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talenlee · 2 months

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Story Pile: Insomniacs After School

Introducing excellent things is hard. It’s hard for me because I naturally stray towards the understated or the contrary. You’ve probably heard me call something ‘boringly excellent,’ for example, and that means when I call something incredible or amazing, you might think that puts it on the same category as a really good sandwich or a really interesting academic concept, as opposed to here, where what I want to say is this romance anime is so good I find myself periodically nostalgic for the childhood it depics that I never had even though it’s about kids with anxiety struggling to make a lot of friends.

This is an amazing story, it has lovely moments, it brings me joy, and I want to share that with you.

Spoiler Warning: I’m going to disclose some facts about the end of the series, and the nature of the kind of show it is, and what kind of show it’s not. Like, if you think ‘this series doesn’t include a mech battle’ is a spoiler, then yeah, you got me, it’s a spoiler, but I don’t plan on going deep on revelations about the eventual plot, okay?

Okay, then with that aside, this is a totally mundane anime about a normal reality. Into this we have half our main cast, Ganta, who is a boy with insomnia. It makes him bad at paying attention and socialising at school, and he winds up sloping off to the astronomy club building to sleep. There, he encounters a sleeping girl, in the supposedly haunted astronomy club room, except it turns out it’s not haunted, it’s just quiet and nobody goes there. The pair make friends and resolve to use the middle of the day and club activity room to do the thing they are actually interested in doing: Sleeping.

That’s the show, that’s the pitch. Your instigating event is a pair of protagonists finding a way to sneak off and both have a nice nap. From there, things get more complicated but never escalate beyond the level of an entirely expected consequence of a teenager trying to find some independence in a world that demands they comply with a sleeping and living schedule that they can’t.

Alright, okay, so yes, okay, with that set up, you may be afraid that what you’re staring down the barrel of is a soppy story about Two People And Their Special Interest where their Special Interest is an anxiety condition. And like, you’re not wrong. But there’s something of a tender touch on spoilers here, because I’m going to expand a little on information in the series, and you, if you’re a savvy nerd, you may be about to make a hop skip and a jump ahead of me and I need you to keep moving with me and not rush ahead.

Insomniacs After School is an episodic series. Every episode represents a reasonably similar step forward in time, paced out to represent about a single year in high school. It has its ups and downs with some good things happening and some bummer things happening and during this time, Ganta and Isaki open up to each other about their insomnia. Ganta, hey, look yeah, it’s anxiety, tied into a self-perpetuating fear and a loss of a loved one. Isaki, it’s because she has a congenital heart condition that has rendered her afraid of falling asleep in case she doesn’t wake up and –

No no no no! Stop! Stop running ahead! No, this isn’t a series about a sick girl who dies. And you know, I thought that too! I spent a lot of this series gritting my teeth bracing for if this whole story was spending its time showing these mundane and little adventures in a complicated time of life, all just to make it feel all the more awful when at the end we learned that Ganta is relating this story about the Girl He Loved In High School because she helped him overcome his Insomnia then hecking died. No! No, it’s not that kind of show, where the most interesting and important thing a woman does with her life is die.

No, this is not a story about dying. This is a story about living.

Like I said, it’s an episodic series. The series is very grounded, very normal; things that another series might smooth over because they’re inconvenient, this series instead presents as this episode’s challenge. For example, part of the premise is this pair capitalise on an abandoned club room, which in some anime, you might see as the unstated premise for the whole series. Not so here – once they realise they want to spend time together, once they have connected, the school finds out what they’re up to and now they’re on the hook for making their actual club (the association between them) into something the school recognises as a club (and therefore is allowed to use that room).

It’s wrong to say this is an anime about an astronomy club, though, even though the story absolutely follows them making the astronomy club into something. It’s not about astronomy, the astronomy could be anything else, if it let these two people with a shared struggle connect to one another and reflect on what it means to connect. Along the way there are all sorts of details, all these things that keep this story so focused on the emotional inner life of these two. There’s a part time job. There’s learning about cameras, about photography, about boundaries and about, yeah, uh, what it means to be living with a medical condition.

The nature of bodies plays into it, too. How people listen, how people fit together, how you can be close to someone, and again, intimate, and be exposed to them, but have that be not the result of a romance, but rather, the trust that builds to get to that stage of romance. Undeniably, listening to a heartbeat is an incredibly close, intimate action, as is literally sleeping with someone. Sleeping in the same room as someone is a show of trust, it’s a gift, and Insomniacs After School are people who start by being too exhausted to not have that trust. Surely we can fall asleep together without it being a thing, right?

Is it a thing?

(It’s going to be a thing.)

One of my favourite parts of this series, one of the things that sings to me with romantic charm, is when the two realise they don’t have a way to communicate outside of hours, and wind up using an app that does one-way soft-spoken radio broadcasts, telling each other story times over the phone in their beds and holy hell. Holy hell that’s so intimate and yet at the same time so g-rated and sweet and it’s so close with the distance of these things.

I think that’s the thing about Insomniacs After School that clings to me afterwards. It’s romantic, it’s about emotional love, it’s about a romance between two people, but by being so normal and so contained, and build on this shared sense of anxiety. It feels so deep and so resonant for it. I often have an empathy problem with stories about high schoolers, especially in anime, because they’re not high schoolers. They’re just not, they’re college age students with that kind of fully developed inner life and sometimes a sword or ninja training. That’s fine, but it doesn’t make me go: ah yes, high school. Plus, I didn’t have a normal high school by any measure, so what the hell do I know about how high schoolers feel about things like relationships and love and like, forming those relationships?

But I do know the feeling of being up in the middle of the night, afraid of what it means when I finish school and have no idea what to do. I know about using the internet in those tiny hours to reach out to those people who I can connect to, the people who make that anxiety, that sadness, quiet… a bit.

And that’s the kind of sincere moment that this series is built out of.

Insomniac After School is one of a small number of romantic anime I’ve watched recently that makes me proud to be a fan of the form. There are so many comedies and so many action stories with a romantic subplot, and yet there are times where a show like this manages to entertain me and get a response of ‘hey, huh, that’s pretty good.’

Insomniacs After School is a cut above. It’s a deeply personal anime that centers on some incredibly real feeling experiences, beautiful and wonderful in how it creates intimacy and free of all the things I normally have to say ‘wait, hang on, yeah the series does some weird stuff here…’ In fact, this series has a moment where a character’s disability is discussed in a particular way, and instead of showing the typical ‘oh wow this sucks we have to deal with this and we’ll talk about it later,’ we see a character standing up, and shouting it.

I love this series and I love the way it is about love.

Check it out on PRESS.exe to see it with images and links!

#Anime #Media #Story Pile

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miekasa · 3 years

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out of the woods (eren jaeger)

↯ pairing: eren jaeger x reader

↯ genres and warnings: royalty au (not within the snk universe), knight/bodyguard au, friends? to lovers? implied? perhaps? maybe one day, but eren’s obviously in love with you lol, sorry i had to make jean the token little shit character but i love him

↯ notes: i spend a lot of time thinking about royalty aus in which the reader is in line for the throne and eren is her very impulsive, but very skilled personal guard because i love him

↯ word count: 1.5k

The harsh clinking of metal ringing in your ears is probably the only thing that keeps you from falling asleep in your chair. Eren’s always a bit fidgety when he’s completely suited, covered almost head to toe in armor and weaponry. It’s a bit excessive, too, which is why he’s not required to look like a walking chandelier on a regular basis, and especially not within castle walls—his normal uniform and longsword at his side in case of an unlikely emergency; but for meetings like these, Eren adorns all four layers of shiny, heavy, gold armor.

It’s more of a status symbol, decoration even, than for his or your own protection, really. And it’s his sly way of keeping you awake during long, drawn out civil duties meetings like these; he knows you hate the sound of all the metals clinking together, but it’s an effective way to making sure you don’t fall asleep face first on the table, and embarrass yourself in front of other royalty and noblemen.

Eren’s arguably a little too impulsive to be a knight, especially for one that stands at the right hand of the sole princess to the kingdom; and definitely the most mischievous of all the royal guards. And, as if to prove it, he shakes his wrist near your ear again when he sees you spacing out, prompting you to shake your head reflexively. He has to hold back his chuckle.

“Princess,” both yours and Eren’s attention shift to the voice that calls after you, “You seem a bit… distracted? Is anything the matter?”

The sound of Jean’s voice is enough to make Eren straighten his spine, his noisy wrist falling to rest his hand on your shoulder protectively. Eren feels you relax your shoulders under his touch, a silent message that he’s free to withdraw and do the same, but he stays sharp.

“My apologies, Jean,” you reply, voice kind and steady, “I have quite a bit on my plate, please pardon my absentmindedness.”

Jean hums, a cheshire grin growing on his lips, as his gaze settles on Eren, rather than you. Jean leans forward, the ruffled cravat around his neck tickling his chin as he brings his elbow onto the table, and his cheek to rest against his palm.

“Surely you’re in no immediate danger, princess,” Jean drawls, slowly, eyes now fixated on you, “Your guard dog can stand down in the presence of friends, no?”

Eren grits his teeth, growing more restless with every word that leaves Jean’s irritating mouth. The prick has the audacity to smirk when Eren’s free hand goes to rest against the sheath for his sword.

You, however, simply smile politely. The other men and women of the court are silent around the table; some eyes wide with anticipation, or perhaps anxiety, as the tension between Eren and Jean grows. You look slightly behind Jean, where Armin stands against the wall, his stance neutral, but his face concerned, with a look that speaks a thousand words—or, rather, twelve: tell Eren to relax, or there will be a bloody royal murder.

Carefully, you bend your own arm back, as to place your palm atop Eren’s hand still resting on your shoulder; then looking towards Jean: “Eren is my primary guard and advisor, Prince Jean, just as Marco is to you,” you state calmly, gesturing to the seat at Jean’s right, where Marco is seated, “He is by my side at all times.”

Eren knows that; and Jean knows it, too. He also knows this is a losing battle, but he wants to play, anyway.

“I understand, my lady, but surely there’s no need for Eren to be on guard for high-level threats at such a minuscule gathering,” Jean taunts, looking Eren in the eyes before continuing, “Besides, I’m sure a husband would provide much more civil protection, wouldn’t you agree?”

It takes you squeezing Eren’s hand with all your strength to get him to even think about refraining from unsheathing his sword and putting it through Jean’s head. He feels your orders, but it does nothing to calm him, though; angry, vengeful, green eyes boring into the prince’s soul.

Jean smirks, slips in another sly innuendo about he could please you better than any knight in your court, and Eren almost loses it. His right hand is on the handle of his sword, a glimmer of handcrafted gold peeking through its casing. His moves have the other knights on guard, too; Armin silently signaling for Mikasa to be careful, or ready.

“Eren,” you call, but you’re looking at Jean, “Stand down.”

You have to repeat your words twice more for them to get past Eren’s cloudy mind and growing growls. You squeeze his hand again, and reluctantly, he takes a step back—evens out his footing, removes his hand from your shoulder, lets go of his weapon. His stance is neutral at your right hand now, and the relief in the room is palpable. And audible from Armin, who lets out a sigh; he can rest now, knowing that the foreign prince won’t be beheaded.

With a similar sigh, you stand to address your other guests, “I believe a recess is in order. Mikasa will usher you to the ballroom for hors d’oeuvres and wine. We will reconvene at quarter to the hour.”

The noblemen, advisors, and other royalty nod in acknowledgement, moving to the exit as Mikasa leads them through the castle corridors and into the appropriate room. Prince Jean falls behind the rest, offering you and wink and a cocky grin before being pulled by Marco. Armin is the last to exit, saluting you politely as his stands in the entryway.

“Would you like for some refreshments to be brought to you, princess?” he questions.

“You don’t have to be so formal when they’re not around, you know that,” you smile gently. Armin gapes, a light, embarrassed blush falling across his cheeks, “It’s fine, Armin. I’ll be there shortly.”

Armin nods, giving Eren a look, before finally exiting and following behind the crowd. When you’re alone, Eren finally speaks.

“I don’t like him.”

“I thought you and Armin were friends,” you joke, pushing yourself from out of your seat and standing next to him. Eren’s side-eye speaks a thousand words, but you find yourself chuckling in response.

“You promised me you’d work on that temper of yours,” you taunt, taking a few steps towards the door. Amused by his pouty demeanor, you extend your hand for Eren to hold like a child, “Come on, knights shouldn’t pout.”

Eren rolls his eyes, gingerly taking your hand, only to spin you around and wrap his arms around your middle. He fits his chin into the crook of your shoulder, “Knights shouldn’t have to justify wanting to murder asshole princes, either.”

“Jean means well,” you say, laughter seeping through your words at Eren’s evident disagreement with your statement. You reach a hand backwards to comb through his hair to quell his irritated state; an action well received, as the taller boy nuzzles his face deeper into your shoulder, his body finally fully relaxing, “He shouldn’t intentionally antagonize you, but he’s still a prince, Eren. You have to be careful.”

Eren huffs, and holds you a little tighter. “Him being a prince means nothing to me.”

“I’m serious,” you sigh, letting the hand in his hair fall down to your side, and then to rest atop his that are over your stomach, “You can’t be that hasty. Your actions could be seen as an attempt on royal blood by the wrong people.”

“And his words could be seen as harassment and defamation of the princess and her associates, in which case I am within my rights to attack, and you are within your rights to sue,” Eren counters.

He removes his hands from your waist, gently resting them on your shoulders to turn you to face him now. He’s got that stupid look on his face, the one he gets when he’s a little too overly confident, but Eren’s not dumb; he’s impulsive, and passionate, but he knows the law of your land like the back of his hand, particularly where it pertains to protecting you.

“And he did it while on your land. It would have been defense of the princess—precautionary knightsmanship, really—if I had sliced his head off.”

“Precautionary knightsmanship sounds made up,” you say, an eyebrow raised in suspicion.

“It’s real. It’s in the knight handbook, trust me,” Eren replies, leaning down to press a single kiss to your forehead. He removes his hands from your shoulders, stepping past you before turning back with one arm extended, “Come on, allow me to escort you to the tiny, not fulfilling, rich people finger foods.”

You chuckle, placing your smaller hand in his, “They’re called hors d’oeuvres, Eren.”

“That sounds even more ridiculous,” he notes, wrapping his fingers around your palm, “Just eat normal meals and portions like the rest of us.”

“You know, you’re allowed to eat the tiny, rich people finger foods, too.”

“I know,” Eren hums, turning his head as he begins to walk you in the direction of the ballroom, “But I’d rather have Jean’s head.”

#aot x reader #snk x reader #eren x reader #eren x you #aot fanfiction #snk fanfiction #eren fluff #eren smut #armin x reader #jean x reader #aot jean

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dokifluffs · 3 years

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Can You Hold Me | Miya Atsumu

Pairing: Atsumu X Reader (gender neutral)

Genre: angst to fluffy comforttt, a little of frenemies to lovers? I tried, college

Author’s Note: Y/N was literally how I felt recently and I wanted this, and I still want this so badlyyy

Warnings: anxiety!

The wind blew through the street, making all the branches whip violently through the air as dark clouds rolled through the sky, the rumbling sound of thunder creeping closer and closer

But the rain was already here. It poured down, washing through the streets, leaving nothing dry

What seemed like streams of rain water washed past your feet in the curb as the flooding water flowed down the storm drain as cold pellets of water splashed your face with every step closer

The rain washed over the house, dimming the interior in contrast to the normal sunlight, brightening every room in the house

Atsumu lounged about the old, worn down leather couch of the living room, the only light coming artificially from his phone as it illuminated his face as he scrolled through social media and emails

The sound of the rain coming down on the house as well as the lollipop he moved around his mouth filled his ears, almost making him unable to hear the subtlest knock on the front door

He paused his scrolling for a moment, holding the lollipop still in his cheek as he sat up, the leathery furniture whining beneath his movements

And then he heard it again - the light knocking of the door

He clicked off his phone and tucked the device into his great sweatpants pockets as he peeked out the peephole, opening the door in confusion as he saw you

“What’re ya doin’ here?” He opened the door wider, eyes wide as he looked at you standing in the rain. “Get in here,” he practically pulled you in, curiosity growing more and more as to why you were here in the first place

You stepped into the house, out of the cold rain as he shut the door behind you with a firm bang, the lock clicking in place

“‘Samu ain’t home,” he looked down your body, seeing how wet you were, small puddles of rain water dripping off your coat that did basically did nothing to keep you dry as he saw

“Are ya crazy or something?” He prodded at you, his usual sarcastic and teasing tone in his voice as he leaned on the wall, his muscular arms folded over his chest as he wore a white, oversized, sleeveless tank top, the sides cut low that purposefully showed off his toned abdomen

But as quick as his teasing and joking side appeared, it disappeared seeing as you didn’t make your usual witty comeback within seconds

He didn’t miss the way you trembled, seeing you stand so awkwardly and so out of place as if this was your first time here when it wasn’t, how you practically gasped for air as you breathed unsteadily

“I-I’m sorry for coming s-so unexpectedly,” your voice sounded so fragile as you kept your eyes down, unable to look up

Your heart hammered rapidly in your chest, a slight wheeze to your breathing

Your thoughts raced so fast in your head, it felt like you were standing on the edge of a cliff- so close to falling into the sea of numbness

“Don’t worry ‘bout it…” Atsumu’s voice was different than his usual, semi-mocking tone with you but you couldn’t even tell as the room began to spun just the slightest, your head going fuzzy

Your relationship with Atsumu wasn’t the best or favorable compared to Osamu

Personally, the two of you didn’t even know if you could call each other “friends” since it had been tease after tease after tease ever since the two of you met

If anything, that was what allowed you and Osamu to get so close in the first place: the jokes about Atsumu

“Hey, what’s with you?” He stepped closer as the heel of his slippers dragged over the wooden floor

Without touching you, he leaned down, trying to meet your eyes

He felt his body freeze for a second seeing as they were filled with water yet he couldn’t tell if they were from the rain or if they were your tears but he assumed the latter

“I di- I didn’t want to be home al-alone…” you fiddled with your fingers as you mustered up the courage to lift your head, but your eyes still avoided him. “C-can I stay here, please?”

Atsumu looked down to you, confused as to what he should even say considering he had never seen you like this before - heck, he didn’t even think Osamu even saw you like this

You were usually so quick with responses, able to take jabs at one another

But that part of you was nowhere to be seen in Atsumu’s eyes

“Sure, come with me.” He led you down the hall, pushing a door open to reveal a bedroom, somewhat messy but similar to your own bedroom at home

You stood awkwardly at the door, not wanting to step, opting to look around the unfamiliar bedroom until Atsumu was back in front of you

“Here, you’re soaked.” He handed you a pair of black sweatpants and a darkish red long sleeve, stepping out of the room and back toward the living room

“Are these yours?” Your voice was still quiet when you turned, your body trembling from the cold at this point

“They ain’t ‘Samu’s. He locks his door now since I ‘borrow’ too many things without givin’ ‘em back, as he says,” he plopped back down nonchalantly on the couch where all you could see were his slippers as he played with them on his feet

You took the clothes and went into the bathroom down the hall beside Osamu’s bedroom, his door closed as Atsumu had said

“Yo ‘samu, your friend is here, come get them,” Atsumu sent the text to his twin only for no response

You set the clothes down on the corner of the counter as you stood on the towel, not wanting to get anything else wet

Your undergarment(s) was/were for the most part dry surprisingly

The clothes were big and baggy on you but they were comfy

You took a good look at yourself in the mirror, the guilt you thought you escaped from your house was suddenly back in your head, clear as day

It felt like there was a pit inside of you that you couldn’t get away from or fill was beginning to dwell inside, its stay long overdue now

Your breathing began to quicken as you stood, your eyes slowly casting downward as pins and needles pricked in your hands and feet, tingling them

The feeling of doing something wrong, being here- it all felt wrong and it all felt like your fault

You knees began to grow shaky as you gripped onto the porcelain counter for balance, only to feel that the counter wasn’t cool to the normal touch

Your hands began to shake as your legs grew weaker and weaker until you sunk to the ground as the intensity of the pins and needles grew more and more with every passing second

“What’s takin’ so long?” Atsumu mumbled to himself as he realized how long he had been on his phone, the message to his brother sent almost ten minutes ago by now which was around the time you went to change

He glanced by his open bedroom, of course not seeing you

“You okay?” He knocked on the bathroom door, hearing the subtle rain outside as well as your jagged breathing and muffled whimpers

“Y/N?” He jiggled the doorknob, finding it unlocked. “I’m comin’ in,” he announced, strangely seeing no one when the door opened

That is until he looked down

“Hey, what’s wrong?” he pushed the door open, pushing your wet clothes on the floor to the wall between the door as he knelt down beside you, tears falling from your face as you struggled to breathe

“My hands are stuck, I can’t move my hands,” you cried, your panic continuously growing for the loss of control over your hands

“Hey, shh, don’t cry, you’re gonna be alright. Let’s move ya first, alright?” He enclosed his hands over your wrist as he tried to help you up

It felt like Atsumu was on edge seeing you like this: so broken and vulnerable, a side he never imagined he would ever see from someone who, as “annoying” as he found you, lingered in his mind longer and longer after every interaction he had with you

“I can’t move my legs,” you felt so helpless and useless, your thoughts incoherent as they only raced faster, your heart hammering fast in your chest

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry-“ you folded over yourself, struggling to breathe, wanting this empty pit feeling to be gone, for the holes inside of you to disappear

“Hey, shhh, it’s alright, it ain’t your fault,” he rubbed a small circle over your back, leaning down close to the floor to get on your level. “I’m gonna carry ya, okay?”

He knelt closer to your body as he brought his arms under your body, slowly lifting you into his embrace, leaving the cold tiled floor of the bathroom and straight into his bedroom

He lowered you down onto his bed, the springs creaking under both your combined weights as he sat you in between with his legs

“M-My hands,” you felt so helpless, so vulnerable

All the control you thought you had over yourself was slipping right out of your fingertips as you trembled violently in Atsumu’s arms on his bed

“Shh, I know.. Let’s ground ya, alright?” His words came out slower and gentler, almost sounding exactly like Osamu yet there was still something different about it that you could hear, that you could feel

He watched you carefully with his hands lingering beneath your legs and around your lower back from when he carried you

It felt like you were drowning, like the space around you was closing in, that every bit of your body was screaming at you that you were wrong

“Okay,” he proceeded as you nodded your head once, as your hands trembled violently. “Y/N, take deep breaths,” his voice was low as he spoke calmly. “Breathe in…” he waited until you did the same to the best of your abilities. “Breathe out…” he let out his own breath, again, observing you as you did the same

“Again. In… and out..” He repeated this with you until your breathing improved, slowly getting stronger and stronger

“Tell me three things ya feel right now, Y/N,” he pulled you closer as he enclosed one of his hands over your own, feeling how cold they were to his touch

“I- I can f-feel.. Your war-warmth..” You gasped for air lightly, your breathing still not at its peak but at least the suffocating feeling was dissipating

“Good, what else?”

“The bed… a-and the clothes…”

“Okay, now tell me three things ya hear.”

He sat and spoke, holding you so patiently in his embrace, he couldn’t think or focus on anything or anyone else but you

“Your voice… and- and the rain-“ just as you peeked around him outside to the window, a booming crack of thunder sounded, making you jump as you moved your head back, averting your eyes from the window

“I got ya, you’re okay.” He rubbed his hand in slow, steady circles on your lower back, pulling you impossibly closer

“You can hear my voice and the rain. What’s one more thing you can hear?”

You still felt so uneasy but you slowly began to regain the slightest feeling in your hands as pins and needles tickled your hand

“Your heart…” you breathed out

“Good. You’re doin’ alright,” he looped his arm around your back, taking one of your hand in his own as he began to massage them. “Continue breathin’” he spoke as he did this

Your breathing hitched every now and then as you leaned against his chest, the warm sensation coming back to your hands after soft massages

The sound of rain as the thunder distanced itself filled the silence as the two of you sat in the dimmed room, your occasional sniffles and gasps breaking the silence

“What got ya so anxious?” He asked as he set your hand back down your lap, standing from the bed, grabbing tissues, handing the box to you

You plucked a few, doing your best tot surpress the guilt that began to cumulate once again

“School,” you sighed, tucking your knees closer to your body as you sat on his bed on the plush covers

“Is the L/N Y/N finally falling behind? Or no-“ he dramatically gasped, prodding at you with his usual antics to try to see that smile of yours. “Failing?”

“No,” you sniffled, but your voice was harder than before. It was sort of working

“I’m just- I’m over working myself and I haven’t seen anyone else in days,” your voice cracked

“Why don’t ya take breaks?”

“Cause I don’t let myself. Every time I do, I just feel guilty, and even now, just being here, I feel so guilty, like I’m doing the wrong thing, I’m not being productive enough”

Panic began to settle in as you sat there, all the stress from these few weeks of school, one heavy week after the other and there was no one at home to help you through it

Not even your parents as they were gone to work by the time you woke up, only seeing them around dinner before you went back to your room, continuing more work

Atsumu sat backwards in his desk chair, listening intently before he stood from his seat, plopping himself on the edge of his bed instinctively

Wanting to be closer to you

You kept your red eyes down as the areas around your eyes swelled

But looking closer, he could see the bags under your eyes

You fiddled with your shaky fingers, playing with the edge of the sleeves of his shirt you wore, wishing for more time

Time to relax, to do your work, to eat, enjoy life

But ever since school started up again, it felt like a clear punch to the gut and a black hole developed in your chest, eating away at the things that made you feel okay and stable

You couldn’t enjoy yourself anymore

“Can you hold me, please?” You pinched at the side of the thin fabric tank top he wore, your eyes and demeanor so childlike in his eyes, there was something about the way you were right now, it made him want to protect you

It took him a bit as he processed your words, the way you looked, how broken you were, realizing how fast his heart was beating for you now

“Yeah,” he nodded. “Sure”

The springs inside the mattress creaked once again as he laid down closer to the edge so you had as much room as possible beside him between his body and the wall

The mattress sunk around his body comfortably as you pressed your sleeve covered hands over your eyes, drying your tears, stifling your sniffles

He laid an arm down, his fingertips brushing the cool wall for your head as he watched you lay down slowly as if you were a delicate flower, laying close beside him, nuzzling against the warmth he emanated

The two of you laid awkwardly together

You couldn’t even relax into his body knowing how awkward it really was

“What’s got ya so worked up over?” He asked, breaking the silence as he stared up at the ceiling, waiting for you to fully relax since he could barely feel your body against his, aside from your head

“School…” you pushed out with a sigh

“Seriously?” He asked out of pure curiosity

This took atsumu aback since you were one of those people he knew for being on top of their work, someone in school where others held this image where they could ask you for help with anything

And to now see you so broken over something others were so sure you would thrive

“Are you fallin’ behind or somethin’?” He reached the arm you laid on, rubbing your shoulder as he laid still beside you, his other arm draped over his abdomen

“No, it’s not that, I’m just-“ you stopped to take in a breath, gathering your words. “I’m working myself too hard and I feel so.. lonely,” your voice grew softer as your voice cut out at the end but he heard you clearly

“I’ve been shutting myself in my room for too long and it feels like I can’t enjoy anything without feeling guilty…”

Your tears were hot as they cascaded over the bridge of your nose, past your other eye and into the fabric of Atsumu’s tank top

“Guilty about what? Of course you’re gonna be burned out if you constantly work. Why don’t ya take breaks?”

“That’s the thing,” you sat up, looking down at him, your voice sounded so dejected as it softly bounced around the room

“Whenever I do, I feel like I’m wasting time,” your voice cracked as you sniffled

The words hurt so much as they came out

Even sitting here in the presence of Atsumu, someone who was always like a pleasant thorn in your side, felt wrong

But you needed this so much - to be with someone, to hear their breathing, their voice, even the sound of someone moving around in the kitchen was enough

“I miss people, ‘Tsumu,” you sighed as hot tears cascaded down your dry face, dripping off your chin to his shirt you wore

You didn’t even care, let alone realize that you had called him ‘Tsumu like his brother had

“I want to feel okay again,” you broke as you pressed your palms to your eyes, the pins and needle feeling slowly prickling in the palm of your hands again

You felt the wave after wave of guilt and pathetic-ness crash through your body

It was only school, only about a month in and here you were

You had never felt so broken before, it felt so-

Two arms wrapped around your body, squeezing you close

The rain tapped on the glass as you nuzzled into his embrace not wanting this warmth to disappear, this scent, the sound of this heart beat

You wanted the person who was always at your side, never missing a beat to say something to you

“I hate this feeling, it feels so wrong inside of me,” you turned your face into his chest, holding onto this feeling of someone beside you

“You’re not alone,” his voice low and quiet, rumbling through his chest as he spoke, his hand secure on your upper arm, another stroking down your back before his fingers found its place at the base of your head

“There’re gonna be some heavy weeks and some light weeks, you got me?” He rest his chin on top of your head as he fell back into the mattress, still holding you

You practically laid on top of him as he tangled his leg with yours

“Breaks are good for ya,” he looked down to you, your red, teary eyes as you laid with your cheek pressed to his chest, your hand covered by his sleeve over your mouth and nose as you took deep, steady breaths again

“And if I find out that you’re not takin’ breaks, I’m gonna drag you out your room,” he brought his hand to your cheek, rubbing your tears away so your face was no longer wet

“You’re gonna be alright, I’m gonna make sure of it…” he paused until he realized his words, his true emotions for you beginning to slip out

“Cause I can’t poke fun at a crybaby,” he playfully scoffed

You repeated his words in your head, nodding along slowly as atsumu spoke words of encouragement, asking you about your week, talking through your next assignments

All to calm you back down

As the time passed, your worries slowly decreased in size but the hole was still there

Just smaller

he made sure to repeat hid words, his strokes and grazes on your body never stopping so you didn’t have to feel alone anymore

cause you weren’t

The room grew dimmer and dimmer as it got later and later

With the sound of jingling keys, the front door opened

Osamu tossed his keys to the couch, setting his backpack leaning against the side of it as he slipped out of his shoes, noticing yours was still there

Yet the house was silent

The only thing that could really be heard was the white static of the rain as it came to a steady shower ever since this afternoon

He pulled out his phone, the screen illuminating his face as he sat in the arm, looking back to his messages

“Tsk, I literally gave you one job, ‘ Tsum,” Osamu grumbled to himself noticing how there was no rice being made in the cooker as Osamu had messaged atsumu a few hours ago

The message was delivered, yet unread

With a huff, he pushed himself off of the arm of the couch, walking down the dark hall, approaching the slightly ajar bedroom door of his twin brother

Osamu nudged the door open with his foot but before he could nag his brother, he stood paused at the open door

The light for the streetlamp shined in, illuminating your bodies on the bed as Atsumu slept with one arm draped around your abdomen, legs tangled beneath the sheets that covered the lower halves of your body, using his other arm as his pillow so you could sleep on his pillow

You slept facing his chest, your hand holding onto his shirt

“‘Bout time,” Osamu smirked to himself as he shut the door silently

He had been wondering how long it would take for the two of you to finally get together and now he had his answer

All of high school and just a few months into college

~~~~~ Thanks for reading! Masterlist for more! Please do not repost anywhere else!

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shipping-kitchen · 3 years

Text

Sweet Burning Pleasure

Kinktober, Day One: Sex Pollen/Aphrodisiacs

Fandom: Resident Evil VIII

Pairing: Lady Dimitrescu/Female Reader

Words: 4,500

Warnings: body horror, really dubious consent/non-consensual, aphrodisiacs, the reader definitely thinks she’s going to die for most of the fic, lots of blood and blood drinking and vampire things, explicit sex, graphic descriptions of cuts and blood

Summary: You are a maid in the Dimitrescu Castle, doing your best to keep your head down and survive. You eventually catch the attention of the Lady of the castle.

Important Note: I’m posting my Kinktober one-shots daily on tumblr, unedited! Eventually I’ll edit them and post them on AO3, but for now this is the first draft, and I hope you enjoy it ^-^

You were well aware that working at the Dimitrescu Castle was tantamount to a death sentence, but when Mother Miranda asked for new women to volunteer… it was an honour to be recognized by her. It would guarantee that your parents would eat well for the coming winter. The years in the village had stretched on, and you knew that your chances of staying on the farm were slim. Too many of your childhood friends had already been ushered away, to experiments and servitude to the Lords that surrounded the town.

You could become a wife in the town, produce more children to continue the cycle, but you couldn’t stomach the idea of marrying one of the men that you had grown up beside. Better to step forward, volunteer as a maid, accept the new dress that was sent your way, pack your scant belongings, and hug your parents goodbye as you began the walk towards the castle that loomed above your village.

You were wearing the dress that had been given to you when you were chosen: a grey dress that gathered at the waist and then flared out around your legs, falling to just below your knees. Paired with the apron that rested overtop, it was more elegant than the clothes you grew up with, but still clearly the clothes of a servant.

Your bag bumped against your shoulder blades as you walked through the gates, leaving your village behind. It was early Spring, and the vineyards were beginning to fill with greenery. The lattices surrounded you, the scent of fresh soil and new growth almost covering the decay of the scarecrows that hung around the path.

It was easier to look at the slowly growing vines than to face forward and the castle doors becoming larger as you drew towards it. Your heart was pounding, anxiety prickling on the back of your neck and the tips of your fingers. No one ever came back from the castle, and you had no idea what was waiting for you inside.

All too soon, your feet were climbing the stone steps towards the main doors. You paused in front of them, fixing the folds of your dress and pressing your hair back into place. Then you took a deep breath and knocked on the door.

It was long seconds before the door opened, revealing another woman in a similar grey dress. It wasn’t someone from the village, which didn’t surprise you. All of the Lords hired foreigners, the village not enough to staff their needs. She was an older woman, her hair beginning to grey.

You curtseyed, a small bobbing movement.

“I’m the new maid, ma’am. Sent from the village.”

“Well, come inside.” The woman stepped back and you obediently stepped inside, trying not to flinch as the huge door was shut behind you. “What’s your name, girl?”

The main hall of the castle was resplendent and golden. A large painting of three women was illuminated across the hall. There were delicate vases and intricate designs everywhere you looked. You told the woman your name, occupied with gazing around the hall in awe. You had never seen such splendor, and it filled you with both fear and anticipation.

“Hmm. Well, I’m the housekeeper, Ms. Matheski. You’ll take your orders from me. Welcome to Castle Dimitrescu.”

You had expected life at the castle to be something out of a horror movie, abstract ideas of dark hallways and boarded up rooms. The truth was much different: life at the castle was hard work.

There were dozens of rooms, and you had to prepare each one on a rotating schedule. There were sheets to wash in the river, fireplaces to clean out, mantels to polish, floors to mop. Every day, you worked hard and collapsed into bed for a deep sleep.

You rarely saw the mistresses of the castle, dressed all in black and cackling as they walked down the halls together. All of the servants knew to get out of the way when their voices came down the hallway. No one discussed the red crusted around the mistresses’ mouths, but everyone knew. The servants cleaned out the goblets, after all.

Sometimes, you encountered Lady Dimitrescu. While her daughters announced themselves with their raucous conversation, the lady of the house moved with an unpredictable silence. Many times, you were on your knees in front of a fireplace, covered in ashes, when you looked up to see Lady Dimitrescu behind you, watching your work.

The first time it had happened, you had scrambled to your feet, dropping to your lowest curtsey. Your eyes on the ground, you waited. Her presence was all-encompassing: she was so large, and in her white dress, unlike anything else in the castle.

Lady Dimistrecu had laughed and told you to continue working. On her way out of the room, she had touched her fingers to the top of your head, and your knees had gone weak from fear. And then she was gone, and you collapsed back in front of the fireplace.

Since then, you had gotten used to the Lady’s presence, and the way she came and went, overseeing everyone’s work. Those who made mistakes were the ones to disappear: you made sure that you listened carefully and double-checked your work.

And so you survived, into the winter.

Winter in the castle was different: the fires were kept blazing, more wood being ordered from the village almost daily. The windows were boarded up, to keep out the cold. Before, the Dimitrescu daughters had come and gone from the castle, but now they remained in their rooms, more sullen and more likely to lash out.

You kept working, you kept your head down. You did your best to avoid the daughters and please the Lady. Ms. Matheski was never displeased with your work, but she wasn’t warm with any of the girls who worked in the castle. You didn’t blame her.

One day, you had been assigned to the main hall. The main hall had to be cleaned daily, unlike the other rooms, and it was a dangerous assignment. Lady Dimitrescu was picky about the banister, and the daughters often came through the main hall on their way from their rooms. The winter was dragging on, and the mistresses were restless. Daniella, especially, had taken to tormenting the maids: tearing their clothes, throwing rats at them while they worked, and occasionally dragging them off to the lower levels, where you had never been asked to work.

You made your way into the main hall cautiously, entering through the servant door. It was empty, and you got down to work. The fireplace was first, cleaned out and then refilled with new wood and lit again. The castle was kept at a warmth that was almost stifling in winter, but you knew better than to complain.

Once the fire was lit, you turned your attention to the dishes that had been left on the table in the hall. The daughters liked to dine here, and often left a mess. It would take you several trips across the castle to the kitchen to clear the table, so it was best to get started.

You gathered up the first stack of dishes and made off, your dress swirling around your legs as you made your way down the familiar hallways. You tried not to let them rattle, cautious of drawing attention to yourself, and breathed a sigh of relief when you reached the kitchen without incident.

“Dishes from the main hall,” you told the maid washing dishes. “More to come.”

She nodded in acknowledgement and you headed back out the door, your soft leather shoes making no noise on the carpeted hallway as you went back to the main hall.

When you entered the hall, you froze. Lady Dimitrescu and her daughters were all in the hall, warming themselves in front of the fire you had recently lit. Bela was reclining against her mother’s chest, her sisters’ heads resting on their mother’s legs. It was a relaxed tableau, and not something you felt that you should be present for.

But Lady Dimistrecu was already looking towards the door as you stepped in, so you dropped into a hasty curtsy and reached behind yourself for the door.

“Please, continue,” the Lady commanded, waving her hand towards you. “The table needs clearing.”

“Yes, my Lady,” you said, hearing your voice come out quiet and hesitant. You clenched your jaw against your own hesitation, and walked towards the table. You could feel the eyes of the daughters upon you. You only hoped that their closeness with their mother would be enough to keep them content.

You gathered the plates and the goblets, trying to keep your hands from shaking. You could do this, despite the eyes on you. You could do this.

Distracted by your fear and the prickling awareness of your watchers, you picked up one of the knives the wrong way, and felt hot pain shoot through your palm.

You inhaled, but made no sound of pain, and forced yourself not to jerk back. Instead, you calmly placed the knife on the stack of plates with the others, and picked up the stack.

When you turned, Cassandra was standing directly in front of you. You had never seen one of the daughters this close, and it was immediately apparent that there was something wrong with her eyes. It looked like there was something moving inside the darkness of her pupils.

You refused to flinch backwards. Fear crawled up your spine, but you stood still. You held the plates steady. Your palm was burning where you had cut it.

Cassandra’s hand shot out and wrapped around your wrist.

Despair grew around you. This was sure to be the end, no matter how careful you had been.

She pulled your hand forward, and there was no resisting her grip. The plates slipped from your grasp and shattered on the floor at your feet.

Your palm was splayed upwards, and you could see how shallow the cut had been. Only a few beads of blood were brought to the surface, tiny droplets along a jagged line where the knife had dug into your skin.

An unnatural whine came from Cassandra’s chest, more like a cicada’s song than a human voice. She leaned towards your palm, and you closed your eyes, unwilling to watch.

There was a growl and then a harsh tug as Cassandra’s hand was pulled off your wrist. You pulled your hand back to your chest, opening your eyes to see Bela tussling with Cassandra on the floor, both of them making a strange growling-whining noise.

“Mine,” Cassandra hissed.

“Mine,” Bela growled back, and slammed her hand through her sister’s head. Insects exploded around her arm, twining up towards Bela’s face, and both of them dissolved into a swarm of struggling insects. As they fought, you took two steps back, and then pelted towards one of the further doors.

You didn’t expect to make it, but somehow, the door was closing behind you and you were still running, following the winding hallways back to your room. You slammed the door to your room and leaned against it, panting.

You could feel your heartbeat drumming against your ribs and your temples, your hand clenched in a fist around the cut that had started the fight. You knew, logically, that you aren’t safe here. This room was just another part of their castle, it would be easy enough to find you.

But you were in your own space. No one had ever come into this room while you’d been here. It was your safety in the castle. A place where you had never felt afraid. The fear was already beginning to fade, even as you struggled to hold onto it. Should you run? Would they forget? Would their mother blame you for their fight?

You unclenched your hand and looked at the cut again. The blood was already beginning to dry. You knew you should clean it, your hands still ashy from the fireplace. There was a washbasin in your room and you moved towards it, dipping your hands into the cold water. It came from the well outside the castle, and while it was boiled for the Lady’s baths and morning toilette, it was still cold for your own basin. It grounded you, washed away the last of the adrenaline. You watched the ashes swirl into the water. There wasn’t enough blood to turn the water pink. Such a small cut.

Surely it would be easily forgotten.

As you dried your hands, there was a knock on your door. One, two, three raps, and then silence.

The fear returned, a lump in your throat as you moved towards the door. There were no windows in your room, no escape from whatever waited on the other side. A disappointed housekeeper, a curious maid, a murderous mistress…

You put your hand on the doorknob, inhaled, and opened the door.

White fabric greeted you, falling in elegant ripples to the ground.

“Hello, my pet,” said Lady Dimitrescu. “May I come in?”

You stumbled back, unable to deny her. She bent to enter your room, her hat brushing the edges of the doorway. Like her daughters, she was pale as moonlight. When she straightened, she was very close to the ceiling. The servant’s quarters lacked the high ceilings of the rest of the house, not made with the Lady of the house in mind.

“I’m sorry, my Lady,” you managed. “I didn’t mean to drop the plates.”

“Mmm. My daughters are impatient. I don’t blame you for the accident.” Lady Dimitrescu reached towards you, and you allowed it. Her hand wrapped around your wrist, just as Cassandra had held you earlier, but the scale was different. Her palm cupped your entire wrist, her fingers wrapping up your arm to the elbow. You had never felt so small, so helpless, so delicate. “I’ve spoken with them.”

“I… thank you.” Your body was thrumming with a mixture of fear, hope, and contact. Her fingertips rested delicately on the inside of your arm, against the veins.

“You are a rare delight,” Lady Dimitrescu murmured. “You caught my daughters off-guard.” Gently, she turned your palm upwards to show the faint line where the knife had cut. Her thumb traced the mark, expression going hazy for a moment. “You surprised me as well.”

“My Lady?” you asked, unsure what to make of her attention. You tried pulling your hand back, and her grip tightened on your arm, sudden enough to make you gasp. Her eyes snapped upwards to meet your gaze, and she looked hungry.

“It’s been a long winter, my dear,” Lady Dimitrescu said, as if it were a confession, as if this were a conversation, as if she were not holding you in place. “The wine is sweet, but you… are almost certainly sweeter.”

That was enough for you to know where this was going. You pushed yourself backwards, trying to wrench your arm from Lady Dimitrescu’s grasp, but it was no use. Her fingers were like marble on your wrist, solid and unbreaking.

“Hush, my pet.”

Her other hand wrapped around the back of your neck, and you heard yourself make a short sound of fear. Instinct made you freeze in place, your nape cradled in her palm. Her fingers rested on your collarbones. She was leaning down above you, and her eyes were so dark and hungry.

“It will not hurt,” Lady Dimitrescu whispered.

And then her lips were on your neck, and she was lying, it hurt, soft lips and sharp teeth and then searing pain up and down your spine. You could hear yourself crying out, you could hear the sound of her licking the blood from the bite mark. It was wet and wrong and you couldn’t free yourself from her grasp, no matter how you squirmed in her arms.

It seemed like forever before the pain began to dull, still radiating along your shoulder and back. The ache drew inwards and became almost unimportant. Lady Dimitrescu’s arms were strong around you. You could let your body relax, and still she held you close to her. Your blood had stained the white satin of the arm she held behind your head, keeping your neck steady as she fed. You could feel her lips and tongue, teasing the ragged holes made by her teeth, keeping the blood flowing. But somehow, it just didn’t hurt. You found yourself eased by her closeness, the certainty of her hold on your body.

Between one breath and the next, Lady Dimitrescu drew back with one last kiss to your wounds. She looked like her daughters now, crimson all around her lips and dripping down her chin, messy and dark. She groaned as she looked down at you, her gaze flickering from your neck to your eyes and back again.

You still felt like unable to move. Lady Dimitrescu was holding you, and there was no need to go anywhere. Your limbs were too heavy, even if you had wanted to. You blinked up at her, dazed by the hunger that still burned in her eyes after her meal.

Gently, Lady Dimitrescu lifted you into her arms like a child, cradling your head and hips. She laid you down on the bed, traced a finger through the ruined skin where she had bit you.

“As sweet as any fruit before Mother’s gift,” the Lady whispered, kneeling beside the bed. “You are exquisite.”

You wanted to touch the blood on her lips, but your hand only lifted slightly when you tried to move it.

She smiled at the movement, took your hand in hers. Again, you felt like a doll between her palms, so all-encompassing.

“Let me give you a gift of my own, my sweet.” You watched Lady Dimitrescu reach up and take off her hat, tossing it carelessly to the other side of the room. Her hair was held in a low coil behind her head, and she pulled the elastics from it, letting the waves fall over her shoulders. From the centre of the coil, she extracted a narrow blade. It was silver, delicate carvings on the blade flashing in the low lights of your room.

The Lady of the castle always wore gloves, but now she took them off and put them on your bedside table. Beneath the leather gloves, her hands were grey and white lines like marble spread beneath her skin. She rolled up one blood-soaked sleeve of her dress, and you saw that the white and grey lines went all the way up her body. Glancing at her face, from so close to her, it was clear that she was wearing some kind of makeup to make her appear pale like her daughters.

Lady Dimitrescu brought the blade down on her own arm, and you watched it cut through her skin. You half-expected the blood to be grey, but it was as red as your own.

She held her arm over your mouth, and you felt the warm droplets drip onto your lips. Soon your lips would look just as scarlet as hers.

“Open up, my pet,” Lady Dimitrescu told you, a smile in her voice.

Obediently, you parted your lips, and the blood met your tongue. It didn’t taste like metal and copper, as it did when you bit your lip. This was rich and full and thick, burning in your throat like whiskey when you swallowed it.

“Good.”

She watched you drink, your blood on her lips and hers on your own. The burning in your throat spread to your stomach and then out to the tips of your toes and your fingers, even your scalp prickling with sudden warmth. The dull ache of your neck went away, and when Lady Dimitrescu passed her fingers over the bitemark again, you felt that the holes are gone, your skin whole and healed. Her fingers still came back red with blood, though, which she licked from her fingertips with clear enjoyment.

Too soon, her arm healed and the blood stopped. You opened your mouth, silently asking for more, and she laughed at you, a low chuckle that made the burning even worse.

Then she leaned down and pressed her lips to yours.

There was the familiar taste of your own blood, thin and metallic. There was the unfamiliar feeling of lips against yours, prompting and playing. Her teeth nipped at your lip, and you returned the favour. She hummed approval, and you brought your hands up to run your fingers through her hair. You hadn’t noticed when the heaviness had left your body, but now every atom of you was screaming that you want to be closer to her.

Your Lady pressed into the kiss, overwhelming you for a moment. There was so much to think about, tongue and teeth and lips and the silken feeling of her hair. Her fingers were cupping your chin, changing the angle of the kiss, trailing down your neck to caress your collarbones.

The light touches were setting your body on fire, pressing up to get more contact. Lady Dimitrescu obliged, curling herself over you. Her knees rested low on the bed, her arms wrapped around you, the bed complaining under your combined weight. She was a solid wall of fabric brushing against your chest, your hips, and you wanted to be closer.

Lady Dimitrescu broke from the kiss and you moved on instinct, pressing your lips to the corner of her jaw. She tilted her head, giving you access, and you kissed down the elegant curve of her neck. When the need for more pressed at you again, you bit down on her neck. She moaned, and it was the most human sound you’d heard from her all night. You kissed and bit down to her shoulder, pushing the fabric of her dress out of the way.

You felt like you were out of your mind with this strange burning that flared through your body, needing something from her, needing everything from her. You tore satin in your quest for her skin, some still-rational part of your brain shocked at your audacity.

Grey skin stretched down her shoulders, marked with those same pale lines. She was warm under your lips, and you scraped her skin with your teeth. Lady Dimitrescu shifted against you, holding you closer, and you could hear her breathing unevenly.

At least you weren’t alone in this wild need. She was hungry for you, and you could taste it when she brought your lips back to hers, with new urgency.

“Please, my Lady,” you managed when she drew back. You didn’t know what you were begging for, and she was a work of art with her dress torn, hanging off one shoulder, blood and lipstick smeared across her chin.

“Yes,” Lady Dimistrescu said, her voice low. She leaned back and you whined at the loss of her warm presence, but then her hands were lifting your dress, effortlessly freeing you from its layers. The rush of air on your bare skin did nothing to cool the fire, and you grabbed for her wrists as she threw your dress carelessly across the room.

Only when Lady Dimitrescu’s hands were back on your bare skin did you relax, arching into the sensation. Her fingers are a little sharp, and she traced them delicately across the lines of your ribs, the soft rolls of your stomach, and then, teasing, across the curve of your breasts. You could feel your breath catch, helpless to stop yourself from pressing into the touch.

She practically purrs at that, leaning down to lick the remaining blood from your neck. Stopping to nibble your collarbone, she mouths down to the top of your breasts, cupping them and tracing their outline. It is a sublime torture as Lady Dimitrescu puts her mouth to you and you feel her tongue tracing around your swiftly hardening nipple.

You hear your voice crying out, hear your Lady humming her pleasure, feel her hands pinning down your hips. The air is cold: the sheets are soft: there is so much sensation racing through your body.

“Please,” you whisper, shuddering against her. “Please, please.”

And her hands run down from your hips, along the line of your outer thighs, and then delicately up the delicate inner thigh, making you squirm. She is close to where you’re soaking through your undergarments, so close and so far.

You’re panting, burning, moaning, and then her hands are finally on you, certain through the fabric. Her tongue, her fingers, you rock between them, overwhelmed.

Lady Dimitrescu slides your undergarments down without lifting her mouth from your breast and then you are bare to her, entirely. You can feel how wet you are when she runs her fingers across you. It’s too much and not enough.

Her touch leaves you for a moment, and you gasp for breath. When she touches you, it feels like the whole world narrows to her fingers and mouth. Without her, there is too much. The room is cold and you are still burning.

Lady Dimitrescu doesn’t make you wait long: she slides back on top of you, her knees caging your legs as she bends down to kiss you. She is too large for the bed, nearly bent in half to reach your mouth, a nightmare of grey skin and streaked blood, and she is everything you desire. She kisses with a demanding pace, and you return it.

Her fingers creep back up your inner thighs and you spread your legs as best you can. Your Lady is quick to return to your centre, starting slowly with her exploration. It brings the fire down for a moment, calm strokes along your folds, teasing brushes across your clit. Then the light touches begin to be too little, and you squirm under her. She draws back from the kiss to laugh again, and strokes you in earnest. Pleasure blooms from her fingers, and you lose track of your body. Your edges are dissolving into something greater, the only concrete part of you the place where her fingers are taking you apart.

She bites down again, this time just above your collarbone, and everything comes apart.

There are waves of awareness and pleasure, Lady Dimitrescu guiding you through them with leisurely movements of her fingers.

Once the shaking has passed, you collapse onto your pillow. Everything feels very distant, echoes of a real world that has stopped existing.

Lady Dimitrescu presses a kiss to the bloody mark that she left on your shoulder, and shifts you closer to her. When she bends her legs, she barely fits onto the bed, and your legs are draped over her thighs, your head pillowed on her arm.

“Sleep, my sweet,” your Lady whispers, running her thumb over the curve of your hip. “Rest and heal. I will be here when you wake.”

You have no choice but to obey, darkness dragging you downwards. The last thing you are aware of is the warmth of her embrace.

#nsft #lemon #kinktober #kinktober 2021 #resident evil #re8 lady dimitrescu #re8 #lady dimitrescu/reader #resident evil village #my writing #tw dubious consent #tw noncon #dubious consent

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tilbageidanmark · 3 years

Photo

Movies I watched this week - 39

I spent over 50 (!) hours on the sofa this week, (enjoying myself 85% of the time)...

Sløborn, an ominous Danish-German TV pandemic series, very much like Soderbergh’s ‘Contagion’ and in ‘Black Mirror’ style. Normal life of a small island community between Denmark and Germany breaks down and completely collapses when it is hit by a lethal bird flue like virus.

It was extremely prescient, as it was shot in 2019, before Covid! Conceived as Si-fi, it looks today like TV, because the series was able to capture everything that happened around the world after January 2020 in accurate details.

With Roland Møller (of ‘Riders of Justice’). 7+/10

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My introduction to “The grandmother of The French New Wave”, Agnès Varda (Hard to believe that I never saw her films before!):

��️✳️✳️ “Inspiration, Creation and Sharing...” Varda by Agnès, my first Varda is her last 2019 auto-biography, in which, at 90, she shared footage and stories from her life and work. The first sample clip (of meeting her Uncle Yanco in Sausalito) won me over, and the rest convinced me to catch up on everything I’ve missed through the years. What a wonderful artist!

✳️✳️✳️ Cléo from 5 to 7. A feminine film about female identity - a new favorite! A beautiful singer must wait 2 hours for the results of her cancer tests. With a magnifique mid-film scene (at 0;38) of the heartbreaking chanson 'Sans Toi', marking the beginning of her quiet transformation.

✳️✳️✳️ Vagabond, a story of a lonely, young woman, an unapologetic drifter, unglamorous, aimless, independent, desperately lost. Dark and nonjudgmental exploration of the refusal to conform to anything. 8+/10.

✳️✳️✳️ (For Sammy - Per our conversation). The Gleaners and I, "The eighth best documentary film of all time”, per ‘Sight & Sound poll. Derived from the famous painting by Millet. Simply wonderful!

✳️✳️✳️ One Hundred And One Nights, 100 year old Michel Piccoli “Monsieur Simon Cinema”, hires a young girl to reminisce with about the history of cinema. An unsuccessful Meta-film that nevertheless is a love letter for cinephiles. Populated by 3 dozens of Who’s Who of French (and World) stars, playacting in this symbolic, Fellinisque fable that draws upon the classics. Mastroianni, Depardieu, Belmondo, Alain Delon, Catherine Deneuve, Jeanne Moreau, Anouk Aimée, Fanny Ardant, Gina Lollobrigida, Jane Birkin, etc, etc..

(Photo Above).

✳️✳️✳️ The Young Girls of Rochefort, the wonderful, colorful, sentimental musical by Varda’s husband Jacques Demy, with the most beautiful woman in the world and her sister. Romantic eye candy set to music by Michel Legrand. A year later Deneuve would do Belle de Jour, and Françoise Dorléac would die in a car accident, 8+/10

✳️✳️✳️ Even better, The Young Girls Turn 25, Varda’s 1993 behind the scenes documentary and return to small town Rocheford, to show how it changed the town and left an impression. 9/10

“...The memory of happiness is perhaps also happiness...”

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The other Jacques Demy modern opera The Umbrellas of Cherbourg knocked me over all over again. Catherine Deneuve’s angelic beauty in this film made me cry for the duration like a baby. And not only at the train station when they say goodbye forever.

10/10

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Night moves, a tense thriller by Kelly Reichardt, about three radical environmentalists who blow up an Oregon dam. Slow and tense, and like her ‘First Cow’, watching it filled me with constant, low-level anxiety. The off-screen sabotage is placed at the exact mid-point of the movie: The first half is the preparation for it, and the second half shows the aftermath of the act. 7+/10

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2 unexpected Small Town gems by Miguel Arteta:

✳️✳️✳️ The good Girl, an odd and surprising mismatched romance between 30 year old Jennifer Aniston and Jake Gyllenhaal (22) as employees of a Texas big-box store that is always empty. Her voice-over reminded me of True Romance’s Alabama Whitman. 7/10

✳️✳️✳️ Ed Helms, a sheltered insurance salesman from the backwaters of Wisconsin, goes to an convention in the big city of Cedar Rapids, Iowa. The nearly conventional story arc has some genuinely heartfelt funny moments. With Maeby Fünke, as Bree the prostitute and Sigourney Weaver as the ex-teacher he balls. Also a surprising drug party, where he smoke crack cocaine and loves it. 5+/10

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Same theme of people prostituting their own ‘morals’, the notoriously-prudish 1993 Indecent Proposal didn’t age too well. “Billionaire”-porn that asks the question ‘How much would you pay for one night with Robert Redford?’ Gratuitous semi-naked Demi Moore included.

Related: “Stop hitting the button!”

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Wildland (Kød & blod = Flesh and blood), an uncomfortable and claustrophobic Danish gangster thriller about a 17 year old girl who moves in with the criminal family of Sidse Babett Knudsen, her estranged aunt. 6+/10

“For some people, things go wrong before they even begin”

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Jim Jarmusch‘s Broken Flowers, a touching road film with Bill Murray, as an old ‘Don Juan’ who receive a pink, unsigned letter from an old lover, letting him know that he has a 20 year old son he never knew about.

Loveliest film of the week.

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The 2 films directed by Tom Ford:

✳️✳️✳️ A single Man, a sad and lonely gay professor, closeted in 1962 Los Angeles, is preparing to kill himself with a gun, after his boyfriend / love of his life had died in a car accident. Mute and haunting aesthetics in the fashion designer��s debut film, based on a Christopher Isherwood novel.

The ‘Stormy Weather’ dance scene between Charley and George. 8/10

✳️✳️✳️ Nocturnal Animals: Amy Adams is an unhappy owner of a fancy art gallery who receives a disturbing book manuscript written by her ex-husband, which symbolizes their relationship 20 years prior. Rarefied visuals and distinctive style.

Starts with an astonishing scene of obese old ladies dancing naked at Amy’s gala event. Michael Shannon rules as a dying Texas detective! 6+/10.

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Jean Vigo’s 1933 classic Zero for Conduct was so blatantly anarchistic, it was immediately banned in France until after WW2. In silent film style, it tells about a group of mischievous kids who rebel against the authorities of their old-fashioned boarding school. Part-inspiration for Truffaut's 400 Blows.

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Anatomy of a murder, Otto Preminger’s 1960 courtroom drama, with opening credits by Saul Bass. Crisp black & white cinematography, and with rape victim Lee Remick playing it as an outgoing loose girl of ambiguous morals, a modern floozy. 7/10.

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Blush, a wondrous, spectacularly-animated, wordless short by Joe Mateo. What starts as a riff on ‘The Little Prince’, ends up like the opening montage from ‘Up’. The obvious realization that this is a personal metaphor makes the story even deeper.

I watched it twice back to back. 10/10

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If You're Not in the Obit, Eat Breakfast - 95 year old Carl Reiner asks a bunch of charming nonagenarian friends how they manage to live so well for so long. Their answers may (not) shock you...

Spry Dick Van Dyke (92) and half-his-age wife end the film with a lovely rendition of “Young at heart”

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Hi-school-level adaptation of Thomas Piketty's book Capital in the 21st Century. A breezy discussion of how slave economy and colonialist military repression 300 years ago turn into extreme capitalism of inequality & tax-avoidance today. America is now similar economically to what England was in the early 1800s. A tiny percentage of society controls almost all its wealth. (Full text of the book here).

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Ride the eagle, a flat new indie about a guy whose estranged hippy mother leaves him her cabin at the lake when she dies, but only if he complete a certain list of tasks. Could be so much better, but the actor playing the guy was just so terrible. Unlike JK Simmons who had a small role. Best detail, when he discovers that all the cabinets in the house are full with pot.

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Old, my first, (and possibly last), M. Night Shyamalan. The seductive premise of a secluded beach at a fancy tropical resort that ages everybody who comes there, turns into an unconvincing Twilight Zone bore.

...”(Gurgling sounds)”...

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First watch: I never saw (any) Planet of the apes before, and in spite of my misgivings, gave it a go. 100% anthropomorphic, it couldn’t visualize a universe different from the American mindset of that period. Preachy and very Rod Sterling-like. "It's a madhouse in here”. Pass!

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The latest Veritasium YouTube video about bowling current technology. Always interesting.

- - - - -

Throw-back to the art project:

Planet of the Apes Adora.

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(My complete movie list is here)

#movies

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leviiattacks · 3 years

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Two Faced | Chapter Seven

↳ levi ackerman, the very person who was about to kindly behead you by a surprising turn of events manages to become your loving husband? you would be elated if this was true love, but it’s all thanks to a mysterious magic spell that your life is spared, for now at least.

pairing :: duke!levi x duchess!reader genre :: royal au ??? (at this point idek) angst, fluff, slice of life etc ?? word count :: 2.6k author note :: ofc the reader would still be considered to be a duchess which is why it’s duchess!reader but i guess there’s just more themes of war and titans etc than i expected. so i guess it’s also cadet!reader ?? i promise i have a plan OK! T___T. anyways i hope that’s alright and not very confusing the original premise very much still stands!! :D also i promise levi gets better maybe soon who knows... → click here for the next part !

It's understandable why she's noticeably alarmed by the shift in behaviour, the concept of Levi showing any inclination towards caring about you is foreign to the both of you.

"The Duke has also been asking me and Mikasa the most peculiar questions too."

You blink. "What sorts of questions?"

"Ones concerning your past" She begins and your curiosity piques. "Asked if you ever mentioned anything about your old life. Basic information, I don't understand why he would ask now."

"He asked about me?" You question incredulously. This is surreal.

Bobbing her head up and down you stare closely at her trying to figure out if she's serious and she passes your test with flying colours.

You don't know if you should be nervous or afraid, perhaps he shifted back to his loving self for a while? Thousands of explanations surge past you but you can't pinpoint what exactly could have caused him to ask such questions. As far as you know, he's never been interested in you unless a transaction has been involved. That's all it's been since he snapped out of the spell. A purely transactional relationship.

Sasha places a firm hand on your shoulder "Talk to him, figure out what's going on." Her suggestion makes you shudder, frankly you're fearful around him after the events of yesterday night.

Whatever sick and twisted mind game he's playing at you won't let yourself become prisoner to it.

"No," You shake your head simply. "This is another one of his stealthy tactics, I won't give into it out of desperation."

"All the more reason to question where his morals lay." Sasha is persistent. The anxiety is burning itself into your body and it's tough to disregard its presence.

If there's one thing you have learnt in your lifetime it's to put trust in as little people as possible. You have your confidants and are dedicated to keeping your friendships with them. Sasha and Mikasa are loyal at heart and their steadfast nature is incomparable. But, they are anomalies. As much as you would like to admit that there are many diamonds similar to those two you can't.

It's rare to find reliable individuals in this harsh reality full of wealth, jealousy and power hungry survival. Levi, is a man you refuse to put even an ounce of trust into.

Putting any faith in him is hazardous. His unflappable demeanour, self-control, the knack he has for long-winded and gradual manipulation. Distant, bitter and calculating. You think he wouldn't care less if you were to drop dead this instant. In reality you aren't a human being to him, simply a problem out of the very many he already has. So why the sudden interest? Why? What is it he's after this time?

You've signed your life away to this empire under the ruse of becoming an informant. You're risking your life for him. What more does he want to coax out of you?

Those are the thoughts that scuttle past you as you pace in one of the very many hallways within the estate. Your initial destination had been his office but you retreat. For now you choose to withdraw from a battle of words. You aren't prepared.

But life has a way of never letting you pick when you encounter him.

The sound of footsteps behind you is a blunt indicator he's near but you let your naivety pray it's simply a maid. "Cadet." And there he is. Snarling behind your ear, breath blazing.

Cadet?

He must be able to tell you don't recognise the name which rolls off his tongue, especially when the two of you aren't in a professional setting, its placement is odd.

"What? Do you think you're worthy of a better term?" He's taunting you, disgusted that you're dense enough to think you're deserving of any other title.

Arms clasped behind his back he takes a long stride forward, you take a step back in response, he steps forward again and you move in the opposite direction again.

"I'm not used to it that's all. I know I am no Duchess."

His raspy voice creeps into your ear "Get used to it. You are my subordinate, don't assume this is a level playing field."

"Do you hop into all of your cadet's beds very often Sir?"

The question comes out of nowhere and as soon as the words have left your lips you slap your palms over your mouth taken aback just by how easy it is for the impulsive side of your brain to defy him.

"Really?" He asks darkly, and when you narrow your eyes in bewilderment, he coughs, clearing his throat to begin again. "Are you willing to bring this up right now?"

He's as close as ever now, if he moves an inch closer his nose will brush against yours, it suddenly feels difficult to breathe but you swallow the struggle away still unsure if you can force yourself to reply to his question. Is there a right or wrong answer?

For once, you choose to be selfish and put your interests before anyone else's even if that means risking your safety in the process. You just want to understand for once how his brain works.

Balling your fists into two you manage to squeak out what you've been holding back "Do you pry into the personal life of each and every one of your cadets or does that special rule only seem to apply to me?"

"Do you give all of your cadets random days off?"

"Do you-"

He grabs the back of your ponytail with his gloved hands, his skin isn't directly touching yours but the firm grip he has on you doesn't stop your cheeks from flooding with warmth. Fumbling around you're about to scream when he pulls at your hair again jestingly, his other arm moves to securely hold you keeping you stuck in the position you're in.

"Levi." You squirm around awkwardly trying to escape his grasp but he doesn't find this at all amusing.

"Captain." His firm correction catches you off guard.

"Sorry. Captain." Your throat is dry as you croak out the short reply.

Straightening your back you try to shake off the hold he has on your hair but he only tugs your head backwards warning you. Your bare neck is exposed and his eyes slip to your half done buttons. Rolling his eyes he knows if it were any other male member of the corps even the oh so respectable and mature Erwin Smith who caught you like this they would fantasize about how you look underneath that flimsy button up. It's now slipping down one of your shoulders.

Moving the arm that has been holding you down he jerks the fabric back up your shoulder.

"I was under that spell of yours. You're naive to think there's any other reason." He returns venomously, his voice is dripping in poison determined to exterminate any of the attitude you've shown him in the past two minutes.

"Why all the questions about my personal life? I was informed you interrogated a few of my friends."

He tugs at your hair again, you tilt backwards. "What do you hope to get out of this? Find out I have some sort of secret feelings for you?"

In the blink of an eye your bubble has been burst, deep down you did hope that was what this was about. It's not that you would like for him to love you, you wouldn't mind it but, if he loves you your safety is guaranteed that's all that matters. That's what you tell yourself. You don't miss the old him no you don't.

The colour drains from your face when you hear what he has to say afterwards.

"Adorable." His tone is spiked in mockery. "How fond you are of me, but I have no interest in the likes of you."

Heart leaping to your throat the simmering rejection settles.

"And. If you must know, you were given a day off today because Hange insisted every cadet have a day of rest before we all relocate to the training facility's dorms." You curse yourself, the transfer had slipped your mind completely.

"Got it? Fucking prissy princess." The expletive makes you wince.

Then he's silent, it's deafening and bizarrely you find his silence all the more daunting and menacing than when he speaks.

Wrestling yourself out of the grasp he has on your hair is your next move but he loosens his grip without being told to.

Levi allows for you to retreat with no further arguments.

And just like that the rare day off goes past as quick as it happens.

You learn that ignoring Levi is your best bet at living a peaceful life within the walls of this Kingdom. Follow the orders he gives you and you almost always guarantee your own safety. Living. Even if it isn't a happy life you are aware there will be some pleasant moments. Living to experience those moments is the only motivation you have.

Erwin has said you would benefit from working with the rest of the cadets more often. It stops them from questioning why you receive personal training - after all they are unaware of the deal stricken up between you and Levi, it's understandable for the influx of questions.

You don't mind, after all training with Mikasa by your side for most of your days sounds more appealing in the long term. It usually gets lonely and tedious being alone. The prospect of being around the other cadets appeals to you too. You haven't actually had the opportunity to speak to very many of them and a few new members have apparently joined the ranks as of today.

Curiosity is kicking in, everyone is mumbling about the new cadets joining the squadron. You count as one of the new additions you suppose, there's no other explanation for why everyone whispers and murmurs as you stroll into the crowded training area with Mikasa by your side.

"Isn't she the one who banged her head?" muffled chuckles are heard but you pay no mind to the expected response, they'll soon be done talking about you when the next person in line embarrasses them self in your place. Levi's sharp tongue has conditioned you to pay no mind to the commentary of the other cadets. Nobody seems to be able to humiliate you in his fashion.

Mikasa doesn't take the same approach as you when greeted by the unwelcoming whispers, instead she whips her head in the direction of the insults, it looks as if she's thinking about careening one of her steel blades at the group just to instill some respect into them but the simple jerk of her body facing them is enough to make them rotate away in panic and curve the topic of discussion elsewhere.

She mutters something unclear under her breath, you would ask her to repeat her sentence but you're sure all she's done is call the boys infantile and stupid for the way they conduct themselves.

Everyone is introducing themselves and you familiarize yourself with some faces. Krista, the human embodiment of a dainty flower, she's as sweet as honey, A brunette ruffles her hair, she seems close to Krista, she doesn't even bother to introduce herself until she tells her too. Ymir, is her name.

Next you acquaint yourself with Connie, he's friendly and more than happy to converse with you, a breathe of fresh air from the cramped nature of the gossiping group from before.

Everything is going smoothly but then you feel a shoulder slink over your arm, it's not Mikasa it doesn't feel like her.

"You know Jean?" Connie is obviously very surprised.

That's when your eyes bulge out of your sockets in complete and utter shock at the slim chances of this possibility ever occurring, of all the people in all of the places, you just so happen to encounter Jean Kirstein again. He's a wildcard that's for sure.

It doesn't even cross your mind to think he could easily rat you out and ask why a noble woman such as yourself is here of all places. In fact, that concern is at the back of your mind far from your attention. You simply smile, happy to see a familiar face. You barely know him personally but from your last encounter you've been able to discern that he's welcoming and sociable.

He's incredibly friendly patting your head and completely bombarding you with questions "I would have never expected someone like you to show up." If it were anyone else you would have taken it as an insult but he's genuinely curious what brings you here, that much is obvious by his tone.

"Likewise Kirstein, I suppose we live in a small world."

You purposefully choose to not reveal much, you don't know who you can and can't trust.

He seems to catch on because he doesn't follow up on his inquiry. Instead he and Connie ask what part of Paradis you're from, what your parents do, all sorts. You're so engrossed in making up a somewhat believable story you don't even realize Kirstein's arm is still slung over your shoulder.

It's only until Hange yells "ATTENTION!" at the front of the training grounds do your notice the close proximity between you and your fellow cadet.

Slowly edging away from him you're swiftly able to detach yourself with no disturbances.

Hange is introducing themself, hands flailing in all directions and eyes wide describing how their additional role is investigating titans, they say if you're lucky enough maybe one day you'll be able to help with one of their secretive experiments. A towering blonde brute nearby whispers that Hange is eccentric and odd, a few others say it's surprising they're a superior.

Sensibly, you bury the frustration you feel down your throat, but God would you love if those childish fools kept their false opinions to themselves.

Erwin and Levi exchange looks probably deciding who speaks afterwards, it seem begrudgingly Levi agrees to take the stand.

The training ground abruptly falls silent.

Levi taking a step forward surveys the area and not once does he bother looking at you.

"Rules." His voice rumbles. "Which you all must follow." His gaze unusually centers in on Jean, you bear witness to how his form begins to tremble. Just one look from the Captain and he's about to dissolve.

The majority of his rules are basic and can easily be predicted, "You are expected to help with the cleaning. If your personal hygiene is that of a pig you may as well walk yourself out of the door now." His silver eyes are stabbing into the front row, most likely because Eren is there. He's apparently missed cleaning duty for two weeks now, it's miraculous how he's escaped unscathed.

After Levi is done wordlessly threatening Eren he rubs his hands together expectantly. Lips quirking up into one of his sharp cut-throat smiles he stares right at Jean. After a moment of silence he speaks with clarity. "No dating between cadets is permitted. No fucking either, sorry to disappoint Kirstein."

Metallic eyes are piercing into his wobbly form again and all of the cadets burst into a rupture of giggles. You too are about to join them. Truthfully, it is laughable that his notorious womanizing reputation is known even to the Captains.

But before you're able to laugh your breathe falters, you can practically feel jagged daggers twisting and digging into you. Quickly before he swiftly looks away you’re able to note Levi's eyes deliberately flick up in your direction, gaze boring into you, it burns.

You feel guilty but don’t know what it is you’ve done to produce such a hostile response.

Nevertheless, you can feel his scrutiny impale you.

#levi ackerman #levi #aot #snk #attack on titan levi #attack on titan #aot fanfiction #aot headcanons #duke levi #levi x reader #levi x y/n #levi smut #levi angst #levi fluff #levi fanfiction #leviiattacks

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beewolfwrites · 3 years

Text

And When I am Formulated, Sprawling on a Pin - Chapter Ten: A Train Whistle

A slightly shorter chapter this time, but hopefully short means sweet, maybe?

You can find the full chapter (along with all the others) on AO3 here :)

Thanks for reading!!

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I couldn’t keep my eyes from the red stain on Chishiya’s hoodie as we entered the deserted shopping mall. He was walking and behaving just as usual, and his expression gave nothing away. Even when we had backed back to the park gates to collect the Two of Spades card, he hadn’t complained. But I knew he was in pain. He had to be.

‘We don’t have to do this,’ I repeated for the umpteenth time. My voice echoed through the empty mall. ‘I’ll go with someone else in my next game.’

He was strolling beside me, regarding the stores around us with boredom. ‘It doesn’t matter, since we’re already here.’

‘There might be a pharmacy in here somewhere.’ I chewed on my lip, struggling not to let my anxiety get the best of me. ‘Maybe if I find some medical supplies, I could bandage it up.’

‘I wouldn’t trust you to bandage up anything,’ he replied. ‘I’ve seen the state of your arm.’

Any offence I felt at that comment was pushed aside, as I chalked it up to him being irritable. My arm wasn’t too bad, was it? No matter. I had to find some way of keeping him from moving too much and aggravating his wound.

Spotting a bench between two large artificial flower beds, I suggested, ‘why don’t you sit over there? I’ll be super-duper quick.’

His eyes slid over to mine, with a look that told me he knew exactly what I was thinking. ‘Fine, but there’s no point in rushing.’ Then pulling out his headphones, he took a seat on the bench, leaned back and closed his eyes.

Leaving him there, I nervously flitted about between stores. Most of them had been plundered and looted by players, and others had been turned into hideouts, soon abandoned after their owners had died. But some were untouched, and it was these stores that I visited first. I snagged two hoodies for myself, one pale purple and the other a sea green, along with several t-shirts, socks, jean shorts, and a new pair of trainers, as mine were stained with algae and squelched with every step.

It was strange. In the previous world, I had never been able to justify spending money on branded clothes. In fact, I never would have even touched the sportswear section. But now, I never knew who or what I might have to outrun, and it seemed like the obvious choice.

I was on my way to leave, when I drifted past the menswear section and suddenly remembered that the soggy hoodie I was wearing was tinged brown by the pond water.

‘I want that one back.’

‘Sorry, Chishiya,’ I muttered, picturing his disapproval. ‘I’ll get you a new one anyway.’

I began sifting through the men’s clothing section, searching for one just like what I was wearing. Only I couldn’t find it.

Come on, there has to be something he would wear in here.

Then I spied a flash of white hidden in the rails and picked out a clean white hoodie, very similar to the one he usually wore. He didn’t strike me as someone who would go for bright colours.

Something like this would do, right?

Swiping two bags from behind the till, I tipped the clothes into them, taking care that Chishiya’s new hoodie was folded up neatly.

And then there was the question of swimwear. Hatter’s rule was both disgusting and ridiculous, but I couldn’t exactly refuse.

Slipping into another sportswear shop, I managed to find a few one-piece swimsuits that could function as a t-shirt if I wore them with shorts. But for good measure, I grabbed a bikini, too. One that wasn’t quite as stringy as some of the options at the Beach.

Right, that’s it! I was finally done. He’s probably wondering where I’ve gotten to.

I left the store and started back to where I had left Chishiya. As I passed by the deadened shopfronts and frozen mannequins, my mind drifted back to his behavior in the park. I understood that he followed me because he was an executive, and he was technically supposed to keep an eye on my performance. But the way he had grabbed me when we encountered the hunter… the way his arms had squeezed me painfully close. I just couldn’t figure him out. The man was like a closed book, with front and back covers that looked the same, even upside down. I didn’t even know where to begin reading him.

Yet my skin still tingled where it had been pressed against his own. I could still feel the ghost of his body heat, and every shudder that passed through him in the cold. It was disconcerting. Chishiya almost seemed like a god, but he was so very, very human.

Don’t think too hard about it, I told myself. He was probably just toying with me back there.

As I walked past a window, something caught my eye. A sparkle from a jewellery store. It was only small, but it was like a treasure trove filled with gems, gold and silver.

I glanced down the mall. A few minutes is fine, right? Just a few minutes.

This wasn’t just any jewellery store; it was the expensive kind. The kind I used to covet in the real world for all its gemstones and silverwork. Exploring the glass cabinets, I peered at the spectrum of crystals until one ring caught my eye. A pear-shaped drop of labradorite, set on either side by sterling silver flowers.

‘I see you’re enjoying your freedom away from the Beach.’

Chishiya’s voice sounded from the entrance. He was eyeing the jewellery around him with skepticism.

‘Sorry,’ I said, sheepish. ‘I got a bit distracted.’

He shrugged. ‘I don’t care. Get whatever you want.’ He nodded at the ring. ‘Even that.’

‘I… I couldn’t.’

‘Suit yourself,’ he said, leaning against the wall, ‘though I didn’t take you for the materialistic type.’

Scowling at him, I mumbled, ‘it’s not like that at all.’

‘If it’s the idea of stealing that’s bothering you, it doesn’t make a difference. People murder each other every day.’

I felt the drip of blood tapping against my cheeks, and briefly closed my eyes. When I opened them again, the sensation had disappeared. ‘Has it ever occurred to you that jewellery isn’t just about the sparkly stuff?’

His eyes were focused on me with a quiet curiosity, although it no longer made me squirm.

When did I stop being bothered by it?

Looking at the labradorite ring, I tried to find the words to explain to him.

‘Back in the old world, I knew all about gemstones, the meanings of them, their histories, the legends,’ I told him, knowing he probably didn’t care. ‘Obviously, I’ve never really believed they cure illness or bring luck. I know it’s not possible, but they still felt pretty magical. I always hated diamonds though, since they just seem kind of soulless. But I always imagined…’ I trailed off, embarrassed. ‘It’s stupid, I know, but I always had this idea that if someone ever wanted to marry me, they’d choose a ring like this one, with a stone that has a meaning.’

I thought back to the teenage girl. Perhaps she had similar dreams. Maybe she had wanted to meet someone, get married, have children, grow old. And there was me, the murderer who wanted to fall in love. It was pathetic. When I glanced back to Chishiya, his eyes were closed as he rested against the wall.

Typical.

But just when I thought he hadn’t been listening to a word of what I’d said, he cracked an eye open. ‘It’s that level of naivety that’ll get you killed. I suppose you’ve got even more romantic ideas running around too.’

His words left me exposed. Vulnerable. But then I knew he was wrong about some things. I wasn’t completely naive, at least not in the way he was imagining.

‘Romance isn’t the same as love. Love is different.’

‘Love is for idiots with too much time on their hands,’ he said lazily.

‘No, romance is for idiots with too much time on their hands. Love isn’t nearly as obvious.’ I paused, thinking hard. ‘Have you read much by Haruki Murakami?’

‘He’s called Murakami Haruki over here, but no,’ he replied. ‘I haven’t. He’s not considered much of a literary figure in Japan. At least not by the critics.’

I smiled. ‘Perhaps not here, but the rest of the world thinks so.’

Thinking back over what I had read, I fished around for a specific title, but the name escaped me. ‘There’s a short story of his,’ I explained. ‘He compares the feeling of being in love to a train whistle.’

Chishiya looked at me with disinterest, but I could see something in his gaze. He was following along.

Even though it had been years since I first read it, I recalled the story vividly. ‘Imagine at night, you wake up and you have this sudden, horrible feeling that you could disappear at any moment. But at the same time, you feel you could explode. It’s that kind of emptiness that swallows you up. There’s no meaning to anything, and you no longer care whether you live or die. In fact, you don’t even know whether you’re really alive or dead at all. You’re just suffocating in nothingness.’

Chishiya turned fully toward me. ‘And?’

I gave him a smile. ‘And then you hear a train whistle. It’s far away, and the sound is so tiny you can hardly hear it. But it cuts through the isolation. You’re no longer floating as long as you can hear that whistle.’ I nodded to myself. ‘That’s love, at least to me. It sort of creeps up behind you, and by the time you realise it’s there, it’s too late. You’re already trapped.’

There was a moment of silence where he didn’t respond. Then he said, in the quietest voice possible, ‘how unpleasant.’

Things became awkward after that, and every attempt I made to strike up conversation was met with stiffness on Chishiya’s part. Slowly and silently, we began to head back to the Beach. The bags were uncomfortable to carry, but I didn’t want to ask Chishiya for a hand. Not with his injury. Even now, the blood stain on his clothes had grown bigger.

I suggested again that he should see An, but he dismissed the comment entirely. It was as if his mood had flipped, the amusement having drained out of him, leaving nothing but the cold.

We passed through derelict streets decorated with unlit signs and empty windows, until the Beach finally came into view in a cacophony of music, screams and spotlights. As I shuffled through a back entrance to avoid the crowds, I found that Chishiya had disappeared without a word, probably to his room, or perhaps even to find An. I still had the replacement hoodie I’d found for him, but it could wait until after he’d received medical aid.

I passed through the hotel halls, and turned a corner, almost bumping into Kuina. She was holding a drink in one hand, and her mouth stretched into a wide smile when she saw me.

‘I see you made it! How did it go?’ Leaning back, she assessed me from head to toe. ‘You look like you’ve been thrown into a swamp.’

‘Two of Spades, and you’re close. Chishiya made me swim in a pond.’ I said, stifling a yawn. ‘Where are you heading?’

She shook her glass, the ice tinkling. ‘The pool. Thought I’d live a little. Why don’t you join me? You look like you could use a drink.’

I shivered in my still-damp clothes. ‘Ah, it’s okay. I’ll pass for tonight,’ I said. ‘I’m really tired after the game. Plus, these clothes are icky.’

Kuina snickered. ‘You don’t say. Well, if you change your mind, you know where to find me.’ With that, she disappeared down the hall, waving to me as she went.

Ducking away from the chaotic drunks in the hallways, I crawled all the way up to my room, before realising I had forgotten to ask Kuina about the hoodie, about why she never told me it belonged to Chishiya.

I’ll do it next time I see her. I’m too tired now.

Sighing, I didn’t even bother to turn on the lights as I dumped the bags of clothes onto the floor. After being drenched in pond water, I definitely needed a shower. But the combination of the Hunting Season game and the walk back through Tokyo had sapped all my energy.

Tomorrow, I can take a shower and wash the bed linen and Chishiya’s hoodie tomorrow. For now…

I curled up, still in my clothes, and slipped away into a quiet sleep. And for the first time since the Hearts game, I dreamt of nothing. Not the businessman’s starched collar… nor the cool twinge of gunmetal… or even the drip of blood against my eyelids; just blackness.

Outside, the shadows of hollow buildings blurred together into a vacant grey space. A cool wind blew through the alleyways, catching the edges of roof tiles, and slipping into a gentle whistle that rang through Tokyo at midnight.

#alice in borderland #chishiya #chishiya shuntaro #chishiya x oc #chishiya x reader #chishiya alice in borderland #aib

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awhitehead17 · 3 years

Text

Batfam Alphabet: D - Death

Summary: Jason and Damian bond over similar experiences that only the two of them have faced before.

Enjoy! :D

He knows something is up as soon as the kid enters the kitchen. It’s as if Damian had an aura wrapped around him highlighting that something is wrong. While Jason doesn’t know the kid well, certainly not the extent like Dick does, he can still read situations and body language.

When Damian enters the kitchen he heads straight for the fridge to grab a sports drink before moving over to the kitchen island and settling down with a tablet in his hands. He continues to stay there, completely ignoring Jason as if he weren’t present, all without saying anything.

Jason’s in the kitchen because he’s cooking some lunch for himself. Alfred’s wonderful kitchen and fully stocked cupboards grant him the luxury of cooking whatever and whenever he likes, he absolutely loves it. However Damian sitting at the island doesn’t explain why he’s there. The kid isn’t conversing with Jason so seeing him isn’t the excuse of being here. Not that Jason cares about his presence of course, it’s just a little strange.

Jason lets it go for the time being. If the kid wants to talk, he’ll talk when he’s ready to. Even if he does choose to talk about it, he definitely wouldn’t open up to Jason of all people, especially not when both Bruce and Dick are currently in the Manor available to chat too at the same time.

Silence settles in the room and Jason continues to make his food. Just a couple simple quesadillas that he's been fancying, nothing extravagant at least. Waiting for it to finish up, Jason glances behind him at Damian who is slumped at the island, his attention on his tablet only. He’s wearing his signature scowl and occasionally reaches out to have a sip of his drink.

Jason hums to himself and decides to do something about the kid. Clearly something is wrong because Damian never slumps at the island nor does he ever willingly choose to stay in Jason’s presence for so long. All without a snarky remark too!

Moving his own quesadilla to the side he starts up another one and makes it for Damian. He doesn’t care if he’s eaten or not, this will be a good start in trying to get the kid to open up to him.

He makes this one vegetarian and once it’s done he plates it up and takes it over to Damian, dropping it down in front of him. Jason grabs his own before settling down at the island opposite his brother.

“What’s this Todd? I didn’t ask for this.” Damian scowls at him.

Jason rolls his eyes. “I decided to be generous and make you one, it’s a vegetarian quesadilla.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Well it’s there if you want it or not.” Jason responds back. He’s half tempted to snap at the kid for the rudeness but he knows that this isn’t the right time to be bringing up manners.

Damian watches him for a moment through narrowed eyes like he’s suspicious of Jason, probably trying to work out if he has an ulterior motive or not. In the end the kid drops his gaze and returns back to his tablet, not touching the food.

Jason lets it go as he digs into his lunch. The silence between them stretches and when Jason finishes his first quesadilla he decides to drop the subtly and approach Damian head on as it’s clear he won’t be opening up any time soon. Call it his brotherly instincts if you have to, though he’ll deny all of these feelings and vows to make sure Dick never finds out about it.

“Right, what’s up with you? What’s wrong?” He crosses his arms and leans forward on the island putting all of his attention on Damian.

Damian, predictably, ignores him and jabs at the screen of his tablet.

Jason rolls his eyes. “You can ignore me sure, but I know there’s something wrong. You’re here with me rather than somewhere with Bruce or Dick, or even on your own, meaning you’re probably avoiding the other two and most likely here because you don’t want to be on your own.”

“That’s absurd Todd.” Damian comments hotly not looking at him.

“Perhaps,” Jason says easily, “but it doesn’t make it any less true.”

The kid continues to stay quiet, not talking about whatever is bothering him and Jason stares at him. He wonders if he could annoy Damian enough to open up about whatever is going on.

“It has to be something big right, if you’re avoiding the only two people you can stand. Unless it’s something bad, are you feeling guilty about something Damian? Did you kill someone and don’t want them to find out?”

That was a little uncalled for, Jason feels bad as soon as he says it, but it gets him a reaction at least. Damian snaps his head up and levels Jason with a murderous look. “Do not joke about that Todd! As it is, it’s none of your business!”

“So there is something wrong?” Jason points out.

Damian scowls and drops his gaze. He lets out a heavy sigh as he goes back to his tablet. “This is something father and Grayson cannot relate to, they won’t be able to help.”

Jason blinks, not expecting that confession. “Even if they can’t relate I’m sure they’ll try. Believe it or not they do care about you, if they can’t help they’ll find someone who can.”

There a few tense beats go by before Damian is shaking his head in denial. “That is not likely.”

“Why not?”

Damian looks at him again and makes eye contact, his expression both grave and irritated. “It’s about my death Todd. That is why.”

“Oh.”

That really isn’t something Jason had been expecting. Damian does make a point about Bruce or Dick not being able to relate, well lucky for him (or unlucky depending how you see it) there is someone who can relate to the situation. Him.

Jason runs a hand through his hair and sighs softly, letting go of the tension that’s built up inside his body.

“Is it nightmares that are bothering you? Or perhaps is it the paranoia and anxiety, being weary of everything and everyone around you. That feeling of almost irrational fear that this may not be real, that this all may be a dream. The continuous fear that death is going to happen again, what killed you the first time is going to come back and finish the job properly.”

Damian is staring at him with a grim expression, confirming that he knows exactly what Jason is on about.

“They may not know what it’s like, lucky bastards, but I do Damian. Of course circumstances are a little different, you’re surrounded by family and those who do care even if they don’t show it in the best ways. I didn’t have that. If you need to talk to someone about what happened or what you’re feeling, you can talk to me. I can relate to it, I know what it’s like.”

Damian carries on staring at him, his expression turning into one Jason couldn’t identify. The kid is probably trying to work out if Jason genuinely means his offer or not. If he’s being honest, Jason has surprised himself by actually meaning it too. He doesn’t blame Damian for the doubt.

Damian opens his mouth to respond but closes it before any sound comes out. He opens it a second time before closing it again. When it repeats for a third time Jason decides to step in. “You don’t have to talk about it now, or even tell me at all, but just know the offer is there, any time you want okay. I get that it’s a hard thing to open up about.”

“Thank you Todd.” Damian says in the end. After that he seems hesitant to continue, a look that rarely appears on his face. “It is by the way, what you mentioned earlier. Those are common thoughts I have been having.”

Jason nods at the admission, having already guessed that. “And it’s completely understandable. If you want to talk about it now, why don’t we move to somewhere more private so we won’t be disturbed?”

It takes a second but then Damian is nodding. He gathers his things up before moving towards the door of the kitchen. Jason gets up from the island and puts the dishes to the side, he’ll deal with them later, and grabs his uneaten quesadilla before starting to follow Damian.

This is certainly something he wasn’t expecting to do that day but if he can help the kid deal with something as traumatic as his death, then Jason will do what he can to help him get through it. He didn’t exactly have the greatest support system when he came back to life so he’ll be damned to make sure Damian has one.

#batfam alphabet #Jason Todd #Damian Wayne #sibling bonding #hurt and comfort #talk about death #no one dies in this #just talk of their experiences #bat bros #bit angsty #fanfiction

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hale-13 · 3 years

Text

Caliber

By Hale13

For the Summer of Whump Day 12 - Death

Peter grew up like most American kids running active shooter drills thinking (hoping) it would never happen to him.

Words: 2338, Chapters: 1/1 (Complete), Language: English

Fandoms: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)

Rating: Teen

Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark

Characters: Peter Parker, Ned Leeds, Michelle Jones, Tony Stark, Various Midtown Students and Faculty

TW: TW: Gun Violence, Blood, Major Character Injury, Possible MCD (if you choose to interpret it that way)

Read on AO3 or below the line break.

Growing up, Peter spent his early childhood in lower level genetics labs with his parents. Part of this was simply because they worked some weird hours at OsCorp but the other part was definitely because they recognized his intelligence and talent early and would give him easy experiments to run while they worked. Safe? Eh, maybe not but Peter had fun.

Well, until they died that is.

After that Peter would spend his time in the hospital daycare or nurse’s break room or sitting at Ben’s desk in the bullpen at the precinct where he worked. Daycare and babysitters were expensive and Peter was having a little separation anxiety from becoming an orphan at six. Peter accredits this formative time in his life to why he has a healthy respect of first responders, why he goes out every night in spandex to help his neighborhood (even if the cops hate him).

After the funeral, after May and Ben went back to work and started taking Peter with them, Ben sat Peter down to go over basic gun safety with him. He can remember that initial conversation pretty vividly: Ben had sat Peter down on the couch and had pulled out his unloaded side arm and the small safe he stored it in. He told Peter just how dangerous weapons could be in untrained hands, how Peter could easily hurt himself or others if he ever touched it, how Ben would always have it locked up but, on the off chance it wasn’t, Peter was to never touch it.

Peter had readily agreed and had steered clear of Ben’s belt and the gun safe next to his side of the bed his whole childhood.

The officers that Ben worked with were, for the most part, super nice to Peter and always took time out of their days to talk to him, bring him snacks and (attempt) to help him with his homework and Peter grew to be the most comfortable in the loud bullpen or the adjacent break room. The summer before he started his freshman year at Midtown, Ben and some of the other officers had given Peter a crash course in gun safety – how to clean, care and shoot a weapon – and it only took one trip to dash Peter’s dreams of working in law enforcement; he never wanted to handle a gun again.

Holding his uncle’s body as he bled out a few months later from the massive hole left in his back by the .45 caliber handgun only solidified that decision.

Luckily, in his tenure as Spider-Man, Peter tended to run into more sub-Ultron and Chitauri fare than the classic handguns and rifles he was familiar with which suited him just fine. When he did come across a run of the mill mugger or rapist who was using a pistol or something similar, Peter took great pleasure in using his super strength to rip it into tiny pieces – destroyed beyond repair and off the streets for good.

This had resulted in some unfortunate bullet grazes and full-on holes in his body that had prompted his helicopter mentor (under the order of Aunt May of course) to force him through another gun safety lecture, complete with a practical portion where Colonel Rhodes assisted in teaching Peter how to properly disarm and disassemble a variety of different sidearms. It was definitely cool to spend time with Actual War Machine but Peter rushed through it as quickly and throughly as possible. He never wanted to have the easy comfort with weapons that Mr. Stark and Colonel Rhodes had – he preferred non-lethal disarmament when patrolling.

All this said – Peter probably had more experience and knowledge with various weapons (human and otherwise) than he had any right to.

All of this experience, all of his time as Spider-Man, everything he had been through did nothing to help keep him calm and collected when his principal came over the intercom while Peter was in gym class to announce a code red shelter in place order. Like most high schoolers in America, Peter had gone through numerous school safety drills so he, in theory, knew what to do in a emergency.

In practice? Not so much.

Coach Wilson had looked just as pale and stunned as the class but had recovered quickly enough to rush the doors. A few other students had also started moving to gather some of the wrestling mats to roll in front of the doors once Coach Wilson had gotten them closed and locked.

He, unfortunately, wasn’t quick enough.

Brian Anderson, a sophomore Peter recognized from the debate team, forced the door open, brandishing the small revolver in a shaky hand. His face was pale, eyes red rimmed with tears with such a desolate look it made Peter’s own heart clench in sympathy despite his rapid heart-rate.

“Back up,” he whispered, using the gun to gesture for the coach to step away and the man obliged; holding his hands up in surrender and slowly backing away from the door. Some of Peter’s classmates, including Ned who, for once, wasn’t right at Peter’s side in class but across the room from him, had started to cry. Michelle, looking stony faced but terrified underneath it all, was trying to shush Betty Brant who was in the middle of a full blown panic attack and trying not to draw attention to herself.

“Okay,” Coach Wilson said, motioning the class members closest to him to back up with one raised hand, his eyes never leaving the weapon. “You’re calling the shots here Brian.”

Brian sniffled, fresh tears spilling over his eyes and hand trembling as he surveyed the room, eventually moving the barrel to point at Mark Conley, one of Flash’s friends and a notorious online bully. Both boys had gone nearly ghost white and the class seemed to be holding its collective breath.

“Sorry Ben,” Peter thought. “Sorry Mr. Stark.”

“Brian,” he called out, voice sounding much more steady than he predicted it would since he was just Peter Parker right now and not Spider-Man. “You don’t want to do this man.”

“Don’t tell me what to do!” Brian spit out, anger over-ruling all of his other feelings and his eyes landing on Peter. “You don’t know what I want to do!”

“I promise you don’t want to do this,” Peter said calmly. “I know what they’re like. You think they treat me any better than you? You’ll regret this if you do it.”

Brian snorted out a dry laugh, not looking like he found anything remotely funny. “Then you should want me to do this.” He said, cherry picking Peter’s words.

“But I don’t,” Peter told him, edging closer to the other boy, making sure to put his body in front of Mark as he moved closer. “Do you know how my uncle died?” Brian, eyes locked with Peter’s, shook his head nearly imperceptibly. “He was shot by some guy robbing a bodega. He bled out in my arms before emergency services could arrive.” Peter said bluntly, doing the best to ignore how his heart clenched and his eyes burned.

The barrel of Brian’s gun dipped down to point more toward the floor and Peter took a few cautious steps forward, stopping when he was only about five feet away. “They won’t stop,” Brian whispered, the tears flowing heavier but his finger still in place over the trigger. “It just keeps getting worse and I can’t take it. I can’t do this anymore!”

“I know,” Peter said, voice soft, dropping his hands down to rest loosely at his sides. He really wishes he had his web-shooters, secret identity be damned. He was never taking them off again, no matter what May tried to tell him about work/life balance. “I know what its like and it sucks but they aren’t worth throwing your whole life away. It’s not worth hurting all the innocent people you’ll hurt. You don’t want to do that to your friends and family.”

“I don’t have any friends!” Brian said loudly, raising the gun back up to point at Peter but Peter didn’t move from his relaxed position even though he felt his heart speed up to a gallop. He faced possible injury and death at least once a week but that was always as Spider-Man… never as Peter Parker.

“I’m your friend,” Peter told him, a little desperate but honest. “I don’t want anything bad to happen to you.” Brian gasped and let the pistol drop to his side in a loose grip. “Just hand me the gun Brian okay? And then we can talk about it, I won’t let anything bad happen to you.”

Brian sniffed and rubbed his free hand over his face to wipe away the tears rolling down his cheeks. “Do you promise?”

“I promise,” Peter confirmed, holding out his hand. Brian nodded and lifted his hand to pass Peter the gun when everything went wrong. Betty, who had been hyperventilating through the entire exchange, finally passed out. MJ tried to catch her but the two of them hit the floor with a echoing bang that startled the whole class. Brian, gun lifted and finger still on the trigger, flinched and jerked to aim back at Mark, shooting.

Everything happened in slow motion for Peter and he grimaced at what he was about to do, saying mental apologies and throwing his body in the path of the bullet, jerking back at the feeling of it hitting him in the chest.

His breath knocked out and his consciousness already becoming more nebulous from the pain that was blooming in his lungs, Peter stumbled forward to yank the gun from Brian’s limp grasp, deftly unloading it with the last of his strength and with shaking hands before throwing the rounds to the opposite side of the gym; collapsing at the other boys feet.

“Oh god,” Brian whispered in horror. “Oh god Peter. I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!” He tried to bend down next to Peter but was swiftly tackled by Abe and Jason where he was wrestled onto his front with them restraining his hands without a fight beyond his gulping sobs.

“You’re alright Parker,” Coach Wilson said soothingly as he rolled Peter onto his back and used his own hastily shed jacket to apply pressure to the steadily bleeding hole in Peter’s chest, causing him to grunt and squeeze his eyes shut in pain. “Thompson! Call 911 and tell them we have the shooter and we need emergency services in the gym. Conley run up to the office and tell Morita what happened!” Both boys jumped into action but Peter ignored it in favor of unsteadily pulling his own phone out of his pocket and sliding it to Ned who had joined the group along with a pale and teary Michelle.

“Call Tony,” Peter coughed out, blood staining his lips and leaked down the side of his face. “No hospital.”

Ned, shaking and crying worse than Peter had ever seen fumbled the phone with numb hands before giving up and pressing the panic button on the side of the phone. Feeling relieved that his mentor was on the way, Peter let his tired eyes close only to rip them open at the flick on his nose.

“It’s not nap time Tiger,” MJ told him, forcing a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Don’t want to get detention again.”

“I think…” Peter gasped out, his lungs aching with the strain. “Think this… get me… a permanent… ‘get out of detention’… free card.”

Michelle ran soft fingers through his hair, helping him relax his clenching muscles. He could tell that Ned was on the phone and speaking in rapid, broken sentences. He could kind of hear the sirens approaching, the sound of the building evacuating, crying students. But nothing mattered as much as Michelle. “You just couldn’t help yourself huh?”

“You know… me,” Peter grunted, trying for a grin that didn’t show the tacky blood he was sure was staining his teeth. “No guts… no glory.”

“God you’re a disaster,” MJ said with a watery laugh, a single tear escaping to race down her cheek. Peter wanted nothing more than to reach out and wipe it away but his arms were made of lead.

Before Peter could work up the energy to respond, the doors of the gym were blown off the hinges by repulsers as Tony rushed the room, suited up in his full armor and clearly panicked. “Peter!” He shouted as he stumbled out of the suit, falling to his knees next to Peter and hastily began applying his prototype nanotech bandage to the hole in Peter’s chest before rolling him on his side to repeat the process with his back.

Peter gagged at the change in position, his eyesight fading out to a pinprick of light and his hearing glitching out. The voices around him became ever more harried but Peter couldn’t make out what they were trying to say – all he knew was he was really tired. More tired than he had ever been maybe. Surely no one would mind if he took a little nap?

“Stay with me buddy,” he heard Mr. Stark say as cold, hard arms gripped under his back and knees, lifting him and causing him to nearly black out again. “Just a quick little flight to the Tower Petey,” Tony said, voice wavering and not its usual strong timbre. “Just hang with me for a few more minutes and then you can nap okay kiddo?”

“Tired,” Peter gasped out, chest seizing. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize!” Tony ordered, frantic and yelling over the wind buffeting them. When had they started flying? “Just stay awake.”

“Love May,” Peter whispered, his vision a kaleidoscope of shapes and colors that were rapidly fading. “Love you.”

“Peter!” Tony sounded so far away, Peter thought as his eyes closed against the colors and shapes and lights that were making him feel dizzy and sick.

Just a little nap.

No one would notice.

#summerofwhump #summerofwhump12 #Prompt: Death #irondad #spider man #Summer of Whump

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jamestrmtx · 3 years

Text

Fairytale Complex - [Undertale | Sans x Reader]

[Gender Neutral, Frisk's Parent Reader | Slow Burn]

Chapter Fifteen | Quiet Water

[First] | [Previous] | [Next]

Alternate Chapter Title: The Colour Red

Note: I'll begin to use more inclusive language in terms of how the reader is referred to from here on out, as suggested by the following comment:

So, with that being said: ren is the gender-neutral/non-binary term for mom/dad (short for parent).

I'm truthfully still a bit new to this (LGBT+ info beyond homo and bisexuality isn't too widespread where I'm from), so feel free to let me know over any suggestions related to these changes. :-)

• • •

“Are you really going to let Frisk hang out with them?” Jerry asks, offering you a drink.

The smell of alcohol is beyond distinguishable when you take it; you can feel your eyes burn and your throat itch in response to its strength. “Weren’t you the one who said they hurt Frisk, in the first place?” he adds, grimacing. You set it aside. If he was trying to soften you up by making you tipsy, you weren’t falling for it. “How come they get to see Frisk more often than I do?”

You sit up straight and let your legs drape off the chair. “I’m still deciding what to do with that,” you reply, facing the beach. With the sun already close to hiding, you can tell it’s getting late. Three hours had gone by since you made it here, and yet he still chose to wait until the last minute to talk about this matter with you. “And I never stopped you from seeing Frisk. You did that to yourself. The only barrier I set was between you and me -- not them.”

Your shoulders tense at the feeling of his hands bringing you in for a hug from behind, his chin resting against your upper back. You brush him away and glare him down, jaw clenching. “Don’t touch me, Jerry,” you blurt out, chest heaving. “I’m already seeing someone else.” That last sentence is quick, unplanned, and more of a necessary impulse than anything else. Even if you weren’t in something official with the one in question yet, you didn’t want to play around.

“Who?”

“That’s none of your business.”

Jerry stands up, now his turn to be angry. “It is if he'll be the one who’ll be replacing me.” His hands clench, his back straightens, and his height towers over you. “You can’t just date any stranger you meet.” Not wanting to feel small, you stand up and lift your gaze, meeting straight with his eyes. “If the guy turns out to be bad, he..." He hesitates and changes his scowl for a frown. "He wouldn’t only be hurting you, but Frisk, too.”

“And you think I don’t know that?” You sneer and shudder when a gust of wind blows by. “I’ve been single ever since we broke up, Jerry. It’s only now that I’m finally starting to do this again!” When another breeze hits, you take a towel and wrap it around your body, protecting yourself from the cold. Ready to leave, you lift your chin and turn around, only to be held back by him once more. “What? It’s getting late, and Frisk’s already sleeping.”

“Hear me out for a second, please," he says. Your back’s still to him, leaving his expression unknown. His voice is what reveals his emotions, a hint of concern reaching his tone. ��I just want what’s best for Frisk and… And you.”

“You had time to worry about that way before this. It's too late for that now.” Again, you brush his hand away and take a small step forward. “You can see Frisk anytime you want, so long as they want to. But I don’t want to talk with you anymore, Jerry. You had your chance -- Not now, when you've just found out I’m dating someone else.”

“You're being selfish.”

The next time you feel him touch you, it’s around your waist. He tries to hug you a second time, but you reject him by pushing him off you. “I said,” you snap, turning around, “don’t touch me. You were the one who said we could be parents, so don’t you dare try this with me again.”

With him now four feet apart from you, your gazes are more leveled out. Still, he tries to make up for it by closing off distance, attempting to corner you. “And yet you still agreed to it,” he remarks. “You're just as guilty as I am, (Y/N)."

You want to stay and argue, but your mind fights against it. Id and ego have a conflict as you try not to let things explode, already done with Jerry for today. The sand sinks and slows you down when you aim to make an exit, opening a path for him to stop you again. He holds your wrists and keeps you in place. There are tears welling up in his eyes and a sense of longing present in his touch. "I meant it when I said I missed you," he adds, holding you tighter. "I was... I was scared back then, thinking I wouldn't be a good father for our kid, so… So I left. But now I'm responsible enough, (Y/N), and I can prove it to you." His face gets closer, sufficient for you to smell the booze in his breath. "Don't you miss me? Just please give me one more chance, and you'll see what I mean."

Just as you're trying to break free from his hold, you hear someone open a door and touch the sandy floor. A voice intervenes, coming from the car parked nearby. You can recognize it already, but you try to focus on Jerry and his drunken state more. The voice is softer at first, growing louder when they say, "Leave ren alone."

That confirms who they are.

Frisk closes the door, walks to your side, and looks up to meet with Jerry's face. Their next words are signed, revealing their anxiety, "You might still be my dad, but you're not married to them anymore."

Your wrists burn when he lets go. You look down at them, seeing bright red contrast with the (tone) of your skin. Then, you move your attention to Jerry and see frustration still present in his eyes. His hands twitch before he balls them again and lets them fall.

"That's no way to talk to me, Frisk," he says, replacing his sorrow with anger. "Aren't you gonna say anything about it, (Y/N)?" he adds, words now directed at you.

"I told you to leave ren alone," Frisk persists, mimicking his anger.

Jerry looks at you, then at Frisk, and later at your drink, its ice now long melted. He picks it up and chugs it down in three large gulps, crushing the cup when finished. "I'm leaving."

True to his word, he storms off, sand scarcely obstructing his steps as he opens the door and climbs into the driver's seat.

You rush off to him, saying, "You're too drunk to drive. Let me do it."

He shakes his head, and a chuckle leaves his mouth as he tosses the cup aside and turns the key around. "Go take a bus if you don't wanna hitch a ride with me," he replies, snickering. "I'm out."

"It's dangerous." You hold him back by grabbing his arm, this one left to hang over the open window. "Give me the keys."

He grins and closes off distance between you. "Only if you give me a kiss, babe."

"Jerry, please. You're being ridicu-

Again, Frisk proves to be not only monsterkind's saviour, but also your own as they speak up again, another voice accompanying theirs. "Step away from the car and let them drive, sir." You look to the voice to see the local lifeguard standing next to Frisk. She has her arms crossed tight and firm lips, showing her authority.

Arm muscles define themselves as she stands up straighter and narrows her gaze at Jerry. A thin layer of patience reveals itself by the way she taps her foot and frowns. Her neon red swimsuit contrasts with her tanned skin and black hair alike, making her an unavoidable sight for those looking for trouble.

"Don't wanna."

"Do it for your child." Her frown deepens, furrowed eyebrows completing her look. "Or else I'll be forced to hand you over to our guards until you sober up."

"Take me, then." He steps out of the vehicle and holds his arms out; a sloppy smile shows up as he waits for her to approach him and do as told. "If I'm not driving my car, then nobody else will."

"Jerry, please, stop thi-"

Too late for you to try to calm him down, the lifeguard walks to his side and looks him right in the eyes. "Suit yourself." She signals for him to follow her, waiting until he turns the vehicle off, takes the keys away, and complies. "You'll have your car ready by tomorrow morning. But for now, you get a free, one-night stay with our security guards." She then moves to you, barely changing her expression until she speaks up again. "There's a bus stop left to the exit." A hint of a smile shows on her face, hardly noticeable. Had you blinked, it wouldn't have shown. "The next one should be here in ten minutes."

You nod, too shocked for words. Out of the two years you spent being friends with Jerry, a few months of dating, and a few more of marriage, this was one of the few occasions where you'd seen him react this way. "Thank you." You take Frisk's hand and walk with them out of the beach, steps slow as you consider what's happened. You want to recall times when he'd acted similar to today, yet your mind runs short, only pleasant memories and the day he left you showing up. Anything else is blanked out, bringing out your frustration through a huff.

"Are you okay?"

On the verge of letting unwanted emotions show, you bite on your lower lip and face down at Frisk, managing a smile. "I'm okay."

They stay quiet and let go of your hand to sign their next words. "Is it still okay for me to hang out with Jerry?"

You hum in agreement, maintaining your smile. "Of course it is." Your hands shake and you try wringing them to control it. Frisk notices, a hint of red still visible on your skin. "...Just as long as he's sober and treating you well. Don't worry about me, honey."

They frown and keep their eyes on your wrists. You struggle to hide that from them, though they persist by saying, "I… I don't wanna hang out with him anymore. He hurt you."

Anger spikes, making you blurt out the first thing on your mind, "The monsters hurt you, too. And yet I'm still giving them a second chance."

Frisk furrows their gaze and looks up at you. "It's different with them. They stopped when I told them to, and they knew what they did wrong in no time at all." Their nose scrunches up and their frown turns to a scowl, displaying their anger by the double. "Jerry barely even listened to you the first few times. And... And even now he's still not listening!" They hiccup, body trembling as tears gather in their eyes. "T- Toriel gave me a place to stay after I ran away, Papyrus was nice to me all along, an- and Alphys tried to help me... even if she wasn't too good at it."

"And what about Undyne? She attacked you right from the start, didn't she?" you comment, hands on your hips. "And Sans? Didn't he threaten you once, even though you'd done no harm?" You're outright livid now, self-hatred manifesting itself when you realize how naïve you'd been.

You'd carelessly kissed the very same man who'd threatened your child.

What was different between him and your once husband?

They'd both submitted your child into danger, be it directly or not.

Why were you bothering yourself with the monsters, then?

Worse yet, why were you thinking about dating one of them?

And what was the point in all of-

"Heya."

You're interrupted by the sound of the same man's voice. Not Jerry's, but Sans's. You blink through your fury and look to his side, seeing Frisk has already run off to the back seat of the car. They're smiling again despite the tears in their eyes, and they respond with a nod when the monster asks them if they're alright. "Ren's not," they sign, attempting to be discreet, yet failing.

Reluctantly, you make it to the front passenger seat and thank the skeleton when he opens up the door for you, magic granting him the ability to do it without much movement needed on his part. "Did Frisk call you?" Your eyes refuse to stare at him, focusing instead on the bus already approaching from a few more blocks away.

"Yeah," he replies, changing the gear stick from park to drive. "Don't mean to pry, but…" He's silent for some time, car staying still. "Wanna talk about it over lunch tomorrow?"

When you try to look at him, your gaze can only focus on his face, a grim reminder of what you'd done not too long ago. If you wanted to be a responsible parent, you needed to get a hold of yourself. "...Sure." You relax your posture while he begins the drive. At a red light, you continue with, "Thank you."

Now able to face you, Sans grins and later winks, hands kept on the wheel. "Anythin' for you, (Y/N)."

You squirm at the sound of him saying your name, battling away any feelings for him.

Whether Frisk's or your own words were true, you still had to be strong, both for their sake and yours.

End of Arc 1 | Ruins

Start of Arc 2 | Enemy Approaching

“It is necessary that the weakness of the powerless is transformed into a force capable of announcing justice. For this to happen, a total denouncement of fatalism is necessary. We are transformative beings and not beings for accommodation.”

– Paulo Freire, Pedagogia do Oprimido

[First] | [Previous] | [Next]

• • •

Jesucristo, this is only the 1st arc, and yet we're already at 200+ pages!

I hardly have enough motivation to read a book with more than 500 pages or watch a series with more than 5 seasons or 30 episodes, so I commend anyone who sticks with this story until the very end. Ironic how I can write a Bible's worth of fanfiction, but not read or watch the same amount in books and series, ain't it? My attention span is miniscule for anything besides my holy trinity: college, tutoring, and writing, so let's blame it on that, shall we?

Anyway, here's an overview of all the arcs for those who haven't seen it on the updated description:

Arc 1 | Ruins

Chapters 1 to 15 (Complete!!) | Exposition (The fact that 200+ pages were exposition, lmao.)

Arc 2 | Enemy Approaching

Chapters 16 to 25 (Already written -- Only need to edit according to the changes made for this rewrite!) | Rising Action

Arc 3 | Pathetic House

Chapters 26 to 30 | Climax

Arc 4 | Spear of Justice

Chapters 31 to 40 | Falling Action

Arc 5 | Here We Are

Chapters 41 to 50 | Resolution, Part 1

Arc 5.5/Final Arc | Good Night

Chapters 51 to 55 | Resolution, Part 2

Goal: NOT EXCEED 1,000 PAGES. DEAR LORD.

Actual Goal: Write up a sweet, feel-good story for as much people as possible to enjoy, plus a late n' trashy love letter to Undertale.

As always, take care and stay safe, y'all. <3

• • •

Tag List (Comment or message me if you want to be added to [or removed from] it!)

@the-simp-express

@nektotersh

@disastrous-l0vebug

@therealchickenjoe

@mintyflakes025

@pandaquick

@timelock97

@candle-creeps

@paperb9gs

#sans x reader #undertale x reader #lgbt #lgbt themes #gender neutral reader #male reader #female reader #mother reader #father reader #parent reader #chubby reader #long fic #romcom #adventure #mystery #platonic relationships #slow burn

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evakuality · 3 years

Photo

Hanna, episode 8

1. I know I’ve said it before, but these scenes with Hanna and Mia are so super gay. Part of me still really really wishes that they’d gone there - I like the Jonas/Hanna reunion in s4 well enough (if we ignore the absolute travesty of stealing time from Amira), but I’d have really loved if Mia and Hanna had been the thing instead of adding in a random extra character for no reason. Imagine the potential.... Also, Alex is still the worst. Like I know he’s the worst because William was the worst. But he’s still the worst. Gross. His sleazy manner is so offputting. I hate that Mia ends up falling for this. I do hope that unlike the original, Mia doesn’t lose all of who she is herself in her season.

2. Ugh, I forgot how irritating Kiki is. I really really like her by the later seasons (particularly in s5) but man in these early times she was not so great. I know Kiki thinks they’re all being punished because Leonie hates Hanna, but as I said before Amira and Mia weren’t even with Hanna at that point, so that’s not likely. Kiki’s need for control and to be liked is really coming out in some unpleasant ways. This whole ‘what Hanna does reflects on our crew’ is so... bleh. With every word Kiki gets more and more toxic, and then starting in on Amira as well, and wondering why she’s the bad guy? She’s a young kid and she has this desperation to fit in and be cool and liked etc and I get that she’s not a dreadful person at the end of the day. But she really needs to grow up. Particularly given that she literally pursued Alex when he’s not exactly a saint about all this sort of stuff. One thing I do love about this bit with Amira (and she repeats it when she speaks to Matteo in s3, which is a nice bit of character continuity), is how she leans forward and speaks very forcefully to Kiki as she explains her point of view. The camera is tight up in her face, or rather she moves into it, and it doesn’t let Kiki or the audience move away. And the call to prayer is a lovely touch right after, reminding of the ‘Muslim gangster world’ and what that’s really like. Kiki needs to step out of her own sphere and realise that other people have their own thoughts and feelings and things aren’t always what she thinks they are. Poor Hanna is suffering a lot, and instead of supporting her, Kiki chooses to pile on, focusing on her own ‘pain’ at the situation. Which, in context, is really really petty. And then she acts like she’s the hurt party? Grow up, child.

3. This little scene with Jonas is so painful. The acting here is really nice. Jonas’s sadness and hurt is so palpable, as is Hanna’s anxiety and tension. It’s all so awkward and painful, and the way it’s shot with Jonas always at a distance and never really looking at Hanna just makes that all the more intense. And I mean, I know Jonas is hurting and I know it’s hard for him, but this whole bit about how Hanna has no personality of her own is so mean. In some ways he’s right (and correct me if I’m wrong, but in the original it was Eva herself who says this bit to her Jonas - I don’t recall every detail of Eva’s season as well as I’d like so this may be wrong, but what I remember is something similar to this line as part of why she choose to end it at the end, and if so I don’t really know that I like this change; it’s better from the character herself as a realisation). But even if he’s right, it’s a bit unfair. He told her to go and be someone outside of him, and now he’s like ‘I don’t know you at all’ and it’s really frustrating because I still don’t feel like ‘make out’ is an accurate description of what happened, and Sam is really the one who was pushing and pushing, and yet all the blame is being set on Hanna. He says it’s not because of that, but of course it is.

4. I always cringe at these scenes where the Eva character gets ‘slut shamed’ and basically panics. It’s so hard to watch them go through it, and in so many ways this is the hardest episode for them. Hanna is at a nadir. Yes, Mia, Sam and Amira defended her, but with the tension with Kiki that support is falling apart, and then Jonas told her to call him when she gets a personality (harsh!!), and now she has someone in the school sending her messages in period blood. It’s all pretty shitty. And Kiki almost word for word repeating Jonas’s accusation about knowing ‘what kind of girl’ she is. It’s totally understandable that she wants to get away from all of this stuff.

5. Then this shot of her at the bottom of the stairs. Distanced and lonely, and it’s even worse than it was at the start of the show. Then, at least she was outside and had space around her, and the colours were much happier. Here she’s closed, in, boxed out by stairs and the walls etc and it’s this dark, gloomy colour set. There’s a bar of light, but she’s not even in it, she’s to the side of it, like she can’t even let herself have that. Then we cut to literally seeing her through the bars of the stairs, like she’s imprisoned, which is effectively what everyone in the school is doing to her. I do like the change that Matteo is here in person for this ‘you shouldn’t change schools’ talk. There’s something about the interaction that changes when they have to do it face to face. And yes Hanna, my love. You start getting angry that people keep trying to tell you who you are. Matteo’s lines here really do feel more like an overt attempt at reverse psychology than Isak’s did. Again, I assume this is because we still didn’t know about Isak at all. Whereas Matteo still feels more cynical and calculated. His attitudes and the way he’s approached Hanna have felt different. It’s really interesting to consider where his head is at in this season given just how low and disconnected we see him at the start of his own. I guess when he’s called out for it over the next little bit it does change things a bit. Plus of course the way his own life is about to be hit.

6. The Hanna and Leonie talk is really interesting. Up til now, Leonie has seemed much more dominant and Hanna much more timid. And that’s been partly the way it’s filmed - they’re sitting or Leonie is placed above Hanna. But here, Hanna looms over Leonie, quite literally, and it’s good to see her start to stand up for herself. Leonie’s mannerisms are the same but they aren’t having the same effect. And that’s partly because Hanna is at her lowest ebb. While she seemed lost and lonely at the start of the season, that’s nothing on where she is now - now, she really has nothing left to lose so she can have this conversation and look! Direct communication actually worked! She got the results she wanted. Also interesting is the choice to put Leonie in white and shoot against this wall - she looks diminished and washed out even after they were put back on the same level when they sit. Until now it’s been hard to sympathise with her. Yes, we know she’s been hurt, but she’s been so awful with it. But it’s so clear here just how much of a toll all this has taken on her too. And it’s so painful to watch Hanna have to admit to the things she did that have ruined so many of her relationships. And the business with wishing we can change things but not being able to - it’s so human (and also this scene is so incredibly well acted!) and it sucks to have to admit that we can’t do anything about what we’ve done in the past.

7. Somehow this bit with Jule doesn’t hit the way it does in Eva’s season. I think it’s a combination of the way they’ve chosen to portray Jule - she seems a lot more standoffish - and the fact that Matteo has been a bit sketchy the whole time, with some clear hints that he’s not all he seems to be. Also, possibly, because we do have Skam as a reference and so we did already know where this was going. Either way, this last part of the scene falls flat after the very emotional bits with Leonie.

Overall, I find this episode a lot more fluid than the previous one. But this last day’s clips must have been a whole lot when watching live. Poor Hanna goes through the ringer on this one day. The way this one is lit is really interesting as well. It’s either dark shadows or it’s really bright light, almost harsh with sun etc almost washing things out. It’s an episode of extremes, which I guess is the point. Hanna is going through some extreme emotions here, and the surroundings do tend to reflect that.

#druck #og druck #hanna episode 8 #long as usual

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something-fanfiction-ie · 4 years

Text

I Thought I Dreamed

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Warnings: Dismembered body parts, mentions of blood, and that’s about it??

A/N: HOLY SHIT GUYS ITS FINISHED. Oh my goodness that was hard, I don’t understand why. I still hardcore hate it, but I love you guys too much to leave you hanging. So here is part two to Dreams. I hope you enjoy, and thank you for sticking around through my terrible writer blocks.

...

[ Part One ]

“You’re sure it isn’t just a concussion?” Your fiancé says, his voice cracking with nerves. The bathroom tile of your hotel room is cool beneath your legs, Spencer sits directly across from you with your feet in his lap and his fingers tracing worried patterns across your shins.

Above your head on the bathroom counter, is a pregnancy test that still has three more minutes to come up with a yes or no answer to the question you were pretty sure you already knew the answer to. Balanced in your lap is a book about dream analysis that you’d picked up on the way to the hotel tonight.

“I had a dream, Spence. This books says that nearly everything about my dream pointed to me being pregnant.” His eyes narrow, one hand reaching out to flip through the pages you’ve tagged with sticky bookmarks. Your soon to be husband is a book fanatic, you’d learned early on that dog-eared pages were the antichrist of all book lovers everywhere.

“If you are pregnant, I can assure you that the dream was just your subconscious telling you what it had already pieced together before your conscious mind.” The clock outside the bathroom door ticks slowly. You think back to the little boy in your dream, and as scary as having two children so close together in age may be, you can’t help but be a little excited at the thought of a baby Spencer in the world.

“You don’t believe in dream analysis, so your opinion on the matter is biased.”

“Arguably, every opinion is biased. No one person can be one-hundred percent objective no matter the circumstances.” He’d have Spencer’s eyes, Graeson does already and she’s not even half a year old. Was it wrong of you to hope that all your children with Spencer would look and be exactly like him? Hopefully, in terms of intelligence, they would both be carbon copies of their father.

The tears that come to your eyes surprise you when you think about him taking the kids to a museum, holding your son in his arms and one of his fingers wrapped in your daughter’s grasp as he explains every artifact and display. Hastily, you reach up to wipe at the streams of water that wet your cheeks. Spencer sets the book aside, leaning forward worriedly.

Ashamed of your sudden mood swing, another blatant sign that you could be pregnant, you avoid eye contact by staring at the clock.

“Hey,” his voice is gentle, his hands reaching out to smooth down the sides of your arms, “Why are you crying? What’s wrong?” Your nose crinkles as you try to bite back the next onslaught of tears, hoping the last minute will go by fast. When you finally meet his gaze, the puddles of emotion that collected in your eyes spill over once again.

“You’ll take them to museums, right? You’ll make sure our kids aren’t dumb, right?” You don’t know why it’s so important to you, but the helplessness you feel is all too familiar as you recall a similar moment from your previous pregnancy.

“(Y/N). Breathe. Calm down.” You look up at your boyfriend from the bathtub, feeling not unlike a beached whale with your oversized stomach poking over the surface of the water surrounding you. The sides of the tub dig into your fingers as you grip the edges so tightly that your knuckles turn white.

“I can’t calm down, Spencer! I don’t have enough time. I’m not prepared. If I’m not prepared now then who is to say I’m even supposed to be a mother? What if I completely screw our kid up? I don’t-” The air in your lungs doesn’t feel like enough and it feels like all too much at the same time. You’ve never felt like this before, especially not in the middle of a relaxing bath.

Slowly, Spencer reaches into the tub and pulls the stopper out of the bottom. With his other hand, he helps to pull you to your feet and wrap you in a soft, pink towel. He keeps making shushing noises like it’s going to help the overwhelming anxiety of becoming a new parent and, as much as you love him, it makes you want to scream.

But just before you give into your urges, he steps in front of you and lowers himself so that you don’t have to look up to meet his eyes. Either one of his hands come up to cradle your cheeks, you wonder if he notices the weight you’ve gained there since you started nearing your due date.

“You won’t screw our kid up. We will, together.” And you can’t help but let the laughter bubble out of your chest as you lean into him, letting his arms wrap around you as you lay your soaking wet head over his heart.

“We will, together.” He says again, reaching up to wipe a tear from your cheek with the pad of his thumb. When he closes the distance to press a kiss to your forehead, causing you to close your eyes and force a deep breathe in through your nose, he plucks the test from the counter.

“Spencer! I thought this was a together thing!” You jump to your feet, reaching for the test that he has hanging over your head just out of reach.

“It is babe, but you have the advantage of knowing before me when it comes to these things and I just really want to know first one time.” You whine in protest, trying to determine the results on the small pink stick by profiling his body language.

His hand still up in the air, he tilts the small window toward his face. Both eyebrows go up, but his expression stays emotionless otherwise. Not even a muscle in his cheeks twitch. He’s way too good at hiding things when he wants to.

“Spencer.” You warn in your best imitation of Hotch’s commanding voice, stretching back up on your toes, your fingertips brush the plastic siding before he wraps his free arm around your back and pulls you to his chest. His kisses are like soft butterfly wings against your cheeks, eyelids, chin, forehead, and eventually lips.

In the two years you’ve been with Spencer, there have been all kinds of kisses. Kisses of burning passion and simmering anger, kisses of a deep and slow love, kisses of overwhelming joy and uncontrollable relief, but it’s this kind of kiss you’ve only ever felt once before.

The hand holding the test comes down to cradle your face, a thumb brushing over the apple of your cheek. It reminds you of the way an art enthusiast might reach out to touch a painting or sculpture in awe, his lips moving against your own like you were a Goddess that he was praying to with complete faith and devotion.

When he finally broke away, his eyelashes damp with happy tears (and maybe a few scared tears), the facade is shattered and you can read his face like an open book.

“You’re getting really good at that mom voice for someone with a five month old.” He teased.

“And one on the way?” You have to make sure, you want to hear it come from his lips. Screw the test.

“Did you dream it was a boy, because I think it would be really cool if we had a boy this time.” You laugh into his lips, throwing both arms around his neck and bringing him down to your level. The curls that sway at his shoulder brush against the crooks of your elbows before you tangle your fingers into his hair.

And then, just like the horny teenagers you two definitely were around each other, he bends down and swoops you into his arms. The high pitched squealing laugh that bubbled between both of your lips came from you as he started to turn back to the hotel room.

“Now I’m really gonna have to make up for lost time while I can.” He teases, turning sideways so your feet and head don’t hit the doorframe.

The next day, back on the case of the dead girls with missing hands, the team notices the different energy between you. Like the way Spencer’s mouth opens in protest when Hotch suggests you accompany Morgan to the house of a possible suspect. You glare daggers at him from the door, a silent conversation flying between you before he finally closes his mouth and sinks into his seat. It did not go unnoticed by every other person in the room.

Or the day after that, when you offer to go get coffee for everyone instead of letting them drink nasty precinct coffee. (Something you used to do a lot when you’d been pregnant with Graeson and the places you went didn’t have decaf.)

The biggest tip off is the passing of peppermints between you and Spencer, the young doctor having somehow found the time to go to a convenience store and buy a bulk sized bag of the red and white candies to help with your nausea. The bag crinkles when he reaches into his satchel every so often.

Despite the fact that they all catch on pretty quickly, nobody says anything. They figure that you’ll tell them when you’re ready. Instead they focus on the case, which had been your hope the whole time.

You’re near the end of the investigation at this point, sucking on a peppermint and racing for one of the two addresses that Garcia had sent to your phones. Just this morning, another body had been found. His fuse was getting smaller as the days had passed and the investigation crawled at an unusually slow pace, meaning you were cutting it close to the wire if you wanted to save whatever poor girl had unknowingly incurred this man’s wrath.

With you, on the way to the workplace of a Ryan Christopher, is JJ, Hotch, and Prentiss. Rossi, Morgan, and Reid have their own car headed for his home. You’re in the backseat, holding onto your stomach and the edge of the leather bench seat as Hotch races through traffic. Garcia is explaining her findings over the speakerphone, you can hear Morgan and Reid interjecting every so often with their own thoughts and comments.

It isn’t until the SUV that you’ve been sliding around in finally bumps into the parking lot outside of a carpentry workshop that Hotch ends the call. The boys on one of the other two ends of the line say their own salutations, also approaching the unsub’s home.

“Be careful!” Spencer shouts to you over everyone. It’s really cute. You would dwell on it more, but given the fact that you were about to walk into a possible altercation with an unsub, you decided that staying sharp and focused was the way to go.

Quickly, all three FBI Agents slip out of the car, clustering together long enough to come up with a game plan. You rush for the back door, JJ gets the side, and Hotch readies himself at the front. It isn’t until every room in the workshop is clear that a little tension leaves your shoulders.

It’s obvious that he’s been here though, with giant pools of blood dried onto a workbench in one of the rooms. And if you weren’t sure of this man’s guilt before, then the small freezer full of hands that is bolted shut is enough to convince you otherwise.

“What is the point in bolting something shut if you have bolt cutters lying in the same room?” JJ comments, tossing her pale gold pony over her shoulder before letting the tool settle against the strap of her Kevlar.

You turn away from the freezer to try and quell the rolling in your stomach.

“I’m going to call Morgan to see if they have anything.” At this point, they should have cleared the house or arrested him, making you feel comfortable enough to pull out your phone and dial Derek’s number. He answers on the second ring, his tone of voice telling you everything that you need to know.

“Hey Mamacita, I’m gonna go ahead and assume he’s not over there?” The rest of the tension that you had been unconsciously holding in your chest leaves with the breath of relief that deflates your lungs. You shake your head, walking away from the freezer of hands to tell him everything you’d found in the ten minutes you’d been inside the workshop.

“That’s just a little gross,” Morgan comments. “Hey Spencer- Spencer!” His voice goes up an octave, booming through the speaker and reverberating in your ear.

“Morgan?! Morgan, what’s wrong?!” The sound of the phone clattering to the floor and a single gunshot is the only response you receive before you’re racing back outside.

The tires of the SUV screech against the asphalt outside Ryan Christopher’s home. Your heart leaped out of your chest with the wild swing of the vehicle underneath you. Ambulances, SUVs, and police cruisers scatter the road and lawn in front of you, several faces lifting to find the source of the sound.

“(Y/N)!” JJ cried, white knuckling the arm of her seat and the ‘Oh Shit’ handle above her head. The car was barely in park when you fumbled for the latch of your seatbelt, kicking the door open and rushing into the hordes of first responders.

You should have never agreed to let them separate you from each other. That was the only thing you could think the moment you heard Morgan cry your fiancé’s name over the phone.

“Spencer?!” You pushed past a couple of local cops who shot you dirty looks when you shoved your way between them. Your eyes couldn’t take in all the details around you fast enough, all you could focus on was finding the top of a curly brown head of hair. Rossi was the first to come up to you, grabbing you by the shoulders and meeting your eyes with a steady gaze.

“Don’t panic.” He said in the least reassuring manner humanly possible. You didn’t give him time to explain before you tore from his arms and ducked around him.

Ambulance. He would be in an ambulance. If he’s hurt that bad, you hope the ambulance has already left, but at the same time you need to see him. If you don’t you might actually vomit right here in the middle of everyone.

“SPENCER REID!” The sound came from your chest, booming over the clamor and bustle of everyone around you. More people stopped and stared as you stumbled toward the emergency vehicles parked at the other side of the mass of people. You didn’t care. The lack of response was setting you on edge.

Just before you could yell his name again, he suddenly appeared like a ghost might appear out of thin air. He certainly was as pale as a ghost, sitting at the end of an open ambulance with an ice pack gingerly held against the back of his head. One of his lanky arms was raised into the air, waving you over.

When you flew into his arms, burying your face into his chest and inhaling his familiar scent of coffee and laundry soap, he grunted a little in pain.

“Careful, I’m not broke but I’m definitely sore.” You loosened your grip from around his ribs, leaning back and beginning an assessment of his limbs and appendages. Everything was, thankfully, in its rightful place, but cuts and freshly forming bruises were littered all over his arms and face.

“We weren’t even separated an hour and this is how I come back to find you? Do you have no concern for my nerves? My sanity?!” Your voice is shrill with residual panic, your fingers gripping onto the back of his shirt so that they wouldn’t shake. Slowly, Spencer lowers the ice pack to the ambulance flooring before looping his arm around the tops of your shoulders. He doesn’t say anything, letting you ramble away the hysteria as he presses his lips to the crown of your head.

“You can’t ever get hurt, Spencer. We have a baby. We have two babies, actually. Stress is bad for pregnant women, you can’t put me under this kind of stress, I just, how could you be so careless? What even happened? You know what, don’t tell me. I don’t want to know. I’m so mad at you right now, Spencer Reid. Just you wait until I’m not consumed with relief that you’re not dead, I might kill you myself.”

The tears wetting your cheeks betray your words, the rant loosing any of its sting as your voice cracks through it.

Putting his hands on either side of your face, he lifts your head up until you’re staring into those eyes you love so much that it actually rips your heart into a thousand tiny pieces every time you think about it.

“Breathe. Didn’t you just say stress isn’t good for the baby?” You want to punch him in the mouth and kiss him senseless at the same time, narrowing your eyes and fighting the smile that Spencer can already see twisting the edges of your lips.

“If you ever do that again-” You start to say, trying and failing to shake away the nightmarish possibilities you’d conjured up in your head on the twenty minute drive from Ryan’s workshop. Spencer smothers your rant into his chest when he folds you back into his arms, cradling the back of your head in one of his large hands.

“I will be more considerate of your nerves going forward, Mrs. Bennet.” He teases. You playfully swat at his back before finally letting his embrace settle over you with it’s usual calming affect.

…

“So are we allowed to talk about how you’re pregnant again?” JJ teases from the front of the elevator, unable to contain her own excitement when she notices the way you and Spencer have your heads leaned together in secret near the back.

Your head pops up, nearly bumping against your fiancée’s with the speed in which move to look at JJ. A cursory sweep across the faces of the rest of the team tells you that JJ isn’t the only one who had connected the dots.

“I hate working with profilers.” You groan, thankful for the ding that signals the opening doors. The sight of the BAU is very much welcome, calling to your fatigued limbs the way a siren might call to a pirate ship. This is your last stop before your bed. Your mother always babysat Graeson in your own home, which made it so much easier when you came back late and you weren’t in the mood to stop by her house at one or two o’clock in the morning to pick up your daughter.

“Hey, don’t get mad at us because you and pretty boy are terrible at keeping secrets.” Morgan teases, elbowing Spencer on his way out of the cramped elevator.

“And using contraceptive, apparently.” Prentiss comments as she goes about shuffling papers and files between bags on her desk. You send her a teasing glare, only letting her slide when she pulls you in for a congratulatory hug.

After she lets go, everyone files in one by one for their own congratulations, patting Spencer on the back (lightly, he has a minor concussion and some serious bruises) and squeezing you into excited hugs. Once Rossi pulls away with a teasing remark about how you find the time for sex between cases and a five month old baby, you pick up your things.

“Ready to go home?” Spencer smiles from his desk, gathering his own things into his arms before making his way over to you.

“I’ve been ready for hours.” You sigh, making your way back to the elevator. Someone shouts a last minute congratulations to you before you get to the clear doors. The sound of hurried heels clicking against the floor stops you in your tracks.

Somehow, in all the exhaustion and all the chaos, you’d forgotten Garcia.

“YOU’RE WHAT?”

#criminal minds #dr spencer reid #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x oc #spencer reid x reader #criminal mind imagine #spencer reid angst #spence reid #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid self insert

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stillebesat · 4 years

Text

Scales (7/7)

Sanders Sides: Logan, Deceit, Virgil, Roman, Patton Blurb: Deceit hadn’t expected his absence from the Mindscape to be noticed by the others…until Logic knocked on his door. Fic Type: General Warnings: Shedding (snake style), Minor Injuries, Minor Pain, Touch Starvation, Death Talk Taglist in Reblog.

To Catch Up: Prologue Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5

Epilogue

Despite Roman’s loud proclamations that they could all stay awake and watch three movies in a row without a problem…both he and Patton had dozed off on the other couch halfway through The Lone Ranger, the two of them so entangled in each other that in the light coming off the screen, Logan had no idea which limbs belonged to which Side.

Though he was sure if he’d given the two a closer study, it would have quickly become obvious. Just like it’d been obvious the exact moment Roman had fallen asleep because the beach scene he’d created had fuzzed and faded before snapping back to their far more comfortable Living Room.

After that point? Well...Logan hadn’t been paying close attention to what was happening around him, not even to the movies Virgil had selected to watch after the first had ended.

How could he, when Lyal was currently using his lap as a pillow?

The move itself was an unusual one for the Lying Side. By his nature, Deceit was...well, deceitful. He hadn’t even told them his real name yet, and with how similar he was to Virgil in learning to trust them...it had been unthinkable that he would allow them to see him with his guard down this soon.

Trust was a two way street and Lyal...was like the feral dog that came close only for food and not much else.

And yet...Logan lightly ran his fingers through the Lying Side’s hair, marveling at how soft it was now compared to how waxy it had been hours earlier. He paused, gently fingering the dark horn no longer than an inch and three quarters poking through his now blonde highlights, careful to not prick his fingers on the sharp tip.

Why a horn? Logan chewed on the bottom of his lip in thought. Why the dyed hair for the matter?

It was a curious phenomenon for both the former Dark Sides considering Virgil had never fully lost the purple sheen in his hair after Thomas had dyed his own for the first time.

Neither he nor Patton or Roman had had such changes happen for longer than Thomas himself experienced them. Did these permanent alterations to their hair, and furthermore to potentially Lyal’s new horn, only extend to the Dark Sides? To once they were revealed and accepted by Thomas?

Logan nodded to himself. He would have to keep notes the next time one of the Others appeared and catalog any changes that that Side experienced---

He frowned, trailing his fingers down the new scales that shimmered like stars under the light of the projector on Lyal’s cheek.

Lyal’s scales had only changed because Thomas was growing to accept him.

But…Deceit wasn’t the first Dark Side to get accepted by Thomas was he?

“I’m glad.”

Logan jumped at Virgil’s unexpected voice, wincing as Lyal made a noise of protest at his movement.

Shoot. Had they woken him up?!

“Mmm?” He asked, attempting to sooth Lyal back to sleep by running his fingers through his hair again.

He’d seen Patton do the same thing to Virgil on days when his anxiety had him twitching at every little sound. From his observation, running fingers through another’s hair would have an eight-two percent success rate in lulling him back to sleep.

Lyal mumbled under his breath, reaching blindly up with his scaled hand to grab onto Logan, his talons tickling his skin there as he pulled it down to his cheek.

Logan’s heart skipped a beat as Lyal softly sighed, mouth quirking up in a small smile as he nuzzled Logan’s palm, curling up closer to him.

“He trusts you.” Virgil whispered.

Logan swallowed, feeling his cheeks heating up as he stroked Lyal’s scaled cheek with his thumb, eliciting another sigh from the former Dark Side. “It...appears so.” He quietly agreed, looking up to meet Virgil’s shadowed eyes.

Virgil raised an eyebrow, giving him a small smirk as he raised his hands so that Logan could see them clearly in the light coming from the screen where An American Tail was playing. ~That’s big. Deceit trusts no one.~

No one? Logan shook his head, his free hand raising in denial. ~Falsehood.~

Virgil quietly scoffed as he slid off the arm of the couch, curling up so his feet brushed against Deceit’s. He reached over to pull a blanket over the both of them. ~Why would I lie?~

Wasn’t it obvious? ~Because he called you A.n.n.i.e.~

Virgil frowned, the shadows under his eyes growing darker. ~So?~ Deceit hadn’t given any of the others nicknames like that. It had only been recently that he called them by their names outside of videos instead of by their titles.

Yet Virgil hadn’t reacted at all to Lyal’s nickname for him. Had called him Dee in return. Logan could gather that there was something more there. Yet with how little Virgil was willing to talk about his time with the Others...Logan doubted he would gain an actual answer tonight.

There were still facets to Anxiety that they were discovering every day. Where he’d compared Lyal to a feral dog, Virgil was definitely much more like a feral cat when it came down to it. “That indicates a level of trust there too.” He said, keeping his voice low.

Virgil shrugged. “We...haven’t been--” He grimaced, ducking his head, fiddling with the blanket covering their feet.

Logan stilled, holding his breath. It never did him well to push when Virgil was...well anxious, about something. It had taken him quite a while to realize that. Hence why he’d offered to teach Anxiety sign language. So that Virgil could express himself when he found it difficult to speak aloud.

~I’m glad you checked in on him.~ Virgil finally said, glancing to Roman and Patton sleeping on the other couch.

Logan forced back the surge of disappointment that welled within him.

Trust was a two way street, he reminded himself, and Virgil was...extremely cautious. Apparently the only revelations he’d be getting tonight were the ones regarding Lyal’s scales.

~Me too.~ He responded, offering Virgil an understanding smile when the Anxious Side glanced at him. He could wait, despite how much he wanted to know the answers now, for Virgil to reveal more when he was ready.

Virgil visibly relaxed, the shadows under his eyes growing lighter as he watched Lyal sleep. ~Don’t tell him. But seeing him like-~ He gestured to the side of his face, eyes flickering to Logan with a weighing look. ~It scared me.~

From how the other two had reacted, Logan was pretty sure Lyal’s appearance had scared everyone. Including himself. ~Same.~ He admitted.

It had been disconcerting to enter Lyal’s room and see him so...vulnerable. Deceit had always held himself aloft from the others. Never appearing to show weakness beyond the fact that he struggled to tell the truth more often than not.

To find him in such a state, with half his body looking like, as Virgil had stated, a mummy. Had been disconcerting. ~I’m glad we got to him in time to help.~ Logan said before moving to trace the scales on Lyal’s exposed shoulder.

Who knew what would have happened had he not gone to see him? If Lyal had been unwilling to open the door. It was something he didn’t want to think on, but would need to consider for the future.

Virgil raised an eyebrow. ~We? I think you mean you. The rest of us didn’t realize anything was wrong.~

Logan grimaced. ~True.~ It was a failing of theirs. To let, as the saying went, sleeping dogs lie. Virgil had ducked out before they realized anything was wrong--no. Before they had understood how important Anxiety was to Thomas as a Side.

Perhaps that was why Lyal had been quicker to let down his guard while Virgil still struggled on occasion to do so.

They’d learned from their mistakes with Anxiety to help Deceit sooner...but still hadn’t managed to assuage the original ones they’d made in the first place.

Logan shrugged a shoulder, glancing down to Lyal to make sure his movement hadn’t disturbed the sleeping Side. ~But we all helped him in the end. I was just the catalyst.~

Tomorrow, once Lyal was awake and Logan had established that there were no ill-effects from the new shedding process, he would have to sit him down and ensure that these circumstances would not occur again.

He’d done the same for each of the others after Virgil’s acceptance, therefore it wouldn’t be much different to do the same to Lyal. Truthfully, he should have done so right after Deceit gave them the temporary name to refer him by. No. Right when he first revealed himself to Thomas was when he should have taken action.

But with how untouchable Deceit had always appeared to them...how quick he could be to silence them...it made sense why Logan had subconsciously put it off.

And with how quickly Lyal had returned to speaking mostly in lies tonight...Logan was ninety-two percent certain his notes on what symptoms to look for when the next shedding event approached would not be fully accurate. He couldn’t always pick up when Lyal was lying. So, until he knew Lyal’s compulsion to tell falsehoods wasn’t as strong...it will be a bit of guesswork on his part. Especially since Logan strongly suspected that the next shed would be a new experience for Lyal too. The normal symptoms may not occur--perhaps he should pull Roman aside too to gather notes of what he knew of the Dragon Witch’s sheds as potential indicators to watch for.

Virgil quietly snorted, shaking his head. ~He trusts Y.O.U. Logan. That’s a big deal. I’ve never seen him--~ He gestured to the sleeping Side. ~Relaxed like this.~

Logan adjusted his glasses, unsure how to respond as his chest fluttered at the compliment.

Lyal trusted him.

He could only hope that he could keep that trust in the coming days as they helped him with any further changes that might happen in the next series of sheds.

After all, Thomas hadn’t fully accepted Deceit yet. That meant there was potential for there to be more alterations to look out for.

However. He couldn’t let Virgil wave away his own contribution to today’s events. “While I may have convinced him to come out to us...it was you, Virgil, who realized why Lyal was struggling with his shed.”

It’s obvious isn’t it? It’s because you’ve been--

Don’t you dare say accepted!

Obvious. Logan smoothed down his tie. Obvious.

Obvious enough that Lyal had known what Virgil was talking about without him needing to finish the sentence.

Accepted.

The scales had changed.

And yet, as Logic, he hadn’t realized that that was the issue.

Virgil pulled his legs up to his chest, wrapping his arms around them. ~It’s nothing special~ He bit his lip as he again glanced to Roman and Patton. “I’m...not….unfamiliar….with...the concept.” He admitted softly.

Logan leaned forward despite himself, his heart thrumming in his ears in anticipation at the unexpected information. “You’re not?”

It’s surprising isn’t it? What changes when you’re accepted.

Hadn’t Virgil’s eyeshadow gotten darker after they’d gone to find him? Hadn’t his hair been a slightly different shade compared to the other’s plum pigmented pili? Perhaps his unease at the time hadn’t been from just trying to figure out how he fit in in their new dynamic.

Perhaps...as a former Dark Side….Virgil too had experienced changes to himself.

Changes that he’d dealt with alone, judging by how he kept checking in on the others to ensure they were still asleep.

Logan bit his tongue, watching the indecision wash over Virgil’s face.

He, Roman, and Patton had progressed a lot since Anxiety had come into the picture...and yet….it appeared they still had a long way to go in getting Virgil to fully trust them.

“Are you...okay? It’s not hurtin--?” His fingers twitched against Lyal’s cheek, tracing the edges there, trying to figure out how to word his question in a way where Anxiety wouldn’t go on the defense as Virgil stiffened, curling up in a tighter ball.

Lyal had been tense as well. Reluctant to say what was actually going on when he’d first walked into his room. Reluctant to let the others know what was happening to him. Logan could only imagine that Virgil’s stress would go off the charts and that he would shut down if Logan pressed too hard too soon.

“If...you ever need assistance, Virge….with anything.” He said, slowly stretching out his free hand palm up to him. “I am here to help however I can.”

Hopefully his actions with Lyal tonight proved that. Proved that Logan was capable of helping the former Dark Sides adjust to...things.

The black under Virgil’s eyes twitched as he studied Logan with an intensity similar to when Anxiety had first seen Deceit in shed, while in the semi-darkness the fabric of his hoodie seemed to...move like a--a--.

Logan blinked, but didn’t break eye contact. A trick of the light? Or something more? It had almost looked like something was trying to push away from Virgil’s body...was it a hint that Anxiety’s own acceptance...was still a work in progress?

Or was he just seeing things? The flickering light from the TV did cause shadows to dance constantly around the room...

Virgil exhaled, moving to brush his fingers over Logan’s in a blink of an eye before he pulled back, curling back in on himself. ~Thanks.~ “I’ll...keep that in mind, Lo.” He said, turning to watch the movie, though Logan doubted Virgil was actually taking in what was happening on the screen. His hand flashed. ~maybe soon.~

The signs had been quick...almost invisible in the semi-darkness.

Soon?

Perhaps more progress had been made than he originally thought if Virgil was willing to admit that much.

Logan ran his fingers through Lyal’s hair, again circling the horn. “Whenever you need me, V.” He whispered with a nod. “I’ll be there.”

End.

#Scales #stillebesat #Sanders Sides #Deceit #Logan #Virgil #Logic #Anxiety #shedding tw #minor injuries tw #minor pain tw #touch starvation #death talk tw

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