#that typo was completely organic but i kept it

[homoquartz]

me when i see a beaufoful woman

#that typo was completely organic but i kept it

[sheisjoeschateau]

"Oh, so we DO love Steve... | PART VII

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ SERIES MASTERLIST ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

Steve Harrington x Bauman!fem!reader enemies to lovers, heavy angst, hurt/comfort, upside down mayhem, S2-S4, post S4 universe hot-take, end-of-the-world / dystopian setting, ugly fights turned smut (...but with hella plot). 18+

CHAPTER VII WARNINGS/NOTES: t.w.'s - strong language, ruthless banter, mentions of death, injuries, end-of-the-world terror talk, newfound shared codependency (but like it's healthy imo also it's valid lmao) jealousy. 18+

AUTHOR'S NOTE: this chapter is honestly a gahdamn MF feast. a favorite of mine NGL, for a multitude of reasons. Murray high key pops the fuck off like the boss bitch he is and takes us on a long lecture of a journey to visit the lordt of truth bombs. Eddie has zero chill. Robin is the bestest-best-fwend and platonic-with-a-capital-p soulmate to our boy. Dustin is a dingus. LUCAS BE SEEIN' THINGS. Hopper is Joppering. Nancy and Jonathan get a clue. Mama Steve and the kids are in full swing. We get a cutie cameo from Harrington's signature yellow sweater.

And our lovebirds finallyyyy......well.....say the magic word that they're feeling hehehe:)

ISSA LONG ONE. PROOFREAD UNTIL MY EYES BLED. IF THERE ARE STILL TYPOS, SORRY BOUT IT. 18+

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

Steve knew he would have to face downstairs again at some point before the morning.  Definitely before everyone else went to bed.  But he couldn’t bring himself to.  Not yet.

Because right now, you were fast asleep in his arms.  Laid carefully on your back for the sake of your bad shoulder, with your head turned into his chest.  Steve was propped up on an elbow, facing you with his other hand gliding his fingertips to trace your arm draped across your chest.  He drew shapes up your arm, now adorned with his yellow crewneck, up to your jawline so that he could tuck your hair behind your ear. 

And all the while, he just stared at your chest – comforted by the steady rise and fall.  It kept him sane.  It kept his eyes open.  It kept him from letting the nightmare return.  You slept so peacefully, he might never have known you’d been dead in his arms earlier that day.

“You are beautiful, Steve Harrington.”

Your words from last night ran through his mind on a loop, like a VHS tape on replay.

“I can’t stand you.”

You’d said it in the warmest voice Steve had ever heard in his life.  Somehow, those words meant more to him than I love you.  Because when he said it back, he realized it meant the same thing. 

“I can’t stand you either.” 

I love you too.

Steve carefully placed his forehead against your temple, eyes fluttering shut and breathing you in.  Something danced inside of his stomach.  It ached, it burned and it warned him of all the things he feared feeling the most for anyone except the girl downstairs who had made love seem lost.  He never wanted those feelings to return again for anyone else but her – Nancy.  And yet here he was: every one of those feelings rushed back tenfold, for the girl upstairs in his guest bedroom lying beside him.  The girl who had ruined the chance at a life for him with Nancy Wheeler.  The girl he swore was the reason he was robbed of all things good.  Robbed of love.  True love.

But he no longer loved Nancy Wheeler. 

Steve Harrington loved you.

Downstairs, everyone is quiet but productive. 

Joyce is organizing the last of the stashed supplies.  The kids are eating some bowls of hot soup, served up by Murray.  He had to stay busy and shake off the frayed nerves.   Otherwise, he’d go berserk.  Completely berserk.  Joyce gently helped him but knew better than to baby him.  She was surprised to find Erica walking over, offering to help serve up some glasses of water or sodas for everyone.  To everyone’s surprise, they operated well.  Like chef and sous-chef.  What an unlikely duo.

Hopper and El were talking in the living room about the potential new plan, and Mike moved from the table where he sat with the kids and teens to join them.

Steve could hear them all down there, the ambience muffled on the other side of the closed door separating you both from the rest of the world outside of each other's arms.  He could have fallen asleep right there with you if he let himself.

But a soft knock on the door made him crane his head to look towards the source of the noise.  With one last look at you, he carefully slipped his arm out from underneath you.  You never stirred, the rhythm of your breathing still intact and your mind lost in sleep.

Steve wasn’t sure who to expect on the other side of the door.  But as he ran a hand through his hair, he found himself not caring. 

Turns out, it was Murray.  He stood with two bowls of hot soup, now staring into the eyes of Steve Harrington — who he begrudgingly noted still looked dashing, despite his towel-dried bedhead and tired eyes.

Seriously, no one should make a t-shirt and sweatpants look that good. 

Your uncle cleared his throat.  “Uhh, I made some soup.”

Steve gave him a timid but grateful nod, taking one of the bowls.  Glancing back over his shoulder, Murray followed Harrington’s gaze — back at you, sleeping in bed. 

“She’s still out,” Steve told him. 

Murray nodded.  “I’ll keep hers warm downstairs.”  An awkward silence fell over Murray and Steve, but finally your uncle continued.  “Listen, why not come down?  Let her rest, get yourself some water or — a sandwich maybe, to go with the soup.  Erica says she’ll make them but I'm reallllly not feeling confident about that.”

Steve allowed himself a soft chuckle at that, biting his lip and glancing back at you. 

“She’s alright,” your uncle assured Steve.  “Trust me.  I keep having to remind myself that, too.”

Steve was glad that the two of them could relate on that — endlessly worrying about you.  He was also glad that your uncle wasn’t giving him shit for it, and honestly Murray was extremely pleasant when he wasn’t being an ass.  It took Steve by surprise.  No wonder you two were related.  With a reluctant sigh, Steve agreed to follow Murray downstairs for some more grub.

When they reached the bottom of the stairs, Steve’s eyes first landed on Nancy sitting with Robin and Joyce.  She looked over at Steve with her big blue eyes, which danced with longing.  Steve’s doe brown eyes didn’t return it, but he lightly smiled in her direction anyway.  Robin immediately perked up, jogging over to Steve from her seated position on the floor.  She grabbed him for a tight hug, and he made sure not to spill his bowl of soup.

“Sorry sorry, I’ve just — been worried sick.”

“S’okay, Robs,” Steve murmured, appreciating the comfort.  She pulled back to look at him, giving him a sad smile.  She wanted to ask him a million questions, but knew it best to save it for later.

“C’mon,” Robin told him, tilting her head towards the kitchen.  “Let’s go grab some crackers or something to go with that soup, which you need to eat.  Don’t even think about not eating, Steve.  I’m serious, okay?”

Steve listened to her keep rambling on as they walked into the kitchen, where Erica and Lucas were bickering about PB&J’s, and Murray stepped in to take back his title as head chef.  Eddie and Jonathan were sitting at the dining table, clearly in deep conversation but ceasing once they noticed them walking in.  Jonathan gave him a pitying look, while Eddie flashed a dopey grin to try and hide whatever serious talk was just going down.

Dustin, Mike and Will all rounded the corner as Steve moved to sit at the bar.  They all sat next to him happily.  YAY, MOM’S HOME.

Steve ruffled Dustin’s hair absentmindedly as he sipped on his soup and stared down at his spoon.  Erica was shoving a very haphazard looking sandwich in front of him while Lucas told him he’d spit it out after the first bite, which sent all the kids into a frenzy of bickering, lighthearted insults and witty comebacks.  Steve sighed, content as he ate several mouthfuls of the sandwich while listening to his kids squabble.

Jonathan was shaking his head over in the corner, observing this.  “Guy’s a hero to those kids,” he murmured, only loud enough for Eddie to hear. 

“Babysitter turned full-time mom turned hero,” Eddie smirks, amused.  “Dude’s a legend.”

Jonathan scoffs, amused but also not.  “Wasn’t always...”

Eddie clocks what he means by that.  He knew King Steve, too.  But Eddie can see a twinge of something else in Joanthan’s eyes, surprised to see it.  Jealousy.  It’s subtle.  Not toxic, or even remotely a threat. 

That is, until Jonathan sees Nancy moving to take a sandwich from Erica — her eyes wandering over to Steve and the kids.  She looks enchanted, melancholy.  Is she sad?  Why is she sad?

…why is she sad looking at Steve?

Jonathan’s brow furrows.  Eddie decides he better speak up and interrupt whatever he’s thinking.  Because he sees it too.  Uh oh.

“Trust me, he was a dick.  I know.  Told him so myself.”  Eddie tries to make light of it, grinning.  “But I think sometimes…some folks just need a big thump on the head.  Shit, I did.  I used to run away from alllllll my problems.  Hell, I…I’ve even had my share of making others feel small, just so I can feel big.  Not in a bad way, though.  Never mean.  Just…immature.  Y’know?  Point is, I’ve been there too.  Maybe not as big a dick as Harrington…”  He snorted.  “No pun intended.”

Jonathan whipped his head in Eddie’s direction.  What did that mean?

Eddie quickly tried to cover up his reference to the Hawkins High heartthrob’s manhood.  “I just mean, I just mean — like — we’ve all been dicks.  You know?  Big ones.  Small ones.  Medium…sized…ones.”

He counted at least 5 perplexed blinks from Jonathan.  Eddie sighed, exasperated with himself.  “The point, the point.  We uhh…we live and we learn.  Right?”

Jonathan finally let his tense shoulders loosen up at that, but he glanced back at Nancy – who was still watching Steve as she got herself a glass of water and letting Robin ramble to her.  And Jonathan also watched Steve, who was now telling Dustin to share the box of crackers with everyone and not hog them from everybody. 

It began to click for Jonathan.  The longing stares.  The unusually strained affection between him and Nancy, ever since he got back.  He knew that was partially his fault, if not entirely his fault, given him pulling away from her after moving to California.  But then he got back to Hawkins, and realized the second he saw her that he’d been a fool to think he would ever be better off without her, or convince himself that she could be better off without him.  One look at her made it all go away.  They say distance makes the heart grow fonder, and Jonathan was definitely aware of that now.

But had it made Nancy’s heart grow fonder, too?  For Jonathan?

…or had distance made her heart grow fonder for someone else…

Someone else who she had distanced herself from once before, when she found love and comfort in Jonathan Byers’ arms.  Harrington had been away from Nancy when she was around Byers, and then Byers was away from Nancy when the world went to shit again, putting her back around Harrington again.  No Byers in sight.

…was this karma?  Jonathan Byers was beginning to wonder that.  Was this what he got for so confidently whisking Wheeler away from Steve back in high school?  Is this what he got for thinking he was safe?

…maybe that is what Steve meant when screaming at him earlier, as they tried to pump you back to life.

“DON’T YOU DARE FUCKING STOP.”  Jonathan would never forget the way that Steve’s sounded as he spewed at him.  Broken, anguished and betrayed.

“IT’S NOT WORKING,” Jonathan had wept bitterly.  “IT’S TOO LATE.”

When Nancy had chosen Jonathan, Steve never got mad.  He never got mad at either of them.  He told Nancy he got it; that it was okay.  And he never said anything to Byers about it.  Next time they ran into each other, it was just tense silence.  Steve might have picked a fight with Jonathan once before, that damn morning in the alleyway when Will was still missing.  But that was 2 years ago now, and it felt childish compared to everything that had happened since then.  Steve’s anger then was so subdued to what it could have been, and he never explored anger towards Jonathan once he had successfully managed to take his girl.

But the way that Steve Harrington looked at Jonathan now, while you were dead beneath their hands, was fueled by anger.  Red hot and flaming.  He looked ready to finally unleash on Jonathan, ready to blame him for his existence and how it only brought Steve grief.  For once, Steve Harrington looked rightfully angry with Jonathan Byers for being the source of his pain.  Steve looked ready to punch him square in the jaw and beat him up the way he’d had his own face beat up by not just Byers, but also Billy Hargrove and the Russians.

“DON’T SAY THAT.  NO ONE GAVE UP ON YOUR BROTHER, YOU THINK YOU CAN JUST GIVE UP ON US NOW?  THINK ANY OF US WANTED TO STOP WHEN WE THOUGHT IT WAS TOO LATE?  FUCK YOU, BYERS.  FUCK YOU.”

Jonathan deserved it.  He completely deserved it.  All of it.  It had been a long time coming, and while it was over 2 years past due…he took it.  All of it.  Even what was still left unsaid.  Jonathan let Steve verbally rip him to shreds before Eddie took over and brought you back to life with Steve instead of him.

And that’s why now, as Jonathan watched Nancy catch him staring at her — looking caught as she tried to give him a smile — he let it happen.  He just gave her a reluctant smile back, accepting his fate.  Because now, after what he had seen today, he realized that Steve wasn’t even a threat.  Maybe a month or so ago, he would have been.  But that wasn’t the case now, which he only knew after seeing the way that Steve clung to you and sobbed uncontrollably over your lifeless body – then afterwards, when you were alive again. 

Steve no longer pined for Nancy Wheeler.  He pined for you. 

Not for long, though.  Honestly, it was as clear as day that whatever was going on between the two of you was mutual.  The way you held Steve earlier, comforted him — assuring him that it was alright, you were alright — and how you stroked his leg in the living room before he helped you upstairs and disappeared for a couple of hours into your assigned guest room… Jonathan knew, along with Eddie, that Steve Harrington’s heart was in your hands, and yours was his. 

It’s what Jonathan and Eddie had brought up at the table.  Not the whole “why hasn’t Steve unleashed his anger on me until today” aspect of things.  But the fact that you and Steve, who seemingly could not stand each other, now seemed like a pair.  

Nancy moved to sit next to Jonathan, who awkwardly poked at his soup bowl and did his best to fake a smile.  Eddie watched them, knowing.  Man, he could really use one of his guitars right now to pluck out the tension…

Lucas was saying something about Max needing to be checked on upstairs, which made Steve quickly shove the last of his sandwich into his mouth so that he could come help him and Erica along with Will, El and Mike.  They all made their way up, and Dustin stayed behind.  He moved over to the big kids table, bringing the box of crackers over with him.  He plopped down next to Eddie, who was grateful for the comic relief after the tense talk at the table.  Robin moved to bring over fresh cups of coffee, sitting between everyone.

“So uhhh, we gonna talk about it?”

Dustin’s question made everyone freeze. 

Robin cocked an eyebrow, leaning onto her elbows to sip her coffee.  “About what…?”

“About Bauman and Steve, and how we all clearly did not see it coming.”

Robin choked on her coffee.  Nancy stiffened next to Jonathan, which he didn’t miss — considering her hand was resting on his forearm.  Eddie drummed the table awkwardly while nodding and staring straight ahead at absolutely nothing. 

“Yeeeeeee-up, caught me off guard,” Eddie said.  “I’m normally good at picking up on that shit.”

Robin was still working on clearing her throat.  “Look, we don’t know anything yet —”

“He’s literally your best friend, Robin,” Dustin accused with an eye roll.  “If any of us know, you do.”

“Well my strange, tiny friend,” Robin quipped wryly, “I’m afraid I’m just as in the dark on this as you are.”  She sighed, leaning back in her seat with a flash of concern in her eyes.  “I really should have seen it coming, though.  I was so sure he was just gonna keep on hating her guts.”

“I still don’t understand why he hated her at all,” Dustin said, adorably naive. 

Eddie smirked, uneasy.  “Meh, not important.”

“Seriously, they got along just fine whenever we fought the demodogs,” Dustin continued, oblivious.  “And at the snowball, but then after that he just – went at it with her all the time, even though they would both still hang out with us.  Like an old married couple.”

Nancy listened intently, trying to keep up and put the pieces together.  Because truly, she herself had been wondering what changed.  But she had been so focused on her life, in her own world with Jonathan and their jobs, she really hadn’t paid much attention to the fact that you and Steve had gotten along at the start, then not at all, and now…well…

Robin puffed out a breath of air.  “Maybe they’ve just…gotten closer.  You know, found a way to get along.  Murray’s an ass, and even though she’s not and I love her, Steve’s not exactly the easiest to get along with even though I love him —”

Dustin scoffed.  “Robin.  He kissed her.”

Eddie clicked his tongue, trying to think of Metallica lyrics and avoid looking in Nancy or Jonathan’s direction.

Robin stared.  “What?”

“When?”  Nancy’s voice startled the room, and Jonathan seemed to cringe at it.

“Dustin,” Jonathan sighed.

“Today,” Dustin kept talking.  “Whenever we…brought her back.  He — he kissed her.  He literally bawled on top of her and wouldn’t let her go.” 

Dustin’s eyes lost all of the annoyance, now looking sad as he thought back on it all.  Robin stared at him along with Nancy, barely breathing.  Even Eddie looked over at him. 

“I’ve never…I’ve never seen him that upset,” Dustin murmured.  “Steve’s never sad.  Not like that.  I’ve never even seen him cry.  Not once.  Robin, did he ever cry while you both got tortured in the Russian chambers?”

Robin thinks back on that, gnawing at her lip, deep in thought.  She shook her head, realizing… “No.  No, he didn’t.  Just – panicked, but not…he didn’t cry.”

“Exactly,” Dustin says.  “Because he’s awesome.  He’s brave, and cool, and awesome.  Steve doesn’t cry.  Today?  He bawled.”

“Seeing someone die in front of you does that, man,” Eddie pointed out, melancholy.  “I know I did whenever Chrissy died… You cried today.  I did.  Byers did.”

“Not like that,” Dustin insisted, voice firm.  It made everyone go quiet again.  “Not like that,” he repeated.  “That’s how I would have cried if…like, if Suzy died.  Or how Lucas did when Max died before we got her back.  How Hopper and Joyce would.  How Jonathan and Nancy would.”

That made the present couple go stiff.  But Jonathan nodded, eyes boring a hole into his coffee mug.  “S’true,” he mumbled.  “If that were you, I would.”

Nancy looked at him, eyes guilty.  Of course, it was the same for her.  But she couldn’t focus on that right now.  Not now that her collective thoughts and observations were confirmed.  Now that she knew for sure…

“It’s not a matter of if they’re into each other,” Dustin kept going, certain.  “It’s a matter of when.  When did it start and how were we blind?”

But no one could answer that.  Robin couldn’t, and she was shocked that she couldn’t.  She knew her best friend all too well.  How had she not seen this coming?  How could she not have sensed that his never ending hatred towards you was slowly developing into liking you?  Maybe even loving you…?

Eddie had only started sensing it that day.  Until then, he had been the one to encourage Steve to go after Nancy.  To get her back, win her over.  But that stopped whenever Jonathan came back into the picture, of course.  He knew better than to cross that line.  Still, he knew that Harrington loved her and pined for her.  He also knew why Harrington couldn’t stand you, along with Robin.  They adored you, hoping at some point that you both could just become friends who tolerated each other.  Eddie never thought it would become more than that: a civilized friendship.

And Nancy felt something heavy sit on top of her chest that she really could not seem to accept yet: the truth.  She lost Steve.

“Alright, guessing game is over.” 

Murray’s voice rounding the corner made everyone jump, and he eyed down everyone at the table as he walked in with his empty soup bowl.  He made for the sink, turning on the faucet with his eyes still glued to the five people seated at the dining table, who stared back awkwardly.  Finally, he looked down as he washed his dish.

“Take it from the witchdoctor of love: those two had it coming.”

Eddie cocked an eyebrow, completely amused. 

Jonathan, however, was not.  This was so karma.

“...had what coming?” Dustin asked. 

Robin shot him a look — bless his little naive heart.

“Psh, c’monnnn,” Murray said, rinsing the bowl.   “The sexual tension.  The incessant arguing.  Harrington’s personal utmost disdain towards her.”

Nancy spoke up, unable to help herself.  “But…why though?  She didn’t do anything wrong.  Why would he have disdain towards her…?”

Jonathan hated how irritated Nancy’s question made him feel towards her.  It irked him deeply, but he just let it fester quietly as he sat there staring down at his cup of black coffee and having no choice but to listen.

Murray looked at Nancy with the most condescending expression, uncensored as fuck.  “Honey…really?” 

Off Nancy’s clueless expression, Murray rolled his eyes in the back of his skull as he slapped the faucet off before whirling to face them.

“Once upon a time, two years ago: you and Jonathan came over to my bunker — uninvited — waltzing your way into my business, along with my niece’s.  Thankfully, to our benefit, you helped us crack the case and — not so much to our benefit — onboarded us into your mess.  But rewinding back a few slides, you two stayed over because of the vodka coursing through all of our veins and tried to convince the two of us — AKA yourselves — that you two were just friends.  Which was the biggest load of unbelievable bullshit you both could have told me, and that’s after you told me everything pertaining to the absurdity and pure insanity regarding the upside down.  But really, it was a great belly laugh for me and my niece, so thank you.  Thennnn, my niece offered to let you both take her bed — not buying a lick of it, and suggesting you both stop being in denial.  On top of that, as a former student at Hawkins High, she knew King Steve very well.  She knew how Wheeler and Harrington both started dating, and how much closer the two of you —”  (he gestured between Jonathan and Nancy) “— had gotten since Will Byers went missing then got rescued.  Because my niece isn’t stupid.  She could’ve been class valedictorian if she’d wanted to, but — being like her cynical uncle — she didn’t wanna.  She’s a street-smart annnnnd booksmart cookie.  She knew you both were bound to let the trauma bond get you both together, and that genuine love had formed between the two of you way more than it had between her and Steve.  So she called it out, after being fed a bunch of coo-coo-bananas nonsense from you guys in my casa about being 'platonic.' " 

Eddie's jaw was practically touching the table. This was literally the best story he's ever heard, and it had just freaking started.

Robin felt like she was watching a movie in her mind, one in which her best friend was the main character and she was rooting for him like life depended on it.

"Fast forward to the lab, El’s grand return, Will’s exorcism, the demodogs, the Snowball, and our little house party that followed —” (he pointed at Dustin) “— you forgot that part — turns out, Jonathan Byers can’t take his liquor, so what does he do?  He goes over to my niece, who’s standing in the kitchen — like so,” (he gestured to himself) “ — and starts profusely thanking her in a string of loud, slurred, drunken words, about how he was chosen one, and how he got the girl, alllllll thaaaaannnksss toooo myyyyyy niiiieeeeeccccce."

Nancy's blood ran cold. What? 

"And because it was such a small house, no offense Henderson, unlike Casa Harrington — the king himself heard it all.  Every lick of it.  So of course, who’s he gonna hate with a fiery burning passion more than he ever could hate Jonathan Byers for stealing his girl?  The person who told him to do it.  Myyyyyy niece.  Because he can’t hate Nancy Wheeler, never-ever-ever could he hate the girl he swore was the love of his life.  And he couldn’t even hate Jonathan, because what had he done except be the victim of King Steve’s incessant bullying and his horrible posse of friends in high school while his brother was missing in another dimension?  But Steve had to hate someone.  To loathe someone, blame someone, more than himself.  So he chose her.  He chose my niece — and by extension me, but mainly her.  Because she was a part of the gang now, and around way more than I ever have been around you kids.  Which is to be expected.  So blah-blah-blah, hate-hate-hate, fight-fight-fight — soooo muchhhh traaaauma.” 

Murray paused for dramatic effect, soaking in everybody's faces, then continued. 

“...and what happens when there is trauma?... bonding.  Trauma bonding.  Forced alliance.  The need to put aside your differences, so that you all can just get along and survive.  And that leads to talking…which leads to more fighting…eventually, tears.  Lots of ugly words that can’t be taken back.  And then…suddenly…”  Murray snaps his fingers.  “Common ground.”

No one has made a sound, hanging onto Murray’s every word.

“Vecna ends the world.  At least, Hawkins.  We all somehow manage to survive it.  We all need somewhere to goooo…and we wind up here.  In a house, all underneath the same roof.  Forced to coexist.  Therefore, newfound respect and understanding is acquired when in close quarters.  Just as the two of you, Ms. Wheeler and Mr. Byers, found in my bunker.  Steve and my niece found themselves forced to live with one another, the space between them closing in.  Gap by gap, inch by inch…until…”

Murray made a gesture that looked like that of a magician, everyone’s eyes following.  “Magic.”  He walks closer, slowly.  “Some small talk becomes bigger talk.  Some childhood trauma that decorates the walls of Harrington’s house becomes the topic of conversation.  My niece just so happens to be a really good listener, and Steve happens to be in need of one.  They both discover they’re the only child in both their families.  His parents are absent.  Hers were barely ever present, before surrendering her to both mine and my mother’s care.  But she doesn’t mention that yet, no — why?  Because she’s listening.  Relating.  Understanding.  Meanwhile, Steve feels heard.  Seen.  Relevant.  Important.  Like maybe whatever he has to say matters.  Fast forward some more, blah-blah-blah…some more co-parenting later…which honestly, is the only reason those two maintained some sort of peace in the first place — aside from the inevitable perils that we all have had to face and be paid to keep our mouths shut about…”

Murray points to Dustin, who stares at him — agape. 

“You kids are the damn glue holding those two doomed enemies-soon-to-be-lovers together.  Not that you knew that.  You’re kids, and you don’t know that shit yet.  Which is good.  And they love that.  Steve might hate her, but he’s not gonna make you kids hate her.  And she finds him infuriating, but she isn’t gonna let you all know that by persuading you to feel the same.  Because he loves you rugrats, and you all love him…and you rugrats love her, as she loves you.  Fast forward to a night when all the kiddos are fast asleep, and the adults get a night to themselves with some cups of chilled vodka that fuels everyone’s laughter and newfound liquid courage — but just enough to give a light buzz, rather than sloshed drunkenness — the enemies, who’ve now become somewhat of friends…realize that they feel more.  Or at least, that’s what I observed.  Grilled my niece about it, that night before bed — and next thing you know — she is the victim of Uncle Murray’s love-talk lectures.  Just like you two were.  She’s swearing up and down that she cannot stand Steve, and that he cannot stand her.  She insists they are mortal enemies.  That he hates her.  Will forever hate her.  And then…that rambling turns into truth.  Admittance.  Denial, still.  But it’s enough to go off, allowing me to paint the picture and speak the truth into the world out loud: WE DO LOVE STEVE.”

Nancy freezes at that, eyes wide and heart blue.  She swallows thickly, and Jonathan feels sick.

Murray's conductor waving hands settled down, ready for the grand finish.

“...someone had to love Steve.  But it wasn’t you, Ms. Nancy Wheeler.  Not forever, anyway.  Not in the desperate, novel-esque ways we all read about or see in the cinemas.  But it was her.  You liked Steve, so that she could love Steve.  And he loved you, so that he could hate her…only to realize that he loved her. Deeply...madly...and truly.”

Murray leaned back, letting his rant come to a full stop.  The air was so thick, you could cut it with a knife.  Mouths agape, brains fried and heartbeats racing.  They were stunned into shocked silence.  With a sigh, Murray made for the fridge.

“Do me a favor…”  He grabbed some juice, along with the vodka, pouring himself a cup.  Then, with a severe look in his eye, he faced the group again. 

“Don’t make a damn fuss about it yet, yeah?  Not yet.  Not to them.  Wanna do it with each other, go ahead.  But maybe lay off them for a bit, will you? Hmm?”

Everyone was surprised at the uncharacteristic parental tone in Murray’s voice and the look in his eyes.  They felt parented now.

“Maybe let the shock of this newfound realization they both just came to accept barely before my niece stopped breathing today…I dunno…simmer down a bit, yeah?”

Dustin gulped, nodding.  Robin did, too.  Eddie had pretty much bitten his nails down to stubs at this point, and Jonathan had shrunk so far down into his chair he was practically on the floor now.  Meanwhile, Nancy looked like a heartbroken child who’d just been told that Santa Claus wasn’t real.  With that, Murray raised his glass of jungle juice and exited the kitchen — vanishing, leaving the group to sit there in their own unsettled energy.

So when Lucas, Erica and Steve all shuffled back down the stairs, it alarmed them.  Robin stared at Steve and the kids, while Eddie rose to stand and grab the box of crackers from Dustin.  Jonathan swigged his coffee.  Nancy just stared at Steve helplessly.

“Alright, who needs more food before we all turn in for the night?” Steve asked as he moved to put away the sandwich fixings with Erica.

Nobody spoke, making Lucas look at them with a quizzical expression.  Erica did the same, stopping as she went to put the sleeve of bologna back into the snack pan.  Steve had been busy picking up discarded bowls and plates before he finally looked at everyone, too.  He cocked an eyebrow, confused.

“You, uhhh…you guys okay…?”

Robin tried to speak, choking on air.  Steve squinted at his best friend.  Finally, she found her voice.  “Sorry.  Got the jitters.  Too much coffee.”

She stood up hastily, collecting everyone else’s cups — even Jonathan’s, who was mid-sip.  Robin avoided Steve’s gaze as she dumped them into the sink with a very fake, wide toothy-grin.  She hummed while rinsing the cups, and Eddie clapped his hands together when rising to stand himself. 

“Better, uhh, go re-dress my, uhh — dressings.”

“I got you,” Robin said, splashing the hot water and dropping the sponge so that she could hurriedly dry off her hands and follow Eddie out of the room – giving Steve a quick kiss on the head.  He watched her go, curious. 

But then he saw Jonathan and Nancy sitting over at the table still, along with Dustin — who was staring back at him sheepishly.  The curly-haired kid stood up, clearing his throat and shuffling over with the now very-empty box of crackers.  He whistled while tossing it into the garbage and moved to finish the dishes.  That definitely made Steve raise an eyebrow.  But he figured it was out of pity, so instead he just gave the kid a pat on the back and ruffled his hair before going back to tidying up the kitchen.

Nancy felt queasy.  Really queasy.  And looking at Steve was not helping, especially being seated next to Jonathan.  She rose to stand, making him look at her back with queasiness of his own.  He watched the back of his girlfriend as she started to turn to look back at him…and when she couldn’t, it made his heart sink.  She walked towards the living room, disappearing behind the wall.  But not before passing by Joyce, who made her way into the kitchen to give Steve a motherly touch on the arm.

“Dr. Owens will be here first thing in the morning,” she told him, reassuringly.  “Real early.  Probably 6AM.  Hopper’s letting Murray know.”

Nancy refused to let herself cry that night about Steve Harrington and her newly unrequited love.

Jonathan watched his mom comfort Steve, and while it made him grateful it also made him sad.  Steve sighed with relief as he thanked Mrs. Byers, and when his mother began to help him find some temporary pain medication that Dr. Owen’s instructed her to give you, he decided he couldn’t listen anymore and left.

“You don’t think there’s anything wrong with her, do you?” Dustin asked.  “You know, heart-wise or anything…?”

“She’s gonna be fine,” Joyce told him sweetly, rubbing Steve’s back as he leaned against the kitchen counter with a tense back.  “Her heart, her shoulder, her mind.  Everything.”

Steve took deep breaths, and Erica would have hugged him if she weren’t so profusely against giving anyone any sort of physical affection. 

Lucas, however, did move to squeeze Steve’s shoulder next to Joyce.  After all the comfort he’d gotten from him after Max died, then got brought back…and still received, with her being in a coma…Lucas understood Steve’s pain. 

No one knew it, but Lucas had secretly caught onto Steve’s feelings for you whenever he went to visit Max in her room one morning but heard you both sitting in there.  Selfishly, he’d stayed behind the cracked door to listen in…and it made him freeze in place.  They way you and Steve bonded, despite all the rivalry between you both.  The way you both spoke to one another in Max’s presence, like she was keeping the storm at bay despite being asleep.  Lucas felt as though he was listening to a conversation taking place between two fighting parents, who were finally finding common ground.  He had secretly listened like a little kid, leaning against the wall, giddy and heartbroken at the same time.  Lucas wasn’t sure why, but he knew.  He just knew.  You two were crazy for one another.  Maybe because he and Max had their struggles, too.  Maybe something about the way Steve pushed you, and you pushed Steve — maybe it reminded him of them, just as older teens.  Steve was his hero, and you were Max’s.  He would give anything to talk with her about it, to hear whatever she had to say about the two of you…the unlikely duo…

But he didn’t say anything about it.  He felt it best not to push anything.  Not yet.  When Max woke up, he would.  But maybe now, he wouldn’t have to.  Because Steve had been faced with the possibility of losing you.  And if he was gonna mess that up, then that's preposterous.  Then Lucas would say something.

***

That night, Steve crawled back upstairs and ran into Robin coming out of his bedroom, having just discarded Eddie’s only wound dressings in the hallway bathroom and changing into her pajamas.  She was staying in Steve’s room, per usual.  And she wondered if she might have just caught him coming upstairs to sneak into your room and not his.  At this rate, nothing was a surprise anymore.  Thanks, Murray.

“Hey, dingus,” she grinned.  Steve grinned back. 

“You gonna finally get some sleep?” he asked her.

“Yeah,” she nodded, gesturing to the blankets in her hands.  “Was just gonna go give Eds some fresh blankets.”

“Lemme know if you need help with that, seriously.  His wounds, I mean.  I’ll have Dr. Owens check on him tomorrow too, whenever he comes to check on Bauman.”

Robin nodded, biting her lip.  God, she wanted to ask him so many questions.  Hug him.  Tell her best friend to spill the damn beans.  Demand him to cry, to break down in front of her.  To scream.  To laugh.  Anything.

“Robs, you good?”

“Steve, I love you,” Robin blurted.  “Like – love you to death.  Best friends forever.  Just — just…”  She bit her lip some more, trying really hard to think before she speaks.  Steve waited patiently, a bit nervous.  Robin sighed.  “Just know that…I’m here.  And I’m always gonna be here.  Supporting you, with…whatever you need.  Even if that’s to shut up and just help you with something and not ask you any questions.  Alright…?”

Steve’s eyes sparkled, and he stitched up the distance between them to give her the tightest of hugs.  His best friend of a soulmate.  Platonic with a capital P.  Robin hugged him back fiercely, dropping the blankets.  She sagged with relief.  Thank God.

“Don’t wait up for me,” Steve mumbled into her hair.

“Cool.”

“Bed’s all yours.  Spread out.  Starfish.  Steal all the covers.”

Robin snorted into Steve’s shoulder, squeezing him tighter.  “Okay.  Cool, yay.”

Steve chuckled too, squeezing her to death.  He really did have the best friend in the world.  They swayed a bit like that for a moment, content and comforted in each others’ embrace.  Then finally, Steve pulled back and Robin ruffled his hair.  He rolled his eyes, swatting at her lightly as she grinned wide.  Scooping down to pick up the blankets, he handed them back over to Robin.  She smirked.

“Is she a cover hog, too?” Robin teased.

“Didn’t you say you wouldn’t ask questions?”

Robin saluted, making her way towards the stairs.  “Sir, yes, sir.” 

Steve could finally breathe for the first time all day, aside from whenever you were safely in his arms.  Knowing that he had his best friend on his side without needing to have a full blown conversation about anything yet…that really helped lighten the load a bit.  He exhaled deeply, letting the relief seep into his bones as he made his way to his bedroom door.

***

Once inside, Steve felt his heart swell.  There you were, tucked in bed still, sleeping peacefully.  Steve walked over to crouch over and kiss your forehead, gently stroking your hair.  He noticed you seemed to still be in the same position.  Almost like you hadn’t moved at all.  He looked at the clock.  It’s…been hours.  Several hours.  At least 4.  He looked back down at you, seeing how still you were in the dark. 

His heart stopped.  Were you too still?

Steve placed a trembling hand underneath your nose, too shaky to be able to tell.  But when he felt nothing, he frantically grabbed your wrist — yanking it off your chest to feel for a pulse —

You moved, stirring awake and looking at him groggily.  Steve just about collapsed, clutching your hand and bringing it to his lips as he sunk down onto his knees.

“Jesus Christ,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the back of your hand and another to your palm.

You groaned lightly, moving to turn towards Steve and yawning.  He melted. 

“How long have I been out…” you asked him sleepily. 

“Hours,” he told you.  “Which is good.  You need sleep.”

You sighed, eyes fluttering tiredly.  “M’hungry.”

That made Steve grin ear to ear.  “I can fix that.  Want me to bring it up here?” 

A grin slowly made its way onto your face too, and you nodded gratefully.  Steve squeezed your hand, leaning forward to peck your forehead and your nose and your lips before promising you he would return. 

When he did, he came back with the bowl of hot soup that your uncle had kept warm for you along with water and some pain medication.  You were sitting up now, leaning against Steve’s chest as he sat with his legs caging you in and leaned up against the headboard.  You had just taken the medication a few minutes earlier, now sipping on the hot soup and a tall glass of water that Steve held onto for you.

The little bedside table lamp cast a soft glow in the Harrington’s upstairs guest bedroom, and the sound of light rain outside of the window filled the room along with the plink of your spoon against the soup bowl.  Steve felt grounded as he kept his arms around your waist, circled around you as he held you close.  His chin sat on top of your head, and the scent of his lavender shampoo in your hair filled his senses with peace. 

“What’s your favorite color?”

Steve’s question surprised you as you slurped another spoonful of soup, but you swallowed and felt the corner of your lip twerk up into a little smile.

“Yellow.”

Steve felt himself smile at that, squeezing you a little tighter.  “Guess this shirt was a good choice, huh?”

“Yeah, I’m glad you bought two.  Rich kid perks ain’t so bad.”

There was lightheartedness to your tone that Steve found himself adoring.  Craving, and yearning to hear more of – should time be on all of your side, in this godforsaken town. 

“I wonder if Vecna’s rockin’ my other one down there.”

“Nah, the dogs are.”

Steve snorted, giving your hips a little squeeze and pressing a kiss to your temple.  You sighed against him, sinking back and placing the bowl of soup onto your lap.

“What’s yours?” you asked him curiously, watching the shadow of the raindrops on the ceiling as they slid down the window. 

“Blue.  Sky blue.” 

You hummed, placing one of your hands that sat on your stomach onto his and interlacing yours fingers.  “Like a pretty, non-upside-down clear blue sky?”

“Schyeah, that.”  Steve rested his chin back on top of your head as he glanced out the window, the black sky and rainfall sending a shiver down his spine.  He wondered if the world would ever feel normal again…

Steve decided to ask you more normal questions, wanting to pretend that none of the dystopian reality just outside his house was real — just for one night.  He asked you what your favorite movie was, shocked to find that you loved romcom’s.  Especially Endless Love, Pretty in Pink and Working Girl.  He wasn’t sure why he thought you’d say dark movies, or maybe sci-fi hits.  Maybe Steve didn’t know what he expected you to say.  But regardless, your answers fascinated him.  He loved learning why you thought Sigourney Weaver’s character was misunderstood in Working Girl, which led to you both discussing women in the work force and how they should receive higher pay – equal to the men.  Steve agreed with you, liking how passionate you were about it yet graceful and humble at the same time.  You were smart, but somehow underestimated.  It was strange.  You were strange.  Turns out, he loved ‘strange.’

And it also turns out, Steve liked not only action flicks — but dramas, too.  Footloose and Baby Boom were on his list of guilty pleasure movies.

“Baby Boom??” you asked incredulously.  But you weren’t mocking him, rather genuinely intrigued and amused.

“Hey, it’s adorable,” Steve defends himself with a fake scoff.  “She adopts a damn baby and raises her as her own.  Be nice.”

You playfully rolled your eyes, tilting your head back to look at him.  “God…no wonder you love those kids so much.  You’re a natural born mother.”

“Okay but seriously, since when did I become mom and not dad?”

“Apparently, I’m dad.”

“Again: since when?” Steve's tone made you chuckle deeply.

You and Steve talked until your tongues were tired, eventually having moved to lean back onto the pillows.  He rested his head into his palm, propped up on an elbow and stroking up your side as you both enjoyed innocent pillow talk.  Softly spoken voices, hushed just enough to hear one another.  Real hearty laughter that you both muffled into your palms, or each others’ necks, so that you wouldn’t wake anyone.  Sweet confessions about food preferences, least favorite holidays, questioning religion while wanting to believe in a god.  How Steve thought that vodka was the kiss of death, while you found cigarettes to be disgusting.  Steve craved strawberry ice cream, while you were a sucker for plain old vanilla.  He loved diners, and you did too.  He swore pancakes over waffles, and you made it very clear that French toast was the clear winner.  It was a give and take conversation, and you both found it resulted in far more agreements than not.  It was the loveliest conversation that either of you’d had in years.  Maybe ever.  Not just with each other…but with anyone at all.

“So…six kids and a Winnebago, huh?”

Steve’s eyes danced in the moonlight, looking at you with pure adoration.  Shyly, he tucked your hair behind your ear, slowly nodding.  “Heard that, huh?”

You gave him a little smirk.  “It was a pretty small Winnebago.”

He shook his head fondly, then — “Yeah.  Turns out being an only child gets to you.”

You nodded sadly.  “Yeah.  It does.”

Steve hated that you knew that same loneliness.  But then again, was that what made you both see each other so clearly?  Is that why you knew his deeply rooted longing and misery better than anyone else?  Is that why maybe, just maybe…in telling Nancy to run off with Jonathan…you were protecting him?  He wondered these things as he looked into your angel eyes, not knowing how in the world he could have not looked at them like this before…especially right when he met you.

You told Steve how you’d always wanted a dog growing up, which led to his immediately confessing he wanted a lab or golden retriever.  You nodded eagerly.  Yes.  Those, or a border collie.  A dog that felt like a true family member.  Even a stray mutt who needed a home.  You both laughed at the funny names you both wanted to name them as kids.  Winston, Jeffery, Petunia, PeeWee, Pumpkin, Count Duku.  When Steve suggested pancakes as a name, you had to literally turn your head into the pillow to keep your laughter from roaring through the room and waking the household.  Even Steve felt like he’d pee himself from laughing so hard, watching you laugh so hard. 

God, you were beautiful.  You were so beautiful.

…when you smiled up at Steve, bashfully, he realized that he’d said it out loud.  “So are you,” you breathed.

Steve shook his head.  “I’m not, though.”

Your brow creased.  “Yes, you are.  You know you are…and if you don’t –”

“I don’t.”

“Well, you are,” you said simply.

Steve pressed his lips together, self-conscious.  How had he felt so damn confident all those years in high school, even middle school, but not now?  You reached up to push back some of his perfect hair, caressing his cheek. 

“I haven’t been,” he confessed, almost in a whisper.  “Not to you.  I’ve been ugly.  Really ugly.”

You looked into his guilty eyes, but Steve couldn’t find any anger or sadness in yours.  Just understanding and forgiveness.

“I was, too,” you admitted.

“No,” Steve shook his head, adamantly.  “Not like me.”

“Steve, I wrecked your life.  Well, your love life.  But still, I wrecked it.”

“No, you only wrecked it when you left it,” Steve confessed, bitter at the memory but not at you.

Never at you.  Never again.

“Telling me I deserve better, and I…told you that you deserved…nothing.”  He visibly winces at his own words.  “God, I’m so sorry —”

“Steve,” you stopped him softly, cupping his cheeks.  “Don’t.  I’ve forgiven it.  Really.  You didn’t know.  You were hurt.”

“Doesn’t make it right,” Steve whispered, looking at you with those beautiful doe eyes that shone in the moonlight.  “I actively made a point to stop hurting people, and I did it again anyway.  Worse.  Way worse than my stupid King Steve days.”

You shrugged, trying to make him smile again.  “King Steve was pretty amateur compared to the hard ass you became.”

Steve bit back a laugh, maybe even some tears.  Still, he let the joke land.  You crane your neck up to nuzzle his nose, making him sigh and return the eskimo kiss.  Then you hissed in pain, letting out a little groan.

“What's wrong?” he asked worriedly, brow pinched.

“Stupid shoulder,” you muttered.  “My ribs, too, damn…”

Steve looked down at your ribcage sadly, splaying his fingers there against your skin underneath his yellow crewneck.  He sighed.  “That’s because of me,” he confessed sadly.  “Pounding on you nonstop today with the compressions.”

“Well in that case, I’ll take it.  Pain’s good.”

You winked at him, and Steve tried to let that comfort him.  It did, for the most part.  Your oxygen intake really made it worth it, in the end.  He leaned down to press his forehead against yours, closing his eyes as you did the same. 

“I don’t know where we’re headed,” Steve whispered against you.  “Hawkins.  The country.  The world.”  He paused, breathing you in.  “Just know I want you there.  All the time.”

You smiled, eyes still closed, heart fluttering.  “Good.  You’re stuck with me, Harrington.  Bothering the ever-living shit outta you.”

“Bother me till I go insane,” Steve breathed, nuzzling his nose against you and grinning like an idiot.  He felt happy.  Absurdly happy.  Who thought that was possible?

“...Steve?”

He opened his eyes slightly, finding yours were already looking into his.  He waited, pulling back nervously.  Which is stupid, considering you’d just told him you felt the same way.  That you wanted to stay by his side, no matter what happens.  So why was he thinking that just changed within a 3-second timespan?  Why was he suddenly worried that you —

“I love you so much.”

19 years flashed before Steve’s eyes at that moment.  His childhood.  His pre-teens, and all the teen years that followed.  He thought back to every single I love you that had been spoken to him.  It hadn’t been many.  At least not many that meant anything to him.  He could count on one hand the amount of I love you’s that meant something to him over the course of 19 years.  But now, he could count on one finger the one that meant the very most to him.

“I love you so much, too,” Steve breathed, eyes glassy and mesmerized as they looked back into yours.  “God, you’ve no idea, I…”

Steve felt overwhelmed.  He scrunched his eyes shut, resting his forehead to yours again and caressing your cheeks.  He pecked your face, every inch of it, slowly.  Little kisses peppering your face.  “I love you so much.”

He could have bawled on the spot if he weren’t so completely entranced, swept up in the tidal wave of joy that splashed across his heart, mind, body and soul.  Steve could bawl about it later.  Right now, he simply leaned into your touch and vowed to never let you go.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

bless Murray and his impeccably uncensored madness. about time he set everyone straight, damn.

as alwaysssss, thank u for reading :) this series is so much fun. please comment, it always makes my day.

TAG LIST [if I forgot u, pls lmk and pls forgive me]

@xprloki @erastourvip @get0ut0fmyr00m @Eddiemuns0nl0ver @marrowfrog00  @poppet05 @wiltedflowersundertowers  Originalthingparadise Pleuviors pumpkinonice Ihaveproblemsihaveproblems Brinleighsstuff Definitelynotherr sucker-4-angst @goosy-goose

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington angst #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington x you #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington smut #steve harrington stranger things #steve harrington one shot #stranger things fanfiction #enemies to lovers trope #joe keery #baron marmalade #jkeeryedit #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #mishas masterlists #Steve Harrington is a mother #mom steve

[astranite]

Rest

Fluff, Earth and Sky, plus Scott getting a nap. A.K.A Virgil gets Scott a weighted blanket.

EDIT!!! I used one of the Fluffember 2023 prompts in here but completely forgot to tag or mention that. Prompt is "Say: "Thank you for...""

A little inspired by the fic in where Virgil gets a weighted blanket (https://archiveofourown.org/works/23042224 Insomnia by chidoriXblossom), mine written because I think Scott would like one too. And we all know he needs more sleep. Plus soft furnishings!Scott!!!

Also- "This will be only like 500 words max," my muse lied.

So, another fic! Mostly was written on the bus on my phone, while wandering around the kitchen looking for something to eat yesterday, and on notes on my laptop when the Aussie internet and phone service met its untimely demise today.

@idontknowreallywhy With the last 2 paragraphs and hopefully less typos!! Hope you're feeling better too. SOFT FURNISHINGS!SCOTT!

-----

“Got you a present,” Virgil said, holding out a package wrapped in shiny blue paper. 

Scott took it without hesitation, utterly unprepared, because this was Virgil, not Gordon or Alan or any other trouble makers.

He staggered at the sudden, unexpected weight.  Scott kept fit for international rescue and lifted more than this on any given day, but dropped into his hands where Virgil made it look like nothing. Well, he nearly dropped it. 

Just as Virgil lunged to snatch it back from the bounds gravity, Scott  got a firmer grip on the package and hefted it up. 

Virgil stepped back, grinning, nearly as excited as the day they sent Two to space. “Open it, Scotty!”

Scott dutifully sat down on the couch with the package in his lap, slipping his fingers beneath the tape. 

“But why, why today?” Scott asked. 

It wasn’t Christmas. He determined it was not his birthday after quickly counting out what month was it anyway because he’d lost track with how busy he’d been lately. He wasn’t forgetting something else was he? Some important event that wasn’t in his calendar? Oh damn, was he supposed to have gotten his brothers presents too?

Virgil sat down by his side. 

“You’re alright Scott, no occasion. Present’s just because.” Virgil smiled. 

Scott bumped his shoulder against Virgil’s in a wordless act of affection. 

Then he turned to the shiny present he held, excitement bubbling up. 

What could it be? 

The package was soft, moving about fluidly within the paper, which would usually bring to mind something along the lines of an item of clothing. But whatever it was was far too heavy for that. Even allowing for thick denim or mission suit material, but Virgil wouldn’t wrap up a routine update, and that sort of engineering generally came under Brains’ department. 

With the strange slithery, many grains of sand running over each other noise it made whenever it shifted, at this point Scott would expect a prank, even from Virgil. 

Except that Virgil was right next to him, just as genuinely happy to be seeing him open the present as Scott was to receive it. Plus his brother was a frankly awful liar and trying to cover for it by, say, hiding his face in his hands while suspiciously giggling behind them had never worked once, for the record. 

So Scott shook the package vigorously, when Virgil didn’t stop him assuming it was non breakable, then gave up on the whole guessing game to get to the real deal. 

He tore the paper off with a grin, foregoing attempts to be neat about it because he just wanted to see what it was. 

Copious amounts of blue fabric poured into his lap. Heavy, weighted fabric, trying to slither to the floor as he grabbed at it and pulled it up. 

The thing was soft too, fluffy on one side and more fuzzy on the other, Scott discovered as he ran his hands over it. 

A quilted blanket of some kind, a big one too. Scott hefted it and spread it across himself and Virgil to lay it out so he could see it. 

It was— oh, “A weighted blanket?” he asked Virgil. 

Virgil nodded, smiling widely, “I thought you’d like one of your own, since you seem to like mine so much.”

That was true. Even on the last movie night when Virgil had brought out his own green, wonderfully soft monstrosity of a blanket that practically required an exosuit to lift, Scott had ended up sharing it with him. 

He never would have bought one for himself, he didn’t need it, but Virgil has seen and he had gotten him one. 

Scott threw his arms around his brother and whispered a heartfelt, “Thank you for— for everything,” into Virgil’s flannel. 

Virgil hugged him tight. “Glad you’re happy, Scooter.” 

Scott swallowed. “Yeah. I am.”

He stayed in the hug, letting himself lean on Virgil.

Eventually he pulled away, bumping his forehead with Virgil’s briefly in another thanks, before flopping backwards onto the sofa. 

He dragged the blanket over his body, snuggling down beneath it, to try it out properly. 

Virgil tugged the edges out straight, patting Scott on the leg where he’d slung them over Virgil’s lap to fit onto the couch. 

“‘M not moving ever again,” Scott mumbled. 

The blanket’s weight pressed down on him comfortingly, like the soothing pressure of a tight hug. The fabric was soft, fluffy and warm, but not too hot for their tropical island. It covered his feet even when he pulled it right up to his chin. 

Scott was in heaven. 

When he shut his eyes for a moment, letting the sensation sink in, Virgil snickered. “G’night, Scotty.”

Scott opened one eye to glare, then the other. He was not going to sleep. He was just getting comfortable, that was all.

He reluctantly removed one arm from beneath the blanket, wriggling his fingers towards Virgil. He could still work if Virgil would just pass him his tablet. 

Heaving a put upon sigh, Virgil reached for the side table and gave Scott his tablet, picking up his own sketch book. 

Scott opened his emails, hiding a smile. The blue eyes act still worked on his brother, evidently. 

Something, something, board meeting. Something, something, product development. He flicked a couple marked urgent open which weren’t even particularly important and shouldn’t have been flagged for him. He forwarded them on to be delegated to the correct people. 

Learning that he didn’t have to do absolutely everything had been a long process, and he was getting better at it. 

Scott continued through his bottomless inbox, so warm and comfortable he wasn’t even particularly annoyed with the uptight business people he had to deal with. Or at least he was minorly irritated as opposed to resisting the urge to throw his tablet across the room. He ran his free hand across the soft material, wound in the fluffy fabric while his other held his tablet. 

The blanket was working wonders. Quiet scratchings of pencil on real paper from Virgil did aid his calm somewhat too. But the weighted blanket was definitely going down in his favourite items of soft furnishings. Trust Virgil to have gotten it for him and gifted it just because. 

Scott’s blinks got slower and slower, and maybe he’d just rest his eyes for a moment, snuggled up on the couch with his brother and his new weighted blanket. 

Virgil looked up from his sketchbook at his brother. The permanently stressed crinkles between Scott’s brows were smoothed out, his face lax, his whole body a loose jumble of limbs instead of a wound up ball of tension. His arm arced gracelessly off the edge of the couch, tablet fallen on the floor beside it. His other hand was still gripping the blue blanket, hanging onto it even in his sleep. 

Because Scott was asleep. In the middle of the day, finally catching up on countless missed hours, even in the open lounge room, fast asleep with no signs of nightmares. 

A line of pencil on thick drawing paper, and Virgil begun to sketch Scott’s sleeping form, seeking to capture such a rare moment. He had no where to be, a mug of coffee beside him, and art supplies at hand so he was content. Plus he had his big brother close, legs still in Virgil’s lap, and no way he was moving to risk disturbing Scott, even if he wanted to, which he certainly didn’t.

Virgil smiled down at Scott, infinitely glad his present of a blue weighted blanket was comforting his brother and letting Scott get some much needed and well earned rest. 

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds fanfiction #scott tracy #virgil tracy #thunderfluff #earth and sky #soft furnishings!scott #astrawrite #fluffember #fluffember2023

[shenanigans-and-imagines]

The Photo Album

Eddie Munson x OC, Minor Angst, Heavy Fluff

Summary: Eddie and Lucy are helping Wayne move only for Lucy to find an old album.

Inspired by this post

A/N: This was written on my phone in a frenzy at work. I don’t control when the inspiration strikes. So apologies for any spelling errors/typos, yada yada we die like men.

Word Count: 932

“Mr. Munson, what’s this?”

It was such an innocent question, Eddie didn’t even bother to look up to see what exactly Lucy was talking about.

The pair of them had come over to help Wayne unpack the boxes Hawkin’s lab had been able to salvage from the trailer. The lab had the good graces to help in the relocation process making the moving of a few boxes feel trivial compared to the rest.

He vaguely heard his uncle move towards the front room and a low chuckle follow.

“I was worried about this one,” Wayne answered. “That’s Eddie when he was around three.”

Eddie’s back straightened and in the next moment he had jumped to his feet and sprinted to the living room.

His worst fears were confined as Lucy had made herself comfortable on the couch holding a familiar photo album in her lap with Wayne sitting right next to her.

“We don’t need to look at those,” Eddie croaked, already feeling his ears beginning to burn.

“But you’re so cute!” she exclaimed.

Were to anybody else Eddie would have taken the comment as sarcastic or at least teasing, but he knew Lucy could only mean it in the most sincere way possible.

The blush was now making its way down his neck.

She continued to look at the photos, her eyes soft and her lips curved into doting smile.

“What about this one?” she asked, turning to Wayne.

“Christmas ‘72,” Wayne explained. “Nearly drove me and Joan crazy with that thing, but he loved it.”

Eddie didn’t need to look over the couch to know what photo they were talking about. That was the Christmas Wayne had gotten him a toy guitar. It could hardly make any kind of music, but he had loved that thing. It also happened to be one of the Christmases Al had been absent meaning he and his mother could enjoy it in relative peace.

He felt his stomach lurch a little as it always did when he caught a glimpse of her in one of the photos. Wayne said he looked like her and while he was grateful to know he and Al had little to nothing in common he wasn’t sure being compared to his mother was much better.

His eyes turned to Lucy.

She was still smiling, each photo only seeming to bring her more joy like she was being let in on a secret. He supposed she was. That unpleasant twisting in his gut loosened at the thought replaced with something warm and a little buzzing.

He took a seat on the other side glancing down at the album.

“Shit you kept that one?” Eddie said, staring in horror at his four year old self.

There wasn’t any real organization to the photos. Besides pictures of Christmases past and a handful of summer moment. In the middle of one of them was Eddie looking very proud at the fort of mud complete with moat. He was absolutely filthy and absolutely beaming.

“I think it’s sweet,” Lucy said. “Very telling of things to come.”

Eddie had to laugh, pressing a kiss on her temple.

“You’re being mean,” he grumbled.

She only scrunched her nose in that way that said “maybe but I’m being cute about it”. He couldn’t argue with that nose.

She pointed to another photo and another until the three of them had spent nearly an hour going through the whole thing.

Some part of Eddie felt something akin to loss when they were forced to close the album.

It wasn’t that big all things considered. Most of the photos cut off after his eight birthday, the same year his mother finally had enough and bailed. Al wasn’t one for photos. Wayne took a handful when he could, but it wasn’t the same.

He remembered easily enough the afternoon Mrs. Henderson had roped him and Lucy into a similar situation.

She had photo albums, plural, all of them filled to bursting with memories and moments. The only pause was the year Lucy’s dad had died and even then the photos had come back with a vengeance as if to make up for lost time.

He felt the absence of his own in that moment. He wanted to share more. He wanted to watch Lucy as she laugh and smiled and indulged feeling the same satisfaction he had, like he knew her just a little better.

Wayne got up from the couch saying something about stepping out for a smoke leaving the two of them alone.

“Please tell me there are more of these laying around,” Lucy said, grinning as she said it.

Eddie shook his head. “‘Fraid not, these are limited edition baby photos. Can’t risk flooding the market.”

Something flashed behind Lucy’s eyes mirroring his own disappointment, but she smiled all the same deciding to keep it light as he had.

“Understandable, too much of these and you’d run all the other cute babies out of business.”

“Okay you gotta stop calling me cute or I’ll start to take it personal.”

“I’m sorry,” she said patting his thigh reassuringly. “You’re a very attractive and virile man.”

“Thank you.”

“Who also happened to be an adorable toddler.”

Eddie gave a groan of frustration burying his face into her neck as he pulled her closer.

“Aww, poor baby,” she cooed.

“Stooooop.”

Lucy only laughed, petting his hair as she held him right back.

Christ he loved her. First thing tomorrow he was buying a camera. God damn it if he wasn’t going to capture every second of this while he could.

#stranger things #eddie munson x oc #eddie munson x henderson!reader #stranger things oc #Lucy henderson #leddie #eddie munson x original character #eddie munson

[thegloweringcastle]

First off, I want to give the BIGGEST thank you to @azrielshadowssing for organizing this lovely event! Truly, I cannot thank her enough for her patience and kindness. This is my first time participating and I have so thoroughly enjoyed it!

This is also my first time writing nessian, so I apologize in advance if they are somewhat out of character. If you see any typos, no you didn't.

Summary: After agreeing to do a favor for her youngest sister, Nesta and Cassian reconnect after three years of no contact. Will this roadtrip be enough to salvage the ragged threads of their history, or will they return to be being complete strangers when all is said and done?

Warnings: None

Part 2 | Part 3

~2.2k words

...

The road ahead was gilded in sunlight, rays filtered down through the towering trees. The air was hot but the view was magnificent. It was an absolutely gorgeous day, and Nesta had never been more miserable.

If Cassian spat one more sunflower seed shell out the window, Nesta was going to pull her car over and make him walk the next few hundred miles. Her car, a Cadillac CTS Sport Wagon in Opulent Metallic Blue with a custom expanded panorama sunroof, was her pride and joy and Nesta would be damned if the unsophisticated ass got spit and other crap all over it.

She said as much.

“Aww, c’mon Nes. Your car is fine, I’m not spitting inside, am I? Sunflower seeds are a staple snack; we can’t have our epic summer road trip without them.”

She took a deep, cleansing breath. “We are hurtling down the freeway at eighty miles an hour. Every time you open and close that window my ears pop and the air conditioning escapes, and it’s too damn hot out for that.” The steering wheel creaked under her iron grip. “I am doing Feyre a very, very generous favor in driving you, but I will not hesitate to kick you out. I don’t give a rat's ass about an ‘epic summer road trip’.” 

“Ouch. Those are some harsh words, Nesta.” He slumped back in his seat, resealing the plastic baggie of snacks. “If you kick me out and make me hitch-hike, it will be your fault when I get snatched.”

“It will be my fault either way,” she grumbled. “At least I know how to hide evidence.” 

He grinned. “What was that, Nes?”

It was all she could do to reign in her snarl. “My car, my rules. Tread carefully, you brute. I didn’t even want to drive you in the first place.”

If things between her and Feyre hadn’t been going so well, Nesta really wouldn’t have gone along with the plan. He was the one who ruined his bike, he was the one that could suffer the consequences; he could get his own sorry ass down south to Feyre & Rhys’s wedding, or, better yet, not attend at all.

“It’s good to see you too, Nes.” He winked at her, before slipping on a pair of headphones and finally leaving Nesta to her precious, blissful silence.

***

“Wake up,” Nesta slammed her car door shut behind her, but Cassian didn’t even budge. She went around to open the passenger door, pulling the headphones from his ears and startling him awake. “Wake up, we’re here.” Nesta wouldn’t be surprised if he had been sleeping to the sound of people shouting and smashing guitars against the ground.

He swiped one hand down his face, clambering out and jogging to catch up with Nesta even as sleep still pulled at his eyes.

“Hey Nes, tomorrow–”

“Nesta.” She said, not even looking over at him. “It’s Nesta, not Nes.”

“You never minded when we were together-”

She sighed, turning and placing her hands on her hips. “Well we’re not together now, are we?”

“I mean…” He trailed off, looked between them, looked back at her. “We are, technically, currently together.”

She huffed and kept walking towards the motel. “If you don’t want me to leave you behind tomorrow morning then I recommend you not be a smartass.” Nesta reached for the handle to the front office, pausing and looking over her shoulder to Cassian. “I’ll get the room keys, you take care of the luggage. I will see you at five in the morning. If you’re even one minute late, you’re stuck here.” And with that, she stepped out of the heat and into the cool front office, leaving Cassian to haul their baggage to the rooms.

The next morning he was thirty minutes early, greeting Nesta with a shit-eating grin as she emerged from her motel room a quarter past five.

***

Nesta was meticulous in unfolding and refolding the map. Always careful to not tear the creases, always careful to make the folds line up, always careful to not crinkle the paper. If Cassian drove how she navigated, she would not be so worried about her precious Cadillac. As it was, Nesta was preparing to hold a memorial service for her beloved car by the time they made it to the venue, if they ever did.

She gestured with one perfectly manicured hand to the roaring motorway ahead of them. “To get onto the next highway you’ll want to turn at this intersection right up here.” 

He tugged his headphones - again with the stupid headphones - to hang around his neck. “Huh?” They whizzed past the turn. 

“Hey, whoa, where are you going? Pull a u-turn, that’s where we needed to be.” He put the pedal to the metal; the pitstop town was fading in the distance, fast. “If you hadn’t had your music blasting your brains out you would have heard me the first time.”

He shrugged, mouth twitching. “Mmmm… I know a detour. There’s less traffic and it’s much prettier. It’s the one we took when we came here a few summers ago, and it was just fine then.”

Nesta was sorely regretting her decision to trade places with Cassian after their pitstop for coffee and breakfast, but her leg was too cramped and her foot was too numb for her to officially be the safer option.

She shut her eyes, doing her best to keep her voice even. “Cassian, we’re practically in the middle of nowhere. It would be easier to just go back and turn there - don’t you remember how twisty this road is? It goes all along the coast.”

“That’s exactly the point.” He stared straight ahead, stoic and unmoving. When 

She sighed, crinkling the map as her hands turned to fists. ”Oh please, you could at least try to not be an obnoxious bastard for the whole trip-”

He cut her off, his voice rising. “See, but that’s the thing, Nesta, you’re the one being difficult. We’ve been on the road for three days now and so far I would say I’ve tried pretty damn hard to not get on your nerves. Yeah, I know I have annoying habits, and yeah, I know it’s been a while and we’re not used to each other anymore.” Now he was really shouting. “But by the Mother, you could work on having some human decency too.” 

He braked hard and turned into a ‘scenic overlook’, which was really just a parking lot at the edge of a rocky beach. Silence hung between them thick like fog, the soft click of the turn indicator echoing through it. Cassian backed into a spot, diligently checking the mirrors. He still refused to use the backup camera.

“Come sit with me. Please.” He got out without a second glance, opening the hatch and rearranging the junk they stowed in the back.

Nesta stood, the muggy morning causing her clothes to cling to her skin. The tide may have been far out, but thick clouds of fog lingered close to the mainland, shrouding their view of the horizon. Cassian handed her a blanket and waited for her to get comfortable in the trunk before taking his place beside her. The car dipped under his weight, and for a moment Nesta missed feeling that sturdiness. She eyed his muscled shoulders and broad hands, let her eyes creep to his torso, then lower… She snapped her gaze to the ocean where waves crashed into rocks and birds circled above and fog began to dissipate. They were totally and utterly alone, which made it all the more jarring when Cassian began to speak.

“For two and a half years, Nesta, I had no idea where you were. Things were going so well, and then all of a sudden, ‘things’ were completely nonexistent. And I couldn’t reach you.” He looked at her then, and Nesta saw the hollow loneliness in his hazel eyes.

That just wasn’t fair. “I gave you warning, Cassian.” Her voice was strong, but it lacked her usual edges and angles. “I told you I had to help my sister. Feyre was so… It was so bad, Cass. You wouldn’t have even recognized her as the girl you knew in high school.” Her voice, now soft, quickly returned to hard ice and sharp steel. “I needed to take care of her; I told you as much. I have no idea why you were so shocked.”

He engaged the rocky shore in a staring contest, mulling over her words. “I understood she needed you. But I didn’t understand why you had fallen off the face of the earth. I couldn’t contact you at the law firm you worked at, you disappeared from all social media, your phone number was disabled.” He smacked his palm to his forehead, eyes going wide as he stared at the ground. “Hell, I even wrote letters that were returned to me within the week I mailed them.” Cassian heaved a sigh, the blanket he had draped around his shoulder slipping off. Nesta fought hard to not readjust it.

It was just the guilt. She was just tired from driving for so long. She didn’t actually care. So what if she was unreachable? It was her choice. It didn’t matter anymore. It was so long ago.

“And so I’m sure you can imagine my surprise,” He continued. “When I heard from Morrigan - Morrigan, Rhys’s cousin, the one you despise - that Feyre and Rhys had just begun dating, and that you had started your own wildly successful law firm.”

Now he looked back at Nesta and caught her staring. She couldn’t bring herself to look away.

“I went for another year after that hoping to find you, Nesta. I hoped to every deity that I don’t even believe in for you to come back into my life. I didn’t think it would even be that unlikely, what with your sister dating my best friend. But it took them getting married, and your sister forcing your hand, for me to see you again. And even still, I don’t have an explanation. I don’t know if I did something wrong or if… I don’t even know.” He huffed a laugh, weak and humorless. “But in all honesty, Nes, I thought we were worth more than that.” And then, quietly, “I kind of hoped I was worth more than that.” 

He leaned back, keeping his gaze locked with hers and gripping the blanket edge in two fists. “Now it’s your turn. I’m not leaving until you say something, anything, about what happened or why or how or whatever.”

“You can’t do that, Cassian. We have a schedule to stick to. We can talk about this later.”

He shook his head. “No can do, Nes. I’ve been waiting three and a half years –”

“Exactly,” She stood, refolding her blanket and tossing it back into the trunk. “You’ve waited that long, another few hours won’t kill you.” She put her hand out, palm up, and made a grabbing motion. “Now give me the keys. I’ll drive the rest of today.”

He stood, rising to his full height. “No, Nesta. I do not want to go anywhere with you until I have something, even just an inkling of an understanding.” Because you hurt me. 

He didn’t need to say it, Nesta saw it in his expression. She pretended she didn’t.

“You can’t keep me here against my will,” She swiped for the fob, missing when he brought it up above her head.

“I will swallow the key if I need to. Do not test me, Nesta.”

“You disgusting brute, just give me the key-” 

He opened his mouth wide. 

“You will choke yourself! You’re absolutely insane! By the mother,” Nesta gripped her hair, clawing at it as if she wanted to rip it out. “This is why I left! This is why I don't want to have anything to do with you! Because you’re a mess! You’re a child! You are literally a man child.”

He quirked an eyebrow. “Ah, see? Now we’re getting somewhere.” He resumed his seat in the trunk, keeping the car fob in a tight fist. “Please, continue, Nesta.”

She could feel her cheeks growing red, she knew there would be crescent indents on her palm from clenching her fists. Honestly, it was amazing her jaw didn’t snap under pressure. If she could tackle him - which wouldn’t be difficult, what with her body fueled by coffee, anger, and adrenaline - she could steal back the key and ditch his sorry ass.

She made a show of giving in; hanging her head, unfolding and shaking out the blanket, and grumbling under her breath. And just when Cassian fell for it, Nesta lunged.

Everything happened so fast that she barely saw it. Cassian leapt from the trunk, Nesta pulled him to the ground, they wrestled in the sand, rocks and driftwood, and the key went flying, lost to the void of damp, gray rocks.

Nesta stared with wide eyes where she had last seen it before slowly looking back to Cassian, who now was frozen beneath her. In any other situation Nesta would be thrilled by the fear in his eyes, but rage clouded her mind; she wanted to shake him until his head rolled off. Her voice was feral as the next words tore free from her throat.

“You. Idiot.”

#nessian #acotar #my fic #nesta archeron #cassian #acotarwritingcircle #acotar au #a court of thorns and roses #nesta x cassian #acotar fic

[kissland69]

“only one bed?”

robin buckley x f!reader

*if there’s any mistakes, typos or errors please ignore :), mild language*

“MOVIE NIGHT!” yelled y/n and robin with smiles painted of their lips “why are you guys always so hyper” steve said while parking his deep burgundy car “you should be lucky we’re your friends cause you could’ve been hanging with a bunch of 14 year olds tonight” said y/n ruffling steve’s slightly hard hair “seriously! he says they’re a pain in his ass but he still hangs with them” robin said with a grin “you know i’m the one driving you two to work? don’t lose your ride” steve replied with a stern voice “okay okay sorry, didn’t know it would hit a nerve there stevie” y/n said with a laugh “whatever, grab the snacks and let’s go inside before i drive you two home” steve said, getting out of the car and started heading to his front door “did he run out of his farrah fawcett hairspray?” whispered y/n to robin with a grin “i think so, his hair isn’t as soft looking like usual” robin whispered back with a laugh “WHAT ARE YOU TWO WHISPERING ABOUT!” yelled steve from his doorstep “NOTHING!” both y/n and robin replied with wide eyes “get your asses inside” steve said with rolling eyes “attitude much” robin said, walking into his house with y/n following behind. while “pretty in pink” played on steve’s tv for the third time, robin kept spacing out during most of the movie because of the conversation her and steve recently had about her little crush on y/n.

earlier that day

“so..are you or are you not going to tell her how you feel?” asked steve, leaning against the counter of family video “so are you or are you not going to be able to get a girlfriend?” robin said with a teasing grin “don’t try to reflect your lack of women on me, i actually went on a date last night while you sat at home all alone” replied steve while rolling his eyes “whatever, and to answer your question i am NEVER telling her how i feel…i have no time losing her” robin said with a slight frown “this is y/n we’re talking about, the one who always flirts with you and teases you until you’re red in the face” steve said “you do know that she isn’t flirty with me, that’s just how she talks” said robin, full heartedly disagreeing “yeah only to people she finds attractive, i know this is a small town with small minded people but you have to at least open your eyes to possibilities” steve said with a hand on his left hip “possibilities like crying until i can’t anymore because i got rejected by the prettiest girl? absolutely not” robin said while shrugging “rob if i know anything about girls i know when they’re into someone, and y/n l/n is completely in love with you. the looks, the smiles, the laughs, the flirting, the touches, the only one who hasn’t noticed anything is you” steve said while looking at the freckles girl chewing on her rosy lips “and if you wait too long to notice it she’ll slip away from your arms and into another person’s arms, and i know you wouldn’t want that” steve continued saying while walking towards the shelves he was sent to re-organize “b-but let’s say i do tell her how i feel, where would i tell her? how would i say it? how would she react? i can’t just tell her i like her in your house!” robin said, rushing next to steve “what’s wrong with my house?! i think that would be a perfect place to tell her because 1)there isn’t any people listening in or watching, very private and 2) if she does reject you i’ll be there to comfort you” explained steve “SO YOU DO THINK SHE’LL REJECT ME?!!” yelled robin, luckily there wasn’t any customers around to hear that “NO BUCKLEY! listen just pull up your big girl panties-“ steve said but got interrupted with a gag coming for robin “ew don’t say big girl panties” said the lanky girl “whatever, just grow up and tell her, i’m tired of seeing you all lovesick with a goofy smile on your hopeless face” steve said with an exhausted sigh “i’m trying okay..i just don’t want to see the look on her face when she rejects me or the certain words that’ll come out of her mouth that i know she’ll say..” said a frustrated and anxious robin “i know, trust me i know but don’t wait too long to tell her okay?” steve said while gently placing his rough hands onto robin’s shoulders “okay..” robin replied with a soft smile, steve doing the same.

“helloooo, earth to robinn, did you hear what i said?” steve said while snapping his finger in the girls face, getting her attention “n-no, what happened?” asked a groggy robin “i said since it’s 9:30pm you guys can stay over but there’s only one bed for you guys to share” steve repeated himself with both hands on each side of his hips “o-oh that’s f-fine, unless it isn’t fine with you y/n then i can sleep on the couch which i wouldn’t mind!” robin nervously said “rob why would i let you sleep on this hard couch when i can have you sleeping next to me comfortably” y/n said with a smile “HEY! my couch isn’t hard!” steve yelled from the bathroom with a stern voice “WHATEVER HARRINGTON, anyways let’s go steal some clothes from steve, even though he has a hard ass couch his clothes are the softest” said y/n while talking robin’s hand into hers “i know right! i still have that yellow sweatshirt i took from him a week ago” said robin with a laugh “I NEED THAT SWEATSHIRT BACK YOU THEIF!” yelled steve, voice muffled due to the foamy toothpaste “NEVER!” robin yelled back while entering his stripped designed room “i seriously cannot get over how ugly his room is..” y/n said while shaking her head “ honestly, it’s so repulsing to look at” robin said, hands still locked with y/n’s “YOU TWO IDIOTS KNOW I CAN HEAR YOU RIGHT!” steve yelled once again “SHUT UP!” yelled both robin and y/n then laughing at the curses steve was letting at angrily.

after everyone got settled for bed, steve sleeping in his ugly designed bedroom peacefully while robin and y/n calmly laid in the clean and vacant bedroom of steve’s parents. robin stared at the plain white ceiling for what felt like hours with the sound of y/n’s soft breathing “at least she’s getting some shut eyes…god, why can’t i just tell her how i feel? i know she wouldn’t judge me but getting rejected still sucks” robin thought to herself while shifting her eyes to the balled up figure next to her “since you won’t be able to hear this might as well get it off my chest…i’ve loved you since the day you came in to family video, the way you looked so vibrant and pretty made me honestly want to pass out..” robin said with a laugh “…seeing your smile for the first time felt so right, hearing your laugh for the first time felt so comforting and just being around you made me feel like i was floating on the softest cloud, i know it’s corny but being around you and seeing you makes me feel like i’m in one of those corny romance movies and you know what? i don’t even mind it, i rather feel those little butterflies in my stomach every time you look at me with those pretty eyes of yours…i know you won’t hear any of this but i just felt like i should say it, you deserve someone who’ll give you anything and everything in life and i’ll gladly take up that position” robin said softly while staring at y/n’s back “…you know..that was the sweetest, kindest and honest thing someone has expressed to me. robin i can’t even tell you how much i love you, everything you said is exactly how i feel” y/n said softly while turning herself to face robin’s beet red face “w-what? seriously?” questioned robin with wide eyed “yes buckley, i’ve only and always have eyes for you” y/n said, placing her hand on robin’s hot face “would kissing you right now mess up the mood?” asked robin “absolutely not, it’ll complete it” y/n said with a smile, leaning in to kiss the pink lips of the flustered girl “do you want to go on a date with me friday night? we can do whatever you want” robin said in a soft voice “how can i decline such a great offer” y/n said while pecking robin’s lips once more. the next morning came and robin, steve and y/n sat quietly while eating the breakfast steve kindly decided to make, y/n finished her meal and headed to the kitchen to wash her plate leaving robin and steve in the living room with one another “so did my “only one bed” method work?” questioned steve in a whisper “you know i would be angry at you but you did help me score the most gorgeous girl ever so thanks dingus” robin said with the biggest lovesick smile “just being the best wingman” steve said with a proud and fulfilled grin.

#robin buckley #robin buckley x reader #robin buckley x you #steve harrington x reader platonic #stranger things #stranger things s4 #robin buckley fluff #robin buckley fanfic

[nintendowife]

I completed Piofiore: Fated Memories on Nintendo Switch about a month ago. Piofiore is a popular otome visual novel about mafia in 1920's Italy. The promise of a mature story paired with beautiful art style enticed me to buy the game. I was also curious to find out why the otome fandom calls a certain love interest in the game a "trashbando".

The protagonist Liliana "Lili" Adornato is an upstanding young woman raised by church and she gets tangled in the world of organized crime. Most of the love interests in the game represent three competing mafia families: Falzone, Visconti and Lao Shu. The mafia setting lends a natural frame for mature themes that include violence, human trafficking, torture and sexual assault.

Each love interest has a bad ending, good ending and best ending. In addition to this they all have a short after story. Yang's route was easily my favorite - lots of action and fun events. Orlok's bad ending was memorable with its brutality - poor guy. Some of the routes weren't super interesting. Dante's route had the ingredients to grab my attention but the execution wasn't the best. I ended up slightly disappointed with the overall story not completely revealing a certain key factor of the plot. Maybe the rest of the "mystery" is reserved for the sequel, Piofiore: Episodio 1926? I could have done with less romance and more story even though Piofiore apparently isn't that loaded with romance fluff.

I found it interesting how a character could appear wildly different on a different route. Some may claim this is inconsistent writing but I find it logical to incorporate different points of view to characters' personality and have them act differently according to their motives in different situations. Being a loving and caring person towards someone doesn't mean they couldn't have a sadistic tendency towards people who oppose them.

What comes to favorite characters, at first glance I thought Gilbert would be my top pick - manly man with a badass eye patch. Gilbert had his moments with some funny light-hearted scenes and his gentlemanly ways. Especially the way he spoke to Dante made me chuckle: "Yo Dante! What's with the face? You sick or something?". But I ended up liking Yang the most. Yang was such a peculiar character and his attitude and dialogue made me laugh. I guess I'm part of the trashbando-loving "Yang gang" now. My husband pointed out that it's usually the bald 50+ year-olds or the red-haired ones that strike my fancy and that was true in this case too. The various side characters were a good addition to the cast.

There's a good amount of high quality CG images to unlock in the game. I was especially impressed with the intricate details in clothing and jewelry. A common occurrence was me commenting "oo wow, look at those amazing details in the dress" during a scene where the protagonist and a love interest kiss.

The game's user interface is pure eye candy. The usual quality of life features like skipping previously read content, dialogue history, quick save/load and chapter select are present. The music was pretty good too. Voice acting was top notch but I was unhappy the protagonist wasn't voiced (and her portrait wasn't shown during her dialogue). I recall a few typos and grammar mistakes in the game but overall I'd say the localization was done well.

My top complaint is that there was an absurd amount of dialogue about food but they hardly ever showed it in pictures. All kinds of delicious dishes and desserts kept being mentioned but I think they showed food only twice. Show me the food, dammit! Oh, and Nicola's fashion sense irked me. His outfit was so classy and then he had to accessorize with a tie that looks like it was barfed on.

Finishing all the routes and unlocking all content in the game took me 55 hours. I started playing in February and finally finished in October. I'm not the fastest reader and I have a chronic case of falling asleep when I try to play in bed in the evenings.

I liked the game but at some points I felt like the story was dragging. I didn't enjoy Piofiore quite as much as I did Café Enchanté and Variable Barricade for example. Maybe it's because Piofiore is a lot more serious in tone and doesn't have much in the way of humor. The art and Yang's route were the highlights for me. I'm still keen on playing the sequel at some point.

If you like some darker themes in your visual novels, Piofiore may be worth giving a shot.

#piofiore: fated memories #piofiore #otome game #visual novel #nintendo switch

[mysisypheannightmare]

Malfunction

Word Count: 10530

Warnings: Hurt No Comfort, heavy angst, extreme crying (seriously, it’s A LOT), suicidal behavior/attempted suicide, multiple instances of self-harm, injury, biting, brief mentions of blood, choking/strangulation, difficulty breathing, extreme amounts of negative thinking, self-loathing, panic attack/anxiety attack, mental breakdown, pushing past emotional/mental limits, overworking, sensory processing issues, partial mutism/struggling through mutism, denied help when asked, insomnia, implied sleep-deprivation, stress, depression, anxiety, brief explicit language, other sides & Thomas misunderstanding the situation and reacting poorly (NOT unsympathetic)

Notes: Please heed these warnings. This is a long and intense fanfic that is essentially 99% pure angst. It is also mostly based on personal experience, so I don’t fully know how to tag some of it. If you have tag suggestions, please let me know and I’ll add it to the warning tags.

There is an additional note at the end.

And shoutout to @intrulogical for the perfect idea that sparked this fic! It really turned into its own kind of monster in the end...

If you're ready, please enjoy!

–

He really should have expected something to go wrong.

Logan had only been given a single day before the deadline to get everything ready.

Roman had come up with a new video idea, throwing out the old plan all because he'd had what he decided to call a "sudden stroke of creative genius" just yesterday. Logan had offered that they stick with their initial plan and work the new idea into next month's schedule instead, but Roman had refused. He’d been so insistent that the new idea couldn't wait, that he had slaved away in his own room all day to construct the new script, so all he needed was the proper research done and a quick look over for any typos...which, of course, would fall to Logan's department. Unwilling to hear Logan out about having to rearrange the schedule on such short notice, Roman left Logan with a pile of papers, notes, and a memo pad full of lyrics for a song he would be adding on top of everything, and there was very little Logan could do but, well, his job.

He had sighed, organized the papers enough to find the research topics he needed to collect data on, and got to work.

As he'd informed Roman, he had to completely rearrange his schedule for the day to accommodate the new, daunting task before him. Pushing aside his own priorities was simple enough, but he'd have to let the other sides know that he'd need to postpone his prior arrangements with them, and he'd have to find a way to make Roman's new plan work around Thomas' necessary evening and nightly tasks. With them filming first thing the very next day, Logan would have to be sure Thomas had everything set up and ready before he went to bed that night or they'd be behind schedule for the shoot, which would only make things worse.

Thankfully, Thomas had already expected this and needed little persuading, and Virgil was willing to step in and make sure Thomas double-checked everything before turning in for the night.

But then he had to keep reminding Thomas to get off his phone and sleep already so he wouldn't be tired in the morning, which kept distracting Logan from getting his research done.

Once Thomas had finally fallen asleep, Logan tried his best to focus in on the main topic Roman had chosen. While he kind of hoped Roman's sudden change of plans would at least include information he was already privy to, he could never be so lucky.

So, instead, he would be up all night, foregoing any sleep so he could learn as much as possible about the psychological nuances of obsession and passion, Roman’s apparent ‘genius’ topic idea. Collecting data and cross-referencing Roman's new script was time-consuming, but he was certain he could get most of it done in time for the shoot.

Logan glanced down at the clock. 12:18am. See? Plenty of time to get everything ready.

He flipped a page of the script to find dozens upon dozens of hand-written notes from Roman, some kind of last-moment addition where he wanted more detail about obsession included in a particular scene. Oh boy, Logan really was about to be in for a long night...

–

After having opened the thirtieth medical article on this topic, Logan wanted nothing more than to just close everything down and crawl into bed, consequences be damned. But, no, he had a job to do, so it didn't matter if he was tired.

He glanced down at the clock. 4:08am.

Okay, just another four hours and fifty-two minutes before Thomas was scheduled to get up. He leaned back in his desk chair and looked over at the stack of papers he still had left to review. He'd made it over halfway through already, and that likely left just enough time to finish the research and a quick glance-over for typos before Thomas got up in the morning. So, right on time, then.

His gaze drifted back to the article pulled up on his computer when his mind harshly reminded him that he would need to review his schedule before deciding he had the right amount of time left, as he couldn't ignore Thomas' direct tasks in the morning, no matter how much importance Roman placed on his script.

Welcoming the distraction from research for a bit, Logan opened his schedule and verified what had been moved and postponed to accommodate Roman's change of plans.

Thomas' morning routine was still intact, but there was clear overlap in the final prep time for filming and Logan's research window, especially considering he had to put off his prior arrangements yesterday evening with all the other sides so he'd have to be ready for any questions that may arise. And since they would be filming that morning, there were bound to be a lot of questions.

Logan sighed. Okay, so he didn't have as much time as anticipated, but that was fine. He could probably just pick up his pace for now to make sure the workload would be completed efficiently.

And that's when he noticed a missed schedule change from yesterday that hadn't been moved or postponed. In regards to some missing files that he hadn't been able to locate before the prior episode’s filming day, which had caused a whole uproar due to the lack of memorized information Thomas needed to rely on. He had set the time aside to verify the files' whereabouts for the day right before the shoot this time so he could be sure he had it and wouldn't lose it before the filming began, to keep Thomas from worrying about it for an extended period and to maintain Logan’s own reputation as being reliable to Thomas and the others.

But he hadn't done it. He'd completely skipped over it because he had prioritized it as a personal task, but when he rescheduled his whole day, he had set all his personal tasks to low priority or removed them so he would have adequate time for Roman's necessary script changes. But this one task hadn't been removed due to its importance, and yet he'd completely forgotten about it.

He stood up, wanting to go find the files right away, but the sudden movement knocked some of Roman's papers and notes to the floor and he hastily scrambled to pick them back up.

He set them back on the desk. The pile was only half-finished. If he paused the research now, it wouldn't be done before filming started. But if he didn't find the missing files, Thomas would find him unreliable! He had specifically asked Logan to locate the missing information, but Roman had demanded this research be done on time, too!

Logan looked down at his hands to find them shaking.

Odd.

He ignored it and sat down to look back over his schedule. Surely there was something else he could remove from his morning tasks to give him some extra time?

The only priorities were Thomas' morning routine, the preparations for filming, and being available to answer questions. Oh, that's right, he would have to be readily available for any questions from the others leading up to the filming start time, which meant he couldn't be back in the library storage locating the files at that time.

Well, scratch that idea then. But maybe he could power through the research during the questions time. Or maybe there wouldn't be as many questions as usual, giving him that tiny bit more leeway?

Or, perhaps he could create a list of frequently asked questions and answers for the others to quickly reference so that they wouldn't need to ask him-- oh no, wait, then he'd have to take time creating the list and making copies for everyone, so he'd only lose more time that way.

He looked down at the clock again. 4:32am. 

He gawked. Had he wasted that much time on this already? How was he going to get anything done on time now?

His vision seemed to swim for a moment and he grabbed onto the edge of his desk to keep himself steady. What on earth was that all about? 

He raised a hand to adjust his glasses, for some reason thinking that may help, only to notice he was breathing really heavily.

Well, that was rather impractical, he thought. He was metaphysical, and therefore shouldn't need to breathe. So why exactly was he breathing so quickly and heavily?

Oh, wait, right, that was called hyperventilating. Why was he hyperventilating then?

His mind seemed to race at the implication, supplying him with everything he'd deduced up to that moment - how he'd have to resolve the deadline problem in another way if at all possible, how there was so much he still hadn't gotten done yet, and how he definitely seemed to be overwhelmed at the moment.

That wasn't good.

He didn't notice that he was swaying the second time and fell right out of his chair and onto the floor, now aware he was quite nauseous and that his head seemed to be pounding with a growing headache.

Why was this happening? What was wrong with him??

This was very unusual, given he didn't often lose balance or display any symptoms of illness. It wasn't unheard of, sure, but it certainly didn't come out of nowhere like this, for no discerning reason.

He tried to bring a hand up to his face again, only to immediately fall forward and land flat on the floor.

His first thought was to try to sit up, but his energy seemed to completely disappear and he just laid there uselessly. This was such a waste of time, on top of everything he'd already learned about the schedule and his inability to properly redistribute necessary tasks... How could he have let this happen?

He wouldn't normally make such an enormous error, would he? No, something had to be wrong here. Some kind of glitch or malfunction he hadn't noticed until it had started to wreak havoc on him like this.

How could he have let it go unnoticed, though?

It wasn't until his glasses began to fog up that he realized he was crying, too, and once he noticed that, it seemed to increase by a ridiculous amount. What must have started as a mere trickle was now a faucet on full blast, and he could hear himself begin to sob loudly. 

He somehow sat up just barely then, clutching at his head as he became even more light-headed and dizzy from that one simple action and all the noise he was making.

How could this be happening? Why had things gone so wrong?

Aware enough to at least take stock of what was occuring, he noted he was still hyperventilating while also crying, and before he could move onto the next symptom of whatever this problem was, he squeezed his eyes shut and started screaming.

Like the crying wasn't disruptive enough, his screams seemed to bounce off every wall around him, the floor beneath him echoing the clamorous cacophony right back into his ears, sounding so desperate and terrified.

Neither the sobbing nor screaming would cease when he tried to force it to stop, it just wouldn’t stop, and it only seemed to get louder and louder.

What the fuck was wrong with him?

He must have broken something in his usual coding and this had been the result, or it was due to crossed wires or something coming loose. That was the only thing that could explain how horrible he was acting right now, and how awful this felt.

But it didn’t matter how it felt, he just needed it to stop.

He had to make it stop.

But how?

His mind was racing, trying to sift through the multiple mistakes he'd already made in less than a day, with many more in the past and soon to be more in the future ready to add on to the pile. The moment he tried to think of proposing a solution to the source of all this - the timing error - he couldn't get to the next step in weighing his options and the idea's many variables because his mind would suddenly flood in with more problems. It left his ears ringing and his jaw feeling sore from all his own crying and screaming.

How had he let this get so out of hand? What was he supposed to do if he couldn't think straight long enough to fix it?

What if he couldn’t fix it?

Surely this wasn’t just happening because he'd messed something up with his workload, even if that was obviously an unfixable mistake and meant that he had ruined everything and it’dl been all his fault... But the action had simply caused something in his brain to misfire and resulted in all this bizarre stuff, instead of something understandable, like a standard level of trepidation or a marginal amount of stress, just enough to motivate him to keep going.

This? This was not normal. And it was far from understandable.

He rubbed at his eyes, trying to stop all the tears.

But the root cause of the issue was his mistake. So if he tried to focus his attention on fixing that specific part, maybe then he could fix the rest of it?

It was worth a shot!

He had no idea what other options he had left, though…

But maybe he could ask someone else for a new suggestion? If his mind was rendered temporarily faulty and he wasn’t capable of thinking clearly, maybe there was an answer he wasn't aware of that he could try instead? He'd just have to ask someone... 

But who?

–

Shoving his fist to his mouth to quiet the incessant sobbing and possibly pause the hyperventilating, Logan had managed to get himself up on wobbly knees and then to his feet without falling over again. It was hard to keep quiet, as his mind seemed to fog over the moment he was standing and any thought that came through caught more crying in his throat. Once he made it to his door and got it open, he pulled both hands to his mouth, trying to force himself silent to keep from waking anyone.

He'd not bothered to check the time again, but with how dark it was in the hallway, he assumed not much time had passed yet. Perhaps he ought to have been grateful for that.

He stumbled as quietly as he could to the first door he saw upon exiting his room - Patton's.

Even though he couldn't really think of a legitimate reason to ask for his help with his mind so hazy, he figured Patton would probably be someone with an idea of what to do next, even if it didn't work. Logan just needed to try something, anything, at this point!

He removed one hand to knock on Patton's door, but it somehow managed to wind up slammed against the door instead, like he'd been throwing a punch.

What the hell was wrong with him? Maybe Patton could figure that much out?

If Patton couldn't come up with a solution to the scheduling problem, perhaps he could have some idea why Logan was suddenly malfunctioning like this?

He tried to knock again, and this time nearly completely whiffed trying to connect with the door. He really wished he could get this under control. He was so worthless like this, wasting time when he should have been researching.

Oh geez, the research! He clutched at his head, stress flooding in all over again. He hadn't even bothered to tab through the remaining pages to properly estimate how far along he could get before the deadline inevitably emerged.

Without warning, or at least none he'd been made aware of, the door in front of Logan swung open, revealing a very tired-looking Patton standing just inside, sans glasses.

Oh, good, now Logan could ask for his help and resolve the first part of this problem! But what about the malfunction? He still hadn't been able to stop crying, but crying was something Patton understood, right? It was some kind of an emotions thing. Was this an emotions thing then? Surely that meant Patton would be the exact side to consult about this!

Logan pulled away his other hand and attempted to speak, but all that came out was a jumbled mess of sounds and an obnoxiously loud sob.

He hadn't intended to be so noisy, especially since it was still so late, but he seemed to have no control over his volume, either. The tears only seemed to pick up at that thought and he tried to see Patton through them, but everything was just a blur now.

Patton wore an unreadable expression then, made even more impossible for Logan to decipher as his vision shifted and blurred behind all the unstoppable tears.

"Uhm, Logan, I..." Patton stammered out, looking at him with confusion. "I can't really understand you."

Logan shook his head, intending to try again, but the crying and sobbing were now back in full force and he tried to shove a hand over his mouth at the same time that he spoke.

"It's... The-- the time," he tried. "I need... P-please..."

He couldn't seem to get half of a word out before he was suddenly inhaling as much breath as he could, cutting himself off each time. The sentence he tried hadn't made any sense and the crying and hyperventilating only made it that much harder to understand.

This malfunction was ruining everything!

Patton frowned, and Logan shoved his hands over his mouth immediately, finally recognizing a sob was about to come moments before it did. The lack of air left him dizzy again, but he focused on Patton. Maybe he could at least have an idea of something to try? Anything, anything, please!

Patton sighed.

"Logan, I'm sorry, I just... I don't know how to help if I can't even understand you." He glanced away and then back, adding, "Just go and calm down first, okay?"

And then he shut the door.

Logan stood there, silent. The sobbing seemed to have stopped, possibly from how off-guard he'd been made from Patton's decision just then.

He hadn't expected that at all.

A hiccup escaped him, followed by another loud sob, and he rushed back to his room and slammed the door behind him before the screaming could start back up again.

What were his options now?

Patton had said to calm down, but did that mean he knew what this was? Was this normal? Were emotions always like this?

If Patton wasn't bothered by the display, then that meant something, right? Surely that indicated this was just how emotions worked... So maybe he wasn't broken, after all! He was still usable like this, he just needed to figure out how to shut the emotions part off so he could get back to being productive.

He just had to fix it.

He stumbled forward, trying to make his way back to his desk chair.

The other sides had emotions, too, but they weren't as loud and annoying as he was being right now, so that indicated there had to be an off switch, some way to maintain better control. He just needed to find whatever that was so this would stop being so disruptive and he could get back to work. He couldn't keep wasting everyone's time.

He had a deadline to meet.

The very second that thought processed in his mind, the screaming returned in full force. He tried shoving his hands over his mouth but the screaming persisted. He had to make this stop! There had to be something that would work! 

He let go, looking around, hoping to find something that might help. 

The quick movement jostled his glasses on his face, and he swung his hand up to catch them, effectively hitting himself in the side of the head. Without further thought to the action, he found himself balling up both hands into fists, now smacking himself on both sides of his head repeatedly.

Why was he doing this?

Why wouldn't this just stop?? 

Why wasn't there just a mute button or an off switch? Why was this system so complicated that there could be no simple solution to the mess it caused??

Hit after hit against the side of his head made the headache he'd noticed earlier grow stronger, the thoughts on his mind seeming to slow from their rampant and racing pace.

He managed to stop one of his hands before he landed another hit, and glanced over at his hand before sucking in a shaky breath.

Oh, right, the crying still hadn't stopped.

He was still uselessly wasting time.

He squeezed his eyes shut. He needed to think, to focus. He lowered his hands, everything both inside and out of him seeming uneasy and tense.

Patton had said to calm down. Maybe he needed to start with that.

Oh wait, maybe he just needed to refocus on the task at hand? The research!

He wasn’t sure what he would typically do to calm down. He wasn’t sure he ever needed to calm himself before, as most flares of emotions or bizarre behavior would only spark and burn out quickly. There was no need to calm down before now. What was a method that should work?

Perhaps a menial task?

He stumbled over to his desk and sat down, trying to hold his breath at intervals to get it steady again. Was it ever steady? That didn't matter. He held his breath for a few moments then inhaled again, trying to get the hyperventilating under control as he leaned towards his computer. 

He returned to the medical journal he'd been starting to read earlier (he stopped himself from checking the clock again to see just how long ago that had been), but he could barely see through the tears, everything blurring at the edges. He wiped at his eyes incessantly, trying to stay focused.

Just read. Get the information, add it to the notes as necessary, and get the job done. 

He held his breath again, but a sob broke out from behind his gritted teeth. The moment the sob broke free, it would grow into a scream. The screaming-sobbing was so loud and annoying, still seeming to bounce off the walls around him whenever he thought to tune back in to notice. 

It was normal, though, he had to remind himself. This was fine. He just had to focus on the research and it would go away. 

This will work. It had to!

It didn't, though. He went on like that for nearly half an hour, having finally bothered to check the clock. He'd made minimal progress, notably from having to stop reading periodically because his vision was still swimming at times and he was repeatedly feeling lightheaded from constantly trying to hold his breath and failing. 

Clearly, the screaming sobs and constant hyperventilating had to stop. If he could get those parts under control, he could keep focused and everything else would fix itself.

He resisted covering his mouth right away, mind now switching tasks to try to solve this issue for good.

There had to be a way to get his breathing back to normal.

The thoughts didn't immediately connect together but he looked down at his hand and, after another blink to clear the tears, he found himself biting into the back of it, hard. 

The screaming now sounded muffled, but only just barely, so he bit down harder. His hand spasmed for a moment and pain shot through his wrist and up his arm.

He could taste blood. Gross.

He could feel his hand throbbing against his teeth, overtaking the slight buzzing sensation from his muffled cries against his skin. His jaw began to ache from holding it in place, but he ignored it.

This...wasn't so bad.

It was somewhat freeing, the pain in his hand warring against the overwhelming thoughts in his mind. He could sense the pushback, like the pain wanted nothing more than to win out.

He adjusted his jaw and bit down again, just as hard. The taste of blood flooded his senses alongside the searing pain.

And that was when he realized... the screaming had stopped. Oh god, and his arm hurt more than he'd ever thought possible, but the screaming had stopped!

He let go, and immediately saw the terrible bite marks and blood on the back of his hand. That didn't look pleasant, but at least it worked! He almost smiled at this small point of victory, but he lifted his hand and stared forward, ready to ride this rush to get back on track.

Unfortunately, it only took a few moments of trying to type before he had to stop because he kept dripping blood onto his keyboard, plus his hand was still randomly cramping and spasming from the pain, so he decided to get up and wrap his hand in a bandage for the time being.

The bleeding had stopped and was taken care of fairly quickly, but flexing his hand even just a tiny bit would send pain shooting up his forearm and down his fingertips, so he tried to stay aware of that as he stepped back towards his desk.

He noticed his mind seemed far clearer than it was minutes ago. From the decision to take care of his hand to the far quieter state of his room without all the screaming, he supposed Patton's suggestion really had worked.

He felt something drop on his uninjured hand and, upon seeing the drop of water, he realized he was still crying quite profusely, but clearly not as loudly and obnoxiously. He wiped away the incessant tears, but was grateful he'd at least managed to get the screaming part to stop. That was still progress, he assumed.

He sucked in a breath. Ah, he was still breathing bizarrely, but not quite as severely as he was earlier when he was hyperventilating. Definitely marked progress! That meant there really was a way to fix this, he just needed to try harder.

He took a seat and stared at the clock on his computer. 5:51am.

He ignored the pulsating pain in his hand that seemed to marginally increase as he ran the math in his head, seeing he only had three hours and nine minutes left before Thomas would be up and the research would be due.

He could hear the occasional light drips of tears as they fell onto his desk while he opened his research notes file on the computer to verify where he'd last left off.

And that's when he noticed, now that his mind was clear enough to see, multiple typos made in the last paragraph he'd typed. 

Shit.

Without hesitation, the hyperventilating returned in full force as he scrambled to correct every typo he could find. As he kept clicking further back into the document, he found more and more errors, and it quickly dawned on him that he'd have to recheck the entire file and all the ones he'd written before it, too. With the submission deadline fast approaching, he knew there wouldn't be time. He was already behind, and they expected this to be done and without all these pointless errors! 

What the hell was he supposed to do?

He squeezed his eyes shut, tears picking up again, and pain in his hand throbbing when he forced it into a fist and slammed it down on the desk. Fuck, that hurt!

He was supposed to have been making progress, but now things were even worse than they were before! He'd wasted all this time for nothing and he was right back at square one again!

He tried to catch his breath before any sobbing could return. The hyperventilating made him feel faint even faster than last time and he leaned forward, his eyes fixing on his bandaged hand. Why had that only worked for such a short while? Why had it worked at all?

He leaned down to try biting it again, but his hand was still already throbbing in pain. 

Perhaps the other hand would be better? No, what if doing that hindered his ability to type fast enough or even at all? Small progress was better than no progress at this point, so there had to be something else.

He leaned back in his chair a bit, his mind starting to fog again. 

Oh, no, that wasn’t good! He hadn’t even gotten anything useful done yet!

A jolt of pain ran up his arm and he reached up to cover his mouth again, knowing another sob was about to break out.

This wasn’t working.

The cry broke free anyway and rang loudly in his ears, the sound reverberating off the walls again, somehow still louder after all the short but cherished moments of silence he’d had in the meantime.

He slowly dropped his hands down to his neck, curling his fingers around each side. Without time to let a thought pass, he squeezed. Tight but not too tight, just enough to slightly hurt, just enough to get the breathing to stop for a moment, whether it was the hyperventilating or otherwise. 

He felt a tingling sensation in his mouth, then the tingling traveled down to his chest. It was strong, almost overwhelming, numbing out the pain in his hand, and his mind provided no indication of what any of that should mean. 

But then his chest heaved and he let go, sputtering. He grabbed at the tie around his neck, pushing and pulling it away, to help him breathe again. He felt at his neck with a few fingers and then pulled them away as the sensation against his skin began to sting. 

He sucked in a breath and then exhaled....normally. Wait, that had worked? He was back to breathing normally again, albeit with large gulps of air at first, but no hyperventilating! He stared down at his hands, amazed that had worked so quickly, so efficiently.

He'd done it. This was the answer! 

Staying focused, redirecting the pain when it overwhelmed him - it was a fast enough turnaround with minimal side effects that he could keep working!

It was perfect.

Even more enthused than his last bout of victory and progress, he leaned forward in his chair and went right back to work.

Based on the time he had left, he'd have to just power through into the questioning period to properly verify that the script pages and his notes of research were all submittable before the deadline, but that should be far more achievable now. Besides, he'd foregone sleep to do that plenty of times in the past without problem, and with this new process to keep his breathing maintained and steady, it should be simple.

Though his neck now occasionally ached, joining the continuing pulsing pain in his bandaged hand, Logan flipped another page of Roman's script, determined to get as much of this work done as he possibly could on time.

Some progress was still better than no progress, so he just needed to get close enough. Not that anything he did was ever enough, but he just had to accept that for now.

He pointedly ignored the clock again, and only paused every now and then to wipe away the tears that continued to trickle out for the next hour, silent and steady, as if he somehow held an endless supply within him. It was surprising he hadn't been able to stop, after all this time that had passed. He figured it had to stop on its own eventually, but more would always come.

Multitasking just a bit as he got near the end of the pile, he organized the files as he went, preparing them for the deadline. He readied everything he needed and tried not to allow any further delay. Forcing himself to stay on task, despite only the slightest pauses to deal with the constant silent tears, seemed to work.

His mind was still at odds with his goal here, but he couldn't deny that progress was being made. That was what mattered here, the rest of it was just a hindrance anyway.

And while he didn't feel calm, he figured that perhaps his misunderstanding of emotions had merely skewed his ability to recognize what that was meant to feel like. Maybe this was what was normal, and he'd finally achieved it? That should be a good thing. He should be satisfied.

–

By the time he was down to the last four pages of the script, just the barest pieces left, it was already well into the morning. Thomas hadn't woken up yet, as expected, and Logan considered his options as his new tasks were about to come due.

After he completed the last few pages, he would need to quickly review the full script as well as his own notes, checking for errors and typos. It shouldn't take too long, so long as there weren't too many mistakes. While he was doing that, he could remain available for questions regarding the shoot that would start in a couple hours. 

The missing files were still missing, of course, but Logan had pushed that aside for now. Any time the thought resurfaced in his mind, he merely shoved it back down again. 

He figured, if he could get everything else done first, he could try to find them just before the shoot started. It wasn't well thought-out, but even if it was, he knew everything would just spiral out of control again, so he was purposefully ignoring it until later. He could just do it later, surely.

He wiped more tears away. He really wished they'd just dry up already, especially since the other sides would come knocking any time soon and he didn't need them seeing him like this.

That choice was taken out of his hands, though, as Roman chose that moment to burst through Logan's door, announcing that he'd made some changes to his script overnight.

Logan grabbed the edge of his desk with his unbandaged hand, somewhat from genuinely being startled, somewhat to keep himself quiet, and pointedly stayed in position, not turning around.

"So I saw that there was this whole subsection about the passion of performance, right?" Roman had started to ramble a bit, and tossed down another copy of the script Logan had just spent the whole night working on. "And, right away, I was like, it has to be included so we have to have it in there!"

He laughed triumphantly, telling Logan he'd graciously made the needed notes last night and Logan could just throw out that part of the original script and just add the extra research in to the new part instead.

Logan had tried to speak, say just about anything in that moment, but his words shriveled to dust, leaving but a puff of air in their wake as they left his mouth. Nothing. Maybe that screaming had been a bigger problem than he'd even considered...

Roman then joked that it wasn't like Logan was busy, or anything, and walked his way back towards the door. 

"Oh! Deadline's still the same, though, because we gotta be ready to film here in just a bit!" Roman oh-so-kindly added and then stepped back out into the hall before turning around one last time. "See you there!"

And then he shut the door.

Logan blinked, feeling the tears in his eyes still welling up and falling out.

He felt his shoulders hunch up but the pain he had relied on in his hand was gone, more numb than anything else now.

He bit his lip, trying to get ahead of this before it could get worse.

Okay. He breathed. He could do this - he could.

The deadline remained the same, but he still had some time left. He would only have to adjust for completion of the task, and completely obliterate any chance at all of ever finding those missing files, therefore making him unreliable to everyone, especially Thomas, but at least he’d get the script review done on time. That was technically better than both tasks going unfinished, right? One out of two wasn’t so bad, probably. At least, he hoped that was the case.

After another large inhale, his breath came out shaky again, and he barely held in a whine as the crying desperately attempted to come back in full.

No, not now! It was almost time to answer everyone’s questions as they got up for their own morning routines. He needed to stay focused and get everything done first. He didn’t have time to stop so uselessly again to deal with tears!

He glanced over at the clock. 7:06am. Just under two hours before Thomas would be awake.

With a dry swallow, Logan determinedly reached over to switch out the pages of Roman’s script, as instructed. Timing would be everything in these last couple hours.

He willed himself to be calm. 

No more shaky hands getting in the way and keeping him unproductive. No more pointless crying, loud and obnoxious and keeping him from staying on task. No more rubbing his eyes to remove tears, constantly forcing him to pause his necessary duties.

These pointless distractions had to stop. Every second would count now.

It was quieter, though not silent. The tears were still coming, but only as a steady trickle. He could work with this.

Back to his research, he finalized which new additions would be placed where and tried to keep his mind as focused on that particular task as possible to block out any unwanted thoughts about how upset Thomas would be about the missing files once the deadline finally approached.

He couldn’t think about that now. He had to stay on task and get this done. That was what was most important.

Completing more of the research and turning more pages as quickly as he could manage in this state, he noticed he could hardly keep his eyes from drifting over to check the clock, and occasionally even the calendar posted up on the wall behind his desk, displaying the time Thomas would be prepping to film that morning in big, bold letters.

He blinked rapidly for a moment to remove some tears without having to stop himself from typing.

Timing was everything now, and as he turned another page, he wondered how much he could flex his schedule to try to guarantee his task completion. After all, he might be able to get away with only showing up just in time to begin his part of the shoot instead of getting there early to assist with the set up, as that would give him a tiny bit more time to prepare the script review. Would it be enough time to get everything done, like checking for the missing files? No, but even a few seconds could be made useful, he was sure of that.

So long as he didn’t squander them.

The problem, though, was that Thomas and the others expected him to be there early, as he always was, ready to coordinate Thomas’ setup for the cameras and verifying what equipment should be recording and when, so staying behind for the sake of grabbing a few seconds of extra time may not be possible if they ended up calling on him due to his absence. 

He was meant to be considered reliable, after all.

He couldn’t let them down. But he also couldn’t let them down by not getting this research and review done thoroughly. There wasn’t a way to do everything right, but he had to do as much as possible for now and hope he somehow had a little more time left for the rest.

His eyes hurt as he tried blinking away more tears. He really wished he had found a better solution to all this.

–

A knock on his door was the exact signifier that the morning’s question period had begun. As Thomas was meant to be up fairly soon, his sides were all waking up and getting ready themselves, especially since they would be filming in just a short while.

Logan quickly contemplated his next course of action in regards to the barrage of questions he knew he’d be enduring over the next hour. Standing up and going to his door to answer each time would waste precious seconds that he could better use continuing to work, so he decided to stay at his desk and simply raise his voice when responding.

It also saved time in not having to make himself look halfway-presentable, as the crying had still not stopped. He would have to get it under control before filming started, but that was at the bottom of his priority list at the moment and would have to wait until the research was done.

The knock came again, followed by a timid, “Uhh, Logan? You awake?”

He tried not to roll his eyes at the ridiculousness of the question. Was this how they were starting the questions period, with inane inquiries he didn’t need to waste his time answering?

Of course he was awake. He hadn’t slept.

“I am,” he called out, not turning away from the computer as he finished up the next paragraph of notes and continued to ignore his silent tears. “What do you need?”

Virgil’s voice sounded clearer as he asked, “I just wanted to double-check, uhh… We’re starting right at 9:30, right?”

Logan realized Virgil must have opened the door to peek his head in, which is why his voice was louder, but he hadn’t heard the door click open. Worrying, but he’d ignore it for now.

He took a steadying but silent breath before responding simply and resolutely,

“Yes.”

His eyes fell on the clock again. Only 28 minutes before Thomas was meant to wake up, leaving a total of 52 minutes before the shoot began. 

Logan heard Virgil mutter a thank you and close the door. First question done. Technically, this meant he was following his schedule correctly, so he should have found some satisfaction in that, but instead he found himself regretting it.

His throat felt tight and blinked away more tears, just barely feeling as one followed a past track all the way down his face and over his lips before dripping off his chin.

He resisted the urge to rub his eyes again, knowing it wouldn’t get the crying to stop anyway.

It was those damn missing files. 

He wanted to just stop everything and go get them, but he knew he couldn’t. If Roman’s script wasn’t updated in time, everyone, not just Roman, would be horribly disappointed and it would also delay their filming day, ruining the rest of the day’s schedule, which could potentially push back the next day’s schedule, destroying the steady pace he’d set for Thomas to follow for the entire week. 

All that work would be completely ruined, just because he didn’t feel like doing some more research right now! How pathetic. Why would he even consider stopping?

But he also knew Thomas would be upset about the missing files. He really didn’t want Thomas to be upset. Specifically, he didn’t want Thomas to be upset with him.

He squeezed his hands into fists. He had to just be satisfied with what he could get done for now. He knew that. He just had to accept it.

“Logan!” A loud, successive knock on his door rang out after the shout of his name, and Logan instinctively moved his hands up to cover his ears. No, wait, he couldn’t do that, he had to keep working! 

He diligently moved his hands back to the keyboard to continue typing. 

He called back, “Yes?”

His voice wasn’t as calm and clear as it was last time. He really hoped that he could maintain whatever level of control he’d managed to accumulate up to this point, or filming later was going to be awful. He really didn’t want to think about that.

He listened for the question.

No door opening this time. It was a question about the filming time again. Logan confirmed that, yes, they would be starting at 9:30.

He breathed as calmly as he could manage as soon as he heard the other side walk away.

There was something beating in his chest then. His heart, right. He had one of those.

It was beating so heavily, like it was trying to escape its confines. 

Why was he reacting this way to some simple questions? He’d been expecting this - it was in the schedule! Why was he filled with… was this panic? He wasn’t sure.

He sighed, aggravated at his own uselessness, and turned another page over, blinking away more tears. Only a couple more pages left and he’d be completely done. 

The end was finally in sight, and he would hopefully have just enough time to check it over again for typos and get himself ready before the shoot began.

Another knock. This time, he forced himself to not have a pointlessly-adverse reaction. He called out. They asked, he answered. They walked away.

See? He could do this. It was easy. His mind had all the answers ready, all he had to do was dispense them as needed.

Yet another knock. Yet another answer.

He turned over the next page.

More questions, more answers.

He could do this.

He powered through and was finally on the very last page when he heard an enthusiastic knock. It was Roman.

Not a question, though, he was just announcing that everyone needed to be heading down to the commons soon now that Thomas was finally awake.

Logan lifted his head, looking back at his door. He hadn’t even noticed Thomas had woken up. The unusual brightness in his room was suddenly apparent and he squinted, moving his gaze back to his computer screen. 

This was good, though. Thomas was awake on time and Logan was just moments from being done with the research. He would have just enough time to organize and review before they started filming. The research was more to benefit his role in the episode, anyway, so if he was a little delayed in delivering it, that would be fine. No one had to know it was completed only minutes before they started, after all.

He ignored the new ache in his neck as he finally flipped over the last page of the script and added his last notes to his file.

Wiping the stray tears from his hands, he reached over and reorganized the stack of papers, placing Roman’s newest notes to the top of the pile.

A post-it note he hadn’t noticed before sat on the very top. Written across it in Roman’s cursive, fancy handwriting, read “Be sure to check over your new lines!!!” 

Logan froze.

How had he not seen this earlier?

He immediately turned his attention back to the clock. 9:22am. 

Shit, there wouldn’t be time to memorize whatever new lines Roman had added!

The silence in the room seemed ominously loud then. He held his breath.

Okay, just keep calm. This was fine.

He could feel more tears building up, still unending as ever, and he skipped blinking them away to instead reach at his throat again.

Fingers twitching but ready, he stopped before he began to squeeze. He didn’t need to do this. He didn’t have time.

He could just…probably attempt to memorize the lines right now, while he reviewed for typos. That was what would be expected of him. No wasting time with distractions, right?

This was fine. He sniffled, trying now to hold in the tears in his eyes. He could do this.

He flipped through the tabbed-off script to find his new lines. They hadn’t been marked, but Roman’s notes pointed to where they should be inserted. How gracious, how helpful.

Logan blinked, numerous tears falling to the paper and staining it. Roman would be pissed at that, but at least he would know his lines. That had to be good enough. Some progress was better than none, and blah blah blah. 

He squeezed his eyes shut, gritting his teeth. No, just think about the script. Memorize the lines. Switching tasks wasn’t meant to be difficult. He just needed to do it correctly.

He took another deep breath, and forced himself to scan over the script page again.

He flipped the page, his hand coming up to his tie instead of resting on the page this time. He yanked absently at the tie, trying to keep everything clear in his mind. 

Read the words, know the words. It was easy. It was always supposed to be easy. He could do it.

He flexed his bandaged hand at his side. Another drop on the page told him the crying still hadn’t stopped, because of course he’d spent hours trying to do something and still managed to fail. 

How completely worthless did he have to be for him to be so affected by pointless, confusing emotions that he couldn’t discern, and even more pathetic for continuing to be affected after literal hours of dealing with them?

While he’d technically gotten the other malfunctions to stop with physical pain, the crying had never once gone away. Not on its own, not with his own attempts. 

He was kind of out of both time and ideas on getting it to stop now, though. And then he felt that familiar tug.

He was being called.

He took one last look at the time. 9:35am.

The others had already started then. 

He went to take another deep breath, but it was shakier than ever before. The hand yanking at his tie was shaking. His neck itched; his bandaged hand did, too. The inside of his mouth felt dry, his chest felt tight, and - oh, what do you know, the headache was starting to come back, too! 

Great.

He squeezed his eyes shut as he felt the tug again. Okay. He could do this. He just needed to remember his opening lines, and then he could just let the others take the lead and use that to keep his focus.

He could do this.

–

He sank into the commons. He could hear a few voices already speaking, and he tried his best to maintain his proper posture as he rose up in his usual position next to Thomas’ staircase.

Without hesitation, he opened his mouth to state his newly-memorized opening line, but it came out as a whisper.

He stopped himself and started again, trying to speak more clearly, only for the slightest lilt in his voice to take hold and he heard everything else around him grow silent.

Oh, god. He’d fucked up. 

No, no, no, he’d put all this work into everything, please just let him run the line again. He knew he could do it right, he just needed to try harder.

He should have tried harder the first time, obviously, but he swore he wasn’t this unreliable! Not usually, anyway…

That was when the question came. 

“Uhm, Logan… Are you okay?”

He wasn’t even sure who it was asking him this. His gaze had fallen to the floor.

He had no idea if he could answer such a question, after everything that had happened. 

But he’d already messed up, so he shouldn’t be so useless as to not answer their genuine questions, right?

He lifted his head, and tried not to squint as he looked past the bright set lights in his face. Thomas seemed to look concerned, eyeing him oddly. 

Right, Logan remembered. He hadn’t bothered to clean up his appearance before sinking out of his room. That would have been the right thing to do, but he’d managed to forget and mess that up, too, huh?

He turned and looked over at Virgil, who appeared to be frozen in shock. He looked to Roman, seeing an expression he wasn’t sure he recognized. If he had to guess, Logan would say it was some sort of mix between disgust and confusion. He supposed that would make sense, given Logan’s present state.

And then he managed to gaze past the light at Patton, who was giving him that pity-filled frown, the one he makes whenever he sees an animal or infant fall over. 

God fucking damn it all.

Logan apologized immediately. He knew, above all, he ought to not waste more of their time with this nonsense, but here he was, doing exactly that anyway.

He apologized again, but it came out lilted just like his memorized line had, and his words tasted salty. 

Right, he was still crying.

Shit, he hadn’t stopped crying this whole time. He’d never gotten it to stop. How completely pathetic and worthless did he have to continue to be?

Couldn’t he just do one thing right today?

He looked back over at Thomas, trying to keep his posture intact as he asked - practically begged - to run his line again.

“I won’t– I swear,” he tried to assure him. “I won’t mess it up again.”

Thomas instantly refused, shutting him down.

Logan bit his lip. God, of course! Of course he had to go and mess it all up this badly! 

He wanted to explain himself, elucidate his ability to say his lines. He just needed to calm himself back down and try harder. He could do it. He knew he could. He wasn’t completely worthless, no matter how much that seemed to be the case.

But the moment he opened his mouth to ask, Thomas cut him off.

“Logan, I need you to just try and calm down. Okay?”

Logan had never closed his mouth faster than he had in that moment.

He hadn’t succeeded then. 

Whatever he’d done last night into this morning wasn’t good enough. Because it never was and never would be.

All that work was for nothing. He’d failed. He’d disappointed them, all because of some stupid malfunction that had come out of nowhere and one he couldn’t control or fix.

He was broken. He couldn’t even run lines for the episode, so that meant he’d been rendered completely useless to them. They couldn’t use him if he was broken. 

What was he supposed to do now?

He couldn’t hear anything, but he could tell he had started crying profusely again. He could feel the sobs in his chest, but no sound reached his ears. Perhaps that should bother him, but nothing could hurt him more than his own regret right now.

He couldn’t be used. He couldn’t be fixed. He had tried everything he could think of, but no true solution existed! 

A slight ringing started to sound in his ears, and he reached up to cover them, but it just grew louder. At least it was better than the likely reprimands he had to imagine the others were seconds away from making. 

He really didn’t mean for any of this to happen. God, he felt absolutely awful.

His vision swam again. It’d been hours since he lost balance, and he reached out to the stairwell to steady himself, nearly missing.

He briefly heard shouting, but couldn’t make out what was being said.

He could have blamed the malfunction again, but now he was certain - he was always broken. The malfunction just finally made it easier for everyone to see.

That was why it had shown up. Because he’d been trying to hide the truth all this time. He was trying to deny how worthless he was, trying to find ways to prove it wasn’t true - but the malfunction made everyone aware of how completely useless he’d been to them all.

They deserved better.

He shakily turned to Thomas, who seemed to be stepping closer, but he couldn’t be sure.

Logan opened his mouth to apologize, but nothing came out but sobs at first.

“I’m sorry!” he screamed out, far louder than he should have. 

“I’m… I’m sorry,” he tried again, forcing the words out between sobs. “Tried– I… I tried. I tried to…fix it. Fi– fix me, but I…”

He broke off, sobbing louder then, but he could feel the intensity rising in his chest. He didn’t want to scream again. He didn’t want to keep burdening everyone with this. He needed to go.

He couldn’t do this.

He tried to cover his mouth but the moment his fingers were in front of his face, he bit at them, unsure if he were trying to get them to go away or if this was supposed to help things. He just needed it to stop. He needed something to stop. 

He wasn’t even sure what, but something had to stop.

Maybe it was him.

He pulled the fingers away from his mouth and buried his face in his hands instead. His eyes were leaking so many tears, they escaped through the spaces between his fingers with ease.

What was he still doing there? Wasting all their time, that’s what.

He chanced a look back up at the others, pulling his hands down just enough to see.

They were all just…staring at him. 

He was bothering them with this. He was wasting their time, wasting their precious time to film the episode… 

Should he go? He should go.

If he wasn’t of use, maybe they could have Janus fulfill his role in the episode? At least then they wouldn’t have to deal with his incessant crying.

He tried to tell them, to suggest the alternative, so he could finally stop wasting their time.

“J… I–” He couldn’t seem to form words again. “He– Ja–” 

More sobs. He just needed to tell them a solution! Why couldn’t he do the one thing he was built to do?

Logan held his breath but couldn’t keep it for long before he was heaving in another breath. Oh god, the hyperventilating had come back and he hadn’t even noticed!

Someone spoke up near him.

“What’s…happening right now?” That someone had asked. 

It was quiet but clear. Was that Roman?

“Just tell us what happened.”

Logan covered his face again, breathing as much as he could through the sobbing. 

He didn’t understand. He couldn’t understand.

How could he be expected to explain something he couldn't understand?

Nothing had happened! He was malfunctioning, but he was already broken! He always had been.

He hadn’t wanted to accept that, hadn't wanted them to know that. But now, they did know. They had to.

And he couldn’t fix this, no matter how much he wanted to.

He’d let them down, in the worst way possible.

“So,” he could hear Roman say then, “you do have emotions. How ‘bout that?”

Was that a laugh?

Logan shook his head, trying to keep his hands over his mouth. No, these weren’t emotions. They couldn't be, because this was the malfunction. They were never emotions, no matter what he tried to convince himself.

Patton must have realized the truth when Logan had asked for help last night. These weren’t emotions, it was just his uselessness finally on display for them to see. 

He was malfunctioning because he was faulty. This was merely taking the metaphor of a slightly-hidden fracture and revealing the reality of an infected and quickly-detaching limb. 

Torn, ruined, and useless - the best bet of saving everything else was to remove the limb entirely.

It meant he wasn’t of use to them like this. The malfunction was able to show them that he had never been of use to them at all.

That was why Roman had given him that task.

That was why Patton had told him to calm down. 

That was why Thomas had told him to calm down, too. 

That was why he had let them all down. It was inevitable that he’d fail. He was broken, he wasn’t capable of succeeding.

“Ju–” he tried, moving his hands from his mouth, still barely managing to speak through the sobs. “Just malfunctioning. Just…broken.”

His chest hurt so much. His vision swam again and then went completely white for a moment before returning to normal, albeit slowly, gradually. Well, 'normal' meaning blurry and full of tears, but at least he could see the others still standing nearby, unmoving, keeping their distance.

He wasn’t sure he could keep himself standing much longer, though. His knees felt weak.

He supposed that meant he was just about to prove how much more pathetic he could be.

He couldn’t fix this. He couldn’t fix himself. They wouldn’t be able to see past his mistakes, even if he could somehow, miraculously fix everything now. He wasn’t sure why he’d deluded himself with the notion for so long, thinking that it was possible to continue on, that he could just make it up to them. 

He hadn’t even been able to locate those missing files. He hadn’t even tried!

He would never be good enough.

His hand and neck began to throb in pain again, after all this time in numbness.

He deserved all this pain, all this distrust and disappointment. He had earned it through his failure, his inaction, his ineptitude.

Maybe things could have been different if he had actually tried harder. If he had spent just a little more time trying to understand instead of ignoring his faults, then maybe he wouldn’t have been so useless.

But it was too late now.

He wanted there to be another chance for him to change their mind, but he knew it would never happen. Not now.

Really, he should have expected something to go wrong.

He slowly looked up, the bright lights searing into his eyes and the ringing in his ears mixing with his own sobs and what may have been the others speaking to him, but he couldn’t be sure.

He turned to see Thomas one more time. He looked confused.

Logan stumbled back, forcing himself to stand. 

He couldn’t keep disappointing them like this. Staying here and wasting all their time, their precious time. So much precious time.

Today would have to be the last opportunity he’d ever have to fail them like this. It could not - would not - ever happen again.

It came to him then. He had a solution.

The real answer had been lying in his failure all along - he hadn’t tried hard enough.

Tears dripped down his face as he reached his hands back up to his neck.

The crying had to stop, and he knew what to do. It all had to stop, for good.

No hesitation, he tightened his grip around his neck, squeezing as hard as he could. He had to try harder this time. That was what he had to do.

He squeezed, his mouth going numb, his eyes stinging in sharp pain, his chest heaving in desperation… He ignored the rushing blood in his ears, the sudden jolts of stinging pain on his arms… until everything went dark.

End notes: Thanks for reading! Just for some peace of mind - Logan does not die at the end here, his grip would have given out after he passed out.

If enough people are interested, I could write a short follow-up chapter to this fic that’s purely comfort, to show some aftermath and the other sides & Thomas trying to properly help Logan and understand what had him so stressed! Just let me know if you’d like to see that.

#logan angst #logan sanders #ts logan #fanfiction #sanders sides #long post #alright i am going to add all the warning tags now wish me luck #angst #crying #attempted suicide #self harm #injury #blood #biting #choking #strangulation #mental breakdown #panic attack #overworking #stress #mutism #insomnia #depression #anxiety #okay i think that's all of them for now #let me know if i need to tag anything else!

[crawlspacefics]

Tangled Web (chapter 4) - Throwback Thursday edition

Ghosts, a Sailor Venus volleyball, a round of golf, Sunday breakfast, and lots of family everywhere you turn. As a side note, I cleaned up so many typos in this chapter. It was awful, and I apologize to anyone who read it previously. 🫣

It had started out innocently enough, with a child’s simple question of who wanted to play ball.  Things never stayed that simple, though, and when Minako caught the yellow and orange volleyball with the image of her superhero persona emblazoned on its side, the first spark of competitive glee had lit.  If Haruka hadn’t been the one standing next to her at just that moment, they might have been able to contain the resulting blaze.  As it was, the two blondes now stood on opposite sides of a makeshift volleyball net, staring each other down.

“You’re not on a racetrack this time, Tenoh,” threw out Minako in full challenge.  “This is my game and my turf.”

“Feeling brave, are we?” replied Haruka, a self-confident smirk on her lips.

Minako returned the smirk with one of her own.  “I’m only trying to save your reputation.  After all, I wouldn’t want to embarrass you in front of your girlfriend.”

“Funny, I was just going to say the same thing to you,” answered Haruka.  Her smile widened in anticipation, and she called over her shoulder without breaking their eye contact, “You guys ready?”

Michiru and Setsuna, who had been dragged into the middle of it along with Rei and Usagi, answered back in the affirmative.

Minako called back to the two members of her team, and when she only got back an enthusiastic “Ready!” from Usagi, she turned her gaze to Rei.

The miko stood with one hand on her hip and an amused grin on her face.  She held the ball in her other hand, having won the coin toss for the serve.

Minako raised a questioning eyebrow at her.

Rei nodded, then shifted her attitude and stance to serve.  ‘Who was the weaker link?’ she contemplated.  ‘One in the back, but which one?’

From the sidelines, Miki burbled happily as he bounced on Shouko’s lap.  Beside them, Kara waved the shredded paper pompoms her mother had helped the girls quickly pull together.  “Go, Rei!” shouted the little girl.  “You can do it!”

On the other side of the net, Chibi-usa and Hotaru answered in kind, calling out their support for the Outers and waving their pompoms enthusiastically.

Her own competitive spirit building amid the cheers from their “fans,” Rei made her decision and served the ball.

For the first few minutes, the ball volleyed back and forth at a deceptively easy pace.  Rei watched from her corner as Minako and Haruka kept dominance over the ball, neither putting their full ability into it.  They were toying with each other, she thought, issuing a silent challenge and almost daring each other to lose patience and strike first.

Slowly, the tempo began to pick up.  Minako’s moves became more focused, her agility and experience being put to good use.  One corner of Rei’s mouth turned up as she observed the perfect form and tone of Minako’s body as she deflected a hard return from Haruka.  The ball bounced back to Usagi, who in a less than graceful manner gave Minako the setup she wanted.  Minako stretched like a lithe cat as she completed the maneuver, and Rei’s smile grew.  One did not need a beach, she mused, to fully appreciate the sight of Minako playing volleyball in a bikini.

Then it touched her, skirting along the edge of her consciousness, and her smile abruptly fell.  The cheers and laughter faded away until all she heard was the whisper of the air.  A sharp chill passed through her being, the game and people around her disappearing into shadow until only one thing was left in her focus.  The trees.  The branches rustled, and she could almost see…

#sailor moon #sailor moon fanfiction #reinako #makoami #sailor mars #sailor mercury #sailor venus #sailor jupiter #sailor pluto #sailor saturn #sailor uranus #sailor neptune #crawl's fics #throwback thursday fics

[chanterelledreams]

What's been happening lately- CW- death of a loved one, abuse (not in details), childhood neglect

Feel free to ignore! Long, long post. Sorry for any typos.

My father passed away unexpectedly on September 27 this year. He had been sick starting saturday night with what he thought was a stomach virus.

I went to see him at 9:30pm on monday night, and he was ok- just said he had terrible stomach cramps.

My mom texted me early the next day to call her. She had called the ambulance around 5:30am on Tuesday morning, as my dad was trying to stand up and couldn't, and wasn't completely lucid. At that point, we didn't know what was wrong other than his heart was beating very fast.

I went to see him at 2:30pm in the hospital- he was talking and making sense, but still had bad cramps and kept gasping for breath. We spoke briefly and I gave him a kiss, saying goodbye and that we'd be back later. Visits are limited to 15 mins due to covid, and he was going in for more tests. The nurse told me his heart was beating fast, and they found out he had a bad infection, and would most likely spend the night at the hospital.

His doctor called me as we drove away from the hospital, he re-iterated the heart and infection thing and that while he was stable right now, just to be aware this situation could change at any moment.

I went to my mom's house and helped her cancel a trip they were taking down south (their plane was scheduled to leave early the next morning).

When I finally convinced my mom to come to the hospital to see him, we were taken to a room with the doctor. He explained that my dad was septic, and they found a blockage or a twisted area in his intestines. He explained that his heart was beating too fast (around 198) and they had to shock it to slow it down. It took 6 tries. He also explained that they had induced a medical coma, and he was being transferred to another hospital in intensive care.

My mom flat out refused to go to the other hospital, despite the doctor's insistance, so she had me go.

I arrived there before my dad. Saw his being rushed in on the hospital bed. Saw a nurse running out of the room then back in. The nurse, inhalotherapist and doctor that had supervised the transfer came to see me and told me he was not doing good at all. I was trying hard to hold it together at that point.

The doctor came to see me an hour later. My dad had crashed- his heart rate high and blood pressure low. They stabilized him after an hour- but it was the last time. The meds were all maxxed out, and to call the family.

I lost it then.

My spouse called my sister and my mom, having them come over to say goodbye.

My mom stayed for maybe 10 mins, until my sister arrived, then left.... and doing so, forced me to be the one to take the final decision, to turn off the machines that were keeping him alive.

His organs had been without blood for an hour- and that's without counting the previous crash that happened. His kidneys were failing when he first got to the hospital. There was nothing they could do.

He had septic shock, caused by mesenteric ischemia- a blood clot blocked a major vessel in his large intestine- which was dying by that point.

It was a shock. A slap in the face. He was 67 years old.

I never had a great relationship with my parents. They were both neglectful and abusive- moreso my mom. Verbal abuse was a daily thing, and she poured beer on my head more than once when i was a child. She also broke a plate on my head when i was a teen. My dad never hit me, my sister or my mom, but raised his fists at me once. He was verbally abusive in a certain way- angry, raised voice and curses directed at me was not uncommon.

There was no love between them. I saw my mom punch, slap, hit my dad on more than one occasion. She knew he wouldn't hit back. She called him terrible things, threatened him into doing whatever she wanted. He changed from the person I knew as my dad as a kid to an empty, unhappy husk.

They were millionaires- winning the lottery a while ago. My mom was thrilled- the only thing she loved in life was money. They spent most of it by now, and i've never seen a cent of it.

All this lead to the realization that a part of me was holding on to a sliver of hope that my dad would one day be back. If only the version my child mind had made up. When he passed, that chain snapped. I will never have the dad I thought I had. I will never have the parents I needed.

My mom has already started her manipulation, passive-aggressive tactics with me. She wants things done -now- and if you dare not do them, she WILL take it out on you.

This is the first time in my life that I've stood up for myself. I've always done whatever was needed to make her (and other abusive people in my life) happy. I was raised to make sure that people around me had what they wanted. Never question. Never say no.

This made me vulnerable to certain types of people, and destroyed any self esteem i had.

While I've made progress in the last decade or so recognizing these types of people, and how to protect myself, my dad's passing rocketed me forward. I feel more grounded than I've ever felt. I feel like i'm finally allowed (or allowing myself?) To be a person. To live. To have boundaries.

I've come a long long way, and there's still a while to go, but i'm getting there.

#Life #Personal #Family #Death #Narcissist mother #Childhood

[equestrianequivalent]

Current Status of QuintSum

(If you already know that I've paused it, you can skip this, this is to make a better and newer pinned).

As of Chapter 27's Release I Have Chosen To Pause The Posting Of A Quintessential Jorvegian Summer Vacation, To Figure Out The Details Of This, Continue Reading.

TLDR: I will not post any more chapters of the fic until I have finished writing it. This is not as far away as you guys might think given the length, I'm still actively writing, and I have no plans on cancelling, quitting, or otherwise abandon this project. When the posting resumes, trust me, you will know.

For a more detailed QnA, continue.

Why?

Because I started posting the fic very soon after I started writing it, and had no idea what I was going to think about posting. I know myself quite well and am aware that feeling a pressure to perform would not be great for me, which is why I only made the decision to try to publish the fic after I had a ridiculously big backlog. However, I underestimated how annoying I found posting as I was writing, and decided to respect my own feelings on the matter. Hence, I have paused the Ao3 posting for the time being. I've fucked around, I've found out, and what I found is that I do not like multitasking something so high effort.

When will you post regularly again?

When the fic is written, and finished, I will start to upload the entire thing until it's all there. Not simultaneously, but it will be resumed then. (It's looking to be over 200k+ words as we speak, so stay tuned for That.) I just want to have it finished before I commit to editing, reworking, and posting. I want to post a product I'm proud of, and that requires effort, patience, and a whole lot of time. None of which I can give it if I try to multitask writing and posting, and combine that with, you know. Real life.

So it's not cancelled?

Short answer, no. Long answer, absolutely the fuck not, it hasn't been cancelled even once. I've been writing continously ever since I started writing and this fic will be finished sooner or later. (Probably within the year at Worst. In a few months at best.)

Will you post anything else in the meanwhile?

I'm definitely going to post my HSR fics, because they're short and I can write and edit those in a day, so don't worry about that. I'm also going to upload two new chapters of QuintSum as soon as I feel like it. Chapter 28 and 29 are planned to be posted as soon as I have them finished, because I want to leave the fic paused at a completed arc. Together with these last two chapters, ALL chapters (as in 1 through 27), will be reuploaded. This is because I am wholly unsatisfied with the earliest chapters, and there's a lot of typos and other small things I'd like to change when I have the opportunity to do so.

Do we have to reread the whole thing?

No. Absolutely the fuck not. I Would strongly recommend it, but it's nowhere near necessary. When I say I'm going to republish and rewrite, I mean that I'm changing two things, the style and the presentation. This is the first fic I've ever actually put to paper, and my style was invented the day this fic was invented. I've evolved a lot stylistically, and have settled on a presentation I am more satisfied with. I'd like to update the earliest chapters to reflect this, and take the opportunity to throw some typos and clunkyness out. The plot will remain the exact same. I have been storyboarding characters and stories for 10 years, I know where I have myself there, that won't change. Hence, if you don't reread the first 27 chapters when I reupload them, you won't lose a single fucking thing.

With that being said, thank you for your patience with awaiting me finishing the fic. Thank you all for having kept up so far. And thank you all for bothering at all. We're seeing this damn thing through, I just need to make it possible to do so first.

Seeya for the inevitable day you guys will see just why all my friends joke about finding me fucking nuts due to me seeing this through o7

(In the meanwhile, you Can also find me at @shiroselia since that's who I am and that's my main, and while it's been known for a while over there that this is my alt, and QuintSum is my fic, perhaps I should say it on the fics' actual sideblog too.)

#sso #star stable online #I'm maintagging just to have it be visible in case anyone cares #With that being said I'll see you all when this insanity is done and dusted #Manda out o7

[limestoner]

I am jiggly yet soft. I am fruity yet clear.

I am jello.

What am I?

The world is jello. You are jello. I am jello.

That looks delicious. I would eat all of them. Ohhhh, the ogre Runiks cubes! I thought someone just made rainbow jello parfait and then cut it into cubes. And was showing it off like a colorful gem.

I like to hold opals really close to the corner of my eye and then see the light reflecting from the opal and that iridescent sheen is a prize for the eyes.

I could watch it forever but I wish there were no brown spots to interrupt it.

The Pineapple Express makes me feel like a long distance passenger train. Like I’m just cruising along looking out the window but my brain train* continues on a relatively smooth course. (Pause) So my thoughts were all connected and not completely random from one to the next like Snowman. (Pause)

*Brain train: exp. I was like what’s that expression for how your thoughts all go in a line with some sort of organization and sometimes it derails. Now o temembebr it was “train of thought.” I like mine better though. “Whoo whooo! All aboard the Brain Train. Axons Express. Grey Matter Line. The Basal Ganglia Shuttle.

The Brain Train, c. right now. It travels alongside the corpus callosum for

I made these typos when I tried to write corpus callosum. I thought that seems like a name I’d hear a kid have. But then I thought more.

Calosyn

Calyson

Callison

Callison sounds nice to me rn. it’s newly/inadvertently made because it resembled some boy and girl naming trends. It seems maybe a little more like a girl name, but would boys bully another boy about the name? Maybe, maybe not.

The name Callison

Callipillar Caterson ?that’s me)

Callison Pillarcat.

Callar Pact Act

🐛🌿

The Very High Cappertiller Caterpillar.

adapted from the works of Lewis Caroll and Eric Carle (I’m so sorry. It’s not original or funny to most people but to me jt is both unless there is a reason it shouldn’t be funny.)

‘Twas brillig, the light of the moon

Did shine and shinkle out in space

Because down below, a little a little hemp plant had a little white leaf (it was White Runtz, you see) and on the leaf there was a little hookah. And on just the tiniest tip of the tiny hookah. There was a little egg. A sticky egg.

On a hazy Saturday afternoon, when the sun was high too, the tiniest caterpillar came out of the tiniest egg. A tiny hempy caterpillar.

He ate the leaf and then noticed all the sticky buds that looked like his egg, but bigger. He started to look for some bud.

On Saturday he blazed through a bowl of Purple Punch.

On Sunday he blazed through two bowls of Watermelon Zkittlez.

On Monday he blazed through four bowls of Sour Tangie.

On Tuesday he blazed through twenty seven bowls of Ice Cream Cake.

On Wednesday he blazed through 163 bowls of Apple Fritter. But he was not a little caterpillar anymore. He was a 3incj high, 3 inch around chonk caterpillar.

The next day was Thursday again. Thursday, 4 May, 1865. Because he was still high from the day before, he decided to blaze through a whole 40 acre hemp forest of Blueberry Muffin.

That day he had a bad trip.

He was smoking his hookah making vowels and singing like normal when some random size changing girl came up staring at him. He asked who the girl was and she just kept asking questions and when she made fun of his height the caterpillar smoked and smoked in a cloud house leaving only his… clothes..: behind. Oh and the hookah.

He was a beautiful butterfly! Somehow he ended up riding on a river of mud and tears and the size changing girl was still there too. Finally he took a big rip and came out of his trance. He ate a Green Crack leaf and felt better.

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSUGAR I thought this all deleted because I had to look up the books. SMTG. That’s the most consonanty consonants in “something”. H and N have vocalic features and are combined in digraphs. What if I abbrev I ate it heh to just the vowels;

I had to look OHEI up! Maybe a language like Mandarin or Arabic would make a vowel abbrev because of the meaning conveyed by vowel change. Maybe every language prefers consonantly abbrevs. Just nvm.

I want this so I’m saving it

#hemp #pineapple express #little britain #guilty pleasure #VERY GUILTY #some pleasure #jello #gemstone #opal #callipillar #very hungry caterpillar #white runtz

[benslittlestarkiller]

Dirty Thoughts

✽ Kylo Ren x Reader  ✽

You and Kylo Ren fuck after an intense training session. 

A/N: omg thank you so much for this ask, I rly hope you enjoy this, I wrote it today after church in like 10 minutes sorry for typos praise the Lord amen.

Warning: NSFW content, piv sex

Word Count: 1,155

It had been a long day of training. 

Kylo had pushed you harder today than ever before. He did not hold back and you found yourself crushed beneath his weight on the training mat. You breathed hard, your chest pressed against his, squashing your breasts against his. You could feel his hard abs through his shirt and smell the musky scent of his sweat. His whole presence seemed to engulf you.

“I’m tired,” you say, “let’s call it a day.”

“This is over when I say it’s over,” he says, his voice gruff and commanding. It sends vibrations straight to your core. 

He stands and you feel the loss of his body heat keenly. You had been at this for weeks, days and days of grueling training sessions that left you exhautsed. You sat up and tried to catch you breath but suddenly Kylo was lashing out at you again with his training saber, and you rushed to defend yourself. You managed to stand under his brutual attacks. After one particularly hard blow that you had just barely managed to block you shouted, ”Why are you always like this?”

“Focus, y/n! Don’t you ever shut your mouth?”

“Only when it’s wrapped around something,” you reply with a saucy look.

He movement stills and you see an opening. You run at him with your saber and he doesnt defend himself as you strike him upside the head. His head snaps to the side, and you smirk victoriously.

“Ha! I got you!” You cheer with glee.

Very sowly his head rights itself and he turn to look at you with blood seeping steadily from his nose. The ire in his eyes was palpable and you felt the hair on the back of your neck rise. You gulped as he dropped his training saber and stomped towards you getting into your personal bubble.

You dropped your saver and backed away and he just kept coming until you back hit a wall. He towered over you glaring down at you but…his eyes were completely black, the pupil enlarged. He was looking at you with……desire.

“Wh-what are you thinking about?’ You stutred out.

“You don’t wanna know what I’ve been thinking.” He said.

You involuntarily licked your lips and his eye followed the movement. Before you knew what was happening his lips crushed down on yours, engulfing you in his molten passion. His tongue forced his way into your mouth, invading your senses as it caressed you lovingly. Each stroke of his organ left you breathless and your desire grew. A shock ran through you straight to your core and wetness pooled in your panties. Only he could make you this wet with just a kiss.

He effortlessly lifts you up and you wrap your legs around his study waist. Your core collided with his hardening manhood and another shock of desire went through you. He cupped your ass, kneading the globes with the expert hands of a man trained in the art of the lightsaber. He always was good with his hands. You moaned at the feeling of his thick fingers caressing the lips of your slit through your pants and cursed the fact that there was a barrier between the two of you.

He takes hold of your pants and rips them apart, tearing the fabric at the seams as if it were mere flimsi. You couldn’t hold in your cries of pleasure, his show of force and strength made you moan out in ecstasy. 

He groaned when he realized that you weren’t wearing any panties and ran his thick finger along your weeping slit. The rough feel of his callouses sent a shiver down your spine as it rubbed against your clitoris. It sends shockwave through your veins and your legs tighten around his waist.

“Please, Kylo, I need you,” you said.

Your hands play at the waist band of his high waisted leather pants, desperate to have them off. His hands push yours aside and he rips the zipper down, buttons and clasps popping off in his haste. 

His large dick springs free, and your mouth waters at the sight of it. Its girth is impressive and you salivate at the thought of him inside you, stretching you and filling you to the brim. You grind up against him, feeling the pulsating warmth of his cock against your slit.

“I need you, Kyle….please.”

He growls and aligns the tip of his cock with your entrance before slamming into you with one brutal thrust. You scream in pleasure as the head of him pounds against your sensitive cervix. Just as quickly as he filled you, he pulls out, leaving you feeling empty. You cry at the loss of him, tears springing into your eyes and overflowing down your cheeks. 

But then he slams into you again and you feel the sweet pleasure and pain. He leans forward, his tongue darting out to lick up the tears pouring down your cheeks. Soon the training room is filled with the sound of skin slapping against skin and your breathy pants. He groans at your tightness like a man starved. 

He groans with each thrust, his breath coming out in pants. His eyes are dark with desire and his face is flushed. He looks so desperate. You love to see him like this, filled with lust and in disarray all for you. You know that you are the only one who can do this to him. The thought brings you close to the edge. Sensing your nearing climax, he angles his hips to hit you in your sweet spot. With each thrust you see stars. He reaches between the two of you to tease at your clitoris eliciting lewd moans from your throat.

He always knew how to please you. He knows your body more intimately than anyone else in the galaxy, more intimately than even you. With one last thrust he brings you to completion. Stars explode and your muscles clamp down on him. He pumps into you a few more times before losing himself in his release.

You feel his seed paint your insides, it’s a sensation you will never get tired of feeling. As he pulls out of you, you feel his come drip out of your cunt to stain your ripped pants. You feel his fingers dip into you once more, coating himself in the mixture of your slick and his come. He brings his fingers up to your lips which you open willingly, your tongue wrapping around the digits obediently as you stare straight into his eyes. His gaze penetrates you deep into your very core as you lick up his seed. The moment is more intimate than anything you’ve ever experienced. 

You released his fingers with a wet pop, a trail of saliva still connects you as you swallow down his spend. “I liked what you were thinking.” 

“Me too,” he say.

#kylo ren imagine #kylo ren x reader #kylo ren smut #kylo ren #star wars #adam driver #adam driver smut #adam driver fanfiction #kylo ren fanfiction #star wars fanfiction #star wars smut #hallelujah he is risen #i think jesus christ would approve of this

[hoe-imaginess]

red | shigaraki tomura

Shigaraki x hero!soulmate!Reader

Based on two soulmate prompts:

You can only see color when you and your soulmate are touching.

You can’t use your quirk to harm your soulmate. 

word count: 2.4k

a/n: is two soulmate prompts cheating? idk. anyways, this is just some random angst I thought of a while ago, and just recently found in my drafts. probably some typos. pretend not to see it (:

⤰⤰⤰

If there was one thing worse than recruiting weaklings, it was recruiting slackers.

Active enlistment in the criminal world had the unfortunate ramification of attracting the lowest of the lows. The last two miscreants Giran drafted for the League had used the weaponry rationed to them for petty crimes. This included the robbing of a video store. Not just any video store, but one directly down the street from the League’s hideout.

Of course, that was unacceptable.

Shigaraki had little patience for the new recruits to begin with, but it was rapidly extinguished with their hazardous act, along with any leniency he might have had for their punishment. These men had exploited the power Shigaraki gave to them, and worst of all, undermined the League’s legitimacy. The solution to this problem was clear.

Kurogiri offered to dispose of the traitors swiftly and soundlessly, but Shigaraki’s hunger for retribution against these trespassers required a personal effect. And so, Kurogiri transferred Shigaraki to the location. The men were hobbling around in the same alley they’d been found in when Shigaraki emerged from the black vapor’s of Kurogiri’s quirk.

Upon seeing him, the duo went into an indignant frenzy. They knew who he was, and without even needing to ask, without even needing to hear the promises of violence that Shigaraki muttered under his breath, they knew what he was here to do.

The confrontation lasted mere seconds. They were as meek as they were stupid, and neither men were fast enough to counter when Shigaraki grabbed for them. He dispatched the first man with voracious haste, but took his grueling time with the second.

As the man’s sleeve cracked like dried mud, pieces falling to give way to vulnerable flesh underneath, Shigaraki reveled the sight with a sickening smile.

The deteriorating man’s cries of anguish were dreadful: the cries of a man forced to confront his imminent death.

It was a sweet tune of victory to Shigaraki’s ears.

Then, something ruined it.

“Stop!”

At the sound of your voice, Shigaraki glanced over his shoulder, his feverish, red eyes glaring at you from behind Father’s mask.

A hero. A hero on patrol, Shigaraki guessed, seeing that you were fitted in your uniform.

“Put the man down,” you demanded of him, with that confident, entitled authority that heroes enjoyed, and Shigaraki detested.

But Shigaraki granted you the request, not much concerned with revenge, or the man, now that he was soon to be a pile of dirt. Indeed, the minute Shigaraki loosed his grip on the man’s arm, Decay took its freedom in stride and consumed him within seconds. The screams abruptly stopped.

Now it was just you and Shigaraki in the empty alleyway. What had remained of the forgotten men floated away in the light breeze.

Your throat was tight, acid edging its way up the back of your mouth. The scene before you was horrific. Where the distressed man had just been, now remained only dust. And the villain standing over the formless corpses was looking right at you.

Shigaraki didn’t recognize you, didn’t know what your quirk was. But it didn’t matter. He would have killed you anyways, but the fact that you’d just disrupted the recreation of his revenge was all the more reason to do so.

He took a step forward. Not to be daunted, you did the same.

“Stop right there,” you demanded again.

Just another disillusioned display of hero supremacy. Shigaraki had no patience for it.

“Stop,” you commanded, firmer now as his approach went undeterred.

The eery slowness in his gait betrayed the bloodlust he radiated; his fingers twitched with their vitalized hunger for violence, and after you’d seen the carnage those fingers extracted on human flesh, you weren’t about to let your guard down.

In an instant, he was lunging for you. His speed shocked you, and the second you spent activating your quirk for a counter-move was enough time for him to invade your space. Adrenalized fear shot through your limbs, and briefly, you wondered how your quirk might defend against his. But it didn’t matter. You were about to find out.

With surprising agility, he ducked out of the way of your defensive attack, then took hold of your forearm. His quirk descended upon your flesh. The pain registered, and your throat tightened around a cry of alarm—

But then, something in the air between you burst.

Like ripples fanning across a puddle, euphoria extended from the top of your head to the soles of your feet, filling every space inside of you as it invaded your senses.

Shigaraki suffered a similair disturbance. The explosion was almost nauseating. But even more shell-shocking was the world which greeted him once his eyes adjusted.

It first registered in his peripheral: something glaringly present, something striking against his vision—

Was that his hair? 

No, it couldn’t be. 

It didn’t look like his hair. Not the hair he normally saw shrouding his face.

But then he realized it was in fact his hair. His hair, but colored.

It stood out unimaginably stark against the drab schemes of the alley. But then, the alley too found life. Its color came to fruition: a wash of brown along the brick wall, dirtied, beige cement holding the structure together.

Then, from the periphery, the infectious color worked its way to the center of his retina. The kaleidoscope of color that was you hit him in full force. Your outfit, your hair, your face and eyes—your eyes which flicked desperately between his own, and the place where his hand made contact with your skin.

Reminded of his assault, Shigaraki looked to where his digits curled around your forearm, and took in the color of your skin. The color was intervened by another now, deeper and angrier, as fissures broke along your flesh under his Decay. Lines of destruction that had always looked grey in his monochromatic world, like topography on a map, were now imbued with life—with the real, true physical destruction.

But the new life in his vision was momentarily overshadowed by another discovery: you were still alive. Alive, and whole.

He looked again, closer, at the place where his lethal hands gripped your arm. The spread of his Decay was compromised by some unknown force, the destructive lines breaking your skin denied in their desire to consume you completely.

His quirk had been stopped. He couldn’t hurt you.

All of these discoveries happened within seconds, and for a moment, his mind lost its war with rationale. He came as near to speechless as he ever got. While his sense of the world, of its truths and realities, tried to reassert itself, he became ignorant to the dilemma before him, and lost himself in the pleasure of color.

Something suddenly caught his eye, and he glanced downward. 

Were those his shoes beneath him? 

Their vibrant color was the very same as that of the raw sinew that showed itself beneath your flesh, as it cracked away under his quirk—

Red.

That was the name of the color.

He’d heard it before: a way to describe spilt blood. It was blood he was seeing. Your blood.

And the reason he was seeing it, the reason he was granted the gift of this true sight, the reason this contact hadn’t yet ended in your demise—was because you were his soulmate.

Shigaraki pulled away, eyes wide. The color left the world, replaced with the grays he’d endured for a lifetime.

He wondered if breaking contact would elicit Decay to recover its power. His mind raced as he prepared to watch you crumble, to watch you scatter into flakes and blood and organ—

But no. Decay was still obstructed by something unseen. It had damaged you, but refused to do any more than that.

“That’s impossible,” he muttered, almost uncertain if he’d spoken it out loud or not; the fretful shock on your face, and your lack of response, giving no indication.

Apparently, you didn’t even notice the catastrophe his quirk had left on your skin. You merely stared at him, stunned into silence, consuming the same realizations he was.

Then, stirred into an involuntary need to confirm the revelations, to make certain it wasn’t some trick of the mind, you started to move toward him.

It couldn’t be, you told yourself. It couldn’t be him: this villain. It couldn’t be…

Shigaraki knew that you intended to reach out and touch him, your hand shaking as it angled upwards. But before you could make contact, he stepped back, extending his own hand not in an invitation of contact, but as a threat, his palm out and fingers ready to deliver Decay. Useless as it had proven itself to be against you, it was the only sense of control he had in the situation.

“Don’t,” he warned you, his voice weaker than he’d thought it to be.

There was a lump in his throat, centering his confusion and panic, both which spread over him in quick fashion. Mania returned to him like clockwork, a mania he often endured when facing accursed heroes. But he’d never felt it like this. Now there was anger, bewilderment, curiosity, and adrenaline all in one.

Unlike him, you worked through your confusion vocally, sputtering strings of rampant logic.

“But you’re—We—” You shook your head, and your arm moved again, inching up to him, seeking a touch that would give you answers. “We can’t be.”

Distress rushed through Shigaraki and he growled. “I said don’t.”

“It can’t be,” you kept on sputtering. “You’re a —It can’t be.”

A what? A villain? A monster? He dared you to go on. 

But even as his frustrations rose at the implications, Shigaraki concurred. You were a hero. A plague on society. But wasn’t the truth inescapable? Hadn’t that flash of colorful vibrance that nearly stopped his heart been evidence enough? Evidence that you two were fated to each other?

“It can’t be.” You said your mantra again, so close to touching him now. Kill, a voice in his head urged. Kill, kill, kill—

The pad of your finger made feather-light contact with his wrist, and the iridescence reinvented itself without delay.

All the colors that had teased him made themselves known again, bringing with them some disgusting bliss that made his insides curl with warmth. It was a delectable temptation, so overwhelming it made him nauseous.

Your eyes searched him, scrutinizing his colors and imbedding them into memory. An inkling of degradation tugged your brain as you realized the life of color you so desperately reaped was from a villain, one of the worst you’d ever encountered. Only from him would your sole, real taste of reality come.

You both pulled away this time, and the dull world of gray welcomed you like an old friend.

You shuffled back defensively, no colorful heaven able to erase the precarity of the situation. The throbbing, searing pain in your forearm returned, reminding you of the death he’d aspired to bring you.

Shigaraki stared behind Father’s fingers, eyes red and wide.

Kill, the urge came to him again. Kill you. Kill the colors, kill it all.

But he wasn’t sure if he could.

“Get me out of here,” he muttered.

You stared at him, wide-eyed. “What?”

“Get me out,” he demanded again, infuriated. “Now.”

And after brief static, Kurogiri’s dutiful voice answered from the other end of the hidden communicator. Shortly after, the promised warp gate opened against the alley wall.

Shigaraki stepped back into its gloomy arch quickly. Realizing that he made to escape, you stepped forward, eager to prevent it.

“Stop,” you pleaded, but not with the antagonistic authority you’d shown before. It was a simple, desperate plea. Shigaraki knew he was leaving you with no less confusion than he felt in his departure, but his mind was scattered, and unable to rationalize this so long as he was in your presence.

Your mouth opened around another fruitless protest, but Shigaraki was already backing into the safety of the hideout, its colorless interior granting him security.

With one last valiant effort, you shot forward to reach for him. Shigaraki stumbled back and hit the floor when you lunged for the portal, but it was too late. The warp gate conjoining you both disappeared, separating you from him for good.

With Kurogiri’s gate officially closed, and you officially out of reach, Shigaraki simply stared at the spot where you’d been eager to touch him just moments before.

He was reminded of his station on the ground when he felt the hard wood on his backside. But he didn’t bother getting up; his muscles refused him.

“Shigaraki Tomura.”

He ignored Kurogiri. He ignored it all, let it fade into the gray banality of the colorless, lifeless world around him. How else could he describe it except lifeless, now that he’d had a taste of the true world?—The colors and their vibrancy?

And what was the price of attaining this world of bliss? Knowing that his fate was tied to you. A hero. The very thing he’d dedicated himself to hate, to kill. You, a hero, his soulmate.

It was disgusting. It was cruel. It was unfathomable.

Kurogiri was saying his name again, but Shigaraki didn’t care. He instead looked down at his body, down his stiff legs to his feet. His gaze remained fixated.

His shoes. What fucking color were his shoes? Red, he knew. But what did red look like? Why couldn’t he fucking remember what it looked like?

Kurogiri’s voice was harsher now, spurred by dutiful compulsion. “If you’re injured you must let me know,” he pleaded.

“What?” Shigaraki answered, voice thin, and lost. “What happened? Are you injured?”

“No.” “Then... why did you retreat?”

Now Shigaraki looked at his hands, the hands that had tried, and failed to kill.

His quirk. His Decay. For once, his touch had bore something other than destruction; it had shown him life.

Years before, when he’d still doubted his purpose in the world, and had yet to fully commit to any ambition besides to survive, learning about the histories of soulmates had been a gratifying discovery. Learning that there might be someone out there that would see him as more than just a destroyer, more than just a wielder of such a deadly power, had inspired hope.

But now, now that he’d all but given up on the idea of a soulmate—ridiculed it, in fact, having seen the optimistic idiocy it swelled through the populace—he wanted no part in it.

He’d always known the idea of a soulmate was baseless; that two people were to be decided for each other by fate.

Fate? What did fate matter?

Only cruel fate, the very same which had left him to suffer under the mantle of false heroes in his youth, would presume to make his soulmate one of those very heroes. Only cruel fate would show him a world of colorful life, but put its key in the hands of the enemy.

And what—he was expected to willingly accept it?

No. That wasn’t his fate. It wouldn’t be. This was no blessing. Tasting the promised world of color wasn’t worth the fretful irony. It was filthy. It was greedy. It was wrong. And he didn’t want it.

However alluring the true world was, however satisfying its colors and exquisite its details, Shigaraki fought the compulsion of its visual pleasure. He wouldn’t be a slave to destiny.

“Send me back,” he suddenly commanded. Kurogiri lingered over him, nervous in his confusion. “Are you sure? But, you asked me—”

“Send me back.”

There was only one way Shigaraki would find resolution. He would have to destroy the unattainable world of color, so he would never be weak to its promise.

And to do that, he would have to destroy you.

#shigaraki x reader #shigaraki tomura x reader #shimura tenko x reader

[skekheck]

Theory: UrVa’s Arrows Were Originally Meant To Incapacitate, Not Kill, skekMal

Maybe this is common consensus, but it’s something I’ve been thinking about for a while. On the surface, it seemed like urVa had wanted to put an end to skekMal at the Circle of the Suns and the Hunter escaped before he could finish the job. But then there was this line in episode 10 that always felt odd to me:

urVa: I had a dream that I was one that became two that became one again. I looked through my dark half’s eyes and knew Aughra was right. [...] ...The Hunt must end. 

It’s just “but urVa, weren’t you doing just that a day or so prior?”. But then after rewatching their standoff again it hit me: maybe urVa’s intentions were not to kill skekMal but to incapacitate him.

Let’s look at the scene again

SkekMal was shot a total of three times: the first one through his upper arm, the second around the bottom right of his torso, and the last through his upper leg (possibly thigh?). 

(Sorry couldn’t find a better pic of his leg shot)

Weird places to aim for if urVa had wanted to kill him, right? Wouldn’t he have gone for targets that would more likely result in death, like the throat or through the eye sockets? It’s not like he would miss: urVa’s a master marksman. Instead, all three shots prevented (or at least was an attempt to stop) skekMal without taking his life.

The first shot prevented skekMal from harming Rian. The second was retaliation for ignoring the Archer’s warning. UrVa flat out told him to not approach the Gelfling but you see the Hunter take a step forward anyway, prompting him to release the second arrow. The final one was an attempt to stop skekMal from escaping with Brea. Seeing as how urVa immediately collapsed after firing that arrow, it would have worked. However, he underestimated how committed skekMal was to the Hunt, considering he pushed through the pain to get what he needed done.

Those arm and leg wounds aren’t inherently life-threatening. The arrow in his torso, though, is more concerning. It’s possible it could have had or at least be at risk of damaging his organs. Now, the Skeksis have weird-as-fuck anatomy (that goes without saying) so we have no real way of knowing if it was endangering him or not. But considering the nature of his other two wounds, I don’t think it was a kill shot. A more serious wound, but not deadly if tended to. And that’s probably what urVa intended: he aimed for that spot in the hopes skekMal would stop to take care of his wounds. 

But Weren’t Both skekMal and urVa In Critical Condition?

Oh yeah, they still were and skekMal’s partially to blame for it. It’s not a great idea to move around too much with arrows lodged in you. The arrow heads and shaft could move around and cause more internal damage. SkekMal moving made what would have been minor to moderate wounds way more serious. Not to mention, he never stopped to pull them out and heal himself: he kept those things in. 

And let’s not forget how far of a distance between the Circle of the Suns and the Castle is. There are multiple versions of maps of Thra that have some siginifcant differences, but the main point is those two locations are pretty far from each other. Even if he used Bennu to fly all the way over to the Castle, skekMal would still have to deal with Brea thrashing around on his back. And it looks like he took a detour to grab a cage for her, which he then dragged through the Castle’s corridors. Baiting Rian and his friends just so he can fulfill his Hunt was apparently more important to him than his well-being (which is ironic if you believe skekMal’s philosophy surrounding the Hunt is his own way of self-preservation).

EDIT: Wanted to add that skekMal was in a difficult position in terms of what he wanted. He would know that if he’d pull those arrows out he would have to treat them right away otherwise he’d bleed to death. At the same time, he would also had to keep Brea from escaping. I think he weighed his options and found that he’d had more success just pushing through it and keeping them in then treat them later. SkekMal might had also thought the other Skeksis would be able to treat him if it was serious enough? 

And SkekTek Made It Worse

SkekTek is no doctor. He can cut up and research on animals all he wants, but that doesn’t count as medical knowledge. It’s painfully obvious he has no idea what he’s doing: his diagnosis and treatment of skekMal’s condition is enough proof of that. And speaking of which, skekTek’s diagnosis is full of nonsense:

Skektek: Subject suffers severe exsanguination. Extreme distress to the humus. [...] Imbalance of intrinsic fluids. Manifold ruptures in corporeal morphology. [Checks for a heart beat] Ah. Ah... . Expiration... is... [dramatic pause] inevitable.

Literally he’s saying skekMal has multiple holes in his body and he’s bleeding out. You know, pointing out the obvious. Also, I tried finding out if “humus” related to anything biologically, but all I could find was it’s a term for... soil made of organic matter. I’m not sure what he was trying to refer to, I think he was just misusing it to make himself sound smart.

EDIT: I have been told by a few people that skekTek might be referring the humerus, which is a bone found in the upperarm that’s forms joints at the elbow and shoulder. This would make more sense and would mean skekTek made a proper diagnosis. However, at least to me, it still sounds like he’s saying humus. Another skeksis repeats him and they also say humus, not humerus. Turning on the captions also has it as humus. This could either be a typo or skekTek did mean humerus, but said humus instead. 

And how he actually treats skekMal is atrocious. 

He pulls the arrows out without making any attempts to stop the bleeding, clean the wounds, or apply stitches. He’s letting him bleed out and he should at least know they need blood to live. Do you know what happens when someone loses too much blood? Among other side effects, organ failure and falling into a coma. SkekTek did eventually made an effort to heal skekMal by giving him essence, but it was too little too late. SkekMal’s condition was so far gone at that point he really needed Aughra’s essence to survive.

UrVa’s Intentions

And now we’re going right back to urVa. While thinking over on urVa’s actions, I started wondering if he anticipated skekMal wouldn’t stay put and that the Hunter would do his own self in by moving around with the arrows lodged in him. I mean, urVa is a mystic, an indirect kill would make sense. But giving it more thought, I don’t think that’s the case. A lot of his actions during the series suggests otherwise. 

UrVa was very contemplative, even saddened, about having to end the Hunt for skekMal. He is not like his other half: he respected and appreciated all life on Thra. He also sees the cycle of life as well as the wilderness as something untamable. This is implied while he was talking with Aughra in episode 4:

urVa: We do not get to decide when our part in the song is finished.

While urVa is one of the more proactive Mystics, he still is... a Mystic. He doesn’t believe he should manipulate or control what goes on around him and let things be. The Bestiary book points to the fact that while urVa did keep tabs on skekMal, he never interfered with his hunts. So it was a big deal when Aughra quested him with the task of stopping skekMal. 

Also I’d like to point out urVa and Aughra’s final conversation because it’s also important for this discussion:

urVa; And where does my path lead? Aughra: Into the sands to face the Hunter. urVa: [sighing and looks away from Aughra for a moment] I cannot defeat my dark half. Aughra: You will find a way. But not without sacrifice.  urVa: And if I fail? Aughra: The heroes of Thra will be lost. urVa: Mm... [pauses and takes a deep breath] I will end the hunt. Aughra: Good. Get a move on. You Mystics are not known for your swift speed. We have much to do. [...] urVa: [pauses and looks at Aughra] Will we meet again, Aughra? Aughra: [stops walking, saddened] Hm... [faces him] Some things... even Aughra cannot see, old friend.  [urVa pauses and then groans, walks away from Aughra as they both parted ways for the final time]

He shows a lot of hesitance in completing this task. I’m sure he knew what Aughra was implying: that he may have to take skekMal’s life away but he still went and asked if they would meet each other again anyway. I think he was hoping for a positive answer, that it wouldn’t have to come to that, and seemed disheartened by her answer. But he still tried. He tried to stop skekMal in a way that, while not exactly peaceful, was not meant to be life-threatening. UrVa even pleads for him to stop... twice! The first time as skekMal was making his get-away and the second time while urVa helplessly watched him go after Rian again through the Hunter’s eyes. 

These two only had one scene together so we don’t really know the extent of their relationship. But if there’s one thing that’s clear was the conflict between them. I mean, during their whole duel, the characters were purposely placed on opposite sides of the room while making sure to show that skekGra and urGoh, a pair who were able to find harmony, were always side by side. It’s also in the way they address each other: while urVa does refer to him as his dark half, he also called him by his name. SkekMal, meanwhile, only ever referred to urVa as his title and nothing more. 

But I don’t think urVa had any ill-will towards his Skeksis. He seemed understanding of him and valued his life as much as he valued all living beings on Thra. I think if they both didn’t end up in a near-death situation, he’d try incapacitating skekMal again. However he understood and accepted his situation towards the end: with skekMal on an essence high, incapacitation method was no longer possible. If he allowed it to go on, all of Thra would be at risk. It was a desperate situation, but he knew Aughra was right. She gave up her life for the preservation of the world and urVa knew he had to do the same: for her and for Thra. The Hunt had to end and in order to protect the world he cherished he had to make the ultimate sacrifice. 

#the dark crystal #skekmal #urva #I might go back into this and edit/add things but HERE YOU GO

[volturicangetit]

F.D- I love you

Summary: You are the receptionist for the Volturi with a crush on one of their guards, Felix. When you find out that you’re his mate, you don’t believe him.

Request: YES/no @bugmanor: Hello! Would you be able to do something with Felix Volturi? Like the reader is the new receptionist and Felix mate but she doesn’t know yet and he winks at her often but she’s hella clueless and just thinks he’s being nice until he actually tells her? Love your writing, thank you so much ❤️❤️

A/N: I changed the idea a bit, I hope you don’t mind. 

Warnings: mention of blood

Wordcount: 1965

Every day at your job could be your last. You knew what you were getting into. Any typo, miss-step or small mistake could mean getting used like a blood bag by one of the many hungry vampires in the castle. Since you didn't want to die at the hands of an undead-creature, you made sure to be perfect at your job. Everything had to be in order. Every letter got triple checked for typos. Every surface you worked on got cleaned every hour. You couldn't make a mistake when it could mean the end of your life. "Y/n," you look up at the voice. It's Felix. You let the tension in your shoulders go. If anyone else was standing at your desk, you would nearly have had a panic attack. But Felix wasn't like them. He was kind and understanding that you were human and prone to make mistakes.

"Do you know how to get blood stains out of a rug?" he asks. Of course, you did. You spent months researching how to get bloodstains out of any fabric possible. You nod as you quickly put the letter you were writing away. "Great, in the throne room," he says. You nod as you follow him. You keep your head down and make sure not to look at any vampire you pass by. You heard that the last receptionist got killed for giving someone a wrong look. "How are you?" Felix asks. You look up at him. "Everything good?". You nod.

"Yeah, a-all good. Just, you know, a little tired," you say in a hushed voice. Felix nods and sends you one of his famous smiles. Butterflies erupt in your stomach. "Do you have trouble sleeping?" he asks. He places a hand on your shoulder to steer you around the corner. Although his hand is cold, your skin under his touch still feels like it's on fire. "The was a feeding last night," you say. You slept in the castle. It was easier. You could work laster hours and start earlier. The kings gave you a room up int the tower, the only room where the sun shined during the day. Felix nods understandingly. He was feeding as well, you could hear it. They fed themselves every two weeks but if they had a mission or a fight coming up, they would feed more frequently. "You still look pretty, even with bags under your eyes," he says. He stops in front of the throneroom's doors. He removes his hand from your shoulder and opens the doors for you. Inside, you can see a vampire sitting on its knees.

Aro's hands are on the back of their head. In one swift movement, he rips the head off the vampire. You let out a gasp as you place a hand over your mouth. Aro drops the head and whips his hands on a handkerchief while Demitri drags away the lifeless body. "Ah, young Y/n," Aro says. You nod as you remove your hand from your mouth. You walk forward until you're only a couple of meters away from the kings. "I-I heard there was a stain," you say softly.

A smile spreads on Aro's face as he points to the rug laying on the steps leading to their thrones. They had asked you to place it there only a week ago. A dark red spot contrasts the cream colour of the fabric. You nod as you walk over to the stain and crouch down in front of it. You run your fingers over the spot. It's still wet. "I can clean it," you say. You look up at the kings. Your eyes dart between them. "But I need to take it with me n-now. Or the....blood...will dry.".

Aro looks over at Felix who nods and walks over to you. He rolls the rug up and props it upon his shoulder. Of course, he would come with you, he's the strongest one after all. "How long will it take?" Caius asks. "Maybe 30 minutes, but it does need to dry, sir," you say. A smirk spreads on his lips at the title. He nods as waves you away. You mutter out a thank you as you quickly make your way out of the room. You hold the door open for Felix to which he thanks you. 

___ "Are you sure you're just human?" Felix asks. You nod. "Because what you're doing is like magic!". He points at the rug. You can't even tell that the stain was ever there. You smile at him. "I just had a lot of practice," you say softly. While you're still hunched over the carpet, wiping the last bits of salt of it, Felix sits down in your chair. He spins around in it for a bit. He can smell you on it. Sweet and human. You two remain silent as he starts rummaging through your desk. You want to tell him to stop but you're afraid to say the wrong thing so you just keep quiet. 

"What are you doing tonight?" Felix suddenly asks. You shrug as you look up at him. "I...I guess sleep?" you say. Felix laughs as he shakes his head. He stands up out of the chair and walks over to you. He leans down a bit so that he is on your eye level. "Do you want to hike with me? I think you'll look beautiful in the moonlight," he asks. Hiking. At night. In the dark. All alone. With a vampire. Yep, you're going to die tonight. You still nod at him though, you can't say no to a vampire.

"S-sure but I can't stay out until late," you say. "I have to work tomorrow." You had to work every day. There were no vacation days when you are working for vampires. Felix nods as he stands up straight again. "I'll grab you some dinner too, sometimes sweet like you," he says before running off. You stand there shocked for a moment before continuing with the rug. Did he just ask you out on a date? No, it's just a hike, although you hoped it would be more. ____ The fresh air is doing you good. You didn't get out of the stuffy castle walls much, if at all. The only times you could get outside was when you had to organize another 'tour'. All though the sun is long gone its warmth is still drifting in the air. You didn't need to wear a jacket or long sleeves. The moon lights up the path enough for you two to see. Felix as one arm wrapped around your waist. He said it was to make sure you didn't step off the path since your human eyes still can't see as well as his vampire ones in the dark. You had thanked him for it. The city looks surreal at night. The normally busy streets are now silent. The only people outside are some vampires looking for a late-night snack. None of the even dare to come close to you, though. They know better than to kill the Volturi's receptionist. "Have you ever been in love?" Felix asks. You nod at him.

"Yeah, of course, I have," you say. "Have you?". Felix nods. Many times in his past. He had a wife before he was made into a gladiator. Then, when fighting lions and other people, his marriage took a toll on it. When Aro turned him, love was the last thing he could do with a human. "Are you in love now?" he asks. Your cheeks heat up at the question. You look down at your feet and then up at the stary night sky. You nod. "Maybe, I don't know," you say. "I wouldn't call it love but....there is someone," you say. You immediately slap yourself mentally. Why did you say that? You should have kept your mouth shut, now he's going to want to know who it is. You can't just say "yeah you only see me as food but I love you so wanna go out?".

"Me too," he says. "But I know it's love.". You look up at him. He winks at you to which you quickly look down again. You nod. His grip on you tightens a bit. He points at a bench a couple of meters away. "Let's sit there.". You nod. With quick steps, you reach the bench. You duck out and away from Felix's arm and sit down. He sits down next to you and lets his hand sit on your thigh. You let out a shaky breath as his hand stays in place. With his free hand, he points up at the sky. "See that? That bright one?" he asks. You follow his finger up in the sky. A bright star looks down on you. You know it's in Orion. You took an astronomy class once where you learned all the constellations. You nod at Felix. "That's Sirius. The brightest star in the sky.".

You two sit there for a bit, looking up at the sky and pointing out constellations to each other. You point up at the sky. "That's the big bear, right?" you ask. You look over at Felix for confirmation. Instead of answering you, he grabs your hand that's in the air and wraps his fingers around it. He turns so that he's fully facing you. "Do you believe in soulmates?" he asks. You sit in silence a bit before nodding. "Maybe. I w-wouldn't have in the past. But now I'm working for....vampires. So a-anything is possible, I guess," you say. A smile spreads over Felix's lips as he leans in closer to you. He's going to kill me. All you can think about is how painful it will be when his teeth sink into your neck. You close your eyes and wait for him to get it over with. But the piercing pain never comes. You open your eyes to see Felix looking anywhere but you. "I think you're my mate," he whispers. He shakes his head. "No, I know you're my mate.". Mate. You're his mate?. "What?" you ask softly. Your voice is barely above a whisper but Felix can still hear you loud and clear.

"It's a vampire thing. A soul that fits ours perfectly," he explains. He grabs your other hand and starts rubbing slow circles on the tops of them with his thumbs. His action calms your nerves. "Someone who completes us.". You nod. You're his mate. Someone who completes his damned soul. "Are you going to....going to kill me now?" you ask. Felix's features soften. He quickly shakes his head and pulls your hand up against his chest, where his heart is. "No, never. I could never hurt you," he says in a soft tone. You nod your head. You can feel tears building up in your eyes. You don't stop them when they start to rush down your cheeks. "Did I do something wrong?" Felix asks. You shake your head and pull your hands out of his grasp before pulling him in for a hug. He immediately calms down in your touch. He wraps his arms around you and pulls you closer to him. He takes you in. Your scent, your warmth, you beating heart. He makes a permanent memory of it.

"I love you," you whisper against his shoulder. He lets out a happy laugh as he plays a soft kiss on the top of your head. "I love you.". You repeat the sentence like a mantra. With every word, you can feel your worries going away. Any worry of him not liking you back, any worry of him killing you. Any worry about living in Volterra. All of them disappear. "I love you too," he whispers back.

TWILIGHT TAGLIST (OPEN): @scuzmunkie @thanossexual @prettyinblack231 @kpopgirlbtssvt @cullens-stuff @rexburn12 @jelly-fishy-babie @puer-de-infinitate​

#felix #felix volturi x reader #Felix volturi #twilight #twilight imagine #twilight x reader #twilight fanfic #volturi #volturi imagine #volturi x reader #volturi fanfic #Felix Volturi x mate #Felix Volturi x human!reader #x human!reader #reader #fanfic #fanfiction #xreader #volturi x human!reader