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korrasamibottles · 23 days

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I just reread the space between heartbeats and I suddenly need you to tell me everything about it! What gave you the idea for all the story beats and details???

Thank you so much for asking (and for re-reading?? Such an amazing compliment wow)!! I'm still completely floored by how sweet everyone has been about this fic....I wrote it from the heart so the positivity really means a lot😭 Also sorry this got so long oh my god lol.

Before I even started writing, I knew I wanted to come at the whole thing from Mako's perspective. He's such a complicated and fascinating character to me, and there's so much potential to explore how the trauma of witnessing his parents' murder and the depersonalization of having to be brother-father-protector-provider to a younger sibling while also still a child led to him being SO detached from his own wants and needs and feelings, and so used to thinking of himself as a tool rather than a person, that if somebody asked him point blank what he wanted his head would pop.

But maybe...after spending a lot of time around somebody who isn't afraid to openly want things and ask for them....Mako could start thinking about what HE wants, so that when somebody finally does ask him he's able to untangle his feelings enough to actually put them into words.....?

Mako's character has such a strong presence and I didn't want Wu to feel flat in comparison, or for it to seem like he was only there to further Mako's development, so I decided to give Wu the benefit of having the setting be all about him.

This also gave me an opening to show how Mako's influence could give Wu the push he needed to shake off the spoiled prince persona and become the more mature, compassionate man he always had the potential to be. We saw the beginnings of that in the show and in Ruins of the Empire, and I like to think they'll continue on that trajectory even though I'm not getting my hopes up for any wuko crumbs whatsoever in the Mako solo comic.

(Everyone already knows this because I never shut up about it, but what makes me so bonkers about wuko is the potential for them to bring out the best in each other. That kind of dynamic is fucking gold to me.)

Anyway. Once I had the POV and setting figured out, I had to give Mako a reason to be there, and I thought, well, he hasn't yet reached the point where he's able to admit he has feelings for Wu (even inside his own head) so the pretext of him deciding he had to keep Wu alive to protect the fragile democratization process felt right and seemed plausible.

The first two scenes came together from a few lines I poached from an unfinished korrasami wip....

"That's not–I'm not–we're just colleagues, Asami," he splutters convincingly.

"Yeah? So everyone at the precinct just hand-feeds each other moon peach slices in the morning, then? That's standard 'colleague' behavior?"

"Asami–"

"And right at the breakfast table," she whispers dramatically, shaking her head in mock disapproval and relishing how the blush has spread from his ears down his neck. "We all saw you practically purring into his hands, Mako. Like a damn octocat."

....and this bit of dialogue from the closet scene

“What kind of closet locks from the inside!?”

“You tell me! You grew up here!”

“Not in this closet!”

I turned the peach lines into a whole scene because I loved the idea of Wu being like "teehee I am getting him to try something new and fun" meanwhile Mako's like 3 seconds away from just snapping and sucking on Wu's fingers. Except it's rated T so. You know. Gotta be more subtle about it lol.

As for the closet dialogue....I'm a simple woman and I will never ever get tired of closet-themed jokes and accidents. My personal headcanon re: Wu's sexuality is that it was kind of like an open secret among the royal family. Like he'd flirt with women in public just to keep up appearances but really, everyone knew. Hence the "not in this closet!" line. To be clear, I don't think the royal family was ok with it, and I'm sure he suffered for it, but in this fic I positioned him further along in his own self-acceptance journey than Mako.

The next scene didn't unfold as easily, and I really, really struggled with it. Mako was a bit of a ticking time bomb by this point in the story–the tension had been rising for a while, and I knew it had to break eventually, but I wanted it to break in the right way.

I wrote several different versions, but every time the dialogue got away from me and it always ended the same way: with them getting into an actual argument and Mako storming out the door. And that was Not the vibe I was going for. I wanted more of an "oh fuck" moment rather than a "this guy is pissing me off and I have to get out of here" one. Mako has a tendency to get snappy in emotional situations, and that combined with him being an acts-of-service kind of person made the "it's my job to worry about you!" line finally click into place.

Deep down, Mako knows he's more than just a bodyguard to Wu, he knows how Wu feels about him, but he can't let himself really think about it. Because if he's more than his work, more than just a tool to be used, if Wu wants him around simply because he enjoys his company and not because Mako is providing a service, then that means Mako's entire sense of self is built on a lie. That's a terrifying realization, with or without the added element of internalized homophobia (and I had to add it. For maximum angst.)

I knew I wanted the fic to end with Mako realizing that the way he'd been operating simply wasn't healthy or sustainable, followed by a dramatic confession of feelings, but how to get there? Well why not invent a weird old bug woman. I thought a sort of grandmotherly figure might be somebody Mako would take seriously, and also I selfishly just wanted a woman in the story lol.

I honestly don't know where the ant spiral idea came from–maybe it's something I learned about as a kid that's been haunting the crevices of my brain for years. But it felt like an interesting way to symbolize how Mako was on a self-destructive path of repeating the same harmful behaviors over and over. If he kept depriving himself of meaningful connections, never stepped outside his comfort zone, continued avoiding learning how to process his emotions, and kept letting his fear and his pain decide what he was and wasn't allowed to want, he'd only keep inadvertently hurting himself and the people he cares about. That sort of thing. But he's stubborn, and needed to figure it out himself, so I let Qin Li give him the pieces (dare I say peaches?) so he could put it all together.

The final scene was written in its entirety at the auto shop, because apparently that's where my muse lives. Great place to write, can't recommend broken cars highly enough. Anyway, I wanted his eventual admission to feel like removing a giant splinter, which is to say: extremely painful and strained, but a huge relief once it's out. Difficult as it was, he needed to actually verbalize that shit not only for himself but also because it wouldn't have been fair for Wu to have to be in a relationship with somebody who couldn't even admit the feelings were real. And of course I had to have Wu jump into his arms at some point. Couldn't resist :)

One other thing I just thought about (and can't figure where to put it in this post, so I guess I'll just stick it here) is that I had fun giving both of them weird little quirks. Like Mako being an anxious/compulsive skin picker and Wu being fidgety and refusing to wear his glasses.

OH YEAH ONE MORE THING. Mako yanking on the doorknob in the closet was 100% a euphemism. For something.

#seriously thanks for this it was fun thinking about why i did what i did!!!#asks #sweetorangepoptart #wuko

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lumalilies · 2 months

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eulogy for a lost home

our landlord gave us 30 days notice today. it could be far, far, worse and we're privileged that right now, it's not a danger scenario. we have what we need to make it and more, and i am very grateful for that. (fuck landlords, though)

but losing a home is hard. our mind dips into derealization and depersonalization a lot. the sights and sounds that stay constant around us help us ground ourselves. our nest is important to us, we like to keep the twigs we know nearby. they help us make a home out of the world we live in now.

i have to say goodbye to this place. and it's public cause that's just kinda how we are.

to the very first home we had away from the shadow we had for so long to live beneath: it was on this couch that we first learned to comfort each other when we woke up from nightmares. we learned to say "i'm right here. you're safe now. don't you worry babydoll i got you. it's gonna be okay." we learned to clutch our stuffies and put up them to our face to feel something softer than our memories had left us with. it was in this place that so many artists of ours came out to sing. we read our first stories out loud to each other at that coffee table. so many beautiful pieces that we hang from the walls. we decorated the light fixtures above us so our babes could have something colorful and calming to look at in scary times. so much creativity and color and beauty resting in their precious hearts and minds. a safe room for us to dance around in.

it was in this place we transitioned. something so many of us wanted to try. we called it "going the way of the flowers" - for those of us who imagined us differently to try on new clothes, makeup, glances in the mirror. it was always a comprise that we had a hard time navigating, it's still something we're figuring out, but it changed our life forever. in this place, for the first time, we were free to try.

it was in that room that we were there for each other in the hardest times when it was all unfamiliar and new. acting out funerals and scenes of grief for the time and love we had lost. when we lit our candle every night and held each others' hands in quiet darkness. when we punched our pillows and billowed out our anger. crawling around on the carpet like tigers and kitties and wolf monsters snarling our fury and howling our sorrows and cozying up against the bed to rest their weary bones. when our rabbit hopped around and giggled with glee. our dwellers and deepest friends and family bringing their lifetimes and memories and the beautiful, unique way they saw the world to our eyes and our muscles and our heart for the very, very first time. it was here we learned to say "i love you" to each other. to hold each others' hands. to sit side by side. to kiss each others' paws and foreheads. to let our hearts out to each other (in a gay way) < thank you

it was in this place that we first saw each other. that we chose our name lumalilies, to commemorate the community of hearts and lights that had kept us safe and cared for for so so long out of sight. trivia bonus - it used to be "stardrops" (which was pretty damn rad if I do say so myself)

spoilers for i'm in love with the villainess (book 3). when may and aleah have to leave their home, they cry and cry into the comfort of their mommas' arms (much as we have been today). rae and claire let them act out a promise to help them process the grief of losing everything familiar. as they leave the house, they all turn back and wave together, shouting "be back soon!" as their home left on its own journey into the horizon.

i can't do that with my babes. we won't be back here soon. that really tears me up to be honest. these kind of changes are very very hard on us. i haven't found what i'd like to say yet. we need some time to think about it. maybe just. "to the home we'll find again." "to the past we left behind, that it will always stay in the past." "to where we go next."

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vitrines · 11 months

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small au!guqqie drabble for twb mcc

wrote this for bingo, decided it's not quite up to my ao3 standards but still wanted to share it!

about 800 words, warnings for depersonalization

It’s not like people with no origin were out of the ordinary.

It was a community of stragglers, after all. A mix-up of people from the road, whoever managed to stumble across these lands. Some had tails, fur, glowing eyes or any manner of strange features. Some particularly annoying members had horns, dark and carved against their foreheads, and smiles like a fox’s eyes from ground level in the forest, far from home and late at night.

And it was probably normal that for the life of them, Guqqie could not tell you how they got here.

Life is long, okay? It’s been a long while since they settled here, and longer still since they found the place. In fact, before an eye-opening conversation a week ago with previously mentioned irritating demon, Guqqie simply assumed that none of their friends here remembered their past.

Aimsey had blinked at them, twice, then three more times, and asked if they wanted to see a doctor, with a previously unheard level of concern in his voice. But Guqqie didn’t think any doctor could help them. (This conclusion was partially aided by the fact that they didn’t have any doctors, nor any people Guqqie was exactly eager to let near their face with sharp objects.)

“I don’t need to know,” Guqqie had protested, standing their ground in front of the enchantment table (which Aimsey was trying to steal again, the bastard.) Aimsey had let out something that was either a squawk or a laugh.

“You bloody well do,” he’d said. “Your past is extremely important. Imagine if I didn’t know where I came from?” He’d shuddered. But Guqqie had felt backed into a corner, and tired, and trapped by Aimsey’s insistent gaze.

“You and me are different people,” they had snapped, grabbing at the enchantment table and running away before they had to see Aimsey’s face fall.

That’s the issue with Aimsey. He does things, and Guqqie stops him, and he gets this kicked puppy look that gives Guqqie the silly, stupid urge to just let him do the damn thing. That would not hold. And he is doing it on purpose.

God, they can’t stand him.

But the demon had a point. Because Guqqie was sleepwalking, sometimes a little, sometimes a lot, always a mystery. And they couldn’t figure out why. This had been fine, at first, if a bit inconvenient and counterproductive to their landscaping. Really. Whichever entity was disrupting their sleep should learn how to match colors. And then several months had passed, and Guqqie’s life had flipped over in several directions, leaving them wobbly on their feet and more than a little enamored by that same demon. It also left blood on their hands, and a sickly sweet taste in their mouth.

Wallowing in despair was no good. (They’d tried that, for a few days, before giving up.) Guqqie had to know why. And so, with a hollow, jagged heart, they followed the hated trails of flowers, and they found a lab, hidden deep underground, and they found papers and test tubes and tanks of water that served no apparent purpose. The most important part was the paper sealed away in a document stuffed behind the filing cabinet. Their name, with a piece of code tied directly to them, and at the second line in big red letters the word CLONE.

This whole time, Guqqie had been trying to find themself. There was no self to find. They were not even their own whole person. Just an old cicada shell, hoping and wanting and fucking up a life that was not theirs.

And now they’d lost the only person who loved them for them. And the trust of those who cared for them. All because the body’s real owner was playing some twisted game.

The floor of the lab is cold, and dirty, and not in Guqqie’s top ten list of places to sob uncontrollably, but it’s not as if they have other options. Their hands catch on the floor, cracking and breaking where the tiles are jagged and quickly laid. Were there others out there like them? Were those others successful and happy?

Was it only them who was unworthy?

Should have known. Too good to be true. And you are not good enough for this life, for this body, for these people.

You are just a copy. And that is all you will ever be.

One day, they had dreamed of climbing the tallest tree, the highest tower, clambering over logs and ladder rungs, striving and striving for perfection. Seeing the universe and the world below laid out before them. Reaching out to touch the stars. It would have felt like a reunion.

Now you know: you are tethered to the ground. So it goes.

#area unknown #ausmp #area unknown smp #guqqie #au!guqqie #creations #me when the silly *collapses with sobs*#oh you want to live? you want to be happy? love *you* don't want anything :)#twb mcc event

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nny11writes · 2 years

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WiP Wednesday - HANG ON I'VE GOT THIS (AKA the one where Entrapta and Scorpia help Catra through a panic attack)

@sometipsygnostalgic, I think you asked for this one?

Rating: T for cursing

CW: Panic attack lasts the whole thing, disassociation, self worth issues

(Look it's a Catra fic, Catra fics basically come with a few standard triggers)

“HANG ON I’VE GOT THIS!” Entrapta shrieked, boots thudding as she began to run over.

Catra couldn’t even sniffle pitifully as she let out another chest aching sob. She felt like scrap, she looked like refuse, and she was totally disconnected from her ugly crying in a way that was more enjoyable but probably much more concerning. Vaguely she was aware that this was a panic attack of some kind. But really, she didn’t even know what set her off, just that she went from pretty okay (maybe a little tired?) to red alert within about thirty seconds. She’d gotten up from her seat too quickly, going light headed, and then someone asked the dreaded question. “Are you okay?”

She honestly couldn’t care right now what happened between then and now. Reality broke as she sobbed and gasped for air.

Something smooth ran across her arms, and she managed to force an eye open. It was kind of captivating even as she continued to cry, something thin and purple was twitching back and forth in front of her face. Lift your damn head up, I’m trying to spectate. Catra thought to herself even as her own echoing thoughts of awful, awful, awful, slammed back into her. But lift her head did, and just in time for Catra to realize she was almost literally watching herself. Depersonalization. Goody. Static filled her ears and pain throbbed in her chest, and the thing gently smacked her on the forehead to break her out of it; making a sob hitch into a miserable laugh.

Which loosened her misery ball just enough for some hair to wiggle between her fingers. Oh. Hair! It was hair.

“O-oh!” She gasped, tried to speak, couldn’t, and gave up to just run her fingers through her friend’s purple locks.

Entrapta just grinned a million watts smile as she sat cross legged across from the sad sack formerly known as Catra.

It was soothing. Entrapta used to let Catra chase her hair around the lab, or, well, she initially put up with Catra going a little PWAH and chasing her hair. But eventually it just became something they did. Entrapta worked and Catra played with her hair to destress. And chasing and playing eventually turned into petting and combing. And eventually that led to Scorpia thinking they were braiding hair, something none of them knew how to do. Braids take focus. She waited almost patiently for her own brain and body to take the cue.

Catra slowly began to layer Entraptas hair over itself, one little strand at a time to make a horribly sloppy braid. Sure, it was actually the Horde method of survival cord storage which allowed them to use it for either a rope or as individual strings, but it worked.

It worked?

Catra blinked down at her hands, having at some point floated back into her body. She was still miserable, she was still crying a bit, and breathing was an interesting challenge but she no longer felt like she was going to throw up and then pass out and then implode and die. So, small victories. Oh wow, she felt awful. Her lips trembled as she tried to snort her own snot back up and force the badness away. Shove it down. Compartmentalize. Anything but feel it so intensely!

“Would you say that you are more with us or less with us now?” Entrapta asked, head tilted in curiosity.

Her strained, half choked wail answered. Damn it, she’d been close to having it under control, right?

“Understood, parameters updated.” Entrapta scooted a little bit on the floor until their legs touched, wrapping another layer of hair loosely over Catra’s knees. And then, semi-robotically but very earnestly, Entrapta roughly patted her head. It was kind of like someone was swatting her in annoyance but it was Entrapta and she was touching with her hands and that made it comforting. “There, there. Everything will be okay. There, there.”

She chuckled wetly, now using her claws to gingerly pull all her braiding work apart to start over.

There are people here. Fuck. Fuck.

A quick, nervous glance up confirmed that after Scorpia had quickly manhandled her balled up form to the nearest corner (something she didn’t exactly remember happening but also knew with a deep seated certainty), that she was now sitting facing out towards the room. It wasn’t all of the princesses, but it was still more people than she’d ever wanted to see her like this and the thought almost sent her back over the edge. This was weak and pathetic, and disgusting. She couldn’t stand it, couldn’t stand the idea that they’d start to pity her. To treat her like glass. That this would irrevocably wrench freedom and personhood away. She whined, throat closing as she fully stopped breathing, and began to lean into the feelings of despair.

Except Entrapta patted her head again, making it bounce up and down a little with the force of her pats.

“There, there.”

Having reached the limit of silent protector she could handle, Scorpia perked up. “How’re you doing boss?” Scorpia asked in her, allegedly, small indoor voice. She was craning to look over her shoulder while still glaring at anyone trying to approach.

What in the world- Catra blinked rapidly as her brain tried to catch up with the image of Scorpia glaring at Perfuma. Wow. She really didn’t deserve friends this good. Wasting their time. You’re turning them on one another, manipulating them.

She groaned as the tears started back up, clutching Entrapta’s hair tightly and tried to concentrate on the way it was wiggling.

“Sorry!” Scorpia stage whispered. “I’m shutting up, being quiet now, not saying another thing. Not a peep!”

There was another loud and just this side of painful THWUMP THWUMP followed by, “There, there. Uhm- you are going to be a-ok!”

This time she was a little too busy experiencing the horrible sensation of crying and generally being an awful person to notice anything beyond her tight chest and aching throat and stinging eyes. Occasionally she’d realize how gross her face felt and would wipe it on her arm. Other times she’d remember she was holding Entrapta’s hair and would squeeze and twist it a little more aggressively than she meant to.She was keenly aware how awful it was when people acted entitled to touching you and then tugged hard enough to hurt. She just, right now, she just couldn’t help it as she twisted the hair in her hands like a wet dish rag. It helped.

Entrapta had once told her not to worry about it, that it’s not like it hurt when she did it and if Entrapta really didn’t like it she’d pull her hair back. “I mean, can you imagine how awful that would be if it hurt? I damage it all the time just by using it! Watch!” Catra had stopped her before Entrapta used her hair to touch something buzzing with electricity, but the point was still made.

“Psst, Entrapta!” Scorpia stage whispered. “Should we get water? And by we I mean someone else?”

“I’ll get it,” Perfuma actually whispered. Catra cursed her own acute hearing, reminding her that there were other people here. Ugh, the room was too quiet and smelled like panic and worry. Disgusting.

It was a few minutes or hours or seconds later and Catra was carefully sipping water from the weirdest glass she’d ever used. It felt soft? Smelled nice at least, and didn't make her stomach turn. And a huge boon was the way it helped her stop crying so much, sometimes just drinking water could stop the tears. Mmmm, terrible tasting hydration. Who actually liked the way water tastes? Catra’s nose scrunched a little as she took another sip. At least the fragrant glass was helping. Wait. A small string of spit connected from her lips to the edge of her drinking vessel as she pulled it back to look. Ah. Okay, it was actually a flower. That made some sense.

“Are you more with us, or less with us?” Entrapta asked, even as she tried to surreptitiously take measurements of the flower.

Catra snorted and let go, smiling a little as her friend squeed over her new acquisition. For a moment her heart twisted unsure if she wanted to watch someone who had been caring for her be distracted by a fucking flower instead, but then Entrapta paused, took a slow deep breath and slapped her own face before dumping the water thoughtlessly on the carpet and storing the flower in a protective case. “Good! In or out?”

It took a moment to choose, but standing on wobbly legs Catra began to shuffle towards her room. In. In as in somewhere safe and small and quiet. Her closet had a perfect little space ready for her to sleep in for the next year.

“Got it! Scorpia ROLL OUT! Or in, in this case!” Entrapta’s shouting hurt a little, but was more endearing than anything else.

Scorpia popped onto her feet, whipping her jacket off to hold it around Catra like a shield. “I’m on it! Got it! Clear a path people, important business coming through!”

And yeah, just like the yelling, the weird jacket barrier was a little annoying but mostly just made her give a fragile little watery smile. It was nice. Entrapta was walking backwards on her hair, eyes focused intensely on Catra’s face. She still couldn’t make herself say anything, but shakily lifted a hand to sign a thank you.

“You’re welcome!”

“Huh?” Scorpia asked as she stumbled a little.

“Catra says thank you, so I said you are welcome.”

“Awwww, Wildcat!”

She huffed a little, feeling better just by being away from everyone else. Or, well, pretending she was. It’s just Entrapta and Scorpia, just Entrapta and Scorpia, and we are all alone in the castle. Yup. That was her story and she would stick to it.

“Expressing sarcastic disdain to pretend she didn’t just thank us.” Entrapta full out smirked at her, holding her currently powered down recorder up as if she was making a log. “Rolling of eyes and huffing noted. Ah yes, the great scientific truths, water is hydrating and Catra is sarcastic. So! She appears to be feeling better.”

“Oh thank goodness!” Scorpia, not realizing this was partially a joke, warbled. “‘Cause, ha! Whoo! Oh boy, I’m gonna cry.”

For one moment Entrapta lifted up on her hair, half blocking Catra’s path, and reached out to pat Scorpia on the head. “There, there.”

“Aw, thanks buddy, that really does help, gosh!”

She snorted, disgusted as her clogged up nose somehow managed to still leak, and reached to open her bedroom door. She wanted in. She wanted in now. Catra was so tired it was unreal. Yeah, sure, there would be talking, but by this point the three of them had a system in place and the next step was to voluntarily become unconscious with a possible side of vivid hallucination.

The door snapped closed and Catra happily curled up with her friends for a post breakdown nap.

#catra #scorpia #entrapta #super pal trio #I love them your honor #is this scene going in a fic?#at this point probably not lol #should I post this to Ao3 as is?#she ra #spop #wip wednesday

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vexture · 1 year

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Let's go 3, 7, 15, 20, 27 for ask game!

3. What ideas come from when you were little

If I'm taking the question correctly, that would be my affinity for drawing beings that look like a bunch of stuff piled together. I don't remember much of my childhood drawings, but my mama keeps most of them in her filing cabinet. From what I've seen, I've always liked shit like that. I had an oc named Broomy, he was a dog like creature who had a pumpkin for a head, the body of a broom, paws (same color as the broom) and the straw end for the tail, and candle pupils. I loved that guy with my whole heart man, I need to find a picture of him or something to redraw. Other than that, gore. Don't subject your children/siblings to horror movies and adult swim shows guys, seriously

7. A medium of art you don't work in but appreciate

Physical/digital stim boards. I don't understand the digital appeal, but that might be because I've never had one that was like "oh damn that looks great" but I have touched a physical stim board, I hated every second because it had sequins on it (I Cannot Touch Those) but the enthusiastic explanation I got made me like it, even if I couldn't touch it. Digital ones look really cool too, I'm just very specific on what I like looking at, but I imagine that it takes forever to find the proper gifs that aren't too fucked up and do all the arrangements and border work, I would love to try one, but I'm genuinely at a loss on what to do ^^;; Tumblr stim girlies (gender neutral) I love y'all to bits

15. *Where* do you draw (don't drop your ip address this just means do you doodle at a park or smth)

I draw largely at home, having chronic pain can extremely limit what I can do during a day. I love taking my traditional shit out to draw at the park, but I don't get ideas too often for it to be worth the bag space I could use for something else. Speaking as someone who has literal drawers full of art supplies, I wish I could go out with it all and be unbothered by The General Public, because I like drawing people out and about, but the distain overwhelms me and so does the arthritis

20. Something everyone else finds hard to draw but you enjoy

Almost every time an artist friend comes to me while I work, it's "wow you're really good at eyes, that's the least favorite part for me" and I can see why. I learned how to do realism from Vogue and People magazines, the shots were clear, it had closeups of hands/eyes/clothes, and eyes were the first thing I learned how to draw properly, I love them sm, they are always in the margins of papers I'm stuck with, or color practice, or whatever I need the eye to be for. Very reliable part of the body artistically for me :>

27. Do you warm up before getting to the good stuff? If so, what is it you draw to warm up with

See number 15 for a short answer.

Long answer: I have a very small window to get a drawing done, if I can't get it within the day, or even 2 hours, I have a very hard time picking it up again due to depression, the chronic pain, and sometimes my headmates don't actually know how to use the computer to draw. I consider the amount of drawing I do something to be proud of most days, between the brain fog/deperson/derealization and aching joints, the amount of work I do can be great all things counted. Sure, others can get out more things with worse than me, or what have you, but my style is detail heavy with the line work and colors, and composition is hard for me.

Tangent here:

I would like to say that even if you get out only one drawing every once in a while due to shit getting in the way, at least it's something and you should be proud of yourself for being able to accomplish that within the parameters you have. The algorithm sucks, on every platform, even here on Tumblr with their abysmal search bar, so there's sometimes a pressure to put out a bunch to get a little recognition, but quality over quantity, y'know? No matter what, try not to stare down the cliff of having a shit ton of numbers attached to your hard work.

The incentives are great, and I completely understand that, but once you look at it as a chore, you'll never do shit for you again like you used to without giving up on the algorithm anyway. I avoid going down any tags unless I absolutely have to, because I get discouraged by the numbers, so I end up just looking at my art, and friend's art only. It's okay to stare at your own shit, I've never seen anyone say that anywhere as of recent, so for those who need it, it's okay to be in love and enamored by your own work enough to stare at it even days after posting it, I highly encourage looking at your own art like you do others, because that's a good source of encouragement, or at least for me, love what you do, give yourself a break from not being at the top of every tag/platform, because that's a double edged sword, and no one likes getting blood on their suits

#sunny's qna tag #goodwineandcheese #ask game

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butts-bouncing-on-the-beltway · 2 years

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Okay lets try this again. Emotional processing and general content warning for "interracial marriage and interneurodivergency relationships can take you through some stress points every once in a while and that happened while we were both drinking and unmedicated which is not the wisest combination for talking about nuanced topics."

So I got into my feelings at some point last night about how overwhelming the depersonalization has been lately and was trying to have a sorta-snarky sorta-vulnerable conversation about how that's been for me, and it hit wifey right in the "lash out when I actually have to contend with the value another human being sees in me" depression because they've been feeling isolated and othered in the extreme lately and are pulling farther and farther away from everyone that could be a connection.

So she started yelling at me about how I need to accept that society objectively places more value on me than her and I'm delusional for always saying I value her more than me. And I did the stupid thing because I thought we were having a conversation about my mental health and had an immediate flashback to being taken inpatient. So instead of doing the right thing and taking a step back to say that I felt like there had been a miscommunication and we were having different conversations, I just started getting upset and arguing about that. Arguing that they had value, arguing that regardless of how society sees them or how they carry society's perception, I get to place whatever goddamn value I want on them. And in my head I just keep thinking about all the ways in which I am capable of being institutionalized or guardianshipped right now. My wife has power in her hands to take away my autonomy in ways that because she would never think to use them she refuses to see. And being criticized for loving her and prioritizing her - a vow I made in our marriage and a practice I have been open about for the duration of our relationship and which they only ever have positive things to say about until they're feeling lonely - being sucker punched with both of those at once was hard to take.

I stormed out. I went to the car. I knew as I did it that would scare them because they know damn well how I always plan to kill myself if it comes to that. That's not WHY I did it, but I did do it DESPITE KNOWING. I then added substances to my situation which was real clever of me, but frankly did help me calm down and make better choices so do what works I guess. Had a good cry. Thought about making myself throw up but decided not to. Thought about beating my head on something but decided not to. Played a few rounds of Mafia Cooking Mama. Then went back upstairs and tried to process what had just happened with wifey. That went. Badly. But there was no more yelling or fighting, it just....really sucked to hear that her perspective was basically "okay I get now that you weren't saying what I thought you were saying, so I'm sorry for the timing of what I said, but I'm not sorry for what I said because I stand behind every word of it." I.....felt the progress go away at those words. I'll get it back, but it hurt to lose so much trust and comfort.

Anyway, this morning I woke up feeling like absolute dogshit, but I put my hours in at work, I smoked a little with wifey and shittalked social media discourse, and then I scrubbed the bathroom spotless. Now I'm just sort of recuperating so I can hopefully clean my bedroom too. Cleaning is very therapeutic for me, and I feel a fair bit better already, so hopefully finishing up the bedroom will be the last bit of emotional purging I need.

#boy i talk for a living but sometimes i really fuck it up

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yandere-yandere-yandere · 3 years

Note

HYPOTHETICALLY COULD YOU WRITE BILLY LOOMIS X READER W STALKING THEMES & M A Y B E BLOOD PLAY????? PLEASSEEEE ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️😫😫🥺💕😫🙏🥺😃✨

What if, hypothetically, I did it😳👉👈 I hope you enjoy, darling🖤

BILLY LOOMIS X GN!READER

Love you forever, Dollface.

Tw: yandere, stalking, gore, blood, implied nsfw, paranoia, derealization, depersonalization, panic attacks, dub-con, pet names, break in, objecti Billy being a creep and generally terrible

Ever since you moved to this damn town things have been off. School, home, everywhere you feel watched. High school feels like hell normally, but this is just absurd. You should feel safe in your own home, even in a new town.

It would be absurd to think somebody would take the time out of their lives to ever stalk someone. Let alone yourself. It was such a strange idea, it just felt so alien to you. Making somebody hate or love you so much they feel such a strong obsession to the point they feel a need to constantly watch you.

Even sitting in class you feel like you should crawl out of your skin and hide. Paranoia in high gear, feeling like somebody’s watching you, then and there. Eyes glazing over everyone in class as stealthily as possible as to not raise any suspicion, you don’t find anyone looking even remotely in your direction.

The noise of somebody getting up to turn in the paper snaps you from your trance causing you to jump with a suppressed whine. A few people glance up at you with too much interest.

A semi-raspy, confident voice surprises you “Everything ok, dollface?” You turn to the comforting voice with a wide eyed expression, “Yeah, I’m ok. Just wasn’t expecting that. Sorry.” He smiled. A small, admittedly pleasant laugh excaped him, “No need to apologize.” Going back to his school work, grin still ghosting his face.

You look at your school work. You barely have anything done, after all you were too busy trying to figure out who was stalking you. The call from last night told you barely anything about the stalker besides their attention to detail and love to terrify you.

These thoughts continue for the rest of the day, till you got home, bearly registering you getting home, till you nearly knock into the door.

Later that night you got another call, as expected. It’s been happening on and off, they know so much that it would be almost impossible to find out that much without stalking you. This hell started a few days after you moved into your new house. It only escalated from the first call.

Picking the phone up you hear a raspy voice “Hello Y/N~ Are you happy to hear me? I missed you. Shame I can’t touch you now, I want to rub my hands across your legs, arms, face, choke you till your blue~” you start to tune everything out, nothing feeling real, feeling like nothings there. No sound, no touch, no sight, no stalker.

You break out of your trance just soon enough to hear, “I’m inside your house now, Y/N. I can’t wait to see you. I know you weren’t expecting me so soon, but I just can’t wait to touch you for another second. I love you so much, I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you, I lo-“

Your grip on the phone almost makes the plastic crack under pressure. The sweat on your neck and hands were clear, eyes pinpricked. You felt like you couldn’t breathe. The room was so big yet so small. Why is it so loud?!

All this happening you didn’t realize someone, something was in the door way, watching you with obsession and twisted love in its violent hazel eyes. A soft smile plastered on a handsome face, under a feared mask.

Jolting back to reality thanks to a firm embrace, you flailed and gasped, unable to form words. “I didn’t mean to scare you dollface, I told you I was coming! I love you so much, calm down, babydoll.” Mask removed, a deceitful smile showing another being put on. “Billy? Billy Loomis? You- you did all...? All of t-“ choked sobs interrupting you.

“Shh shh it’s ok,dollface.” Something cold is dragged down your skin. Another choked cry through your trembling jaw.

The next thing you know your on your bed being striped down to your underwear, knife pressed down on your skin. A small cut, no worse that a paper cut just under the knife. Billy trembles with a sickening look of morbid curiosity and pleasure. The bulge in his pants apparent.

He makes a small, shallow cut right in between your shoulder and collarbone, blood slowly collecting and rolling down your skin. A small shaky breath from both of you.

A few cuts later, Billy is grinning like a madman getting his dick sucked. Cuts getting a little bit bigger and getting a little bit deeper. He starts carving something into you. You start to scream and cry before a strong hand grips your mouth. “Shhh, be a good girl/boy/babydoll for me. I don’t want to tape your mouth shut, doll.”

Still gripping your mouth, he keeps carving god knows what into your skin while you keep screaming and crying. A sadistic simile at the blood dripping down your skin, your agonized expression, and stained bed sheets.

“ ‘Billy’s property’, “ smile gracing his face, yet soon faded into a frown “ Shame you didn’t listen though, I wanted to hear the noises that come out of your pretty mouth.” Before you could question his words duct tape landed on your mouth, several more strips of tape followed.

You couldn’t move your mouth at all, let alone scream. Puffy eyes moved from the cuts on your body, tape on your mouth, to billy. “Well,” he took off his Ghostface costume and unbuckled his belt “lets get started, dollface.”

#yandere billy loomis #billy loomis #yandere scream #scream #yandere slashers #yandere slasher #yandere ghostface #ghostface #ghostface billy loomis #slasher boyfriend go brrr

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keilemlucent · 4 years

Text

lavender latte: ix

(M (for now!)

hawks | takami keigo x reader

ao3

chapter 1 || chapter 2 || chapter 3 || chapter 4 || chapter 5 || chapter 6 || chapter 7 || chapter 8 || chapter 9 || chapter 10 ||

masterlist

word count: ~5.1k

beta’ed: @hawnks & @keiqos

the dichotomy of fear and safety

warnings: vivid descriptions of panic/anxiety attacks, bodily injury, blood, ptsd descriptions, dissociation/depersonalization, overstimulation, trauma (please let me know if this should be warned any more thoroughly!)

alright fellas. second half of the mega chapter. PLEASE i read the warnings. please. there’s big moments in this chapter, but there’s lots of descriptions of what is warned.

that being said, read and enjoy 💗

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You didn’t know what to do.

Horror had risen in your throat, intangible poison seeping into the tendons that pulled from your shoulder blades to your fingertips. You were frozen on the couch, Keigo’s babbling mixing with the static of the call.

It was fuzzy background noise to your fear, the same way the press conference had been.

Your nails bit into the meat of your palms, pricks of pain like flint and steel burrowing into your hardened jaw. You had your gaze trained on the ground, but the shuddering of your body was unmistakably unavoidable.

Why are you shaking so much?

You felt like you were trembling hard enough to fall apart.

(Were you cracking open from the inside?)

A knock sounded from your balcony door, an insistent thing that felt dulled and yet too loud. The sound tasted like a bitter herbal medicine you didn’t want to swallow.

All the same, you painfully moved to unbolt the door, the nagging push of the rubber tops of your crutches being a constant reminder of your own state and how you got there. It made your head swim even more.

The moment you unlocked the sliding door, Keigo was into your apartment and onto you.

Keigo had been able to tell you weren’t doing well the moment he landed on your balcony, blinds and curtains open to give the perfect vantage point to see you falling apart.

His heart stuttered as he entered the door, taking you in as quickly as he could.

You were in house clothes, the same ones he’d seen you in a few days ago. Mussed up hair and sunken-looking eyes that were uncomfortably vacant in the glow of the bright LEDS of the TV. You balanced on a single crutch and the back of the couch. Clutched in your free arm, tight to your chest, was the doughy-eyed plushie he’d given you at the hospital.

You looked purely wrung out.

Keigo bit his lip for a moment, not entirely sure on how to proceed.

He’d been trained for it, once, how to coax someone into and out of states of distress. The thought of his own skills and their purposes were uncomfortable against the way he actually felt. The cognitive dissonance was loud, thundering, in his skull as he watched you sniffle.

He acted on feeling.

Keigo’s chest ached as he placed his hands on your shoulder, rubbing his thumbs into your knots of tension, “Can I hold you? Please?”

You dropped the plushie, shoving off the couch and wrapping your arms around his shoulders. If Keigo hadn’t been paying attention, you would’ve fallen, considering the way your lone crutch clattered to the ground.

Your eyes burned as you shoved your face into the fluff around Keigo’s collar, bathing in his familiar, spiced scent and praying that it would calm you. You clutched at the back of his jacket and squeezed with everything you had.

You wanted to speak, say something, maybe explain the fact that you were quickly coming to sob against Keigo and for whatever reason.

But you couldn’t.

Any words and proper speech dissolving when you saw his perfectly healed face and were held up by his perfect healed arms. He was smiling, even if it was stitched with a bit too much concern to be comfortable.

His health should’ve made you feel better, but it didn’t.

The molten realization that seeing a pristine version of Keigo didn’t do anything to assuage how horrible you felt was worse than panic-inducing.

“Oh, dove, it’s okay, everything’s okay,” Keigo assured you, a gloved hand smoothing down the back of your spine.

You tried to rationalize as you quaked.

He’s fine.

You knew that already.

Everything’s fine.

But, it didn’t seem to matter too much in the moment.

You clung to him, bearing a bit of weight (foolishly) on your injured leg. If anything, the pain was grounding as you barely kept yourself together.

Keigo hushed you, tearing off his gloves and tossing them aside to touch you with his bare hands, “Dove, everything’s fine, no need to cry.”

He smoothed a hand over the back of your head, cupping your neck and stroking a thumb over your spine. The action should’ve been comforting, Keigo being there should’ve been comforting, but it just wasn’t.

It made you feel so much worse.

Your quirk spat, his touch burning far back in your throat.

“I-I know,” You leaned into him. “It’s just scary.”

“What is?” Keigo asked, his voice soft like barbed burrs against the shell of your ear. “Talk to me, (Y/N).”

“What do you think?!” You broke down, voice coming out far louder than you intended. “You got hurt!”

It was all you could manage to say.

Keigo paused, not saying anything for a minute.

...

He’d never seen you like this.

Keigo had seen you hollowed by your quirk and injured, yet you hardly cried then. He’d seen you immersed in no-good feelings, clutching a bottle of cheap wine, yet all you had been was maybe a bit vacant-sounding.

Yet, now?

You had him in a vice grip, shaking with the force you were squeezing him with.

He had to try his best to help, right? Show you that he was completely well.

Nothing to fear.

“Dove, I know it’s scary, but it’s okay, I’m okay,” Keigo tried to comfort you with a squeeze and a kiss to your temple. “Everything’s okay.”

It didn’t seem to get through to you at all.

You continued to shake and sob as Keigo helped you to the nearby couch, your crutches in tow with a few of his feathers.

You desperately wanted to explain yourself better. Articulate in a way that made some sort of cohesive, easy to understand sense.

But, the reality was that it wasn’t that easy.

You couldn’t get a single thought straight. Everything was going to fast, yet trickling around your psyche like a thick glue. Your confusion was made worse by your panic.

...

Keigo sat you down, a frown creasing his pretty features.

You hated that you were the root of it.

You stayed tense, shoulders hunched and hands folded in your lap as tears dripped down your cheeks.

And truthfully— honestly?

You felt fucking stupid.

Maybe it was that the rancid, steadily-strengthening storm in your skull had been choking you for over twelve hours.

Maybe.

“Dove, I’m fine, see?” Keigo’s voice grated on your ears.

Shouldn’t it have been reassuring? Shouldn’t it have made you feel better and not worse?

The reminder made your fists tighter. An odd anger boiling at the front of your skull that had your sobs slowing.

You shook your head, grabbing your crutches, and pushing yourself up.

Keigo caught your wrist, squeezing and pulling lightly, “Dove, please, I’ll get you whatever you need. Just sit for a second with me, okay?”

“I will.” You couldn’t make yourself look at him, jaw clenched. “I just need to grab some water.”

“I can— “

“Please. Just let me do it myself.”

You crutched away in as put-together of a manner as you could.

(It wasn’t much.)

Getting to the kitchen, your eyes were blurred with new tears of pure frustration. Your heart hammered in your chest to the point of nausea. Your quirk fired on and off and you desperately tried to calm yourself, especially in front of Keigo.

He’s fine.

He’s fucking fine, you’re fine.

You felt ridiculous.

You swallowed, grabbing a glass from your cupboard and sliding it towards the sink.

You balanced in front of the tap, resting your weight on the front of the counter. You put your booted foot down, not even wincing at the sharp pain. You were beyond caring.

You turned on the faucet, forcing yourself to take more even breaths as you grabbed the glass.

Keigo, meanwhile, had simply unmuted the TV, not even thinking much about it. You usually liked something ambient in the background if it was quiet enough. White noise. But, Keigo didn’t really check the volume, or what was playing. He wasn’t thinking about those details, far more focused on trying to listen to you in the kitchen.

(A mistake.)

The program you’d had on roared from the living room.

You didn’t really hear it until you felt it.

Rumbling of the bass of the speakers.

Cars revving.

Someone screaming, high and grainy—

The sudden sounds ripped through the air.

Ripped right through you.

You jumped, heart stuttering in your chest as your quirk burst to life.

The shock of it all had you nearly losing your balance.

You would’ve, if you hadn’t slammed your hand in the basin of your metal sink for stability—

The glass in your hand, in your fist, shattered upon impact.

...

You didn’t scream, didn’t make a sound as you slowly looked down.

Just slowly let your eyes, narrowed and focused, center on the sudden mess of bloody glass in your sink—

And the scarlet shards that were stuck in your hand.

Keigo waited, feathers keenly reading your breathing from the other room.

It scratched at his damn brain when the sound of broken glass against metal echoed through your apartment.

Your breath quickened shortly after.

At first, Keigo was a bit annoyed.

Just a tiny, tiny bit.

You obviously weren’t doing well, and your stubbornness about getting fucking water just seemed senseless. Especially since you were already injured.

If you’d just let him take care of you—

Keigo sighed, rising from the couch and making his way to the kitchen, “Hey, dove? Don’t bother trying to sweep, my feathers can— “

His voice died in his throat as he rounded the corner into your kitchen, fear growing in his chest.

You were bent over the sink, oddly supported on one crutch with way too much fucking weight on your injured leg.

But, that wasn’t the worst, not close.

You held your hand just over the basin of the sink.

Jagged shards of glass stuck from your palm, little rivulets and streams of blood dripping into the sink below.

Your eyes were uncomfortably vacant, brows creased and mouth just the slightest bit opened, lips cracked.

“Oh, fuck, dove, shit,” Keigo should’ve known better to panic, but the immediate swell of that protective nature (that he needed to think harder about) had him shooting across your kitchen, a few of his larger feathers flying to support your injured leg. You would’ve fallen if Keigo hadn’t wrapped an arm around you for balance.

Keigo couldn’t tell if it was the burning concern he had over seeing you hurt (again), or the tiny pricklings of ire he had that this was entirely avoidable if you had just listened—

He grabbed your wrist, turning it by his firm grip to take in how bad the injury was.

(Secretly, he’d done a bit more reading about injury assessment, since what happened with your leg.)

“Well, I don’t think you’ll need stitches,” Keigo sighed, letting his annoyance bleed into his tone. As concerned as he was, this was just a mess and he was somewhat aware of the fact he was also running a bit late— “Where’s your first aid kit?”

You were silent, head tilted down, eyes wide and on the running blood.

“Dove, first aid kit?”

“...There’s glass in my hand.”

Keigo’s swore he felt his lungs turn to ice, every selfish thought promptly draining.

If he thought hearing you sob was bad, however the fuck you were talking then was a thousand times worse.

Hollow didn’t even begin to describe it.

“There’s glass in my hand.”

Shouting echoed from the TV.

“There’s glass in my hand.”

...

There was glass in your hand.

Shards, just like on the teashop’s floor.

Your quirk spun, trilling to life, far harder and harsher than it had in the past twelve hours of panic. It descended indiscriminately on your perceptions and senses like a swarm of carrion-eating corvids, the shrill, staticy shouting of the TV, their caws and crowings.

You found that blood smelt similarly, a coppery, heady scent that made the backs of your eyelids singe.

It made your head spin.

Then again, anything and everything was hard to sense. Hard to think. Keigo might’ve been talking, you couldn’t tell or care. There was just—

“glass in my hand.”

The pain of your present, weeping wounds should’ve felt sobering, like the echoings of your surgery when you put pressure on your healing leg.

But it wasn’t.

The sting trailed up your arm, eating at your nerves and bone marrow like biting ants and hungry mosquitos.

You wished you could’ve reacted but all you could think of was that was—

“glass in my hand.”

...

The teashop.

Everything was okay there.

Keigo would come in for his drink, you’d make it, you’d flirt, and everything was okay. He’d give you his pretty laugh, you’d watch the blush grow on his cheeks.

...

The tea shop wasn’t an open-wired husk, covered in SHATTERED GLASS glass and ruined. There was no shadowy villain that sprayed GLASS glass into your leg. There was no injury, there was no agony in Keigo’s voice when he first saw you on the cement.

He never left you in the back room, quaking and cut.

Your quirk never spun so hard in the place that was once a safe haven for you.

...

Keigo had never been bloodied in battle. Well, maybe, but you never saw it. You didn’t keep yourself awake with nightmares, caring when you shouldn’t have. You didn’t ever accidentally brand the image of him with a crooked arm and bloody cheeks into the front of your mind.

All that there was—

“glass in hand.”

Simple as that.

...

Your chest was burning, like phosphorus and liquified iron were being poured down your throat to settle and flattening you to the floor.

Everything was okay.

You spun

“(Y/N).”

Keigo.

...

God, he was fucking dumb.

“There’s glass in my hand.”

It all clicked, and Keigo felt a roll of anxiety wash through him.

Tears rolled down your cheeks, your mouth open as you took harsher and harsher breaths.

Fuck.

Keigo would kick himself for not recognizing the scope of it, you, faster.

He sent a feather to silence the TV, another to grab a nearby dish towel, gently wrapping it around your wrist from the bottom. With the most tender touch he could, he covered your hand and forearm.

“There’s glass in my hand.”

You choked on your own breath, free arm wrapping around your stomach.

Keigo knew touching you could make this all worse, so he tested the waters with a gentle palm on your shoulder.

You didn’t flinch or tense, but you didn’t lean into it.

Good enough.

Keigo shucked off his heavy coat, quick as he could, sending his feathers to scatter away and across the tile below. He rested in on your shoulders, watching your reactions with the utmost intensity and a set jaw.

“T-there’s glass in my hand.”

With all the tears clouding your eyes, it was no wonder you couldn’t even see the wound covered. Not that you were properly in your skull, Keigo could tell that now.

He doubted there was much lucid about you.

Keigo should’ve known better. Really. You were his angel— his fucking dove. That protective instinct was so dispersed in his hero work, that them coming alive seeing you injured and panicking was jarring to the point of nausea.

Why had he ignored how you sounded so off on the phone? The weird behavior?

You were just a few weeks out from being in a significant villain attack— Did Keigo really think hugs and kisses were going to mend the wounds he couldn’t see? The ones he couldn’t perceive?

He just had to do better, now.

Something bore down on your shoulders. Weight.

Would you fall?

You remembered how your knees hit the hard floor of the teashop how SHATTERED GLASS glass had dug into your kneecaps. Maybe, they didn’t feel like the same fiery insects burrowing in the nerve-endings of your hands— no, those had felt like thin, metal toothpicks, shooting through the bone like it was a threadbare sheet and not solid.

Something soft pressed against your cheeks.

It sent blessed, blessed heat through your body. The smell— like honey and sweet cream filled your mouth like a gulp of holy water. It warmed the back of your tongue, familiar and sweet.

Keigo.

You remembered him that terrible day too. How good, and solid he was. How his heartbeat was the tempered drum you needed to even attempt to grasp the frayed threads of objective reality through the chaos, shouts, and SHATTERED GLASS—

“There’s glass in my hand.”

“I know.”

His voice.

Similar sensations, the same warmth, like a heavy, quilted blanket wrapped around you. Maybe a hearth, rolling in the late night as a late autumn night rolled by—

You were being pulled down, physically.

It scared you.

“No!”

It came out as shriek like SHATTERED GLASS angry nails against your ears, spitting bile up from the soles of your feet.

The heat washed over you again, “It’s just me, angel. I’ve got you.”

You trusted it, implicitly.

You sank, expecting the same pins to shred your knees again like they had back then.

Expect, it didn’t.

Rather, slowly, you end up on the ground, on your bottom.

Keigo guided you to the floor with the help of some feathers and words of encouragement, not even attempting to get you back to the couch.

He sat you between his own outstretched legs, coaxing you to lean back into his chest. Keigo kept a careful watch on your hand, bracing you at the forearm as to not aggravate the wounds more than necessary.

It took a moment, but you fell against him. Your breathing was still harsh and ragged, but at least you weren’t trying to keep standing.

Tentatively, Keigo wrapped his arms around your waist. You didn’t react negatively, so he took it another step further, resting his forehead against the back of your neck.

“(Y/N), breath with me,” he asked, keeping his voice soft. “Just listen to my voice okay?”

He counted his breaths, keeping them slow and methodical. Considering how his own heart was exploding like a miswired bomb, he needed it as well.

Even if it took a while for it to catch in your skull, Keigo kept at it.

...

Keigo was good.

The images of him bloody and smiling were still bright.

But, he was good.

He was attached to the heat and sweetness around you. It was distracting.

Nice.

“Just like that, nice and steady, you’re doing so well, dove.”

He was good.

Slowly, the pains and barbs around your body dulled, at least by a few fractions.

The lump of panic lodged in your throat eroded and left your belly oddly-weighted and uncomfortable. Though, it was marginally better than whatever you were feeling before.

Slowly becoming aware of your body (and the one so close), you shifted to rest your cheek against Keigo’s temple as your quirk quieted a few decibels.

You sagged back into him, tears at a steady drip, but nothing like they were.

“Keigo?” You asked hoarsely.

He shifted, your teeth shattering as the movements of his muscles felt like so much so close to your own.

He flickered his kind, golden gaze to you, “Yes?”

“There’s glass in my hand.”

The words nearly fired you up again, a sob burying itself like a shortsword in your breast, your head tilting to look-

Keigo squeezed around your waist, a wide feather coming up to shield your face from what you both knew you’d see, “There is, dove. Do you have a first aid kit? Let me patch it up for you.”

Did you really want to see your bloodied hand? The mental image of it still felt so fresh.

It all felt like too much—

“Dove? Stay with me, (Y/N),” Keigo carefully laid his hand around your jaw. “First-aid kit?”

“Oh,” You blinked, focusing back on him again. “Under the bathroom sink.”

...

Keigo was careful not to let you slip away again.

He kept talking, keeping his voice low and soft as he set you onto the couch to clean your hand. The feather shield turned to cover your eyes as needed.

Your hand might’ve looked worse simply due to the white dishrag bleeding red.

He was quick to patch it, bandaging it and wrapping as needed. He’d made sure to tuck your favored plushie, the one he’d gifted you, into your free arm as he did.

He sat between your spread legs, on his knees, as morning light shifted in from the open balcony window. It might’ve seemed intimate to an onlooker— maybe it was.

That was a later thought.

Finally, hand wrapped confidently and securely in medical tape, Keigo sat back, the feather shielding your eyes floating back to his reassembled wings.

You still didn’t look well, maybe worse than used-up and hollowed as before.

Slowly, your injured hand twitched, grabbing Keigo’s wrist and pulling him to the couch.

You tugged him into your lap, burying your face in the front of the shirt of his hero costume.

Keigo settled on top of your thighs, wrapping his wings around the two of you as he buried his nose in your hair.

“We’re okay.”

It was so soft, Keigo hardly heard it.

“We are, dove.” He kept his voice equally quiet, reverent in the gold of the morning. He pulled back to settle and meet your gaze. “You’re safe. I’m safe. We’re safe.”

You squeezed around his hips, pulling him closer in the crimson canopy, “You sure?”

“Positive.”

There was a moment of stillness, then shrillness.

The ringtone of Keigo’s phone screamed from the pocket of his jacket that you still had around your shoulders.

You jolted, pushing yourself deeper into Keigo and wincing, the sound undoubtedly shredding your oversensitive mind and body.

He quickly grabbed it from the pocket, ending the call.

“Do you have to leave?” You asked, weak against him sternum.

Keigo shot off a text, silencing the phone sans emergency alerts and tossed it near his shoes at the door.

“No, I’m not. I’m taking the day off,” Keigo spoke words he truly thought he never would.

“Are you sure?” He knew you knew he was busy.

“Yeah,” Keigo replied quietly, tugging you as close as he could. “I would never leave you like this, (Y/N). Never.”

“You’ve got important shit to do,” you fought, weakly, still melting against him.

“I do,” Keigo emphasized, cupping your face in his hands. “You know what that is?”

You didn’t answer, eyes flickering away, something fragile bore in your eyes.

“Keeping you safe.” Keigo stroked over your cheeks, letting his softest, most careful smile grow. “I’m new to it, but one thing I’m sure of is that I’m supposed to be here when you need me. And I want to be.”

“You do keep me safe—”

“Then, I haven’t done a great job of helping you feel that way,” He kissed your forehead, quickly hushing you.

You were trembling beneath him, unsure of what to say.

Quiet as he could, Keigo spoke once more, the words sounding almost like breath, “I’m sorry I pushed you away. Let me be here, now.”

Truthfully, endlessly, you wanted nothing more. You’d get a therapist, or something, to help with the more pressing, far back concern of obvious trauma.

But now, in the early morning of your golden-lit apartment?

You just wanted Keigo to stay.

You just wanted to fall into him, both you being okay, the only red stains being that of Keigo’s crimson feathers that you adored so much.

He felt solid, as he always had.

You leaned into him.

“Can we nap?” You interrupted your own hush, voice nearly breaking with tired tears. “I didn’t sleep well.”

“I don’t imagine you did,” Keigo winced internally, remembering you must’ve felt horrible since the night prior. “Come on, dove.”

Keigo helped you to your room, gently assisting you in moving aside your plushies. You sipped some stale water from your bedside, a few of his feathers refilling it for you as you were undoubtedly dehydrated.

You sat back on the duvet, Keigo quickly gathering you into his arms, head against his chest. His feathers dispersed around the room, only the small roots remained to be pressed into the sheets.

It was the calm after the storm, mangled pieces surfaced and bobbing on the water of both your minds. But, they could be sorted and dealt with properly later. For now, you settled, blessedly, in the comfort of each other. The shattering thunder was an echo, quieted by the others presence and slow breaths.

The steady thrum of his heart in your ear was the final bit of calm you needed. The blackout curtains of your room kept it dark, light with the tiniest fairy lights across the seam of your walls and ceiling barely giving enough light to cast shadows. Your quirk was properly dormant, though you still felt frazzled.

You were exhausted, but not done yet.

“Keigo?” You asked softly.

He immediately squeezed your intertwined hands, the one laid over his navel, “Yes?”

“I’m sorry I got like that, about seeing you hurt,” It was such a soft admission, unnecessary, but you didn’t let Keigo’s inhale stop you. “I know, I don’t need to apologize, but I’m still going to.”

You sat up a bit, body aching as you faced Keigo.

His lips were parted, half-ready to speak, to comfort you, but you needed to be there for both of you— if only for a moment.

“I also know it’s part of the reality of your job. It’s just hard, seeing someone you love hurt, whether it's necessary or otherwise.”

You both noticed your word choice.

Your lip wobbled as you stroked his cheek, rubbing your thumb over the curves of his face. He looked younger like this, more like his age, eyes widening and soft and truly vulnerable, as terrifying as the prospect was.

“You don’t need to be sorry. I understand,” Keigo assured you, voice shaking as he tugged you down and closer. “It is hard. I didn’t realize how hard until now.”

His breath caught in his chest, followed by sniffling as he buried his face in your hair.

You entangled your legs with him, the weight of your boot a solemn reminder.

“It was more than that too.”

You both knew what you were referring to.

Keigo squeezed you, so hard it almost hurt. You swore you could feel a few stray tears of his wet your scalp, “And that’s okay.”

Your eyes stung, “It was all so scary— “

You muffled yourself against Keigo’s neck as you clung to each other.

“I know, but it’s okay now. You’re safe, safest you could ever be,” Keigo assured you, the wobble in his voice almost disguised. He rubbed at the tension in your lower back, “It’s okay to be scared, however that is and whenever that is, but do you feel me next to you?”

“Y-yeah.” A soft admission.

“Then you’re safe.”

You believed him, implicitly.

You simply held each other for a while.

“Are you just better at coping with all of this?” You asked, the joke feeling light after so much heaviness.

“I’d say repressing, but ‘coping’ works too.”

You snorted, gently.

Keigo stroked up your back, touch like a washing, warm undertow that you were happy to be caught up in.

“I’m sorry for not understanding sooner,” Keigo squeezed, mind drifting unconsciously back to his own past, of that he’d rather forget and most of the time did. “I know it’s hard to communicate, and I can’t imagine what it's like with your quirk. I’m supposed to be smart about this shit, but it looks like I have some work to do, huh?”

“You couldn’t have known. Just adjusting, you know? Communicating and learning,” You replied, squeezing him. “You care so much, Keigo. I can tell.”

Keigo went silent and tense.

“How?”

It was a question posed to both you and himself.

You thought for a moment, through the thousands of moments you’d collected over the months, so many concentrated in the last few weeks.

“It’s how you feel, you know?”

He remained silent, though he knew what you meant.

You felt your tongue rest in your mouth, activating your spent quirk for just a moment and savoring Keigo’s sweetness.

“You taste like honey. Like, warmth on a cold day. Every time you touch me, I feel like I could be anchored in the worst storm, and you wouldn’t shiver, let alone falter.”

Keigo remained silent, squeezing you and burying his face in your hair.

“Whenever you look at me,” you spoke so softly, the words might’ve broken in the air itself, “your eyes soften from solid gold to warm honey. Every time. From that first time, you walked in the shop.”

He remained silent, though his trembling spoke volumes and tomes.

“I can tell you care, Keigo. In so many ways. I can’t ever forget.”

Keigo had never felt so deeply, he was sure of it.

He’d never felt the blessed heat you’d given him, so many times, with your words, and sweetness, and kind smiles before.

He’d never been cherished like a person before.

He was sure that he’d never cared so endlessly and with all of himself before for another being.

The premise terrified him for a moment.

But, all it took was a quick glance down at the tangling of your bodies in the low glow of the room for any fear to melt away.

You were right there with him, the same way he was there for you.

Keigo finally spoke, pulling your face up to his.

Your eyes met, every part of the two of you turning to mush in the hold of the other.

You both felt okay.

And, really, truly, looking into the molten core of him, you felt safe.

So did he.

Keigo stroked his thumbs over your cheeks, brows creasing like he was holding back fat tears, “I love you so much, you know? I don’t think I couldn’t.”

Something, like a steady, new flame—

Something, like all the heat you and Keigo shared (and would come to share) lit through you both—

Like the gentle sun being born once again between the two of you, framed in red feathers and softness.

You replied truthfully, with all of you, burying yourself in him as he tucked into you.

“I love you too, Keigo.”

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💗ko-fi 💗

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punksarahreese · 3 years

Note

hi hello could i maybe get "I don’t wanna die this way" for lone star? please hurt me however u choose

Hello^^ you certainly can 😌🌸

Don’t want to (die) | Marjan Marwani

Canon; A call goes awry and no one was expecting this outcome

Prompt: “I don’t wanna die this way”

Word count: 1515

CW: mentions of dying and medical emergencies

Send me prompts from the Penelope Scott lyrics list

***

It’s not a call that Michelle was ever expecting to get, or maybe it was something she just prayed would never happen. No amount of manifesting would prevent this, though, and Owen’s frantic tone over the radio had her heart dropping.

“Ladder 126, EMS needed immediately at our position,” Michelle wasn’t prepared for the words that followed, “Code 26.”

Injured firefighter, EMS required.

That had Nancy rushing for their bags from the rig, throwing them on the gurney as quickly as she could. Michelle was already running ahead, calling back for Tim to stay there and look after their patients, her own bag bouncing against her thigh with every movement. She cursed under her breath as she stumbled, worry for her crew clouding her awareness. Code 26, not an uncommon code in this line of work but certainly not one she had heard for a while. The last time she did must have been when TK was shot, which had been a whole other kind of chaos.

“Who?” she didn’t have any time for panic as she tried to depersonalize from it all, a hand falling on Judd’s shoulder to get his attention. The man looked at her through his visor, worry etched into his face as he pointed to where most of the crew was crowding around. This was just supposed to be a normal fire response, a small apartment complex with a fire on the third floor, and she was sure everyone had evacuated on time. She was only gone from the main scene for ten minutes, helping parents find their children and checking people for smoke inhalation and minor burns. They hadn’t had a firefighter injury in a while, this was such a minor scene she wasn’t sure how it had even happened. Judd seemed to be questioning the same thing but she didn’t have the time to consider how much his memories were haunting him at that moment.

“Marjan…”

Nancy had caught up with her by then and she nudged her Captain forward, though when their eyes met Michelle could tell she was just as worried. She could feel the pit of anxiety gnawing away at her stomach, her friend’s life at risk here. Still, they had to be smart about this, Marjan needed them and they would have to wait to feel later.

“Captain,” Michelle bounded over to the others, “What happened?”

Owen turned to look at her, standing up properly from his previously crouched position. Mateo was on the ground, looking like anxiety incarnate, and beside him was Marjan. Laying on the sooty asphalt with her turnout coat nowhere to be found and she looked worse for wear. Instead, her long sleeve was exposed and Michelle could see blood seeping from somewhere and covering the white fabric in a nauseating amount. She was on the ground with them in seconds, leaning over Marjan before Owen had even managed to speak.

“The ceiling,” it was TK who spoke instead, “She went back to get a kid… the building was unstable.”

“Someone decided it was a brilliant idea to take off her coat and cover the kid with it,” Judd interjected, “The smoke was disorienting and we couldn’t get to her in time. The lobby ceiling fell.”

Michelle was nodding but all of her attention was on Marjan, shining her penlight in her eyes and sighing when her pupils reacted properly. The woman in question was watching her weakly, her breathing unsteady but she was still alert enough to know what was going on. There didn’t seem to be any head or facial trauma, which was a relief, but her main worry was her abdomen.

“BP is high and she’s tachy,” Nancy told her as she leaned over with a stethoscope to confirm, speaking gently to Marjan before she did anything. Michelle was glad Nancy was there, her caring nature always helping to soothe their patients.

“Marjan, let me know if this hurts, okay?” She didn’t lift her shirt for the sake of her privacy and instead palpated the injured area over the soaked fabric. The gentle pressure had her crying out almost immediately, arms jerking up to cover her stomach. It was very un-Marjan like in nature, since she was always fearless and hated to seem weak. Michelle apologized gently but her concern was only rising with that reaction.

“Abdominal guarding and tenderness,” she turned to TK, “What fell on her?”

“A chair from the upper hallway along with a large chunk of the ceiling.”

“Damn,” she looked to Nancy again, “Notify the nearest hospital that we have an incoming patient with blunt force abdominal trauma. Looks like a couple broken lower ribs and I’m worried about her spleen.”

“Alright.”

“Request a female trauma surgeon if possible,” she added before looking back down at Marjan, “You with me, Mar?”

Never one to appear weak even on death’s door, Marjan nodded as much as she could, “Mhm.”

“Anything else hurt right now?”

“How a-about eve-everything…” she let out a shaky laugh, which only made her wince as it jostled her ribcage. That only solidified Michelle’s assumption about fractured ribs, which usually caused a rupture of the spleen in cases like this. She hadn’t seen anything pressing during her secondary assessment but she was worried about other internal injuries or shock setting in too fast.

“We’re going to get you on the backboard then, okay?” she motioned for Mateo to stand and grabbed the board from on top of the gurney, passing it over to Paul so he could slide it under her from his side. She crouched by her shoulder, catching her attention again.

“We’re going to roll you onto your side, you know the drill.”

The transfer was painful for everyone, with Marjan unable to hide her agony at being moved in such a way. They hated seeing her like this, knowing they were only causing her more pain, but it was necessary. She cried out as they slid the board under her body, allowing Michelle a second to check for any injuries on her back. Getting her up onto the gurney was less of an event, though her stats had dropped enough in the move for Nancy to get worried.

“Captain Blake,” she said, “BP dropped and O2 stats in the 80’s.”

“Okay, we need to get going, I’ll run oxygen in the bus.”

With that they transferred her across the parking lot, back to the safe area that had been designated for the civilians to gather. Tim was waiting among them, rushing over to ask what had happened. Michelle was preoccupied with talking to Owen, trying to tell him as simply as she could how her prognosis looked.

“She’ll need a CT to confirm but I think there’s a good chance her spleen ruptured,” she told him, “I know you needed to move her from the building but I do hope you all didn’t jostle her too much.”

“We were as careful as possible but I couldn’t risk anyone getting trapped,” he rubbed a hand over his face, “Take care of our girl, Michelle.”

“We’ve got her,” with that she hoisted herself into the back of the ambulance, beside Nancy who was already getting the oxygen mask situated for Marjan. Tim checked from the front to make sure they were ready and then started the rig, lights and sirens on the second they pulled out of the parking lot.

Michelle busied herself with starting an IV in her arm, knowing she would need fluids if they wanted to keep her stats relatively stable. Her oxygenation had improved but her blood pressure was still worrying, not to mention how thready her pulse seemed when Michelle pressed her fingers to her wrist momentarily. That was never a good sign, especially with the way her eyes unfocused and her response to stimuli had decreased.

“Marjan,” she leaned a bit closer to meet her glassy eyes, “You stay awake for me.”

“T-trying…” she murmured, “Hurts.”

“I know,” looking at her crewmate she asked for a dose of morphine that would hopefully help until they got her to the ER. Nancy administered the painkiller as quickly as she could, reminding Marjan that she was doing well and they would get her help.

When the other woman leaned towards the front to ask Tim about their ETA, Marjan reached out weakly. She caught Michelle’s hand, making the EMT look at her with concern.

“I-” she took a shaky breath and tried to blink away the tears that clouded her vision, “I don’t w-wanna… die this way.”

“Hey, don’t say that,” Michelle told her firmly, “We’ve got you. You never let anything stop you before, Marjan, you can get through this.”

“M… Michelle?”

“I’m right here, Mar.”

“I-” her sentence never finished as the firefighter’s eyes rolled back slowly, unable to properly hear Michelle’s words of panic as she noticed what was happening. Marjan tried to stay alert, she really did, but the pain was too much. She felt like she was suffocating, the heavy weight in her abdomen slowly radiating up her body. She could feel hands on her, knew Michelle was with her, but she couldn’t focus. The only thing she was aware of was the aggressive beeping of the monitor that preceded her descent into unconsciousness.

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emy-loves-you · 3 years

Text

Wrong Numbers And Useless Gays Chapter 8

Snake Boi Needs Hugs

This chapter deals with depersonalization, disassociation, self-harm (scratching), past body mutilation, child neglect, etc. If any of these topics have the potential to trigger you, please skip to the bold section at the end of this chapter. There, I have a masterlist/recap of all issues/disorders that the characters have been revealed to have up to this point. I was at a really low point when I wrote this, but it’s still important to the story, and this is the worst that it's gonna get. Please be safe. If you skip down to the masterlist and something in Janus' section triggers you, don’t read this chapter. You can read the rest of this fic with only the masterlist info instead of the actual chapter.

Chapter 7 | Masterlist | Chapter 9

(November 9th)

V- (6:24 PM) Hey guys, I’m gonna be really busy over the next few days. Probably won’t respond to texts. Nothing’s wrong, I just won’t be on my phone.

P- (6:24 PM) Alright Kiddo. Stay safe, and don’t forget to eat!

V- (6:25 PM) I will. I’ll text you guys when it’s over. See you then

Virgil sighed, locking his front door. He began his long walk to Janus’ house. This was one of those few times where he wished that he owned his own car. He sighed, adjusting his backpack. While normally Virgil would ask Janus or Remus to pick him up, Janus’ birthday was in 2 days. That’s why Virgil was making this journey in the first place. Sometimes, Janus spent his birthday like an excited 8-year-old, ordering a 3 tier cake and enough glitter to cover the entire house. Sometimes Janus was clingy: wanting to cuddle on the couch with Remus, watch shitty romcoms and drink enough booze to fill a river. But sometimes…

Virgil shook his head. Hopefully, it wouldn’t be one of those birthdays. He knocked on the door. There was a muffled curse before the door was swung open. Remus stood there, slightly panting. His hair was all over the place, and he was wearing what looked like his pajamas from the day before. Virgil bit down the urge to say “you look like shit.” Instead, he just nodded his head and stepped into the house. He followed Remus into the old study (Janus never came in here any other time of year) and found Janus hunched over his desk, writing something down. But what drew in Virgil’s attention were the wrist-length yellow gloves on his hands. So it’s one of THOSE birthdays.

Virgil's mind flashed to the day he met Janus, the yellow gloves brushing his hair back. Janus had been given those gloves by his father for his 18th birthday. Other than to bathe, Janus never took them off until months after his parents died. It took a lot of time and effort to convince Janus that he didn’t need those gloves, especially since they were the only present that his father had ever given him. After they started performing as The Dark Sides, Janus had bought himself a pair of yellow elbow-length gloves. He only wore the elbow-length gloves when he was Deceit, and he never wore the wrist-length gloves.

Virgil shook his head, stepping further into the room. Janus has yet to look up. Virgil stepped around the desk, knowing that he wouldn’t acknowledge Virgil even if he spoke up. He read the first line, frowning at what he saw.

“Dear Mother and Father,”

Virgil looked up at Remus, giving him a nod. Remus left the room. It would be beneficial for Remus to go, since he knew the house better than Virgil. While Remus went to lock up anything potentially dangerous, Virgil kept an eye on Janus. He took a seat in the armchair in the corner of the study, positioned specifically for Virgil to have a perfect view of both Janus and the door. They sat there for several hours, the sound Janus’ pen the only sound between them. Virgil’s eyes never left Janus, knowing what would happen if he looked away for too long. Janus abruptly stood up, neatly folding up the 20-something pages of letters and throwing them away. Virgil stood up, following Janus into the dining room. He couldn’t see Remus- he was probably sleeping. There was a pile of sandwiches on the table (turkey with tomato and mayonnaise, crustless. Janus’ favorite) along with 2 plastic cups and bottled water. Virgil pulled back a chair, and Janus numbly sat down, posture perfectly straight. Virgil gave Janus a cup of water and half of a sandwich before sitting down. They ate in silence. Two bites into his third sandwich, Janus stood up. Virgil followed. They walked upstairs, Virgil glancing at the clock on the wall. 12:13 AM. Earlier than usual. Virgil followed Janus into the master bedroom, finding Remus passed out on the edge of the bed. He watched as Janus changed into his pajamas, currently having no sense of decency. He kept his gloves on as he lay in bed, facing the ceiling with eyes wide open. Virgil sat on the couch near the bed, his gaze never wavering. They sat there for several more hours, neither moving an inch. When Virgil’s alarm went off (vibrate only, no loud noises) at 4 AM, Virgil got up to wake Remus. They quickly changed positions, with Remus sitting on the couch and Virgil curling up on the bed. He noticed Janus’ eyes fluttering shut and he drifted off soon after.

He woke up to Remus shaking him at 9:30. He silently got up, giving Remus a quick nod before slipping out of the room. He went to a separate bedroom to change before hurrying down to the kitchen. He made a batch of blueberry muffins (they couldn’t eat anything that required silverware, not after the first time) and went about cleaning up the sandwiches from last night. By 10:30, the muffins had cooled down, and Virgil could hear Janus and Remus making their way downstairs. Virgil quickly put the muffins on the table and checked to make sure he wasn’t covered in any ingredients (when he was like this, Janus would forget that he fired his servants years ago). Virgil quickly sat down, glancing up just as Janus walked in.

He was wearing a crisp business suit, his gloves still in place. Virgil watched as Remus got Janus situated, planting a quick kiss on the side of his face. Virgil let a ghost of a smile flicker onto his face; even when Janus was like this, Remus still absolutely adored him. That smile quickly fled when he realized where Remus had kissed him. A long, horrid scar rested on Janus’ face, stretching from temple to chin. Janus tended to paint that half of his face with scales when playing Deceit, if only to cover it up. Another flashback appeared, this time of Janus two weeks after his parents died. They were eating steak, and they thought Janus was finally opening back up and suddenly there was so much blood and Virgil took the knife away as Janus kept clawing at his face and make it stop make it stop-

A hand on his shoulder pulled him back roughly. Virgil looked up to see Remus peering down at him, a look of not-quite pity on his face. Virgil quickly shook his head, turning back to the muffin on his plate. He didn’t feel hungry anymore.

Today played out much like the day before, with Janus hunched over his desk writing letters. Virgil and Remus each took turns watching him while the other slept or prepared meals. That night, Remus took the first shift while Virgil went to sleep. He woke up at around 2 AM to Janus screaming. He quickly bolted up, taking in the situation. Remus was now sitting on Janus’ lap, keeping his legs down as he pinned his arms to his sides. Janus arched his back, his face red but no open cuts to be seen (that’s at least one good thing about those damned gloves). Remus looked close to tears, and Virgil quickly grabbed one of Janus’ arms, allowing Remus to focus on the other. They sat there for several minutes, praying for Janus to calm down. He eventually passed out, a combination of exhaustion and lack of air from screaming keeping him asleep. Virgil took up his shift early, letting Remus lie down. Neither slept for the rest of the night.

The next day, they had some strawberry muffins and contemplated what would happen today. It was now November 11th, Janus’ birthday, and neither friend had a single clue about what would happen today. They watched as Janus got up and grabbed his coat from the living room. Remus kept watch while Virgil hurried upstairs, grabbing his backpack. He quickly ran back downstairs, giving one last nod to Remus before Janus slipped out of the house. Virgil would go with Janus while Remus cleaned up the house and got some sleep.

Virgil followed Janus as they walked through the gardens, already knowing where they were heading. They walked down this path constantly after the funeral, and by now Virgil had it memorized. While they walked, Virgil quietly opened his bag and brought out a bouquet of fake flowers. He handed Janus the bouquet as they reached the grave. It was an elaborate headstone, with angels etched around the words:

“Here lies David and Mary Williams. October 8th, 1961 to November 11th, 2014. December 4th, 1962 to November 11th, 2014. Lovers, parents, and friends to all that met them.”

Virgil scowled at the headstone as Janus kneeled over the grave. Even after 6 years, these bastards still hurt him. They stayed there for a few hours, no sounds beyond the birds chirping in the distance. Janus eventually got up, dropping the flowers and making his way back to the house. Virgil followed, silently checking Janus for any sign of emotion. His face was perfectly blank, with no signs of crying or distress. They reached the house at around 2 PM and Virgil was slightly surprised when Janus made a beeline for the ballroom. He nudged Remus awake as they passed the living room, pulling him off the couch before following Janus. They could hear the slow sounds of some waltz as Janus turned on the old gramophone in the corner of the room. Janus then stood there, staring at the floor as if it could tell him what to do. Remus quickly walked up and put a hand on Janus’ waist, using his other to clasp Janus’ own hand. Janus looked up, and for the first time in 3 days, he looked like he actually saw Remus, not a stranger.

They slowly danced around the room, and to Virgil they looked more intimate than he’d ever seen them. There was groping, no dirty secrets whispered between each other, just dancing. Dancing with open and honest looks on their faces, speaking in a language that Virgil’s pretty sure he’ll never learn. The way that Remus furrowed his brow every few minutes, the subtle squeezing of Janus’ hands. This was the spark that they shared, and Virgil knew that he would never be able to have this type of moment with them. They were so obviously in love, and he wished that moments like this happened more often, that they were able to be like this without one of them being emotionally compromised or vulnerable.

Eventually, the record stopped, and with it all of Janus’ self-control. He flung himself around Remus’ neck, and Virgil could hear the muffled sob from across the room. Remus gently lowered them to the ground, rubbing his back and whispering something that Virgil couldn’t hear. Remus looked up and made eye contact with Virgil, silent tears streaming down his face. Go, his look said, I’ll take care of him. Virgil nodded, going to make dinner.

The next day, Virgil was happy to see Janus sitting on the couch, curled up against Remus, and watching cheesy rom coms. He glanced down and noticed that the gloves were nowhere to be found. Virgil smiled, going to take a seat on Janus’ other side. He glanced over at Remus as he made some snarky remark. Yes, they were still broken. Yes, they still had moments where they lost all hope. But they also had each other. They were family, and that was all Virgil ever wanted.

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Here is the masterlist of issues and/or disorders that the characters, in order of relevance to the story:

Remus- Remus is a transgender male with the deadname Rebecca. His parents were very controlling and manipulative. They refused to acknowledge that he transitioned, so he ran away at age 16. He hasn’t talked to his family since. In retaliation to how transphobic and homophobic his parents were, Remus developed a very vulgar mindset. He tells everyone that he meets about how he’s trans and very gay for Janus. He never talks about his life before he met Janus and Virgil unless he’s extremely drunk. Remus developed his persona of the Duke to help combat his gender dysphoria and intrusive thoughts. The Duke is much more vulgar but less likely to admit that he’s trans. He currently lives with Janus (and a good distance away from his hometown). He has lived there for almost 7 years, has been a member of The Dark Sides for 5 years, and has been in a relationship with Janus for 4 years.

Roman- Roman is Remus’ twin. When Remus (still being called Rebecca at the time) was trying to discover himself, he began to look and act similarly to Roman. He was punished for this (since their parents were transphobic) and Roman’s low self-esteem combined with Remus’ punishments caused Roman to lash out at Remus the day before he came out to their parents. Roman is unaware that Remus transitioned and blames himself for pushing “Rebecca” away. Roman began to lash out against his parents and started a secret relationship with Logan in order to combat their homophobia (that’s what he told himself. He also had a massive crush on both Logan and Patton). When Patton found out, they briefly argued before getting together in a polyamorous relationship. They coincidentally moved to the same town that Remus did soon after graduating high school. Roman still suffers from extreme guilt at the loss of Rebecca and is occasionally harassed by his parents over the phone. Roman has been in the poly relationship for almost 8 years and has lived in his current house for 6 years.

Janus- Was emotionally neglected at a young age by his rich parents. They were always screaming at each other and him behind closed doors. He was taught to never show that his life was less than perfect, so by 19 he was a compulsive liar. He met Virgil during one of his depressive (and slightly suicidal) episodes and decided to take him in. He met and took in Remus 4 months after meeting Virgil. His parents were neglectful to the point where they didn’t realize that they were housing two other teenagers. On Janus’ 20th birthday, both of his parents died in a car crash. He immediately fired all of his staff and went into an extreme depression. Two weeks after his death, he self-harmed and mutilated his face with a steak knife, leaving him with a horrible scar. He has gotten a lot better over the years, though he tends to depersonalize and potentially self-harm on the days leading up to his birthday. He uses the persona of Deceit to separate his compulsive lying from his actual personality. You can never tell when Deceit is lying (and half the time, neither can he). Janus is less of a compulsive liar now, but he’s still extremely sarcastic and will slip into his Deceit persona when he feels vulnerable. Same timestamps as Remus, though he’s lived in this town his entire life.

Virgil- Virgil has never known his birth parents, his mother dying when he was 3 months old and his dad nowhere to be seen. He never had a stable home, having bounced around the foster system until he was kicked out at 18. He met Janus soon after, who took him in. Virgil has always had a knack for music and art, but he was never able to fully develop his talents until Remus suggested they form a band. He cooked for Janus and Remus before he moved out, since neither of them had needed to cook for themselves before they met each other. Virgil never felt he earned anything for himself until he started earning money from The Dark Sides. Because of this (and the fact that he has an insane amount of money now), Virgil likes to spoil his crushes with big, elaborate gifts (he can’t spoil Janus or Remus because Janus is richer than Virgil will ever be and Remus is already spoiled by Janus). When Janus and Remus got together they offered for Virgil to join their relationship. He declined, quickly noticing that their relationship with each other is deeper and more intimate than anything that he could ever have with them. Virgil uses the persona of Anxiety to combat his, you guessed it, anxiety. Anxiety is suave and confident, though Virgil only slips into his persona when either flirting or at a Dark Sides-related event. Virgil has the same timestamps as Janus, though he never joined Janus’ relationship with Remus.

Patton- Patton has always had mild depression. He gets depressive episodes at least once a month. He’s never been suicidal, but he becomes very self-deprecating during more intense episodes. He usually turns to one of the others for a distraction. Patton grew up next door to Logan, and they got together when they were 12. They kept their relationship a secret until Patton found Logan making out with Roman 5 years later. It hurt him a lot and he still fears that they’ll leave one day for someone else. Patton has been in a relationship with Logan for nearly 13 years, Roman joined them 8 years ago, and they’ve lived in the same house for 6 years.

Logan- Logan doesn’t have any issues or disorders to note, other than he’s really tired. He’s helped Patton through his depression for as long as he can remember, and he helps Roman through his issues of guilt and anger (Patton’s self-deprecating thoughts tend to increase when Roman is upset). Logan is calm and collected. He’s the only one in this series who’s been to college, and will soon earn his master's degree in astronomy. They actually decided to move to this town due to its college’s astronomy program. Logan is the one who deals with budgeting and scheduling, hence why he’s annoyed with Virgil spending so much money on them. All of his timestamps are the same as Patton’s.

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Taglist: @bisexualdisaster106 @self-taught-mess @itawalrus @arodynamic-enby @sanderssides-angst

#sanders sides fic #useless gays #virgil sanders #Janus Sanders #remus sanders #read the message in bold #heavy angst

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fairytsuk1 · 3 years

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despite everything, it’s still you | (a)

character: tommyinnit

genre: angst

words: 1.8k

summary: tommyinnit is sent to the afterlife after being killed by dream, his experience as a broken soul in the afterlife is different than he'd imagined.

warnings: head injury at the beginning and it’s a bit graphically described! also depersonalization with the afterlife

notes: a bit different from my usual stuff but i had this idea and wanted to do it!

The last thing Tommy's present body feels is his brain practically leaking out of his ears. The force with which his head is knocked into the ground is too strong, and he instantly blacks out. Dream's fists collided into him much harder than he thought, and it was even harder to try to block each hit as he was instantly overpowered by the godlike man. He just couldn't seem to get away. His soul might have even been connected with Dream's at one point; how could someone live every day of their life and always go back to the one who caused so much pain? It's not a peaceful end; it's gory and sticky with blood splattered on the quickly growing pale skin. When Tommy opens his eyes, there's no Tubbo or blue sky; it's just white. The first thing he realizes is that he's not breathing, but he's not dying because of it. Because, well, he's already dead.

"Dream?..."

His thoughts are there, at least the most important ones. There are some of them that blur together, like watching a movie on fast-forward and not pausing. He couldn't remember his life so far up to his death, and the panic was setting in; what man didn't remember their own life? Was he even Tommy? A thump beats in his chest but looking down...there is no chest at all. In fact, there is no skin, bones, no solidifying figure that could tell him, "ah, I was a person." Tommy doesn't even want to think about what would happen if he didn't know his own name. Would he be lost to time forever?

"What the fuck is going on…?" his finger jabs at the translucent blob of a figure, he's still got limbs, but he looks like a bucket of slime rather than a fleshed-out human, "Hah! I'm like fuckin' Charlie Slimecicle…"

His humor hasn't left him, which warms his heart. Well, he supposes he has no heart as Tommy continues to poke and prod the gelatin-like substance he was hosting. It was weird seeing the ghostly shape of your own body, long legs, and big yet bony hands...it was freaky.

"This is just disgusting, actually. Fuckin' hell…"

He stands and tries to ignore the way he feels weightless; it's depersonalizing. Makes him nauseous to think of how he doesn't exist in the mortal realm, but instead, he's here in some sort of blank space.

"Wilbur!"

Walking, he realizes that he feels loose and lets out a laugh when he twists his body and finds it going farther than any human could. His ghostly capabilities were kinda cool! He had to focus though he needed to find a way to jump back down to Earth if he was dead. As much as he enjoyed being able to touch his toes and squat with his feet flat on the ground, the loneliness was starting to get to him. Though he didn't say anything out loud, being dead was starting to get a little scary. Of course, the lead-up wasn't nice, and he's glad to be pain-free (though he does jerk out of shock once he realizes his head is caved in). There's something about being alive that is just so...he misses it, that's all.

"Wilbur!...Schlatt??"

Tommy walks for a while with no changes to his atmosphere. For a moment, he thinks that he hasn't even been walking with the lack of environmental changes. That train of thought simmers to a stop as he spots a bench in the distant future, running towards it at lightning speed. There's no sound when he runs; his voice doesn't even echo. It's as though this afterlife has nothing in it at all. Like it's made of nothing. Like he's made of nothing. He relaxes into the bench and smiles widely; if only he had his favorite disks! It's like being with Tubbo again, like being kids again! The warm touch of affection kisses his cheek as warmth spreads through him. When can he go back? He's so ready to go back.

"You know, Tubbo, I hope you're not all focused on Ranboo to forget about me! I mean, I'm that one that, you know, died!"

Who is he speaking to? This afterlife is really getting to him, there is no Tubbo here, and there is no Mellohi. The smile fades as he glances around, white on white: white walls, floor, ceiling.

"Whoever the God here is, your heaven is shit."

He shouldn't have said that. The bench rumbles, and he's shocked to see it crumbling underneath him. Chips of wood fly into space, and he scrambles off of it, watching it decompose his very own eyes.

"Ah, ah, wait! I'm sorry, I'm really sorry! Give it back! Give me my damn bench back, you bitch!"

A bigger piece flies off and slices his hand, a glob of his fingers falling off and melting into the ground as he stands panicked. There's no blood, but it suddenly hits him. He isn't even human; this is all he has left. He's lucky to have his thoughts. That is his last tether to all he knows. If he lets himself be broken down, he'll never be human again. His time is limited. He has to find a way out.

His feet take off before he can even realize it, sprinting as he shouts for Sam, Tubbo, Wilbur, and even Phil.

But nobody came. No-one scooped him up and rescued him like they should've. He's only a child, for god's sake!

"What have I done to deserve any of this!? Let me go back! I want to go back!!"

His voice is shaky as he spins, decomposed and blocky trees forming around him like corroded pixels. He could cry, but he's holding it back; Dream instilled that in him. The less you care, the better the ending. The trees fall in shards, and each one that touches him breaks off a piece of him. He's practically melting as he runs through the rain of pixels, each one hell-bent on destroying his soul. Right now, he's no human. It's his soul in the purest form. His feet stick together before pulling apart, and he collapses onto the solid white ground. Everything jiggles, and he thinks he might pass out with the pure shock of taking in everything around him. His body ripples like water as he hears a faint and distant voice call for him.

"Tommy?"

A memory. "My first decree, as the President of L'Manberg, the EMPEROR, of this GREAT COUNTRY! IS TO REVOKE! THE CITIZENSHIP! OF WILBUR SOOT AND TOMMYINNIT! GET 'EM OUTTA HERE!"

Is that his savior? The one who's come for him? The one who caused his life hell in the first place? Well, maybe it was Wilbur who did that. Or Technoblade. Or even Dream, but Dream was his friend even though he struck him so hard he sobbed for someone to help him—

"Hey, Tommy! What the hell are you doing, kid? Where the fuck's your body?"

He's being hoisted up by his arms, and he pushes into Schlatt's chest as he cries and cries. The Ram hybrid grunts and mumbles something before pushing him back to hold his shoulders. He was never one for affection. When Schlatt looks at Tommy, he knows this is the book's doing. Dream, the current owner of the book, had done this all in preparation. The easiest way to bring someone back was to only let their pure soul transfer on, everything else remaining the same.

"It's easier than moving a whole body, right?"

"Whatever, just take the fucking book, man. I'm busy."

Tommy's damaged. He's deformed, and his soul is hot to the touch. He's in agony. He didn't know he could sleep till it was over or relax. He tried to fix things and find a solution like he always does. Now, he was broken like he always was.

"Schlatt I...how do I go back? I don't want to be here anymore! It's fucking shit! And, and it hurts! This isn't some heaven; it's fuckin' hell!"

Dream sat on the prison floor after arranging Tommy's body in a relaxed position, the book open in front of him.

"Time to come back, Tommy."

"Hey, hey! You listen to me! That fucker Dream, you have to be strong! He's messed you up, but this isn't the Tommy I know! You don't fucking cry, and you don't fucking get scared! You're the bravest kid I know!"

Tommy feels flashbacks come to him, slowly but surely. Him rowing to fight Dream, the bravery he had when he fought him one on one. The first disk war...he was so brave.

When he looks up at Schlatt, he sees the man he fought so hard against and won. He clocks in at that moment.

I used to be someone. Now, I'm just like everyone else. Scared and weak.

"You used to be someone, Tommy! You are someone! You just have...believe and know... you're stronger…!"

Schlatt gets all twisty and turny, his vision fading in and out as he feels himself being dragged away from his arms. For a second, Schlatt reaches out, seeing his son in a box. He retreats and opts to yell out as Tommy fights to regain himself. The strength is unrelenting as the young boy's head twists to see his arm pulled like taffy towards a glowing light. It's so pretty; he could almost just touch it and forget it all.

"You are stronger than anyone else, Tommyinnit!"

His head whips back, and he extends a jelly arm, his fight coming back to him.

"If you fucking lose yourself, you'll lose everything!"

"If I lose myself, I'll lose everything…" "You were made to beat this world, and don't you dare fucking forget it!"

It makes Schlatt grin as Tommy's widened eyes get pulled as he's compressed into a singularity. There's a sudden pop, and Schlatt's knocked back as the white walls envelop him. He wants to yell more, but Tommy's already back where he belongs. He's already gone.

"Tommy? Hey, Tommy!"

His cerulean eyes open like he'd just drank an energy drink, a smiling mask staring up at him. For a moment, he wants to shrink back into the floor.

"How was it? How was the afterlife?"

If I don't beat him, how could anyone else?

He snickers, "awful. I'm never going back there again."

Tommy feels determination settle in his soul. After everything, he's still him. If he loses himself, he'll never be able to bring it back. So, the only other option is to fight.

If I win, maybe then, I can know who I am.

#tommyinnit #tommyinnit fanfic #dreamwastaken #dream fanfic #jschlatt #jschlatt fanfic #dream smp #dream smp fanfiction #mcyt #mcyt fanfiction

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maximumsnow · 3 years

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Chapters: 8/? Fandom: Half Life VR But The AI Is Self Aware, HLVRAI - Fandom Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Characters: Gordon Freeman, Tommy Coolatta, Dr. Coomer (Half-Life), Bubby (Half-Life), Benrey (Half-Life) Additional Tags: Canon-Typical Violence, Canon-typical swearing, Basically an au exploring what if HLVRAI followed Half Life a little more closely, Au where there isn't a betrayal in that one spot, Mainly was wondering what would happen to the others if they hadn't been in on it., Some things change some don't, Oh also this is sort of intended as a not a game au

Summary: Anyone who knows original Half-Life knows that the ambush happens in that spot no matter what. What would have happened if the ambush was as rough for the others?

There was a lot to unpack involving the full realization of just how inhuman Benrey was, but all of it was shoved aside thanks to the current problem.

Which was that Benrey was horribly injured and trapped in a room that was full of a poisonous gas, and, if Coomer’s continued explanation from Wikipedia was anything to go by, it was really, really bad. Gordon did not know the limits of Benrey’s ability to heal, but if he looked this bad while getting poison shoved down his lungs, Gordon wasn’t sure about Benrey’s chances of bouncing back if he stayed for too long.

The worry cranked up to eleven when Benrey suddenly collapsed below the window.

Gordon ran over to the control console and anxiously glanced over all the buttons and levers that clearly had something to do with the environmental room. “Shit, is there like, an emergency release button?!”

Tommy wasn’t far behind. “There should- there has to be one. It’s gotta be OSHA compliant!”

“No offense, Tommy, but given everything else you’ve said followed OSHA, that doesn’t mean shit.”

“I was joking then, Mr. Freeman.”

The conversation was cut off by Bubby yelling, “Look for ‘Emergency Ventilation!’ They might be idiots, but they don’t want to waste that much space and money on a bricked room.” He had taken Tommy’s place at the tank of poison and was fiddling with something over there.

Now that he knew what to look for, Gordon renewed his search, but Tommy was already reaching over him and slammed a fist onto a button. “Woah-”

A sound not unlike an air conditioning unit but much louder kicked in, and there was an immediate change in the enclosed room as the green started to clear out. With the fog fading away and the lack of a large rainbow body covering the floor, it was much easier to see what the room used to be.

The rocky terrain was mostly barren by this point, with the remains of possibly alien plants dotted around pools of water. Corpses of headcrabs were also strewn about, but, shockingly, they were mostly still intact despite Benrey’s presence.

Most notably, though, there was the body of a soldier, and Gordon could not say the same about it. It was in more pieces than Benrey’s still alive body. There was an arm in the corner, a leg by that murky pool, and Gordon had to look away from the torso with organs leaking out of it.

That was enough nightmares for today.

He anxiously waited for the door to unlock, but despite the toxin being flushed out by fresh air and vented elsewhere, there wasn’t a click or a hiss or any other sound he would associate with an unlocking pressurized door.

“Uh, why-”

The overhead sprinklers in the sealed room turned on; the hiss of spraying water was immediately covered up by a sharp scream that could only have come from Benrey.

Gordon slammed against the window as he tried to see what was going on. “Benrey? Dude, you okay?” He knew the question was stupid, but due to where Benrey dropped, it was difficult to see the security guard from the angle the window allowed.

“What are you doing?” The tone would be called whiny if it wasn’t for the gasps of pain that punctuated each word.

The implied accusation stung. “I don’t know! We hit the button to clear out the gas and-”

Tommy interrupted, “Sorry Benrey! That stuff- That gas residue can stick. The room has special surfactant laced water in the sprinklers and… yeah. Just hold on a little longer, okay?”

The explanation was met with silence.

“Benrey?” Gordon couldn’t help but call out.

“Oh. Okay. I can chill a bit.” The voice was strained, but at least he spoke at all.

The tension left his shoulders a little. As long as Benrey was still talking, they knew he was fine. At least it sounded like his voice wasn’t as raspy this time.

Unfortunately, all they could do was wait until the room went through a complete clean cycle if the book Tommy had pulled out was right.

Feeling bad for their stuck companion, Gordon turned the intercom on and panicked when he didn’t have an immediate topic to bring up. Latching onto the first question his mind thought of, he asked, “So uh, was this why you kept disappearing on us earlier?”

More silence.

“Benrey?”

“Hey bro. Appreciate what you’re doing, but please no talking? Pretty please? I’ll be fine. Promise.” Benrey’s voice was barely audible over the fans getting louder.

The pained plea immediately made Gordon feel guilty, so he turned the intercom off and started to pace in front of the window. The sound made it difficult for any of them to hold a conversation, even if Benrey wasn’t involved, so Gordon was stuck alone in his thoughts as he waited for the door to finally open. From a different perspective, it looked like he was all but bouncing between Bubby and Tommy, but he didn’t get to appreciate that mental image due to worrying over the condition Benrey was in.

He was still reeling over the full understanding that Benrey’s one off line about not being human was not an impulsive gag, but a truthful statement. Sure, he probably should have guessed by now given Benrey’s apparent powers, but Gordon still thought that he was more in line with Bubby or Coomer. An… Enhanced human, if anything else.

But nope, Benrey was apparently a shapeshifting monster that had a human form. The scientist in Gordon was intrigued at the apparent alien life form, but the empathetic part of him knew that outright asking shit like that would be rude at best. De-human… Depersonalizing at worst.

Sure Benrey gave him hell, but it wasn’t like Benrey had been outright malicious. Hell, he had even rescued Coomer.

… Actually, he was probably also the thing that slammed into Bubby’s tube to release him.

Damn, Gordon really felt bad for being a dick to Benrey earlier, now.

His thoughts were interrupted as a loud hissing sound brought his attention back to the room, and Tommy all but yanked the door off its hinges before catching himself. “Mr. Freeman, you have to, uh. You’re wearing an HEV suit. You have to be the one to pull him out.”

Nodding, Gordon quickly passed him and entered the now supposedly cleaned environmental room. Benrey was huddled under the observation window, and when he looked up at Gordon, he actually had more than half of a face.

The sight of muscle and bone still made Gordon recoil in horror. “Holy shit, dude. Doesn’t that hurt?”

Benrey half-heartedly gave a one-armed shrug. “I’ll regen soon, don’t worry about it.”

“That doesn’t mean this doesn’t suck ass!” Hell, just looking at him was making him queasy. But the half-drowned puppy look compelled him to at least try to ease the poor guy’s pain. “Come on let’s get you out of here.” He knelt down and tried to figure out where he could potentially touch Benrey without hurting him.

“Need a hand?” Benrey rolled over, and clutched in his remaining hand was a now very muddy arm.

Needless to say, the visual equivalent of a non-sequitur gave Gordon pause as he tried to process just what he was looking at.

“Why the fuck do you have a random arm?”

“Wasn’t his.” He lazily waved the arm like it was a magic wand and pointed the hand end towards the dead soldier.

Gordon could feel his stress headache building. “What do you mean it wasn’t his?”

In lieu of saying anything, Benrey shoved the other end of the arm into Gordon’s face, and the movement startled Gordon into falling on his ass.

He was so glad that he couldn’t feel the mud through the HEV suit.

“Dude, what the fuck?”

“Look, it’s not, uh, natural.”

“I don’t want to look at the bony end-” He stopped and stared at the place he knew there should be blood and bone, but there were bits that looked shiny under the mud. “Metal?”

“Yeah. Not his. He’s kinda made of meat.”

“Is this… Dr. Coomer’s arm?”

“Think so. Tried to get it back for ‘em”

… That’s right, Benrey was the monster that chased the soldiers that had taken Dr. Coomer apart.

Gordon shook his head as he got back on his feet. “You can show him when we get out. Come on...”

Given Benrey’s current state, Gordon finally decided to just try picking him up bridal style. Other than a few grunts of pain as he was shifted around, Benrey kept mostly quiet.

Exiting became a problem since the others had all elected to stand directly in the doorway to peer in like children trying to snoop on their parents. He rolled his eyes, but before he could say anything, Benrey shouted, “LET ME OUT OF THIS BOX!”

The sudden volume actually made Bubby and Tommy scramble out of the way, but it took a not so subtle yank from Bubby to make Coomer move.

With the path clear, Gordon walked in and found a relatively clean spot next to a wall to put Benrey. “Here we go. Sorry, can’t do anything more comfy for ya.”

“It’s fine,” He said before shoving the arm into Gordon’s hands. “I gotta. Gotta nap.”

While the thought of staying too long made him nervous, Gordon couldn’t help but agree with him there. They could afford to take a break for a while. “Alright, I’ll get you up before we leave.”

“Sounds good.” The one eye was already drifting shut, but the steady breathing soothed Gordon’s fear.

Despite still being worried, he could see some of the skin regrowing on Benrey’s face, and, frankly, Gordon didn’t want to get sick. Instead, he turned to the others, nearly bumped into Tommy with how close he had been standing, and asked Coomer, “Hey, your arm-”

“Look, Gordon, you found my left Extendo-arm!”

“-Your arm is dirty. Do we have to do anything special to clean it?”

“Nope! It’s perfectly waterproof even when unattached. You’ve even seen me swim with it.”

“The chemicals in the water should have- should have made it safe to use. Even after exposure to- Even after being exposed to the poison.”

“Okay so just some good old soap and water to get off the dirt should be fine.” With that, he walked over the bloodstains to one of the sinks built into the counters. He tested one of the faucet handles, and sighed in relief when water flowed out of the tap. Grateful that the water was still working, he started trying to wipe off all the mud.

Progress was… Slow, however.

“How the HELL did this get so fucking dirty?”

The clunky gloves of the HEV suit didn’t make it any easier, either. As he scrubbed at a particularly stubborn clump of dirt, he glanced over towards Tommy and Benrey.

Tommy was practically standing over Benrey. Like he was guarding him.

But before he could say something to him, Bubby and Coomer’s movements caught his eye as they wandered towards Gordon’s other side.

Coomer had moved first. Something had caught his attention, and he was walking towards the other sink. Then Bubby’s examination of the poison tank ended, and he joined Coomer in looking over what was left on the counters.

They both stood in front of a strange egg-like thing, and when Gordon looked over his shoulder to do a quick headcount, he had to ask, “Uh, what the fuck is that? Please don’t poke it.”

“Hello, Gordon! I have no idea what this is!” Given his current lack of upper limbs, Coomer had settled on nearly shoving his face into it as he tried to examine it.

Bubby, of course, decided to pick it up, and before Gordon could stop him, the egg appeared to hatch on contact. “Oh. I uh. Didn’t expect that. Does this mean I’m a parent now?”

“What a beautiful child!”

The creature in question was an insectoid creature not much bigger than Bubby’s hand with a large faceted eye. When Bubby brought up his other hand to presumably touch it, a beak snapped shut very close to his finger and nearly caused him to drop it.

“Careful, before it bites your hand off!”

“I’m not that stupid.”

Gordon chose to not rise to the bait and start a fight there. “We can’t take it with us, so figure out what to do with it.”

Turning back to his task at hand, he continued scrubbing mud away, and he couldn’t help but notice that the artificial skin on the arm sometimes made it look far too real.

Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it. Don’t think- Wait where the fuck did that thing go?

When he looked back over the counter, the creature Bubby had picked up was nowhere to be seen.

He had to ask, "What did you do?"

"Tranq'ed it."

Gordon blinked a few times before yelling, "HOW?"

"With tranqulizers Gordon use your goddamn brain." With that, Bubby turned away and walked over towards the desk.

"Where did you- you know what? I don't need to know." He knew a lost cause of a conversation when he saw one, and he did not want to deal with it anymore.

Once the arm was sufficiently cleaned, he placed it on the counter and nearly ran into Coomer.

“Hello, Gordon!”

“Hey, Coomer. Does this need to dry before we reattach it, or can it just go right on?” He waved towards the drying arm.

Coomer mused for a second before saying, “It is waterproof, but I’ve never tried attaching the arms while they’re still wet. Maybe we should sit it in rice for a few minutes?”

“Uhhhh, we don’t have rice, dude. But we can let it air dry for a while. Don’t think we’re going anywhere soon.” He pointed his thumb over his shoulder towards the resting Benrey. In a quieter voice, he asked, “How’re you holding up?”

Matching his volume, Coomer responded, “I’ll be much better when I have my arms again. At least we’re almost halfway there.”

Gordon reached over and patted Coomer’s shoulder before going back to the others. “How about we just. Take a breather for now?”

“Best idea I’ve heard all day,” Bubby said before promptly dropping to the floor. At least that spot was clean...

“… You okay?” “I’m fine!” Despite the claim, Bubby was removing the shoe on his bad foot and was checking on the injury.

Before Gordon could go over and repeat the question, Coomer lightly shoulder checked him as he passed by and gave Gordon a look.

As Gordon understood it, that was an unspoken, “Let me handle it,” gesture, and he backed away from the older scientists as they settled.

Coomer lightly leaned against Bubby on his way down to a sitting position; the ease with which he went through the motions spoke of years of practice.

How often had Coomer been armless before?

Gordon knew the question would be unappreciated at the moment, but it hovered in his mind like an annoying fly. He tried to distract himself by taking a seat not far from Benrey and Tommy, but Benrey was still obviously regrowing shit, which Gordon still didn’t want to focus on.

So that left trying to get Tommy to relax.

“Yo, Tommy, uhh. How long before I can sleep?” He nearly slapped himself on the forehead with how dumb that was. Wow, great conversation starter, Gordon. Bringing more attention to their group's various injuries was a great way to ease Tommy’s worries.

The expected reaction of Tommy managing to tense up even more made Gordon vaguely wonder when the theoretical string would snap. “I don’t- It’s not an exact science. Just. If you-” Tommy cut himself off. “-I know we can’t keep you up forever.” The admission was followed by a drop in Tommy’s shoulders. “Can you stay up until night- until the we have to stop and sleep later?”

The correction was appreciated. Sometimes they didn’t see the sun for a while, and at this point, Gordon didn’t even know what time of day it was. The lobby had ambient sunlight shining through the skylight, but with everything happening, he couldn’t even begin to guess how long ago that was.

Right, he needed to answer that question before Tommy wrung himself into a spiral of anxiety. “Yeah, man, I can do that.”

Tommy’s face lightened up into a faint smile, and while that gave Gordon some relief, he couldn’t help but feel sad that the normally vivid expression had faded so much.

Deciding to take the conversation back to what he actually wanted to talk about, he asked, “Wanna take a breather? The rest of us are. Can you mess up the door like the last one?”

Tommy bit his lip as he appeared to weigh the options. “This door doesn’t- This room doesn’t have a Tesla charge. So it doesn’t have the same-” Tommy waved his hand in frustration, “-Things. That the last door we blocked did.”

Gordon groaned, “OSHA Compliance?”

“OSHA Compliance.”

Sure, he knew why most automatic doors didn’t have an auto-lock on them, but it made things really inconvenient right now.

“How about we just block the door with something? We’re all hanging out on the ground.” Despite that last statement, Gordon adjusted himself so that he could stand up and help.

“Take it easy, Mr. Freeman, I can get it,” Tommy said before putting a hand on Gordon’s shoulder to keep him seated.

“But-”

“It won’t take me long, just keep- Watch out for the others.”

He wasn’t entirely sure just what he meant since Bubby was already faintly snoring, and Coomer was loudly snoring, but didn’t argue as Tommy breezed past him.

Gordon would swear he only blinked before Tommy had come back and settled near him and Benrey.

“You already done?”

“Yeah, just took some- Took a few chairs and made a barrier. The counter already blocks us from view. And the- the uh, blood trail should be a warning sign...”

Tommy sounded like he was trying to convince himself more than Gordon, and it didn’t look like it was working.

“I believe you.”

The look Tommy gave him conveyed incredulousness and gratitude.

“We’ll get through this, okay? But don’t burn yourself out. I can keep an eye on things for an hour or two, if that would help?”

Sure, Gordon knew he would be an alarm system at best, but Tommy looked so tired. Even if Tommy would only take a short nap, it would be better for him in the long run.

Honestly, it would be better for all of them since he was the only one not physically fucked up in some way, but Gordon’s primary concern in the moment was Tommy’s mental wellbeing.

The quiet after the question stretched for an uncomfortable minute, but Gordon knew Tommy needed to think this through on his own terms. “Sure, I can- I can take a nap. Will you wake me up in-” Tommy then seemed to notice the lack of functioning clocks in this room, “-In a little while.”

“Poggers,” Gordon nearly died as the streamer lingo slipped out. Sure his interest in video games had slipped out earlier, but the residual fear of exposing his private interests to professional colleagues never went away completely. “Sounds good, I mean.”

Tommy shrugged before handing over the assault rifle and sliding down from his seated position to a laying position.

“G’night, Mr. Freeman.” “Goodnight, Tommy.”

#My writing #HLVRAI #Half Life VR but the AI is Self Aware #gordon hlvrai #Dr Coomer #Bubby #Benrey #Tommy Coolatta

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kpopgerapitico · 3 years

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Song of the Week

I worked on this for like 20 minutes, and then Tumblr ate it. I’m minorly livid about it. Now to rewrite.

Honorable Mentions:

For something distinctly trippy and cool, look to GOND with Hotel Room, a synthy rap track that uses its synths just as importantly as the distinct silences peppered throughout the track. The raps are solid, the autotune makes perfect sense, and the music only chorus takes the themes and expands. There are surprises every verse in the best way. This is avant garde in music form.

Park Seo Joon sighting, ft. an actress I recognize but annoyingly cannot place.

Please listen to Jo Gwangil, I need everyone to discover him. His flow is so so so damn good. He does rap about pretty dark stuff, like so dark that Depersonalization has a warning on the beginning about imagery. But he feels raw and honest in a way I haven’t heard as much recently, and he does while creating like 90% of a songs rhythm from his own mouth. This track has a bit more from that point of view, but is still fairly sparse, and has sections that are nearly empty besides his voice. P.S, if you are easily squeamish, there is a clean version. Sadly, both versions are pretty flashy, so be aware if you are photo sensitive.

And now for a new segment, idol roundup, where I mention every single idol I watch, in the hopes of remembering for myself as well as catching when I miss ones that don’t go to the compilation channels. The girls got shafted this week for sets.

- Only You by Saturday. This sounds and looks like a b-side. Sweet bubble gum pop I have negative interest in.

- X by Chungha. X feels very different for Chungha, but makes sense for a female soloist in K-pop.

- Lemon Candy by Pink Fantasy: I don’t find anything particularly special or interesting about this, but it’s fine.

- Love So Sweet - Cherry Bullet: I get why people like Cherry Bullet a little bit more, but I like the first verse more than the whole rest of the song.

- No diggity by ONEUS: It’s fine, but it doesn’t draw me in the same way as some of their other tracks have. Also it kind of looks like they took like every VIXX video and said, “we’ll use them all” for the visual concept.

- My Turn by Cravity: This is what happens when your company seems Stray Kids and NCT and decides that success is the average of the 2. I still don’t know what Cravity’s sound is.

I have many words to say about U-Know’s Thank U. But before I get carried away about the video, let’s address the song. It is sexy and cool and instantly recognizable as Yunho. TVXQ is the only group I can think of who have an overarching discography between that not only sounds cohesive, but still manages to have distinctive and obvious differences between each solo effort and the pair as a duo. You know this is a TVXQ member’s track right away, while also knowing it is specifically Yunho’s through some magic of consistency. And this video is so damn good. It is plot driven in the year 2021 of our lord, with a plot that doesn’t require reading a primer by a fan who is way more into this stuff than you to understand. Yunho not only has multiple wonderful set piece stunt fights (that seem to all actually be him, or at least a majority) but also dances that come from those same scenes? And mostly fit the vibe? Not to mention the frankly stunning visuals. Honestly, you could write a paper about this 7 minute MV and get credit in a film studies class. I hope that this means that post army Yunho will get an action movie/drama role (hopefully his acting has improved while he was in the army; god knows it couldn’t get worse). Anyways, go watch and listen and enjoy the power of experience.

Subtle and sweet was not the sound I expected from an Epik High comeback, but that’s what Based on a True Story is. Heize sounds great, and the beat feels different for Epik High in the best way, especially with the orchestral backing. The accordion is a nice touch. Rosario on the other hand makes absolute sense for them. It again sits on a slightly different beat for Epik High, which is always a great thing to hear from them, and has incredible verses from Tablo, Mithra Jin and Zico, as well as a great chorus from CL. If you want the full effect, you probably should spend some time with Born Hater first, because Rosario feels like a lyrical successor, and more obviously a visual and spiritual successor. Epik High has always made great collabs, but this pair fit into the same theme. They are all a response to a specific type of hate. Born Hater is about people complaining about people being overrated/untalented. Hell, there is a reference to Zico in it by Mino (an apt call out at the time). Rosario is a response to the title of has-been, and a bit the idea of current idols paving the way. Having Epik High, CL and Zico in a room puts that even more into perspective, as all of them are known for their contributions in one way or another. Epik High are hugely popular and well known rappers to basically anyone who isn’t just an idol fan. CL has proven that you can be a female rapper who goes solo and still kills the game. And Zico is the first truly successful idol producer. All of them have made huge contributions to the Korean music industry, but are often ignored by younger fans who don’t know their history. Well, here’s a place to learn it.

Short aside: Tablo’s verses are so damn well written basically always, that even the translations have to work hard on them. And I bet they miss out some of the subtleties. Also, his verse in Rosario is the only one that combats a different issue, definitely turn on subtitles for it.

Both Thank U and Rosario are important to me for different reasons, and they both win.

#sotw #u-know thank u #epik high rosario

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legobiwan · 4 years

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Thrawn: Alliances Chapter 8.8-12.8

It only registered with me yesterday that when Vader refers to “The Jedi,” he’s referring to himself as Anakin Skywalker. Nice bit of depersonalization there, Anakin.

Okay, but when Vader starts going off on how “The Jedi” (himself) was distrusted, his opinions not valued, that he was always an outsider... I mean, yes, of course, he’s referring to the Order, but more specifically, he has to be referring to Obi-wan and that just breaks my damn heart.

Anakin’s “plan” to infiltrate the Separatist base - is to do a costume change and then fake an attack by another Jedi? Hahahahaha! Also, who wants to take bets this is where Thrawn’s weird cosplay fetish started - the one we saw utilized so hilariously with Eli Vanto in the previous Thrawn installment. Because I would take that bet.

But Thrawn’s breakdown of the Jedi uniform was actually fascinating - how all those twirling fabrics not only give range of motion, but distract the energy. Maybe there is something to the dramatic disrobe, after all, but I’m more inclined to believe the Dooku-Qui-gon-Obi-wan lineage is just prone to drama.

Speaking of Serenno...I’m highly intrigued by the fact this operation is run by Serennians. It makes some sense, if one takes Jedi Lost into account, in that Serenno was an active mining planet and Dooku needed to find a way for the sentients to be gainfully employed after his father and brother basically tied all labor to droids. Also interesting is the presence of a distinct Serenno accent and the fact that the cloaks are such a feature of the nobility. I must needs remember this for the future.

Okay, so Thrawn is obviously onto the relationship between Padmé and Anakin, but what killed me was the line when Anakin was going on about how he and Padmé had bonded over difficult times, like when friends were lost - and then he references the death of Qui-gon fucking Jinn!!! Which - I find fascinating given the fact Anakin is right now with another being who is kinda/kinda not acting as a mentor in a way that somehow Anakin finds palatable compared to the Jedi - Obi-wan, specifically. As I said before, I think Anakin was going to rebel against anyone but Obi-wan really got put in a bad position. And now Anakin is reminiscing about the man who was supposed to train him, not having known the mountain of hypocrisy and frustration that was the Jedi Knight Qui-gon Jinn and you have to think Anakin kind of hero-worshipped the guy in absentia and just how much that had to have killed Obi-wan, for about twelve different reasons.

Getting back to the Vader/Thrawn episodes, Vader really is a one-note samba - “I will put on hand on my lightsaber threateningly or I will think about choking somebody.” It’s just a barrage of constant intimidation and how insecure was Anakin that this was the only way he felt he could establish his dominance? I mean, Anakin’s not dumb, he was a good strategist, but that all gets pushed to the side as he was crammed into this role as “the muscle” and “the enforcer” for Sidious. (Which I imagine is exactly what Sheev wanted - no thinking means no rebellion.)

But you have to love Thrawn giving no fucks. What a badass.

Let’s bop over to Padmé for a moment. She starts this whole charade saying her “Uncle Anakin” is going to come with some ransom money and in the space of - what - a few days and one conversation she’s suddenly trying to stoke a rebellion? First of all, this is Leia’s mother, without a doubt and secondly, she and Anakin really do deserve each other. My gods.

But I found the constant, “Anakin is coming to save me,” to be a little...I don’t know? Is this the part of their relationship where they’re getting a bit too co-dependent? A thought.

Padmé recognizing Anakin’s “audacious” style of fighting was hilarious. An in-character.

Seems like much of this section is a lot more about Anakin and Padmé than Thrawn, although there is that mystery with the Grissks to be solved. We’ll see how this plays out...

#hello there #thrawn: alliances #admiral thrawn #anakin skywalker #padme amidala #more than halfway through!#these long runs really facilitate book listening #but!#no running today my legs are shot #i'll plan for a walk later on though #legobiwan listens to a book #also to reiterate #WHERE THE FUCK IS ELI VANTO?

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danyka-fendyr · 5 years

Text

Absence of Good

Chapter 1: Masquerade

Okay so I’ve been talking about starting a Spencer Reid fic for 8 million years and now I’m finally going to do it. So anyway...ya’ll better reblog this and leave nice comments if you want the second part that I will write regardless of whether anyone validates me or not because this is half for myself. Don’t judge you know you’re in the same boat. Anyway, enjoy. Or don’t I can’t make you love me.

Permanent Taglist: @rhabakoli @dreamwritesimagines

Warnings: Extremely graphic gore, descriptions of murder, disturbing themes

Wordcount: 3234

“When people see some things as beautiful, other things become ugly. When people see some things as good, other things become bad.”

-Lao Tzu

The most intimidating part of a job was always the first day. You didn’t know anybody, you didn’t really know what you were doing, and you were still a little bit convinced that your boss was judging your every move and kind of hated you. The fact that Aaron Hotchner had not once smiled during your interview did nothing to assuage that fear.

However, here you were, in the elevator at Quantico, with a tray full of coffee, balancing a million creamers and even more sugar, because you weren’t sure what everyone liked but you were trying to win them all over with bribery anyway. A lovely day, truly.

You had wanted this job in the BAU for years. You were morbidly interested in serial killers ever since you were young, and fascinated with catching them. To most people it was...offputting, to say the least. People don’t really warm up to the girl who thinks that announcing how many people Gary Ridgeway killed is a good ice breaker. 49 confirmed, 71 claimed, by the way.

So naturally, you figured you should go somewhere your talents would be better appreciated. Unfortunately, every half-wit piece of muscle in the FBI wanted to be in the BAU, so it had taken you several years to get to where you were today. Frankly, you thought you should have been here much sooner, but it was a rigorous process, and so you had to wait until you were well into your 20′s. But hey, not like you were getting any younger over here, right?

Okay, so you were bitter. What else is new?

Your first few seconds in the bullpen were utterly terrifying for the simple fact that nobody noticed you were there. This was not...how do you say...uncommon, for you. However, it was exceptionally awkward. Did you speak up? Did you just wait until someone noticed you trying to juggle too many coffees and so much sugar you could fill a bathtub with it because that’s how you liked your coffee? Fortunately, you didn’t have to decide.

“Agent Y/L/N,” SSA Hotchner said. “I see you brought coffee.”

That was almost a smile. You knew the coffee was a good idea.

“Oh, uh...yeah. I figured, first day, right? First impressions and everything.” You started unloading your coffee when Hotchner gestured you towards a vacant desk waiting for you. “I hope nobody minds the ridiculous amount of sugar. I just didn’t know how you guys take your coffee, and I like my sugar with a side of coffee you know, so...”

You stood back, swaying awkwardly on your stilettos a little bit and trying not to let your body language cave in on itself like you wanted to. To help with your anxiety, you noticed upon turning around that everyone had swiftly crowded around you. Awkward.

“Ha, you sound like our boy genius. He puts so much sugar in his coffee it’s barely recognizable anymore.” A tall, incredibly fit black man chuckled. “I’m Morgan, by the way, but my friends call me chocolate thunder.”

He winked. Uh...okay. Somebody swooped in to save you from that though.

“Ignore him. I’m Jennifer but everyone just calls me JJ and the coffee was a lovely gesture.” The stunning blonde leaned forward to shake your hand, but not before cutting Morgan a glare.

“Emily Prentiss.” The dark-haired, serious-looking woman gave you a smile as she shook your hand.

“SSA Rossi, pleased to meet you.” The older Italian man gave you a little smile as he shook your hand.

The truth was you already knew a little about all of them, having read through their personnel files before starting this job. Which meant you were prepared when Dr. Spencer Reid began his introduction.

“Hi, I’m-”

Before he could finish his sentence, you were already pulling hand sanitizer out of your purse and applying some of it, stopping him dead in his tracks with confusion.

“Dr. Spencer Reid. Your reputation precedes you.” Now you were in your element, a little smirk on your face and a twinkle in your eye.

Stunned, he reached forward to take your hand even as he said, “You know, hand sanitizer actually only kills-”

“Spencer, please,” JJ interrupted teasingly. “Not yet. We want to keep this one.”

You laughed, already finding it easy to fit in with this crowd. “Oh, don’t worry about it. It would take a lot more than that to scare me away.”

You winked at him, and he blushed. Oh, you were going to have fun with this one. He was cute and smart, the whole package. You’d be damned if you weren’t already a little smitten.

“Oh, there’s a new person!” A cute blonde with absolutely wild style stopped dead in her tracks, surprised to see you. “You’re the new!”

“I’m the new,” You confirmed.

“Oh, hello! I’m Penelope, and unfortunately, I come bearing bad news.”

“There’s a case baby girl?” Agent Morgan spoke up.

“Right as always my sweet, sweet Chocolate Thunder.” Ah. So that was what that was about.

Heading into the briefing room, you and Reid ended up trailing a bit behind, causing you to lean into him to whisper. “Are they a couple?”

He laughed a little bit. “No. Just best friends. That’s just how they communicate.”

You arched an eyebrow. “Nice. I like it.”

“Yeah?” He smiled.

“Yep.”

Before you got the chance to say anything more though, you were officially being briefed. You absolutely couldn’t afford to talk during your very first briefing, so you just smiled at the handsome brunet before giving all of your attention to one Penelope Garcia.

“Alright crime fighters, brace yourselves because this is a bad one, even for our standards. The images I am about to show you are to be viewed with caution and it is not advised you continue on if you are pregnant, have a heart condition or are prone to seizures. I’m going to hit the button now and one of you is going to tell me when I can look again.”

True to her word, Garcia clicked a button on the remote and then shielded her eyes. You could see why. The images on the screen were absolutely brutal. They were women, or at least you were pretty sure they were women, who had had their eyes, noses, and mouths removed. Three of them, one after the other. You liked to think you had a pretty strong stomach, but this...this was giving you the heeby jeebies. All the Scary Mary R.L. Stein nightmares you had as a kid were coming right on back now.

“That’s...really something,” You breathed quietly.

“No kidding.” You were validated in your disgust by Agent Morgan, who looked just as perturbed.

“It gets worse, kiddies,” Garcia spoke, eyes still closed. “Their limbs were all cut off, but those were left at the crime scene. The missing facial bits though, and I deeply, deeply regret having to say this, were nowhere to be found.”

“Trophies,” Rossi said.

“Most likely,” Reid agreed from where he sat next to you. “Most enucleators take the eyes as trophies, and while it’s highly unusual for other facial features to be removed, it seems logical to assume that these would also be taken as trophies, especially given the complete disregard for the rest of the body.”

Garcia hit another button, causing different, less horrifying images to come up.

“Can I look now?”

“You can look baby girl,” Morgan reassured her.

“Oh thank goodness. You know I hate that part.” Garcia continued with the case briefing, letting you know exactly where you would be flying to.

“We’ve already made contact with the Miami police department. They’ll be ready for us when we arrive. Wheel’s up in 30,” Hotch instructed.

“Okay, so the victims,” you said, wanting to voice what was on your mind. “The taking of the eyes, nose, and lips is all extremely personal. But the cutting off of the limbs and then just leaving them there says quite the opposite. Like...there’s this loathing of the body but an obsession with the face.”

JJ nodded. “Agreed. It’s oddly matter of fact too. Very business-like. Look at these cuts,” she said, pointing to the photos. “Aside from the first victim, who’s a little rougher, these are clean, precise chops. Just get it done and over with. But the face, there’s detail there.”

“Agreed,” Rossi said. “Look at those cuts. Not a single piece is missing. It’s absolutely vital to this guy that he get the whole package. The eyes are perfectly severed from the ocular nerve, a clean removal, almost surgical in precision. And the nose...he had to cut through a lot of cartilage to get that kind of clean, flat removal. Our guy has to have some kind of history in the medical field.”

“It’s likely that they symbolize a depersonalization for him,” Reid said, hands bunching as he spoke. “The taking of all of the distinguishing features of the face indicates a sense of ownership. It’s as if he’s saying, ‘Look, I’ve taken who you are. Who people know you as.’ Some believe that the Ancient Greeks used masks in their plays to cause the viewers to focus on the character’s actions, rather than their appearance. All of our victims were relatively low risk. It could be our unsub sees these women as wearing masks, but he doesn’t like the actions that correspond with the face they choose to wear, or he believes their actions do not correspond with their mask and therefore they do not deserve to wear it. This taking of the self, of the soul if you will, could be symbolic of a dissatisfaction with how these women present themselves and how that conflicts with the unsub’s view of them.”

The rest of the team did not seem nearly impressed enough by this. You, for one, were awestruck. You had read about him, of course, but that was nothing compared to the real thing. He was beautiful.

“Okay, so we’re assuming that our guy probably knows his victims,” Morgan said.

“It would make sense. It makes it easier to get close to such low-risk targets if he does know them,” you said.

“You have a point,” Rossi said.

“Alright, well, first we need to determine whether or not our unsub is in the medical field or not. Y/L/N, Reid, head to the M.E.’s and find out what you can about the bodies. Morgan and Prentiss, you’ll head to where they found the last body, and...” Hotch continued dolling out assignments, and before you knew it, you were there.

“The media are already calling him the Face Thief,” the Miami PD chief told Hotch.

“Oh, that’s original,” you grumbled.

“Well, it does its job. People around here are terrified. This is like something straight out of everyone’s worst nightmares.”

Hotch nodded. “Well, don’t worry. My team and I plan on catching this guy as quickly as we can.”

Speaking of which, you and Reid needed to go talk to their M.E. Now, what did a girl have to do to get a dead body around here?

Spencer seemed to know his way around pretty well, probably having memorized the layout of the police station on the plane or something, and so you followed his lead.

“I take it you know where we’re going?”

“Yeah. Been here a few times before,” he said.

“Have you ever seen anything like this?”

He paused in the hallway. “No. This is some pretty intense stuff. And while I can’t exactly say it’s not like this all the time, well...”

“It’s not like this all the time,” you finished for him.

“Yeah, exactly.” He laughed a little bit. “So, you’re kind of young to be in the BAU already.”

It wasn’t a rude question. From anyone else, it might have been, but you could tell he was just curious. Plus you happened to know he was a child prodigy, and therefore was in no place to judge.

“Yeah, well, don’t make any mistakes. It took me forever and a day to get here. I just skipped a couple years of high school, fast-tracked my college education, that’s all.”

Spencer nodded. “I read your file. You finished your Bachelor’s in a year and a half, joined the FBI at 19 and gained your doctorate while working for the bureau. That’s pretty impressive.”

You smiled wryly. “Oh, you can’t fool me Dr. Reid. I’ve read your file too, you know. Now you, you are quite impressive.”

The man before you blushed beet red, stammering out something that sounded like the beginnings of an excuse, but fortunately for him you both found yourself in the presence of the M.E. before he had to come up with anything more than, “Well, I don’t know I-I mean-”

“Dr. Reid. Dr. Y/L/N. Let’s get right to it. This guy does some neat work, but he’s no doctor.”

“Really?” You asked, fascinated.

“Yep. Look at these cuts here around the mouth. They’re jagged. There are hesitation marks. Not because of inexperience with the action, but lack of expertise. You can see the same marks around the nose and eyes. And, I’m sorry to say, all of this was done anti-mortem, which did not make his job any easier.”

“He’s a sadist, then,” you deduced. “He gets off on their pain.”

The M.E. nodded before continuing.

“He started with the eyes, which I hate to admit is smart since those are the easiest part to remove wholesale, which seems to be this guy's trademark. After that, the victim usually passes out and dies from blood loss, which makes the rest of his job easier. But if you look closely you can see these aren’t surgical cuts. The only precision here stems from a purely obsessive desire to get things right. It’s good work for an amateur, but it’s just that, amateur,” she said.

“And the limbs?” Dr. Reid asked.

“Well, I can tell you a little bit more about those, since we still have them. They were cut off post-mortem, and it was a pretty quick job. It looks like it was done with some sort of power tool. There’s no beauty to those, and there’s no attempt to make it look pretty. And yes, the torsos do show signs of sexual assault. Additionally, it looks like he knocked his victims out first to incapacitate them before taking them to a secondary location and waiting for them to regain consciousness before beginning his..process.”

“I guess we can tick the sexual box in the sexual sadist checklist.” You sighed.

Reid nodded, leaning forward to more closely examine the nature of the cuts and the body.

“Okay,” you said, thinking out loud. “I’m the victim. You’ve got me tied up and you’re about to remove my eyes. I’m doing a lot of screaming. You scoop my eyes out. Here’s what I’m wondering. Why not start with the nose? If he’s a sadist, wouldn’t he want to like...see the look in their eyes or something sick like that?”

Spencer hummed thoughtfully. “It’s possible it’s an act of remorse, but that seems unlikely given the other details of this case.”

You thanked the M.E. before heading back out, but you stopped Reid in the hallway.

“Okay, indulge me. Let’s play this out. You’re the unsub and I’m the victim,” you said, leaning up against the wall and gesturing for him to get all in your business. “Okay, so you’re looking at me, and what are you thinking.”

Spencer stared at you, and you thought you caught the sharp bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallowed, but you brushed it aside. He took a step closer, fingers brushing across your cheekbones as he stared at you thoughtfully. For your part, you tried not to let your heart race, because you had sincerely not thought about how attractive the good doctor was before signing up for this experience.

“You’re right,” he murmured. “The eyes are the most expressive. But...maybe that’s what he values about them. They’re so beautiful.”

It was your turn to swallow hard. That felt deliciously personal, but you were trying not to read too much into it. His brow furrowed, expression changing.

“Maybe that’s it. This is more about the eyes than the whole face. The eyes take precedent because, if he’s removing the face to capture their essence somehow, what are eyes said to be the window to?”

You grinned. “The soul.”

“Exactly.” He smiled back at you, and you must have forgotten to put a dryer sheet in with your laundry because you swear you felt static electricity crackling up your spine.

For a long moment, neither of you moved, but then you snapped out of it.

“We have to go tell Hotch!”

It was true that the eyes were the window to the soul, and they were the window to this guy’s soul too. Garcia had gone on the prowl for medical school rejects, people who watched too many YouTube videos about surgery without being nursing majors, and otherwise normal folks who just owned way, way too many scalpels. Before you knew it, you had a prime suspect. And uh, tip? If you ever decide to be a serial killer, try not to kill the people you openly have vendettas against. It makes you really easy to catch. So actually, you know what, go for it.

“I can’t believe this guy ran a whole blog based off of the people in his neighborhood he hates,” you said.

“A whole blog positively riddled with face fetishizing symbolism. This guy could go on for weeks about the masks people wear and how our eyes show who we truly are and blah blah blah,” Emily mocked.

You were in the car on the way to his address. Another girl had been reported missing, and you were praying you wouldn’t be too late to find her.

As it turned out, you weren’t. In a stroke of good luck, you arrived just in time to save the day. You and Spencer ended up going in together, Spencer taking the lead in talking this guy down. You couldn’t help but admire the way he did it. It was like art, watching him. The careful way he played right into the fantasy, eased the unsub into trusting him. Masterful, right up until the moment he cuffed the guy and the show was over.

On the plane ride back to Quantico, you found yourself sitting next to him. “How do you do it?”

“Do what?” He asked, confused.

“Play into their fantasies so well. Doesn’t that...I don’t know, mess with your head?”

He became quiet for a moment, and his face fell. You worried that you had said the wrong thing. Crossed a line.

“Yeah. It uh...it takes a toll on you, definitely. Some days, working this job, you’ll be afraid of your own mind,” he admitted quietly.

You didn’t totally know why you leaned into his side on the small couch, other than sheer sympathy. You didn’t totally know why he let you.

“Spenc-Reid,” you corrected yourself. “Do you think the people we deal with are evil? Do you think they ever stood a chance?”

“I ask myself that question a lot,” he said softly. “So many of the people we see behave the way they do as a result of trauma of some kind. That doesn’t excuse their actions by any means, but...it makes you wonder. What if things had been different? How many more people would be alive today? How many more brothers, sisters, mothers, fathers, daughters, sons? It’s a ruthless cycle. And all because someone didn’t have anything good in their life, and so they passed that down to someone else. So...I don’t know.”

“Do you think it’s better not to think about it?”

“No. I think it’s important for our jobs to at least try to understand. Besides, it’s human nature to try to make sense of things. Even when it’s hard.” He stared at his hands, head hung low.

“You should get some sleep. Clear your head,” you said gently. “I’ll wake you up before we land.”

“Thanks.”

“No problem.”

Just as he settled in, he lifted his head one more time to speak to you. “Y/L/N?”

“Yeah?”

“Great work today.”

“Thanks, Reid. You too.”

Dr. Reid was smiling when he fell asleep.

“Darkness is the absence of light: when there is no light, there is darkness. Light is an existing thing, but darkness is nonexistent.”

- ‘Abdu’l-Bahá

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