice. I guess I was just... scared.”

“Scared…” Logan repeated hesitantly. “Of what?”

A weak laugh escaped Virgil’s lips. “Of losing it in some stupid way.”

“Virge…” Logan began, but the rest of it trailed off.  It wasn’t important. Not anymore.

It all started with a touch on Virgil’s shoulder. Just a small pat that said Logan was there. But it burned. It burned with aching. Tenderness. Affection. Everything that was stripped from them after so long came together in one touch, crowding around like a whirlpool. Before they even noticed, Logan wrapped his hand around him. Virgil clung onto it, holding as if his life depended on it. Logan came closer, taking the gesture Virgil threw his way and wrapped him with another hand. His embrace formed a port, a cover, a shelter to shield him from the raging storm of the world outside of their little spot. Logan would do that for him. He had no doubt about that.

When Logan was close enough, he rested his head on Virgil’s shoulder. Virgil turned to him slightly and he let their foreheads touch with a warmth that spread like a wildfire. Logan still had his arms around him, his heat infectious in the best way possible. Virgil couldn’t believe it. He almost didn’t want to. He feared for the sun to rise from its dark and desolate chamber, shedding its light and revealing what they had to be nothing but an illusion. He didn’t want the sun to rise. He didn’t want the night to end. He didn’t want to open his eyes and be greeted with the same stony loneliness he was used to.

But he wasn’t. He opened his eyes, and there was Logan. And Virgil couldn’t have asked for anything else.

Virgil spoke. It was soft and breathy, but Logan was close enough to hear it. “Are you still busy?” He finally asked, his lips lightly grazing against his. “Do you need to leave?”

“No.”

Virgil swallowed thickly. “Can you stay?”

Logan squeezed him tighter as if proving a point… and he smiled. “As long as you want.”

His smile was contagious and Virgil couldn’t help the way the corners of his mouth quirked up. After a while, he lifted his head and was met with blue eyes as dark as the night sky. His smile faded. So did Logan’s. The air quivered between them, shivering with uncertainty. But amongst all the doubts that clouded the moment, they were certain of one thing and one thing only.

Virgil leaned forward. Logan met him halfway. Their eyes fluttered shut before their lips met in complete and utter adoration for the other. Logan’s lips were sweeter than Virgil expected, but that didn’t stop his stomach from spinning and twisting into knots in the slightest. Why would it?

When they broke away, Virgil opened his eyes again and was surprised to see the same starry-eyed look Logan always had when he was lost in the stars above. Virgil couldn’t do anything else but lean forward for more.

Perhaps space wasn’t the only thing that Logan found captivating.

[ontheblock]

BABE U WRITE FOR SALLY FACE?? Anything with Travis (male s/o with him obviously) or Sally please :O your writing is amazing!!

YES I DO !! i used to have a bunch of wips i still haven’t finished but i figured i can still add sf to my list since it was such a comfort game when it came out haha. as per usual, this isn’t beta read, i fucked the formatting up twice but just squint when you notice any errors- also thank you love <3 i‘d give you a free bologna sandwich for requesting trav ily. 100% beef obviously /winkwonk

fabric

•warning: abuse, religious guilt, homophobia and f-slur use, bad first kisses, badly written fluff, travis being travis

Travis was meant to live a life molded for him by his father. The pattern was already placed on the fabric when his first cry shook the hospital room at 6:33am. He was supposed to be cut from his father‘s mold but Travis‘ fabric was already old and frayed, the intertwining strings of muted tones that held him together felt lose by the time he could run. Sometimes he thought about the reason why he was incomplete. His fabric wasn‘t strong enough to hold his family name, not stretchy enough to bounce back from his father‘s reactions. Travis‘ mother patched him up every time there was another bruise on his back or face. She would cut parts out of her own fabric to cover the ripped strings her husband‘s belt left on their son. But she had only so much left when the beatings got worse.

Travis was in middle school, attending a christian summer camp a few hours away from Nockfell. He never noticed how different the air was at home but the sky was so murky compared to literally everywhere else. His father thought it was a good idea to let the boy out of town while he took care of the Ministry business which was code for something Travis shouldn‘t stick his nose into. He never asked but someone went missing while he was gone. Tragic.

Not as tragic as the camp counselor calling Travis home on their last day. The boy didn‘t know about that but they told his father about some inappropriate behavior his son showed with a fellow camper - a boy his age, Kenneth didn‘t care for the name or where he was from. All he needed to know was what his son did with that boy. The counselor tried to calm the angry parent on the phone but as soon as the information was exchanged the line went dead. He didn‘t want to hear the washed up excuses. His son was young and it was best to get these urges out of his system before they could even develop - dig for the deepest root you could find and rip it from the still fresh ground before it bloomed into something ugly, even if that meant that the garden would never bloom at all. Kenneth was a man of action after all.

That evening Travis came home clueless while his father already stood in the hallway with his wife behind him, holding onto his hand and uttering whispered quick prayers but his thick fingers already curled around the leather painfully hard. The strain it caused in his hand only fueled the need for a release as he charged for his son who didn‘t even have the chance to slip out of his worn sneakers.

That evening his mother didn‘t stay when Kenneth told her to go to bed early. Travis asked himself if it pained her the same way it pained him when his skin split under the force his father put in his first few strikes.

“You want to hold hands with boys now?“

“My son isn‘t a faggot, is that clear?“

“I gave you a place in this filthy town. You will appreciate it and live a proper life!“

“You will thank me when you don‘t burn for being dirty.“

It wasn‘t meant for Travis to answer because by the end of the night he would not even think about a boy‘s hand to be soft and warm anymore.

Travis was older now but he never found enough of anything to mend the damage his father did that night. Travis didn‘t try to explain that he held onto the boy because they figured that they wouldn’t slip on the wet mud that way. Instead he kept quiet about it ever happening and his father was content with this as long as he pulled his son from the devil‘s path to sodomy.

And Travis thought so too until a thread of blue fabric pulled together a gaping hole in his fabric. It stuck out like a sore thumb - too vibrant but warmer than any patch his mother gave to him and when he sat on the grimy bathroom floor in school after Sal Fisher of all people gave him a fucking pep talk, it felt nice. The warmth let his tears evaporate so he could pull himself together for the rest of the day.

But it was short lived. The warmth spread through him so fast he felt like burning up whenever he sat in class with Sal. He tried everything to get that blue thread out of his life but pulling on it only felt like strangling himself and he regretted ever letting his bully persona slip in that bathroom just because Sal fucking Fisher found the note he threw away - the note that was about him but Travis never had it in himself to tell him that. He regretted his promise to be less of an asshole because he knew he couldn‘t. Not even three days later the heat in his belly was so hot that he boiled over when he saw Fisher talking to that ginger nerd by the lockers. He ended up calling him a faggot because how dare he be openly gay in the same town Kenneth Phelps lived? How dare he be happy like this?

Sal tensed at the insult. Did he actually think Travis could be better? And why was his freakshow friend not hurt at the insult when it still burned in his throat to say it? Why did it feel like the slur wasn‘t meant for Todd at all? Travis swallowed hard as he fled the hallway in such a hurry that the three folded up pamphlets in his barely zipped up backpack fell on the muddy vinyl flooring.

“Fuck, Phleps. Just wait. Travis!“ The boy in question tucked at his collar as he turned a corner just to slip into another empty corridor. They had a free period right after gym class and Sal Fisher was determined to finally talk to the boy who relentlessly bullied him to now avoid him like it was the other way around. “Jesus, I‘m not gonna pry but if your dad-“ Sally harshly bumped into Travis as he whipped around, finally coming to a stop. Shame crawled up the taller teen‘s neck when he didn‘t find the prosthetic nose digging into his sweater uncomfortable.

“Shut up! God, just stop!“ Sal was surprised that he would use his Lord‘s name in vain like that and if the situation was anything but this he would‘ve laughed. “Travis, I don‘t know how you feel but-“, Sal tried again but Travis was at his limits this time. “You don‘t and you never will, Fisher. Your dad would accept you being a dirty faggot but mine doesn’t!“ He tried to fill his words with venom but it all bounced back on the guy‘s mask anyway with how much his voice actually trembled.

There was a moment of silence that made Travis want to literally get struck by his God‘s angry lightning. He couldn‘t even leave. It was like all the root his father dug out slowly crawled back to feed on his shame and ground him in front of Sal who still had to react and maybe Travis should just tell him to fuck off so he wouldn‘t have to find out what he wanted to say next.

“Travis...“ Sal lowered his voice in a fake moment of privacy. “Are you-?“ Travis already shut his eyes as he clenched his fists. He didn‘t like where this was going but there was no more fight in him. “Nevermind. You don‘t owe me shit but I saw your back.“ Travis exhaled through his mouth until there was nothing left in his lungs. He knew where that question was headed. Are you gay, Travis? Are you the faggot and that‘s why you‘re so angry? He was glad that Sal changed his approach because even Travis himself was too scared to find the answer.

“So what, Sally Face? You‘re sticking your nose somewhere it doesn’t belong. If you even have one under that stupid mask.“ Travis harshly pushed his index finger into the boys chest and the sharp inhale he made almost made him freeze up and apologize. But he couldn‘t. He was too deep to go soft now. The look in Sal‘s eyes was enough to make Travis finally stumble backwards and push past him.

He didn‘t follow him this time.

His verbal fights with Sal Fisher were like a damn wake up call for the teen. The rush of warmth it spread in his chest and the cold shiver in sent down his spine were shaking his body every time. He started noticing that Nockfell wasn‘t that murky. Travis used to really like yellow as a child because it reminded him of his mother’s favorite sunflower dress. She was a different woman now. The vibrant yellow was fading just like her hair. Maybe it was just Nockfell, maybe it was because of her suffocating husband draining her of her life and slowly unraveling her fabric. It didn‘t matter now but to make a depressing story short, Travis didn‘t have a favorite color anymore.

But the sky looked like a pretty shade of blue on some days. He never noticed but his bathroom tiles had blue specks in them. He always thought they were just a weird grey. There were tiny flowers blooming in the most vibrant blue behind the school and he wished that they were behind the church too but nothing ever grew around that building. But he would pluck them sometimes when he was skipping gym class. His last fight in the empty hallway was weeks ago and he hoped that Sal finally gave up on his savior complex. But why did his chest sting at that thought? His fingers slowly clutched his sweater as he stared at a withering flower by his foot. Travis jumped out of his thoughts when the metal door creaked open.

“Yo.“ Sal pushed the door closed with his shoe as he held up a hand to casually greet him. His face scrunched up. “What do you want?“ Travis lowered his head again. The boy obviously noticed the fresh shiner on his face already but facing him still felt like he exposed himself. “Just wanted to confirm that the church boy was skipping class.“ Uninvited, the teen sat beside Travis on the grass, with a healthy distance of course. “Shut up. My faith has fuck all to do with school“, Travis spoke lowly but his voice was tired. Sal just hummed in agreement before silence draped over them. Not uncomfortably like the usual strained void of reactions when one of them dropped something they weren‘t prepared for. It felt ok like this and it felt like a blanket. To Travis that blanket was soft and blue but before he could shake it off and stand up there were strings of the obnoxious fabric already weaving themself into his personal space.

“We don‘t have to fight all the time.“ Sal didn‘t look at him and neither did Travis. He really didn‘t have a reason to disagree. Not one that wouldn’t blow his cover at least.

“Maybe I could come to your little church and-“ Travis head snapped up. “Don‘t“, he blurted out a little louder than he meant. “It‘s a joke. I‘m not religious.“ Sal snorted, plucking a few pieces of grass. “Yeah, because you‘re a sinner in the eyes of the Lord. You f-“ Travis had to physically stop himself by biting his lip. Sal looked over at him and Travis wished he didn‘t. “Sorry“, Travis mumbled, refusing to meet his eyes, or eye since he was pretty sure his other eye never moved before. “I‘m trying to not call people that anymore.“ because all I hear is my father saying it.

“It‘s cool.“ It wasn‘t. “Why are you skipping?“ Travis huffed. It was weird to not let the conversation derail into verbal abuse. “I don‘t know. I fell. Hit my head on the door pretty bad. As you can see.“ Sal just hummed. “That‘s why you‘re limping, too?“ Travis blurted out a “yes“ a little too fast. Why was he nervous? His whole school life already revolved around cover up stories about the strange aches and bruises he got out of nowhere.

“Right.“ Sal let it slide, again. “You‘re acing algebra, Fisher.“ It wasn‘t a question so Sal didn‘t say anything. “Hmm.“ Travis cursed himself for never learning proper social skills but his father didn‘t like him bringing strangers into the house and his teen years were a constant feeling of push and pull of picking fights with boys that sparked an ugly tingle in his belly.

“You need a tutor?“ The silence seemed to be enough for Sal. Fuck him and his open fucking hand. “Maybe.“ Travis flicked a flower with his finger, dismissing the clear offer because his stomach ignited at the fact that Sal didn‘t hate him enough yet. “Maybe there is a tutor in Addisons Appartement, Room 402, who‘s free on the weekend.“ Sal couldn‘t help but smile under his mask as Travis huffed. “Fuck you, Fisher.“

Sal already forgot about his offer when lunch passed and his dad stood in the kitchen, washing their dishes, enjoying the background noise of his son watching TV with his cat. They were so engrossed in the VHS tape Sal put on that he didn‘t hear the door until his dad whistled from the kitchen. “Sally, door.“

“Huh? Oh. Yes, dad.“ He jumped to his feet, leaving Gizmo to the slasher movie he seemed to like. “Weird, Larry said he‘s busy“, Sal mumbled, opening the front door. “Oh.“ It was a knee jerk reaction from Sal because he expected everyone but Travis Phelps to knock at his door and truth be told, he looked like he‘d rather be anywhere else with the way his awkward greeting caught in his throat and died on his tongue as a huff. His eyes followed the way the blue strands hung over Sal‘s shoulders, the mask straps upsetting the smooth texture as a few chunks hung over the elastics. Travis hasn’t seen him with his hair down. He looked smaller in big sweatpants and a band shirt too.

“Travis?“ The boy‘s eyes snapped back to the mask in front of him. “So, algebra?“ Sal tilted his head a smidge. A small habit he picked up to better communicate what would otherwise be shown in his facial features. But it made Travis want to scream for a multitude of reasons as heat crept up his neck. “Obviously.“

Anyone else would‘ve told him to fix his tone or fuck off but Sal held open the door for him. It felt wrong but Travis took the invitation, rubbing his clammy hands on his pants. “Who is it?“, a deeper voice called and Travis almost jumped. He had to remind him this wasn‘t Kenneth. Mr Fisher wasn’t anything like his dad and he didn’t have to be on edge around the boy. “A friend“, Sal replied shortly, only getting an approving hum.

A friend. Did Sal see him as a friend? He couldn‘t dwell on it since he was pulled into the boy‘s bedroom that looked nothing like his. “Just sit anywhere.“ Sal wildly gestured into the room and Travis sat on the barely made bed as Sall dropped his books next to him.

Travis felt like there was something breathing down his neck the entire time they sat on Sal‘s bed. His shirt collar felt like it was about to cinch his neck closed, the dangling cross necklace he kept under his shirt felt hot to the touch like it burned the shape of Jesus into his chest with every sinful thought that crossed his mind as Sal explained the most bland and unerotic subject.

“Travis?“ The boy almost choked on his own spit.

“Romans 1:26-27.“ Travis stumbled over his own words but the verse was engraved into his head after writing and reciting it for a month straight under the stern eye of his father. There was a briefe silence for a moment.

“What?“ Sal looked up from the book in his lap.

“What?“ Travis felt breathless as he stared back at Sal. “Nothing“, he quickly added before Sal could even say anything else. “Explain that again?“ But he didn‘t. Instead, Sal pushed the book off his thigh, still staring the boy down. “Did you really come here for algebra, dude?“ No. “Yes.“ Travis fiddled with the hem of his shirt, not knowing if it was anxiety, anger or just bile scratching against his stomach lining to crawl out of him.

When Sal didn‘t say anything else Travis just reached over the boys lap to take the book himself but there was already a hand pressing against his shoulder. Travis hissed as he pulled his arm back, making Sal pull back just as fast. They stared at each other for a moment before Sal‘s gaze darted to his shoulder. “You fell pretty hard on that door.“ Travis clenched his jaw. “Shut up, Fisher, and back the fuck up.“

The boy shook his head, scooting away an inch. “Listen, you can say no because I would too but I can at least get you ointment for that.“ Sal gestured to his back and shoulder and something in Travis just crumbles as he lets his hands drop into his lap, staring them down to not look at Sal. “Ok. If it gets you off my back you parasite.“

Travis didn‘t plan this when he knocked on the apartment door. He expected to maybe stay 20 minutes before something would make him see red but all he saw was blue. Maybe he was cursed. All these years of plucking out the roots his father couldn’t reach were rendered worthless now that he sat on the rough carpet, holding his shirt up as Sal dug out the ointment.

How did he even get here? His heart beat in his throat when he felt a presence behind him. He felt the need to say something. He wanted to make it clear that this meant nothing to not make it weird but wouldn‘t that make it weirder? Wasn‘t this the same as his mother putting a bandaid on his cuts and whatever herbal mixture on his wounds? It wasn’t because he never felt the sick urge to kiss his mother.

“Ready?“, Sal asked, kneeling behind him with a glob of cool ointment on his index and middle finger. Fucking hell, why did he have to make it weird? He definitely had to say something now.

“It was my dad.“ Travis spoke fast enough to mutter his words but the long pause probably meant that Sal heard him anyway. He wanted to melt into the carpet, leave behind a stain on the boy‘s floor to annoy him just one last time. He didn‘t know what he expected him to say to that and he also didn‘t know why that was the thing he had to say. But Sal made it easy on him by just not answering at all. Instead, he dabbed the cream on the first bruise, making Travis inhale sharply but otherwise biting his tongue. Sal figured that Travis wanted to act tough by not showing that it hurt but actually, Travis didn‘t trust his voice under Sal‘s soft fingertips.

“Travis“, Sal spoke again. Travis wasn‘t sure if he hated the heavy silence more of the fact that Sal was the first to say something while he was rubbing little circles into his back. He didn‘t answer but that never held Sal back.

“Are you gay?“ His voice was so quiet that Travis wouldn‘t have heard it if they sat a little further apart but it had the same effect as screaming it for all of Nockfell to hear. Sal felt him tense up under his touch, already expecting him to jump up or at least yell at him. But neither of them did anything. Sal‘s fingers rested against the heating skin, feeling it rise with every ragged breath he managed to take. “Travis-“

“Fuck, Sal. What? Do you want me to tell you about the times my dad beat the gay out of me or do you prefer that time I wanted to kiss you in that gross fucking bathroom?“, the teen finally barked, letting his words sink in first before he hissed a quiet “shit“. The fingers on his back pulled away as Sal sat on his heels. “You wanted to kiss me?“, Sal repeated, slower than Travis but he just pressed the balls of his hands into his eyes until he saw shapes and felt like the pressure would crush his face. He heard Sal shuffle around the room, probably getting ready to throw him out like he should‘ve done a while ago. But the shuffling stopped in front of him and something told him not to look but cold hands were already on his wrists to peel his cramping hands from his face. Travis opened his eyes just in time to see that mask uncomfortably close but before he could say anything, there was an odd sensation on his lips with minimal pressure. Sal was kissing him and it snuffed the flame in his stomach for just a moment, allowing the torched butterflies to unfold their wings and fly high enough to even make his heart pump overtime. But the feeling was lost just as soon when Sal inched backwards, pulling his prosthetic back in place before Travis could even take any of this in.

“Sorry.“ Sal threw it into the room for Travis to interpret. But the gears in his head threatened to jump out of place already so he reached out to Sal who already flinched backwards, holding onto his mask. “You don‘t want that.“ Sal pushed his hand back a little. “How would you know?“ Travis furrowed his brows at him but he was thankful. He wasn‘t sure if he could take seeing the boy bare like that but he was craving that feeling his father tried to snuff so desperately.

Sal just shook his head as Travis inched closer. “I‘ll close my eyes.“ Now it was Sal‘s turn to hole up in silence, knowing that neither of them could handle the mask coming off. Something made him trust Travis‘ words as he opened the bottom clasp which was the cue for Travis to shut his eyes. He did and seconds later he felt Sal on him again. One hand clamping over his eyes just to make sure and the other fisting the front of his shirt.

This time Travis felt the cleft in Sal‘s lip and the scar tissue ripping up the soft skin. He leaned into the kiss. Where were his hands supposed to go? When Travis didn‘t find the answer his body moved on autopilot. One hand threaded through the surprisingly smooth strands as the other clung to the small of his back.

Travis should‘ve been grossed out by the drool pooling out of Sal‘s torn lip but he wasn‘t. He should be grossed out by Sal being a boy but he wasn‘t. When Sal pulled back he kept his hand over Travis‘ eyes while the other wiped the spit off his chin. The kiss alone was enough to patch up his murky fabric with bright blue strings that dominated the colors his father painted him in. Travis didn‘t know what would happen after high school. Hell, he didn‘t even know what would be tomorrow. But he didn‘t want the bright fibers to unravel him again.

A knock on the door startled both of them, making Sal pull his arm away and Travis rapidly blinking. He didn‘t notice the mangled face first as the unruly blue caught his eye. His hand did that. His heart beat in his throat again as he overheard Sal‘s father say something and Sal shooting a hum of agreement back. His prosthetic was already on his face again before Travis could catch anything besides the scar tissue crawling up his jaw and chin before splitting his lips and exposing teeth and gum.

Maybe blue was his favorite color.