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canyouhearthelight · 3 years

Text

The Miys, Ch. 149

So, I was super busy on my normal queueing day and wasn’t able to set this up. And by ‘super busy’ I mean ‘doing laundry, weeding flower beds, and taking several naps’, bc I have upwards of 24 niblings and a super-full time job that make me exhausted.

I’m not kidding, I recently told @baelpenrose “I had a birthday party to go to, yes it’s the third Saturday in a row, don’t worry about keeping track because there are SO MANY”.

What doesn’t make me exhausted? Y’all. The likes, the comments, the reblogs, the ‘hey, this person reads my stuff AND Bael’s stuff’ ( @feral-possums-in-the-bog, @drbibliophile, looking at you in a very loving way). Also the speedrunners... all of you who have ever, at any point, found this fic and decided to read every single chapter as quickly as possible ( and have or haven’t shamed me for needing to update the masterpost or page links), you keep me going like nothing else. I, too, like a good binge read, so I know I’ve done something worth... something... when someone else binges like that.

“So the Ark is semi-organic?” I glanced over and resisted the urge to trail my fingers along the walls of the corridor.

“That would be the closest Terran approximation, yes,” they confirmed. “It is not sentient in any form, but all exposed surfaces, for example, are grown in-place of a material native to our home planet.”

“So cool,” I whispered. “Is there a benefit to that, aside from being more sustainable?”

Noah rubbed two liw alongside their sensory organs, and let out a soft buzz - essentially rubbing their face with a sigh. “It is very rare for any species that achieves sentience to reach a level of technology that allows for faster than light travel without what you refer to as sustainability being included in every aspect of their culture.”

“Oh.” I felt ashamed and focused on my feet for a few steps, paying close attention to the feeling of the deck plating through my soles, any uneven textures that I came across turning into canyons of perception.

“In the case of the material coating the surfaces of the Ark,” Noah continued, clearly picking up on my discomfort, “it serves a largely hygienic function, much as Else currently provides.”

“So, that’s what Xio was referring to when she said that Hujylsogox ships largely decontaminate themselves?”

“Indeed. Where my species absorbs impurities from the air and any surfaces we come in contact with, the lining of the corridors, rooms, and vents can purify the rest within a Galactic week.” That worked out to eleven and two-third days as we currently measured them on the Ark, or fourteen and a half days on Earth. “Biofiltration is a very common way to sanitize spaces that often house multiple species to avoid destructive interactions, although the coating we use is known to be the most efficient organic solution.”

Surrendering, I ran my fingers over the wall. Even knowing that it was grown, it still felt like sandstone under my touch. “If it is so efficient, why don’t the Ekomari use it on their ships?”

Their fingers on both vomu clacked as they tapped them together. “In absence of another organism to ingest the larger particulates, sypo is what you would consider to be too efficient.”

“Feathers clog it up?”

“Like you would not believe,” they hummed deeply - a groan, clear as day. “It actually ends up starving the sypo.”

Unbidden, my mind’s eye flashed back to the nightmares that Else had shown me early on: large flakes of the walls falling away and littering the corridor floors. “So, that was a very real thing?” There didn’t seem to be any reason to clarify, given how clearly the images had blared in my head.

“Correct. We believe that Else understood the nature of the material and was trying to show you what was happening in a way they thought you would understand.” A heavy liw gently patted my shoulder. “They meant well, even if they did not realize that it would backfire.”

I was about to ask what the Ekomari use in place of sypo as a biofilter, but my databand signaled me. Judging by the fact that it chimed, flashed, and vibrated against the bones in my wrist, this was incredibly urgent. “I’m sorry, Noah, one mom - ah, fuck…” Pinching the bridge of my nose, I mentally braced myself for what I knew would be coming in the next several days.

“Wisdom, you are distressed.”

“Departmental notification from Pranav and Zach that they will be doing system security testing over the next week. Which means Derek will be doing his best to hack into our systems and take them out, while Pranav and Zach take notes of vulnerabilities and then fix them afterward.”

The face-rubbing sigh was back. “They are not including basic ship functions in this testing, correct?”

I shook my head, relieved that I could at least provide that assurance. “Negative. Only the systems that humans will be replicating on our own once we are on Von.”

“This is still terribly inconvenient. These tests increase tension across the Ark to quite difficult levels to be around.”

“I know, and I’m sorry. It’s mostly from what happened Before, at least for the older members of the crew. I mean, we got a Global Parliament out of it, but… there were a scary few years before we got there. And then the End happened, and the hack felt like some kind of warning looking back.”

Noah buzzed thoughtfully. “You are speaking of the gap in data we found when we were trying to download your planetary database.”

A part of me wanted to laugh at the fact that Miys continued to refer to the internet as a ‘planetary database’, but the topic was so upsetting that any kind of joy felt obscene right then. “It was… another terrorist attack, honestly. They weren’t unusual, as terrifying as that is - I mean, you admitted yourself that not all of us were worth saving. There was a petrochemical hack maybe five years before this one, and the attacks had been ramping up slowly even before that. But this one.” I shook my head trying to clear the thoughts from my head. “What we were told is that this group knew we would never take action against climate change, something about how the rich corporate would never take it seriously until they had to actually live in the nature they were destroying.”

“You are doubtful of this.” Noah’s statement was far from being a question.

Couldn’t blame him, since I didn’t believe half of what we had been told, or maybe that it was only half the story. “I wasn’t old enough to remember, but it is a recorded fact that there were actual people on Earth who had more wealth than any single country on the planet, and one was particularly known for building his fortune on the backs of employees who were worked to death or nearly to death. It’s hard to believe that had nothing to do with it, you know.”

“If being reminded of this event causes such distress among your people, why run so many tests?”

“The hack killed people, Noah. It destroyed entire small countries, caused a lot of violence and wars. The ultra-rich may have been the targets, but the casualties were mostly people who never knew what was happening. We want to make sure it can’t happen again. That’s why we warn everyone what’s going on, so they know it’s not the same thing, but still do the testing.”

More clattering of vomu signaled Noah thinking again. “Your global economy depended strongly on the concept of wealth and the concept of money. But with the current economic model you exercise, such a data security breach would not impact it.”

I shrugged. “We still worry. Not to mention the fact that, at some point, someone may try. We can try all we want to avoid the catalyst of the original events, but some of our better qualities can be just as terrible with just a twist. Curiosity, confidence, and justice and easily turn into pride, vindictiveness, and prying. Which can lead to blackmail. And that’s just one example. Still sure we’re worth it?”

Another thoughtful buzz with some mild clicking. “I have seen your people endeavor to save a species that could have destroyed you. I have seen you, specifically, mourn someone who deliberately attempted to end not only your life but the lives of the entire Ark. There is much evidence to give us faith in your compassion.”

All I could do was shake my head. “I’ll try to have faith in your faith,” I murmured with a weak smile.

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#the miys #found family #humans are weird #science fiction #aliens #apocalypse #humans are space orcs #humans are space fae #earth is space australia #post apocalypse #post post apocalypse #original science fiction #original sci fi #original writing

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jowritesthingss · 3 years

Text

of being known (and loved)

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Pairing(s): LoSleep (Logic | Logan + Sleep | Remy)

Rating: Teen (for very mild swearing and innuendo)

Content Warning(s): Logan’s coming to terms with being quoiro, so there are very vague sexual mentions/innuendo, just FYI, but nothing graphic

Length: 4,539 words

Brief Summary: Part of the @sanderssides-secretsanta gift exchange! This is my gift as Secret Santa to the lovely @demigodbookdragon ! Features the requested prompt of Logan coming out to his partner(s) as ace and/or quoiromantic, as well as one of the requested pairings—LoSleep!

TS Masterlist + AO3 Links

Logan Sanders. Logic to one Thomas Sanders, voice in his head and vision in his view, informing and (according to Roman) annoying twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, four weeks a month, twelve months a year, so it goes. And yet.

Logan Sanders. Who is Logan Sanders, really?

If there exists anyone out there who knows the answer to this question, Logan would really like to know, because he himself isn’t quite certain. Logan Sanders. Logic. Voice of reason. The smart one. The nerd. And yet.

Who is Logan Sanders?

And who could ever truly know Logan Sanders, if he doesn’t even know himself?

Logan Sanders enjoys order. He likes to know where things begin and end, to keep neat and tidy and color within the lines. He likes to present a clean image, to stay organized and orderly and crisp and clean, even as the other sides grow chaotic and wild and confusing around him.

Logan enjoys the chaos now too, he thinks, in small, manageable doses. Certainly in Remy-sized doses.

The other sides are...nice.

They’ve long since reached a point of not-quite-resolution, of almost-understanding, of mutual cooperation. And Logan is...he’s working through some things. But then again, so are the others.

They all slip, certainly—himself included—and there’s a long way for them to go yet. But the sides have the rest of Thomas’ life ahead to get there, and they have each other to metaphorically (and occasionally literally) lean on.

All the same, it’s just easier to talk to Remy, sometimes.

Technically, as Sleep, Remy isn’t actually one of the sides. He’s somehow still there inside the Mindscape, and no one is particularly sure why.

Remy simply appeared one day out of nowhere, scaring a young Virgil to the point that he refused to come down off the fridge for hours. He was known only as his function—“Sleep”—for a period of time before deciding out of the blue that his name would be Remy.

Logan has been puzzling this occurrence over for decades, but has long since given up, acknowledging that it will likely forever remain a mystery, just like what it is, precisely, that exists at the bottom of the ocean. (Further, the existence of any of them is very much in defiance of any science Logan has ever heard of, really, so he isn’t exactly one that can judge.)

Remy is a bit of a metaphorical wild card. He goes where he wishes, does what he wants. He’ll disappear for weeks on end, follow them around nonstop for days...he goes on ridiculous coffee binges before swearing Starbucks refreshers are the only “valid” drink...he lures Thomas into napping on the couch but refuses to cooperate at bedtime...Logan isn’t entirely sure why Remy does what he does beyond simple whimsy, and it puzzles him incessantly.

However much Remy’s behavior might confuse him, it’s...actually quite pleasant to have him around. Random disruptions and interruptions generally are not something that Logan delights in, but aside from Janus, Remy is the only other side with an appreciation for sarcasm, and his presence as Logan works is...enjoyable tolerable.

Then there is the veritable fact that, unlike the others, Remy always listens to Logan.

Logan knows that the others mean well. And they do—they have since assured him that they truly do. But they get so carried away in their excitement sometimes that having someone a bit more grounded like Remy around to converse with is nice. And in turn, Logan always makes sure to listen to Remy. As loath as he is to admit possession of any “feelings”, he knows how it can feel to be ignored.

One of Remy’s favorite things to discuss is Mindscape gossip. Logan doesn’t understand the appeal of gossip, but he’s sure that Remy doesn’t understand the appeal of the history of the telescope, either, so he listens.

Today, the “hot” topic seems to be Patton and Remus. Or, rather—the relationship between Patton and Remus.

“I’m not kidding you, gurl!” Remy flops backwards in Logan’s bed. Logan refrains from telling him not to muss up the carefully-made bed; it hasn’t worked the past forty-seven times he’s asked, and he doubts it would work today. “I legit walked in on them when I came home last night.”

“You ‘walked in on them’?” Logan asks neutrally from his desk, fondly brushing aside Remy’s improper usage of ‘legit’. He turns the page, looks at Thomas’ schedule for January, winces. Double-booked on January eighth, and in the middle of a pandemic, of all things? How ever did he allow that to slip past him? “Doing what, exactly?”

“They weren’t doing the do, if that’s what you’re asking about,” Remy responds.

“‘The do’,” Logan quotes, puzzled momentarily before the realization hits him. “Oh, you mean intercourse, don’t you?” He pauses in his work to make a note in the margins about updating his vocabulary cards.

“Duh.” Remy pauses to roll over and sip at his drink. He’s on one of his tea detoxes; Logan predicts it won’t last more than a few days this time. “But they were, like, snuggling. On the couch. And watching a romantic movie.”

That makes Logan pause. “Remus, watching a romantic movie?” He pauses and glances over at Remy briefly before continuing to write again. “That does seem a fair amount out of character.”

“Yes! Exactly!” Remy exclaims. “Remus wouldn’t subject himself to something like that willingly. No way. That’s why I think they’re dating.”

“Mm-hmm,” Logan agrees absent-mindedly as the events of January twenty-first catch his attention. Then he pauses. Computes.

Logan abruptly drops his pen and swivels around in his chair. “Apologies. Did I hear you correctly, Remy? You believe Patton and Remus are,” he struggles to get the word out momentarily, “are dating?”

“Yeppers!” Remy nods. He slurps noisily at his tea before popping it back on Logan’s bedside table. Rolling to hang his torso upside down off the side of Logan’s bed, he says, “it’s not the first time I’ve seen anything hinting at those two throwing goo-goo eyes at each other, but that pretty much cements it in my mind.”

“‘Goo-goo eyes’?” Logan frowns as the realization further sinks in. Dating. Patton and Remus. Dating? “Wait, am I to understand that sides can date?”

“Like, of course.” Remy’s face is starting to go red as blood rushes down to it. “Did you miss that whole awkward fling between snakeyboi and prissy mister prince back in college? God, seeing them interacting for the first time in years was so awkward.” He snickers loudly. “Glad they didn’t call me to the stand back during that whole dumb courtroom thing.”

“I...no, I don’t have any recollection of any such thing,” Logan murmurs. He briefly wracks his memories, blue pen scratching crisply against the page in front of him, and comes up empty.

“Mmm, yeah, that’s probably a good thing, babe.” Remy slides off the bed and onto the floor then, hissing as blood starts to rush away from his head again. “Honestly, whole thing was a train wreck to watch. Patton and Remus are pretty cute, though. I guess opposites really do attract, huh?”

“Ah...yes, I suppose so,” Logan murmurs, but as Remy launches into a play-by-play detailing the embarrassment on Remus’ face and Patton’s sheer terror at being the one busted for once, he’s already tuning the other out.

Dating. The other sides date. Which means, of course, that they...feel things. Well—yes, the sides are capable of individual emotions. That has been established prior, Logan knows. But this means that they feel love things.

Sides can feel love?

That question, however, goes unasked and unanswered, as Remy drones on about how flustered Remus had been when he was caught being “lovey-dovey” and Logan’s schedule blurs out in front of his face.

Unasked. Unanswered. Yet still it lingers in the back of Logan’s mind as he finally convinces Remy to let them sleep for the night, as he lies awake in bed staring at the blinking red numbers of his alarm clock:

Sides can feel love?

Logan Sanders enjoys understanding. He loves learning—loves looking up to the stars, down at the ground, in front at the path ahead of them all, even back at where they’ve come from sometimes. He loves to be known to know. Yes, Logan Sanders likes understanding.

This entire debacle, however? Logan does not understand.

Can the sides feel love?

The question follows Logan for weeks as he goes about his days, carefully maintaining Thomas’ schedule and gently bullying the other sides into doing their tasks and taking care of themselves. He refuses to let it interfere with his job, but in the moments he pauses to take a breath, the question is there to steal his breath away again.

Love. Love, love, love. The one thing Logan absolutely loathes—or, if he were to be honest with himself (and as much as he hates the truth, he tries to avoid the practice of denying truth), the one thing that Logan is absolutely terrified of.

He’s known for a while that the others love him, and that he (fortunate or unfortunate as it may be) does love the others in his own way. But that’s easy, and it’s obvious. It’s a purely familial thing—or so Logan had thought.

Then Patton calls a family meeting and awkwardly informs them that he and Remus are an item now. And Roman is groaning over-exaggeratedly, Virgil is hissing, Janus seems all too unsurprised, Remy is gleefully vindicated, Emile looks away while Remus licks Patton’s cheek for all to see, and Logan?

Logan has his answer.

So the other sides—or, at least, some of them—do, in fact, experience some sort of romantic or sexual connection to others. So the sides can feel love, then.

Only—what about Logan? What does he...what does he feel?

Logan metaphorically looks into himself. He isn’t sure what he (again, metaphorically) finds.

As much as he might struggle to understand figurative language, Logan isn’t completely unaware of it. To make full usage of such metaphors, it all seems a confusing jumble of darkness and confusion and occasional swirls of odd colors.

What are those sorts of attraction even supposed to feel like? he puzzles as he sits on the couch beside Patton and Remus, a thick tome about astronomy perched in his lap as he takes in exactly none of the words on the page it’s opened to. He’s always assumed that, as sides, they wouldn’t feel such human emotions, or then again, as Thomas’ sides they would echo his sexual orientation.

But Logan...Logan feels...nothing. Right?

Or, well. Patton and Roman have been very adamant about how love comes in all different forms, and it makes logical sense. Familial love, romantic, platonic, and so the list goes on. And there’s no use in denying that Logan certainly feels things. Logan can’t always recognize it, but he’s trying now. He’s trying to figure it out.

All the same, he still hasn’t felt anything in particular towards Thomas’ past relations—not any love-related feelings, at least—but then again, they were Thomas’ partners, not his own. Logan has never himself felt anything. He feels nothing.

Or does he?

There is something that he feels in there, Logan knows. He knows he loves the others platonically, regardless of how little he says it aloud. And then there’s Remy, of course.

Goodness, Remy. Reluctant as he may be to admit it aloud or even to himself, Logan knows he loves Remy, with his smirk and his snark and his ridiculous leather jacket and his odd yet enlightening ways of using modern slang.

So Logan does love. Somehow. In some way. But he’s never thought to feel anything romantic; can he feel anything romantic? Will he even know when he feels it?

And there’s a lurking thought—likely irrational, Logan reasons, even as his mind tries to convince him otherwise—what even is the purpose of feeling anything romantic? What is the point? Logan steers clear of Roman’s romance novels, but he picks up tidbits from everything Thomas reads. Is there any use of potentially-romantic feelings?

It might be nice, he thinks as Remus drags Patton into the kitchen to bake something that will probably not end up edible. Romantic relations are often the pinnacle of any and all relationships in the eyes of society, for one thing. And while the amount of closeness and understanding conveyed between partners seems daunting, it seems as though it could be somewhat relieving as well.

But Logan’s views on romance mean very little if he has never felt anything of the romantic sort, do they?

Sighing, Logan abruptly shuts his book and stands to walk upstairs to his room. At this point the only thing he’s doing is confusing himself, and that won’t do him any good.

All the same, still the thoughts linger, even as he forces himself into more actively productive tasks for the rest of the day.

Logan feels nothing. Or he feels something. He doesn’t know, and he doesn’t enjoy not knowing.

Logan enjoys simplicity and complexity in equal measure. He takes pleasure in the simplicity of a black coffee every morning and a honeyed chamomile tea before bed—in the complexity of a full, well-organized schedule or an alluring mystery novel.

Love, for all it ought be simple, is a complexity that Logan has always struggled to understand in any and all forms. And to his utter chagrin, it seems romanticism and sexuality are no different.

It all comes to a head one dreary, drizzly afternoon in the Mindscape. (Logan wishes the “drizzly” part weren’t literal, but alas, Roman and Remus’ experimentation in the Imagination went wrong somehow, and now tiny rain clouds hover above every single room and hallway in the Mindscape.)

All things considered, it hasn’t been a great day for productivity—which means that it of course hasn’t been a great day for Logan, either.

Stress has been piling up from internal emotional struggles alongside external scheduling issues. It is to the point that Logan—and he isn’t a fan of flowery metaphors and figurative language—all Logan can think to do is compare the roiling in his mind to a brewing storm, rain falling within his mind as it pours down and soaks his clothing and skin within the Mindscape.

Logan is pacing about his room—doing his best to “wear a path into the floor”, he thinks the saying goes—when Remy bursts in, dressed in an obnoxiously pink raincoat and squeaky polka dot rain boots.

“Oh, thank god. Sanctuary.” Remy very nearly throws himself onto Logan’s canopy bed upon noticing that it is miraculously still dry. The tarpaulin Logan and Virgil wrangled up over it earlier is somehow still holding up; Logan has no idea how and isn’t in the mood to question a spot of good luck.

“Aight, who pissed Roman off this time?” Remy asks

“Surprisingly enough, no one,” Logan answers before realizing that Remy is dripping all over his bed wet. “Please take care to dry yourself off before getting on my bed.”

Remy huffs but complies, unceremoniously stripping off his outer garments. He wriggles his eyebrows at Logan while he tosses his boots over the side of the bed. “Damn. If you wanted me to undress, all you had to do is ask, babe.”

“I—um,” Logan says eloquently. He awkwardly pauses mid-pace before jerkily continuing a moment later. Remy says things like that all the time. Is Remy flirting? Is he not? Does he mean it? Does he not? Logan wants to know, but one isn’t supposed to just flat-out ask these sorts of questions, are they?

“Why don’t you join me where it’s dry, gurl?” Remy scoots over and pats the spot next to him. “C’mon. I’ll even, like, move over and give you some room. So gracious of me, right?”

The corners of Logan’s mouth unconsciously quirk slightly upwards, and he ceases pacing to head over to the bed.

“Uh-uh, gurl,” Remy shoos him away, and Logan’s eyebrows furrow in puzzlement. Had he not just said—

“Strip,” Remy says, and Logan’s mind goes blank in a momentary haze of confusion and panic.

“I—what,” he stammers, and his head feels light and fuzzy.

Remy sees the look of panic in his eyes, and his expression softens slightly. “Logan. If I can’t be wet on the bed, neither can you, babe.”

“Ah,” Logan says faintly. He moves over towards his wardrobe and almost mechanically pulls out a pair of his pajamas. He manages to get them out and over to the bed before they get too wet, where he sits on the edge and quickly shucks off his usual day attire of jeans, a collared shirt, and a crisp and calming blue necktie.

Logan keeps his back carefully turned as he changes. It’s ridiculous that such a thing feels odd now; they all are roughly the same physically, and it isn’t as though they haven’t changed in front of each other multiple times. But all the same, something still feels off this time.

Clothed in pajamas, Logan debates attempting to get his sopping day clothes into the laundry hamper, looks up at the gray little clouds still crowding the ceiling, gives up. He leaves them in a little dripping pile on the floor by his bed before turning to crawl up to the headboard where Remy lounges, leaving a tiny space on the left side of the bed for Logan to weasel his way into.

“Don’t be shy, gurl. We can huddle for warmth and all that jazz.” Remy holds out his arms invitingly, and it takes a moment before it registers in Logan’s mind that he’s offering a hug. “Unless you don’t want to, ’course.”

“I don’t think—” Logan starts before cutting himself off abruptly. He pauses, sucks in a tiny breath. “I do not think I am amenable to a hug at the moment.”

“That’s chill,” Remy assures. He adjusts his position on the bed, allowing Logan space to sit comfortably without touching him. Then he reaches up and drags his sunglasses down off his face, looking carefully at Logan with a searching gaze. “Hey. You good? You’ve been acting a little weird lately, but you’re, like, especially weird today.”

Ever the teacher, ever the educator, ever the answerer of questions, Logan wants to answer. He does. He just isn’t sure that he should.

Logan quietly sits and gets himself comfortable (“criss cross applesauce”, he’s never been able to quite break the silly elementary school habit). Then....

“I am...confused, I supposed,” he finally admits, and for a five word sentence, it is surprisingly difficult to get the words out. But Remy always listens. He’ll listen now—when it matters—correct?

“What about?” Remy asks, leaning back against the headboard and popping his sunglasses back on again, masking his expression.

“I—are you flirting with me?” Logan bursts out abruptly. To hell with his uncertainties—he has to know. He’s itching, twitching to know, to understand. “Have you—is that what this is? Is that why you’re always ‘hanging’ with me?”

“Is that what this has been about?” Remy laughs, but it isn’t malicious, Logan doesn’t think. “About time, TBH. I thought you’d never notice”

“I didn’t notice,” Logan says. “Well—I did notice, eventually, but I didn’t...I don’t—”

“Look, if you don’t feel the same way, that’s...fine,” Remy says, and his voice sounds different, devoid of his usual mischievous tone. Somber, almost. “It doesn’t have to mean anything if you don’t want it to, babe. I do, like, genuinely just enjoy being around you, you know?”

“But why?” Logan asks, and something in his voice cracks. Inwardly he curses, hoping that Remy won’t here.

“There’s something bigger going on here, isn’t there?” Remy shifts next to him in the bed, and suddenly he’s leaning closer to Logan. The sunglasses are off again, and Remy stares into Logan’s wide eyes with that more solemn expression again.

“I don’t—” Logan cuts himself off again. He looks up towards the tarp hanging from the corners of his four-poster bed, attempting to organize his thoughts the best he can before speaking this time. It proves to be a difficult task; his thoughts are all jumbled and clumped together in a hopelessly confused mess. He just doesn’t understand. Logan likes to understand, but for once he doesn’t. Emotions have never been his strong suit, and these emotions are proving stubbornly elusive.

Logan clears his throat before speaking next. “Up until you brought up the relationship between Remus and Patton, I had never realized that we as sides could feel romantic or sexual attraction independent of Thomas,” he explains. Unconsciously his left hand goes up to push his glasses further up the bridge of his nose. “It had...never occurred to me.”

“Oh.”

Logan waits for Remy to continue even as he stolidly refuses to turn and look at the other. When Remy says nothing else, he haltingly continues.

“As you and the others no doubt know, I often struggle at identifying emotions,” Logan continues. “Now that I am aware the others have a capacity for other attractions, I have attempted to find them within myself, and I...can’t seem to find them.”

“So you’re aromantic then?” Remy asks, his voice sounding neutral.

“No!” Logan rushes out before pausing. “I, ah. Perhaps? I’m afraid that I don’t know. I do not know what it is that I am feeling.”

“But you feel something.”

“Yes, I....” Logan finally finds it within himself to turn and face Remy. “I do indeed feel something. I feel many somethings. Towards you. But I’m afraid I don’t know what it is, and that...” he swallows, “...that isn’t fair to you.”

Remy is silent, his face impassive, and immediately Logan worries that he’s ruined everything about their relationship, whatever it is, whatever it may be.

Over the years Logan has grown to quite enjoy the lack of pressure and expectancy between the two of them whenever they spend time together, and the snarky conversation between the two of them has been quite refreshing. Not to mention the rare occasions that they do actually touch, or converse more seriously. Is he about to lose all that? Has Logan ruined all of that?

“...Do you think that you might be, like, quoiromantic or something?” Remy asks slowly.

Logan blinks confusedly behind his glasses. “I’m sorry?”

“Quoiromantic. It’s under the aromantic umbrella,” Remy explains. He frowns, tapping a finger over his lips contemplatively. “Hmm. Roman might be better at explaining this, since he’s actually aro. I’m demisexual, but I’ll admit I don’t know as much about the aromantic spectrum as maybe I should.”

“Quoiromantic,” Logan sounds out. “What does that terminology mean, exactly?”

“It’s like....” Remy frowns. “Mm. It’s like, you don’t really know how to tell the difference between romantic and platonic feelings, I think. You’ll wanna double check with Roman on that though, babe.”

“I...yes. That...does sound accurate,” Logan realizes aloud. “Quoiromantic.”

It’s like a metaphorical puzzle piece clicking into place inside his brain. Quoiromantic. Not being able to distinguish between romantic and platonic feelings...that certainly sounds a lot like what Logan has been puzzling over for the past few weeks.

“Quoiromantic,” Logan tests the word. “I would need to perform more extensive research, and perhaps examine my...emotions more before I can arrive at a proper conclusion, but...yes, that sounds...correct. That sounds....”

Good. It sounds good.

However.

Ice prickles through Logan again. He looks back at Remy. “But what would all of this mean in regard to the two of us and our relations?”

“What do you want it to mean?” Remy asks simply.

There comes the darkness again, rushing, followed by swirled colors of confusion.

“I...still don’t know,” Logan admits.

“That’s fine.” Remy shrugs. He looks at Logan, and with his sunglasses still off, Logan can see the earnestness and—fondness, is that fondness—in his bright brown eyes. “We can figure it out as we go. D’you wanna just, like, keep chilling like we’ve been doing?”

Logan licks his lips, adjusts his glasses again even though he really doesn’t need to. “...Maybe with some more hugs now?” he cautiously requests. “And with, ah...I believe it is called ‘cuddling’?”

“Lit. I’m down if you are.” Remy grins, flings himself back and out on the bed, looking not unlike a starfish as he does so. “Get in here then, babe. Can I still call you babe?”

Logan waits until he’s nestled into Remy’s side to respond. “Certainly,” he murmurs into Remy’s side, and Remy hugs him tighter. And goodness, it’s so warm and nice there on the bed with Remy that he can’t help but wonder why they hadn’t done this much sooner.

So warm and nice...that is, until the tarpaulin laden down with rainwater above his bed finally gives in to the weight.

The thing splashes down on the two of them, soaking them and causing a shrieking Remy to drag Logan out of the room in search of an umbrella and a dry towel. Even then it is still kind of nice, if a bit soggy and much colder, and Logan has to bite back a smile as Remy curses and leads him to go tell off Roman and Remus...holding Logan’s hand all the while.

And perhaps...perhaps Logan doesn’t exactly know how he feels on a larger scale. But he knows how he feels in the given moment—content. And that’s all he needs to know for now.

Logan Sanders enjoys solitude plenty, but he has more recently discovered enjoyment for the company of the others as well. All things considered, all confusions included, he enjoys it. He loves quiet nights of coexistence, and maybe he loves Remy romantically. Or maybe he doesn’t. He’s not quite sure, but he doesn’t need to be—not yet, perhaps not ever, even. They’ll work it out.

Most importantly, he thinks, Logan Sanders enjoys the company of himself, whoever “himself” might be or become.

Logan Sanders. Who is Logan Sanders, really?

If there exists anyone out there who knows the answer to this question, Logan still would like to know, because he still isn’t quite certain. Logan Sanders. Logic. Voice of reason. The smart one. The nerd. And yet.

Who is Logan Sanders?

Well. He is himself. Regardless of who or how he loves, Logan is himself. He is known, he is loved, he is himself. And he has his network of fellow sides and of Thomas and of Remy to help him, to know him, as he learns and knows and understands understands more about who Logan Sanders really is.

It’s a journey he’ll enjoy not being alone for.

Fin

Happy belated holidays! I decided to try participating in two Sanders Sides Secret Santa fic exchanges this year, and this is the product of the first of the two. I am SO thrilled to reveal myself as Avie’s Secret Santa! I hope that everyone enjoys this fic—especially you, Avie! <3 Goodness knows I had fun getting to write it for you :D

Want to be added onto any of my taglists? Shoot me an ask or a message here or via my other social media!

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jinmindeulle · 4 years

Text

valtameri | jwy (1)

the zeemeermin and the piraat

word count: 2.4k

pairing: jung wooyoung x reader

genre: pirate au, mermaid au, pirate!wooyoung x mermaid!reader ∣ angst, fluff

warnings: none that i had noticed?

a/n: here i am once more! lately i’ve been obsessed with ateez as pirates and mermaids so i came up with his one at 2:52 in the morning hehe! as always thanks for your support, especially to my beautiful @myghibli for creating these amazing banners ♥

a/n 2: if you wish to be part of my tag list for future updates please do not hesitate and let me know! i’ll happily add you! ♥

i highly recommend you to read the introductions first, as the story will make more sense for you with that information! read here:

ATEEZ crew

the mermaid world

link to valtameri’s masterlist here

happy reading!

A full moon was adorning the night skies, sprinkled with shining stars and no clouds in sight. The sea was calmer than it had been in months. A warm breeze caressed her wet skin, making her sigh in contentment. Those were the nights when she felt truly happy, slightly forgetting about her life deep down the blue ocean.

Leaning on the same rock as every night but still keeping her body inside the water, she fixated her eyes in the direction of the pirate ship she wished to spend the rest of her life in. Daydreaming for a moment, she imagined herself on board of the Destiny, standing on the edge of its forecastle deck, feeling the wind through her dark blue long locks while smelling the ocean breeze.

The small smile that had appeared on her lips suddenly faded away, because the tough reality hit her in the form of a green-lilac mermaid tail. Warm tears welled her eyes and slowly went down her face. However, she tried hard not to let more out when the soft sound of running water reached her ears.

That wooden little boat was making its way towards her.

She used the back of her hands to erase any sign of fallen tears on her cheeks, and the smile that she had previously plastered on her face made its way back.

“Sorry for the delay, zeemeermin. Captain needed me to set the sails properly before going to sleep.”

“It’s okay, piraat. I was just enjoying the calm water. It’s been days since the sea was this nice.”

“I know, right? Your father must be in a good mood tonight.”

His soft laugh never failed to mesmerize her. The mere sound of his voice sent chills down her spine, but his high-pitched laugh made her feel joyful. Made her feel alive. His bright eyes reflected the moonlight and looked like two big lanterns with the ability of guiding her all the way home through the wide deep ocean. However, she knew she would never need those, because his eyes were her home. His perfect plump lips formed the big bright smile that she was so used to seeing every night. That didn’t make her immune, though. By just looking at his lips, she felt the urge to feel them closer and caress them with her own. She was sure that if she dared to just touch them with her fingertips, her heart wasn’t going to be able to take it.

Even if she felt like her world was falling apart right in front of her eyes, meeting him at the same rock every night was keeping her from falling as well. The way he kept eagerly meeting her there, always bringing a new story to tell her and make her feel better — even if he didn’t know that — made her feel good. Worthy. Loved.

“Did I tell you about that time when Yunho hyung replaced me at weighing the anchor because I had back pain and fell into the ocean?” his high-pitched chuckles made a comeback as he abandoned the safety of the boat just to sit down on the huge rock. The new proximity made her take deep breaths to try and slow down her sudden rapid heartbeat, but they didn’t help as he took her hand in his and started giving it soft caresses. He kept going on and on about the hilarious happening, his eyes so scrunched up and teary while recalling that story that she had to laugh at his expression, slightly forgetting about the skin to skin contact.

“Yunho seems like someone who would do that” she laughs, enjoying the precious moment.

“I still don’t get why he insisted in doing it when all of us know that San hyung is the best at replacing me.”

“But just at your job, piraat.”

His deep brown eyes looked at her own with a glimmer that she had never seen before. They seemed to reflect surprise, happiness and a little bit of relief.

“Right” he muttered, a content grin on his lips that reached his beautiful eyes. She felt how he squeezed her hand with his, and her heart felt like it was being crushed with it.

“Do you know when is it that you’re going back to sailing in the open sea?”

She internally cursed. Why did she have to bring that up? Was it necessary to keep reminding them of their inevitable parting every time?

“Probably in two or three nights, according to Captain.”

His demeanor quickly changed, just as it did each and every time she asked him that exact same question. His eyes were now fixated in their interlocked hands, no longer looking at her with that longing expression on his breathtakingly gorgeous face.

“I wish I could go with you.” She let out a sorrowed sigh, feeling the tears welling up in her eyes once again.

“I wish you could too.” At his confession, sadness overcame her soft pretty features, making both of their hearts ache. That’s when the pirate decided that that topic of conversation had to end there. “Are you coming tomorrow with your father?”

She used her free hand to wash away the tears that clung to her eyelashes and took a glance at the pirate ship that slowly swayed far away by their side. “I think so. He told me he needed to meet up with your Captain before you leave for some exchange of gold, or something like that.”

“Yeah, Captain informed Mingi hyung about that over dinner. Is that Arnav coming too?”

That last question was thrown at her face with such distaste, that she had to look up, smiling at his disgusted expression.

“He’s father’s second hand so yeah, he is.” She grinned, pinching his cheek at his cute pouting face.

“I don’t like him. Neither does Captain or any of my crewmembers.”

“I know. I hate him too, Wooyoungie.”

His pouting lips instantly turned into a wide smile, white teeth showing from side to side. The truth is that her calling him Wooyoungie rarely happened. They were so used to referring to each other as those mysterious Dutch terms that he sometimes forgot about the joyful feeling of hearing his nickname leave her lips.

The following hour was filled with stories, laughter and slight skin to skin contact. Neither of them had dared to go further than that, even though they both were fully aware of what was going on between them. The reason behind their nightly escapades was what kept them functioning during the day, wishing deep inside that sleep time arrived soon so that they could go out of their pole opposite worlds and meet up for a couple of hours.

Sadly, the parting hour quickly arrived, and with downhearted expressions on their faces, they said their goodbyes.

“At least we get to see each other two times tomorrow” he breathed out, leaving a soft sloppy kiss on her hand. She thanked the night skies for the darkness that covered her reddened cheeks, and with a content sigh, she nodded.

“Not the same as at night but at least it’s something. Have a good night, piraat.” She muttered, watching him go back to the wooden boat. Once he was positioned, hands over the rowing sticks, he sent her one of those beautiful, heartwarming smiles and whispered “You too, y/n”, only to start rowing his way back to the pirate ship.

She stayed there, leaning in that meaningful rock until all she could see was a little dark dot climbing back to deck. As he disappeared, she decided that it was about time to go back as well.

Looking at the bright stars one last time and wishing to see them again the following night in the presence of her favorite human being, she dove all the way down the wide deep ocean to what her fellow mermaids and mermen called home. At that moment, and just like every time she thought of the term home, she came to the conclusion that her definition of that word was nothing like theirs.

The sun was up once again, reflecting over the ocean and giving it a turquoise glimmer. Far away and deep down, y/n was quietly murmuring her favorite song, sadness visible over her features. Her mother had sung it for her each and every night to lull her to sleep, especially when she was having trouble to find her way towards Morpheus’ arms. She had never felt such grief and misfortune in her entire life — even when she thought of her desire to become a pirate — than when she lost the most important being for her. Her mother got her in a way that no one had; she had held her when she felt like her mermaid body had her real self trapped inside, and had given her advice when her father declared her the next in line for ruler of the seas.

After meeting Wooyoung, y/n felt like a part of her that had long ago died with her mother was reviving, was blossoming in a new way. That pirate was giving her hope through his loving glances, warm caresses, fond smiles and reassuring words. She was sure that she was never going to be happy if she had to live like that for the rest of her life, hiding her encounters with the pirate from everyone and merely being with him for a couple of hours at night. But at least it was something. Something to which she could cling to until the string was cut off.

“Father wants us in the meeting room now.”

Her younger sister, Gali, was fluttering in front of her, a tough look in her features. Her mid-long mahogany hair floated around her head, making her look even more intimidating. When they went to the surface together, she actually seemed like a cute little mermaid, but down the sea, she could pass like a siren merely by her harsh features — which only softened when being around her crush, Arnav. Y/n had always wondered what she had done to her sister for her to hate her so much. Even after their mother’s passing, Gali had never given her a fond look or a hug. If she had doubted her mother’s fidelity to her father, she would surely believe that there was no way they could be sisters.

Gali didn’t wait for y/n’s response and just swam her way out to the meeting room. The older sister fluttered still for a couple of minutes, until she snapped out of her bubble and began swimming to the point of meeting. While she passed by all of the different buildings, she wondered if that was what humans experienced everyday on land. She had a vague idea of how life was there thanks to Wooyoung, who had showed her plenty of books with pictures and illustrations of some of the nearby islands. He had also mentioned that some people believed that deep down the ocean, a lost city called Atlantis existed. The illustrations that she had seen were actually pretty accurate, although her “city” was nowhere near that utopian society that held enough wisdom to bring world peace.

Without realizing, she reached the meeting room. Bowing to the merman guards that fluttered by the main door, she made her way inside.

Her sister was already in front of their father, using her hands to comb through her hair. Right, Arnav was there as well. The big muscular merman was discussing something with the King of the Seas, paying no attention at all to the younger mermaid who had fully blushed by just being near him. Y/n didn’t get why Gali was so deeply in love with that arrogant being. Only his worked-out torso could have made her fall for him, because his face was nothing like Wooyoung’s, and his long tail was an ugly mixture of black and green scales. Disgusting.

“Oh, good. Y/n is here”

Her father looked at her with serious blue eyes that surely took after the ocean he was born into. While staring at them, she realized that her father had never looked at her like her mother used to. Was he only able to love just his wife? Not even his daughters?

“This is going to be quick as we must go up for our meeting and exchange with the ATEEZ crew.” He stated, deep low voice resonating in every wall of the room. “You both know it by now, but you may be realizing that I am getting old and I will not be able to continue my ruling properly. As I told you years ago, y/n is to follow the linage and will be replacing me soon.” He prompted his wrinkled, large hand to Arnav’s direction and kept on talking. “However, I do not wish for her to rule alone.”

Oh, no.

Y/n’s world was already falling apart, but it just never seemed to stop.

“You may marry Arnav in the next few weeks and take my place right after the union is consummated.”

She felt like throwing up. A gasp went out of her mouth, pure disbelief, grief and desperation taking over her. She felt her tail go numb, barely holding up. The mermaid was not able to hear anything around her. Her sight was blurred, a huge lump forming in her throat.

“Ar… are you…?” y/n muttered, trying to recompose. “Are you forcing me to marry him?”

As she recovered her hearing, and although the voices still resonated far away from her, she could hear Gali crying like a baby by her side, making a fuss like she was the one condemned to a life full of lies and misfortune.

“I am not forcing you, y/n. I am looking out for you.”

Y/n felt like her whole existence was a joke, life and destiny laughing at her with joyful tears in their eyes. Tears that she would never feel if she ever married that stupid creature and stayed the rest of her life under the sea.

“Right” she let out a sarcastic laugh and waiting no response, swam away and out of her disgrace.

With full speed, one that surely was propelled by her anger, y/n made her way towards the only place she knew somebody was going to actually listen to her and help her out. That dark cave was her only way out.

next ↬ chapter ii — union

tag list ♥ @peterparkerismybae

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valkblue · 3 years

Photo

Being a Behavior technician requires a certain amount of dedication to the job — the rigorous type, bordeline rigid. That’s what is expected to be at peak efficiency regarding analysis protocols and diagnostics for host service and calibration.

For that, Vivian thinks she might be the worst tech in her department.

— masterlist, AO3

Chapter 2 on 12

Chapter wordcount: 3,340 Rating: General Warning: ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ same as usual: swearing and technobabble!

Author’s notes: Bad behavior tech, bad!!

Have a good time reading, and my askbox/messages are always open! 💙

— Chapter 2

There were some days, like this one, during which Vivian and her team were called back in the night; a group of guests went all trigger happy and their mess had to be cleaned up somewhere between the Abernathy Ranch and Las Mudas. And since the narratives and hosts had to be back in rotation asap, the techs’ nighttime was reduced without thinking twice.

Maybe it didn’t look like it, but this job was really taxing sometimes.

That being said, shortly after 6AM, Vivian went back to her room for a few extra and well deserved minutes of sleep before resuming her diagnostics routine. An hour and a big mug of coffee with cereals later, Vivian was back in the elevator which took her down to the Behavior department level.

In the soft lighted glass room, a host was sitting on a wheeled stool. The light brightened when Vivian entered.

"Sorry to have kept you waiting," she said on a hushed voice as if she wanted no-one but the offline host to hear her while letting the glass panel shut down slowly behind her. "I had a rough night. Looks like you did too…"

Ironically, he hadn’t been part of this night’s massacre. No, all those involved were already back in rotation for quite some time. Her first subject of the day, however, had only been victim of his own storyline, needing only a quick check-up and Vivian’s all clear before being back on his loop.

She sat on the stool in front of the host, doing her best to ignore his nudity, and unfolded her tablet on her knees; she had to navigate through several indexes before connecting to his signal for a couple update history checkups.

"Bring yourself back online, please," she ordered, without raising her voice.

The command only seemed to take him out of his thoughts.

"Can you hear me?"

"I hear you alright."

"Off character, for now, please."

Vivian loved to talk to them in character… but, for her diagnostics, she had to ask them to reduce their emotional affect — which was more a guarantee of efficiency than an actual need, though.

"There’s been modifications in your attributes last month," she stated as she was discovering the changes. "Several characteristics got… Who the fuck did that?!"

Vivian had an answer to that already, as she was going through the log; someone from Narrative — that she would brand as asshole — had been pretty heavy handed on self-preservation and aggression, and on top of that they also nerfed curiosity, patience and courage!

There was pitiful justifications from the tech about an adjustment request from their sector after some of the host's alleged wanderings, blamed on his curiosity. But all this was more about making him keener to answer provocation while still being enough of a challenge for his opponents — hosts and guests alike. Vivian didn’t like what kind of freedom Narrative techs were taking with the hosts’ attributes, carefully calibrated by her co-workers and others before them; it wasn’t as simple as changing percentages on the fly in any way they saw fit!

It was a delicate and very important step for any host's cognition, for them to even function at all, as much as for the continuity of their fucking narratives!

Vivian took a deep breath and the time to check the quality of the host’s interactions since the modifications but the results only ended up fuelling her rage. So, she commanded:

"Archive this configuration and open the previous one. Confirmed?"

"Yes."

Vivian smiled, satisfied. On her tablet, the attribute matrix seemed now way more familiar than the last.

"We’ll leave 1.5% more in self-preservation… since they thought it best to give you a few more to endure their bullshit," she grumbled. "And then… 0.5 in aggression for them not to come back to lay it on thick! 6.5 will be more than enough. No need to go all the way up to 10!"

Vivian confirmed her modifications before looking back at the host.

"What d'you think?" she asked, without really expecting any answer from him. “No imbalance or discomfort?”

Modifications could sometimes cause hiccups in the hosts’ cognitions, close to an uneasy feeling. There were other ways to know but Vivian preferred to talk rather than relying only on the screen readings.

"No, I’m fine."

And from what Vivian could read now, he wasn’t lying. Although, browsing his history, she noticed a worrying peak of stress at the time of his "death". It would seem like a normal thing from anyone's standpoint but from which of a host and their technician's, however…

"Your last interaction recorded a peculiar rise in your stress level. What caused this?"

"A… thought."

His mumblings were recognised as improvisations by the tablet. Despite her surprise, Vivian said nothing of it.

"What thought?" she encouraged him instead.

"My family. I’m supposed to be responsible for… my wife, and my daughter."

Vivian noticed the normal occurrences of his cognition in the scrolling of his code.

"But… I can’t help it, I’m out of place, there."

He was getting out of beaten path a little with this comment.

"How are your relations with them?"

"Acceptable."

He kept a few seconds of silence before adding:

"My daughter, I think something’s wrong with her."

"Between you and her?" she asked, for clarity’s sake.

"No…"

"Analysis: what prompted this observation?"

He looked hesitant. On the tablet, still no conflict.

"Her interactions are limited," he then said.

Vivian hesitated too; should she report this observation? Perhaps it was relevant for a potential issue somewhere else…

"It must be my fault."

The tablet, however, reported a new improvisation in that answer.

"Your fault?! Why?"

"I… I should enjoy being home."

According to the datas scrolling up, that was a scripted answer from his guilt library but despite that, what took Vivian aback was the tears running down his cheeks. On the screen — distress, confusion. That wasn't the affect class linked to it. But she didn’t suppress his emotional response…

Instead, she glanced carefully through the glass panels around them; her closest colleagues were two cubicles away, doing the same thing as her. Well, maybe not exactly; once positive that no-one would catch her, Vivian leaned forward a little to put her hand on her subject’s cheek, wiping the tears off with a gentle brush of her thumb.

She could have calmed him down with a simple word, or even with a tap on the right button on her tablet but… what would be the point? Vivian didn’t want to, not with him. And to be honest, as much as she was sincerely touched by the faithfulness of his emotion, it was also convenient for her that he would bring such a topic up.

"Children have a short memory but a quick mind…"

Victor Hugo said that first. And Vivian was quoting him today with something else than Philosophy in mind; she had just use a voice command — her voice command. A simple little script she sneaked into the host’ complex code architecture. More or less mixed with the rest of it, encrypted and virtually unnoticeable without knowing what to look for, it gave the recipient host the ability to keep in their memory, in a hidden and compressed partition, all the events happening between the activation and deactivation of said command. Conversations, feelings, impressions… Everything was there. And everything would remain, even after each reset.

The host couldn’t access it at will without hearing the command, and for what Vivian had noticed so far, it didn’t interfere with his narrative, alter his attitude, cause any glitch nor any pain.

According to her analysis, it was only perceived as a distant memory, one of those leaving an undescribable feeling or a sense of déjà-vu…

Despite the severity of her infraction, Vivian was quite proud of her small "innovation". And she had chosen this one, host ID# MG73368928764, to receive her creation among all the percentage of the park’s population her team had in charge. She had chosen him because of his responsiveness in analysis, because he hadn’t been in any big narrative for at least ten years, because she had already noticed a few oddities in his code, because there was something soft in his eyes, a little extra something…

And quite frankly? Because he was the one who inspired her to create this command, based on an idea that has been on her mind. Because she wrote it for him.

Ever since she arrived in the Behavior department, Vivian had done quite a lot of analysis, calibrations, and had many occasions to talk with plenty of hosts, in character mode or not. And the guys from the Narrative department had done such a good job in writing all these characters, their lexical bases, just like her colleagues from Behavior, in encoding and calibrating all that work into each host put in their care!

Or at least, that’s how Vivian was seeing things back then.

But this particular host caught her eye more than any other; she had quickly noticed how much he was calling upon his improvisation engine compared to others and the feeling of having an actual conversation with a well aware person was sometimes so baffling that, against all common sense, Vivian furthered it. Not to mention the frustration she felt that he could never really recall anything else than what his logs allowed him to, after each diagnostic. But since the installation of her script, the inference frequency in his dialog chains increased. And he was calling upon it with even more fluency.

To the point that their sessions became a real pleasure for Vivian!

It was selfish, she realised that… but she wanted him to keep something from it so badly, something from her, just like she could think back on their conversations with emotion. Those past ones were lost for him but, now, he could remember all those that followed the installation of her script.

Vivian smiled when he focused on her.

"Hello, Lawrence."

He looked hesitant for a second, like a man still not fully awake yet. No alert or conflict from his inference engine on her tablet.

"Hey…"

At his answer, Vivian smiled to him again, and so did Lawrence, even if he kept something a bit shy, uncertain, numbed. In that intermediate state, it wasn’t like coming back to the warmth, the liveliness and the responsiveness of the character mode but it wouldn’t be as cold as the analysis mode could be. Even though he was reverting to his usual demeanor.

Vivian didn’t program that; this semblance of a balance had set itself around the integration of the script in the depths of the core-code. But she liked the result.

"How are you, today?"

His drawl was back when he answered:

"Well enough, I’d say. Like after a real good sleep…"

Vivian grinned, amused.

"Perfect."

"And you, how are you?"

The spontaneity of Lawrence’s question took her by surprise.

"Well… um, I’m glad I can talk with you a bit," she finally answered. "Do you remember our last encounter?"

"21 days and 11 hours ago."

This time, the answer was delivered almost without accent; the question had triggered an analysis type of answer.

"And do you remember what our talks were about?"

He would have to query in his archived and encrypted memories to be able to answer this question. If he had it "right", then it would mean that everything was in order.

"Yeah, I told you about my folks, my… my drives. And that project you worked on for some time. It was a secret."

"It still is, Lawrence," she reminded him softly.

"I can keep a secret."

That wasn’t something he needed to convince her of! And she was less wary about him than about any other technician snooping in his code like the guys from Narrative did between two of her maintenance sessions. She gritted her teeth, frustrated and annoyed, by the limits of her authority on the modifications decided in high places, and on whom…

It was her fault, really; she shouldn’t have grew attached to a host like she did to Lawrence, but now things were the way they were, and it wasn’t possible for her to purge her memories and rewrite her affections as easily as a few lines of code. She was only human, after all!

Vivian brushed her boiling emotions off with a brief sigh before fully focusing back on Lawrence, asking him:

"Did this script cause you any issue since our last encounter?"

He still looked slightly numbed as he answered:

"I… I don’t understand…"

"No interference with your core-code?" she rephrased.

"No. None."

Not to brag, but she suspected that much. The only persisting worries she had were the saturation of his memory, provided that could actually be possible. Normally, the hosts’ memory was wiped between each rotation; then, there was no telling what could really happen if a unit gathered too much data. Vivian might as well be ending up editing her script to overwrite the oldest logs… She hesitated, biting her lower lip then tried a new question:

"No saturation?"

"No."

She gazed at him for a long minute before looking down on her tablet and stating, more to herself than to him:

"Maybe… maybe you’d rather be rid of all those… memories."

She held back the word "useless".

"No, not at all!"

Vivian frowned but a shy smile appeared on her lips.

"Why?"

"'Cause memories are priceless," he answered. "The good ones just like the bad… That’s what makes one remember where they’re from, and who their folks are. It’s what shape one’s life…"

And she followed the improvisation notifications on his dialog chain, but the irony in all this also made her feel somewhat bitter.

"Do… do you know where you are, now?" she asked.

"Ain’t so sure," he answered, holding her gaze, frowning. "Feels… like a dream I already had…"

That wasn’t far from the truth, indeed.

"And it’s gonna be time to wake up, now."

"Alright…"

Unfortunately, Vivian didn’t have all the time she’d love to give him. She tapped on her tablet, biting her lower lip; all of his levels were green, nothing to report — he had her all clear.

"Are we gonna see each other again soon?"

The question made her raise her head, almost stunned; Vivian wasn’t on the interface where she could follow his dialog chain anymore but didn’t need it to recognise improvisation.

"You… you’d want that? I mean…"

She cleared her throat, mouthing a silent word, before rephrasing:

"Would you like that?"

"Sure!"

That answer pleased Vivian, anyway; she felt herself blush and stumbled upon her words until something coherent came to her mind.

"Well then, I… I’ll do my best. I promise."

Lawrence nodded, apparently satisfied, and Vivian held his gaze while taking a short breath.

"They who dream by day are cognizant of many things which escape those who dream only by night."

This time, it was Edgar Allan Poe’s prose Vivian had chosen to end her script, and stop the recording of his memories. None of what would happen after hearing those words would remain in Lawrence’s memory, unless she or another technician botched the wipe before sending him back in his narrative loop.

Vivian stayed with him until the cleanup was complete then disconnected the signal after putting him offline; she was already late for her next session but didn’t hurry all that much to tuck her tablet and get up. It was pissing her off to let him there, like that…

She let out a brief sigh then, after a look at her watch, she finally but reluctantly left the room.

The day didn’t only seem too long to Vivian; around 10PM, it had really started to drag on and it was about time to leave her be. Especially if some other guests were planning to unload their barrels during what little time she had left to sleep!

At least, Damon Dyers kept things cool on his side. Margaret had managed to get footages of his arrival in Sweetwater and his first steps in one of the easiest narratives, according to her, but she didn’t seem disappointed when offering them to take a look at those videos she had already viewed a good dozen times since on her tablet. She had been very chatty about his clothing, narratives, adventure companions, and even taking friendly bets on what he would do next…

"Everybody’s gonna be hyped like crazy outside when his review’s gonna hit the park website!" laughed Thawal, finishing what would be his last coffee cup for today.

Charles snorted.

"As if Delos needed more of that…"

Margaret nodded in approval, all the more when Luke added:

"No joke, that’s better than any of those stupid casting headshots! It’s the best career boost he could hope for, right now!"

"Not to burst it for you but, nobody is gonna see this outside," commented Vivian. "It was hard enough for Marge to get them in-house, so I can’t even imagine getting them out!"

To what Luke shrugged.

"Do you really believe that?! There’s nothing a few bucks under the table can’t buy, and footages instead of a crappy picture in Sweetwater is no big deal, I’m sure! It’s not like it’s IP or some shit…"

Margaret scoffed.

"I didn’t pay, not even fucked anybody to get them,” she muttered, openly cynical, as if her thoughts were escaping between her gritted teeth. “I’m trash but I didn’t stooped that low yet."

With Charles laughing like a braying donkey in the background, Luke corrected:

"That’s not what I meant, Marge! But yeah, thanks to prove my point all the same…Even Marge managed to put her hands on it, without shaking down her pockets or her ass, so imagine what you can get if you’re ready to drop some cash!"

Luke’s rhetoric seemed to get the point across as it was followed by a moment of silence around the table, and the tablet in its center, on which the patched-up hour of video feeds was still going.

"Anyhow, it makes nice memories to bring back home…"

Vivian pulled her attention away from the screen to stare at the focused — mesmerised — face of Thawal. He was right, it would make nice memories…

She bit her lower lip and turned back towards the tablet; suddenly, Dyers wasn’t the center of attention anymore, not even a guest who came to show off in the park — there was nothing else than people, hosts or guests it didn’t matter, listening to a more charismatic man than the others carrying a tune next to a player piano for the pleasure of his audience. And far from being corny or just lame, the scene even had something charming.

"And you said he’s going to Pariah, after that?"

Charles’ voice cut Vivian’s thoughts short.

"Yeah," answered Margaret. "He got there yesterday, I think…"

Margaret searched her video directory and selected one that spreaded across the entire screen; they could see Dyers and his two friends, lead by Teddy, on the trail of the narrative they had picked — a bounty hunt, if Vivian understood everything.

"It’s so fucking epic, Marge!" bursted Thawal, leaning over the tablet as if he wanted to dive in it. "Looks like another remake of the Magnificent Seven…"

"Except they’re only four," Charles snarked.

Thawal and Margaret glared at him, which made him laugh even more.

"I know, right?" Marge then admitted.

She turned towards Vivian, beaming with happiness. She smiled back but her mind was already elsewhere; somewhere around Las Mudas, she wasn’t quite sure yet…

On the screen, Dyers was continuing his adventure, like larping or a life size fanfiction. Now that Vivian was thinking about it, it had been a while since her last vacation…

She could maybe use her special employee discount, and do so to hold her promise?

#ocs #oc:vivian #my writing #fic:improvisation only #full diagnostic series #westworld fic #westworld fanfic #ch:lawrence

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purge-that-urge-rhackathon · 4 years

Text

Touchy

Commission prompt: Jackothy (though if you want to add Rhys I won’t complain 👀): After having his face scarred, Jack realizes the only way he can see and feel his own face again is if he goes to see Tim. The other doppelgängers use tech which isn’t the same, who knows what they look like underneath? And Tim is... oddly ok with that (not at first tho; Jack was annoying. Still is but it’s oddly charming now) He spent his whole life being overlooked, and Jack focused solely on him is intense... basically Timtam gets a little too heated when Jack looks at and touches his face. Tim thirsts.

This is the first part of the commission :D Subsequent parts on my ao3 here. My masterlist archive of bullshit i write can be found linked at the top of the blog or here.

Handsome Jack was many things.

A hero, in short, opener of vaults and defeater of monsters, and CEO of the most powerful company in the galaxy.

And the price of that power had been his face.

Sure, Jack tried to buy into his own propaganda as much as he expected his employees to, but he couldn’t really lie to himself, even if he desperately wanted to. The ironic fact that he’d fashioned himself a mask of his own face wasn’t lost on him, but denial was a powerful thing.

He was scarred, disfigured with an injury which refused any kind of correction be it medical, scientific, or bordering on alien technology. The mask had been the logical next-step to try to regain some semblance of what he’d lost, and for a time, the power and re-branding that came with seizing an empire for his own was a good distraction.

He’d tried. Oh how he’d tried.

Every day that he looked in the mirror, mask or no, it bothered him just a little bit more until he couldn’t just ignore it. The mask began to overwrite his memories of his true features, making him panic in need of removal, only to have his ruined, panicked face stare back at him from the bathroom mirror.

The mask functioned as his face, but it just wasn’t. And without it, he still didn’t look like himself; not as he truly remembered. The damage his face had sustained did more than just wound his vanity. The deep fissure of old scar tissue bothered him sometimes if he stubbornly left the mask on for too long, and without that technologically-superior second-skin, he was almost totally blind in his left eye. Forgetting his face made him fear he was forgetting himself, and Handsome Jack the CEO of Hyperion wasn’t afraid of anything.

The logical next-step to quell the fear of ignominy was quite clear.

“Rhysie?” Jack spoke up, startling his personal assistant from whatever he’d been doing at his desk as he looked at the younger man. “Call up Timothy for me, would ya kitten? It’s about time for a quality-check. Make sure he’s still on-brand. And by on-brand, I mean me. Heh, get it? Because he’s me; Mr. Hyperion.”

Rhys gave Jack a depreciating moue. “If you’re going to say something about him being on you, or you being on me, or vice-versa, don’t bother. You’ve made that joke before,” Rhys snarked back, the snort Jack gave making the PA grin despite himself. “Get some new material, first.”

“Look at you, thinkin’ you’ve got me figured out,” Jack teased. “What color underwear am I wearing today, cupcake?”

“I’m surprised you even know about underwear, Jack.”

Two for two. It made the CEO genuinely grin.

Rhys was a good little assistant. Even if his creepy fanboy-gazes had eventually stopped after a few months of working for him, he still blushed when Jack brazenly flirted with him, though the older man never took it too far. Rhys was efficient, and despite Jack’s teasing, he did know the older man better than any past secretary or other idiot that couldn’t carry out Jack’s iron will the way he wanted.

Jack had gone through… a lot of personal assistants. The ones that had nervous breakdowns were one thing. The incompetant ones he certainly didn’t miss, but a couple had at least been amusing until Jack had had to airlock them.

And then came Rhys. The younger man wasn’t just good at his job, but he was one of a very few people to act normal around the older man despite his obvious hero-worship; to tease him back and roll his eyes at Jack’s too-sweet coffee-orders, and laugh at his dirty jokes, or come right back with ones to challenge them.

Jack knew it said a lot about him that he enjoyed an (ex)-creepy fanboy as the one to handle the personal details of his day, but he also felt just a little bolstered by the fact that Rhys still flushed pink sometimes over some of his more creative innuendos, despite the back-talk and rolled eyes. It reminded him that even after years of wearing the mask-- of no one seeing his true face- that he could still make a pretty, leggy PA blush. Despite the fact his face wasn’t exactly a face.

He was insecure. He was vain.

He knew he was vain, but the choice to rebrand himself after the branding-incident was wrought from insecurity above anything else, and he lied to himself about that as well. He changed his name to reflect what he wanted to believe: Handsome Jack. That he came into this world good-looking-- and so help him god- he wouldn’t let current-circumstances let anyone forget that fact.

Reminding himself, however, was where Tim came in.

“Tim is still on Elpis finishing that… thing,” Rhys informed with a slight, distasteful raise of his pouty lips. “When did you want me to set it up?”

“That thing,” Jack began, ignoring Rhys’ question to grin a little, “is going to make me even more stinkin’ rich than I already am, kiddo.” Rhys gave him a further-displeased look. “Oh come on, you liked the idea of eternal youth.”

“Spreading some Shuggurath-derived wrinkle cream on your face isn’t the same thing as eternal youth, Jack.”

The CEO didn’t miss a beat, and didn’t allow himself to dwell on the subtext Rhys didn’t even know he was on to. “It won’t just be the face, kitten. My scientists are gonna make it work on everything.” The regenerative-properties the creatures had were promising, according to the eggheads in R&D. Jack shot him a smirk. “Balls, too.”

“Gross.”

“What, you some too-good-for-nice-smooth-balls type?” Jack gave an exaggerated look over his desk. “You?”

Rhys put his face in his flesh hand. “I’m more disturbed by the fact you’ve got Tim out there milking them, Jack.”

“I was just being nice saying that.” Jack’s grin grew. “He’s not milking them for the compound so much as--”

“Aaaaand file that under things I definitely do not need to know about before lunch,” Rhys quickly interrupted, ignoring the older man’s grin and murmuring about ‘protein’ strands and regenerative ‘slimes’. “When do you want me to have him come up once it’s done?”

Jack knew exactly when he wanted Tim here: after-hours in private once Rhys had already left for the day.

He needed this. He needed it badly and couldn’t hold off any longer.

It had been over a month since Jack’s last ‘quality check’, and while Tim submitted to them without issue, too many not-between-missions-checks might raise the double’s suspicions as to what Jack was really doing. Looking at photos of the double were one thing (and good to help him hold out against the fear of losing himself in his mind’s eye), but it wasn’t the same as touching the planes of your ‘own’ face.

Good thing Tim was on a relatively-safe job collecting samples from the otherwise-dangerous creatures; Jack would be able to look and feel to his heart’s content under the guise of genuine quality-control when he knew there wasn’t a threat at all.

“That job’s almost finished though, right?” Jack asked conversationally. “Day after tomorrow? Did Timtams send you an update?”

Rhys’ lips pulled thin. “Yes. And he sent pictures, too.” Pictures Rhys honestly didn’t need to see, though Tim’s comments on each one were funny at least. The one the annoyed-double had sent of himself covered in… Well, Rhys wasn’t sure Shugguraths had entrails, but the caption of ‘Hyperion Beauty Cream coming to a store near you!’ made the image amusing at least.

It was still a gross assignment though.

Jack grinned at Rhys’ sour look. “Heh, neat. Send those to my comm, wouldja sugarplum?”

“If you have nightmares, it’s not my fault,” Rhys warned as he did as Jack asked. “There. Sent. Ew.”

“You could always send me some nicer pictures to give me sweet dreams, Rhysie,” Jack purred, teasing a bit even as his heart rate spiked at his PA’s words. Rhys just rolled his eyes with a little blush and a muttered “buy me dinner first” which made Jack relax a bit through a smirk.

There was no way Rhys could know what was going on in Jack’s head-- his words were coincidence was all, and Jack knew he was getting paranoid again- but the promise of his double’s return from Elpis was a relief that kept his worries carefully contained.

No one knew what was going on in his head. No one knew that Handsome Jack-- most powerful man in the whole goddamn galaxy who put the word ‘handsome’ into his own name- suffered from poor self-image. And no one would, as far as Jack could help it.

Hell, no one would believe that at any rate, either, which Jack was immensely grateful to his PR team about.

He was just tired. Stressed. Seeing Tim would help matters. Feeling him would help a lot more.

The taunting nightmares were keeping him from restful sleep; looking into a dream-mirror to pull off his mask only for nothing to be beneath it but a horrifying blankness, and in the dream (and sometimes still once awake) Jack really couldn’t recall what his face had once looked like. Putting his actual hands on his double would soothe his psyche a great deal, the tactile-sensation further embedding the shape and feel and perfection of Tim’s own face back into Jack’s subconscious.

Rhys set up the meeting, and now all Jack had to do was wait.

It hadn’t been easy to not watch the clock, or to keep his foot from tapping anxiously under his desk days later, but once Rhys had packed up-- asking multiple times if Jack would like him to stay- the CEO was pacing the space behind his big desk waiting for Tim’s return.

Elpis loomed outside the large window, it’s pink glimmer lending an ethereal-quality to Jack’s office as Rhys got the main-lights as he’d left. Only the light on Jack’s desk remained on, the rest of the office bathed in Elpis’ glow. To think he’d once wanted to crack the proto-planet like egg, only for it to be key to his recovery.

The Shuggurath research was extremely promising. That the creatures could generate other creatures-- not that Rathyds were particularly useful themselves; moon-Rakks, Jack called them- lead down some very interesting paths.

Rathyds shared a few qualities with the Shuggaraths that spawned them, but genetically they were different creatures. Shuggaraths bred just like anything else to create more Shuggaraths, but the fact they were capable of creating a second, unique animal held implications which got Jack very excited indeed.

The skin that was scarred by Eridian-technology refused any attempts to change it, while minor nicks and cuts that Jack got while shaving around the thing healed back up just fine. By his own observations (and tests several techs did before he airlocked them for what they saw) his normal skin was fine and unaffected by the depth of the brand, while the scar itself was… different.

Genetically different, but still a part of him.

Jack believed that the weird moon-dwelling animals were key to healing his face. Whatever protein or enzyme or slimey bits that they contained might be able to rewrite the damaged cells and reverse the scarring, or at the very least, minimize it to not need the mask anymore. The ugly, bulbous creatures created much more elegantly-designed animals somehow, and if that was possible, then maybe it could be applied to himself as well.

He could be normal again. Be handsome again, without the necessary moniker.

Until that happened though, Jack had Tim to get by, and he was antsy as ever to see the younger man.

“Did you forget to pay the power bill?”

Jack spun around on his heel, a grin on his face even though he’d been taken by surprise from hopeful, antsy thoughts. “Timmy! There’s my favorite double! Flip ‘em back on, wouldja kiddo?”

Tim rolled his eyes, but he had a smile on his face as he did just that, and crossed the office towards Jack’s desk. His mission had gone well, and he’d brought back more than enough samples to last quite some time. The confidence he felt over it was all over his face; especially from the lack of injury he’d come back with this time. “I think you’re gonna be impressed.”

“That so?” Jack said with a raise of his brow, impatience over wanting to get his hands on the other man’s face kept carefully tramped down. “How’s that gorgeous face, kiddo?”

“I’m more worried about my jacket,” Tim responded with a sour look. There had been… a lot of slime. “Did Rhys show you the pictures?”

“Not the ones I wanted to see,” Jack said with an implicit smirk, forcing himself to walk slowly towards the double as Tim climbed the steps to the dais Jack’s desk was on. His eagerness wasn’t something he wanted to showcase.

“Of Rhys, or of me?” Tim joked right back, grinning at Jack’s surprised bark of laughter.

“Cute, Timtam. Real cute.” Tim smirked unapologetically, and Jack knew well the mischievous look on the double’s face. So Tim was in a playful mood, then. The mission must’ve gone very well indeed. That was beyond excellent. “You feel free to send me whatever pics you feel like, handsome. I’m a big fan of close-ups.” The smile on Jack’s face was genuine, even if he was dying to get his hands on the body double. “Remind me to give you a raise, too.”

“Add that to the extra vacation days you also said you’d give me.”

Jack grinned as they stood before one-another. Tim was giving him a doubtful, accusing tilt of the head, and Jack’s fingers itched so badly to rove over Tim’s face that he didn’t even bother teasing the younger man. “I did say that, didn’t I?” He raised his hands to Tim’s face, the double patiently waiting for Jack to remove the mask himself. It was something the older man insisted upon-- part of the nightmare he badly needed to address- to remove the mask and find no damage beneath. “Echo Rhysie about it. Now let’s see that gorgeous face.”

Jack tried to keep his fingers steady as he reached for the double’s face, and Tim waited far more eagerly than he wanted to appear.

Tim didn’t necessarily care for these ‘brand-checks’ at first. Jack already demanded most of his time, and what little free time he did have, he didn’t want to waste on his boss making sure he still “looked right”.

Pfft, as if Tim wasn’t a professional.

Tim wasn’t exactly vain himself, but he did take pride in his acting skills, and no one was a better Jack than him. That was just a fact. Because there were no other Jacks like him. None who’d undergone extensive plastic surgery, modulator-implants, and actually fought side-by-side with the CEO before he was the CEO. Tim might not have been much pre-surgery, but Jack had seen his potential, and Tim had risen to all expectations. And he was proud of that.

None of the other doubles knew Jack the way Tim did, either, not to mention actually looked like him. The others used tech which was fully reversible. What he did was an art, regardless of his personal feelings on the matter.

So needing to be checked if he was ‘on-brand’ was insulting to his professionalism at first, and annoying at best, even if it was always the same. Jack’s scrutiny had made him uncomfortable, as if Tim could lose everything he’d managed to gain after being overlooked for so long in his life. And Tim hadn’t liked it.

He liked it now.

Jack had nice hands. He’d know. It wasn’t an awful thing to be so casually handled by him, and regardless of how long he’d known Jack now, the intense focus of such a powerful man always got his heart beating just a bit faster.

Jack’s hands were expert in the removal of Tim’s own mask, the CEO undoing the clasps before setting the material down on his desk. His attention came back to Tim, and at that moment the double watched him carefully for the change that would occur in the older man during the reveal.

Jack was… different during these checks, but not necessarily in a bad way.

He always took a moment after the mask was fully removed-- eyes darting about Tim’s face as if to check that everything was still there- before a sort of almost relief settled into the older man’s eyes. And then came Tim’s favorite part: the quirk of Jack’s lips as the man cupped both his cheeks in his large, warm hands, and firmly brushed his thumbs over Tim’s cheeks.

Tim used to blush heavily when Jack had first started demanding these checks. The intensity of the CEO’s focus had made poor Tim go entirely red in the face, and he had trouble meeting Jack’s eyes the first few times. Jack’s hands were always surprisingly gentle if not firm on him, the inspection a lot more like a full face massage than anything else. The touches and traces of fingers and thumbs over the bridge of his nose, under his left eye, the bottom of his cheeks, all made Tim want.

They hadn’t at first, though. Tim was observant, and the simple fact alone that Jack wanted to inspect under the mask-- where no one else ever saw anyways so what would it matter if he had some blemish or something?- made him think.

Tim wondered sometimes if Jack ever forgot that he knew what the CEO really looked like under the mask, or if he thought Tim might be repelled by it, and thus hid what Tim suspected were the true reasons for checking. The double had his own suspicions on what Jack was really doing.

He’d been there when Jack had been branded. It made an impression on him for multiple reasons: the way Jack handled the pain; the visceral reaction to seeing-- essentially- himself be branded, skin ruined and blistered. The way Jack was still somehow strong after the fact and overcame it all. Yeah, Tim had changed his entire being into someone else, but it had been more or less voluntary, and wholly expected. What Jack went through…

Well.

Tim had been there for it and he still couldn’t imagine going through that himself. Not without totally breaking. Him and Jack maybe butted heads sometimes but he admired the hell out of the older man, and even a bit more than that.

It was part of the reason he submitted to these examinations. There was something pitiful and desperate and utterly human in the way Jack’s thumbs sometimes slid up his cheekbones, palms sliding down to turn his chin this way and that between his big hands. Jack might’ve poked fun about telling him not to break Jack’s investment in ‘his’ face, but there was something a little too real behind his concern. It made Tim ache for the Jack he knew right before the man was betrayed. He knew what the scarring looked like, but such superficial things, ironically, didn’t matter to the double.

Tim tilted his head as Jack’s thumb slid down the side of his neck, hoping the older man wouldn’t register the hard thump of his heart, and then Jack breathed out in clear relief before letting Tim go. He tried to hide his disappointment that it was over already.

Tim’s voice wasn’t as confident as he would’ve preferred, but he kept the excited tremor from it, at least. “Everything still in one piece?” he joked as Jack looked at him a few moments more.

The CEO raised a brow, cocky-smile back in place. “Why, got something more interesting to show me, Timtam?” He waggled his brows in what was clear tease as Tim rolled his eyes.

“I only got a little electrocuted, and nowhere interesting,” the double replied.

Jack didn’t miss the slight pinkness to Tim’s actual cheeks (the sight was going to be in his dreams tonight for its rareness, that much he was certain) but the older man didn’t comment on it. “Interesting for you, or interesting for me?” He gave the double a wink.

Tim felt his heart thump hard in his chest, deciding to play a little with the older man in lieu of getting to truly indulge; Jack flirted with everyone. It didn’t mean it was real, or that he meant it. Tim still liked it, though. “I’m not stripping to let you find out. It’s cold in here.”

Jack snorted and retrieved the mask from his desk. “You can always send me pictures. Don’t forget about that!” Jack handed the mask back to Tim. He never liked putting the mask back on the double himself, and Tim never questioned it. It was something he preferred to watch Tim do; something his subconscious would have to reconcile as an active choice to cover his unharmed face.

“There would have to be pictures for me to even send,” Tim muttered as he put things back in place.

“I like your thinking, pumpkin! Let me know if you need any inspiration.”

Tim snorted but left on his way as Jack shooed him out.

The CEO collapsed into his chair once the office was again left in Elpis’ pink glow. He felt more relaxed than he had all month, and with the relief of Tim’s visit finally washed over him, he knew he was going to get a very good night’s sleep indeed.

He wasn’t even mad that he didn’t have any dirty dreams that night, instead happy to sleep like the dead.

He’d need to take advantage of all the rest he could get now, before the shame of his true face caught back up to him again.

Chapter 2 will be found at my ao3 :)

kofi | ao3 | commission ‘info’

#jackothy #rhackothy #handsome jack #timothy lawrence #borderlands fanfic #rhys the company man #rhack #rhys #fanfic #my fic #i keep getting carried away im having a super fun time and like i know the first part is a lot of exposition but bare with me! :D #WOOOOO :D hehehe my ot3 <3 <3 <3 THANK YOU FOR THIS PROMPT

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killjoy-loveit · 4 years

Text

Stitch Me Back Together- 2

A/N: I would like to clarify that everything written in this story is complete fiction and isn’t to be taken as a true portrayal of reality. This is written in 1st POV, the character’s name is Fleur, and this is a series. I am still working on it, the end date isn’t set as of yet, however, I will try to update it when I can (though two updates are scheduled this month). Every member of Vixx will be featured in this piece, though for this second part the only one of them in it is Ken/Jaehwan. And as always the links to my masterlists will be in the notes!

Summary: Fleur is on a path of discovery, and what she finds might not be what she’s expecting. And we all know that at times, knowledge brings danger.

Word Count: 2,606

Genre: Supernatural/Fantasy/Mythical AU, Angst

****WARNING: Mentions of blood****

During the two weeks that I was off work, Lucille frequently came around. Almost as if she feared that I’d fall apart in a matter of hours if I was left alone for too long. While I wouldn’t break down in tears, I couldn’t guarantee the state of my mind for long. Something just didn’t add up, and I had two weeks to try to come to some sort of conclusion. Any free time I had without Lucille hovering over my shoulder was spent with my nose buried in medical textbooks. Or medical research papers. Or articles relating to medicine. However, the normal sources I went to had very little in the way of explaining what I’d seen. That’s when things took a turn.

I stopped limiting my search to the medical field. At this point, I wasn’t sure if I was losing my marbles or if it was actually something… Supernatural. But I’ve never been the type to give up without getting answers. So, despite being skeptical, I turned to resources I never would have considered otherwise. I frequented sites that gave supernatural explanations, involving magic and creatures that shouldn’t exist. Stores I used to avoid, even going so far as to express my confusion at their existence, became a second home. The person that probably monitors my account might’ve wondered what the hell was going on because I got a fraud alert after buying over $100 worth of books on the supernatural.

Of course, explaining that it was actually me that made those purchases over the phone was a tad interesting. And by that I mean difficult. I kept stammering, feeling like I was being interrogated when in reality all the person wanted was confirmation that I was the one who made the purchases. After that experience, I felt like maybe I was just being paranoid, or going overboard. Except that all changed when I found an explanation that fit. One that, under normal circumstances, I would have thrown directly out the window. It probably wouldn’t have even been allowed a second thought.

Based on the book I found, it said that Remi Juarez was… A shapeshifter. Further research only locked in that explanation in my mind. Some shapeshifter’s hearts beat slower, meaning the blood doesn’t circulate as fast, which could explain why he didn’t bleed out before getting to the ER. His blood had traces of an unknown element, one that made it difficult to figure out what treatments were safe. And I thought it was my imagination initially because no one else saw it, but I saw his face change for a split second- into one of the paramedics. But then it was gone. There was more in the book, but nothing that I’d be able to determine as true without the autopsy report in front of me.

At that point, I still thought I was losing my mind. It just didn’t make sense. All of the creatures and beings from mythology were just supposed to be fairytales, they weren’t meant to actually exist. Magic wasn’t meant to be real, just some fluke that could be easily debunked by science. But I was starting to realize that science couldn’t answer everything. It didn’t have the answers to the questions running through my mind and wreaking absolute havoc. I wanted it to be a dream. Wished that it was all in my head. But I started noticing things. The kind of things that wouldn’t typically hold any value.

Whenever I went out, I would notice at least one person who deviated from the norm but not to the point that just anybody would notice. People whose eyes flashed a different color; had unnaturally sharp incisors when they smiled; laughs that sounded like tinkling bells; beguiling words that could change another’s disposition in a matter of seconds; the slight brushing of one’s hands against another and causing them to go blank like they were in a trance. And I couldn’t keep denying it further, there was no point. I had to accept the fact that the supernatural existed- something I’d been denying since I was a kid. I was always that one kid to call bullshit on the sweet fairytales or scary stories adults would tell.

Fear had consumed me, becoming a permanent part of my being. Sometimes it was the overwhelming kind that could make someone want to curl into a ball in the corner of a room and never move. Other times it was just like a brief flicker of an old tv that’s connection had worsened over the years. The fear was hard to deal with, but I’d always been good at hiding my problems from Lucille. I never wanted her to worry, or be scared, or hurt, and if she saw that I was afraid, well… She’s always been a wild card when it comes to my stronger emotions. Either she’d try to solve the problem for me, or the solution would evade her and just lead her to be upset.

Though, it’s not that Lucille thought I couldn’t handle things on my own. No, she knows I’m more than capable of taking care of myself. Rather, she’s always thought of us as a duo, fighting against the world together. Except that isn’t always a plausible way of handling things. This was one of those times, is one of those times. Feeling useless and paranoid wasn’t something I wanted to share with her, it’s something I needed to carry on my own.

My first day back at the hospital after reaching such a conclusion was nothing short of a mess. Keeping my mind clear was difficult. Whenever I saw something slightly out of the ordinary, the kind of thing that could be explained in one of the supernatural books I bought, it would stay in my head, flitting about. There were only two good things that happened that day: my request for a copy of Remi Juarez’s autopsy report was approved, and I managed to, somehow, perform my job without a falter. I was surprised that, despite the upheaval of the world I’d come to know, I could still function enough to treat patients effectively.

Today seemed to be going better though. I’d had my morning coffee and got to chat with Lucille a bit before she went to sleep. The sterile smell of the hospital, one that took me a long while to get used to, brought a new sense of comfort to me now. I was back where I was meant to be.

“Fleur, hey,” Selene called out, pausing me in my tracks.

“Oh,” I respond, lips parted and eyebrows raised. I’d been too lost in my head to notice I was passing the nurse’s station. Selene has been the resident gossip since she was hired two years ago. “Hello, how are you, Selene?”

She plastered a sympathetic smile on her face, it looked forced. She then pushed a strand of hair behind her ear. “I feel like I should be asking you that question. Of course, I’m more than fine! How are you holding up though, dearie?”

Bile rose up in the back of my throat. I’ve always hated small talk, especially if it was the fake, prying kind. People like that never actually cared about you, they just wanted information they could spread. “I’m managing. Thank you for your concern.” My lips pressed into a thin smile before I stepped past her.

Pleasantries are something I try to avoid as much as I can, it feels contrived. No one tells the truth to such questions, just as they don’t expect the truth. Such questions have become a way of greeting, not actually being asked because the other person cares. And heaven forbid you tell the truth, that’s a good way of making someone freeze in place. I could hear the way she huffed in annoyance as I walked off. It was no surprise to me though, not at this point. Selene wasn’t a pleasant person to begin with and she only got worse with time.

Now only one thing was on my mind: the autopsy report. I knew it’d be waiting for me when I arrived for my shift today, and I was anxious to get my hands on it. After retrieving the file, I quickly made my way to the doctor’s lounge to skim it before my shift starts. Settling down in one of the rickety chairs, I tried to convince myself that nothing would be out of the ordinary. But of course, such a wish couldn’t be granted.

Multiple irregularities seemed to jump straight from the page, and I was helpless not to fixate on them. The oddities started from the rate his blood clotted, to his bone density, and even to the bullets he was shot with. One of my first conclusions was proved to be true: Remi Juarez was shot from two directions. Meaning there were two shooters. Both seemed to have used the same bullets though, a mixture of silver and steel, which made it likely they were working together.

Another thing I learned from the report was that there was truly nothing else I could have done to save him. Each step I took was correct, and despite his slow blood flow, he had just lost far too much blood at that point. With the number of bullets that riddled his body, it was surprising he hadn’t bled out faster, let alone that his heart had managed to keep beating. But I still have questions that the report hasn’t answered. Why were there two shooters in the first place? Why wasn’t he dead on arrival? How did he survive for so long? And why, exactly, was the detective relieved when I didn’t know anything?

Twelve hours later, at eight in the evening, long since the sky had darkened considerably, I finished my shift. The air was crisp and refreshing after having been cooped up inside all day. Leaves crunched under my feet as I walked down the sidewalk, my eyes taking in the beautiful scenery of the city at night. People bustled about, groceries clutched in their hands, pushing strollers, young couples holding hands, businessmen with phones glued to their ears. I hadn’t driven to work this morning, and I was quite happy with that decision. I think I needed this, to see life like this.

That feeling didn’t die down until I was closer to my apartment building, maybe five minutes away. The street lights were flickering and I couldn’t spot another person on the sidewalks. The air felt eerie and thick, making it hard to catch my breath. Then I heard a low growling, joined by something scraping against the cement, sending chills up my spine. I swallowed the growing panic, the likelihood of something or someone being behind me was low. Clearly I haven’t been getting enough sleep since I’m imagining things.

Except I wasn’t imagining things, and I knew it the second I felt hot breath on the back of my neck. I jerked forward instantly but was quickly pulled back by long, twisted claws. A scream bubbled up in my throat, begging to be released- a plea that I ignored. The low growling started again, growing louder with each passing second, and this time it was directly in my ear. I felt the creature’s saliva drip onto my shoulder, soaking into my jacket.

I felt frozen in place, be it by terror or because of some mind trick the beast played on me I couldn’t tell, and I didn’t care which it was. I just wished I was running. That my feet would start without my mind telling them to. If ever there was a time for my feet to have a mind of their own it’s now. But alas, I had no such luck. The creature’s claws dragged down my arm, ripping through the fabric of my coat and digging into my skin. At that moment it was like my body woke up, I tore out of the beast’s grasp, ignoring the searing pain in my arm as its claws left me. I ran and I didn’t stop. My feet pounded down the sidewalk until I could make out my apartment building in the distance, but even then I didn’t stop- I could still feel the creature hot on my trail.

One second I was running and the next I was lying on the concrete, a grisly claw gripping my ankle. A panicked shriek pierced the air as I looked back and saw the creature. Its eyes glowed a dark red, with tough gray skin that resembled the concrete underneath me, and vicious-looking fangs that protruded from its mouth. Terror flooded my veins, this thing looked like a monster straight from my childhood nightmares. I kicked my free foot at its face, catching it by surprise and causing its grasp on me to falter. In that instant I shot to my feet, continuing my race to my apartment building.

This time I made it safely inside, but I didn’t relax until I was in my apartment with each entryway sealed. My breathing was heavy, coming out in pants as adrenaline raced through me. My mind was spinning. What had I done to get a beast sicced on me? Did someone know that I’d figured out what Remi Juarez was? Am I a target now? Once I’d calmed down enough, I felt the blood trailing down my arm, dripping onto the hardwood floors beneath my feet. Glancing at the scratches left behind by whatever that creature was, it was easy to tell that they weren’t deep enough to need stitches. I could take care of this myself with some disinfectant and gauze.

By the time my arm was wrapped up nice and tight, it was just past ten o’clock. There was only one person I could call. One person I could question. And I wasn’t even sure if he’d give me any answers, but I could try. Grabbing my cellphone from the counter, I dialed the small numbers on the card I’d kept close to me since I got it. The line rang, once, twice, three times. I thought I was going to go through to voicemail, but then I heard his voice.

“Hello?”

“Detective Lee, this is Fleur Boudreaux.” I could feel my determination wavering.

“Oh,” he sounded surprised. “It’s quite late, what are you calling about?”

“I need to talk to you,” I whispered hoarsely. “It’s important.”

“Right now?”

“Right now.”

He was at my door thirty minutes later, dressed in a more casual outfit than the last time I saw him. When he came into my apartment, the door fully closed behind him, I hesitated as I felt his gaze on me.

“What happened to your arm?” Detective Lee asked, stepping forward, eyebrows bunching together in concern.

“It’s why I called you,” I breathed out, moving my eyes to his. “I… Was attacked.”

His eyes widened considerably. “Attacked? Why didn’t you call the police?”

“Aren’t you the police?”

“I mean, yes, but‒”

I cut him off quickly. “I couldn’t just call the police about this. It had to be you, at least I think it has to. Anyone else will just think I’m crazy.”

The look in his eyes changed, realization flashing in them. “What are you talking about?”

“What I’m talking about,” I say, stepping forward. “Is Remi Juarez. He wasn’t human, and neither was the thing that attacked me tonight. So I have some questions I need you to answer, starting with: what the hell have I been dragged into?”

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