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luckyfiona · 1 year

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“ you can’t or you won’t? ”

❝ —— Oh. Hm. ❞

( Uh-oh. )

Lawless Lucky talked a big game around the bonfire last night. She wasn't too oblivious to pick up on the fact that her being scandalized and upset by the boys' violent sides was beginning to grate on them. So, when all of the boys were talking about the gruesome things they'd like to do to the people who made their lives hard in The Other Place, she forced herself to laugh along, and even took the opening to spin a tale about how she was planning to poison her old employer's food. And, oh, those rotten pirates? Well, she would do the same to them if she had a chance.

So busy seizing on the moment, she didn't consider that she would actually have to put her money where her mouth was.

It would shatter the illusion of Neverland as her luxurious, peaceful, happily-ever-after paradise if she had to see any real carnage with her own two eyes, much less deal any of it herself. But here was dear Peter, ever the altruist, granter of all her wishes, suggesting she come along to their next raid of the Jolly Roger. Lucky's pretty sure he knows this is out of her comfort zone, if he's paid any attention to her — and he does, of course he does. Why else would he go through the trouble of bringing all of these troubled souls to the island if he didn't empathize and care about all of them, right? She can't imagine any motive but love and sympathy. — It's funny, considering how anxiously, meticulously sensitive she tries to be to his boundaries. There was something maybe endearingly boyish about his disregard for hers.

She reasons that she should be grateful for his investment in keeping things fresh and interesting. This is what a sensible, healthy relationship looked like, right? Balancing energies was a major tenet of Celtic magic— it was the key to harmony and prosperity. A passive, supportive person worked best with a person who was a little more... challenging. It would be too stagnant or too chaotic any other way. She gives a fond half-smile to her love, her true love, convinced he's only looking out for her best interests. She would find a way to explain to him that this doesn't really interest her... another time.

❝ Well, I suppose I would... ❞

Lucky? Morally opposed to it? No sir, you've got the wrong lassie. You must be thinking of that prude from Chicago, Fiona Comisky, who used to dote and cry and sermonize Nate Larsen any time he got injured in a fight with some low-class brute he should've run away from. She had no qualms with clodhopping bullies who started barbaric fights. Didn't find it tasteless in the slightest.

She was opposed to tagging along for much more modest, supportive, team-playering reasons, to be certain. The same reasons why she declined Nate's offer to teach her how to use a bow and arrow: why would the Princess of Neverland get her dainty, dignified, not-at-all-labor-calloused hands dirty learning how to hunt when her boys got such a thrill out of slaying those innocent animals?

❝ But why bring a girl along to steal all of the attention? I'm not as strong or as sneaky as you. I may ruin the... Element of surprise. Or... distract everyone when they have to keep me out of harm's way. And there’s really— there's so much I could do back here. I thought I should make some sort of victory banquet for the boys to come back to. ......Besides... ❞

Lucky's fingers sidled over to his, tips brushing over his knuckles, as if timidly asking permission to show tenderness before making any sudden moves. Peter was a bit strange about physical touch. She could never tell if he was enjoying it, or if she maybe wasn't doing it right. When he didn't immediately swat her away, she gingerly placed her palms in his, intuitively careful not to scare him away like a baby deer too shy for human touch, or startle him like a scorpion ready to plunge a stinger into her at any moment. She has experience with his type. She has nothing if not patience and willpower to break through to them. She has hope that one day she'll be able to fully embrace him. If she's really as lucky as everybody says, maybe she'd be able to fully-fully "embrace" him.

❝ I love when you tell me all about your thrilling adventures. You get such this 𝓅𝓊𝒸𝓀𝒾𝓈𝒽 𝓉𝓌𝒾𝓃𝓀𝓁𝑒 in your eye... It's the same one you had when you first found me— the one that I saw and thought, 'Oh, there it is: my 𝐥𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐲 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫. At last, I can see it!' ❞

She boldly ventures to show a little more affection while she pleads, but not enough to push him too far, just enough to remind him that he can touch her back any time he's ready. (If he's rallying her to come out of her comfort zone, maybe this is a good time to encourage him to be a little more adventurous, too.) Her fingers, ever-so-lightly cupped over his hands, gently lace themselves into the spaces between his. She's not naïve enough to believe she's going to get out of raids forever. She just wants to experience feeling truly loved and close to him, just one time, before she has to see him at his absolute nastiest.

❝ Oh, Peter, won't you please let me see my 𝐥𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐲 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫 again when you fill me in later? ❞

( Won't you please let her be so lucky as to skip out on this? )

╳ — 𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐓𝐒 ! // ACCEPTING.

#(set when she was still peter's latest model Wendy-bot 2000)#i like the gifs from this movie cus she has a Visible irish accent in them and i love that for fiona :')#if u look real close and havent gotten any in a while you'll notice there's like three different subliminal message double entendres in her #jus know that every time u think a line in a post abt peter sounds like an innuendo it 100% is because lucky is thinking it too #｢ ʟᴜᴄᴋʏ ▓ 🐞 — the lost girl. ｣#｢ ʟᴜᴄᴋʏ ▓ 🐞 — ❛ ft. peter pan. ｣#｢ ɪɴʙᴏx ᴄᴀʟʟ ▓ 🕯️ — answered. ｣#the nature of drabbly askmeme prompts is that you want to write a complete vignette based on the one line someone sends you so you end up #writin like 99 words of dialogue in response to the 5 syllables someone sends u and it makes it look like ur muse Does Not Shut The Fuck Up #so. ignore that. i wanna say fiona would've picked up on the fact that he doesn't like to listen to broads rambling for too long #this is also kinda my first ic post tho (baffling that it took me this long i am sorry) so! wanted to write a good intro scene #and rly set up what fiona's mentality was like in this time cus it's gonna make a lot of her present day chocies make more sense #also sorry that you all have to find out this late but i Am a broad who rambles for 5 paragraphs in the tags of everything i post Sorry!!

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lavenderedhoney · 1 year

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Told my baby I was feeling dysphoric today so she called me her pretty-boy a bunch of times and used an eyebrow pencil to very carefully draw a mustache on me 🥺🥺🥺💖💖💖

#she told me ill always be her pretty-boy no matter how i present even if its more fem than usual 😭😭😭😭😭💖💖💖💖💖#even if its extremely fem #it was so sweet im emotional #i really love the idea of wearing a lil skirt and having her call me her pretty-boy. that sounds nice #this was all prompted by me putting makeup on for work and feeling very uncomfortable with how i looked after #which is the first time makeup has ever made me dysphoric #usually clothes do it. a lot of my girlier clothes are things i can only wear on very specific occasions #when my mood is right #otherwise putting them on makes me feel intensely uncomfortable #but makeup is usually fun bc i like putting colors and shapes on my face #today tho my brain said ''this is going to make you sad'' and then it did #after my girl drew on me she kept saying that i would look good with a lil baby t mustache 🙈#and she kept calling me handsome #i love her 😭#text #baby 💖

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singsweetmelodies · 1 year

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Teammates kinkmeme prompt has been created (^o^*)

#asks & answers #anon #bless you anon. BLESS. YOU.#you are a true MVP for this omfg #though ngl i do feel a little like shouting at you tho #didn't i have a post a week or what ago saying 'please STOP me from claiming more kinkmeme prompts' aksjdndbbddbhd #you are all terrible enablers and i love you for it ❤️#anyways yes we are SO getting this fic now #it'll actually go PERFECTLY with this other fic i've got lined up for early 2023 #in which they [redacted] [redacted] [VERY redacted]#coincidentally also for the kinkmeme #hehe :D #anyways. i'm insane. LET'S DO THIS PIARLES THING 😍😍😍#myfic #katie rambles

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ruvviks · 2 years

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mikhail + drastic!

DRASTIC [x] characters >> mikhail koshechkin (oc), vincent mayer (oc), vitali dobrynin (oc) total >> 4.1k words warnings >> injury mention, medicine mention, mikhail is high on pain medication

‘Come on, buddy. Let’s go.’

Mikhail did not even acknowledge Vincent’s presence, staring wide-eyed at the flashy neon billboards decorating the front of the grocery store. It wasn’t a new sight to him, since they went there every week, often more than once; though the bright colors and moving pictures had him mesmerized, to the point he did not even hear Vincent calling out his name.

‘Take his hand- he won’t follow us otherwise.’ Vitali’s voice was anything but hushed, making no attempt to speak in such a way Mikhail would not be able to hear him; said man still wasn’t listening anyway, eyes glued to a vibrant, animated ad about tampons.

It wasn’t often Mikhail got injured to a degree he needed pain medication; but on those rare occasions it did come down to that, it would not be an exaggeration to say his friends needed to keep him on a leash in order to make sure he wouldn’t cause any problems on accident, or just straight up get himself killed.

His injuries really were not that bad this time. “Just” a stab wound, a light headache and a couple of bruises- nothing he couldn’t handle. But Cato had been the only one around when it had happened; and Cato loved nothing more than to watch Mikhail make a complete and utter fool of himself while high as a fucking kite.

‘You still with us?’ Vincent asked. He had walked closer to Mikhail and gently tugged on the sleeve of his hoodie, standing on his tiptoes in an attempt to try and catch Mikhail’s gaze and get him to look down at him. But Mikhail refused to make eye contact, and quietly spoke in Russian- though it might as well have been gibberish, his words slurred and incomprehensible as they left his lips.

‘What did- What did he say?’ Vincent glanced back at Vitali, who stood patiently in the middle of the parking lot with his car keys still in his hand.

‘No idea,’ he replied, not even bothering to try and understand Mikhail, and he nodded at the store behind him. ‘Davay.’

Vincent gently took Mikhail’s hand and squeezed softly to get his attention. Mikhail blinked- finally, and his eyes stung from the involuntary tears that had welled up because of the lack of it- and allowed Vincent to drag him along toward the entrance of the store.

It hadn’t been his idea to go grocery shopping. Of course not- his head was blissfully empty, and if it had been up to him he would have just sat around Vitali’s office all day and would’ve done fuck all. But they had needed groceries anyway, and Vincent had not liked the idea of leaving Mikhail in Cato’s hands- mainly considering what had happened last time they had done that.

Mikhail did not speak as they started making their way through the store and instead just looked around, still as wide-eyed as before. The interior of the place was as colorful as the billboards and there was so much to see- it made him a little dizzy and he quickly moved closer to Vincent, to slightly lean against him while they walked.

‘You good, Misha?’ Vincent asked, glancing up at him as he squeezed his hand again; he was significantly shorter than his friend and the more Mikhail tried to lean on him, the closer he got pushed toward the shelves on their left.

‘Mhm,’ Mikhail answered, squeezing back. It was an automated response; he wasn’t actually sure if he was “good”, or whatever Vincent had meant.

His head felt a little funny. Every step he took felt like a drop from a high place- and for split seconds he felt like he was falling down, until his foot landed on solid ground again and the feeling immediately disappeared. That was, until he took the next step, and the whole process repeated itself, again, and again, and again-

Mikhail’s eyes landed on some brightly colored packaging on the shelves to his left and he instantly stopped walking, nearly causing Vincent to topple over.

‘Something wrong?’ he asked, glancing at Mikhail and following his gaze toward the shelves. He paused for a moment, then reached out his free hand and grabbed the roll of questionable-quality cookies Mikhail was staring at.

‘Want that,’ Mikhail immediately said and snatched the packaging out of Vincent’s hand, startling him a little- though he was entirely unaware of it, softly clicking his tongue as he tried to shove the roll of cookies into the pocket of his hoodie.

‘Hey, hey- we gotta pay for that first.’ Vincent reached for the roll again, but Mikhail turned his upper body away and swatted at Vincent’s hand; Vincent was barely able to dodge him and he scoffed, then began swatting back until their hands ended up colliding with a little more force than the both of them had meant to and they both pulled back with a pained grimace.

‘V- Could you help me with this, please?’

Vitali stood ahead of them, resting heavily on his cane and a little out of breath as he vaguely nodded at the shelf in front of him- he had attempted to grab a product from the top, and even though he was slightly taller than Vincent he had been unsuccessful thus far, his agility not what it used to be now that his leg injury had started acting up again.

‘Oh-! Of course, baby.’ Vincent lowered his now slightly reddened hand and wanted to walk over, but he paused, and quickly looked back at Mikhail as he carefully untwined their fingers. ‘Misha? I’ll be right back, okay? No need to panic. I’ll be right back.’

‘Right back,’ Mikhail repeated, still fumbling with the cookies in his pocket and he nodded. He had no idea what those words meant.

‘Exactly.’ Vincent quickly squeezed his hand again, eyes worriedly scanning his face one last time- but Mikhail appeared fine, his gaze once again wandering off to the shelves around them and a small, content smile lingering on his lips.

Vincent carefully let go of his hand.

Mikhail’s heart dropped and he looked down, a sudden wave of intense sadness washing over him as he quickly reached out for Vincent again- but Vincent was already not paying attention to him anymore, hurrying over to Vitali to help him grab what he needed.

Betrayal.

Mikhail really did not have a better word for it.

Tears welled up in his eyes and he took a few steps back, secretly hoping either of them would notice and would walk back to him, and take his hand again- but neither Vincent nor Vitali saw, both too preoccupied with whatever product Vitali oh-so desperately needed.

They don’t care about me anymore.

It was bound to happen at some point, wasn’t it?

So he just turned around, and quickly walked away.

Even though he had been there before, the store looked severely unfamiliar to Mikhail and it did not take him long to get lost, completely not paying attention to any of the signs pointing toward the exit. He angrily rubbed the tears out of his eyes, suddenly overwhelmed by a strange sense of shame- embarrassment for nearly crying, perhaps, or for believing Vincent and Vitali cared about him at all-

Fuck, it was hot.

It was the middle of summer, and of course Mikhail had refused to put on anything short-sleeved that morning; he didn’t hate the sun- quite the opposite, actually- but did hate having to slather himself in sunscreen each morning and still get sunburnt severely.

Mikhail tugged on the collar of his hoodie and huffed softly to himself, nearly running face-first into a pillar in the middle of the aisle. He took a second to lean against it and catch his breath; for some reason he suddenly felt like he had been running a marathon, and the consequences of it were now hitting him all at once.

He stumbled a little further, nearly toppling over someone else’s shopping cart and quietly cursing to himself in Russian. Part of him really wanted to start taking off some layers- but a tiny voice in the back of his head told him that would probably not be appreciated all that much by other people in the store, so he wisely ignored the urge.

He wandered out of the aisle and reached the far back of the building; along the entire wall stood ceiling-high freezers, and Mikhail was immediately drawn toward the cool air surrounding them.

He pressed his hands against the glass of one of the doors and rested his forehead against it as well, humming contently as he instantly cooled down a bit; his eyes quickly scanned the inside of the freezer, entirely ignoring its contents and instead inspecting the bottom shelf- it was empty.

Mikhail fumbled with the door handle for a second and then slowly opened it.

It was at least worth a try, right?

‘Um- buddy? Don’t you think that’s a little drastic?’

Mikhail barely reacted as he carefully set his foot down in the freezer, clinging on to the door tightly to not lose his balance. The empty space on the bottom shelf was not too big now that he saw it from up close, but at quick glance he believed it should be doable for him to fit into it, if he would just make himself as small as he possibly could-

A sudden hand landed on his arm and Mikhail shrieked, flinching as he launched himself face first into the freezer- he hit a shelf and cursed loudly in Russian as his head bounced back, and he allowed himself to rag doll back out of the cold interior and onto the grocery store’s tiled floor.

‘Jesus Christ.’ Vincent kneeled down beside him and appeared into his view, a worried frown decorating the top half of his face- though he had a hint of a smile lingering on his lips, barely able to contain his laughter as he watched Mikhail roll over the floor and whine in exasperation.

Part of him was happy to see a familiar face; though at the same time he had not forgotten Vincent betraying him, and Mikhail felt his previous sadness bubble up again as Vincent slowly got back up.

‘Just leave me here,’ he mumbled, laying unmoving as Vincent attempted to pull him back up on his feet. He glanced up momentarily when he noticed someone else approach them- Vitali, looking mildly amused as he watched the scene unfold from behind his glasses.

‘Jesus Chri- Misha, please-’ Vincent had managed to lift up most of Mikhail’s upper body by just pulling on his arms, but he was visibly struggling; Mikhail did not weigh much, but he was at the end of the day still taller than Vincent, and the fact he refused to assist also did not help much.

Vitali walked around the two of them and closed the freezer door with his hip before kneeling down behind Mikhail. He carefully hooked his arms under Mikhail’s armpits, then hoisted him up without warning.

‘Come on, big boy,’ he said, patiently waiting as Mikhail repositioned his feet underneath his body. ‘Your body is not a human mop. No need to try and clean the floors with it.’

‘It was a good idea,’ Mikhail quietly said, crossing his arms in front of his chest as Vitali took a moment to dust off the back of his clothing.

‘Mhm,’ Vitali replied. ‘Is that why you walked away? You feel hot?’

No. No, it is not.

‘Sure,’ Mikhail mumbled, scoffing when Vitali teasingly gave him a pat on his ass. ‘Whatever.’

He did not understand his friends’ nonchalance in the slightest. Why were they so calm about what had happened? It had upset Mikhail- and he was still upset about it, actually. Vincent had just left him. Right? Sure, he had still been in the same aisle, but- he had- well, he had left Mikhail there, standing by himself-

Right?

And it made sense for Mikhail to feel bad about it, right?

He clenched his jaw, the thoughts in his head that had been crystal-clear to him before suddenly all jumbled, and he watched Vitali walk back to Vincent and give him a soft kiss on his cheek before returning to their shopping cart. A sting of jealousy shot through his chest-

What do I get? Do I not matter anymore?

Mikhail had always had trouble putting his thoughts into words. It was not even necessarily because of the language barrier; Russian was just as difficult for him as English on occasions, and he often found himself tripping over his words trying to explain his feelings to others.

He was well aware of this, of course. It’s why he would regularly just swallow his words and figure out another way to deal with the situation; though this time was different. He felt different- quite literally so, because of the medication- and either way he could not keep his mouth shut about it.

Mikhail quickly followed Vitali, ignoring Vincent’s offered hand and even refusing to look at him when he passed by; it did not feel good to do that and he immediately regretted the action, but was also too upset about all of it still to turn around and apologize.

‘Vito,’ he quietly mumbled, grabbing the sleeve of Vitali’s shirt and softly tugging on it until Vitali turned his attention to him.

‘Why did Vincent leave me?’

Vitali raised an eyebrow and momentarily glanced over his shoulder, to make eye contact with Vincent. He looked back up at Mikhail and hesitantly opened his mouth, clearly searching for the right words to say.

‘I… I don’t think he left you, Misha.’ A pause. ‘He helped me with something- it was only for a moment. He told you he would be right back, yes?’

‘I don’t know what that means.’

Mikhail stared at Vitali while they continued walking, patiently waiting for an answer. But Vitali was clearly struggling, for reasons unknown to Mikhail, brow furrowed and jaw clenched as the cogs in his head almost visibly turned trying to generate a response- and the longer Mikhail had to wait, the more upset he started to feel.

‘I don’t- I don’t want you- I don’t want him to walk away,’ he continued, turning his head away and tapping the underside of his chin when he felt new tears well up in his eyes. ‘I- What if I end up- Don’t want to be alone. If he leaves, and you leave, and I- I can’t do that-’

‘Darling, please,’ Vitali quietly interrupted him, slowing his pace as he turned back toward Mikhail. ‘Please, breathe- I genuinely do not understand a word you’re saying.’

‘I am saying-’ Mikhail slowed down as well and turned his body toward Vitali, almost hitting him in the face when he promptly moved his hands up.

‘I do not want you to leave,’ he said, attempting to sign along as he spoke so Vitali could focus on his hands instead- but if anything it only made him more incoherent than he had already been. ‘Either of you. You already left- for years- and I don’t want to be alone again.’

The suddenness with which Vitali stopped walking startled Mikhail and he instantly stopped as well, causing Vincent to run right into him. A dark shadow washed over Vitali’s face and his eyes briefly unfocused as Mikhail’s words slowly settled in his head; Mikhail noticed his grip on the shopping cart had tightened to the point his knuckles were white.

Vitali glanced around; they were the only ones in the aisle, and it was nearly entirely quiet around them- the only exception being the speaker on the wall nearby, blasting some obnoxious song none of them had heard before. Mikhail watched as he swallowed heavily, then looked back up at him with a strange look in his eyes- sadness, almost, though Mikhail was not sure what for.

‘We are not going to leave you,’ he said, every word that left his lips spoken carefully as if talking to Mikhail was the equivalent of walking on a minefield. He hesitated for a moment, glancing at Vincent again, who had stayed quiet through it all- and then he switched to Russian. ‘We’re not leaving you, okay? You won’t end up alone. Do you understand?’

The sudden heaviness of Vitali’s words caused Mikhail’s chest to tighten painfully, though he was no longer sure what was going on; he had only been upset about one thing, but now Vitali seemed to be referring to something entirely else. He opened his mouth to answer, but found himself unable to force the words out of his throat; so instead he just nodded, and continued to watch in light confusion as Vitali exhaled sharply and visibly relaxed his shoulders.

‘We’ll talk about this later,’ he mumbled, still in Russian, and he reached out for Mikhail’s hand; Mikhail allowed him to take it and squeeze softly, and he squeezed back as an answer. ‘But please, don’t worry about this. There’s no need for it, I promise you.’

‘Hey.’

Vincent took a hesitant step closer as well now, nervously looking up at him. Mikhail instantly felt his previous emotions bubble up in his chest again- but he noticed Vincent fumbling with the edge of his t-shirt, knuckles whitened from the tight grip he had on the fabric- and he instantly mirrored the action, a reflex, almost, his own way of trying to make himself look more approachable to others.

‘I’m… I’m sorry for leaving you, back there,’ Vincent shyly said. It was weird; he suddenly sounded like how he had sounded back when the two of them had first met, though Mikhail, again, was not sure why. ‘I thought you understood when I said I would be right back, but- um, yeah, doesn’t matter. I’m sorry.’

It was all so confusing.

The sudden change in atmosphere felt horrible, and Mikhail wished he had kept his mouth shut. Vincent looked so anxious now, eyes darting around restlessly to look at anything but Mikhail- not to mention Vitali’s slumped shoulders and his empty stare at nothing in particular-

‘I want to go home.’

The words had left his lips before he could stop himself, and he wasn’t even sure why he had said it. Part of him wanted to apologize; another part of him wanted to ask why his friends suddenly seemed so upset. But no, instead-

I want to go home.

Vincent reluctantly reached out again- Mikhail immediately closed the distance and grabbed his hand, grateful not to have his own empty anymore.

We go home, and we will talk there. Maybe that will help.

‘Let’s go home, then,’ Vincent said, a small smile appearing on his face once more and the tension in his upper body slowly vanished. He made brief eye contact with Vitali- Mikhail also turned his head, but only just missed the look they shared and instead managed to catch Vitali’s gaze.

‘Are you okay?’ Vitali carefully asked him, his previous frown still lingering on his face.

‘I…think so,’ Mikhail answered, and he quickly nodded. ‘I, eh- sorry.’

‘It’s okay.’ Vitali paused, then reached for Mikhail’s face and pulled him closer; he left a soft kiss on his cheek, and something in Mikhail’s head clicked, suddenly- a brief moment of clarity. ‘You did nothing wrong.’

They continued their way through the grocery store in silence, though a comfortable one this time. Giving it all a second thought, Mikhail was no longer sure why he had gotten so upset.

Clearly Vincent had still been there; he had merely joined Vitali for a moment, and had Mikhail waited just a little longer Vincent would’ve probably walked back to him the moment he’d been done.

Though at the same time, it had truly felt horrible; perhaps not because of the moment itself, then. Something rooted much deeper into Mikhail’s brain, worries he subconsciously still carried around- and probably was well aware of too, had it not been for the medication clouding his mind.

We are not going to leave you.

Mikhail bit the inside of his cheek. Of course Vitali had not left him; they had gone separate ways, to study, and circumstances had caused them to lose contact for a while. It now made sense to him why Vitali had appeared so upset when he had told him that.

‘Vito- There’s a new shipment comin’ in tomorrow, right?’

Mikhail stayed quiet as Vincent and Vitali discussed some business, both seeming relatively alright again as Vitali leaned forward on the shopping cart to be able to look past Mikhail. He partially wanted to join in on the conversation, starting to feel a little left out again even though he had no idea what they were talking about- but at the same time, at no point did Vincent let go of his hand, and he still walked close enough to Vitali for their arms to gently brush past each other while they walked-

Of course they were not going to leave him.

They had talked about it so many times now- how could he forget? Mikhail lived with them, for fuck’s sake- and it had been Vincent’s idea, even, not Vitali’s nor Mikhail’s. An invitation like that must mean something- right?

Though in the moment it had felt real. Vincent walking away from him- it had felt real, and Mikhail had been- well, he’d been scared. For some reason.

And in a way, he was still scared. Scared to be pushed to the side, scared that Vincent and Vitali’s relationship would develop in such a way there would be no room for him anymore, and he would have to find his place elsewhere; probably move out, and he would not see them as often as he did now-

They had arrived at the self-checkout, and Vitali slowly began scanning their groceries with Vincent’s help. Mikhail quickly reached into the pocket of his hoodie and took out the roll of cookies still in there- he handed it to Vitali, who gave him a soft smile and muttered a quiet ‘thank you, darling.’

No, that was ridiculous. They wouldn’t just send him away. Right? Why would they?

Would they?

‘Wanna grab a milkshake on our way back home?’

Vincent had walked back to Mikhail and softly tugged on his arm until he looked at him, wiggling his eyebrows and a playful smile spreading on his face.

‘Only if I get two,’ Mikhail answered, his questions still lingering in his head- though he was able to push them aside, now, as Vincent chuckled at his remark and dropped his head against Mikhail’s upper arm.

‘So you can throw up in my car again?’ Vitali asked, raising an eyebrow as he slightly turned his head toward the two of them. ‘Didn’t think so.’

‘We’ll just get you a large one,’ Vincent whispered, slightly lifting his head and turning it the other way so Vitali couldn’t hear him. ‘And I’ll let you take some sips from mine.’

Mikhail smiled in return, unable to say anything.

It was strange, how things had gone for them. When Mikhail first met Vincent, he never thought they would become such good friends- never thought they would even talk all that often, considering the fact Vincent had appeared a little intimidated by him. But they had grown close so quickly, both dead set on befriending the other- even though Mikhail had low key worried Vincent would end up taking his place.

And sure, he had his fair share of worries, still- even with his head clouded from the medication he worried enough to completely lose his shit in the middle of a grocery store aisle and walk away randomly, and then attempt to climb into a fucking freezer.

But it was not necessary, and he knew that as well. They would never just leave him like that- they had proved that time after time to him, and it would be weird of him to still be so convinced that would for whatever reason suddenly change.

‘So- Milkshakes?’ Vitali asked, finishing up the transaction and glancing at Mikhail and Vincent.

‘And dinner,’ Mikhail immediately added. ‘Please. And thank you. And please.’

Vincent snorted as Vitali glanced at the groceries they had just bought, specifically so they could make dinner at home together for once, and he sighed in a way only an exasperated eldest sibling could.

‘Sure,’ he then said, ‘why not.’ A brief pause, as he waited for Mikhail’s gaze to wander off again, following a fly that had found its way into the store and was buzzing over their heads.

‘Let’s just…hope he falls asleep in the car. V, stop laughing.’

#asks #steelport #writing asks #nuclearwriting #local 30-year-old man turns into a toddler when he takes two paracetamol. more at 6 #literally the funniest thing i've ever written lmfao if i was vincent or vitali i would simply just pass away #'i don't know what that means' that would do an instant 5d10 psychic damage to me i think. what do you say to that LMFAOO #this fic is a little all over the place but ig it makes sense since it follows mikhail who is like. not thinking clearly #but yeah hope you all enjoy <3 it's the last prompt i had in my inbox so this is the last one you're getting for a while #i will be working on the chasing stars fic again tho! i should make like. a fic page or something hmmm

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maschotch · 2 years

Text

Mirror, Mirror

day eight: monster

if this is exactly the same as that other post, no it isnt :) i was too lazy (aka indecisive) to come up with names for hotch’s parents. which might make things a little confusing but it’s better than giving them names im gonna regret a week from now. tw child abuse (mentioned)

Mirrors had always been a bit of an issue for Hotch. He tried not to look directly at them if he didn’t have to, and would duck his head when passing a window that seemed adamant to show his reflection. It made shaving a little tricky, but as long as he focused on the task at hand he could manage to avoid thinking about the face looking back at him. A face that wasn’t just his own.

Hotch looked like his father.

He’s gotten used to it by now, but back when the testosterone kicked in as a budding teenager, it would freak him out every time he passed a mirror, like a manifestation of his nightmares

What was he supposed to do if the ghost that haunted him wore his face?

Sometimes, on nights when it didn’t seem like sleep would come no matter how hard he tried, and with the comforting burn of amber liquor lingering in the back of his throat, he set aside his reservations, braced his hands on the edge of the sink, and studied himself in the mirror. He would frown at first; he was always frowning, but having to actually see the tense expression he automatically wore every day caused him to properly scowl.

This is what people saw when they looked at him?

He ran his hands over his mouth but it just made him look more exhausted. He tried to relax and trailed his fingertips across each of his features. The sharp jawline, distinct cheekbones, prominent brows, dark hair, and deep, sunken eyes were all too similar to the monster from his youth he didn’t need a daily reminder of.

The mirror seemed to mock his unease. He glared menacingly, but despite his attempts at intimidation, the mirror was unphased. He bit his cheek until he tasted copper—anything to drown out the bitter taste in his mouth as he locked eyes with the foul creature he hated most.

Learning to hate his father took him longer than he wanted to admit. His undeveloped mind had such a limited grasp on the world; by the time he even realized dads weren’t supposed to cause their kids pain, he had already accepted that he deserved it. Surely he must’ve done something. His father was a respectable, reputable man with deep connections within the community. He wasn’t yet able to process that all people were capable of bad things—even the ones he looked up to. Layers of lies and misunderstanding enveloped his understanding of the world.

It was a bit of a shock to realize it wasn’t normal for his heart to pound frantically when he heard heavy footsteps approach down the hall. It wasn’t normal to know the taste of cigarette ash, or recognize the sting of alcohol from flying shards of glass. It wasn’t normal to grope his way to his bed in the darkness after being struck blind. It wasn’t normal to be more familiar with the feeling of his father’s fist more than his embrace.

He wasn’t normal. It took years to learn that it wasn’t necessarily his fault. It was something he still struggled to unlearn decades later.

He isolated himself from the other kids in the neighborhood. Even if his mother hadn’t warned him not to embarrass their family, he was already sure that they would notice everything that was wrong with him. He was disgusting, a disappointment, something to be reviled. So he kept his distance. Not that any of them were particularly interested in him in the first place.

As the years went on, he began to notice the whispers around the town. How awful it was for such a loving family to have such an insolent child. How the esteemed lawyer—a pillar of the community—didn’t deserve to have his good name defiled by such a disreputable son. How endlessly patient his parents must be, to deal with such a troubled boy.

He was skin and bones for most of his childhood; smaller than most kids his age. Family meals were reserved for days with guests, and he quickly needed to learn how to smuggle away what he could while he could for the weeks where food was hard to come by. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to keep him alive.

He shot up quickly as a teenager, but just as gangly and thin. That was when he began to back away when he thought he saw someone else in the mirror. His cheeks were hollow compared to the firmly set, square jaw of his father, but it was close enough to catch him off guard more than a few times.

It wasn’t until his mother flinched at the sight of him that he accepted that he truly was his father’s son. Probably in more ways than one. In more ways than he could see for himself.

He ate better than he ever had when he went off to college. Through regular exercise and regular meals, he managed to fill out: his shoulders broadened and he reached a stable weight. He was thankful for that, he really was, but now he was hyperaware of his looming figure. His father had been dead for years, but he still lingered in every movement. As if the scars weren’t enough of a reminder.

He knew the similarities didn’t end there. As much as he may wish the commonalities were only skin deep, he feared he would inherit the aggression, or that his own unaddressed resentment would unleash into an outburst of violence he couldn’t control. He had built a life for himself—even had his own son—but the shadow of his father seemed to cast over all of it. Living with his father’s hands sometimes made him feel like they were one in the same. He could never get away from it.

There was one saving grace: he had his mother’s smile.

He’d seen it in his grandparents’ photo albums. The wide, toothy grin with dimples on either end, radiating genuine joy. He only ever saw his mother’s plastered, thin-lipped smile, one that never quite reached her eyes. Even then it was only used for polite decorum. Careful and calculated. Upholding the façade of a perfect little family.

Truthfully, it wasn’t much easier to look at. It was just another grim reminder that he never once saw his mother happy. He didn’t know how his father’s poor parenting strategies overlapped with his husbandly duties, but, simply judging based on his disposition, he highly doubted she’d been granted any kindness either. All he knew for sure was the cold wall of indifference he felt with his mom; so different from the pictures of the happy woman she’d been before.

Whether it was before her husband of before her son, he wasn’t sure. He didn’t think he wanted to know the answer.

Mirrors were threatening, loaded with a disquieted despair that pulled out everything Hotch didn’t want to see: a grim narrator recounting the inexorable pain of reality. Every feature—from the hair on his head to the hair on his hands; from his deepest frown to his rare smiles—was corrupted in one way or another. There really was no escaping it. Hotch knew logically, as a byproduct of his parents, there were bound to be physical similarities. It was impossible to look at himself without questioning whether there was any difference at all between him and the monsters of the past.

He knew the kind of violence he was capable of. He knew how he needed to the adrenaline coursing through his veins to feel truly alive. It was sick, but he couldn’t tolerate inaction, or the restraint of being under someone else’s thumb. He needed the initiative, the freedom, the exhilaration. He didn’t want to question where that endless restless came from. He could only appreciate that he had found the perfect outlet in his career. He would close his eyes and pretend he wasn’t following his father’s footsteps. How long before Hotch caught up with him?

The mirror said he wasn’t far behind.

The last thing he wanted was to be his parents’ child.

#cm fic #cm fics #cm writing #cm writings #curse these fall days #aaron hotchner #aksjdhglsk see this is what i mean when i say i just talk in circles #im so worried half of these prompts r just gonna end up being the same hotch character study over and over and over #i think i like this one more than the last one tho #then again i dont remember the last one #so :/

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