#some things are horrible. and they should be spoken aloud and they should upset you. because they are horrible | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

shadowturtlesstuff · 3 years

Text

Enchanted

finally finished this!!! im so happy with it, and will be writing it in thomas’s pov as soon as possible and perhaps part 2?

Sleep evades me. My mind keeps returning to last night, specifically to a certain person I had met last night. I pull the covers higher, burying my head as I finally gave into my wandering mind.

I stand alone, needing a break from my aunt Amelia. The music was beautiful, a soft sound that filled the entire room. The party itself was decorated in a magical way, the columns in the building encompassed in vines, the tables with floral centrepieces. It was a mixture of whimsy and magic, yet no one seemed happy to be here. Everyone I spoke to was forcing smiles, men faked laughter as they believed this was not a party but a way to make business deals and enforce their own reputation. It was absurd how no one was just admiring the effort people put into making this perfect. It was the same every month, I'd walk to the edge of the room and watch. To calm my nerves, to explore the different flower pieces, the musicians and the flickering candles from the chandelier. The gowns women wore only once to try and show their wealth, whilst I tended to wear the same, as it fit the magical atmosphere this room desperately tried to make people see, yet they were too blind by their greed, the need to prove themselves to everyone to just simply stand back and enjoy themselves.

My cousin Liza seemed to be in conversation with Dacina, the host of the party, someone I had spoken to a few times, each being more enjoyable. Her calming demeanour and charm always lifted my spirits. Her family organizes this ball once a month, her father hates it but makes a lot of business so it is always left to her to plan and design it. With the help of Illeana and lots of their servants they always make this place ethereal. Her brother, Thomas Cresswell, only ever shows up for a few hours then leaves, only being able to handle the faking niceties for so long. Dacina told me of his tolerance, or lack thereof, to society. She speaks highly of her brother, as I once did, yet I have never met Mr.Cresswell.

The varnished wooden floor slowly gathers marks as couples danced. How I longed to be one of those dancers, being swivelled by someone I loved. They would look at me as if I was the most magical thing in the room, with a soft smile and adoration in every word he whispers to me. I would be his equal as we spun around, the world fading into nothing as we held each other. Alas, those dreams are not likely for someone cruel enough to carve the dead.

I snap out of my fantasy as a group of older men walk towards the buffet near me. They talk loud enough so everyone can hear, shockingly talking about work. I roll my eyes at them and look away back to the dance floor. The lights above cast shadows, making the scene feel like my imagination as I sit by a fireplace to read a romance novel. If this was a novel, there would be my love interest here, watching and finding the courage to say something. There are families at the table, children clinging to mothers as the men sit and discuss whatever. My father, uncle and aunt sit together in a seemingly civil conversation. I look for Liza again, deciding I should probably stop brooding in the corner but as I look for her my attention keeps going back to the men at the buffet. Not by choice, but by their obnoxious decision to shout their conversation.

“A woman led the strike, ridiculous, she had to go,” I heard an oldish man say, followed by murmurs of agreement, “these strikes are out of hand, demanding we pay more, absurd notions.” The man is none other than Mr. Birling, a notoriously cold hearted man, much like dacianas father apparently, both of whom value money rather than people. Even their own families. The group of men who looked the same as him, slightly wrinkled face, greyish hair, miserable faces with hints of conniving schemes being plotted against each other. Friends until one of them was earning more money and was more successful, then they were enemies again.

The men were in a heated discussion about their business and from what I can dissect from their ramblings is that they fully believe themselves to be hard working men, a rarity these days, and they must do what is necessary for their companies. Meaning, budget cuts, strikes from workers, firing people, and any horrible decision in the name of money. I refrain from rolling my eyes, or going over to berate them.

“Mr. Birling would not know what a hard day's work is.” someone says quietly behind me. His voice is smooth, confident, and whilst I agree due to what I have learnt about the birling family and the conversation I had just overheard, I still wouldn't say it aloud with him being this close. Not that he pays any attention to anyone but ‘hard working men’.

I turn my head slightly, the man behind me is tall, a smirk playing at his lips. His suit is finely tailored in a dark grey, with a peach tie. He takes a step forwards and stands at my side, staring out into the crowd, a glass of half drunk champagne in his hand. I return my gaze to the crowd. “Whatever makes you think that, surely you heard him talk about how much he works,” I try to suppress my own smirk and I also sneak a glance at the strange man. He merely takes a sip of his champagne.

“Right of course, his words, I shall listen more closely next time.”

“As you should. You wouldn't want to misinterpret someone's work ethic and make a fool of yourself in front of a stranger.”

“You consider me a fool now?” he turns to me now, hands pressed against his chest in fake offence. His brown eyes meet mine as I face him. His sharp cheekbones feel familiar, but I can't place where from.

“Yes. how could you consider someone such as Mr Birling, a man with such talent and tolerance of others, a man who clearly built his company and was not handed it by his father, how could you with a straight face imply he doesn’t know hard work.” we stare at each other for a few seconds, then burst out laughing. He has such a pure laugh, we seem to be the only sound in the room. People around us stop and stare, upset two people are having fun at a party. The stranger leans against one of the columns, disrupting the vines slightly. Yet he doesn't seem to care, as he slowly starts to regain his composure from our outburst.

Mr. Birling is one of the men looking at us with full disdain. He perceives us as two kids who do not understand life, he specifically tells his accountant that there is something wrong with us if the rumours are to be believed. Children of science. Outrageous. Especially a girl. A girl, not a woman. I ignore his pathetic whining, intent on not letting him ruin my night and return my focus to the stranger. Who, I realise, is someone who enjoys science. His face is more solemn now, having also overheard Mr.Birling. He quickly recovers and plasters a smirk on his face, a spark shines in his eye and I can already tell this won't be good.

“I want to meet this ‘girl’ who led the strike, perhaps she could use some help. I mean, all they ask is fair pay,”

“But fair pay is absurd. Completely and utterly absurd. Why should the wealthy share their wealth to those who ensure it.” he finishes for me. The men that run this world will end up being the reason it fails. We share a look, full of understanding and he lets out a sigh. Now we're talking about work and politics at a party.

“Aside from those charming men, how are you enjoying the party?” He gestures to the men around us and I snort. Charming was one word for them. Being with him and trading remarks felt like passing notes to each other, telling secrets during class even though we are meant to be listening to the teacher. I can't help but think I know him, and by the look in his own face he knows me. Perhaps we met but didn't have time for a full conversation like we are now.

“Mostly entertaining, the place is spectacular as always, the people are..” I searched for a word to describe the people, as well as my family. I love them dearly but they can be insufferable. “An interesting mix. My family is dramatic, so I escaped to the edge to peace and quiet, which apparently isn't possible. "I give him a pointed look but he takes no notice.

“My family is also dramatic, and I came for peace myself but found myself captivated by you, specifically how you watched the crowd, listening, and how you curled your fists in an attempt not to go and publicly humiliate the poor man. Which, by the way, I think you should've. Would've made the whole thing worth it.” He takes a sip of his champagne and I nearly roll my eyes at him. Of course he'd want that. From what I can tell he isn't someone who enjoys society and has no problem saying it. I also think about the families in attendance and which of those are dramatic. The only person I can think of is Darci's brother, whom I've not met but heard about his nature over wine with her.

“If I was merely standing here minding my business would you still have found me captivating enough to talk to me? Or is my appeal in my anger?”

He downs the rest of the drink and straightens himself taking a step towards me. I cross my arms, impatient but he gives me a soft smile. “I've been trying to get the courage to talk to you for months, I always see you here at the edge, always. My eyes find you instantly in any crowd. Transfixed, captivating. It was an added bonus to me when I saw the fierce nature in your eyes up close, I knew I was right to want to befriend you.”

Silence falls as we both take in his words. I feel bad, not being able to figure out who he is. His honesty is admirable and makes me smile, as well as blush. I can feel heat rise to my cheeks. Just as I begin to rectify the situation by asking for his name, a man comes behind

me, he’s around 40 probably, and looks at me horrendously in an attempt at a smile. I recognised him from earlier, he's one of the men that spoke with Mr Birling and that alone makes me instantly want to recoil.

“Can I help you sir?” I asked and I can hear my own clipped words, yet somehow he does not. The smile widens and he looks me up and down. Then he offers his hand to me and I realise he wants to dance. With a woman half his age, that he has never met.

“Miss Wadsworth, dance with me?” more of a common than a question. Since I am already highly aware he doesn’t like when females have opinions or say no, I refrain from rolling my eyes and just walking off from him. Instead I take a step back, so I'm by my new friend’s side and smile widely.

“I'm afraid I already promised the darling Wadsworth a dance, we are just finishing our drinks first.” As if to prove my point he drinks the last of his drink, mostly to hide his smirk. Something else the man doesn't seem to notice. His face drops, but his pride makes him believe he can stand there, waiting for me to run to him. There is an awkward silence until I feel hands reach down and take mine, they are warm and make me jump slightly at the contact. Not in a bad way, not in the way I would have if it had been the man in front of me with his gaze like fire as he looks at our joined hands as though he has a right to be mad about it. I feel my own fire burn as he stares, so I tug his hand away from the man. I need to just escape into the dreamlike nature of the dancefloor, as well as thank my saviour and learn his name.

He leads me to the dance floor, nearer the edge and his hands slip down to my waist as I find his shoulders. His touch is hesitant but reassuring. Somehow he looks calm and terrified, as though he never expected to dance with me but never wants to stop. I can't help but feel the same as we begin to move. My skirt swirls around us and we say nothing for a while as we both calm ourselves and let the music envelope us. In a way, this is as close to my daydreaming as I might ever get. Being here on the dance floor with someone who isn't twice my age and the definition of misogyny. We dance as equals, neither of us truly leading but letting each other float around each other. We're sure of our movements and demand nothing from each other. It is a weird calmness that settles. We are strangers as far as i know, and yet we dance as though we have known each other our entire lives.

“You are a delight, miss Wadsworth.” he breaks the silence, somehow louder than the music for me, yet it's quiet. Almost like he didn't mean to say it aloud.

“How do you know me?” my voice matches and i feel bad asking, but i need to know. My tone is not accusing, and his face only burrows in confusion for a second before he smirks at me. A smirk I'm seeming to become familiar with.

“My sister Dacina speaks highly of you.” my eyes must expand as he laughs softly. That's why I recognized him. He has the same structure as Dacina, sharp cheekbone and soft skin. Perfect complexion.

“So you are the infamous Thomas cresswell?” this time I smirk and his eyes widen.

“Infamous? What on earth have you heard of me?”

“Your sister has lots of opinions on you.”

“Of course she does. Whatever she has said is most likely not true.” He blurts out and I laugh at his relationship with his sister and him wanting to impress me. “Unless she told you I am utterly irresistible, charming, quick witted and incredibly smart.” winking at me he sends me into a surprising spin and my hands land on his chest. We've sped up slightly, yet our heartbeats are both faster than necessary and I can see a hint of a blush creeping up on his cheeks.

“She did mention you have an overly large ego. She'll be happy to know I agree with her.” I feel his hands tighten at my waist slightly and I watch his curls fall down in his face as he shakes his head. I'm delighted by this turn of events. Daci is wonderful, and if this is the Thomas that I get to see, not his reputation, then I shall try and keep this in my life for as long as possible. His spark in his eyes shows how he may think the same. Also, if daci, liza and ileana are with Thomas, then i might have the most fun I've ever had in my life.

His voice slides through my thoughts, but also reinforces them. “I am sure she failed to mention how big of an ego she has. Honestly, Darci is worse than I. Have you met Illeana? She will surely agree with me on this.”

“I'm sure she would, I've also heard you are a scientist, what do you study?”

“The dead. Much like you and your uncle.” There is so much certainty in his voice, no resentment or the usual tone I hear so I gift him an earnest smile.

The song ends, and we stand, hands still on each other for a second longer than we should. Just as I go to remove my hands from his chest I feel him pinch my sides lightly. Then his warm hands slip from my waist and I wish more than anything to dance again.

We go to return back to the column near the buffet, where we first spoke, and as I take a step I feel him move so he's pressed at my back, his hands finding mine. Even though we are gloved, even though no one can see our hands due to how close we are, and how many people are moving about, my heart pounds at his bold nature. I adore it, so I squeeze him and keep my head facing forward as I lead him off the dance floor. We settle back, Thomas letting go of my hand to pick up two glasses of champagne and hands me one. We both take a long sip, perhaps settling our brains or making it worse. Well see.

“You look,” he pauses, as if trying to find the right words, brows furrowed slightly as if he was reading a dictionary, “enchanting.” he finally finishes, gifting me a rare smile it seems. No longer does he smirk at me, but shows me a genuine look that I want to have painted as it is the best thing I have witnessed. Heat rises to my cheeks as I look down at my dress. Someone at least understood what I was going for, with a pale peach colour, sparkling bodice that runs along the length of the skirt. The long sleeves adorned with tiny gemstones, golden to match the accented colours of the hall. In response to Thomas I look back up at him with my own genuine smile, perhaps some of the only true smiles to be shared this evening. His suit fits him perfectly, showing off his defined features, his tie a pale peach as well. I assume Dacina helps him, as her dresses always astound me with the details. There are tiny, miniscule gems on his tie, that snake down and remind me of vines.

“You look,” I act the way he did, scanning my brain for something that fits, handsome or charming doesn't do justice but I'm sure whatever I use will only boost his ego and be used against me, so I settle with: “bedazzling.”

“Bedazzling?”

“Thomas, I study the dead, I have to look closer than one should at things, so of course I noticed your tie. Henceforth: bedazzling.” The air shifts back to our teasing tone and he smirks once again.

“You are the only one to notice, except Daci of course, nothing gets past her. Am I correct in assuming you like the tie?” Despite his teasing I feel a hint of worry as if I wouldn’t like his tie.

“I adore the tie cresswell, everyone here should be weaning ties with tiny jewels.”

His face falls as he scans the crowd, eyes narrowing slightly as he takes in the groups of men. “I cannot tell if you are being serious with me or not, but I agree nonetheless. The men here are awfully drab, boring, plain. It's insulting to us really. Daci puts so much time into making this beautiful and these people do not see it.” He is shaking his head. I agree, I have heard how much work goes in and despite my effort to help she insists that I do nothing but enjoy the party. I have a sneaking suspicion though that Liza helps. The flower centrepieces are her favourite, and whilst that might be a coincidence I know how stubborn and convincing she can be.

“I do. I love her parties. I always find myself standing here, watching and noticing all the changes from the month prior. Like, last month she went for more of a red theme, with red roses as the centrepieces, little red accented chairs and carpets. Whereas this month is more of a forestry vine, hence the vines around the column.” I point as though they are a secret thing you need to search for even though they are obvious. Yet he turns anyway and runs his finger down the length of it with his adorable face set at a soft smile. Thomas might have been there when she got the idea, or placed them or he might have placed them himself and is now remembering it.

My gaze finds Thomas and he looks at me, baffled, and I feel the blush creeping back up. It is not the same confused look that I get when I tell people my love of science, but one of intrigue. As if he could listen to me talk forever and not get bored. It's as if he has never thought anyone would notice such things about his family's party. “Enchanting.” is all he whispers to me. Then he clears his throat, an ever so soft shake of his head as though once again the words were meant for him and not us both.

I stare out at the crowd again. I'm sure my family will want to know where I've disappeared to, I normally do not leave them this long. Liza I'm sure will want to know why I danced with Thomas. Yet the thought of leaving him makes my legs leaden and my heart sink and anchor me right next to him. Im completely wonderstruck, and feel ill have a permanent blush, especially when i look at his stupidly handsome face, his quick smirk and small smiles that feel special. It is odd, I've only heard stories, spoken to him briefly and danced, yet I have enjoyed his company immensely and hope this never ends. I want more dances and to steal more smiles to keep forever. I want to make fun of people together, and dance.

I go to steal a glimpse of him, expecting to find him staring at the crowd like I was but his eyes are on me. “I have to leave,” his abrupt words anchor me in an entirely different way, “I mean, I want to stay and I'm sure you want my amazing presence always now Wadsworth but I have to wake early. New job. So, my darling, I shall see you tomorrow.” Thomas hesitates for half a second and begins to walk away. I watch him go and say goodnight to his sister and then leave. His words fill my head. It’s reassuring to know he enjoys my company as much as I do.

I bolt upright in my bed, the lights, music and memories falling away as I focus on the last words he said to me.

I'll see you tomorrow.

What does tomorrow mean? Does it mean he has a job where he thinks I visit? Will he be making an effort to befriend me? Does he know my family? I am so confused. How had I not caught these words sooner? Perhaps he wants to tell me he had a terrible time, that he doesn't like my presence. I'm on my feet without realising, pacing back and forth, the cold air hugging me close. I wish he was in front of me now. I wish he would whisper the words enchanting again. I wish I knew what was happening in a few hours that warranted him saying those four words. I run my hands over my face, untie my hair and let my curls fall over my shoulder, brushing away the colder ever so slightly. I'm ridiculous. Four tiny words sent me spiralling. I climb back into bed, my hair fanning out around me and the blanket returning warmth back into my system. Immediately my mind returns to Thomas, his face forever in my mind. Even if tomorrow could be the last time I see him, there is a chance that it is just the start.

Enchanting…

Those words fill me with confidence that yes, Thomas might become someone special to me. That perhaps our dance sparked something and now all I wish is that I can tell him how enchanting he is.

@fangirling-again @kittycat2187 @goatahoan @city-of-fae @purplecreatorhorsewagon @boredbookwormgirl @goddess-of-writing-wars @loveyatopluto @lovecakeandmore @yikesitsmaddie @bookscressworth @androgynousdeputylawyershoe @fandomtakeover @throneoftsc @the-hoofflepooff

#sjtr #hpd #efh #ctd #cresswell #thomas and audrey rose #Thomas Cresswell #Audrey Rose Wadsworth #audrey rose #kerri maniscalco #enchanted #taylor swift #stalking jack the ripper #Hunting Prince Dracula #escaping from houdini #capturing the devil

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fckinsupreme · 4 years

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Outpost micheal and reader get a argument about how he always working and not spending much time with her, she gives him the silent treatment, but in the end they make up ❤️

I made reader a witch in this!

—-

It had been the fight to end all fights.

Michael was always tapping away at his computer, always going to Cooperative meetings within the Sanctuary, always busy with some nonsense or another. He barely had any time for you anymore, and you hated it. You resented his work, because it was the one thing that was taking him away from you. The one person who promised to always put you first, told you that you were always his top priority, held you as you sobbed at the notion of the end of the world without your family...now, it was as though none of that mattered to him. It was as though you were nothing more than a distraction from his greater plans and he was purposefully trying to drive you away.

So, when you finally had enough, it was an explosion. You confronted him as he sat at his laptop, typing in data and ignoring your advances. You accused him of being selfish, of not wanting to be with you anymore, of every hurtful thing that he had made you feel or had actually done. He defended himself by saying that it wasn’t like that at all, that he was only getting his ducks in a row for any remaining outpost and making sure things would go according to plan. This was the end of the world, you’d said, why was there still so much fucking work to do? Shouldn’t it have been done by now? That’s when he made it all about him, about how he was the one being neglected when you had done no such thing. In fact, as you’d pointed out, you were always trying to show him attention; he was the one rebuffing it.

Michael became furious, and you were already angered enough. Him turning it around on himself only made you more upset, and your powers always became unruly when you felt such strong, negative emotions. Objects flew around the room, the two of you screamed at each other, and you almost destroyed his computer before he used his own powers to lift it out of reach. He gave you a bewildered look, and you told him not to bother coming to your quarters that night—or any night in the foreseeable future, for that matter.

The fight took place four days ago, and you still had yet to speak to Michael. Sure, he’d tried to initiate a conversation or get your attention, but you ignored him each time. You hadn’t spoken aloud since the argument, unless it was to utter a hello or good morning to one of the other Sanctuary members. Michael was growing increasingly worried over your silent treatment, and on that fourth night, he picks up his pride and knocks softly on your door.

“Y/N,” he says from the other side, sounding absolutely defeated. “Please open up. This behavior is quite childish, and we need to be mature. We need to fix this.”

You tossed the book you were reading aside, getting up from the bed and opening the door. “Fine,” you say, gesturing for him to come in.

“It’s good to hear you talking again,” he says with a chuckle, sitting in the chair on the other side of the room. He looks as godlike as ever, his angelic features and long, golden tresses shining in the light of the lanterns. “There was a time when I thought I would never miss your voice. I realize how foolish that assumption was.”

“What do you want?” you ask, sitting on your bed.

“To apologize,” he says, his heavily-jewelled fingers folded in his lap. “I behaved horribly a few nights ago. I should have known that you were upset over my recent business, and that it was taking all of my time. I’m sorry for that, and I’m sorry for the fight.”

“How do I know it won’t continue?” you ask. “How do I know that this is sincere and that you won’t go back to doing the same shit tomorrow?”

“I won’t,” he promised. “I’ll divide my time between you and work. I won’t neglect again.”

You meet his eyes across the room, and you can see the sincerity in them. You sigh, standing up and walking over to where he’s sitting before perching yourself in his lap. “Apology accepted for now. But if you start again, then I won’t be so forgiving next time.”

“It won’t happen again,” he says sternly, his blue eyes blazing with fury. “You have to trust me.”

“Okay, okay, I do,” you say, grinning as you hold your hands up in mock surrender. “I missed you.”

“I missed you, too,” he says, pulling you in for a passionate kiss. “I missed a lot of things about you.”

“I’ll bet I know one thing you missed,” you say with a smirk, standing up from his lap and holding out your hand.

He takes it, to your surprise, and you lead him to the bed. Before you reach it, you use your powers to throw him onto the mattress, something that causes you both to giggle. Michael doesn’t usually allow you to use your abilities on him, but that seems to go out the window when it comes to sex. He got off on it; it was one of his deepest secrets. This powerful man, this beacon of darkness who put up a stone-cold front, was actually not as hard as he appeared to be. He had a lot of people fooled, but he could never fool you; you sensed it from the moment you met him all those years ago.

“My kinky little whore,” Michael says as you strip out of your dress. You lay yourself bare before him, his tongue running over his lips and an obvious erection pressed within the front of his dark pants. “Daddy missed his favorite slut. He missed her warm, tight cunt and how hard she cums when I tie her up and have my fucking way with her.”

“Is that what you want to do now?” you tease, straddling his waist and rubbing your wet, exposed pussy over his hard, concealed cock. “Mmm...Daddy, you’re rock fucking hard. You’re that pent up, huh?”

“It’s been /ages/ since I fucked you,” he growls, his hands squeezing your tits as your nipples perk under his touch. “Get your favorite pair of handcuffs, Y/N. Use your powers to retrieve them; don’t move off of me. I’m going to show you what happens when you act like a little brat, as you did several days ago. You’re going to see just how pent up I truly fucking am.”

—

Baby taglist: @littledemondani @wroteclassicaly @angel-langdon @leatherduncan @lvngdvns @langdxn @wickedlangdon @melodylangdon @littlegirlsdontplaynice @codyfernmorelikedaddyfern @frenchlangdon

#i trieddd 😩😩😩#michael langdon #michael langdon imagine #michael langdon blurb #michael langdon x reader #michael langdon request

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airiervessel · 4 years

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Accidentally witnessed kiss Moceit?

52. Accidentally witnessed kiss // prompts open! (list)

Note: made this one a sequel to this!

Word Count: 1311 Pairing: Moceit, future Logicaliceit Content: hurt/comfort, angst, not really a happy ending but it will be eventually cause i’ve wrapped myself up in this verse apparently

Though Patton understands that things are still tense between all the sides, that it’s not a good time to tell the others about their new relationship, it’s still hard to keep it to himself. He wants to shout it from the rooftops, wants to plop himself down in Janus’s lap on the couch and show everyone just how much he loves him.

Because Patton does love him. He hasn’t said it aloud yet -- he can sense that Janus is still a little scared of that kind of commitment, of that level of honesty -- but he has no qualms with admitting it to himself. He loves Janus, loves him so much he constantly wants to giggle and squeal with how absurdly happy the other makes him. He’s so cute, with the way his tongue sticks out slightly whenever he’s focused on something, or the way his hair is actually rather unruly underneath that hat. He looks absolutely adorable in the snake onesie that Patton gave him, and the way he bundles close to Patton for warmth pretty much constantly when they’re alone is, frankly, just downright precious.

Patton doesn’t much enjoy keeping secrets from the other sides and Thomas, especially when this one makes him so happy he’s just desperate to try to share it with everyone, to try to help them all feel better. But Janus is right -- it’s the wrong time to tell them. With how fragile Roman still is, and how Virgil probably still doesn’t trust Janus, the others definitely won’t react as either of them hope they will, and they should at least wait until things settle down in the mindscape.

Remus still seems angry on Roman’s behalf, and hasn’t spoken to Janus since the day of the wedding -- Patton can tell Janus is upset by it, that he regrets saying that horrible thing about Remus, but the creative side will hardly do anything besides his job, though he seems to be doing his best to fill Roman’s shoes and not make Thomas’s ideas too creepy and horrible, though he hasn’t succeeded much.

Logan, out of everyone, would probably react the best, though they still don’t know if he’ll understand. They’re both worried that he’s mad at each of them: Patton for not listening to him, for jumping at the chance to hit that Skip All button Janus provided, and Janus for replacing him at all, for yanking him out and stepping in his place and then actually getting the others to listen to him when they wouldn’t to Logan.

It’s been three days since the wedding, and Patton has hardly seen any of the other sides except for Janus -- Remus, Logan, and Virgil come out for meals and to do their jobs, to help keep an eye on Thomas and get him through his days, but then they retreat back to their rooms, Remus or Virgil always taking food for Roman and resolutely ignoring Patton’s efforts to organize a family dinner.

Patton steps into the kitchen to find Janus already there leaning over the counter, though he doesn’t seem to be making anything. Patton steps up behind him, wrapping his arms around his boyfriend’s waist and resting his head on Janus’s shoulder blades. He feels the other side relax in his hold, releasing a sigh before turning in Patton’s arms. Patton raises his head to allow it, then tucks it back under Janus’s chin when the other’s hand guides it to, his arms coming up around Patton and squeezing him in a hug. Patton finds himself relaxing, too, feeling Janus’s cape settling over his shoulders and his chin resting on top of his head.

“I wish they would talk to us,” he says, feeling tears prick at the back of his eyes at the thought of the emotions between everyone in their family right now, of everything they’re all refusing to talk about. “I wish we could work this out.”

He feels Janus press a kiss into the top of his head. “I don’t,” he whispers, and Patton understands his compulsion to lie, recognizes his tone and knows what he means. When the first tear slips from Patton’s eye, Janus must feel it on his neck, for he presses a hand to Patton’s face and turns it up to face him, his gloved thumbs wiping the tears off his cheeks. “I love seeing you cry, Patton,” he murmurs, concern shining through his eyes as he looks between Patton’s, who snorts a bit.

“Sorry,” he says, raising a hand to wipe at his own eye, smiling slightly when Janus takes the hand in his own, his thumb running over the knuckles.

“It won’t be okay, darling,” Janus says, and Patton smiles at him, tilting his head up in a silent question for a kiss.

Janus rolls his eyes, but acquiesces, leaning down so he can press their lips together. Patton keeps his arms wrapped around his waist, his hands linking together as Janus’s cradle his face. Patton tries to press closer, to deepen the kiss, but Janus seems insistent on keeping it gentle, tilting his head and keeping his mouth closed.

There’s a noise behind them, a scuffing of a shoe and a sputtering voice, and they separate, Patton turning to look at the kitchen door, his eyes widening when he sees Logan standing there with his mouth open, an empty coffee mug in his hand.

“Logan!” Patton exclaims, stepping quickly away from Janus and beaming at the logical side, wondering if they can somehow play it off, if maybe Logan didn’t see them. “Did you want some lunch? I can make sandwiches, or soup, or-”

“I am sorry,” Logan’s voice cuts him off, sounding like he does when he’s trying to hide his emotions, trying to act like he doesn’t have feelings. Like when he’s upset. “I did not mean to interrupt.”

“Oh, it’s okay, Lo, you’re not a bother! I’d love if you joined us for lunch-”

Logan interrupts him again, his back ramrod straight and his eyes focused somewhere over Patton’s shoulder, at a point on the wall. “I was just bringing my mug down. I am sorry again for disturbing you.” He steps into the room, steadfastly avoiding their eyes as he places his mug in the sink before moving back to the door, where he hesitates, glancing over his shoulder at them. For the first time, Patton glimpses some kind of emotion in his expression, though he doesn’t have enough time to identify it. “I am...happy for you two. Congratulations.”

Logan disappears around the corner, and Patton hears his feet on the stairs a moment later. He must have been really distracted to not just sink out. Patton’s shoulders slump as he looks forlornly at where Logan stood.

“He was lying.” Janus’s voice makes him turn around, and he sees his boyfriend staring at the mug Logan left in the sink, his eyebrows furrowed and a frown on his face.

“About what?” Patton asks.

Janus just shakes his head, wrapping his arms around himself and looking so sad that Patton can’t help but step forward and hug him again.

---------

In his room, Logan closes the door and leans back against it, quietly considering the tightness in his chest when he feels something wet on his cheeks. He raises a hand and touches it, and is genuinely surprised to realize that he’s crying. “Huh,” he says, the word cracking on a near-silent sob. “Feelings.”

He slides down the door until he’s sitting on the floor, his knees pulled up to his chest, and wonders how to even begin figuring out what this means, or how to stop these irrational tears from falling unbidden, these sobs from jolting his chest and wracking his shoulders.

He sits alone, trying to parse through the feelings he’s always needed help to understand.

#moceit #logicaliceit #loceitality #logan sanders #patton sanders #janus sanders #sanders sides #ellie writes #anonymous #me writing that first moceit kiss: these prompts will all be unconnected #me now: this is gonna be a chaptered fic

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vaire-gwir · 4 years

Text

Some Cat and Wolf fanfic I had in mind pt.3

We are back to lockdown where I live so I had plenty of time to kill and this is the result, this is my excuse. There was plot, but I kinda got lost in a messy plan I don’t know what to do with it.

In short, Lambert is still very messed up and figures out a plan to settle for a while, there’s the usual flashback but I’ve never written smut (under the cut) in my entire life so I hope it’s not too horrible, an attempt was made. A failed attempt probably, but still an attempt nonetheless. Let me now what I can do to get better?

Did I say English is not my first language? Well, it’s not, and I always feel like I don’t know enough words to put down what I have in my head. Still not canon, still not anywhere close a valid characterization, still trash.

***

<<There you go, 300 crowns.>> The captain doesn't leave him waiting too long, thank fuck for that. The werewolf proved almost too easy to kill and Lambert is eager to go back to the inn and wash away ever thought of his dead lover with ridiculous amounts of alcohol. Spending the rest of his day drunk out of his mind sounds like a great plan, not one that Aiden would approve of, but he's not here to convince him otherwise. <<I'll find my way out.>> Something moves at the corner of his eyes, and his senses immediately pick up the weird rustling of leaves, preparing himself in case of unexpected danger. A black and orange cat jumps out of the bushes, the small beast is probably chasing something or doing whatever cat business cats usually do, but Lambert could swear he knows those green eyes darting around, he's seen them before millions of times. The animal is gone in a heartbeat and he shakes his head. If he could, he'd kick his own ass, cause he needs to stop thinking about Aiden, it's clearly muddling with his head. <<...still missing.>> He stopped paying attention to the captain's words a long time ago, he had no sympathy left in himself to share with the man. Lambert is only good at dealing with physical pain: the pain of the beatings his father used to give him, the pain of the trials, the pain of a monster tearing at his flesh, he learned to face it cause he knew that it would go away eventually. It was just a matter of time, broken bones and split lips mend, claw marks and cuts fade rather quickly being a Witcher and simply leave one more scar to his collection. Other things, he’s not good at coping with them, especially emotions, cause he's not even supposed to have them. They don't go away like bruised ribs. <<Not much I can do about that.>> <<But you've seen something? We hoped he managed to escape but...we didn't...Is he...dead?>> The missing soldier, Lambert remembers now. The werewolf took twelve men but only eleven bodies were found. <> He sees the old man's eyes widen at the thought, he sees the flicker of hope and he hates to kill it. <<A wife.>> <<You don't want his wife to see what I saw, trust me on that.>> Lambert leaves without another word.

The sole fact that a cat with green eyes is messing up with his head should be alarming, there must be something wrong with him. There were thousands of cats with green eyes all around the Continent, so why was he making such a big deal out of it? It's not like he'd never seen one before. Though in a way, a Cat with green eyes messed up with more than just his head already, that's what got him in this whole situation he’s not very good at handling. The only thing he's good at is killing things, and this is what he has to keep doing. He isn’t even that great at eliminating monsters actually, his brothers are much better, but that's all he knows how to do. Maybe he should look for them, track Eskel somewhere and explain what happened, explain that everything went to hell and now there are days when nothing makes sense anymore, he can’t even seem to care enough to find another contract, another village, another monster. He's not going to tell him that he saw a cat with Aiden's eyes and there's not enough to drink in this tavern to chase away that thought, cause patient as he may be, Eskel is not going to put up with crazy.

Looking for his brothers is a terrible idea, now that he thinks about it. He just needs to go somewhere with enough monsters for him to stop moving around all the time, cause he can't travel on the bad days. He can barely leave the room, on bad days. That's why Lambert comes up with a plan: he'll go to the only place where he doesn't have to find work, cause work will find him anyway. That is, as soon as he feels like existing again, because today the shadows crowding the corners of his vision don't leave him alone and there are green eyes haunting him every time he blinks.

Lambert wishes more than anything that he could feel Aiden again, the real one, not the ghost he sees in his dreams, just lay entangled in bed without any words being spoken aloud, their hands, their lips, their touches already said everything that needed to be told. Words have a habit of lingering just below his line of reach, they were there, but just a little too far for him to grasp at them and put them into thoughts he could say out loud. There were so many words between Aiden and him, words unspoken and words he'd like to take back, and why the fuck words are so complicated anyway?

It takes him another day before he's able to travel, but at least now he has a plan. Lambert tolerates Toussaint because people are filthy rich and always willing to pay a little extra to prove just how wealthy they are. He's been there before, spent three full weeks in a castle with Aiden, hunting a striga. The problem is, memories haunt him anyway, he can't get rid of them. At least they don't want to stone him there.

<<Lambert?>> He lingers on the doorstep for a moment before entering and closing the door behind his back. The light of the moon is enough for him to make out Aiden's form slowly sitting up on the bed, rumpled sheets pooling at his waist, and a faint trace of lavender soap invades the air. <<Why, were you waiting for someone else?>> Lambert is still holding an empty cup he brought up from the ballroom he just managed to leave, the only good part of the night was the wine. Empty social meetings and royal occasions are just an excuse for nameless Lords and Ladies to brag about the huge pile of bullshit they were sitting on. It bored him to death. And it all proved rather useless cause he didn't get much information about the striga that was supposedly haunting the castle. Lord Launfal kept passing him and Aiden around, showing them off like hunting trophies for the court to gawk at and bragging about having two Witchers at his services. What a fucking idiot, he hates royals with all of himself. But Aiden didn't even seem to mind! He had princes and ladies eyeing him as if he was an expensive cake they couldn't wait to get their dirty fingers on, and Lambert was upset. He didn't like people looking at his lover as if they were about to eat him. The worst part was that he saw the Cat talking to all those rich idiots, playing along as if he wanted nothing more than meeting another Lady Nobody from Nowhere, as if he was enjoying all the attention. Lambert was already fuming after the first part of the evening was over, and somehow it all seemed to go downhill when people started to discretely slip Aiden invitations for more.

Everybody hated and despised Witchers, in all corners of the Continent they were treated no better than the beasts they were hired to kill, chased out of villages and stoned, with one single exception. In Toussaint, they were some kind of luxury to exhibit, like exotic animals from distant lands, nothing more than the latest attraction among the richest assholes of the province. And Aiden, beautiful green-eyed Aiden, apparently was a favourite. Lambert kept hearing people offering his lover to finish the night in a more interesting manner, and it made his blood boil. He wanted to finish their night in a way more interesting manner, as in slitting some throats or throwing a bastard, or six, out of the window. Aiden pretended to accept the offers with a kind word, fully aware of his position here and what was required of him, saying he was still bound to his job but perhaps he could find time later. Maybe he wasn't pretending, that's what the voice in Lambert's head keeps saying. Maybe he'll take one of those invites. Maybe that's why he's so surprised to see Lambert now.

<<Possibly. I was terribly bored here by myself.>> Next thing Aiden knows, something is flying in his direction and he thanks his Witcher senses or the mug would have hit him fair and square. He ducks out of the way cursing, the loose black shirt covering him slips from his shoulder and his hair is a little tousled. When he speaks again his voice sounds on the good side of rough. <<What the fuck pup? I was just kidding!>> He stares at the cup on the floor more than a little surprised, things thrown at him were not part of his plan for the rest of the night. <<Didn't sound like it to me.>> Aiden smiles, the bastard has the courage to look smug and stare at him while Lambert busies himself with the buckles of his armor. He can tell by the way his Wolf was moving that something made him angry, and considering the night they had, the list of things that could have caused it was unsurprisingly long. <<Are you, by any chance, jealous, my dear wolf?>> <<What? No! Of course not! Do whatever and whoever the fuck you want.>> He tries to sound as careless and uninterested as possible, as if the idea of Aiden with someone else doesn't disturb him at all. He fails miserably.

Lambert finishes removing all his gear, leaving it in a pile on the floor and trying his best to ignore Aiden's pleased expression. He moves towards the screen door hiding the bathroom to retrieve a damp rag, but Aiden is up in a second, facing him. <<You're jealous.>> <<And you're still here? Thought you were waiting for someone, weren't you? Don't keep them waiting.>> He casually points at the door behind them. Of course he's jealous, he is jealous of everyone that ever caught Aiden's attention, constantly afraid of not being enough for the other man, but he isn't about to suddenly admit he doesn't know how to deal with his emotions, cause he doesn't have emotions. He doesn't. The Witcher, heartless, cold, the song didn't say the Witcher a soft sappy guy, it doesn't even rhyme. <<You're kicking me out?>> Aiden raises an eyebrow at him, casually leaning against the stone wall of the bathroom. <<Oh please, I'm sure there's more than one rich Lord or Lady in this house that would welcome you in a soft bed and with spread legs.>> Lambert moves past the Cat, fumbling with his clothes as if he doesn't know what to do with his hands before stripping down to his trousers. He picks up a washcloth from the side of the bathtub, mindlessly scrubbing down his arms and chest, frowning at the water in front of him as if it held the solutions to all his problems. Aiden's scent follows him around the room, and he's so used to it that it's always weird for him to be in a room that doesn't smell like Aiden when they go their separate ways for a couple of days. <<Sorry, when did I turn into a high-class whore in this ridiculous story of yours? All this because you refuse to admit you're jealous?>> <>

Aiden knows well enough that none of them is after a fight, too strung high after their evening. And he also knows that confronting Lambert is simply not working. He softens his voice and steals the washcloth from his hands, dipping it in the warm water again and beginning to gently swipe it across tense shoulder blades. <<Do you think that if I had my eyes on someone I'd bring them to our room? The very same room where I know you will come back? I decide to cheat on you and I do it in our bed, wearing your shirt? That's not a very smart move. Also, you were with me the entire night, who do you think I was waiting for?>> Lambert doesn't move, taken aback by Aiden's unexpected gesture. He knows the touch of the warm palm on his side he knows the motion of the hand that brings the rug down his back, and he's grateful for the familiarity of it. He can get lost in the sensation. Aiden is being nice to him, even after he practically called him a whore. Damn his stupid big mouth.

<<Plenty of options. I heard about all the invites you got.>> He mumbles under his breath, all the demanding voices of the evening just spent still echoing in his ears. Aiden lets the washcloth fall back into the water, placing a small kiss just under the nape of his neck as he was used to do every time they were cleaning up after a contract, it was his way to tell him it was all done, they could relax now that it was over. It's one of the little things Aiden does to keep him grounded, like leaving something of his in plain sight in the rooms they shared, so if Lambert woke up alone he would always know that he hadn't left for good, he was just at the blacksmith or getting them breakfast and he was coming back soon, or the fingers ghosting at the inside of Lambert's wrist when he was getting mad and he wanted to be on his own, so Aiden remained just close enough to trail his fingers on the back of his clenched fists or his wrists from time to time. Small things, habits picked up in many days and nights together, learning each other quirks without ever pointing them out, without ever judging but simply accepting them and learning what to do with them, cause they know fully well that sometimes fighting and fucking until they were out of energy was not enough, cause they were on edge and everything threatened to set their nerves off, so their best chance was trying to smooth out the razor-sharp corners of their frustration with soft touches and whispered words in the quiet. <> <<Then why did you sound so surprised when I walked in?>> Aiden laughs at his sudden outburst, moving his arms around Lambert's waist and pressing himself against his back. <<Cause I was sleeping you stupid pup! You said you wanted to stay a while longer but I was this close to snap someone's neck. I had to go.>> <<Oh. So you were not....waiting for someone else?>> Lambert feels his lover placing another soft kiss at the back of his neck before resting his chin on his shoulder. He tentatively lays one of his hands on Aiden's arm still around his waist, fingering the black fabric there as if he wasn't sure he was still allowed to touch him after the things he said. <<You're so stupid, you're lucky I love you. I couldn't bear being shown off among those bastards as if I was for sale, that's why I came back here. I cleaned up and I wanted to wait for you to return but I must have fallen asleep. >> <<You love me?>> Aiden hears him whispering, his voice so low he can only make it out because of his sharpened senses. He lays another kiss on his shoulder, tracking an errant drop of water with his lips. <<Very much. Now tell me why were you so angry?>> <> Lambert sighs loudly and moves away from his embrace, suddenly feeling even more self-conscious than usual. Aiden was not cheating, of course, why did he even say that? This was him being an asshole as always, taking out his anger on the first person who tries to put up with him. <<No, come on, tell me. What did you think was going on here?>> Lambert sits heavily on the edge of the bed, eyes trained on the green carpet covering a good part of the floor. He wants to make things right, but words are dirty treacherous things slipping out of his reach, and he doesn't know how to explain why there's always a nasty voice in his head whispering cruel things.

<<I see you. And I see people around you. They look at you. Want you. And you're...you, you flirt with them. They always reek of lust and desire, I could practically catch pretty maids getting wet between their legs when you talked to them. You could be spending the night with a fucking Princess or a Lord, but you're here in the servants' wing for no good reason.>> He lets out the breath he didn't realize he held, it always seems to require him a huge effort to say out loud his thoughts. Cats were supposed to be unbalanced and all that but fuck balance, sad lot of good balance and control did to him.

<<Lambert, look at me.>> His vision is fully occupied by Aiden's form standing directly in front of him, he didn't realize he moved but now an extended hand reaches out to his chin, thumb tracing the dark stubble there and he can't avoid his green eyes. Aiden is always moving with feline grace, when he's fighting, fucking, walking through a crowded room, or killing a beast, smooth as if everything he does is the easiest thing in the world. When he places a hand on the side of his face, Lambert nuzzles into the touch, feeling all his rage melting away in the palm of that hand. <<I am exactly where I choose to be. With you. I could never choose anything in life since I was brought to Stygga, and I don't remember anything before it, but this thing between you and me, I chose it. I want this.>> Aiden slowly straddles him, his knees resting on the mattress below them and Lambert can't resist putting his hands around his waist, hitching the shirt up a little, yearning for the warm skin underneath, for a touch to prove that this perfect man above him is areally here.

Lambert feels so stupid for even thinking those ridiculous words he said out loud. He never knows what to say cause he never had to try to fix things with someone, people were not this patient with him, they just walked out of his life when it all got too hard to handle. But Aiden is here, and all he can do is look at him and kiss him eagerly, the soft lips open to leave him full access to his lover's mouth. He wants to pour all these nameless things he feels in their kiss, seeking forgiveness on the tip of Aiden's tongue moving against his own. <<'m sorry.>> He tries to say when they break apart, leaning his forehead on Aiden's. Aiden kisses him again, letting his hands roam free on the exposed planes of Lambert's back, sending shivers down his lover's spine and silencing his excuses in a languid kiss. Lambert trails his hands down to Aiden's hips, too much fabric getting in the way of his exploration. <<Are you really...wearing my shirt?>> <<It smells like you, and I was lonely. I felt bad after being ogled like I was dessert by a bunch of old royal assholes.>> <<I...Shit, I thought you...you enjoyed the...attention.>> <<Why would I like a crowd of perverted nobles staring at me? I put up with it cause this contract is good money, not because I wanted to be noticed.>> Lambert is suddenly overwhelmed by the need to touch, to feel his skin under his palms, and have him closer. <<Fuck, Aiden, I'm... I hate them even more now.>> Lambert tightens his hold around his lover, relishing the feeling of Aiden's body on top of his own, of holding him, of those hands caressing his skin, and of his scent enveloping him. He knows he hardly deserves any of that. <<Me too pup, trust me, me too. Why did you stay if you despised it so much though? >> Aiden traces the scar on the right side of his face, fingers gently brushing on his forehead down to his cheek, exploring the different texture. It's his favourite one. Lambert didn't even want Aiden to touch it at first when they began to get more intimate, finding the ugly mark particularly horrible to look at, but the Cat was set to show the other man he didn't mind one bit, and he clearly succeeded in his mission. <<Tried to get more details on the striga. I caught three servants gossiping about how Lady Launfal was willing to do anything to make sure the castle stayed in her family even after her death.>> <<Ugh, they can't let go of their stupid stuff even when they're rotting six feet under.>> The contempt in Aiden's voice is crystal clear, and he chases it away kissing Lambert again, taking his time in exploring his mouth, nipping at the full bottom lip before suckling the sting away. Aiden slips his tongue between parted lips, licking into the inviting mouth, his lover's beard tickling his skin as he deepened the kiss. It's never enough for Lambert, he's addicted to this body, to this taste, he could hold him forever and he'd still want more. He feels Aiden moaning in the kiss, desire pooling inside him at the sweet sounds escaping his lover's mouth. <<Missed you.>> Aiden says while Lambert outlines with his thumb the edge of the pink scar under Aiden's ribs, this one is special cause it was the first he patched up himself, stitching his best friend in a dark cave by the fire, terrified to lose him.

<> Lambert stares at the wet, shiny lips he just tasted and slips his hands lower, cupping his lover's ass and squeezing it roughly, drawing him impossibly closer. Aiden starts to slowly roll his hips, eliciting a barely muffled groan from Lambert and smirking like the cat that got the fucking cream when he feels Lambert's cock twitch beneath him. <<Oh you're such a good boy, aren't you pup? But work hours are over, you're mine now.>> Aiden purrs in his ear before moving lower to place small kisses on his throat, nibbling on his collarbone and running his fingers over Lambert's chest, nails catching on his nipples and stopping his journey to squeeze one hardening nub. <<You could have...fuck yes, that's nice...you could have helped.>> Aiden bites a little too harshly on the soft spot where neck and shoulder meet. He loves the way Lambert grips at him harder, fingertips digging into the supple flesh of his ass, keeping him right where he wants him. <<I'm helping! I was half-naked in your room, wearing your shirt, all warm and ready for you, not my fault you had better things to do than join me.>> Aiden licks a few times over the reddening spot at the base of his lover's throat, the taste of his skin invading his mouth. <<Looks better on you.>> Aiden hides his grin in Lambert's neck as he deliberately starts to move his hips again, slowly rocking back and forward to create delicious friction between their clothed erections and drawing sharp groans from both of them. Aiden presses down on his shoulders, pushing Lambert to lay flat on the bed and working his trousers open before slipping a hand inside to slowly palm his cock, staring at his Wolf with hungry eyes, burning with lust. <<I want you. I've been wanting you the whole night. The one time we get to go to a party, and you get all jealous of me. And it looks so fucking hot on you. You thought I wanted a prince, but I kept dreaming of fucking with the scary, mean Witcher in every dark corner.>> The way Lambert shamelessly moans into his touch is sinful, and it's one of the best sounds Aiden ever heard. <<Oh fuck, Aiden...>> He leans on his Wolf just enough to whisper against his lips, sharing the same breath for a heartbeat. <<Yes love, that's the plan.>> Those inviting lips are gone just like that, and Lambert almost whines at the loss. Aiden pulls down his smallclothes, effectively shoving them out of the way before finally moving back to sit on his thighs, stroking his cock again. He loves feeling Lambert getting hard under his attention, feeling his erection growing when he licks his nipples or bites down on the sweet spot on his neck that makes his lover shiver. He begins to trace his fingers over all those places that make Lambert moan, teasing the head of his length with a thumb before wrapping his hand around it, enjoying the sounds he can get out of him.

<<Need you naked right now.>> Lambert groans while he moves to work the buttons on Aiden's shirt, his shirt, and he can't get the offending material off of his shoulders soon enough. Aiden laughs while standing up to quickly remove the last of his clothes. He gets a small vial of oil from the bedside table before wrapping his legs around Lambert's hips again. No matter how many times they've been here, the first skin on skin touch always feels like fire to Aiden, burning hot in his groin and making him crave more. Lambert digs his fingers into the dimples on Aiden's back, pushing their hips together as his lover begins to move in the most taunting rhythm. Sparks of pleasure flood his brain when he feels Aiden's cock rubbing against his own, smooth and velvety, the slow movements are enough to drive him crazy with need. <<Fuck me. Need you....need you now.>> Lambert knows this is not going to be one of the nights when they'll take their time, teasing each other over and over until they're both losing control, he can sense the same urgency he feels deep inside him in Aiden's voice.

Aiden sits up a little to get the vial of oil he left well in his grasp and pours it on his fingertips, eyes fixed on his lover beneath him as he reaches behind himself. Lambert watches entranced as Aiden starts to slowly stretch himself open, the sweet scent of the oil mixing with their arousal. <<You look so fucking hot Aiden.>> He moves his hands to grip Aiden's spread thighs, feeling the muscles quivering under the grasp of his fingers, harsh enough to leave little red dots scattered on the skin. Lambert nudges Aiden back a little, fingers moving on the inside of his thigh, stopping just to thumb at the slit on his lover's wet cock, losing himself in the keening sound that leaves Aiden's lips. <<So damn beautiful, can't believe you're all mine.>> He shifts enough to sit up and start mouthing Aiden's neck, tasting his skin and causing him to moan out loud. <<Need you...oh fuck, Lambert, need you inside...>> Lambert moves his hand back to grip the other's hips, steadying him as he kisses and bites his throat, and is so hard to resist the need to claim what's his. <<Let me. I want to feel you.>> Aiden shivers at his words, sneaking his free arm around Lambert's neck. Lambert brushes his hand on his spine in a soft caress, feeling the sweat already running down his back. He reaches the place where his lover is spreading himself open, two fingers already pushing inside his hole. Aiden slowly removes his hand, a small cry leaves his parted lips when he feels his lover teasing his entrance and when Lambert starts to press one finger there it's enough to make him writhe in his lap. <<Want you...Inside me...>> He rests his head on Lambert's shoulder, panting against the side of his neck as he feels a second finger entering him with no resistance. Aiden starts to roll his hips again, trying to grind their cocks together every time he nudges his hips forward, feeling the fingers inside him slip in even deeper. <> Lambert easily works his fingers in and out, searching for the bundle of nerves that will make Aiden scream and savoring the sight of his lover coming apart before his eyes when he finds it. Aiden moans in the most sinful way when he pushes a third finger in, rocking forward a little faster, enough for their erections trapped between their bodies to rub against the other just right. <<I'm...I'll come if you keep it up.>> Lambert feels the body in his arms shaking and quivering, and knowing he's the one that put him in that state always gets to his head. <<That's the idea. You make the most beautiful sound. I just want to make you come over and over again so I can hear it.>> He knows how to play with his lover's body, twisting his fingers just right to stroke his sweet spot, causing Aiden to cry out loud. <<Fucking....fuck, don't say that, I'm so close already.>> Aiden presses their bodies together, and Lambert can't help but wrap his hand around both their erections, pumping them with a sudden urgency. <> Lambert smirks at him, brushing his fingers against the tip of their cocks, spreading the wetness already gathering there. <<Not like this...I want to come with your cock deep inside me, I want to feel you everywhere.>> <<Gods, that mouth of yours.>> Lambert lets his fingers slip free from his lover's body, and he doesn't miss how Aiden whines at the loss. He tries to catch the green eyes he loves so much, hesitating for a brief second before asking <<You sure?>>

Aiden raises his head and looks dead serious while he shifts his hips enough to settle himself on his lover's thighs, feeling the hard cock twitching beneath him. <<You have to fuck me right now or I swear I'll find someone who will.>> Lambert grabs his ass possessively, squeezing hard enough to bruise and meeting Aiden's lips in a burning kiss. <<Like Hell you will!>> Aiden grins before taking his cock in his hand and guiding it inside himself, slowly sinking down as they both hiss in pleasure. For a moment Aiden remains still, very much enjoying the feeling of Lambert so deep and hot inside his body. Lambert tries as best as he can to stay still and let his lover adjust, losing himself in the vision before him. <<Aiden... Fuck, can you...Fuck, tell me you're good.>> Right now, stretched around him, with his eyes closed, hands braced on his chest and his tongue occasionally sneaking out to wet his lips, right now Aiden looks obscenely divine. He looks like everything Lambert ever wanted. <<My wolf, all mine...you feel so fucking good inside me.>>Aiden moans in his hear before settling a lazy pace, lifting himself up and slowly sinking back onto Lambert's cock. <<Tell me>> Lambert's voice is too rough and needy, and he can feel his control slipping away when Aiden sinuously arches his back, baring his throat for him to sink his teeth into the tender flesh. <<Feel so full, so deep inside me...I've been wanting you all night, wanted to ride you like this for so long...Oh fuck, you're gonna mark me? Cause I want you to.>> Lambert growls, hiding his face in the slope of Aiden's shoulder, biting down at the base of his neck, grateful for the fact that he doesn't have to hold back anymore, and Aiden tangles his hand in his hair to keep him close, crying out at the feeling of being claimed. <<Oh fuck, fuck, you feel so hot inside me.>> Aiden starts working his hips faster as Lambert meets him halfway, thrusting up in the welcoming heat and feeling the coils of his pleasure tightening inside him. Lambert licks the red mark decorating Aiden's throat, whispering <<Mine.>> against the heated flesh. He knows he won't last, they both heal quickly, but he knows it will be there in the morning. <<Yours. I need you to fuck me so hard I'll still feel you inside me tomorrow. >> Lambert moves his hands to grip Aiden's hips, holding him on his lap as he fucks into him, need burning inside him like flames. <<Godsdamn Aiden! >> A beautiful string of moans leave his lover's lips, Aiden was always loud, but right now he's sure every other person in this wing is probably hearing them. <<Oh, oh fuck, harder, please, just....fuck, you feel so good! I can take it, you know I can...>> Lambert knows he's not going to last long this time, Witcher's mutagens and all be damned, how can he resist with Aiden's tight ass around him, fully fucking himself on his cock. <<You're so tight, do you know how good you feel around me?>> Lambert feels how Aiden's whole body tenses up in his arms, and adjusts his angle to hit the right spot again and again, as he savors the way his lover clenches tighter around him, pleasure coursing through their bodies like sparks, bringing both of them closer to the edge. <<Show me...I need to feel you coming inside me, show me how good...>> Lambert watches Aiden quickly unraveling, relishing the loud moans and cries that keep falling from Aiden's lips every time he takes his whole length inside, tremors shaking the strong figure on top of his own. <<Fuck, keep moving like that and I will. Can you come on my cock like this?>> Lambert takes his lips in a bruising kiss, craving to feel his taste again before moving lower to lick at his neck, and Aiden's words go straight to his cock. <<Yes, yes, Gods yes, keep...keeping fucking me like this, fuck this is perfect...>> Aiden's fingers dig into his lover's back, nails leaving moon-shaped marks just above Lambert's shoulder blades as his hips desperately rock down to meet the hard thrusts claiming his body. <<Mine, only mine, my Aiden, fuck, come for me, I wanna see you.>> Aiden's whole body is tensing and twitching as a loud cry leaves his open lips, finally letting go, spilling his release between their bodies in pearly white lines pooling on Lambert's stomach. It takes Lambert only a few more thrusts into his hot clenching hole before his orgasm washes over him, filling his lover's body and gasping against the reddened skin of Aiden's neck.

He falls back on the bed, Aiden slumped forward on his chest with a silly smile on his face, and laying there contented is all they can do for now. It's a while before they can string thoughts, let alone words, together, both still coming down from their height. <<Lambert? I'll let you fuck me again if you admit that you were jealous.>> Aiden says it in the most innocent voice ever, and it shouldn't be possible coming from someone that looks so thoroughly fucked. Lambert just growls at him, his brain still refusing to work properly. <<Oh you little shit, can't you just drop it?>> Aiden curls up next to him, fingers drawing imaginary patterns connecting the scars on his chest. <<Careful love, I was under the impression you liked this ass.>> Aiden pretends to miss the words his Wolf just said, only because he knows he can and he will get away with it. <<What was that, pup? Was somebody jealous?>> Aiden smiles before scratching his nails over the sensitive skin on the inside of Lambert's thigh. <<Fine, fine, I was jealous, happy now kitty?>> <<Depends. Are you up for another round?>> Lambert rolls them over, giving a silent thank for the only one blessing brought by the mutagens in their blood. <<With you, always. I mean, have you seen you?>> Aiden spreads his legs open invitingly before arching under him. <<Then I'm very happy.>>

#the witcher #lambden #lambert x aiden #the witcher fanfiction #aiden x lambert #witcher lambert #witcher aiden #the witcher fandom #fanfic #smut #fanfiction #I really hope it's not terrible #I tried my best #I'm sorry

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violexides · 4 years

Note

hurt/comfort 13 komahina for whenever you’re up for doing more (sun ur an actual writing goddess)

prompt: “I refuse to let you talk about yourself like that!”

komaeda’s been acting off, today.

which. is kind of a difficult thing to gauge. because, komaeda isn’t exactly made up of typical human behaviors, and it’s pretty difficult to track whether or not he’s perfectly content or deeply unsettled (and sometimes, it’s both.) so, when something seems just a bit wrong with how komaeda acts, hinata usually shrugs it off, selfish as it may be, to focus on other things. things that are a bit easier to understand.

(easier to fix, maybe. though, komaeda doesn’t really need to be fixed. people aren’t things to be fixed.

…

people attempted to fix hinata, once.)

but, today, his worry seems a bit more… present. because, him and komaeda have been walking around the islands, and the only words spoken the entire time are hinata making notes to himself aloud, and komaeda nodding along. because, there are repairs that need to be done on the island, and it’s not like komaeda would be all that interested in it, but he came along anyway. even if he hasn’t said anything.

(repairs can be fixed. people can’t.)

and, hinata never knows how to breach this kind of topic with komaeda. because, komaeda tends to deflect, turn hinata’s words against him, and that’s how a lot of their arguments start, actually. so, when komaeda’s upset, hinata doesn’t say a word. he doesn’t even know how to comfort him, really.

but. maybe there’s some impulsivity in the island breeze, because he feels… oddly inclined to say something. so, without giving komaeda a glance or indication that he’s going to talk, he asks, “everything alright?”

komaeda jumps, which is another sign that something is off. usually, komaeda doesn’t… react at unpredictability. he seems to expect it, really, because sometimes kamukura will bring something up out of nowhere, and komaeda will just hum and nod along. hinata’s done it plenty, too, aside from this occurrence, and he almost seems to await it.

so, the fact that he flinched now is suspicious.

he regains control of himself pretty quickly and, with a smile, says, “ah, of course, hinata-kun! are you?” he pauses after asking, then clarifies, “alright, that is.”

“yeah,” he says honestly, “i’m alright.” worried, but alright. “you’ve been quiet, today.”

komaeda bites his lip. “oh. i’m sorry, i really should be offering some kind of entertainment, since hinata-kun was so considerate to invite me to walk with him, haha.”

“that’s,” hinata swallows, “not what i meant?”

“i’m s-”

“i’m just. worried about you, komaeda.” he tries to deliver it casually, but he can tell from one look at komaeda’s expression that it had a different sort of impact on the other. “i’m just worried.”

“ah,” komaeda’s lip curls up. “well. hinata-kun really shouldn’t worry about someone as worthless as i am-”

“komaeda.”

“-i really am less than dirt, making someone as wonderful and perfect as him worry about me,” he continues cheerfully.

hinata stops walking, turns to look at the other. “kom-”

“honestly, i don’t understand how you tolerate being in my disgusting, wretched, heinous, horrible, repulsive presence, haha! if i were you, i would drown me in the ocean-- we are on a beach, after all-- and finally be rid of hearing my scratchy, ugly voice! wouldn’t that be wonderful, hinata-kun? you would finally get the peace you des-!”

“komaeda, i refuse to let you talk about yourself like that!” he interrupts, watching as komaeda’s eyes widen slightly. he huffs, running his hands through his hair, and elaborates, “i don’t think you’re disgusting. or wretched, or heinous, or horrible, or repulsive, or ugly. i actually like being around you and i’ve told you i find you pretty, for fuck’s sake.” it’s not exactly like komaeda believed him back then, either. “i worry about everyone on the island, the repairs that we have yet to do, the mainland itself, and you. i can multitask.”

komaeda shakes his head. “you shouldn’t have to.”

“what if i want to care about you, komaeda?” he asks, and komaeda’s smile falls apart more than it already has. “would you let me?”

“i really should not be given any power to influence what decisions hinata-kun chooses to make,” he says, almost coldly. “if hinata-kun… wants to care about me… then i cannot oppose him.”

“we don’t-” he tugs at his own hair, just a bit. “we don’t have the power dynamics going on anymore. you know that, right? even back in towa, kamukura viewed you as way more important than you ever viewed yourself.” part of his brain hurts at the mention, but he shoves it aside. “like, you’re allowed to have an opinion. i’m not going to get pissed at you for having an opinion.”

“you should,” he whispers, and it’s surprisingly meek.

“yeah, well, it’s not really about what i should or shouldn’t do. like, i- i know that none of this is actually going to get through to you, because i don’t expect any of it to, but can you please try to believe that you aren’t as disgusting as you think you are?”

for a while, komaeda doesn’t answer, and hinata waits patiently for him to. when it starts to seem like he’s not going to say anything at all, he still waits, because he knows that sometimes, it takes a while for words to register to komaeda. he does speak, eventually, and every word seems carefully thought out, “i… don’t have any reason to believe it…” he takes a deep breath, “but… if hinata-kun wants me to… i’ll try. for him.”

hinata almost wants to insist, again, that this isn’t about him, that komaeda should try and do these things for himself. but, he doesn’t want to push the other too far, especially since it already seems like he had to overcome something in himself to even promise that. hinata reaches out and squeezes komaeda’s hand, taking it in his as he starts walking again. “cool. thank you.”

komaeda nods, laughs a bit in a surprisingly genuine way. “of course, hinata-kun.”

and as they’re walking, he can feel komaeda squeeze his hand back, and it just barely justifies the wide grin that spreads across his face.

#requests #forest i adore you #i hate that copy and paste into the ask box deletes italics #like both i and komaeda are italic gays #smh #anyway uh idk if this is peak #hinata characterization #but you live you learn you perish

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exhaustedfander · 4 years

Text

I See All the Good in You, Dear [Mociet]

Summary: Janus comforts Patton after a fight with Virgil. The two have a conversation about the past and love.

Word Count: 2,029

A03 Link

Here's a Mociet hurt/comfort because I'm quite fond of this ship after the last episode and I wanted to write them soft. I also absolutely adore writing Janus calling Patton darling. I'd love to hear what you guys think :)

“Patton? Dear, where’ve you gone off to?” Janus wandered down the hall, in search of him. He’d already checked Patton’s room, but to no avail, and as far as he could tell there weren’t any other sides around to be able to tell him where his boyfriend might be.

Janus nearly let out a gasp when he found Patton sobbing into his hands in the common-room alone. The lights were dim, casting Patton in shadows, so many shadows in fact, that they seemed to blanket him. Janus’s heart clenched at the sight, his pulse beginning to thunder in his ears. Quickly, he rushed to Patton’s side, setting a gentle hand on his shoulder, which trembled with sobs.

“Pat? What happened? Why’re you crying?” Janus decided against asking “Who do I need to kill?” like he wanted to, realizing it might only worsen the situation and sounded quite a bit like something Remus would say.

“It’s – it’s nothing,” Patton began in a weak voice, his eyes still brimmed with unshed tears, but he bit his lip when he saw the look in Janus’s eyes.

“Darling, you and I both know lying is my forte and most certainly not yours. Please, tell me what’s going on?” Patton took a moment to compose himself, pinching his temple and taking in a deep breath before speaking meekly. “I…I don’t want to say.” He turned his head so that his eyes were focused on anything besides Janus’s concerned gaze. Huh, Patton had never noticed how interesting the wall was. Janus sighed, gently cupping his boyfriend’s face in his hands. Patton bit his lip, finding it impossible to avoid eye-contact any longer, no matter how much he wanted to.

“Patton, I need to know what’s going on. Seeing you so distraught is...well, it’s terribly upsetting. I want to help make things better, if I can. But first, I need to know what the problem is.” Patton exhaled softly. He understood Janus’s position, of course he did. He would be beyond worried if he ever found Janus in tears, but that didn’t make things any easier.

“I know it’s going to upset you…” Janus let go of Patton’s face, bringing his gloved-hands downward and lacing their fingers together.

“Whatever’s going on, it’s going to be alright.” Janus hoped, prayed that he sounded believable. He had no idea what was going on and he was becoming more nervous with each passing second. He didn’t like to be in the dark, and this situation was no exception. Regardless, he was determined to do everything he could to put Patton more at ease. It was truly horrible, seeing him breaking down, and all alone at that. Why hadn’t he seeked him out? It wasn’t the first time Janus had seen Patton cry, but somehow it felt different this time, as though he was witnessing Patton’s heart breaking in real-time.

“I promise, everything’s going to be okay.” “But, how...how do you know?” Another sigh rolled past Janus’s lips. Perhaps it was irrational, believing that Patton would blindly accept his blanket-statement that everything would work out without any context. But he was doing everything he could. He gave Patton’s hands a reassuring squeeze, his lips upturning in a small smile. “Because everything always is, in the end. I doubt whatever issue this is any kind of an exception to that.” Patton bit his lip, nodding slowly before finally relaying the information. “Virgil and I had a fight. He stormed off and I tried to knock on his bedroom door, to see if he was alright...but he didn’t answer. Virgil and I never fight, and it hurt. A lot.” Janus frowned. Patton’s reaction to the interaction made perfect sense now. He and Virgil had a very special relationship, they had for some time now, so the idea of there being any kind of a rift between them was almost unfathomable. Almost. “The fight you two had, it was about me, I presume?” Janus hated that he could already guess what kind of a disagreement Patton and Virgil had, but it couldn’t be helped. This was going to happen eventually, it was merely a matter of time. Still, Janus wished he could’ve prevented it somehow. Patton nodded sadly, his eyes cast downward. “Yes, it was. I really tried to explain the discussion that we’d all had, that things were different now, you know?” “I do.” “But it went pretty bad,” Patton sniffled, another tear slipping down his cheek, “and he didn’t want to listen to what I had to say. He insisted that you were no-good and - and not to be trusted. I tried so hard to tell him that things weren’t like that, a-and that you’re really wonderful and -” Janus wrapped his arms around Patton, pulling him into a tight hug. Patton tried to explain further, but the words got lost somewhere along the way and he cried into Janus’s shoulder, long and hard.

“It’s going to be alright, darling,” Janus crooned softly, rubbing slow circles into his boyfriend’s back, “It’s all going to be alright.” He held Patton like that for a long while in the dark, close and tender, running his fingers through Patton’s curls. Eventually, Patton squirmed out of Janus’s snake-like-grip, deciding to lay his head in the deceitful side’s lap. Janus quickly resumed carding his fingers through Patton’s hair.

“I’m sorry…” Patton said after he’d stopped crying, his eyes cast on the carpet. Janus’s eyebrow upturned in confusion.

“Whatever are you sorry about, Patton?” Patton sighed, the sound turbulent and troubled. “I’m sorry about how things used to be...how things still are, sometimes. I’m sorry that I believed that you were evil and not good for Thomas. Not good for us. I... I was so wrong to think that.”

Janus felt his chest constrict, as though something was squeezing on his heart. Patton sat up and glanced at Janus, the beat of tense silent that had abruptly fallen over them cause for concern. “Patton you have absolutely no reason to be sorry. I appreciate that you feel as though you have to make it up to me. You truly are unbelievably sweet, and that’s something that I cherish about you so, so much. But you don’t need to apologize for previously believing me to be something that I was trying to be.” Confusion etched itself into Patton’s features. “Trying to be?” Janus took Patton’s hand in his own once more, giving him a tight, comforting squeeze.

“Yes. When I first made Thomas aware of my presence, I wanted to be feared. If anything, I should be apologizing to you. Patton, darling, I pretended to be you, I tricked all of you. At the time, I told myself that it was necessary to get my voice heard. To some extent, I know that’s true, but it doesn’t make me feel any less awful about having done that to you. My dear, I’m sorry I did that to you, and I’m sorry I was so desperate to play the villain.” Patton shook his head fiercely. “No – Janus, sweetheart. It’s okay. I don’t care about that anymore, I know things are different now. I forgive you, for all of the things that happened in the past. I’m so proud of you for how much good you’ve done for all of us recently. You always have the best intentions.” “As do you. You’re so fucking good, Patton.” Patton was able to bite back the urge to say, “Language Janus!”, far too swept up in the tenderness of his tone. “Your so kind, and soft, and the fact that you’re able to see the good in me, past all of the other layers I’ve tried to put up over the years. It just makes me exceptionally happy. You make me so happy.” Despite the sorrow that had taken root in Patton’s heart, he burst out smiling, wrapping Janus in a firm embrace.

“You make me so happy too, Jan. More than I have been in such a long time. I see the good in you because there’s so much there. You’re wonderful, and I guess…I guess that’s what makes it so hard to think about, Virgil and I’s fight. He called you evil, and I know at one point I had a similar position. But now that I know you the way that I do, it’s almost impossible to think of you that way. Now you’re someone who brings me such peace to get to hold and confide in and – and love.” Patton could feel as Janus went rigid in his arms. And then he realized, oh dear, he’d said that out loud, hadn’t he? Patton unhooked his arms from around Janus’s waist, and there was a sudden, flighty panic in his eyes.

“I…oh goodness, I didn’t mean – well, that isn’t to say that I didn’t mean it, I just hadn’t intended to say it t-that way I –.” Janus spared Patton the embarrassment of continuing to sputter like a fool, cradling his face in his hands and kissing him deeply. Patton’s eyes fell shut, the tension that had contorted his body a moment ago melting away as he set his hands on Janus’s waist, squeezing slightly and kissing Janus with every bit of love that welled up in him. “I love you too,” Janus confessed against Patton’s lips before kissing him again, searing, desperate, “I love you so much.”

“Janus…” And god, Patton moaned as Janus pressed an open-mouthed kiss to his pulse-point. “I love you,” Janus announced again, sucking wantingly at Patton’s neck, his teeth just grazing. Patton shivered. It was as though the floodgates had opened. Now that that word had finally been spoken aloud Janus was determined to say it as much as possible, to let Patton know how deeply and insanely he loved him. After several more heated kisses and prolonged touches, the pair calmed it down a little, considering their rather public location. Though no other sides were around they could always walk in, and considering Virgil and Patton’s recent fight, that wouldn’t exactly be ideal. “Sorry…” Janus said, now laying on the couch with his arms around Patton’s middle, embarrassment tinging his words slightly, “I might’ve gotten a little carried away there…” "You don’t need to apologize, silly,” Patton said, and Janus could feel his breath hot against his face, that’s how close they still were, noses bumping, “It was nice. You made me feel a lot better. Thanks for that, sweetheart.” “Of course, darling. I’m glad I was able to offer some assistance.”

The couple laid together for a long stretch of silence, holding one another and kissing softly every moment or two, a low fire still burning in their bellies, though momentarily calmed. “I know things might seem bad right now,” Janus said, after a while of no words between them, “But things between you and Virgil will work out. I’m sure of that. His opinions on me…well, they aren’t unfounded. And I know he’s terribly protective over you. I can’t say I blame him for that. But you two are best friends, he looks up to you. I know he does. It’s going to be alright.”

Patton sighed, moving so he was laying his head on Janus’s chest, the beat of his heart a comforting thump in his ear. “I hope you’re right…” “I know I’m right. Give him some time, but he’ll come back. I can’t imagine him staying away for too long. You’d be very hard to quit outright.”

Patton smiled softly, feeling hopeful that Janus was right. Still, even with the concern over Virgil, he felt so much calmer now, in the embrace of his boyfriend, his lover. He had by no means intended to admit the true strength of his feelings for him, but regardless, he was happy that he’d done so. “Hey Jan?” “Yes dear?” Patton smiled against his chest. “I love you.” It felt so good to say, and he was becoming certain that he wanted to keep saying it. From the slight quickening in Janus’s pulse, he was fairly certain Janus felt similarly. “I love you too, Patton.”

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hoodoo12 · 4 years

Text

Rock On (3/3)

Closure(?)! Includes some Dewey hcs. Part 1, Part 2

As always, much thanks to @sofabearr for bringing these two to visual life (here, and here). And @beebeyjuice! SFW, Dewey x f!reader x Rockstar Beetlejuice

Enjoy!

Beetlejuice didn’t sleep. Ghostly demonic nature, and all that. He could fake it pretty well, however, and it took him a few moments to realize you were slipping out of the opposite side of the bed. He watched as you padded to your discarded clothing and pulled it back on, before you realized Beetlejuice’s eyes were on you. You managed a small stiff smile. “Bye,” you whispered tightly, then left quietly.

He heard you moving through the house, and then the door opening and closing. With a little more effort he heard a car start. He didn’t know if you’d said good-bye to Dewey. He was still sleeping peacefully, so Beetlejuice didn’t think you had..

He eased off the mattress too, not waking his housemate. Grabbing his clothing as well, he wished it back in place before tiptoeing out the door himself.

.⁂

The next few days were awkward. Dewey had classes, of course, leaving Beetlejuice drifting aimlessly throughout the house by himself. They didn’t have any studio time scheduled, and he didn’t feel like picking up his guitar, so he stewed in his own worry.

Time passed differently for him, when he wasn’t actively involved in breather’s lives, and before he knew it, it was the middle of the weekend, and he hadn’t spoken to Dewey all week. Had his housemate been avoiding him? He was driven, suddenly, by the need to find him. He needed to talk to him, and apologize, and then leave him alone the rest of his life.

Dewey wasn’t upstairs, which didn’t really surprise Beetlejuice. He only gave a cursory glance through the house before heading up to the roof.

They both enjoyed the roof; it was flat enough for lawn chairs, and there’d been plenty of times they’d work on songs alone, or together, if they were drunk enough. There were no trees near the house, so there was an unobstructed view of the sky. Beetlejuice found Dewey not in a chair, not with his guitar, but on his back, staring straight up into the infinity of blue.

His approach caused a shadow to fall over the horizontal man. Dewy shifted his gaze and squinted up at him.

“Hey, BJ.”

“Hey.” He’d deny it if accused of getting soft, but asked politely, “Mind if I have a seat?”

“Always welcome.”

At least this was comfortable so far.

Beetlejuice dropped down cross-legged beside him. He shifted so his shadow didn’t cover his friend’s face; if pressed, he wouldn’t have been able to say whether that was because he knew Dewey sometimes was inspired by just looking into the void, or if he did it so Dewey wouldn’t be able to see him properly.

Knowing no matter how long he sat here this wasn’t going to get any easier, Beetlejuice cleared his throat. He decided to bulldoze his way through this horrible conversation.

“How . . . how’re you doing?”

“Me?” Dewey asked, as if there were a crowd of people around them and he needed to verify the question was directed towards him. “Fine and dandy.”

“Really?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

Beetlejuice sighed, and dropped it. “And . . . how is . . . uh . . .” He wanted to fill in your name, but couldn’t complete the sentence.

Dewey, despite some indications otherwise, could be perceptive, and answered the question anyway. “She’s . . . okay.”

Beetlejuice gave a quiet snort. Bulldoze, he reminded himself. “She didn’t seem too okay at the end of that night, or when she left the next morning.”

Dewey’s gaze left the sky and met his again. “Managers don’t get the luxury of sleeping in.”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it.”

Dewey nodded. He did. “I spoke with her yesterday.”

“Oh?” Beetlejuice tried to lilt the word to give it a polite curiousness. He was suddenly very interested the roof between his legs.

“We talked.”

“You talk with her a lot.”

Dewey nodded. “I like talking to her. We get along well.”

A silence fell over them. This bulldozing technique wasn’t working so well. Dewey finally spoke up while Beetlejuice was criticizing himself for being a wimp.

“We decided to take a break. From each other.”

The announcement snapped Beetlejuice’s attention back to his friend.

“W-what? Dewey, no!” The guilt that had been gently simmering inside him flared up.

“It’s okay, BJ. Cross my heart.” Dewey drew an ex over his chest.

Beetlejuice leaned closer and started reaching his friend’s arm, then drew back as if he was burned. He didn’t know what was appropriate now, after the events they’d shared that night. As he’d done over and over since then, he berated himself for giving into lust, even if a release was offered on a platter before him.. If he’d only just continued to step back from himself and work harder at being levelheaded—

Dewey completed his motion for him and grabbed his wrist, then asked the pointed question Beetlejuice both did and didn’t want at the same time.

“What’s going on, Beej?”

Beetlejuice’s lips thinned for a moment. Bulldoze! Doggedly he decided to just get it out.

“I’m sorry, Dewey. I’m so sorry I fucked everything up! Everything you had with her, everything between us—I know I’m a pretty shitty excuse of a—well not human being, but being, at least, and I know that my afterlife’s pretty much fucked—but I never, ever, meant to do that to yours.”

The stark confusion on Dewey’s face was unanticipated. He hiked himself up on an elbow.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

After his quick outburst, Beetlejuice found himself tongue-tied again. He could only shake his head miserably. The roof was very interesting again.

“Hey—hey!” Dewey said, pushing Beetlejuice in the chest to force his attention back to him.

He couldn’t keep his head up long, however, and Dewey continued even as his head dropped again. “Beej, I don’t know what you’re talking about. Ruining my life? How do you figure that? Do you know that since having you as a roommate and getting to play music with you, and going out on actual gigs, my life as been fucking amazing?”

Beetlejuice shook his head miserably. “But now . . . because of me jumping into bed with . . . her—and you . . . everything is weird and she’s gone . . . “

Dewey’s’s forehead wrinkled. “That was our choice, Beej,” he contradicted. “You didn’t insist on that—if anything, we coerced you!”

“I shouldn’t have even considered it. I should have just—“

“Didn’t you like it?”

Beetlejuice glanced up at the plaintive note in Dewey’s voice. The man’s dark eyes punctured to the back of his skull.

“. . . yes. Yes!” he answered truthfully. “. . . but then it started getting . . . weird . . . she got a little . . . weird . . .”

Dewey sighed. “Yeah. She got a little . . . weird. Do you know why? Do you want to know why?”

A little half-shrug, half-nod accompanied, “I figured it was something I did—“

“Whatever you figured, it’s wrong.”

The abrupt cut-off surprised him a little, and he risked a quick glance at his friend again.

Dewey sighed again. “It wasn’t you at all, BJ. She was on board for the entire experience. Honestly! She got that way—weird—because of me.”

Another glance.

“All me! I know you don’t know her as well I as do—“ Beetlejuice snorted in agreement. “—and she was really excited about all of it. And when it started, she was even more happy that I had a hard-on . . .”

Dewey’s voice faded away for a moment. Not quite understanding what he was trying to drive at, the specter remained silent. Dewey gave himself a shake.

“That’s bizarre to hear from another guy, isn’t it? ‘Course, we frenched that night, so that might bring down the uncomfortable-ness quotient quite a bit, huh?”

A slight tease flavored the query.

“You’re a good kisser,” Dewey continued lightly, tapping Beetlejuice’s chest again. “You prob’ly know that, though.”

A self-conscious smile flitted over Beetlejuice’s face. “You’re not bad yourself,” he replied.

“Oh, go on!” flirted Dewey coquettishly.

Beetlejuice laughed aloud; Dewey smiled back at him.

The two sat comfortably for a moment, and then Dewey shook himself again.

“Anyway. She was happy that it might have meant we could have had actual sex . . .”

Beetlejuice was suddenly sober again.

“. . . but I lost my erection. So, even as hot as everything was, it was back to normal for us.”

“You lost your . . .” He cleared his throat to avoid having to repeat the word. As comfortable as he was with lots of topics about sex, Dewey was right: it was bizarre to hear about problems like that spoken out loud and frankly. A thought struck him out of the blue, and he couldn’t keep the horror out of his voice when he asked, “Because we kissed?”

“What? Oh, no. Not because of that,” Dewey laughed. Laughed! “I’m not gay, but that kiss was intense.”

As Dewey paused for a moment, Beetlejuice waited for the inevitable question: was he gay? Bi? Or what where demon ghosts anyway? It wasn’t anything that they’d discussed before, but from experience he knew that not hesitating to kiss another man threw up red flags. Early in his life, when he felt the need to define himself, he realized he was pan. He didn’t think Dewey was going to have a problem with a semi-coming out, but you never could tell—

Dewey, however, only smirked at the memory of the kiss, then drew his attention back to the conversation.

“It had nothing to do with that,” he reassured his friend. “It’s just that . . . well, with these stupid meds I take—they’re not stupid, I know they’re a good thing—but one of the more . . . common, uh . . . side effects is a short circuit for my junk’s hydraulic lift.”

“Oh. That’s . . . shitty.” Beetlejuice grimaced as those words came out. Wow, what a horrible thing to say to a man who knows he’s got erectile dysfunction, he thought.

“Yeah,” Dewey agreed affably. “Happens on a more-frequent-than-not basis. And whether or not I’ve just made out with another man or ghost, apparently. So it had nothing to do with you, okay?”

Beetlejuice gave a quick nod.

“But it upset her. I tried to make it up to her—“ Dewey waved his hand in the air to indicate his activity between her legs from that night; Beetlejuice didn’t even need that non-verbal motion to know what he meant, he’d probably never get that image out of his mind, “—but you know how women are. Once they get their mind set on something . . .”

Beetlejuice nodded again.

“Heck, I’m just happy she didn’t get all pissy and call the whole thing off, you know?”

Beetlejuice swallowed. “She seemed pretty insistent that she do something for you.”

“Yeah, well. I guess I’m happier that that worked out too. Most times, once he’s down,” here he used his chin to nod towards his crotch, “he’s out for the count. Maybe you being there—you and your sultry lips!—helped.”

“So . . . she was upset . . . “

“She was upset that I couldn’t perform for her,” Dewey filled in patiently. “And upset for me, thinking I’d be embarrassed because you saw it. She didn’t want you touching her after awhile so she could focus completely on me.”

That was a subtle way to tell him that not everything, every time, revolved around Lawrence Betelgeuse Shoggoth.

“Oh,” he managed to respond. “But you said you two were going to take a break . . .”

“Yep. I don’t have the all-encompassing humiliation reflex she does when it comes to my . . . problem. I chalk it up to that’s just the way it is. Real Zen. So I try to make it up to women in other ways.” He winked suggestively. “But she wanted some time to wrap her head around me not being totally ashamed. “So we decided to take a break. She said we can still work professionally together. Good managers are hard to find, you know?”

Beetlejuice opened his mouth. He wanted to ask how that was going to work, having a manager who’d slept with the two of them, but wisely shut his mouth again. Instead he asked quietly, “Do you regret it? That night?” Dewey made a show of studying him critically. “Never in my wildest, most drugged up dreams would I have ever imagined that I’d have a threesome with a girlfriend and a ghost. Gonna give it nine out of ten for originality. Only a six out of ten for waiting so long to do it, though.”

Beetlejuice chuckled. It was nice to feel like he could do that again.. “Thanks, man.” He paused. “We good, then?”

Dewey nodded. “We never weren’t, Beej.”

Beetlejuice grinned. At least he hadn’t lost everyone, again.

fin.

#beetlejuice #betelgeuse #Dewey Finn #writing #fanfiction #School of Rock #dewey x reader #beetlejuice x reader #dewey x reader x beetlejuice

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littlemixnet · 5 years

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Little Mix's Jesy Nelson on surviving the trolls: 'People were saying horrific things' Eight years after she shot to fame on The X Factor, Nelson describes how she navigated the trauma of being relentlessly bullied on social media. When Jesy Nelson was 19 and working behind the bar at a pub in Dagenham, Essex, she remembers watching The X Factor on TV, and thinking: “I know I could win that.” In 2011, she did just that, as part of the girl group Little Mix – and thought: “This is the worst day of my life.” Competing in Simon Cowell’s singing contest unleashed ceaseless criticism of her appearance and weight (although rarely her voice). “All I cared about was what people were saying about me,” she says now. Winning offered no respite. When Little Mix were crowned, the first Facebook message she saw was from a stranger. It read: “You are the ugliest thing I have ever seen in my life. You do not deserve to be in this girl band, you deserve to die.” “I should have been on cloud nine,” she says. “I had Leigh-Anne [Pinnock, also of Little Mix] in my room being like: ‘This is the best!’ and I was like: ‘No, this isn’t.’” Little Mix went on to become the biggest British girl group since the Spice Girls, but Nelson was consumed by the trolling and abuse on social media. Within two years of the finale, she had depression and an eating disorder and had attempted suicide. The downward spiral and her eventual, slow recovery are the focus of an intensely personal BBC One documentary, Jesy Nelson: Odd One Out. Before shooting it, she says, she had never spoken publicly about her struggles in the spotlight. When we meet in a corner of BBC Broadcasting House in central London, Nelson, now 28, is friendly and glamorous, dressed in a double-breasted tangerine suit. It is the eighth anniversary of her X Factor debut and #8YearsofLittleMix has been trending on Twitter all morning, thanks to their fans, the “Mixers”. Within minutes of sitting down, she says that, had she known the consequences of appearing on The X Factor, she wouldn’t have done it: “I don’t think anything is worth your happiness, and it was a lot of my life that I won’t get back.” As a child growing up in Romford, Essex, Nelson was intent on becoming a performer, be it singing, dancing or acting. “I didn’t really have any reason to not be confident,” she says. In mid-2011, she auditioned for The X Factor as a solo entrant, and was eventually placed in a group with three others: Pinnock, Perrie Edwards and Jade Thirlwall, all aged between 18 and 20. Back then, social media was not as inextricably linked with reality TV as it is now. In fact, that eighth series was the first where applicants could upload their audition videos to YouTube; Nelson didn’t even know what YouTube was. She remembers being wowed when all the contestants were given new Samsung phones and told to get on Twitter to build their fanbase. On the first live show 12 weeks in, Little Mix (then Rhythmix – the name was changed later) performed Nicki Minaj’s Super Bass to gushing praise from judges Louis Walsh, Gary Barlow and their mentor Tulisa Contostavlos. It was “the best feeling in the world,” said Nelson through happy tears on stage. That night, off-camera, the contestants gathered to watch themselves on YouTube. Someone pointed out the comment section. “I was very naive,” says Nelson. “I thought it would be people giving their opinion on our performance. But nearly every comment was about the way I looked: ‘She’s a fat ugly rat’; ‘How has she got in this girl group?’; ‘How is the fat one in this?’” She remembers the air being thick with tension – “because no one knew what to do or how to react. “I felt a rush of anxiety, because I’d never experienced anything like that in my life. People were saying my face was deformed – just the most horrific things. I felt like I was heartbroken. I remember ringing my mum and saying: ‘Mum, I want to go home, I don’t want to do it.’” At about 1am, a member of The X Factor team found Nelson crying alone and asked why she was so upset. A couple of days later, she was asked to explain again – on camera. She didn’t want to do it. “They told me it wasn’t recorded, and it was.” A few weeks later, the clip of Nelson in tears over “a few nasty comments” was broadcast before Little Mix’s performance, the reality TV playbook of “sad piano” switching to upbeat pop music when Thirlwall comforts her: an uplifting moment of girl power. From then on, that was Nelson’s public narrative. She does not hold that clip, or the producers, responsible: “I think it would have always happened – that just added fuel to the fire.” From the start, relatability had been billed as a central tenet of Little Mix’s appeal. Contostavlos introduced them as “the girl group to represent ladies in this country”; she framed Nelson’s tears as evidence of Little Mix having “the same insecurities as every other girl”. Nelson, however, was the only member even remotely close to the average UK woman at size 16. Although the four bandmates have always been friends – “that’s why we’re still together” – she felt singled out. “I was with three other girls to be compared to. I don’t think it would have been as bad if I’d been on my own.” After the clip presented her as Little Mix’s weakest link, the abuse snowballed. “It was like as soon as people knew that it was really affecting me, they wanted to do it more.” Nelson had been bullied at school, to the point of stress-induced alopecia – “but this wasn’t playground stuff”. She was shocked by the cruelty from adults – some clearly parents. “Obviously everyone sits in their living room and will see someone on TV and make a comment. But to actually pick up your phone and go: ‘I’m going to make sure this girl sees it’ – even if they didn’t think I was going to see it – you have no idea the effect that one comment will have.” Nelson became “obsessed” with reading criticism. The praise didn’t register. “It only got worse when I got Twitter. And that led to the Daily Mail, and reading the [below the line] comments – the worst you can read about yourself. It was like I purposely wanted to hurt myself.” “I had a routine of waking up, going on Twitter, searching for the worst things I could about myself. I’d type in the search bar: ‘Jesy fat’, or ‘Jesy ugly’, and see what would come up. Sometimes I didn’t even need to do that, I’d just write ‘Jesy’ and then I’d see all the horrible things. Everyone told me to ignore it – but it was like an addiction.” At one event, Nicola Roberts of Girls Aloud – who had seen the clip of her crying – took Nelson aside. “She said: ‘Can I just give you one bit of advice? Please don’t read stuff about you. It’s the worst thing you could do.’” Nelson rolls her eyes self-mockingly. “But did I listen? No.” Contestants had been told help was available if they were struggling, but Nelson had learned that talking only made the problem worse. “I don’t think any of the team really knew how upset it was making me – it’s just go-go-go, from the car into hair and makeup, then rehearsals.” It was also a popularity contest. “We just wanted to make everyone happy, and we wanted everyone to like us.” In December 2011, Little Mix became the first group to win The X Factor. Their debut single entered the charts at No 1 seven months later; DNA, their first album, was released in November 2012. Scrutiny of Nelson only increased amid the pressure to maintain momentum. Although she tried not to discuss it, she feels the abuse came to define her public image. “I’d become a bit of a joke. People would make memes, chopping my head off in a group photo and putting a monster or ET on there. I’d be in live Q&As and these things would pop up and I’d have to just sit there.” Interviewers asked her how she dealt with it; fans said they looked up to her. She was depressed and in denial: she refused antidepressants, and therapy didn’t help. “Our schedule was so gruelling. I was going to see a therapist at six o’clock in the morning, crying, and then going to a photoshoot.” Meanwhile, in public, she was “giving speeches about being confident”. Little Mix, as the guardians of girl power, were not only supposed to represent every woman, but defend every woman. “I felt I had to be this person who was like …” Nelson juts her jaw, sashays from side to side, a facsimile of her sassy music-video persona: “‘I don’t care what people are saying about me, I’m this strong woman.’ That was the role I had to take on in the group, when really I was an absolute mess.” In the lead-up to TV performances or video shoots: “I’d starve myself … I’d drink Diet Coke for a solid four days and then, when I felt a bit dizzy, I’d eat a pack of ham because I knew it had no calories. Then I’d binge eat, then hate myself.” Yet she did not see herself as having an eating disorder. “I could see that I was losing weight and sometimes I’d see a few good comments and that spiralled me to be like: ‘This is how I need to stay.’ No one cares whether your performance was good, or if you sounded great.” Nelson started skipping events where she knew she would be photographed. On one magazine shoot, the wrong size clothes were provided. “I had a meltdown. I cried so much, I had to wear sunglasses. I did one photo, then left.” She hid her misery well, she says now. “I think people just thought I was a miserable bitch.” Her lowest point was in the lead-up to Little Mix’s second album, Salute, in 2013. Her mum, Janice, increasingly desperate, told her she had to quit the band. Yet Nelson worried that leaving – or even taking a break – would draw more attention to herself. “Everyone’s going to ask why.” In November 2013, Little Mix returned to The X Factor to perform their new single, Nelson notably slimmed down. Coverage centred on one tweet from Katie Hopkins: “Packet Mix have still got a chubber in their ranks. Less Little Mix. More Pick n Mix.” Increasingly, Nelson felt trapped. “I felt that I physically couldn’t tolerate the pain any more.” She attempted suicide. Nelson’s family, her management and the rest of the group knew – but “once it was spoken about, it wasn’t ever spoken about again,” she says. She was offered time off, but once more was too frightened of drawing attention to herself to take it. The turning point came in February 2014, when Little Mix spent six weeks travelling across North America, opening for Demi Lovato. One day, on the bus, the dancers pulled her aside and told her she had to quit Twitter, likening it to a book filled with “loads of nasty things” that Nelson always had her nose in. She finally deleted her account. “It was a long, hard process, because I didn’t want to help myself. But it wasn’t until I deleted Twitter that everything changed for me and I slowly started to feel normal again.” Through more regular therapy and talking to friends and family, eventually she was able to stop reading articles about herself, and distance herself from her public image even as Little Mix’s star continued to climb. In 2016, Glory Days became their first No 1 album in the UK. Since February, Nelson has been dating the 2017 Love Island contestant Chris Hughes, who has defended her publicly from online trolling and who she says is a positive influence on her feelings about fame: “It’s nice to be around someone who doesn’t give a shit about all that stuff.” Making the documentary also contributed; she lights up while talking about meeting a body-image specialist, Liz Ritchie, to help her understand her relationship with social media and the “mask” that she had developed to withstand the spotlight. Part of this involved going over footage from The X Factor, which was a difficult experience, but ultimately empowering. “Don’t get me wrong, I still have days when I feel shit in myself but instead of beating myself up about it and being miserable, I think: ‘OK, I’m going to have my moment of being sad, and I’ll be over it.’ Before, I didn’t let myself be sad.” Talking to other young people who have experienced online abuse made her feel less alone. “A lot of people think ‘stop moaning’, but until you’ve experienced it, it’s hard to understand – and it doesn’t just happen to people in the limelight. There’s so many people struggling with social media and online trolling. People need to know about the effects it has.” The turnaround in five years, she agrees, is remarkable: now, as Little Mix work on their sixth album, Nelson is less conscious of her weight, her appearance, what she’s eating – even what is being said about her. To shoot the documentary, she returned to Twitter, and discovered some new slurs. “I didn’t even know some people said that about me, but it’s because I don’t look for it – and also, I. Don’t. Care,” she says, leaning forward in her chair. “Now I’m mentally a lot happier, I just think people are always going to have an opinion. But I only care about mine.” She flashes a smile from beneath all her hair, happy but defiant – and for a moment she looks exactly like the girl in the music videos.

#jesy nelson #jn: odd one out promo #article #2019 #tw: fatphobia #tw: binge eating #tw: eating disorder #tw: bullying #tw: anxiety #tw: suicide mention #a lot of tw sorry but they're necessary!

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ifeveristoday · 4 years

Text

[video description: just me yelling for seven minutes straight]

Ok. Am I ready for this?

Every issue of the Boom! Verse has been building up layers of characterizations and the aftermaths of choices. Issue 9 shows us the fallout of two major events - the showdown at Sunnydale Museum, and Xander’s half Vampire state (and what Willow had to do to get him there).

It also touches on the fact that Buffy is in the Hellmouth with no way to contact the surface world.

Yet that isn’t the most pressing matter in this issue.

Relationships are frayed.

Everyone in the Scooby Gang is isolated.

Jenny has a cat.

Sorry, that’s not thematically relevant but I, as a cat person, am legally bound to discuss when there is a cat in media.

JENNY HAS A GREY TABBY WHAT IS THEIR NAME

Spoilers and reactions to issue nine under the cut - we scream and flail like men, who needs a review?

PTSD CLUB PTSD CLUB PTSD CLUB

edited to correct that bit about Willow’s hair and level of evil it indicates

Something that Jordie used early on is the narrator POV (unreliable perhaps) and it returns to this issue. But instead of Xander or Willow, it’s Joyce. And she’s grieving about the world she’s lost but what every parent knows in the back of their mind: the world is tough and scary and so many bad things can happen. And Joyce has survived the attack but there’s no Buffy to commiserate with, to fuss over in person. (Also, what a nod to Joyce’s obliviousness in TV canon - to believe that Buffy would just go on a mandatory field trip with no phone connection.) Luckily, she has Eric, who is supportive and says all the right things.

Joyce’s disconnect with what she feels and the outside world’s determination to ‘life goes on’ is repeated in the rest of the issue, as our favorite Sunnydale residents deal with both small and large terrors.

Revelations besides Jenny’s cat:

Cordelia works in a clothing shop and there are some Portland looking dudes roaming around Sunnydale. Or maybe it’s Silver Lake. She still has a crush on Spike, because who hasn’t met a mysterious, well-muscled stranger emerging from the forest like a person-shaped Cheshire cat and thought, “Gotta get me some of that?”

I mean, a whole fairytale industry has grown up around that idea.

But despite all normal appearances (and Cordelia is the still most ‘normal’ character) and her Cordy Crew updates, life is not going to her plans. There are fissures erupting in the sidewalk, cracks appearing in walls, people are stressed and Cordelia can’t even play with her dog without falling over said fissures. Oh, and her books are dissolving into ash when she opens her locker.

So shit is horrible.

Willow’s dyed a black streak in her hair (honey, red hair is the hardest color to re-dye to. Your hair is so beautiful and now you’ve got to tone and strip the fuck out of that streak if you want a base to dye it red again - oh wait, magic, I guess) and is being rude and abrupt and just plain Not Willow with Rose and everyone.

Except Willow chafes at the idea of there being a standard for her - why should she be just the smart capable responsible one? While a vampire doppelganger doesn’t burst out of the wall and drawls that she’s bored now, Willow is resentful that Rose and everyone else expects her to be one way when hello, the world is on fire outside.

Rose has found out about the weird shit that goes on in Sunnydale and accuses Willow of keeping things from her, including giant bats and the fact that Buffy was there, and she, Willow’s girlfriend and considerably known her longer than Buffy (imp.) wasn’t there or told about it.

Willow naturally thinks that Rose being jealous of Buffy is just stupid, because Buffy isn’t even there and honestly she’s not even thinking about it. Which causes Rose to worry why is her empathetic Willow like this?

Which makes Willow lash out that she’s tired of having to be the one who has to consider everyone else’s feelings but her own? Why can’t she have the space to figure out what she wants?

And like that, Rose and Willow are on a break.

Xander, in direct contrast to everyone else around him, is calm and sensitive and just generally being a good bean. He’s concerned about Willow and Buffy, but he’s not crowding Willow. He’s patrolling in Buffy’s absence and making stakes and friends with raccoons - and all of his warm-heartedness and acceptance of ‘everyone’s journey is different’ upsets Giles, who is stubbly and running on presumably zero sleep as he worries about Buffy, and the break in his relationship.

Xander’s facade of handling all the weird crap Sunnydale’s thrown at him gets blown when he encounters a vampire delivery boy in the cemetery. He wins the fight, but the vampire’s words taunting him that they’re just monsters, and not in-between--unfinished like Xander is, resonates with him. Xander’s been doing so well, learning how to live and cope with his depression, being a good friend and responsible evil thwarter - and then to have Giles dismiss him so coldly? And to have one of his worst fears spoken out loud - he’s not human anymore. Not in the way that it used to count. And he’s only half a vampire - and there’s no one else straddling that line so he’s still alone.

Everyone needs a hug.

Especially Giles and Jenny, because shit, things get incredibly real in the next act. Giles heads over to Jenny’s house to make some kind of amends, but Jenny is understandably Not Having It. Giles disregards all of her reasonable requests, pushes past her and enters her home and then tries to make her understand how really, she’s wrong and he’s right and MAYBE IF SHE HADN’T GIVEN THE DAGGER TO DRUSILLA, THE WORLD WOULDN’T BE ON FIRE.

This is a mess. In so many ways Giles is wrong - he ignored her request to stay away, he invited himself in - and then spent too long trying to make excuses for why it was OK for him to do all of that shit. And he looks a hot mess while doing so - I don’t even think it’s the artwork style, it’s just that Giles is wild-eyed, wrecked, and actually slavering at the mouth as he tries to explain his point of view. He’s feverish and Jenny puts aside her anger for a minute to get him a glass of water. Like, yes, she’s furious with him, but she still loves him, even though this scary man practically foaming at the mouth doesn’t really look like her partner.

Jenny presses him on his attempt to protect them all, asking pointedly, what about her?

Giles automatically assumes she’s talking about Buffy and assures her that he knows Buffy’s capable of fending for herself, which is exactly the Wrong Thing to Say, because as previous issues have shown, Jenny is not cool with children having to save the world, and also, Buffy’s mom? How about her, Fuckhead Watcher Man.

And Giles goes and puts his whole head up his ass as he says that there are sacrifices that come with successes, as in any war - and Jenny loses it. Because Giles rants do you think that it’s easy for him to live to believe that everything in his life is disposable except for Buffy? That nothing else matters?

And Jenny reads the underlining footnote - if nothing matters, where does that leave her in his life?

FOR FUCK’S SAKE GILES YOU’RE DERANGED GO HOME

And Jenny’s cat agrees with me and hisses at him to leave Jenny alone.

Giles exits the house wondering aloud has everyone gone mad, while a suspicious rabbit looks on from the grass.

There’s a Tucker Wells/Andrew shades of who the fuck cares interlude about a lonely kid who stalks his school facebook to read the comments about classmates and I might be callous, but I actually do not care about those type of characters because guess what, lots of lonely kids and people out there and their first thought is not to kill everyone else. Anyway, I suspect this is a side effect of the Hellmouth magnifying negative thoughts.

It lingers on Buffy’s face and the comments - “She’s weird but hot.”

Now imagine that being her epitaph.

This pans over to the last sequence - Robin is chilling at home, and his dad (!!!) tells him to go to bed, he doesn’t care how much this town is falling apart. Robin’s dad believes in education.

And guess who shows up at his door in the late of night?

KENDRA.

And she hits him with a Star Wars reference. “Aren’t you a little short for a watcher?”

#i fucking live #boom! studios #spoilers and reactions #buffy comics

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primedirection · 5 years

Text

Anniversary -Part 2

Post mobbing

It's been two and a half days since the fight and you still haven't spoken to one another, but Harry caves first.

Under simpler and more normal circumstances it was hard enough not being able to speak to you. But this time around the situation bears an immense weight. Because this wasn't just giving him the silent treatment or obnoxiously avoiding rooms he occupied, you actually left. Though once he was alone to stew in his thoughts, he couldn't blame you.

You never asked for this.

On a night that you were meant to be celebrating your love for one another, it was his baggage that intervened. And no matter how much he wanted to give the benefit of the doubt to his following, he couldn't deny that they crossed the line. Mobbing just him was one thing but to do it when he was with loved ones was another.

Harry sent a text concerned about your whereabouts merely an hour after he calmed down. By sunrise he was sick with grief, guilt, and worry. Substantially increasing due to Anne and Gemma also calling to check on you both and informing him of a particularly disturbing video gone viral on all media fronts.

One from your dinner of the girls he was kind enough to take pictures with. As it turns out they had been filming your table for awhile. Adding disgusting commentary of how much they hated you and joking about acts of harm they'd do to you if given the chance. Harry felt disgusted with himself when one of them finally suggests going over to do it and they all get riled enough to agree. Harry genuinely hates himself when hearing them discuss aloud their plan of attack. From this perspective he's able to see just how intense the impact is when you're pointedly elbowed off your chair from behind and then literally walked all over.

Only just to surround him with false praises of adoration and excitement. He feels even more ashamed that he didn't hear or see it before. But he's glad to see those girls get startled when you get back up with a vengeance and curse at them for their barbaric behavior. Teetering on the edge of dignified restraint and justified retaliation. But unfortunately he stepped in and practically dragged you out of the restaurant. The girls laugh to themselves and congratulate each other before the video abruptly ends.

The worst part of it all was that they really pulled the wool over his eyes and succeeded. He really went home and lashed out at you! Didn't even ask if you were okay nonetheless check to see if you physically were alright. He was too focused on their feelings and the backlash you'd get when the story got out to be honest.

The world already ridiculed your relationship enough, as if you didn't deserve him and he didn't want anyone to have any justification to feel that way. But this was just... He fucked up on so many different levels.

After watching the video he called you shamelessly nonstop, leaving voice mails and paragraphs of text messages apologizing. Eventually he stopped, empathy clouded his better judgment and made him realize that you probably just needed time to process everything.

On the opposing end you felt absolutely no urge to engage. Every social media account was overwhelmed with notifications from family, friends, and strangers alike. Gemma and Anne even tried to call but you simply didn't accept them based on the fact that you didn't know what to say or how to explain the situation. You didn't want to lie and say you're fine because honestly you aren't.

If you weren't hurting emotionally or embarrassed before, then watching the accursed video certainly brought on a slew of feelings. Not to mention the physical aspect of the damage.

When the adrenaline completely wore off, the dull pain you thought was bad doubled by tenfold. So excruciating and abnormally painful for just falling down, that you sent yourself to the emergency room. A full day in the waiting room and an x-ray later, you come to find out that your lovely dinner guests gave you a minor spinal fracture. Luckily enough it was just a stable fracture, which meant the best case is wearing a back brace for several weeks and no necessary surgery. Though now the worst case is that and being bed ridden as a safety precaution because the doctor also made the alarming discovery that you are four weeks pregnant.

It was impossible to pretend that you haven't been holed up for the past couple days in your best friend's guest room. Bawling your eyes out from the extravagant self pity party you were throwing yourself. Trying to wrap your head around the whole situation. How were you supposed to face anyone? Especially Harry.

It's on the third day from your split, that you are forced to figure it out because none other than Harry turns up just after your bestie leaves for work. Damn near banging at the door like there was a fire, but that more or less had to with the amount of time you took to answer it. You almost didn't, but the neighbors here were nosy enough and didn't need a show.

With the chain lock still on you barely peek through the crack of the door. Almost immediately he lunges forward, bracing his hands on the door frame trying to get as close to you as possible. It was kind of satisfying to see that he looked as miserable as you felt. In an old ratty T shirt and sweat pants with his hair in extreme disarray. His eyes bloodshot and tinted the same irritated pink as his nose and cheeks. Apparently he'd been crying. "Thank God, are you alright?"

"What are you doing here?"

"Can't get ahold of yeh any way else. I've called I've texted— been worried bloody sick to be honest. Can we talk?" His voice is thicker with more rasp than usual.

You wanted to ask if he had been drinking but thought better of it. "Think you've already said enough."

Harry's heart plunges to his toes so fast he audibly chokes on a sob. Sending his desperation into overdrive, "Y/N please, I jus' wanna explain- five minutes. That's all I'm asking."

You stare back at him for what feels like an eternity, debating whether or not if allowing him in was the right thing to do. Literally and metaphorically. He hurt you in a way that made your physical assault pale in comparison. So you're not entirely sure what possesses you to eventually close the door and remove the locks.

Upon reopening the door Harry's not as aggressive as he was before and instead waits for you to openly invite him inside. Eyes on the ground and hands shoved in his pockets.

It's while you retreat to the living room that he sees the massive cargo covering the majority of your torso. A protective vest of sorts. Although on the areas it doesn't cover on your back. He's able to see dark purpling bruises under the straps of your tank top just above your shoulder blades on each side. It makes him sick to his stomach. "Yeh had to go to the hospital?"

"Yeah, was in a lot of pain after the initial shock wore off. Good thing too because I have a minor spinal fracture," you explain and Harry's face loses all of it's color, ��The doctor said I endured the same impact as being in a car accident. Thankfully though I just need to wear this back brace for awhile."

Guilt consumes him like a flame to a torch, to the point that he almost doesn't want to continue inside any further. Because this was solely his fault and he really didn't even deserve to be in your presence. It felt horribly wrong.

He waits until you're sitting down as comfortably as you can on the sofa to speak, "Love, I can't tell yeh how sorry I am."

At the tone of his voice tears start to brim in your eyes against your will. You blink them away on a deep shaky breath and scoff, "So now I'm your love? I wasn't when I left. I was a crazy lunatic bitch you couldn't take anywhere."

His eyes clench shut at the reminder of his insensitivity, unable to withstand the disappointment in your gaze, "I didn't mean tha'—any of it, I swear. I was just being a dick cos' I knew yeh were right. Jus' didn't want to admit it"

Hearing the words aloud was bittersweet. Truly. Your emotions jumble as such, making some tears fall only to wipe them away furiously. "And what? Now you're here because of that stupid video and suddenly feel sorry for me? Well guess what? I feel humiliated enough, I don't need your pity to—”

"S'not about pity, I was wrong Y/N. So wrong." Harry's jaw clenches as he forces himself to sit across from you. Seeing you like this was out right painful and he didn't know how exactly to deal with it. He expected you to still be upset but in an angry curse him out sort of way, not the puffy eyed and anxious trembling hands type of way. "I figured tha' out long before I saw tha' fucking video. The way I reacted was the worst thing I ever could've done to yeh." He has to take a deep breath to calm the tightening in his chest but his tears come rolling down his cheeks anyway. He wipes them away hastily with the back of his hand though more are quick to replace them.

At the sight of his trembling chin you fold your arms and force yourself look away. The emotions bubbling in your chest and his own brings you to the verge of tears again.

"I was fucking atrocious to yeh and for what? For always looking out for me when no one else does? Or always being there when I need yeh to be? I failed yeh huge Y/N. Your safety should be my biggest priority and I'm the one that compromised it. If they had planned that with weapons you could've been..." He could hardly stand to think about it.

"Worse," You shudder at the thought subconsciously folding your arms over your stomach. "Neither of us knew that would happen."

You're reasoning only guts him more, "There's no excuse. You've been nothing but supportive and accommodating and so incredibly loyal... I took tha' for granted and m' so fucking sorry Y/N. I need yeh to know that. You mean literally everythin' to me, and I can't stand that I mucked this all up."

"You know how much I love you Harry. Even on our worst days but I'm not gonna lie that hurt, that like really hurt me..." Tears completely blur your vision now, and it's becoming more and more futile to talk through the constricting tightness in your throat. You reach up and press tight to your tear ducts in order to make it stop but the sobs start to slip out too. It's almost like not wanting to cry but crying anyway makes you cry even harder.

Harry wants so bad to hold you, to rub your back in comfort or in the very least hold your hand. But he knows better. Instead his fingers dig uncomfortably into his thighs, "Fuck, I know Y/N. I know."

You take a sharp breath to speak through the pain, "And I know how much the fans mean to you. Hell I love em too, they make me feel like I'm one of them! I'd never want to turn you against them or make you feel like you have to choose between us. All I wanted is for you to know when to draw the line sometimes, not just for me but for yourself. You give so much to people and I can't stand it when it's taken advantage of."

Harry shakes his head, choked up all over again hating the fact that this was supposed to be about you and here you are still defending him. He'd be a plum fool to lose you. His best friend, lover, defender, and supporter all wrapped into one. No one ever has and never would compare. "I'm so sorry love,"

"So you've said," You retort sniffling, a little annoyed that that's all he's got to say for himself.

"Well I genuinely mean it, you're so strong sometimes I forget that you might need me." His fingers rake anxiously through his hair, "Obviously I don't deserve yeh but I can't lose yeh either Y/N. Tell me what yeh need and I promise whatever it is I'll do it—whatever it takes."

He made it sound so easy but that's not the world you live in. "How am supposed to trust you won't do that again Harry?" You cry despite your attempts to remain stoic, "You're supposed to be the one I can lean on for anything and after that I honestly don't know if I can..."

He knows that you have every right to feel the way you do, but the needy and selfish part of him doesn't understand your resistance. He's apologized and currently begging for your forgiveness and yet he still can't seem to get through to you. He's beginning to feel hopeless. "I know words can't fix everything, but please just give me a chance to prove it to you. I'm upping security, I've filed restraining orders, and consider the charges pressed! I swear to God I'll-"

"I'm pregnant." You blurt out.

You didn't think it was possible but the tension in the room intensifies. Silence takes over and it's quiet enough to hear a pin drop. It makes the flutter of butterflies from high strung nerves in your belly feel like earthquakes. Also doesn't help that Harry's expression changes a minimum of three times in a matter of seconds. Confused to surprised to tormented to incredulous to sad to confused again and finally to an emotion that you can't even place. Apparently unsure he heard you correctly, "What?"

You bite your lip nervously, "I said I'm pregnant. Four weeks. Found out when I went to the doctor,"

He swallows so hard it's audible, staring directly at you and yet his gaze is distant. Somewhere else completely until he blinks and the water works start flowing again. "Can I?" He asks no louder than a whisper reaching out for you with trembling hands and grabs yours in his before you can even answer.

Bringing the back of them to his lips repeatedly somehow steadies his nerves. Because within he was raging. One of the most significant moments in both of your lives had been robbed of happiness and tainted with strife because of his baggage. The way you responded earlier suddenly makes total sense now and once again he couldn't blame you. He utterly refused to be robbed of another again.

Harry presses a hard kiss one last time before dropping your hands to shift closer to you. Close enough to cup your cheeks lovingly, since he doesn't trust himself enough to wrap his arms around you without causing pain. "I don't expect you to accept it or forgive me overnight. I understand that I really hurt you and that's just not realistic. But I am sorry Y/N. I'll spend the rest of my life doing whatever it takes to make it up to you—both of you. If you'll have me?"

In that moment all you register is burning. The burning in your eyes that make your tears pour down, the burning in your chest and throat as the heavy sobs rack through you, and the burning flush of your skin from being so overwhelmed with emotions. Because he was right, it wasn't going to magically fix everything but for right now it was enough. He seemed really genuine and sincere in his remorse and that was a good place to start.

You ultimately nod quickly and as best as you can without putting too much strain on your back, lean in to bury your face into the comfort of his neck. Confessing sheepishly, "I'm scared Harry,"

He can't squeeze you back as tight as you both want but there's still the same amount of comfort when he cradles the back of your head, "Shouldn't be. Cos' m' certainly never going anywhere and neither are you if I have anything to say about it."

Now that the threat of you leaving was somewhat gone he found it difficult to be scared of much else. With you he felt truly invincible. His grin even became shit eating at the thought of finally unveiling the ridiculously carrot studded ring currently hidden in his sock drawer. "Thank you for this by the way, s'best gift I could've ever imagined... Well opposed to mine but you'll get it when we get home."

You want badly to laugh at that and smile even because you are indeed relieved but you can't stop crying. Clutching onto his sides for dear life since they are the best you could reach. "I need you Harry, now more than ever. You understand that right?"

His chest rumbles with a hum before he pulls back to kiss you firmly on the forehead, "Won't let yeh down lovie, I promise."

AN: Hopefully this lived up to expectations idk send me your thoughts. I want all the smoke lol Xx.

#Harry styles angst #Harry styles imagines #Harry x reader #Harry styles #one direction imagines #Harry Styles one shot #One direction one shot #harry styles drabble #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #all me #I write I guess

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gwenbrightly · 5 years

Text

Ninjago Jaya ~ Blanket Forts

Cross-posted from FF.net, because why not? Just a quick little Jaya oneshot taking place right after Skybound.

She can’t breath – can’t… Something is wrong… she feels like she’s dying. Like someone has thrown acid directly onto her. Her chest burns. In the distance, she can hear someone screaming her name. Sobbing. What’s going on? She’s gone numb… Why can’t she – It’s then that Nya wakes, sitting up, breathing so sporadically that she’s on the verge of hyperventilation. Just a dream. Just a dream… But, oh. Why does this have to be so hard? She's safe. Alive. The poison can’t hurt her anymore, and neither can that djinn. She knows that. But it doesn’t stop her from reliving every last sucky detail of what she faced less than a day ago (in fact, it’s not even midnight yet, so…). She almost… No, it’s best not to think about that… Maybe if she just. Doesn’t sleep? She supposes. But that’s not really a great option, cause then, she’ll be stuck up all night with nothing but her own thoughts to distract her. And she’s not sure she can handle being alone right now. She needs Jay. It’s funny, she thinks slipping from her bed, how she’s gone from actively avoiding the master of lightning, to being desperate to have him near her as much as possible. Love is weird like that. The hallway is dark, quiet. A stark contrast to the locations she’s spent the past few weeks. First, on the run, then stuck in jail, or on an island, then on the run again… Being home is nice. Sort of. Except for the lingering trauma from the past few days. Yeah, the sooner they can recover from that, the better. And for now, the others don’t need to know about how close everything came to being… The master of water quietly slides the door to Jay’s quarters. But… He’s not there. In fact, if his bed still being tidily made means anything, he hasn’t been in the room at all since they finally returned from Styx earlier. So, then… Where is he? Not the kitchen or living room, apparently, Nya discovers upon further searching. Sighing, she makes her way out into the deck – the only other place left to check. And it’s a good thing she does, as it turns out, cause there he is, looking out over the railings, posture tense. A light summer breeze plays with his ridiculously curly hair, making it an even bigger mess that it usually is. Honestly, it’s actually a pretty beautiful night. There are no clouds in sight; she can see millions of stars scattered across the sky.

“Couldn’t sleep?” She asks softly when she reaches him. Jay flinched slightly at the sound, before realizing that it’s her.

“Y-yeah… I couldn’t stop thinking about how…” He says so quietly she almost misses it.

“Me neither. I-even after I scrubbed every last inch of my body, it feels like the venom is still there. Like, I keep forgetting how to breath.. And remembering how much it hurt… And…”

“Oh, Nya…” He breathes, wrapping his arms around her. She bites back a sob as she snuggles into his embrace, reveling in the comfort it brings her. They rock back and forth for a few minutes, trying not to completely break down.

“I'm so sorry we had to go through all of… that. I-you died. It was horrible. And it was all my fault!”

“No. Don’t you dare try to take all of the blame for this. I mean, yes, you definitely made some really stupid choices, but if anyone’s gonna take the responsibility for what happened, it should be me. I started all of this a long, long time ago when I - ” Nya angles herself so that she can see his face.

“Nya, you don’t have to-” He begins to cut her off, but doesn’t get very far. She smiles softly, saying,

“Look. I chose you. I want us to work out, for us to be happy, but in order for that to happen, there are some things that need to be said. First of all, I come with baggage. A lot of it.”

“So do I.” He agrees, still not sure where the conversation is going. She bites back a chuckle.

“I’ve noticed. But… The thing is, before… During the whole fiasco with the perfect match machine? It was never about you. It was about me. For the record, I never stopped having feelings for you… I-I just…” Dragging Jay down beside her, she sinks onto the deck, leaning her back against the railing. It’s going to take awhile to really explain. To lay herself bare like she knows she needs to. Because Jay deserves the truth. They may as well get comfortable.

“I’m not the best at… Being open about my feelings. I’ve always hated feeling vulnerable, and back then? I didn’t really get why… Not until a lot later. When I was forced to become the water ninja, in fact. I was so awful at it, and it made me so uncomfortable – but it also helped me identify some of my self image issues.” She takes a deep breath, reaching for his hand as she continues, “So much of my life, I’ve felt like I had to prove something to someone. In Ignacia, Kai and I both had to prove that we could take care of ourselves. There wasn’t another option, unless we wanted to be saddled with some sketchy babysitter or sent to an orphanage. Then came Kai becoming a ninja, and, suddenly, I got it into my head that you guys wouldn’t take me seriously if you realized that I was samurai x.” She ignores the disgruntled look on the master of lightning’s face – she already knows now that it was a stupid sentiment, “So I didn’t tell you. Even though it probably just made things more dangerous. When Sensei started training me, I felt like I had to prove something there, too. That I was worthy of my mother’s element – even if I hated it and just wanted to go back to being a samurai, something that I was already good at. I got so frustrated that I tried to quite. And that’s when it first started to click. Because maybe some part of me thought that by doing all this impressive stuff, I could prove that it was a mistake for my parents to-to…”

“To leave you behind?” However Jay managed to guess her thoughts, she’s a little grateful she doesn’t have to say it herself.

“Yeah… So, anyway, back when we were still together, you were always so open and sweet about your feelings for me. And somewhere in the back of my head was that part of me that felt like I could never measure up to the person you thought I was and-”

“I'm so sorry! I didn’t realize… I-I only wanted to show you how much I cared. Because I thought that if you realized how special and loved you were… You wouldn't…" Leave me? The words aren’t spoken aloud, but the implication is there.

“I know. I just… I was feeling so overwhelmed, because I did want to be able to tell you how I felt about you – about the whole situation, but I kept talking myself out of it and thinking that if I just added a few boundaries until I reached the point where things felt safe again that… But then that stupid machine came into the picture, and I dunno? It scared me, because what if I was wrong? What if you didn’t really love me and left…”

“I would never.” He assures her, squeezing the hand clasping own. She brings her spare hand up to touch his cheek.

“You wouldn’t. And I was awful to let myself think that. Everything got so out of hand, and I had so many opportunities to fix things, but I didn’t. Even after the fighting calmed down. I didn’t wanna risk hurting you by ruining another relationship attempt. So, I stayed quiet. I came so close to confessing everything on Chen’s Island – but I didn’t have a chance to before we had to run off and save the world.”

“Will it ever not be that way?” Jay ponders. She shrugs.

“The world saving was very distracting. For a long time. Once I finally felt like I was starting to come to terms with what had been going on mentally, having the media get involved dealt me another blow. It was like the world no longer valued me as anything more than a token – an object to be won… But I didn’t want to completely give up on at least being friends with you, so I started trying to talk. But in the end, I just ended up pushing you away even more because I was so concerned about fighting my public image and not letting anyone else decide what I could be or do with my life. And to be honest? It freaked me out how sure you were that we were meant to be. I needed to regain control, and you ended up paying the price. And I can never tell you how sorry I am for being such a jerk! I died! You almost got killed several times because I refused to stop being stubborn and let someone else take the wheel, even for a moment! I-I…” A soft kiss prevents her from saying anything more. How is it that such a simple gesture has always had the power to relieve her pain?

“I forgave you a long time ago… And I never stopped caring about you, either. Even when I was fighting with Cole-which was a pretty dumb move in hindsight. We were both being idiots. And I’m sorry too...”

“I-Okay. Yeah, we kinda were… We’re a hot mess, aren’t we?” Nya exclaims, snuggling against her boyfriend. He smirks slightly.

“Well, we’re definitely hot!” She shoots him a look, which he pretends not to see, instead kissing her forehead.

“And we are a bit of a mess. But we’ve both grown so much. I really think we’ll make it this time…”

“Mm… I love you, Jay Walker.”

“And I love you, Nya Smith. Just don't ever die on me again. I don’t think I could handle that…” They both shudder, moving even closer together, as if afraid that they’ll be torn apart.

“I’m not handling it now…” Nya admits, “I’m sure sleep would help, but… That’s not happening any time soon…”

“Same here. So, what do we do, then?” Jay wonders. She doesn’t answer right away, but then, inspiration strikes her.

“When I was little, Kai used to build these super elaborate blanket forts whenever one of us was upset. Like ones that spanned entire rooms, and had lots of junk food hidden inside. And then, we’d stay up and watch as many movies as it took to calm back down. Do you think, maybe…?”

“Sure. If it’ll help. I’ll grab the cushions and blankets, you get the movies and snacks.” The master of lightning quickly agrees. It doesn’t take long for them to construct their fortress against one side of the deck, using every last spare sheet and pillow they own (and maybe snagging a few from Kai’s stash-that’s what siblings are for) . One and a half movies later, they finally give in to their exhaustion, falling asleep with their hands intertwined. Their joint presence keeps the nightmares at bay until Nya’s brother finds them the next morning. Though concerned about what exactly they’ve been doing all night, he’s honestly just relieved that they’ve finally figured things out. One less source of headaches for him, as long as they don’t go making a habit of public displays of affection like yesterday’s kiss… Which they probably will, but he can yell at them later. They do look awfully cute like that…

#myfics #ninjago #jaya #ninjago fanfiction #skybound

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patton-croc-agenda · 6 years

Text

Liar Liar

A/N: Some people on Discord mentioned Patton angst and uhhhh I’m here to deliver (I’m not going to leave the first few lines above the cut like I usually do, nor am I tagging my general tag list because it. is. dark.)

Pairings: Platonic LAMP, platonic Paceit

WARNINGS: Suicide attempt, depression, negative thinking, sympathetic Deceit

Words: 1,352

Patton knew two things in that moment.

He was a liar.

He was going to die.

He was obviously much more upset about the first fact than the second, because the second was by his own volition. He looked at the orange bottle in his pale, shaky hands. Just because he wanted this, didn’t make it any less terrifying to his body. It was agony, with his brain and body fighting against what he knew he wanted and what his natural instincts insisted.

Patton swallowed. He could already feel the pills making their way down, and he hadn’t even unscrewed the lid yet. He took a deep breath through his nose, taking a moment to think of how it had gotten this bad.

~~~

He wasn’t sure how it started; maybe it had always been there. The way he felt loneliness like a cavern in his chest. The way he felt like he could- no, had to- give, and give, and give love because his heart had a hole in it and any love he had been given trickled out like sand. He had to give it away before he lost it all.

“You look great, Padre.”

He was lying.

“I do appreciate your efforts, Patton.”

Lying.

“Best friends, right?”

Lying lying lying.

How could they even stand to be around him? He often found himself standing in front of his mirror in the mornings, picking out the little things about himself he most despised. He was disgusting, he was worthless. He had too many blemishes.

Other times he would lay in bed and just whisper to himself. Hateful words about how terrible he looked, how he acted. His personality was horrible, no one liked him. The others only tolerated him because they had to. If he were gone, Thomas would have no morality. So he pasted on his smile and walked out of his rooms on those days. The bad days.

Because they started as just that, bad days. He had even admitted having them in a video. He guessed it was a good thing he never elaborated on how bad they were, or his friends would be even more concerned.

Would they, though?

It didn’t matter though, because eventually those bad days slipped into bad weeks, then bad months.

Liar liar liar.

He craved close friendships, needed them like air. Needed to feel touch, needed to be told he was doing things right. He got it sometimes. A hug from Roman, a nod from Virgil, and twitch of a smile from Logan.

Not enough.

“Patton, I thought you agreed to vacuum today,” Logan said, frustrated. Patton slapped on a fake, apologetic smile.

“Sorry, Lo, I’ll do that now,” he scurried off, guilt ripping into his guts and twisting them, making him feel sick. It didn’t matter that the reason he hadn’t done it was because the world weighed on him, crushing him into his mattress. It didn’t matter that the most movement he could manage was blinking the tears from his eyes.

Should have done it anyway.

“Hey, Pat, where were you for movie night last night? It was your turn to pick,” Roman leaned against a wall. Panic fluttered in Patton’s lungs. He was glad Virgil wasn’t there, he would feel it. He’d ask what was wrong.

“Oh, I was just real tired,” Patton laughed, “Stayed up too late the night before, you know?”

Patton had gone to bed at seven the night before, but no matter how much he slept the tiredness in his bones refused to budge. He slept more. He forgot what day it was. As much as his brain screamed for company, his body felt like lead when he tried to socialize.

I can’t do this anymore.

Deceit knew. His only solace was in lies, and the person that came with them. Deceit never asked, he just knew. At first, he had simply walked in and curled up close to Patton. He said nothing, but provided the comfort of touch. It wasn’t enough, but it was something.

You can do it.

One day, Deceit showed him how he knew. A little bag, full of flat discs, each about twice the size of a quarter. They were all navy, purple, red, and sky blue. Deceit carefully counted each one.

2 purple

5 red

7 navy

20 blue

“I empty the bag once a week,” Deceit informed. Patton’s smile curled down. He didn’t like where this was going. “Do you remember this?” he handed Patton the top blue disc.

I wanted to die.

Ice in Patton’s veins spread. He had been talking to Virgil, who had asked why Patton had been crying. He had heard him when walking past his room. Patton had thought quickly, picking his phone up from the nightstand. He had left it there after watching cat videos the night before.

“Aw, sorry to worry you kiddo, I was just watching some of those soldiers coming home to their dogs videos,” he laughed. He lied.

He wanted to die.

“Please don’t,” Deceit’s voice was quiet, sincere. “Don’t. You’re the only one who even cares that I’m here.”

“Okay. I won’t,” Patton whispered. He reached his arms around Deceit, pulling him into a hug. Deceit shuddered and curled against him, desperate.

Patton slid his hand into the bag behind his back, pulling out the new disc.

Not yet.

~~~

It had been about a month since he had last talked to Deceit. He hadn’t come into Patton’s room, not that Patton blamed him. Patton was awful, disgusting, loud. Patton didn’t try hard enough. Patton was a liar.

Someone knocked on the door.

Patton fumbled with the bottle. No. No, no, no, no. He could hardly grasp the lid as the knocking grew more frantic. Turned to banging.

Virgil was screaming his name.

Patton finally managed to get the lid off as the door broke down, Roman standing in its place.

Pills clattered against the title.

“NO! Shit,” Patton sobbed, knees buckling. He felt arms around his middle, someone pulling him close.

It was over.

Patton was going to live another day.

“Patton, Patton, Patton, Patton,” the person holding him was shaking. Their voice was broken. It didn’t sound like him at all. He was above all these feelings.

Patton sobbed, torn between clutching Logan’s shirt and never letting go, or pushing him away and never looking at him again. So he simply sat, tears streaking down his face.

How did you know?

“Wasn’t me,” a soft voice. Deceit lingered in the door, looking conflicted. Patton didn’t notice he’d spoken aloud.

“Why cou-cou-couldn’t yo-you let me-me-d-die,” Patton wailed, voice broken. Logan held him even tighter. Virgil looked paler then normal as he sunk to his knees.

“Pat, oh my God, Pat. Why didn’t you tell us?” he looked guilty. Patton didn’t want him to feel guilty. It wasn’t Patton’s fault he was awful.

“You aren’t awful, Patton,” Roman murmured. Patton had been thinking out loud again. Logan hadn’t stopped whispering his name under his breath, and he moved one of his hands to cradle the back of Patton’s head, as if trying to reassure himself Patton was still there.

He doesn’t really care.

“I’m s-s-sorry,” Patton sniffled, finally wrapping his arms around Logan. Deceit crouched down next to him and blew out a soft breath. His eyes were puffy from tears.

“They totally believed me right away. They came before I started crying,” he seemed bitter, but not towards Patton.

“How did you know,” Patton whispered. Deceit blinked and reached behind his back, pulling out a disc.

Not yet.

“You didn’t leave this on your bed.”

Patton was an idiot. He hung his head in shame.

“Patton…please don’t leave us. Don’t leave me,” Logan finally said. Patton tightened his grip, swallowing.

He still wanted to die, but now he knew he couldn’t. Not when he was the only one Deceit could call a friend, not when Virgil still hated himself, not when Roman still needed someone to sing with him, not when Logan was begging him to stay.

“Okay,” he whispered.

No new discs appeared in Deceit’s bag.

#sanders sides #thomas sanders #sanders sides fic #sanders sides angst #patton sanders #tw: suicide attempt #tw: depression #tw: negative thoughts #my writing #Jack writes

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beenworse · 5 years

Note

“ Even , I know you’re upset but I can’t help you if you don’t talk to me, and you know I would never push you to talk about things so I won’t ask you and I want to help you so bad but I feel useless right now, like I’m not being a good boyfriend and it fucking sucks for me, just tell me how to help, “ ( it’s a bruise not a break : / season 5 )

break bruise even’s heart | @ogminutt

this is probably the first time he runs away from isak. (the hotel doesn’t count. that━ he wasn’t in his right mind.) it’s not that he’s running away, though, because he’ll probably slink home at something like two in the morning, and slide into bed next to isak, but with all his clothes on, afraid ━ afraid that he’s━ afraid that isak is━growing tired of him. he doesn’t know why, he has no evidence to back this up. he really doesn’t. it’s just his stupid fucking brain playing tricks on him. he didn’t even know where he was going when he left their apartment, it’s not like he really wanted to be anywhere else but he needs to ━breathe. and it’s not that isak won’t let him breathe, it’s that he won’t let himself breathe. he spends too much time in their apartment that he thinks, maybe, that might be why ━everything is going down the drain. so he ends up sitting on the curb in front of his parent’s building. he forgot what time his mom gets off of work, he forgot her schedule, he forgot if she changed her schedule or if she’s off or━ why he’s here, because his parent’s place should be suffocating. something about ━ sitting on his mom’s bed while she flits around, tidying up, letting him rant a bit, complain about whatever stupid thing when on at school, as she cooks dinner and he sits at the kitchen table, working on homework, and --- it’s familiar but alien at the same time because he thinks the last time he did that he must have been fifteen or sixteen. and now he’s twenty and feels like too much of a stranger to go upstairs. so he’s sitting on the curb, listening to isak’s voice.

and he doesn’t know what to say , he doesn’t even know what to say, what he can say. fingers wrap tightly around his phone and he worries for a second he might accidentally end the call, and is careful to not do that, because he’s not ━ running away from isak. he wants to run to isak, but he can’t right now he ━ it’s all his fault, as many things are. it’s his fault that isak feels this way, that he’s not being a good boyfriend, when isak is the best boyfriend even could ever, ever, ever hope for. it’s cold, the curb beneath him, and the air nips at his wrist where his sweatshirt sleeve has fallen down his arm a bit, gravity pulling it down as he holds the phone to his ear. the cold nips at his exposed fingers and he seems to have forgotten that fall can be chilly, borderline cold. he doesn’t think he’s shivering, but he’s not always great at telling, and so he might be. ❝ please don’t say you’re not a good boyfriend, please don’t say that.❞ and he realizes he hasn’t spoken aloud in hours, and his voice shows it, and it shows the shiver in his body, it shows in how he never, ever wants to hear isak say that again. ❝ you’re perfect, you’re exactly what i need, every day.❞ and he has to drop his voice quieter and quieter because he thinks the shiver in his chest might actually be tears forming. (except, of course, tears form in your eyes, not your chest, but maybe there are tears forming in his chest, skin ripping apart because he’s falling apart.)

there’s a breeze that floats through him, pushing at his hair lightly like isak does, sometimes, and he would like to go home. ❝ i don’t even know what’s wrong.❞ he’s tired, he can’t sleep, he can’t talk properly to his therapist who pokes and prods at his moods and his feelings and his sleepless nights and his relationship with isak and he just wants to scream sometimes, because he just doesn’t know what caused this, what caused this spiral, what pushed him to be sitting in front of his parent’s building, wearing not enough layers, talking to isak on the fucking phone. ❝ i━ ❞ his breath hitches horribly, and he knows that’s the i’m going to cry breath, and he knows it’s going to make isak feel even worse because he’s not here for even, right now. if only he could curl into himself, somehow hide in his own chest, hollow out the space behind his ribs to just -- hide. ❝ i’m trying my best, isak, i’m try━❞ bites down on his lip to stop the sob that threatens to leave his mouth, so instead it just rips at his throat until it dies away, ❝i’m trying my best and it’s not good enough for anyone.❞ he doesn’t know how he gets the words out, and the back of his mind knows that isak will feel bad with these words, too, that he’s not doing enough for even, when the only thing that brings him comfort most days is seeing isak, feeling isak fall asleep next to him, watching isak smile, seeing the way isak concentrates extra hard on some problems of his homework. seeing isak when he wakes up in the morning and he’s still a little grumpy, but still lets even kiss him quickly good morning.

he stretches his legs into the street, for some reason no fear of a car, a bike, anything. the movement pulls up the hem of his jeans a little and there’s a nip of cold on a tiny strip of skin on his ankle. he’s quiet for a long time. the only reason he doesn’t think isak hangs up is because he knows isak better than that. he can’t talk, right now, because he’ll cry, and so maybe if he just breaths in chilly fall air enough he’ll calm down. or calm down enough. still his breath hitches as he breaths air in, to say, ❝ i’m sitting outside my parent’s place. i ━ thought i wanted to talk to my mom, maybe, except i don’t think she’s even here, and i don’t know why i wanted to talk to her.❞ and it’s like something breaks inside of him, maybe it’s the piece of him that━ he hopes it’s the piece of him that didn’t allow him to talk to isak about everything he needs to talk to isak about , because if it’s anything else, he doesn’t know what he’ll do. he’s quiet, again, for another length of time, and breeze rushes past his ears. pricks his eyes so that they dry out a little and he has to blink rapidly to re-wet them, but then accidentally forces more tears to form in his eyes. ❝ i’m coming home, i promise, in a little bit, i’m going to walk back.❞ he needs to breathe.

#ogminutt #❛ ‹ i. &. threads ; alt er love. / even bech næsheim › ❜#❛ ‹ iii. &. s5 ; you’re not going through this aloneˏ remember that. / verse seven › ❜#this is Really Long and i didn't mean for it to get so long but #he just had a lot of feelings and who am i to deny him his feelings

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eidolon-zephyr · 6 years

Text

A Flight of Fancy Ch 5

Fandom: Twilight Pairing: Aro/Bella Rating: M

Intro: Here Previous: Here

Chapter Summary: In which Bella consistently sticks her foot in her mouth or In which Aro gets to spend a little bit of (supervised) time with the human.

Note: I’m sorry I’ve been gone so long. I can’t promise I won’t leave for a while again, but I can promise that I think about this story a LOT. I wish I had someone to bounce ideas around with.

Bella stared down at the plate in front of her, her eyes wide.

“Wow…this looks amazing.”

Esme hovered nearby, her tightly clasped hands the only sign of her anxiety.

“The real test will be if you like the taste. Go on,” she urged gently.

“Well I mean it smells good…” Bella muttered, but picked up her silverware anyway. She cut off a slice of chicken and, without much preamble, bit into the piece.

Her eyes closed and she had to resist groaning. God, Esme was like the model housewife. It wasn’t fair. Swallowing, she took a short breath and looked at the older woman.

“It’s…really good.”

“Oh! Thank goodness; I haven’t had many opportunities to cook this dish.”

Bella nodded then shook her head lightly, raising her eyebrows. “Well, you should make it more often. It’s amazing.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Esme said with a smile. “I’ll leave you to it, then.”

“Wait, what about you guys?”

The older woman paused, turning back to Bella with a soft smile.

“Oh, we’ve already eaten; don’t worry about us.”

She turned again and began walking toward the door, but once more paused when she heard Bella speak in a small voice. “Um…”

“Yes?”

Oh, this was stupid, Bella thought to herself. It was a ridiculous request, and she should be used to eating alone – she’d done it plenty enough when she was living with Renee – but the idea of eating alone in such a large and beautiful kitchen had her feeling unsettled.

“Would it…uh. Would it be okay if I ate out there in the living room?”

Esme blinked in surprise.

“Well of course dear. But why would you want to do that?”

“Um…” Bella bowed her head slightly, biting her lip softly. Esme could see that the girl felt unsure, nervous. Her motherly instincts kicked in and all she saw was a child that needed the comfort of family. She smiled softly, understanding.

“Nevermind, dear. Come, I’ll grab a small folding table so you can eat in the armchair.”

An unexpected surge of relief surged through Bella, releasing itself in a quiet sigh. She picked up her plate, preparing to follow Esme out.

“That would be great, thanks.”

She wasn’t sure what had possessed her to think this was a good idea. She quietly picked at her food, trying to pick up snippets of the conversations around her. There was a small comfort in having other bodies around her, but it was overshadowed by the curious glances the Cullens kept sending her, and by the overwhelming presence of Aro.

Aro.

What was with him? She’d seen arrogant people before, proud people, but Aro was on a completely different level. He carried himself like royalty, with a presence that filled the room with subtle power. He sat on his part of the couch as if it were a throne, and even just reading a book as he was, he did so while radiating statuesque grace and beauty. It wasn’t fair, she grumped to herself silently. What was he reading, anyway? She tiled her head, trying to get a view of the cover partially obscured by his fingers. ‘He has such nice hands.’

‘He has such nice everything,’ another, quieter voice in her head stated.

‘Get a grip’, she scolded herself, stabbing a piece of chicken with more force than strictly necessary. She just met the guy and she was having an attack of hormones. Could she really hold it against herself, though? He was one of the most attractive people she’d ever met. He was tall, not as tall as Emmett or Jasper, but still taller than her measly 5’4”, with gently sloping shoulders and a lean figure accentuated by long legs framed perfectly with expensive looking slacks. She moved her study of him to his face, faintly narrowing her eyes in thought. His jawline was sharp with a gently rounded chin, his lips thin but soft-looking. Said lips were lifted slightly in amusement and paranoia made her look quickly to his strange murky violet eyes to see if he had noticed her staring. He seemingly hadn’t, thankfully still focused on his book. A part of her felt guilty at the relief the felt that he may have problems with his vision, that he wasn’t utterly perfect.

Perhaps he was anemic, too? The Cullens were pale, absurdly so, even to a pale girl like herself, but Aro was pale to the point of being chalky. It made his dark hair stand out even more starkly, falling like a layer of black silk against his shoulders. Her perusal continued, violently squashing the urge to cross the room and pet the raven locks, audience be damned. The investigation ended at his hands again, and she wondered why she liked them so much. There were a lot of things to admire about his appearance, but his hands drew her attention like nothing else could. Belatedly, she noticed that his fingers had shifted, pulling the book higher and allowing her to see the title printed on the spine in stark goldleaf lettering: Goethe’s Faust.

“Faust?” she intoned, not realizing she’d spoken aloud.

Aro smiled wider, raising his eyes from the tome to lock gazes with her.

“The sordid tale of a desperate man who sold his soul to Mephistopheles for a mere glimpse of transcendence,” he commented airily.

Huh. “I didn’t think you the type to read fantasy.”

She wanted to squirm at the look he gave her. “Do you know all individuals so soon after making their acquaintance?” he questioned, raising a brow.

Flushing hotly, Bella stumbled over her words, feeling horribly rude and stupid. “N-no, I mean, I didn’t, I would never—”

She abruptly cut herself off, taking in the way his eyes were creasing at the edges and his shoulders were shaking with repressed laughter. She took a quick swig of tea, trying to fight down the burn of shame that she’d made such a fool of herself.

“I am teasing you, Isabella. Please do not get upset.”

“I didn’t mean to assume…” Bella mumbled.

“It is only human to do so,” he reasoned, and he heard the eldest Cullen boy snort in a rather undignified fashion at his choice of words.

“In any case,” Aro continued, “you could hardly consider it fantasy. Rather, it is a tragedy, seen by some as a cautionary tale against wishing for that which you do not have. In fact, I’d say that it’s a shining example of the folly and arrogance of Man, never able to take the blame once it is shown that Man is at fault.”

She didn’t think herself the smartest person around, but Bella did have a deep-seated love of books. As long as the story was good, she was game. Her curiosity piqued, she smiled and leaned forward a bit.

“Well that sounds kind of interesting. I’ll have to go get a copy at the library or something.”

The book lowered toward Aro’s lap and she felt a little thrill at having his undivided attention. Granted, she’d likely had it the entire time given how he’d hardly taken his eyes off her since she’d spoken, but it was the gesture of him lowering the book that made it so satisfying.

“You enjoy books?”

“Yeah, have ever since I was small. I like going to different worlds, being someone else and going on adventures, that sort of thing. It’s the best kind of escape and has endless possibilities! It’s…well it’s…er…” she trailed off, realizing that her enthusiasm had been bleeding into her voice and body language. Aro quirked a brow.

“What is wrong?”

“I just…I got too excited. Sorry,” she mumbled, her shoulders hunching up around her neck.

The man snorted softly. “Isabella.” She looked up at him, feeling heat crawling up into her face when his voice dropped to a purr. “Never be ashamed of enjoying yourself.”

Feeling decidedly flustered, Bella leaned back and took a slow breath.

“Y-yeah. I uh…thanks.”

He couldn’t help but chuckle. Aro hadn’t felt this entertained by another being’s facial expressions since he’d knocked the Romanian coven from power. Sparing a quick glance at Carlisle and the rest of his coven, he took in the looks of disgust and growing suspicion at their conversation. Ahh, so they didn’t trust him around the human, he thought with amusement. He watched as Esme gently asked if Bella had enjoyed her meal, the plate mostly empty. Nodding and apologizing for taking her time (She apologized often. Why?), she stood, grabbing the plate and heading to the kitchen. Esme followed, saying that the girl didn’t need to wash her own plate, but Isabella insisted. Of course she would – she was hardly the type to be waited on.

He swiveled his gaze back toward the living room, and saw that at least three of the men were studying him intently, his own friend included. Carlisle looked curious, Edward looked distrustful, and the Major looked considering. He had looked completely contented before, apparently soaking in whatever emotions Isabella had been giving off. The rest regarded him cautiously, and Alice, the dear thing, radiated tranquility, gently rubbing circles into the Major’s hand and leaning against his shoulder. The blond vampire glanced her way and leaned down, murmuring something unintelligible into her hair. A sweet gesture, he thought idly.

An odd thing, mates. Despite the many glimpses he’d gotten of it over the ages, he’d never understood the concept. He knew what they were, but not how it was supposed to feel. How could one tie themselves so irrevocably to someone else, risk life and limb and power all for the sake of another? It made no sense. His own sister had had one and look how that ended up. She sought to steal one of his kings, one of his prizes, and with her gone the man was practically a shadow. Where was the advantage in that? He’d spent decades, centuries, building his empire, taking what he wanted, when he wanted and how he wanted. No one would ever take that from him.

Crocuses invaded his nostrils again and he shut his eyes briefly before fixating on the source, the girl laughing softly at something Alice had said. She looked in his direction before quickly turning away, tucking her hair behind her ear and a blush high on her cheekbones.

No one.

#twilight #twilight fanfiction #my work #aro volturi #bella swan #aro/bella #AFoF

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dark-unimaginably-stupid-kids · 6 years

Text

What the King Wants [Take 2]

D.U.S.K. A gift for @sleeping-mara because THEY’RE SUCH A GOOD SHIP and they’resofuckedup and I love it.

In which Gen continues to write in second person because it’s fun and I’m awful.

Lucifer does some soul searching and decides to avoid his issues once more with Robin. Except. It doesn’t help.

Cassandra hasn’t spoken to you on this visit. You’re not sure how you feel about this. She was dark and sullen during the entire hunt. Honestly, you wished she’d stop insisting on the hunts in the first place. You could feed her just fine with provisional demon’s blood like the rest of your people in Illusions.

But she insists, every visit, that you take her into the city. That you show her how to ensnare a human. That you show her how to manipulate them and how best to break their skin and leave them dazed and confused in the middle of the streets.

Why?

What’s her reasoning?

If I’m to be so abhorred by my brother, I should have a reason to be abhorred.

It’s what she said the first time and she doesn’t bother dignifying you with a response the many times you’ve asked since.

It’s…well honestly, it makes your heart heavy but it’s—

It’s your fault.

It’s your fault, it’s your fault, it’s your fault. Why did their bond scare you so much? Why did you allow yourself to sit in Lanas’s nightmare and even consider for a moment that your children could possibly—

Why did it scare you.

You should have known better.

You should have had more faith.

You should have…

Even when you’re back home quietly undoing the buttons of your collar you can’t stop thinking about it.

“Have I…” You mumble aloud to no one, alone in your chambers, “Have I become…them?”

A glass drops.

Suddenly you realize you’re not alone.

For the briefest moment your blood runs cold and your eyes narrow and your body prepares itself to attack, rip to shreds any intruder that could happen to have invaded your personal time like this.

Honestly, that alone should have been a red flag enough.

You were caught unaware.

How stupid.

But when you turn on your heel and see him there, standing with tray in hand, empty glass laying thankfully not shattered on the carpet at his feet, you relax.

Because it’s only Robin.

No one relaxes you like Robin.

And yet, his expression causes you to pause. His jaw is slack, his eyes are bright and his brows a pressed together while he stares at you, his grip on the tray loose enough to have tussled the glass.

“Yes Bob?” You ask him. Point blank. Careless. Flippant. How you normally are with him.

“No.”

He says it almost immediately, like it wasn’t even a response to your words directed at him but…

“I’m sorry?”

“No.” He says again, firmer. He lets the tray drop from his hands completely, off to the side and landing muffled along the carpet beside the glass. You realize the glass had at some point been full, and you’ll have to get the carpet cleaned but you barely have the moment to consider this before Robin is upon you, one lightly scared hand gripping at your loosened collar.

“You have not become them. You will never be them, Lucifer.”

His eyes have you frozen. The poor sad things that have seen far too much. The scars across his face the proof of it all.

It takes you a moment to realize he’s said your name.

“Ah…”

His other hand comes up, placed lightly at the back of your neck. You’re not sure how he’s done it. Made your mind go blank.

It was your name, it had to be. Does he even realize he’s done it?

“I don’t know who put that thought in your head but you’re not. You are my lord Lucifer, my sovereign, my savior.” He breathes the last word, softly and carefully lowering his head so he’s barely a feathers width from pressing against your chest.

“Please don’t compare yourself to them.” He mumbles, quiet enough you almost miss it.

You wonder how you came to deserve him.

Because you compare yourself to your parents most in how you treat him.

Some time ago you’d even had to lock him up. Keep him away from some demonic angel that thought it was all good fun to play with a king’s tings. You’d had to keep him shackled there, guarded, silenced, so he couldn’t sink into the angel’s manipulations any further.

Sure, the reasons behind his imprisonment were different. It was for his own good. You’d done it to protect him.

But at the end of the day, you knew what it looked like.

You remembered how you’d first found him.

You remembered the smell of your mother’s blood as it stained your hands and you remembered looking up and seeing poor small wrecked Robin.

At the time you hadn’t thought much of it. So blown away but what you’d just done. By what you’d had to do to a pair that looked so like you. That smelled like you. That spoke like you.

Having stumbled on their pet didn’t phase you.

Considering what they’d done to you, what you’d known of your parents while you grew up in the underworld with a couple that did care about you despite not being your own blood, you weren’t all that surprised.

Honestly, what did surprise you was that he was the only one.

The only passing thought you’d had about Robin at the time was… “He must have been special. Perhaps. To them.”

And then you kneeled before him and released him. A rabid looking stranger. Maybe he could have been dangerous but at this point, having just killed the king and queen of your own people, you weren’t all that worried.

He vaguely remembered Robin’s raw voice mumbling something, more a scratchy whisper, “Your eyes…”

But you couldn’t be bothered. You rose, you offered him a hand if he needed (not that you bothered to wipe off the blood) and when all he could do was look at you, you shrugged your shoulders and turned around. Off to locate your brother who you knew would come searching for you soon.

If you’d asked yourself then if you ever thought that creature would ever matter in the long run, you’d probably have said no. The pet was nothing but a frayed loose end to your predecessor’s reign. Not even you’re problem really.

And yet here he was.

…your pet now.

How disgusting.

You knew better. You had to.

When you’d locked him up to protect him—was it really to protect him or was it to protect your own pride? That your toy had wandered off into someone else’s hands for a few nights?

No, that wasn’t the problem. The problem was when he’d come back, edgy and frazzled and not himself.

Why did it matter if he was himself?

He was something you owned, not a person.

You saw him just as your parents once did. Monsters. Horrible vile monsters. Just like you.

Why then, did it upset you so much? Why did it frustrate you to remember how you’d kept him in the dark. How you’d held him bound in nearly the exact way they had when you’d found him. Why did that almost spur you on in your hunt for the angel?

Why did parts of you scream how dare you make me do that to him when you’d finally found the loathsome creature that thought it could touch your Robin.

…Well, other than your inability to take responsibility for your own actions.

Perhaps there had been a better way. A kinder way to protect him. Something then unknown to you. Or had it only been the passing of years that made you inclined to try and at the time you’d simply decided not to bother?

When did Robin start to matter to you.

Really matter?

…Did he really?

His hand shook lightly behind your neck, like he was frightened. And of course, he was. You can’t remember the last time he’d approached you so intimately. This wasn’t like him. He was a servant, he knew his place.

Yet…

You reach out a hand to press against the back of his head, push him down against your chest properly while the other snakes around his waist and pulls him close to you.

“I appreciate the words, Robin.” You offer, using his real name for what’s probably the first time this decade.

He stiffens at this but doesn’t make to pull away, “I’m sorry. I was being forward.” His hands lower but he stays pressed to your chest. It’s not like you’re going to let him move now.

“Bob? Forward? I wasn’t even aware that was something you could be,” You offer with a light chuckle. Perhaps it’s for the best that you stop thinking about the past and go back to playing.

It’s easier. Simpler. Fun.

You try not to think about how much you resemble your parents. You try not to think about how you’ve ruined your children in behaving just as they did when they tried to ruin you. You try not to think about how you were inclined to Robin in the same ways they were. How you enjoyed his company and yet twisted his life to suit your needs.

You try not to think about how Robin, dear sweet naïve Robin, actually thinks you’re better than them.

With a playful tug, you pull him away from your chest and toss him in the direction of your bed where he lands with a light “oomph!” and you laugh to yourself as his eyes lose the fire they’d previously held when he’d tried to argue with you. Instead of that fire they hold a softness, a complacency in the way things are and a touch of fondness in the realization of his position.

Yup. That’s more like it.

“I’ve had quite the day Bob!” You grin, undoing the rest of the buttons on your top and slipping it off your shoulders. You don’t care that it falls on the floor. That’s usually where your clothing ends up anyway.

“Have you now, Sire?” Bob sighs out, sounding exasperated but his eyes are still soft.

“It’s Luci, Bobert. And yes. You’ll make it better now, won’t you?” You push on, making your way to the bed and climbing over him as you push him to lay back down. His face flushes a bit but he rolls his eyes.

“Bobert? Really?”

“Really.”

“I can’t believe you.”

“Yes you can.”

“I can, I just don’t want to.”

“That’s the spirit. Now isn’t it grand that it’s not about what you want?” You mean it as a joke but a part of you can’t help but wonder, openly, does he want this? Has he ever really? Would things be different if you were less your parents son? You should get up. You should leave.

You don’t want to.

And then for the briefest moment you think he might have smiled at you. Just for a moment.

“Of course, my lord. Whatever you want.”

And maybe when you kiss him it’s softer than it used to be. And maybe when your hands drift along his skin you’re more careful around the scars. And maybe when he breathes in your ear, your mouth open at his collar, it takes a little more restraint to remind yourself not to feed on him. Not to offer your own neck. Not to push any more intimacy into this than was strictly necessary.

Maybe it doesn’t matter because it’s intimate enough all on its own.

Maybe when you’re lying there staring at his back after demanding he spend the night with you—“In the kings bed? how disrespectful!”—you notice the odd feeling in your chest.

Something you’ve done a good job of ignoring up until now.

“My Lord?”

“Luci.”

You listen to him sigh before he turns over and looks you in the face for a moment before his eyes dart to the side, almost bashful. “Goodnight, my king.”

“...Goodnight.” You watch him close his eyes and your chest tightens a bit.

Yeah, you’re not sure when exactly you started wanting him this much. In this way. This might be a problem.

#dusk #d.u.s.k.#dark unimaginably stupid kids #Lucifer #Robin #OC's #original #original writing #original characters #ahh what else do I tag this as #bleh idgaf I just didn't want to copy paste this over skype and lose my italics #here you go lovely #I don't even think I posted the first one lmao...#whoops #idc you're like the only one who's gonna read this anyway #<3

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