#in my mind cecil is blind but can see everything through the all seeing eye and that's how he gets some news as well

[parasitic-saint]

Cecil & Carlos

#wtnv #carlos the scientist #cecilos #welcome to night vale #in my mind cecil is blind but can see everything through the all seeing eye and that's how he gets some news as well #cecil palmer

[ikeasharksss]

Solangelo Hogwarts AU, please? Prompt: Some Professor during class: "Person A, would you mind explaining to the class why you aren't in proper uniform?" Person A (who was late to class), with direct eye contact: "Guess I must've left in Person B's dorm last night." With Solangelo in a secret relationship (And Hufflepuff! Nico?) Feel free to change up the prompt as much as you like, and if you don't feel like writing it, that's completely fine! Thanks!

hello anon! thank you for sending this lovely prompt and for combining my two favorite fandoms. i hope you enjoy! 

read on ao3 / word count: 1517 / send me a prompt! 

Nico loved party nights in the Gryffindor house. 

No, it’s not because he ever went to them. Everything about them was usually too bombarding. He would always be dragged by his friends to stay for the first hour, but by then the continuous jostling of people, the music that forced its way into every crevice of the room, and the dancing that was better described as “drunk kids flinging themselves at each other” made him dizzy. Really, nothing about Gryffindor parties was too enticing. 

The real reason Nico loved them was this: it was the perfect opportunity to sneak his Ravenclaw boyfriend into the dorms. 

The dim lighting, hundred or more people, and the loud music created a perfect fog around him and Will so that they could slide into Nico’s bed alone, while all his other dorm mates were drinking and giving their future selves terrible hangovers. And as they slept till noon the next day, Will could easily tiptoe out at dawn (which is a time he normally wakes up at, apparently). No one would see them, so no one would know. It was the perfect plan to keep a perfect secret. 

Until Will had to go and ruin it. 

Before Will ruined it, he and Nico were having a peaceful morning in. Nico’s head lay on his boyfriend’s chest, letting him run his hands through his hair and untangle all those pesky knots as they came. They had woken up a while ago, and Nico assumed his dorm mates had left to play Quidditch (what else would they do on a Sunday morning?).

Will was everything Nico could want in a boyfriend. His eyes always glinted with kindness, and his hands were always ink stained from the notes he took in class. His laugh was too contagious for his own good, as it always got Nico grinning, too. He listened just as well as he talked, and Will could talk. Alot. 

He was talking right now, actually. Some story about his mother and a cow. It’s not that Nico wasn’t listening- it was hard not to listen to Will’s soft voice like this- but his hands were massaging Nico’s head in a way he had no clue he loved. “Hey.” Will stopped his massage to tap Nico on the nose. “Are you listening?” 

“Hm?” Nico craned his neck to look up at his boyfriend. “Of course.” 

“Really?” 

“Your cow’s name was Daisy and some muggle teenagers tipped her so your mom ran chasing them in the middle of the night.”

Will smiled. Nico loved that he could do that to him. “Huh.” 

“Were you doubting me?” 

“Maybe just a little,” Will admitted. 

“How rude.” 

“You say, cuddling on my chest.” Nico rolled off with a huff. “Aw, come on, I didn’t mean it like that!” 

“Yes you did.” 

“Nico,” Will whined. He turned over and wrapped his arm across Nico, who was staring at the ceiling like it had personally offended him. 

Nico would never admit it, but Will’s touch was always able to make him melt. So it wasn’t long until he turned over again to meet Will’s smiling eyes. 

“Hey,” Will said, “can you pass me my phone? I want to check the time.” 

Nico closed his eyes, pretending to fall asleep again. “It’s too early to worry about the time.” 

“It’s probably, like, ten right now, Nico. Come on.” Nico finally complied and pushed his hand through the locked curtains to grab Will’s phone. The light as Will turned it on was blinding. So bright that Nico couldn’t catch the way his eyes widened. 

“Uh, Nico?” Will said, eyes not moving. 

“Hm?” 

“It’s Monday.” Will said it like a character in a horror movie would say It’s right behind you. 

“No, it’s Sunday,” Nico answered without any hesitation. In response, Will shoved his phone into his face. 

There, in all its glory: Monday, 10:27AM. 

Nico had potions Monday mornings. Nico had potions now. 

“Go, go, go!” Will said, jumping off the bed. Nico rolled with haste off the other side. Will stood in front of the mirror, using his hands to fix his hair. “How did this happen-” 

“I could have sworn it was Sunday-” 

“Me too! Ugh!” Will tugged his pajama shirt over his head as Nico flinged through his wardrobe looking for a tie. Why today, of all days, did he have to run out of clean ties? “What are we going to do?” 

Will Solace, always the worrier. Nico finally grabbed a tie and held it like a knife towards Will. “You’re going to go to class.” 

“But we’re thirty minutes late-” 

“Would you rather not go?” 

Will sighed, finally composing himself. “Okay, you’re right. But this is never happening again.” 

“Of course, we have to protect your reputation, after all.” Nico tilted his head at Will, who was struggling with buttoning his shirt. He stepped forward and began buttoning it for him. Will used this opportunity to fix Nico’s hair so his curls laid as proper as possible. Once it was done, all Nico had to do was put on his shoes. Will, on the other hand- 

“I can’t find my tie.” 

Nico blinked. “Where is it?” 

“Well, I came in here with it, but now I don’t know where it went?” Nico kneeled to look under the bed. “No, I checked there. Where could it have gone?” 

“I don’t know-” 

“Nico, listen to me.” Will grabbed him by the shoulders, staring into his eyes with a strict face. “You have to go on without me.” 

Nico laughed. Only Will could get him to laugh in this kind of situation. “What, are you dying in war? You are so dramatic.” 

“No, really. I can probably find it in a few minutes, so you should leave me. It’s for your own good.”

“You sound like you’re dying, Solace,” Nico scoffed as he picked up his bag. “I’ll see you, then.” 

“Bye, sunshine,” Will said. He didn’t forget to lace sweetness into the name despite his obvious frustration. 

Three minutes later, Nico stumbled into his potions class. Thankfully it was in the middle of some group work, so he could slip in unnoticed by Professor Chiron. 

Ten minutes later, group work ended. And ten minutes later, Will came in, interrupting the professor’s lecture. 

Professor Chiron stopped in his tracks, his gaze fixing on Will like missile targets. Will felt it immediately, skidding to a stop as the door shut behind him. His face immediately turned red as he met Chiron’s eyes. It would have been cute if there wasn’t an anvil of tension hanging above the room. 

“Mister Solace,” Chiron began. It would likely be the first two words in a very long lecture about extreme tardiness, probably punctuated by a detention. Nico felt secondhand dread. “Where have you been?” 

Will was probably sweating. He sweats when he’s nervous. “I slept in, professor.” 

“That is no excuse to be so tardy.” Professor Chiron’s voice was curt and straight, like a knife ready to chop off the tips of Will’s fingers. 

“I’m sorry-” 

“Where is your tie?” 

Nico felt like a bucket of cold water was spontaneously dunked over his head. He had to resist the urge to run up to Will and smack him across the face. How could he be so stupid? 

Nico could see Will’s heart beating out of his chest. He was never a good liar, and he was never good under pressure. Any moment, he could say something that would blow everything out of the water. 

Now Nico was starting to feel the anxiety. One wrong move, and everything he had worked so hard to be kept secret will be gone. What would Will say? 

“Well?” Professor Chiron asked when he didn’t get a response. 

“I- I think I left it in Nico’s dorm, professor.” 

Without caring what other people thought, Nico dropped his head onto the desk with a thud. Of course. He could hear the snickers already. Particularly from Cecil and Lou Ellen, who were sitting behind him. They absolutely loved this, didn’t they? 

Nico looked up momentarily to catch Will’s eye. He was already pleading for forgiveness, and Nico was surprised to find that he wanted to give it. Despite all the laughter around them, Nico felt a strange sense of relief. At least it wasn’t a secret anymore. 

Will had been given a harsh detention for a week and a lot of strange looks as he walked back to his desk. He smiled at Nico when he walked past. Nico intended to return it with a glare, but he could never do that to Will. 

They didn’t have any classes together after that. When lunch rolled around, Nico sat at his usual spot at the Gryffindor table and waited for his friends to arrive. Jason eventually came with Percy trailing behind him- unusual, but not unexpected. They bore matching grins that only grew when they saw Nico. 

“So,” they both said in unison. “Will Solace?” 

Nico dropped his head into the table again. At this rate, he’d get a bruise.

#solangelo #nico di angelo #will solace #solangelo fic #my fic

[soldrawss]

Ares kids giving percy shit and then they just see... luke... standing in the background... staring at them... and they suddenly decide to leave percy alone, because they 'just FEEL LIKE IT, oKAY???' jhgfgdhfdhggfjghg

Despite what everyone else thinks, Luke is always angry. He just also happens to be really good at hiding it. He probably had his dad to thank for that, being able to redirect and reassure others with a flash of a smile and a wave of his hand to disarm anyone who’d think otherwise. He hardly ever lets his temper get the best of him anymore. He’s too old for that. Too tired to let the little things get under his skin and leave bruises that the world could see. He can’t afford to wear his anger out like tattooed sleeves, the same way Silena Beauregard wore compassion on hers.

And it would be too easy. Too easy to just let his anger for the world and for the gods fuel and feed the hurt bleeding into his rationality and blaming all his problems on everything other than himself. It would be way too fucking easy to go about his days in a blinding rage that left nothing but empty holes in the places that should have held love and forgiveness and all the good he tries so desperately to instill in the younger campers. It wouldn’t solve anything. It wouldn’t help the hurt and it wouldn’t end the suffering. Luke knew this. Luke knew the world didn’t need one more angry, unwanted kid adding that kind of gasoline into the fire. Kronos was wrong, even if his tempted whispers late at night tried so hard to convince him otherwise.

So he hides his anger. Buries it under daily counselor chores and making sure the Stoll brothers don’t get too rowdy during their free time and just keeps busy enough to ignore the pounding tremor in the back of his chest. It works for the most part. It’s easier to smile nowadays, he barely even has to force it anymore, and when he laughs along to campfire stories and songs, it’s something lighthearted and genuine.

But his anger is always right there, like it’s something second hand and lingering. There without him having to reach for it. 

And when he notices Percy get dragged behind the armory by the scruff of his neck by some older kids, he lets that all too familiar anger consume him in seconds. He pushes away from the handful of campers he was monitoring by the amphitheater, ‘Activity’s over. You have free break until lunch’, he calls over his shoulder, and doesn’t wait for a response as he marches his way in the direction of the armory with a speed Hermes would probably be proud of if he ever cared enough to check-in.

Luke doesn’t have special skills or powers like other Demigods. He can’t build things like Beckendorf and he can’t charm speak like Silena and he certainly can’t summon lightning from the heavens like Thalia could. But he was respected and feared in equal measure all the same, and no one could deny that he worked hard to earn the title of the best swordsman in camp. 

His was still a presence that demanded attention and authority. Even if he lets the seven-year-old from the Haphestus cabin ride on his shoulders after breakfast most mornings, or moves over on his already tiny bunk in the dead of night so that little unclaimed Lily Anderson can sleep with him after a bad nightmare.

He was a self-designated older brother to pretty much anyone who needed one, and Luke took a quiet sort of pride to that so many people liked and needed him.

But he was still a threat when he wanted to be.So when he saw Percy on the ground, with a nose bleed that stained the front of his shirt an awful rusty color, all Luke had to do was growl a low, ‘walk away. Now’, and the three boys took off at a sprint. He only vaguely recognized two of them from the Ares cabin and one from Aphrodite, but he didn’t care enough to do more with the information at the moment because Percy was staring up at him with green eyes electric and burning. 

And Luke recognizes those kinds of eyes. They’re the same as his. There's a light like dying stars in them. Angry and terrified and burning with something terrible and so full of single-minded devotion that it has to hurt. And it leaves something aching and red hot in Luke’s stomach when he takes a step forward only for Percy to flinch away out of reflex.

“I’m fine,” Percy said like a knee jerk reaction before Luke could even ask, barking it in a mean and biting way that Luke didn’t take any offense to because he remembers what if felt like to be twelve and have your pride hurt. So Luke doesn’t question it, because Percy is scrappier and stronger than anyone probably ever gave him credit for, and offers a silent hand and the gentlest smile he can muster. Luke does his best to ignore the thumping jolt of anger that vibrates through him when Percy takes it almost immediately and so desperately, like it’s his only lifeline in the world, and wonders what kind of people were in Percy’s life before camp that made him so hungry for a positive human connection. 

Percy apologizes a second later with a horrified expression, jumping out of reach when he notices he got blood on Luke’s hand.

“Don’t worry about it. Let's just get you to the Apollo cabin. Lee keeps a first aid kit and a jar of ambrosia superglued to him at all times after Cecil Markowitz’s third greek fire burn.” The comment was supposed to lighten the mood somewhat, but Percy’s face darkens as he takes a step back from Luke.

“Um, no thanks,” Percy says in almost a pained whisper, hugging his middle and trying to wipe the continuous flow of blood from running down his chin by holding his head back. “It smells too much like the infirmary in there. And I hate the way ambrosia burns down my throat. I’m good, Luke, really.”

And that should have tipped Luke off to some bigger problem, but he can’t concentrate on it because he’s already closing the distance between them faster than Percy could object, and softly pushing the back of Percy’s head down towards the ground. “Pinch here, just above your nostrils, and lean forward unless you want the blood to go down your throat.” He instructs, guiding Percy’s bloodied hand to his nose.

Luke can’t rightly blame Percy for his hesitance. The kid’s first moments of conscious grief since his new life as a half-blood began was spent in the camp infirmary, nursing the pain of losing his mom while also nursing actual physical wounds with acidic nectar and ambrosia that even Luke can attest to growing disgust for after the first few battle wounds of his own. Anyone would have some kind of underlying trauma from that, and Percy didn’t have to outwardly admit how uncomfortable he was at the idea for Luke to understand.

Being a 12-year-old without a mom was hard enough. The problems of a half-blood added on top of that was almost a cruel joke that Luke bitterly couldn’t believe was a reality for most the kids at camp.

“Annabeth used to get into a lot of fights too, I’ve gotten pretty used to fixing noses the old fashioned way. Come on, I have a spare medkit in the combat arena,” Luke says, pressing a hand to Percy’s back, not giving him a chance to escape because dammit, someone had to care for this kid. And Percy doesn’t smile, but something in those sharp green eyes turn leaf like and muted as he lets himself get led from out from behind the armory.

No one really bats an eye towards Percy as they walked, and Luke could only assume it’s because he looks like he’s about to kill anyone that tried with a stone-cold glare that could rival Medusa’s. 

No one was is in the arena when they get there, and Luke instructs Percy to keep the cold washcloth Luke had snagged for him on his nose for about ten minutes, keeping upright to help stop the bleeding. They don’t say anything after that, they just sit on the arena steps and watch the campers from the Demeter cabin try to flip the canoes of some Aphrodite kids with little success, while they wait. 

Luke doesn’t ask any questions on what happened or why, he feels like the answer wouldn’t matter anyway, but Percy eventually softens in the silence between them. Luke pretends he doesn’t notice Percy’s eyes get red and wet as he rubs at them angrily with the palm of his hand.

After about fifteen minutes, and a fresh camp shirt that Luke had given him to replace Percy’s stained one, Percy looked no worse for wear, at least.

“Thanks,” he says softly, like he was thanking Luke for a million things at once, and Luke was all too aware of the crack in his voice and the angry hunch of his shoulders that made him look whole years to young to be angry at the world.

“Don’t thank me just yet, I need your help with something,” Luke decides as he stands up and walks back into arena, not looking back to see if Percy is following him because he knows he is.

“Alright,” he says once they make it to the middle of the dusty pit, holding his hands out in front of his chest and adjusting his stance as Percy looks at him with a doe-eyed curiosity and confusion. “Come at me with all you got.”

Percy frowns, and sniffs once before rubbing his nose with the back of his hand. “What? Dude I already got my butt handed to me, I don’t need another nose bleed on top of a few broken bones.”

Luke can’t help but smile at that. “Come on, humor me. I have a few unchecked microaggressions I need to work out and you owe me. I promise I won’t aim for your nose.”

Percy frown deepens, but he sighs like the whole world is weighted on in and gets into a fighting stance of his own, keeping his fists close to his chest.

Now it was Luke’s turn to frown. “Aww dude, you’re breaking my heart here.”

He relaxes his stance and walks over to where Percy stood, dodging the lame attempt of a punch and catching Percy’s fist in the palm of his hand, readjusting Percy’s fingers. “Thumb goes here unless you want to break it. And you wanna keep your fists closer to bottom of your chin.”

Luke uses his own foot to shift Percy’s into a more stable stance. “Feet this far apart and bend your knees, or you’re gonna get knocked down no matter what happens. Try to punch me again.”

Frowning more out of concentration then confusion, Percy took another swing that Luke caught easily and without letting go, pulled it back towards Percy’s shoulder and used his other hand to straighten Percy’s back. “Use these muscles here and punch straight out. You keep swinging too wide and putting all your force behind it, leaving you open.”

He guided Percy’s hand with his own, twisting it slowly in the form of a punch. “You’re gonna feel the bones in your arm want to move this way. Let them and you’ll get more force out of it.”

Percy hummed something like acknowledgment, so Luke let go and retook his stance in front of Percy, mimicking his same posture from before. “Try it again.”

Luke still caught Percy’s fist in his own, but a smile broke his face in two when he, not unkindly, pushed Percy back aways. “A couple more hits like that, and my hand may actually start to hurt, Jackson.”

And the grin that crept upon the twelve-year-olds face was something bright and delighted and outshining the stars as easy as breathing, and Luke soaked in every inch as they continued for the better half of the morning sparing till the lunch horn sounded.

Percy was so much like a younger Luke that is actually scared him, but moments like this, where he knew practical methods of defense would help Percy better than any reassurance that bullies would eventually leave him alone ever could. And Luke knew that Percy wouldn’t be ok with anyone fighting his battles for him, even if it would have been so easy for Luke to channel some of that unchecked rage into beating the ever-living snot out of anyone who looked sideways at Percy again. Just like he knew that Percy wouldn’t ask for help if it wasn’t already freely giving, or that trust was a hard thing to earn when your whole life was built around people burning that bridge before you could ever extend it.

But Luke was prepared for the challenge, and with Percy chatting happily away from underneath where Luke rested his arm across his shoulders as they made their way to the dining Pavillion, Luke could feel the edges of his anger slowly quiet into something barely there. And it’s a feeling that carries him throughout the rest of the day. A feeling that he wants to bottle up and keep on a shelf whenever he wants to forget what hating the world feels like.

Because if it feels like it’s worth it just to keep kids like Percy smiling for the rest of forever, well then, Luke could handle forgiving some of his anger, and letting his heart rest on his sleeves just a little bit more.

#oh no he's 12 au #thats the name of this big brother luke au i'm creating #oh man i didn't mean to go on a big tangent but here we are folks #pjo #percy jackson #luke castellan #riordan #i have so many feelings on these two please ask me about them #thanks alex for getting me too hyped up now my home will know no rest

[hokkaidossoul12]

WARNING - The full story of this post has bad language (only two or three words though)

So a few days ago it was Dorothy’s birthday, but something you may or may not know is that she doesn’t enjoy celebrating her birthday for many reasons, but the main reason is because she thinks she doesn’t deserve anything since she didn’t think her birthday was special. But of course, it had somehow slipped out within showdown valley and so Dorothy tried to hide herself away to avoid receiving any gifts. What she didn’t know was that half the valley had decided to throw her a birthday at the saloon to repay all the times she had done something for most of the folks when it was their birthdays. And while Dorothy was hidden away she had discovered a pocket in her pink jacket she didn’t know she had. She felt something was in the pocket and decided to pull it out, it was then that she discovered that she still had an old photo of her family on her that she thought she lost years ago. Tears began to form in her eyes as she finally saw herself as a human after the many years she had been stuck as a dog-wolf and she began to sob and weep as she continued to stare at the photo. Dorothy continued to cry for hours on end as she was being flooded with different emotions. Then, after the saloon was set up Showdown, Penny and a few other folks decided to go off and find Dorothy to bring her to the saloon. But, after many hours of searching none of them were able to find her, Showdown seemed to be concerned about not being able to find her since he didn’t want her to miss out on her party. They ended up heading back to the saloon, everyone seemed to be sad and disappointed after they weren’t able to find her. It was then a certain faceless puppet had given the town a visit to see what exactly was going on. He decided to go inside of the saloon to find the placed decorated and a bunch of angry folks staring right at him, Lorelei threateningly asked the Faceless man why he was in town and Faceless told her he got curious and wondered why the saloon was decorated. The undertaker had then forcefully demanded he left immediately but she was ignored by the large bandit who had a look around at the decorations. Although he was mostly blind he knew that there were bright, colorful things around he that the faceless man had rarely seen before. He then saw a large colorful banner pinned up on the wall that read Dorothy’s name, it was then he realized that they were trying to throw a birthday party for her and he turned back to Lorelei. “wait...it’s Dorothy’s birthday today?” the faceless’ man’s expression seemed to changed into shock as Lorelei nodded. “yeah...but unfortunately nobody has been able to find her, she has been missing all day and nobody knows why” Penny said while rubbing her arm. The Faceless man furrowed his eyes at the eyeless female in concerned, “but...why would she suddenly disappear on her birthday? that seems a bit strange” Lorelei rolled her eyes “says the one who literally appears out of nowhere every two weeks to cause trouble...” the Faceless then quickly darts his head to bare his teeth at the undertaker. “well I wouldn’t have to if I didn’t have a role to play like everyone else here!”, “yeah, but the show ended  many years ago which means we only play our roles on the stage! maybe you hit your head too hard to remember that.” “you mean the one time YOU hit me in the head with that fucking shovel of yours the time I walked through town!!”, “YOU SWEAR AT ME AGAIN AND I’LL MADE SURE YOU CAN’T REMEMBER ANYTHING!!!” suddenly both the faceless man and the undertaker stared each other down and were about to start to fight. Both Showdown and Penny didn’t know what to do seeing both threatening puppets about to smash each other’s heads in.  “that’s enough, both of you!” suddenly all the folks within the saloon gasped and stood aside hearing the familiar voice, both Lorelei and Faceless’ expressed dropped and they turned their heads to the familiar voice. Lorelei quickly dusted herself off and Faceless straightened himself out before turning to the familiar puppet. “M-Mayor Cecil, I apologize for causing a scene” the grey-haired puppet glared at both Lorelei and the Faceless bandit, “well you should be! you both shouldn’t be acting the way you were, and you also shouldn’t be starting a fighting with any bandits, Lorelei! especially today, it’s Dorothy’s birthday, do you think she’d want you two at each other’s throats?!” both Lorelei and Faceless looked at each other before both shaking their heads. “good! now don’t let me catch you two doing that again or there will be consequences, got it?!”, “understood,Mayor Cecil!” both Lorelei and Faceless answered. Cecil then went over to Showdown and Penny, “did you and the others manage to find her yet?” Showdown looked at the ground, “sorry, Mayor Cecil, we didn’t manage to find her” the older male sighed in disappointment. “well we can’t start the party without her...” Cecil gripped his walking stick firmly as he tried to think of someone who knew how to easily track folks down. He needed someone who knew most of the valley’s hidden areas, someone who could easily sense another puppet around them. Then...he finally realized who could easily do just that. The older male turned back around and approached the Faceless man “Faceless, you must know most of the area in the valley that most of the folks don’t know about, right?” the faceless man furrowed his brows. “yeah, I know most of the valley and most of it’s remote areas” the faceless man brought his hand behind his head and rubbed the back of his neck. “well...would you possibly know where to find Dorothy?”, Faceless paused for a seconds before he answered. “I...I’m not entirely sure that I know where she would be, but I guess I could try finding her” the older puppet’s expression soften in a calm and content manner “splendid, now go find her for me and we can finally start this party!” Faceless nodded before suddenly disappear in a grey puff of smoke. Seeing the Faceless Bandit disappear, the older puppet decided to check around to make sure everything was set up perfectly for the dog-wolf. Faceless had then reappeared in one of the many areas of the valley he knew from the back of his mind, he tried to sense if anyone was around only to not feel any presence and so he moved into another area. One by one the faceless man scanned through the areas he knew that none of the folks within the valley could possible know about, but each area seemed to have no sign of the dog-wolf anywhere. Or...at least that was what he thought until he managed to stumble across an area he had only recognized once or twice. Faceless didn’t entirely know his way around the area and wasn’t sure where to start when suddenly he heard soft noises from nearby, it sounded like... crying. Quickly, the faceless man followed the noise which gradually got louder and louder until he was close enough to hear the noise, he could hear the sobbing through a wall that he had quietly approached. It was then that he could see a large hole in the wall which he would easily be able to squeeze through. But, the faceless bandit decided to peak inside before he went inside. And once he did, he realized that the hole revealed a small room which he quickly spotted Dorothy in. His face lit up as faceless finally found the dog-wolf only for his expression to drop when he saw her in a tearful state where she was in pure emotional pain. It was then he saw that she was holding something in her hands, it looked like a photo. She was also huddled in a corner of the small room as she was unaware of the faceless man’s presence as her mind was occupied on her emotions and thoughts. He had never seen Dorothy such a state before, her eyes being completely glazed over from how long she had been crying. Then quietly, the faceless man walked over to the dog-wolf and got down to level. “Dorothy...” suddenly the dog-wolf jumped hearing faceless suddenly speak, not knowing how he found her. The Faceless man backed off, realizing that he had scared her, “woah! I didn’t mean to frighten you, are you...alright?” Dorothy sighed, wiping her eyes to clear away the tears that dripped down her face. “it’s...it’s fine, I’m...fine” faceless could see she wasn’t as her gem was a dark blue color, a frown appeared on his face. Her eyes drifted to the side before tucking the photo she had back into the pocket of her pink jacket. “...how did you know where I was?” Dorothy’s didn’t look at faceless as she spoke, “well...I was able to hear you after I somehow found this area, and I somehow sensed it was you” Dorothy let out a noise between a laugh and a huff, “of course you did... someone was bound to find me.” There was a few moments of silence before faceless finally asked Dorothy “why did you hide yourself away? apparently folks have been looking all over for you..., did you...hide for a reason?” he suddenly saw the female shake as she clenched her fists firmly. It was after a few moments that Dorothy stopped shaking and finally answered.  “I-I hid away because...I didn’t want folks noticing me after the news had been spreading around about my birthday. I didn’t want folks doing stuff for me just because of one day in particular, I’ve never celebrated my birthday in the past so why should I now? I don’t see a point in receiving gifts or getting parties thrown for me. In the end I feel bad for everything that they did for me which makes me feel one hundred times worse than I already do. I know I should feel lucky to even have these things done... but all it does is make me feel pathetic no matter what because of not being able to appreciate these things without realizing it at all. And then...I end up feeling rude or selfish if I end up turning away gifts or parties that folks make for me...” tears began to form in Dorothy’s eyes again, bringing her paw-like hands to her face. Faceless’ mouth was left agape at what Dorothy had told him. He felt bad for her as he was there to persuade her to come to the party for her in town. But, he knew how she felt, he wasn’t one for birthdays either, although he had never been invited to any since the show stopped and what he did. Faceless sighed, shuffling closer to Dorothy before putting a hand on her shoulder. “It’s fine to not enjoy celebrating your birthday, and it’s fine if you don’t like when people give you gifts and throw parties for you. To be honest, I don’t celebrate my birthday and nobody cares about my birthday, ever since the show stopped. I also haven’t been invited to any parties at all since then either because of all the other shit I’ve done.” Dorothy uncovered her face from her hands a bit, tears still dripping from her eyes. “But...that doesn’t mean that you don’t deserve anything, you’ve done a lot for these folks, hell! you saved the Mayor’s life three time already as well as many of the other well-known folks in the valley. I’ve seen you, and you’ve really proven yourself worthy of respect and acceptance even if you can’t see it, yet...not once have you ever been properly repaid. I know that I’m suppose to be a bandit and you wouldn’t believe the words of an outlaw but...even a bad guy like me can see that your a puppet-... dog-wolf puppet, that is allowed the respect and aid back you give to these folks.” Dorothy looked faceless with a sad and confused expression on face as a couple of tears ran down her face, but before she could say anything the faceless man suddenly pulled her into a hug. The dog-wolf’s eyes widened in shock before more tears filled her eyes and she pressed her fluffy chin onto the faceless man’s shoulder. Dorothy’s eyes softened and she began to cry into Faceless’ coat and the faceless man let her, he pat her head gently as faceless held her. He knew that she was still in an emotional state and so Faceless let her cry until she felt more calm. Then she pulled away from the faceless man and gave him a soft smile, her gem changed to a faded yellow color. “thank you...” her voice came out gently and happy, “it’s fine..., I don’t usually do hugs, but I guess it helped” Faceless then stood up and helped Dorothy up off the ground, both faceless and Dorothy smiled at each other. “so...why exactly did you want to find me for anyway?” Faceless’ chuckled nervously, “uuh...well after everyone found out it was your birthday...they kinda...set up a party for you at the saloon, it was the Mayor’s idea, most of the valley is invited to it actually, but...they can’t start it without you.” Dorothy’s expression dropped a bit and she sighed, “oh no...are you sure?”, “yeah...”, “well...I guess I could go, if they really can’t start without me then I’m gonna have to.” Dorothy was about to start walking down when Faceless suddenly grabbed her and held her against him, “don’t worry, I know a shortcut” then without a warning Faceless suddenly teleported the both of them right into town. Dorothy’s knees shook but Faceless grabbed her before she almost dropped to the ground, “HOLY HELL! could you warn me next time you do that?! you almost gave me a damn heart attack!” Faceless laughed, “sorry, but was worth your reaction” Dorothy growled, “oh fuck off” this caused Faceless to laugh even harder as Dorothy managed to balance herself. It didn’t take long for a couple of the townsfolk to notice Dorothy and quickly ran up to her, wishing her a happy birthday. One of the townsfolk even put a party hat on her head. Dorothy shyly thank them, feeling a little bit uncomfortable with being approached. Faceless noticed this and pulled her away from the townsfolk, “we shouldn’t head to the saloon now, wouldn’t want to keep everyone waiting” Dorothy nodded as both her and Faceless made their way over to the saloon. Once they got there, Dorothy was quickly greeted by the Mayor, “thank goodness! I knew Faceless was able to find you!” suddenly Cecil put a hand around her back, dragging Dorothy into the saloon before shouting “everyone! Dorothy is here! we can get the party started!” Dorothy smiled a bit as she suddenly heard an uproar of cheering within the saloon, even the bartenders were cheering as well. Soon, there were lots of folks gathering within the saloon, but...Dorothy felt bad as she saw Faceless standing outside, he had been left all alone after she had been dragged inside of the bar. It seemed that Faceless wasn’t invited to the party, she remembered that he wasn’t welcomed inside as for how much trouble he had caused. Dorothy had sit herself at a table where she sulked, she had folded her arms on the table and had her chin sitting on top. Suddenly Mayor Cecil had set a rather large glass of wine in front of her, “here, have a drink, it is your birthday after all!” but then he realized that Dorothy looked sad. “what’s the matter? are you not having any fun?” Dorothy then turned her head to Cecil, “well...there was someone who I hoped who be invited but...I guess not” Mayor Cecil then pulled over a seat and sat next to her. “oh? and who may that be, Dorothy?” Dorothy furrowed her brow in a sad manner before answering, “Faceless...he was the reason I brought myself to come to the party in the first place, I...I didn’t want to come here at first but...he made me realize that I should.” Cecil paused for a few seconds, realizing what Dorothy had just said. “wait, were you trying to avoid everyone because you didn’t want this party? did I pressure you into this?” Dorothy jolted, “n-no! of course you didn’t pressure me..., I just...find it hard to enjoy my birthday and the fact that I didn’t deserve much attention for it. To be honestly, this is one of the only parties that have been thrown for me...” Cecil’s mouth dropped at Dorothy’s words. “...goodness, I hadn’t known” Dorothy smiled softly, “it’s alright, Mayor Cecil, I appreciate this kind gesture of yours as well as the rest of the valley” but her smile dropped back into a frown again. The older male thought for a few seconds before finally speaking up again, “alright, I’ll let you invite him in” Dorothy’s face completely lit up at the Mayor’s words, “really?!” the female’s tail began to wag as her ears perked up. “of course, but only on two conditions...” Dorothy tilted her head, “yes?” she waited for his response, “that you have lots of fun and that you enjoy yourself” Dorothy nodded before quickly rushing to get out of her seat and run outside.

Faceless was sitting outside, seeing the saloon completely light up as he had a sad look on his face, “I hope she is enjoying herself...” he said to himself as he was left alone. It was then that he saw someone burst through the saloon doors and rush towards his direction, it was Dorothy again. Faceless smiled a bit, “hey, Dorothy, what are you doing outside? I thought you’d be having fun by now?” he suddenly saw her give him a shy look. “well...I wasn’t exactly enjoying myself, not after I realized you were left out here on your own, so I decided to come out here and invite you inside” Faceless’ expression dropped, “but...didn’t you remember what I said before? nobody is going to welcome m-” “I don’t care! it’s either that or I won’t enjoy myself.” The Faceless man rubbed his arm, feeling unsure about it, “I don’t know...” Dorothy sighed, she knew it was going to be hard to persuade the faceless man. She then tried to think of a way to change his mind. Dorothy knew how stubborn the faceless outlaw could be as pleading with words wouldn’t work. Then...she suddenly realized what she had to do, something she knew he had a weak spot for. She smirked a bit, “alright, then you leave me with no choice!” Faceless seemed confused for a few moments before suddenly seeing Dorothy’s eyes dilated as she put on a pout and her ears drooped down, she was giving him a puppy dog face. “no! not the face! c’mon, Dorothy!” Dorothy tilted her head, let out small whimpers, she could see that the faceless man had trouble containing himself and he felt his heart melt at her face. “no! one of my only weaknesses!”, “I know you can’t resist the face, don’t make me use drastic measures” Faceless began to breath heavily seeing her getting closer to him until he couldn’t take it anymore. “Ok ok! you win, I’ll go with you...” Dorothy’s face then went back to normal and she giggled, “yes!” she swiftly grabbed ahold of his arm before dragging him into the saloon with her. But, once Dorothy entered with Faceless everyone began to glare at the outlaw, the faceless man stare down at Dorothy nervously, “hey! I’m the one who brought him in here, it’s my birthday, I’m allowed to do what I want to, right?” it was then that the folks looked at each other before shrugging it off. Faceless seemed surprised at this, he thought that folks would surely kick him out. The faceless was then quickly dragged through the saloon the table where Dorothy sat at before, Mayor Cecil was standing nearby, he saw how much happier she was with Faceless in her presence. It was then that Penny, Lorelei, Showdown and a few of Dorothy’s friends had spotted her in the crowd and went straight over to her, she was then bombarded with gifts and hugs as well, Penny and Myra ended up bringing over some cake for Dorothy. She had given some to Faceless who she was chatting with throughout the party, Showdown of course stayed very distant from the both of them, not wanting to be seen by the faceless man. Throughout the party, Dorothy was asked to dance a few times as some great songs were being played, she even danced with faceless so he wouldn’t feel left out and...Faceless actually began to enjoy himself. But, soon folks began to offer her drinks, Dorothy wasn’t feeling too sure about it, not wanting to get drunk. It was then that Faceless said, “c’mon, it’s your birthday, you may as well let loose just for tonight” Dorothy sighed, “I guess I could...” It was after a few drinks she began to feel a little bit of an effect of the alcohol, “ok...that’s enough, I want to at least be able to stand or else I may not be able to-” Faceless suddenly put a hand on her shoulder, “but one more can’t hurt you, right?” Dorothy paused, maybe one more would be ok. “...fine, only one more, then I’m done” Faceless smirked, going over to the bar and got the bartender to grab the bigger glass they had, it must’ve been three times the size of the normal glasses they had. Then after the bartender filled the glass Faceless went back to Dorothy and sat the glass in front of her, Dorothy’s face went pale at the size of the glass of alcohol. “you’re....you’re kidding me, I can’t finish that! I’ll-” Faceless patted her on the back, “don’t worry, you’ll be fine!” Dorothy began to feel nervous, she didn’t want the alcohol to go to waste and so she managed to finished the entire glass. Once she did, she was completely tipsy and she started going completely wild. But, it didn’t take long for Dorothy to pass out, and so Faceless ended up taking her back with him to his home, taking all the gifts Dorothy received with him as well. Faceless had a spare place in his home for her to sleep for the night and so Dorothy’s party had come to an end an hour later. so...yeah, that’s basically sums up what happened on Dorothy’s birthday, hope you enjoyed reading it if you did ^^;

#showdownbandit #dorothy #Dorothy'sBirthday #HokkaidosSoul12 #story #fight #ShowdownBanditocs #lorelei undertaker #FacelessBandit #comfort #emotional #sad/happy #penny hemsworth #showdown #party #mayorcecil #confession?

[the-uptake]

Between You and Me

The Uptake, With Symbiotic Self-Indulgence. Book III, Chapter 11. Go to previous. TWs: Shaving, alcohol, drugging, hangovers of both kinds, bondage, epidemic, isolation, bombing survivorship mention, descriptions of lethal body horror. Bite the hand that feeds, tap the vein that bleeds...

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Come third shift that night, the faint hum within the complex’s walls had faded, and only one wall of each apartment’s main room and bathroom illuminated its inhabitants’ way with the pale Wolfram phosphorescence accumulated during the second shift. If not for the potent, unfamiliar scent of vaguely sandalwood aftershave and the dark gold towels, Cecil could nearly have forgotten he stood shirtless in someone else’s bathroom. That, and he’d sooner be caught dead than own bathroom rugs.

His halo lay, turned off, on the counter beside the sink. The internal elements in its opalescent clear plastic emanated faint pulses. To his surprise, he found the tenant owned a rechargeable power bank. Possibly several, he supposed, considering the facility with which he located it in the fluorescent twilight. So as to let ‘Choly keep theirs to get through the night, the redhead gladly made use of the foot-long clear-housing device, so the aural aureole could maintain its juices that night well past the hour it normally flickered off altogether. Unlike the backup electrical source, his boyfriend wouldn’t have any need at the time for the clipper that he then produced from its case. He fished around in the like-new guard attachments, recalling that ‘Choly didn’t use any. When he snapped on the size two, an ebullient nerve jolted through him. He pulled the drain stopper, and leaned into the mirror to get to work.

As the chunks of two-inch hair fell to the counter, floor, and sink basin, the act felt more natural than he’d expected. He’d trimmed himself dozens of times over the years, and maintained his own facial hair, but he’d never buzzed off all his hair. If he’d ever seen a Leveler with their hair this short, they hid it beneath the translucent cranial plates which the Northeast US deemed especially fashionable. Full-scalp plating was unheard of, though: these functional successors to the fascinator always had either brightly colored, vee-reactive, or even fiber-optic extensions wefted through exposed sections, or the wearer’s natural hair pulled through it to be styled somewhat akin to how people used to style hair around combs and other such devices. The reverberations of the clippers on his scalp rendered the sound for him as would a deep bone conduction headset. He wondered how someone might even wear such an accessory without hair long enough to clip it into.

He set down the clippers to run his hands all over his work, and smeared around his chin and jaw with the heels of his palms. The length of what remained on his head now nearly matched that of his third-shift shadow. The more he stared at himself, the more his heart lightened. Content with the catharsis of self transgression, he moved to clean up after himself. With a lock of the longest hair from the top of his head in his fingers, he wondered whether ‘Choly would want it. He flinched at himself, but still tucked the sizable brassy chunk into the inner pouch of his toiletry bag regardless, unable to quit the habituation of such thoughts. He did his best without a broom and dust pan to corral the rest of the trimmings into the wastebasket.

Without building power, the plumbing lacked necessary pressure, so he instead used some of the tenant’s reserve water supply, from the interconnecting clear stackable units stashed in the bathtub, to shampoo and rinse his head in the sink.

Suspiciously well equipped for the unplugged shifts, he noted, of the tenant’s specialized furnishings. The sensation of scrubbing the fine clippings off his scalp with his fingernails got him whistle-humming softly with his mouth open. The small spigot on the side of it made it incredibly simple to measure out cupfuls to pour over his head as he held it over the basin. Having it in these units is so much handier than our repurposed leftovers bins. Maybe he’d help us get set up with something like this.

He tossed the borrowed towel into the hamper by the tub and put his unbuttoned gold dress shirt back on, then reconnected the four flexible ports of his halo and handshaked it. In the next room, he could hear struggling that had, from the labored nasal breathing, likely gone on for some time. He murmured dully to himself, put his glasses back on his face, and took his empty highball with him to investigate.

Though Jacob’s apartment had the same floor plan as Cecil and ‘Choly’s, the furnishings denied any meaningful confusion. The back third had an office area, the middle a series of utility shelves and an L-shaped workbench perpendicular to the wall, and the front a peculiarly spacious third of open floor with a single broad cabinet. Just as theirs, dozens of potted plants peppered the long, narrow quarters. Unlike theirs, rather than literary in nature, the grey-area verbot that peppered Jacob’s was technological and mechanical.

“Hope you don’t mind that I’ve let myself in, neighbor,” he remarked as he approached the upholstered swiveling desk chair from behind. “Decided I’d stay the night with you, to make sure you recovered right from the tranq. My brother and their friend helped me carry you over here before they headed out.”

Jacob stilled at Cecil’s voice, and stopped straining against the ropes that anchored him to his seat. He didn’t bother craning his head to look up over the back of the chair.

“I do still have both kidneys, right?” The snark received deadpan silence. “--Where’s Angel?”

“Powered off, in the front. I could teach you better encryption, if you want.”

Cecil casually refreshed his glass from the small lacquer dry bar in the very corner of the office space. He plunked a few cocktail cherries suspended in lime gelatin cubes from the zippered package, and splashed in whiskey, ginger ale, and some kind of Vek bitters. He sipped at his concoction until he netted one of the bright blue fruits in his mouth and twisted off the stem, and chewed before he spoke again.

“I appreciate your hospitality, really. These jellies are something else. I’m on my third Premier.” Cecil faced into the apartment, skirting eye contact, to lean his weight against the side of the desk. Behind him, rain had probably strafed the naked window for most of the evening already, and would definitely continue through the night. The stem went back in his cup, since he didn’t trust his ability to hit the waste bin two meters away. “Place’s nice, too. See you’ve greened it up. Did my brother do yours, too, like some kinduva traveling snake oil dealer?”

The blond let a slow breath escape flared nostrils, and an intermittent low whine corrugated his affect.

“What time is it? Can’t be super late. Glow’s still going. --Are you sure you wouldn’t rather a slice of confec? You seem like you could use some confec right now. Don’t strike me as the type to drink--”

“--About twenty-two. Not too long before first shift. Then it’s just the two of us. And I’ll be blind, drunk,and deaf.”

“It’s just you and me here?”

Inebriation had misinformed Cecil’s tongue, since he didn’t usually keep a continuous charge in the halo, but he couldn’t be bothered to correct himself. He worked at draining his glass, so he could earn the rest of the fruits that had glued themselves to the bottom of the crowded glass. He nudged the chair back a bit with his foot to slide over to sit on the desk and face him. He just stared blankly at the tall, thick blond while popping the prized garnishes in his mouth one at a time, removing the stems each time and letting them accumulate in the highball.

Jacob slouched when Cecil’s enjoyment of them seemed more like absent cud-chewing, and he shut his eyes, folding to the implicit staring contest.

“Are you all right, pal? Is that a stupid question? Is that okay to ask? --You know you can just eat the jellies without making a drink, right--”

Cecil sat the glass down on the bar, and gripped the edge of the desk, to swing his feet under it.

“I just shot you. You’re tied up, and I can’t let you go. And I can’t even look at my boyfriend right now. Do you even really need to ask?” His mouth scrunched and he glanced at the ceiling before resuming more agreeable eye contact. “Question of my own now, since you can clearly intuit some modicum of transparency: What made you a repairman?”

Jacob’s exhausted eyes stitched in a smile, and he shifted back in the chair.

“Cred’s never been the only currency. There’s lost potential in everything around us. Call it alchemy, in the most abstract sense. Mend and mod. Turn something into something else. In lieu of cred, people used to trade goods and services all the time, back in the day. The tradition never died. It just changed. Like everything else did.” He squinted again, his mouth becoming a wide thin line. “Look, I can’t turn on the poetic charm just like that. If you’re asking why a repairman’s decided to live in Tri-City, with everything like it is, I stayed behind because I knew there’d be survivors who’d still need the building to work right. Simple as that. Why’s it matter to you?”

“How altruistic of you. Of course it matters. You weren’t just fixing the garbage chutes. You were going through people’s trash. Just doesn’t add up to me, though, why you’d put yourself at risk to return something so patently thrown away.”

“Again with that box!” Jacob scoffed, the stress flickering out of his grin. “Would you have rather I just let that stuff get destroyed? Wait. You’re scared I’d tattle. Weak. You’d better freakin’ believe I wouldn’t bring police into the building. Your honey isn’t the only gremlin in this place, you know. I’m not gonna burn the whole house down just to smoke out one cockroach.”

“I know I can’t be the only one with a weapon. What’s stopping you from dealing with the... roaches... yourself?”

The subtext read louder than the text. Jacob knew why Cecil didn’t think he could untie him, but now he’d said it outright.

“You feel personally responsibly for Central, don’t you, librarian? That’s what all this is. You just can’t let it go.”

Cecil let out a broken laugh, and his eyes glassed up as he steeled a snivel.

“How can’t I? I should have been able to stop it. I was working a Level 7 server room when Central became a Roman candle. You snarked about my burn scars and all that shit, but surely from the look of me, you can tell how close I had to be to one of the payloads.” The ex-librarian couldn’t sit still anymore and paced. He quickly conflated the habit with his brother and sat back down on the desk, to lace and fold his hands in his lap with a sour, desperate face. “You know we’ve only got a localized Nikola-web here, repairman. Just what they’ll feed us, accept from us. Have you got an Underweb connection? Has anyone here?”

Jacob didn’t like not being able to watch Cecil pace, but he didn’t like it even more when the pacing halted so abruptly, only for the strung-out stocky little man to perch in front of him all over again. His eyes slowly widened as his brow raised, and he frowned thoughtfully.

“Now just what exactly would somebody like you need the Underweb for?”

The ginger nearly objected, but recognized he hadn’t been shut down. He shifted in place as he formed his narrative response.

“‘Choly needs medical stuff. But he’s scared of billing. It’s exciting to know he’s taken care of all that himself his whole life. You know Stalkers had two options with their medical needs. They either bartered with verbot to get care from this one clinic... or they didn’t. He’s been disabled since before he was a teen. He racked up an awful lot of debt with their lead doc. It got to where he couldn’t afford the emotional, sociological, or physical cost of enlisting the doc’s help.” He stilled himself by chewing at his spider bite studs, but his voice began to break. “He asked me this afternoon about a... maggot debridement kit. And Trylocaine saline. The bullet you asked about. He told me, he got shot in the leg. That night. It’s gotten so fucking infected. You think the 25-line garbage chute smelled bad? Just be glad you weren’t in the bathroom this morning helping him sop up the pus in the first place.”

The repairman huffed, eyeing the dry bar.

“So he wasn’t puffing up to scare me, by describing all the...” He realized he couldn’t gesticulate, and slouched in a sympathetic resignation. “The skin or whatever. Slag, though. Leather. Real leather,” he whooped. “And that much of it. It’s all kind of revolting, isn’t it?”

“Everything about him is so revolting that it’s charming. If there’s a way to keep him... keeping it. Oh, I don’t know.” He caught himself trying to stand to pace and burked the compulsion. “I just don’t understand why he threw it away, when he literally put years of blood and sweat into it.”

“Everybody’s got their own exchange rate, their own value of things. He might just not value the same things you do. Or at least, not in the same way. Whatever value that thing, and crafting it, has to him. Might be past tense. --Why’s it so important to you, that he keeps on like he has? You only just today found out about it, from the sound of it all.”

“Because this has been his ‘normal’ for the past four years!” he cried, throwing his hands up. “I can nearly forgive that he never told me, or showed me. He hasn’t had his hair bleached like that since we first met, and then he goes and does that the day after the bombing. And that tattoo. That triangle thing immortalized in the leather. I know he got it, a month after we started going steady, just to push my buttons.” He rubbed at his tattooed arms and couldn’t look at Jacob anymore, trembling deep in his lungs. “...I guess a part of me’s worried that he’s either trying to move to a time before he knew me. Or a time before he had to be nagged up over all this mess. It’s an understatement, that everything’s gone to shit since Central went dark, but everything really did feel right until that day. We managed. We worked. Like, it was all falling into place, not apart.”

Jacob barked a laugh, disquieted by his inability to unpack the brand of Cecil’s loyalty to ‘Choly.

“Geez, pal. Gonna sprain something, overthinking so hard. Mister Thorn’s on your side, and he’s going to guarantee your Ever After won’t be ending any time soon. Promise.” He got a bit lyrical as he drafted the laundry list. “Is leather working stuff all you think ‘Choly would need? The surgical stuff. I’ve got pharmaceutical connections. Wonder if Trylocaine’s enough...”

Cecil’s head picked up when he heard Jacob humoring him, and a hollow enchantment overwhelmed him at a loss for the spectrum of what the repairman must have had access to.

“I’m... not sure what you’re suggesting here,” he mumbled.

“All you’ve gotta be is specific. I can get it.”

“...And the cost?”

The repairman scoffed, in a wide-eyed detachment.

“The cost? You mean, what’s in it for me?” He thought it over a moment. “All depends on what it is, I guess.”

“What about Ketonamil?” Cecil blurted out, a little too intensely. Worried to have been mistaken for anger, he softly amended, “--Or at least, the stuff to make some?”

Cecil’s head rang in a complex grief, that the cyanogenic steroid was the first thing to fly out of his mouth. Maybe he felt more threatened than he thought by Jacob, in ways the tranq couldn’t adjust for. Or maybe he just wanted to gauge the repairman’s going prices. Jacob melted in a stunned, warm fascination.

“All this couch psychiatry mess has been fun, but if we’re going to continue to be neighbors, I really have got to work on how I keep letting you lot continue to surprise me with gems like this.” A wistful sigh escaped him, stuttering into discomfort. He wagged his head toward the reader on the square pad in the windowsill. “Yeah, I’ve got Underweb access. It should still have a charge. Parked it before third shift. If you... untie me... I could--”

“--Or,” Cecil asserted with a wild glare, gripping the man’s kneecap until he squirmed, then balance back to put the other hand on the device slightly behind himself. “You could just tell me your sequence so I can browse for myself.”

Cecil turned on the screen and waited. Maybe the liquor had loosened his inhibitions. He never got drunk. Was he a mean drunk? A talkative drunk? He’d disclosed to a near total stranger things he’d never come close to discussing with anyone close to him. He could see Jacob sweating.

“...Or that.”

Jacob told him the finger pattern design to draw through the symbols, and the lock screen shut off. He’d never been able to get the hang of ‘Choly’s rooted reader, and he’d purposefully left its updates off for years on top of that. The rooted user interface of the current model had so many more buttons to swipe among, and many menus necessitated the use of manually typing with the keyless entry pad that occupied the last third of the flat device. He didn’t ask Jacob to tell him how to use it, lest he risk inviting giving Jacob good reason to insist, If only you’d just untie me, I could show you myself, I’m no good at explaining things like that with words, et cetera, et cetera.

He’d figure it out himself.

The time in the corner indicated 22:52. If only you’d just untie me. The hypothetical request repeated itself in Cecil’s head. Did he really trust what Jacob told him, or was he being spoon-fed whatever might get him to free him? Though the wine key didn’t look like a reliable option, he pocketed it. Then he picked up the pronged Japanese bar spoon, and twiddled it between two fingers while he browsed with the other hand trying to locate the merchant apps. Apparently, its owner had the news Web app set to auto-load certain tiers of noteworthy news broadcasts. The screen split between three different pieces:

“Bloom Set to Ramp to Full Pandemic Status”

“Bloom Victims Now Sprouting Up on International Soil”

“New Developments in Bloom Survivor Procedures”

He skimmed the first, his brow sinking against his glasses. Something was effectively causing people to spontaneously turn inside out. He could recognize the “plant” and “insect” or“crustacean” traits the article described in the structures that jutted from and leafed out of the bodies knotted up in the apparent agony of such a gruesome death, even with only the photographs included of the casualties. His jaw tightened, recalling his brother mere hours ago making casual discussion over how Vekarix couldn’t graft an exoskeleton donor into a mammal’s genetic expression without lethal consequences. He boiled inside at the incredulity that Ben could be involved. The thylacine hybrid hadn’t seemed remotely out of sorts during the insect grafting discussion with ‘Choly. Had he been about to tell them all about this‘Bloom,’ only to have gotten interrupted by Jacob? By the Box?

The second article, he only skimmed, his ears ringing too much to focus. He gleaned victims had been found on both coastlines of the States, and in the past week cases had been discovered in Scandinavia and South Asia. Investigations had already been underway to pinpoint if a sole food supplier might have shipped out tainted stock, and pressure had intensified once the epidemic had crossed international waters. He spaced out a ways, despising the reality how disconnected from the outside world their apartment building was. Unplugged from reliable transportation, let alone utilities, including Web. Fed only what FEMA deemed suitable to funnel into their location-specific Nikola-based Web broadcasts. He stared at the photos, revolted fundamentally at what could only be some manner of genetic disease.

Speechless, the ex-librarian looked up, haunted, and turned around the reader to set it in Jacob’s lap to observe him.

“I’ve got to keep up on current events,” he lampshaded. “Sue me for having auto-load set on some stuff.”

“--You knew about this then?” Cecil snipped. “Have there been any in Tri yet?”

Jacob shrugged, and decided giving him his closest understanding of the crisis better served them both than instructing specific topic searches.

“Only a matter of time, I guess. They’ve started refining a cure. Made their first survivor announcement a few days ago. Nasty stuff. Comes in flare-ups. Seems to start just turning you green, but every episode after that just fucks you up sideways. Looking like the key to surviving it is catching it before‘crab phase’ or whatever the hell that explosion of sharp mangled guts is. Worst part is, it makes you complacent to the changes, or oblivious altogether. You don’t seek medical help. You stop eating, and seek light and water above all else. The first survivor only got there‘cause he stuck close enough to home his steady found him and took him somewhere.”

All the while, Cecil had stared at the reader screen, not Jacob.

“What... is it.”

“A virus, maybe? No one knows. It’s got to be genetic, ‘cause they reversed it with humanization serum. Look, if you wanna read up on it, that’s fine. I’m probably missing scientifical parts of this whole shebang. Use my reader all you want. I don’t care. Just lemme get up and piss, pal. You really are tormenting me at this point.”

Cecil finally folded, and crouched behind the chair to cut the knots with the wine key. By the time the ropes loosened off the chair, Jacob was already rounding the chair to gently knuckle-scrub the ex-librarian’s fresh buzz cut with a chuckle, and he strolled off to the bathroom. Cecil bundled up the rope, then sat to resume reading the news articles. Without all the bookshelves to dampen the sound, having the door open while he took care of his business echoed awfully. Cecil sneered, but appreciated that even though Jacob saved reserve water by not flushing until in the morning, he at least heard him wash his hands.

The third piece was almost totally in video broadcast. He started it, but couldn’t find the volume to turn it up, so he tapped at it until closed captioning started streaming. They interviewed a tall, older man with worn features and an angular nose, bespoken in layered burgundy and navy leisure suiting. The man had shoulder-length receding chartreuse hair, and blood-black sclera and fingernails. From his manicured brows and sideburns, he could tell it wasn’t a dye job. He grimaced as he skimmed the text.

Ivory Rasmussen. Prior already renown as the Confectioner responsible for Resin. Lives in Level 22, in the solar sector of still-crippled Tri-City, New Jersey.

He didn’t get anything more from the interview beyond the understanding they wanted to know what he felt, knowing his survival could mean a large-scale success in overcoming the pandemic globally. Except his insistence that, despite the global incidence, he discredited anyone who thus far considered the Bloom a pandemic of any kind. How dare Jacob simply shrug when a Tri-City native was the survivor in mention. When Jacob came up behind him and put a hand to his shoulder, he jerked to glower up at him, but softened immediately.

“Dude looks super wild. Am I right?” He patted the shoulder for emphasis.“Now how about that shopping list? Gotta get it before first shift. My receiver’s in a third shift sector, so their glow-time is in less than an hour now.”

“Leather crafting tools,” Cecil seethed. “Maggot debridement. Trylocaine. ...Antibiotics! And Ketonamil.”

At first, he’d just been sticking to what he’d thought was an accidental request, but certainty laced his voice now as though he hadn’t known he meant it the first time he’d said it before.

“And Ketonamil,” Jacob repeated. He sat on the edge of the desk and took the reader from him, flipping through with routine cynicism as he easily located every item requested. “Sorry for doing it for you. We’re just in a time crunch, is all.”

“You ordered the things!” Cecil nearly bolted up out of the chair. “But we hadn’t even negotiated what it’ll set me back yet!”

“Shh, shh,” he soothed, waving him to mentally sink back down in the chair. “Prices on delivery, neighbor. Prices on delivery.”

“But--”

“There a problem? No questions asked, why you want any of this stuff. I can conveniently forget anything you’ve said to me tonight, if you like. Doctor patient confidentiality, or whatever bullshit you want to call it. Services are the oldest human currency. I’ve got the means and the motivation. You won’t find both so easily in the same individual. Not in these parts. I’m not for anything too violent, I promise. I can already reassure you, I’ve never set a death in motion in providing any of these items in the past.”

“Up to, but not including,” the librarian jabbed dryly.

“Say, I wonder if we could find a genuine purpose for all that genuine leather,” he proposed aloud, stroking his short under-chin beard thoughtfully. “Something the little gremlin might like to keep.”

“He fancies himself an insect,” he corrected. Though the deprecating endearment nettled him, it worried him more that this endeavor might imperil his priceless object so quickly after he’d come into its possession. “I’m sure of it, that if you asked him, he’d consider the leather his chrysalis.”

“And just what do you think it’ll make him, if we can convince him to turn the stuff into something else?” The repairman offered the bag of cocktail jellies with a benevolent glance.

“Something that he might like,” Cecil repeated as he awed up at the taller man, accepting the cherries in a deferential entrapment.

“You still wanna fall back and keep an eye on me tonight?”

“I don’t think I could go home just yet.”

“Wanna talk about it?”

Cecil snorted, and popped another fruit in his mouth.

“Depends on your hourly rates, I guess.”

#biopunk #dystopian #cyberpunk #body horror #dystopia #the uptake #with symbiotic self indulgence #jacob thorn #george cecil #between you and me

[harleywords]

The Thrill of Change

Genre - Comedy

Word count: 2468

Synopsis: A businessman becomes addicted to the thrill of making absurd changes to his mundane office life. Hijinks ensue.

Today I did things a little different. I figured I’d be better for it, but it only made things worse. No, not worse… for something to get worse it has to be bad to begin with, and it wasn’t. Bad, I mean. But things change, people change; at least that’s what I’ve heard. People say that all the time, in fact they’ve said it so much throughout history that people almost exclusively use it ironically now. Anyway, I thought I’d give it a try-- that was my first mistake. Actually it was my only mistake, but there were a whole lot of smaller mistakes that fall under that main big one; changing myself. And I dragged my colleagues down with me.

Now, I’m a civilized man. I wear my tie around my neck just like anyone else; or at least, I have done so since that one incident in which someone finally came forward and told me I had been doing it wrong all these years. I appreciate that. If ever I’m doing something incorrectly, I want the right method to be made known to me as soon as possible. I love doing things right. You could say I have a passion for it. Or I would if I ever felt passionately about anything. If I were to be passionate about something, it would be rightness. I think that’s good, which pleases me because I love being good as well. That would be my second passion if only I were capable. Goodness and rightness are very important to me, even if not to the extent of passion. If I saw someone doing something bad and wrong, I wouldn’t stop them. If I were passionate I suppose I would… maybe that’s something I should strive for? It’s too late now, of course; everything’s changed.

It all started a couple of nights ago when I arrived at work only to notice I forgot my tie. I ran to my cubicle, clenching my trench coat at the chest to cover my shameful error, when I suddenly remembered that my backup ties were at the cleaners. It was closed today. I was about to just totally freak out when my good friend and arch nemesis, Cecil, arrived at my small workspace with a glint in his eye.

“I couldn’t help but notice the way you were holding your trench coat.” He smirked. “Any man of mighty brains and impeccable taste in clothing could clearly see that you were hiding something-- or a lack thereof.” He spun a No. 2 pencil between his index finger and thumb, wrist limp and elbow nonchalantly propped against the corner of my cubicle wall. He raised the coffee in his dominant left hand to his lips with a look of better-than-you-ness. At the time I couldn’t recall the term “superiority,” so I won’t use it here in order to stay true to my recollection of these harrowing events which took place recently enough that I can sort of remember what I was thinking at the time they happened. For example, after my thought about his look of better-than-you-ness, I remember not remembering what I had for breakfast and feeling concerned about it. I spent the next few minutes trying to dig around in my brain for the memory of my morning breakage of fast and missed everything he was saying to me during this time. At last I had it-- Chinese takeout. How silly of me to forget; it was a Tuesday, of course I had my Tuesday breakfast Chinese takeout.

“I’m sorry, what did you say?” I asked Cecil with a triumphant grin at the flawless recollection of my latest meal. I recalled the moment of panic when I opened my fortune cookie. The delicate slip of paper inside ripped in half with the cookie, and on it were the mangled words; “There are big changes ahead for you.” This meant nothing to me at the time, but now I was beginning to wonder about its significance.

“I said I think I have an extra tie for you to borrow.” Cecil repeated with exasperation. He hated repeating himself. He often faked it to get back at whoever didn’t hear him the first time, for instance; say he had told you: “You have something in your teeth.”

“Come again?” you would respond.

He would then change it to, “Catch the game last night?” And stomp away in a huff of frustration and-- ah yes! Superiority. That’s the word. (Please excuse me, I am still following my train of thought from the other night.) Of course, he would probably never utter the words “catch the game last night.” Cecil’s most loathed phenomenon in the world is that of cliches. He hates cliches. Just hates ‘em.

Anyway, he must have felt the tie thing to be far too important to change in his second go of suggesting I borrow one of his, because he repeated it for me and I graciously accepted his offer.

“You are too kind, too kind.” I shook his hand violently but at the time it was holding a cup of hot coffee which splattered all over my work area and sensitive skin. I didn’t mind, though; I was overjoyed by this solution to my terribly embarrassing problem. “I promise to return it good as new!”

“Good as new?!” the pencil in Cecil’s right hand snapped at the clench of his fist, the two separate pieces falling to the floor in a clatter that to me resembled the cries of a close bond being severed, two kids in love being taken from each other by cruel circumstance. “I have half a mind to retract my offer at that overused phrase, and to punch myself right in the face for saying I have “half a mind” to do something-- but this tie thing is far too important. I’ll get it to you right away.”

I spent the rest of the day in a constant state of anxiety at the thought of having to wear someone else’s tie, but a foreign tie is better than no tie. Then a strange thing happened to me, and I realized the thrill of being anxious all day. It was… exhilarating! The adrenaline rush coursing through me whenever I looked down or caught someone glancing at my chest was unlike anything I’d ever felt before, and although it made me feel uncomfortable and sweaty, it wasn’t entirely unpleasant. It was exciting, it was new-- it was change.

I wanted more. I started small; shifting everything on my desk askew so instead of being at right angles they were all tilted towards me, as if they were an audience watching me work. My computer and the long list of monotonous company emails within suddenly became a ferocious lion in the coliseum, and I a gladiator, conquering each reply with a mighty swing of my sword (in this case my sword was my keyboard, just in case my metaphor confused you ((I often have trouble with metaphors))).

Later I added almond milk to my coffee instead of my usual 2%. It was really weird and I didn’t want to imagine how they milked the almonds, but I enjoyed every sip with delight and defiance. At the end of my workday I turned left at my cubicle instead of right to get to the elevator, which was a little stupid in hindsight because my cubicle is at the outer corner of the building near the elevator, so I had to go the long way around… but then I took the stairs! I was washed in the sweat of heros. My knees felt like creaky hinges by the time I completed descending the 36 stories, but it was worth it for the thrill. I felt unstoppable, untouchable.

I jaywalked!

I lived.

I could do anything in the world, and the only person that could stop me was me, and I wasn’t near finished yet. I ran into my co-worker, Trent, on the street opposite that of the office.

“Your hair looks great!” He called out to me.

“Thanks!” I beamed at him. I re-parted it on the other side of my head in the bathroom.

“Hey, a few of us guys that were working late are going out for a beer. You wanna join?”

I suddenly realized that the sun had begun to fall during my trip down the stairs.

“Why, yes!” I would have been home eating my Tuesday frozen burrito with my cat and watching Glee by now. “I would love to join you!” Tonight’s episode was being recorded on the DVR as we spoke. Glee would have to wait.

Trent walked me to his car where we met up with Cecil, two accountants named Murlock and Roy, and some guy I’m not entirely sure works with us or even knows any of us, Norman. Throughout the night I believe everyone was casually throwing out subtle hints to find out who invited him, but no one seemed to show any relation to the large, bald, tattooed man in his impeccably clean wifebeater. That’s okay, though; I always carpool with people I know or am formally introduced to. This was a first, and an exciting one at that.

When we reached the bar, called Beers,  I left my suit jacket in the car. I never take off my suit jacket, not until I’m about to get into my jammies. They have clouds on them.

Everyone shouted “Norman!” when we entered, but anyone I asked wasn’t sure how they knew him. There was even a burger named after him. Fascinating fellow.

The entire event of attending a bar hangout session with friends was new to me, so I had nothing to do differently than usual since there was no usual. As the night wore on I became accustomed to the activity, and my new restless spirit needed something different. I needed more change, more excitement. I needed an outrageous gesture, so I lead the bar in song. No one knew the words, as I just made them up, but I sang it all the way through proudly atop a table. I kicked a pyramid of shot glasses which crashed to the floor and the bartender began to approach me, but I was too clever. The guys were enjoying my display, and followed me as I ran out of the bar. We laughed together on the sidewalk. I put my tie around my head like they do in the movies. Cecil smacked me across the head so hard the tie fell off and he proceeded to put it on himself. He was wearing two ties. He was changing… just like me.

The night was ours. The city was ours! We wandered the streets blind, ready to take on the world. I kicked a rock and it broke a window. I felt bad but I trekked on. We gave money to a homeless man. He spat on my shoes and angrily tweeted about it right before our eyes on his shiny new iPad. The wallpaper was something about a pipe not being a pipe. I was baffled by this but I was determined to continue enjoying myself.

We entered a dimly lit building. I was drawn to it by the purple neon lights framing the windows, but it had some questionable items for sale… by that look on your face I’m assuming you want me to move my story along. I can also tell by the tapping of your foot and exasperated sighs and also by you telling me to get a move on. I understand your signals. People have often said I am very perceptive.

The next couple of nights my new best friends and I followed the same routine; after work we headed to Beers and had Norman burgers. We got rowdy and meandered around the city until we were bored. I stopped feeling the adrenaline rush, and realized changes were becoming routine for me. They weren’t fresh, exciting. I needed to do something huge. I needed to do something drastic.

I needed to bring a giraffe into the office.

Acquiring the beast was surprisingly easy, but getting him up the stairs was the real challenge. Fitting him in my cubicle was a bit of a debacle, but he found a tolerable way to rest his head 7 cubes down. What I realized is… no one cared. No one changed what they were doing. They just pretended not to notice. That’s when I lost faith in my colleagues. Even Cecil, who had begun gossiping at the water cooler and saying things like “lovely weather we’re having” with no bigger reaction than a cringe and a nervous twitch, passed by me hurriedly without making eye contact. My full-grown giraffe was the pink elephant in the room, and people ignored it because it was easier than dealing with the situation. Because hiding behind your massive pile of papers that don’t even seem to have a purpose other than being assigned to you is more convenient than taking a giraffe out of the workplace, let alone bringing him in. I suppose that’s how they’ve dealt with me for all these years.

It’s rough being an antelope in LA, but I’ve always tried my best to blend in with society. Luckily I’m not an antelope in LA. Gotcha goin’ there for a moment, didn’t I? Nah, I was living around the center of Vancouver at the time. I’m not adventurous enough for LA… although now I suppose I am. I will move there! No, no… I promised, no more changes. From now on I’m doing things the right way, the good way. I will be good and right as I was before. Like I said, I am a civilized man, even if I am an antelope. I can restrain myself. I can wear my tie around my neck. I can take the logical route to the elevator, and I can descend it with ease in enough time to make it home for Glee and frozen dinners with my cat. That way I can avoid situations like these, and live the rest of my life the easy way, like I did before. I wouldn’t light any more office buildings ablaze and take refuge in the woods outside Vancouver. If you let me out of here I swear I won’t cause you any more trouble, Officer. Can I call you Off for short? OH can I call you Olaf?! That would be sweeeeet.

Anyway, that’s it I guess. Say, don’t I get one phone call? What do you mean it doesn’t work that way here? Who is in charge of this establishment?

Psh, Animal Control… more like animal dominion, am I right? Or is that just a fancier word for control?

The End.

#short story wednesdays #comedy #absurdity #fiction #writers of tumblr #written 2013

[starryvioletnight]

Another Visitation

Summary: Another WTNV and Markiplier Egos cross over (don’t feel bad if you don’t understand everything, there are a lot of WTNV headcanons  in this too), building off of the last one. Quick recap, the Host and Cecil are brothers, and sometimes Cecil visits the Egos’ Home. This time, he’s brought gifts from home, and his boyfriend, Carlos! (Also, light Dr. Iplier/Host, just a heads up) Enjoy~

“Listeners, my brother is happy! I did find him, and he is happy. He has decided to completely change his identity, which is fine. He now looks like an Asian-American man in his late twenties, who is... pretty short, I must say. This figure was not picked at random, for he has decided to participate in becoming an ‘ego’, as he calls himself.

“Now, this process, becoming an Ego, is very similar to a ritual done in Night Vale hundreds of years ago, where our ancestors would split themselves into different pieces regarding their personalities. Instead of wandering parts, though, they look, whole! Whole, complete humans, who all look like a short, Asian-American man, in his late twenties. Apparently, the entity they base their form off of, calls himself ‘Markiplier’. Needless to say, I am intrigued.

“So this coming weekend, my boyfriend and I, Carlos, are driving up to see him again! I am so excited! I can’t wait to introduce Carlos to him. I hope they get along!”

The Host clicked the radio off and buried his face in his arms on the table. Dr. Iplier, who had been staring at the radio, transfixed, suddenly snapped out of it and looked at the Host. “What’s the matter? You don’t want to see your brother again?”

“It’s more I don’t want him to see me. I just, ran away one night, Dr. Iplier you have no idea. I ran away from Night Vale, and never told him where I went, just that I would visit. And then I didn’t.” The Host murmured. “And... when I’m around Cecil I start to pick up on my Night Vale quirks. I’d prefer to leave those in the past.”

Dr. Iplier sighed and rubbed the Host’s back. “It’ll be okay. You’ll see.”

When the weekend came, the Host and Dr. Iplier were waiting outside as the car pulled up in front of the house. Cecil got out of the passenger side, wearing a fluffy, heavy coat, looking around in wonder at the white flakes shimmering down from the sky. “Carlos! Carlos come on, come look at this!”

“Cecil?” The Host asked, and he couldn’t help the excitement in his voice. “Cecil are you there?”

Cecil looked up at the house, and he beamed. He dashed forward, no longer waiting for his love to get out, and embraced the Host in a tight hug. “Oh, my dear brother... I can’t believe I get to see you, here and now! I brought you a care package from Night Vale. I really hope you’re hungry.”

“Did you bring me a slice of Big Rico’s?” The Host asked excitedly.

“Uh huh! Along with some invisible corn, and invisible strawberry pie from the Moonlite All-Nite Diner.” Cecil told him.

Dr. Iplier glanced around the two brothers, and saw the dark-skinned, curly-haired scientist. While the two brothers talked, he walked over to the scientist and offered his hand. “I’m Dr. Iplier.” He smiled.

“Carlos, Carlos the scientist.” Carlos replied, shaking Dr. Iplier’s hand. “Wow, when Cecil said you all looked the same I... honestly didn’t believe him. Hm... if there is time, I may have to run a few experiments.” He said.

“What kind of experiments?” Dr. Iplier asked.

“Like... do you all have the same blood type? Do any of you have diseases that the others don’t?” Carlos’s eyes were bright.

“I can give you the files on us, if you’d like.” Dr. Iplier offered with a smile.

“Caaaarrlooossss.” Cecil whined. “Come here and meet my little brother! I’ve been looking forward to this all week!”

Carlos laughed and jogged up to the house. The Host pointed his head to Carlos, which stopped the scientist. “Oh, hello. I wasn’t aware you were... blind...”

“Oh, yeah. Don’t worry about it. I hope it doesn’t unsettle you.” The Host said, offering his hand. Carlos took it.

“No, no not at all.” He smiled. “It’s so nice to meet you. I... really haven’t heard much about you.”

“That’s fine.” The Host said. “Today, I’m guessing, you’ll hear a whole lot about me.”

“Oh Carlos look!”

Carlos turned around, and smiled at his boyfriend, who was transfixed by the snow, falling from the sky and landing on his glasses. “Carlos... Isn’t it beautiful?”

“Yeah... you are...” Carlos told him, and Cecil’s face flushed a deep purple.

“Carlos that’s not what I asked!” He huffed. Carlos laughed and ran over, hugging his boyfriend and squeezing him tightly, making Cecil squeal and laugh in delight.

“What are they doing?” The Host whispered to Dr. Iplier. “I’m blind to Cecil in my Sight.”

“Oh.” Dr. Iplier cleared his throat. “Hugging, laughing. Cecil’s going to the car now, he’s getting in the backseat and pulling out a package.”

The Host perked up a little bit, listening to the snow crunch as his brother ran over with the box. “Let’s go inside.” He said, turning around. Dr. Iplier nodded and led the four of them into the dining room. Dr. Iplier sat with the Host across from Carlos and Cecil, Cecil watching his brother with wide, happy eyes. “So... that care package?” The Host asked, a little excitedly.

“Oh! Here it is!” Cecil slid the box across the table, and the Host excitedly scrambled to open it. He reached in and grinned, pulling out items like the invisible corn and invisible pie, which confused Dr. Iplier. There was also a sweater, and the Host brought it to his face, smelling it.

“Old Woman Josie...” He whispered. “Did Old Woman Josie make this?”

“Yeah she did!” Cecil beamed. “The beings who call themselves... angels...” He whispered. “Helped her too!”

“I see.” The Host nodded, and picked up the invisible corn. Dr. Ipleir watched the Host take a bite, confused. His confusion must’ve shown, because Carlos laughed.

“Yeah, it takes a little getting used to.” He said. “Night Vale is... the most scientifically interesting community I have ever witnessed in my life. You’ll really like it if you ever come to visit.”

“He never will.” The Host said, his mouth full of invisible corn. “Neither of us are going there.”

“Aw Host you really should come back to Night Vale, at least for a visit.” Cecil frowned. “Please?”

“I don’t know...” The Host said, having swallowed his corn. “The Host doesn’t believe it would be a good idea, remembering his uneasy relationship with the City Council. The Host isn’t sure he can go back.”

“I can appeal to the Council! I will insist they allow you to leave, and that they don’t hurt you. You know I can be... persuasive, when I want to be...”

“The Host is well aware of his brother’s many skills and talents.” The Host agreed. “He... if he gets confirmation that the Council will not try to re-educate him, or harm him in anyway, he will go.”

“Splendid!” Cecil exclaimed. “And you can bring your boyfriend too!”

“Oh, we’re not-” Dr. Iplier started, blushing.

“Cecil please-” The Host muttered, sinking in his seat.

“Oh! Sorry, I hadn’t meant to assume anything!” Cecil exclaimed, and he rolled up his sleeves, a little warm in the house. Dr. Iplier watched as tentacle tattoos twisted around Cecil’s skin, confused and a little transfixed.  

Cecil followed Dr. Iplier’s gaze and then looked at the Host. “Host? Where are your tattoos?” He looked and sounded a little concerned. “Did you... did you get them removed?” As he asked, his own tattoos recoiled and squirmed.

“No,of course not.” The Host said. He shrugged off his trench coat. From his back, a small, medieval dragon tattoo crawled down his left arm, and some lizards and a snake came down his right.

Cecil squealed in delight. Dr. Iplier’s mouth gaped. “I’ve never seen those before.”

“I keep them hidden. Night Vale tattoos can move.” the Host explained. He took a deep breath. “I can’t believe I just agreed to going back to Night Vale...”

“It’ll be fine!” Cecil beamed. “I just missed you... I want to see you, back in our hometown.”

“I know...” The Host sighed. “I know you do.”

“I will go with you.” Dr. Iplier said suddenly, and the Host faced Dr. Iplier in surprise. “I want to go with you, especially if you’re scared or uneasy. I’d like to support you.”

“You don’t have to go. Night Vale, as interesting as it is, isn’t the kindest to outsiders. The Host would rather know you’re safe, here, at home.”

“Why are you randomly slipping into third person?” Dr. Iplier looked confused. “And yes, I’m going.”

The Host tilted his head towards his brother. “I used to only speak in third person in Night Vale... I never spoke in first person, and usually narrated a lot more than I do now. Exposure to Cecil has brought that out in the Host. Usually he isn’t consciously aware he is doing it. When we go to Night Vale, it’ll be worse. I hope you don’t find it too annoying.”

“No, no not at all.” Dr. Iplier assured him.

“Then it’s settled. Tomorrow, when Carlos and I go back, you’re joining us!” Cecil grinned.

(So this ended up feeling more like a filler chapter than anything else, probably because part of the way through I realized I wished this took place in Night Vale instead. Poor Carlos, I did almost nothing with him this time. I should have done more.

If you guys want more, tell me? I don’t mind writing more at all. Tagged folks @the-asexual-reaper​ @darkfixation​ @of-chaos-and-flame​ @vixyrules​ @thegoatoverlord​ )

#nancy's writings #wtnv crossover #markiplier crossover

[imgonnabeyourbubblegumwitch]

I Love You, You Pay My Rent: Chapter 12

First Chapter (Prologue)

Previous Chapter (Chapter Eleven)

Nico had been living with Will for long enough to have dreamt up quite a few scenarios in which Will professed his love. He hadn’t been prepared for that to become a reality, for Will to actually admit that he liked him. After so long dreaming up similar scenarios in which Percy was the one confessing, Nico had thought that Will would be a similar painful and enduring fantasy. A dream. Nothing more.

And yet here they were.

The kiss was over too quickly and Nico found himself brought back to reality, aware they were blocking a pavement, aware the world was cold and dark. But Will was still close. And if Nico wanted he could kiss him again. 

He could kiss him again.

Will was his now. That was amazing and terrifying and scary. What happened now? He’d never thought they’d get this far. Were they now a real thing? What happened next?

Will touched his cheek gently.

“Nico? You okay?”

Nico blinked.

“I knew I was a good kisser,” Will teased. “But I didn’t think I was hypnotising…”

“Shut up Solace,” Nico said, a knee jerk reflex.

“I was thinking,” he added, slightly defensively.

“Overthinking more like,” Will said, but he seemed slightly nervous. “Are we okay? Was I not supposed to kiss –?”

“No!” Nico said, a little louder than he’d intended in his sudden panic and need to divert Will from that line of thought. “We’re good. This is good.”

Will’s smile flickered, bright and happy and then extinguished again in a moment.

“Good,” he said. “So then can we go home? Someone stole my jacket and I’m freezing.”

Nico shoved his shoulder gently as Will smirked.

“Wait though,” Nico said.

Will looked a little puzzled. Nico just gave him a slightly nervous smile, and then stood up on tiptoes and kissed him, just to prove to himself he could. Will’s smile when he pulled back was blinding.

When they got home Nico hung around in the kitchen while Will went on ahead, trying to make getting a glass of water last as long as possible. He suddenly felt awkward in his own home. Did Will expect him to act different now they were dating? He still wasn’t entirely sure they were dating.

Will didn’t look any more at ease. He smiled seemed worried as he sat himself down on the edge of the sofa, tapping his fingers against his knees.

“So?” Nico asked when the silence became unbearable. “What now?”

Will looked up at him and gave half a smile.

“I need to go,” Will said.

Nico’s expression must have shown how he felt about that because Will raised his hands quickly.

“I promise I’ll explain everything in the morning. I don’t really deserve your trust but can you hold out one more night?”

Nico still wasn’t sure what Will thought he’d done that was so bad, which seemed kind of ironic since he’d gone into this whole sharing an apartment thing thinking Will might be a murderer. So he shrugged.

“I told you I trust you. I meant it. And for the record the last time you told me Octavian was right about you it turned out you felt guilty about volunteering at a children’s’ hospital. You’re not exactly the godfather.”

Will’s smile was a little too pale to be real but it was nice he made the effort.

“Okay well hold onto that thought?” he said. It sounded like a question.

“I’ll prepare myself for the worst,” Nico said with a slight eye roll that brought Will’s smile flickering back.

“Promise you’ll be okay?” Nico said. He felt vulnerable asking it, revealing how much he’d come to care about Will in the few weeks he’d known him. It wasn’t like him, and it felt strange, but at the same time it was oddly comforting to reveal his vulnerability and to see Will soften in response. His (real!?) boyfriend came towards him and gently cupped his cheek.

“I am pretty sure I’ll be okay,” Will said, though Nico noticed it wasn’t quite a promise.

“It’s like one in the morning Will,” Nico pointed out. “Who knows what maniacs might be out –“

“You mean like us ten minutes ago?”

Nico gave him a look.

“Do you really have to go?”

He didn’t know why he was being so reluctant. Will had gone out plenty of times at odd hours and he’d never cared before other than to wonder what on earth he was doing. And he didn’t particularly want to be the clingy boyfriend, especially when he’d only been the boyfriend for a grand total of approximately fifteen minutes.

But something felt off. Will had been acting strangely all night, and Nico had never seen him so jumpy about his phone before. The universe had a habit of taking away the people that Nico cared about in new and inventive ways and it would be just typical for the world to sabotage his first relationship minutes after it came into being.

Besides Will looked frightened. Really, truly frightened. Nico didn’t want Will to be frightened. He didn’t want Will anywhere near anything that would frighten him.

“I’ll be back,” Will promised. “I will.”

Nico had to be content with that and let him go.

Nico put off going to bed. The logical part of his mind told him that sleep would fill the hours between now and Will being back better than endless worrying and other filler tasks could. But he knew he was too jittery to even get close to slumber. It wasn’t just the fact he wasn’t completely sure what his stupid boyfriend was up to that made him so jittery. There was also the fact he had a stupid boyfriend at all.

He hadn’t had much time to process the events of the evening. Will had been up and down and all over the place and during the party Nico had felt a million different emotions. It had been a rollercoaster and he wasn’t entirely sure he’d got off yet.

The apartment was tidy, the tv was boring in the dead of night and putting on a dvd didn’t feel right without Will. There was nothing he could do that distract him from his thoughts and so he alternated between pacing in front of the tv, watching the clock tick by in what felt like slow motion, and lying on his bed straining to hear the sounds of Will’s key in the lock that never came.

By the time the sun came streaming through the windows he was starting to feel desperate. Whenever Will had snuck out before he was usually back way before Nico woke. He tried eating breakfast to settle his nerves but gave up after two bites. He couldn’t tell of he was hungover or sick with worry or both but even the dry toast made him want to run to the nearest toilet.

He crashed out at about ten o clock when, despite the horrible clawing feeling in the pit of his stomach, his eyes grew too heavy and he lost the battle with sleep. He slept fitfully, and dreamt dreams he couldn’t recall when he opened his eyes.

Though aching, tired and generally in a worse state than when he’d fallen asleep, he got up so fast he nearly fell, crashing out into the living room. He was fully expecting to see Will watching TV in the living room, or at least tucked up in bed. But the living room was cold and lifeless and completely empty. Will’s door was ajar, but its position didn’t look any different from when they’d left the night before.

Will usually slept with it shut.

He pushed at the door anyway, letting it swing open. Sunlight came in slants through the half open curtains. It fell onto the bed which was messily and probably hastily made but didn’t look like it had been slept in or on. Some clothes were on the floor, including the red tshirt he’d been wearing before he’d changed for the party, but Nico couldn’t see Will’s party clothes anywhere which seemed to prove it. Will hadn’t come back.  

Nico didn’t scream, or shout, or cry, or throw anything. It was a close thing, but he very calmly shut Will’s door and walked back into the living room focusing very hard on each step, making each one very deliberate and measured because if he didn’t have something to concentrate on he knew he’d lose it altogether.

By midday he was desperate enough to seek help. He was hesitant to go to the police firstly because he didn’t think they’d much care that Will Solace, an individual who regularly stayed out all night at parties, had yet to come home. (But they didn’t know Will like Nico did and this was unusual). He also didn’t want to get them involved yet on the off chance that Will really was involved in something bad.

He’d rung Will enough times now to know that Will was either ignoring him or away from his phone, neither of which were comforting prospects. He thought about trying to contact Cecil or Lou Ellen instead but he realised he didn’t know their numbers. He spent an unproductive ten minutes attempting to stalk them on facebook only to realise he wasn’t even friends with Will, let alone Will’s friends. The thought was weirdly sobering. How was it he and his boyfriend weren’t even facebook friends?

True, Nico never used facebook, but it did remind him that despite the fact he’d fallen hard and fast, he really had only known Will for a matter of weeks. It felt like much longer but, in any other relationship with anyone ever Nico would only be on nodding terms at this point. What was it about Will that was so captivating.

He shook the thoughts out of his head and tried to squash his doubts. Will wasn’t a murderer. He’d been down that particular train of thought before and it pretty much inevitably led to an embarrassing wreck where Will turned out to be an impossibly good person who spent his time with sick children for free. He wasn’t going to fall into his old habits. He was going to find Will in a calm and rational manner with minimal yelling at a higher power and then he and Will were going to sit down and they were going to talk.

There was a number for Kayla up on the wall in the kitchen and Nico thought long and hard about ringing her. He didn’t want to worry her, he really didn’t want to worry her, but if there was a chance she knew where Will was or how to contact him shouldn’t he take it? On the other hand he barely knew Kayla, they’d been briefly introduced when she’d come over after he hospital appointment but had been gone by the time Nico had awoken the next morning. Would she think it was weird him calling her? How much did she know about him and Will? Was she part of the lie that they were dating or had Will told her what used to be the truth?

It was impossible to know either way but when it got to 1pm and Will still hadn’t turned up, Nico gritted his teeth and keyed in the numbers.

Kayla answered, cheerful and chirpy and Nico found he couldn’t speak. He couldn’t worry Kayla. He couldn’t do that to Will’s sister, it wasn’t fair. He hung up without speaking, ignoring Kayla’s confused hellos.

But then if something horrible really had happened to Will and Kayla could help would she ever forgive him if he didn’t tell her, and then that led to them not getting to him in time? Nico knew how painful it was to lose a sibling. He’d hated Percy for years over his part in Bianca’s death, and that was all while loving him. If Nico was, however indirectly, responsible for Will’s death would Kayla end up sad and alone and bitter and consumed with rage like Nico had been?

Was that fair to her?

Except Will wasn’t dead. He wasn’t. He couldn’t be. Nico was just letting his imagination run away with him. He’d come back through the door any minute. Any minute.

The ringing of the phone made him jump. He picked it up, mind immediately going to kidnapping and extortions and how on earth was he going to pay the ransom? Will’s parents were presumably loaded, he’d have to contact them somehow –

“Hello? Will?”

The words made Nico jump again, he hadn’t even realised he’d pressed the button to answer the call.

“Will?” Kayla demanded again, more insitantly this time. “What’s going on? Are you there?”

“No it’s me,” Nico said, trying to keep his voice steady. “Nico.”

“Nico?” Kayla sounded confused for a second but then was back, cheerful as she’d been when she thought she’d been calling her brother.

“Nico! Hey! Did you try to call? I tried answering but the line went dead.”

Nico took a breath, dug his nails into his palm and wondered exactly what he was going to say and how he was going to say it.

“Yeah,” he lied. “I couldn’t hear you, I thought maybe it hadn’t connected properly.”

“Weird,” Kayla said. “That’s like some horror movie kind of stuff. Still I’m here now? Everything okay over there? Will mentioned you guys had some party thing coming up? He wanted my opinion on what smart casual meant.”

The idea of Will consulting his little sister about his fashion choices for Percy’s engagement party was so ridiculous and so endearing that Nico had to stifle a sound that wasn’t quite either a laugh or a sob. Will usually dressed so easily and effortlessly and didn’t need or want anyone else’s input.

He was probably worried because he was trying to impress you moron, a sardonic little voice in his head said. The thought made his heart clench and him feel sick all over again.

“Yeah it was last night,” Nico said vaguely. “We left kind of early and –“

“-and?” Kayla prompted after a couple of seconds silence.

And I’m scared he’s in real trouble.

“and I was wondering if you had a number for Lou Ellen or Cecil?”

“Oh yeah sure hold on!”

Nico sighed and closed his eyes. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t tell her. He wrote Cecil’s number down on a scrap of paper and then quickly ended the conversation before Kayla could ask why he’d wanted it.

He fiddled with the paper while he tried to figure out how best to explain the situation without Cecil switching from class clown to the clown from It and trying to strangle him down the phone. He couldn’t really come up with anyway, gave up and was dialling when he heard the door open.

He dropped the phone, turned, and was out of his seat before he knew what he was doing.

“What the hell have you been doing? Where the hell have you been? Oh god Will I was so worried I thought you’d died or –“

He came to an abrupt halt inches away from Will. He reached up and touched his cheek carefully, avoiding the blood and the bruising just under his eye.

“Will?”

Will shook his head. He was trembling. There was blood on his shirt, a lot of blood, though it was mostly hidden by his jacket.

“It’s not mine,” Will whispered. “It’s not –“

His voice cracked, and he sounded on the edge of panic. Nico gripped his shoulder.

“Will,” he said. “Focus. Let’s get you changed yeah?”

Will looked for a moment like he had some cocky response on the tip of his tongue, probably about Nico trying to get him out his clothes. But then Will looked down at the floor and gave the barest hint of a nod and Nico began to realise just how upset he was.

Nico waited, sitting on Will’s bed while Will showered. Comforting people really wasn’t his thing and several times he nearly caved and called Cecil to come over and take his place instead. But then he thought about how Jason had probably felt the same way all those times Nico hadn’t known if he wanted to shout or cry or murder somebody. So he stayed and the look of surprised relief which quickly gave way to gratitude when Will saw Nico waiting for him made Nico wonder why he’s ever considered leaving in the first place.

Will came and sat next to Nico, shoulder to shoulder. He was still trembling and Nico wondered vaguely if he was in some kind of shock and, if he was, what on earth he was supposed to do about that.

“Are you okay?” he asked, hoping that if Will needed medical attention he would know about it.

Will smiled shakily.

“Yeah,” he said softly.

“Liar.”

Will nodded as though that was a fair enough point.

“I guess I owe you an explanation,” he said quietly.

“Be nice,” Nico said. “But not actually necessary. If you don’t want to talk about it -“

“No,” Will said firmly, sitting up properly. “It’s okay. I want to tell you. It’s only fair.”

He closed his eyes, obviously steeling himself.

“So everyone assumes I’m really rich because of my mum – “

Nico made a mental note to ask for clarification on who his mum was when Will wasn’t in the middle of an obviously difficult and heartfealt speech.

“-but actually I don’t have very much money at all. So when Kayla first got sick I was really worried about how I was going to pay off all her bills.

I always knew I wanted to be a doctor and so I knew a lot of first aid and I’m not really sure how it happened but I kind of ended up working for this guy patching up his guys when they got hurt.”

“So you work for the mob?” Nico asked. It sounded a bit harsher than he’d intended, his words sharp with worry. “I mean I’m not judging but what if you got hurt?”

“I don’t think they’re the mob exactly,” Will said, but he didn’t sound sure. “But it does worry me. I mean what if I’m fixing people who then go out and hurt others?”

It was obviously a question he’d asked himself before and Nico was pretty sure from Will’s torn expression he’d never been able to find an answer to his own question. Nico didn’t have an answer for him on that particular ethical dilemma either, but he did know that no matter how Will might say Octavian was right, Nico would never agree.

“I don’t know,” Nico admitted. “But you did it for Kayla. That doesn’t make you a bad person. Not in my book.”

Will looked so surprised and Nico realised that for all their differences they were very alike in some important ways. Nico too had trouble believing anyone would accept him.

“Someone died today,” Will said quietly. “I couldn’t save them. I feel terrible. But I also feel kind of relived. He was the worst of them and –“

Will’s voice cracked again and he shook his head. He was still shivering so Nico hesitantly put an arm round Will’s shoulders in silent comfort.

“It wasn’t your fault,” Nico told him firmly hoping that if he was assured enough Will would believe him. Will gave him a small smile.

“I can’t believe you’re still here,” he admitted. “I thought you would have run for the hills.”

Nico shrugged.

“I just want to prove Octavian wrong,” he said lightly.

“How long for?” Will asked. “Like are you going to have to marry me to prove a point?”

“Oh no I couldn’t do that,” Nico said. “The engagement party was enough for me. I’m not doing any gatherings larger than about four people ever again.”

“We could get married in Vegas. No guests.”

“Bit presumptuous,” Nico said with a sniff. “We haven’t even been on a date.”

“I took you to that restaurant.”

“Doesn’t count. We weren’t actually dating.”

“You’re going to be high maintance, I can tell,” Will said with a slight smile. “Handbags, designer shoes –“

Nico laughed.

“I can’t think of anything less me,” he said.  

Will smiled, a tired smile but a real one. He let his head fall onto Nico’s shoulder, eyes closing. Nico thought he’d fallen asleep and he was near drop off too, having been up half the night worrying about his stupid boyfriend.  

“Nico?” Will said after a moment, not bothering to open his eyes.  

“Yeah?”

“Thanks.”

Nico smiled though Will didn’t see it.

“You’re welcome.”

Next Chapter

#this took forever sorry #i wanted to get it right since it's kind of a turning point #plus i've been having trouble with ao3 and my computer #anyways its here now #will solace/nico di angelo #Will Solace #Nico Di Angelo #solangelo #percy jackson and the olympians #fandom #writing

[toolatetofall]

Before

Okay, I am so fucking excited. I’ve finished the first draft of part 1 of 6 of my mass effect fanfic. Going long-term, it’s going to be a ShepShep fic, but I think I’m going to characterize their relationship more as queerplatonic than sexual. It’s a 2 Shep AU (obviously) where male Shep is the “main Shepard”, but it’s told from femshep’s POV.

Anyway! It’s in second POV for femshep, and the events in the prologue are prior to joining the Normandy. She has the Earthborn/Sole Survivor background. This is a rough draft, so I haven’t posted it on AO3. To that end, I’d really appreciate hearing thoughts on characterization, writing, any minor mistakes, etc. Please feel free to message me!

I’ve never done a TW before, so if I miss something, please tell me and I will add it! I think the things that need a TW have to do with the backgrounds, so death, physical violence, gang activity. Again, if I miss something, PLEASE tell me. 

Before

The memory of your mother is a hazy one. You know you loved her- her face is harder to conjure. You have the vague memory of citrus perfume, too-blonde hair, shoulders shaking with laughter. You have a holo from her case file, and you suppose you look enough alike, mostly around the nose, but you just... you can’t place her in your childhood. 

It was a Tuesday evening when you found out she was missing. You’d been staying with your neighbor while your mother was at work, parked in front of the TV munching crackers as the characters on screen sang a song about friendship.You can remember every stupid word. 

Amanda, your neighbor, had been getting testy; your mom was late. It was almost three hours past when she got off work when Amanda got a call and chaos broke.

The rest of the evening comes only in flashes now.  The itchy, pink and yellow jumper you’d been wearing with snot-drenched sleeves. The worn, leather seats in the back of your caseworker’s car. An unfamiliar bed in an unfamiliar place. 

It’s a blur; you didn’t understand completely what was happening. You were six. You knew that mom was gone, but you didn’t understand where or why. You asked when she was coming back. 

They didn’t have an answer.

----

Your mother was never found. Maybe she died, either back then or since, maybe she’s still alive somewhere, a survivor of the Reaper war. You have no idea, and frankly you aren’t sure that it matters. At least now. It mattered then. 

Because your mother wasn’t declared legally dead, at least until you were fourteen, you couldn’t be adopted. You didn’t have any family to take you in either- not your mom’s family, she’d never talked about them, and certainly not your father whose name wasn’t even on your birth certificate. Instead, you floated from home to home every few weeks, months, years, hauling all your worldly possessions in trash bags along with you. Some placements were better than others. There was one where you’d only lasted two and a half weeks, but there was another that was almost 18 months. 

The Shepards. You’d liked them; Nick and Silas. They were an eldery couple that you’d moved in with after your 9th birthday. They moved off-planet when you were ten. They’d petitioned to adopt you and take you with them, but your mom was still legally alive, and you were moved. 

You found it hard to settle after that; nothing was comfortable. It couldn’t be. The moment you got comfortable was the moment you’d be moved again. 

The Reds were different. You don’t remember how you fell in with them, not specifically, but you do remember having that aching need to belong somewhere, and that they fulfilled that need.

You were useful to them. You could crawl into places that the others were too big to get into. You could get into a building and squirrel away cargo, or let others in. You weren’t a bad pickpocket either. You were a child; if (when) you got caught, you could play innocent, not like the others. You could claim ignorance, youth. The Reds protected you. You were indispensable. 

Until you weren’t.

----

Your biotics announced themselves with an explosion of blue light. You’d been in the middle of a job with Miller, trying to sneak some cargo out of a warehouse outside of Vancouver. He’d said something (you can’t remember what now, but it had pissed you off), and suddenly there was a flash of blue, he’d been thrown into the shelves a few meters away, and the bones in your arm had wrenched themselves apart. You’re sure you screamed, that both of you did, but you don’t remember. The pain had been so blinding that you’d passed out in seconds. 

When you woke up in the hospital, you weren’t alone. Your caseworker, Cecil, was there, accompanied by a dour faced person in navy blue. Sargent Blake, Cecil had told you. Sargent Blake was there to invite you to the Alliance. 

The System’s Alliance needed biotics; they’ve always needed biotics, and the state wasn’t really equipped to handle them. The Alliance had a program for biotic children. They’d taken care of the criminal charges you’d faced, and they would provide food, lodging, and education. You were a ward of the state, and the state transferred your custody while you’d slept. Invite. Feh. Like hell. The decision had already been made. 

Still, you were luckier than Miller. You found out later that he was comatose for almost eight months, and arrested after he awoke. To say the Reds would no longer welcome you would be an understatement. They would’ve loved to get their hands on you. 

Didn’t matter. The Alliance had you.

----

“Jane Shepard? The doctor will see you now.” You’d hesitated before following the nurse out of the waiting room. Shepard. It felt so odd. You hoped the change would keep the Reds from finding you, and you knew Nick and Silas wouldn’t mind. 

Still, there were a lot of changes in a short amount of time. New ability, new name, and now new place and new species. Well, new to you anyway. As your salarian nurse took you to your exam room, you’d tried hard not to stare as they ran you through a standard medical battery.  The alliance had brought you and all of their other new trainees to the citadel to get your physicals and your implants. It was surreal. You’d never seen an alien before, at least in person. Everything was so new, you’d never felt so... off balance before. But this was your new normal, and you had to adjust eventually.

----

You officially enlisted in the Alliance on your eighteenth birthday, to the surprise of no one. You’d already been engaged in their biotic training program for almost two years, and you were close to completing your secondary education under the program. 

Every single teenager in that program ended up enlisted. Sometimes you guys liked to think of what you guys could do outside the Alliance; teachers, writers, cops, scientists, everything, but for the life of you, you’d never been able to imagine anything else. The Alliance felt inevitable; biotics weren’t exactly welcome in civilian life, and you didn’t have the money or support system to try to strike out on your own.

Basic was split, biotics separate from the others. It was weird. In this place of training and strength, there was an underlying understanding. The biotics were more dangerous. They had had training before. They didn’t need a weapon; they were weapons. But at that point you weren’t sure how to be anything else.

----

Nomination for ICT wasn’t a surprise. You’d worked your ass off for the Alliance and anyway, if there was a push for biotics to join the military, there was a shove to get them into special forces. You’d been a good little biotic; kept your head down, temper in check, taking and conquering even the most basic assignments without problem or complaint. 

Despite the competitive atmosphere of Vila Militar, you’d ended up making friends for the first time in years. Or maybe they made you. Shaw, a too-energetic, puppyish engineer, was never going to let you shrug off his friendship, he was too damn persistent. John Shepard had also been pulled into his orbit, and the two of you had bonded over your exasperation with Shaw, mutual love of shit beer and competition, and frustration at sharing a name.

The three of you were an odd group, but it worked. Shaw was excitable and personable, keeping you together with sheer will. John (not Shepard, you’re Shepard) was responsible, a group mom through and through, trying in vain to keep you out of trouble. And you? Well, you’ve always been a bit... brusque, but they balanced it well. 

They were family, or the closest you’d had in a long time. The rest didn’t matter.

----  

John-fucking-Shepard, the big-fucking-hero. Of course he was on Elysium during the Skyllian Blitz, and of course he kicked ass to the point he was getting the Star of Terra, not to mention his damn N7 commendation. 

“Just in the right place at the right time,” he’d said sheepishly when you and Shaw had caught up with him after the ceremony. You’d never rolled your eyes so hard. John always had a lucky streak a mile wide and it wouldn’t end anytime soon. 

“That’s okay,” Shaw had replied with a grin as you pulled John into a headlock and messed his hair. “We’ll get you next time.”

He’d laughed because of course he did. “I look forward to it.”

----

When you had landed on Akuze with your unit, you’d expected pirates. Slavers. A straightforward explanation to the missing colonists. Instead, the only thing to greet you were empty, undisturbed buildings. It was like everyone just got up and left. 

Your platoon, all 49 of them plus you and Shaw, searched the colony on your commander’s orders, but there was nothing. The terminals were all wiped clean, the data pads were gone, there weren't any tracks. Hell, there wasn’t even dust. 

You all made camp nearby as the sun sunk below the horizon. None of you would say so but there was something eerie about the lost colony. Haunted. Like the planet was holding its breath.

The first maw came near midnight, announcing itself with a roar and with trembling ground that shook you out of sleep. They caught you by surprise. You may have had guards and scouts, but there was no warning. 

You don’t remember much of the attack, dammit, you don’t remember. There are flashes of chaos- gunfire, screams, thresher maws pulling whole ground transports full of soldiers beneath the Earth. You remember running so hard your breath was just quick gasps, the cobalt corona of your biotics expanding around you, flashes of Shaw’s face contorted with resolution, the red of viscera everywhere you look. 

You’re not even sure if those are real memories, or just echoes from your nightmares. Maybe it’s your brain filling in the gaps from what you’ve been told. 

You were found 11 clicks away from camp, splattered with blood and armor corroded from acid, and passed out from pain (or so you were told. You don’t remember). Both of your arms had broken during the ordeal, likely from over-extending your biotics. You were alone. No platoon, no Shaw, not even a single body. The team that found you said that the colony was in a maw nest, that six thresher maws had attacked the camp. They destroyed the colony, the camp, and your platoon. In return, the unit only managed to kill two of them, but the bastards had the element of surprise. 

You didn’t put it together until you were in a hospital, but something was wrong. More wrong than losing your whole platoon, losing Shaw, to fucking worms. They’d said the colony must have been destroyed by the maws, that they must have killed the colonists, but that’s not right. Those buildings were spotless. There were no bodies. There was no anything. The maws didn’t kill the colonists. They’re not that clean. 

You tried to tell the brass. They’d given you your N7 commendation for surviving that hell; you thought that meant they’d trust you. They didn’t. 

“You’ve been through a lot,” they’d told you at the memorial. “Maybe you need to take some time.” Maybe they were right, but you still knew what you saw. If you wanted answers, you’d have to find them on your own time. 

----

You hit a lot of dead ends fast, and used up most of your leave following up leads that took you nowhere. It’d barely been a year before you only had one path left.  The Shadow Broker.

It took every last credit you had, but they agreed to send an agent to meet you. 

John agreed to go with you to the meet up point on the Citadel, in some hole in the wall cafe. It felt like time was slowing down as the agent approached. You were finally going to get answers. Then time stopped with a loud CRACK, and the contact fell dead, a hole left in the middle of their head. 

You were paranoid; you’d always been paranoid. That day, it’d saved your ass. You’d been trying to get the fuck out of there when another bullet ripped through your barrier, bruising your back but, mercifully, nothing more.

You’d been far from the door. There had been two shooters, above, out of sight. 

You and John didn’t say so after you’d escaped, but it had been a warning shot. Any snipers worth their salt could have killed you. 

Stupid, you were so stupid.

You’d returned to your apartment, head pounding. Before you said a word, John had pulled you against his chest, squeezing hard. You remember looking him in the eyes, seeing the naked fear there.

“Stop looking.”

You’d promised you would.

You didn’t.

----

Well, at least not intentionally. When you contacted the Shadow Broker again (or their intermediary anyway), you were informed the price for the information had doubled. You were already broke, you couldn’t afford the information. You tried to double back and get your hands on the report from that day in the cafe, but there was nothing solid to follow, no leads. 

What you got instead was a new assignment. 

Operation Adrestia. The words tasted odd in your mouth. It’s internal affairs, sort of. Monitoring and chasing leads on operations led by humans that would wreck Alliance credibility with the Citadel. Monitoring and thwarting fringe scientists, extremists groups, keeping tabs on category sixes... 

You didn’t do the investigation, just acted on information the brains gave you. If you were honest, you actually liked it. At least it was more interesting than your service had been. Lead to some good stories at least. 

Disrupting a Terra Firma attack on a predominantly salarian transport. 

Stopping colonial governments in the Traverse from antagonizing batarians to trigger Alliance/Hegemony conflicts. 

Even the less ostentatious operations like quietly discharging an Alliance attache who’d looked a little farther than legal into AI.

It kept you busy, but it was work you loved.

----

It was 2183 when you were contacted by Admiral Kahoku. He had found out his squad was lured to their deaths with a false distress signal in the middle of a maw nest and correctly assumed you’d be interested in following the thread. Akuze was common knowledge, and Kahoku was the first member of the brass to even humor your idea that it was anything other than a tragic accident. 

He’d gotten in touch with the Shadow Broker. They’d given him a name and a location. 

Cerberus. 

Binthu in the Voyager Cluster. 

Finally, a chance for answers. 

He was planning to go and wanted back up. Probably smart, considering how Cerberus disrupted your previous contact with the Broker. 

It was quick and quiet, like everything you did for the Alliance. Scans of the planet reveal three active Cerberus strongholds. 

The two of you decide that time was of the essence, that you needed to be quick to get information before they noticed you. 

You decided to split up. 

That was a mistake.

#mass effect #fanfiction #commander #shepard #femshep #shepshep #wip #2nd POV #kahoku #akuze #earthborn #sole survivor #pre mass effect #pre ME

[i-fan-misha-do-you]

Misadventures Pt. 1

Word Count: 2097     Warnings: none A/N: Hey y’all! This is part one for my ‘Misadventures’ series, there is literally no plot to this series, at all, so I’ll probably just update whenever something comes to mind. You can read them out of order and it will make sense. Just misadventures you have with the boys. Let me know who you want the reader to be paired with! ALSO! Comment yes if you want a sneak peek/teaser for my new series ft. Kit Walker from AHS, coming soon. Ok, Enjoy! (gifs not mine)

 “I hate these things,” you grumbled as you stepped out of the Impala, slamming the door behind you and walking over to where the boys were standing a few feet from the car. You stepped carefully, trying not to roll your ankle due to the gold heels you were wearing. The long, skin tight dress didn’t help either.  “I know what you mean.” Sam said, his voice giving away just how much he’d rather be sitting in some crappy motel doing research than standing outside a rich vampire’s house in a tux.  “Aww, come on. You guys are kill-a-joys,” Dean said, bouncing lightly on the balls of his feet. “This’ll be fun.”  You and Sam shared a look, both of you rolling your eyes. You knew that Dean was only excited about the prospect of free food and booze. Looking up at Sam, you smirked.   “Nice tie, Sam.”   “What are you- oh, gosh.” Sam looked down at his tie, embarrassment overtaking his features once he realized he’d done it very wrong, with the skinny part on the top. He fumbled for a moment, failing to fix it and only succeeding in tangling it more.  “Good catch, Y/n.” Dean laughed, moving to help his little brother. You shook your head and laughed, looking over at the boys, both dressed up in suits and looking fantastic.  “What are we waiting on?” You asked after Dean had finished fixing Sam up and moved away. He opened his mouth to respond, but was cut off by the sound of fluttering wings and Castiel appearing; his face merely inches from Deans.  “That,” Dean said, quickly stepping back and furrowing his brow, “and come on, Cas, we talked about this. Personal space.”  “My apologies, Dean.” Cas said, his deep voice echoing through the night air. “I did not mean to delay this important- “  “Yeah, yeah, whatever. You’re here now, so we can get this show on the road,” Dean said, gesturing to the large mansion lit up in front of your small group. “Y/n, you got the tickets?”  “Umm, yes,” you said, digging through your clutch before holding up the invitations you’d ‘borrowed’, “right here.”  “Awesome.” Dean said, reaching for one of the pieces of paper. You quickly pulled them away from him. Noticing his confused face, you explained.   “One of the invites is for ‘Mr. and Mr. James Sedki’. They’re married, other is for ‘Dr. and Mrs. Isaiah Hopkins’.”    Realization washed over both the boys faces. Castiel, as usual, did not understand the situation, so he kept quiet.   “Well, it’s only fair if I get to go with Y/n-“ Dean started, turning to Sam. However, the younger Winchester cut him off.    “No, Dean. I had to be gay last time, it’s your turn.” He said sternly, looking down at Dean.  Realizing that they could literally argue about this all night, you stepped in.   “Boys, how about we handle this like the mature, responsible grown-ups we are.” They both nodded in agreement. “Rock, paper, scissors.”  They both gave you the ‘really, Y/n?’ face, but did as you suggested, although they insisted that Cas play as well.  Ten minutes of rock, paper, scissors later, and somehow Castiel had won. He went inside with you as your husband, and both of the boys ended up having to be gay. Together.  Walking up to the big house, you fixed Cas up before instructing him on how to act. Quickly, you straightened his blue tie, turned down his collar and brushed out his suit, taking a moment to appreciate the fact that he’d ditched the trench coat. You smoothed out your long, mermaid style dress hurriedly and began walking.   “Give me your arm.” You said gently. The confused angel held his arm straight out in front of you. Giggling softly, you took his outstretched limb and guided it to his side, bending it slightly at the elbow and resting your hand in the crook of his arm.  “Good job, Cas. You don’t have to talk to anyone if you don’t want to, we’re here to do a job. But if you do, remember you’re a doctor.” You told him as you made your way up the steps and into the front doors. He nodded solemnly and continued to escort you inside. Once you were to the room where the party was being held, you and Castiel found a table that faced the doors, so you could see the boys when they entered.  About three minutes later, they walked in together, not touching one another at all and looking insanely uncomfortable. You told Cas to stay put, and hurried over to them as fast as you could in your long black dress.   “Hi, I’m Cecile Hopkins. Pleasure to meet you.” You said, holding out your hand to Dean and raising one eyebrow expectantly. He took your hand in his, shaking it and playing his part.  “James. James Sedki. This is my- “Deans face contorted for a moment as he refused to say the word.  Sam lightly hit him on the back, causing him to continue. “Husband. Derick.” He turned to Sam, smiling tightly. You quickly shook Sams hand before inviting them over to your table to have a drink with your ‘husband’. They accepted, and you all went back over to Cas.   “We got an estimate of how many are in here?” Sam asked, looking around and trying to differentiate the partygoers from the vamps.  “My guess? Maybe twenty.” Dean said, grabbing a drink from a passing waiter. Chuckling, you shook your head.   “Dean Winchester, so help me if you get drunk, I’m not dragging you out of here.” You threatened teasingly.  “I can hold my liquor, it’s Cas you need to worry about.”  Castiel, who hadn’t been very involved in the conversation up until this point, looked dead at Dean and furrowed his brow.   “I can handle any amount of alcohol you give me. I am an angel.”   “Yep, any amount except a whole store.” Sam joked, making himself, you, and Dean all laugh. Cas simply pursed his lips and stared in the opposite direction.  “Hey, Y/n?” You turned to look at Dean to see that his hand was outstretched. “May I have this horridly slow and untasteful dance?” You giggled at Deans way of saying it wasn’t rock music before nodding and taking his hand. He led you out to the middle of the dance floor and brought you around to face him. Placing his large hand on your waist, he guided yours up to his shoulder, keeping your left hand in his. Slowly, you began to sway, which soon turned into stepping and spinning. Dean was easy to dance with, making jokes and purposely twirling you into Sam when he began to dance with some girl.   You were laughing at a joke that Dean had just made when something distracted you from his beautiful green eyes. Looking over Deans shoulder, you saw a man that fit the description you had for the vamp you were after.   “I found him.” You whispered, and Dean immediately understood. Catching Sams attention, he gestured for him to go back to Cas, the two of you following him.   “Is that him?” Dean asked, nodding his head towards the man you had seen earlier.    “Yeah, that’s him.” You said, turning to Cas. “What do you think, angel?” Cas stared at him for a moment before nodding slowly. “Yes. That is a vampire. I believe it is him.”   “Alright, time to put the plan in action. Y/n, you ready?” Sam asked. You nodded.   “Yeah, I’m ready.”   “We’ll be right behind you, sweetheart.” Dean said, squeezing your hand reassuringly.    “You’re all good, right?” You asked, looking around at each of the boys. They all nodded.   “We got this, Y/n.” Sam said, smiling at you. Taking a deep breath, you nodded and turned around, walking towards the ladies room.  Before you could get halfway, your eyes rolled back into your head, and you fell dramatically to the ground, seemingly fainting. Several women around you screamed, and you heard people rushing towards you. You held as still as you could, hearing Deans voice call out.   “What’s going on?” He asked, pushing through the crowds. “Hey, I know her. That’s Cecile Hopkins. Somebody find her husband, he’s a doctor.”  You felt Dean kneel beside you, picking up your torso and cradling you in his arms.  You could still hear people panicking, but after a moment Castiel’s deep, gruff voice was penetrating the sound of the chaos.  “Where’s my wife?” He asked. You were almost shocked enough to open your eyes; Cas’ voice made him sound genuinely worried about you.   He knelt beside you and Dean, taking you from him and checking you over. This would have surprised you as well, but you supposed Cas had been alive long enough to know how to check someone’s vitals.  “I need somewhere she can rest.” Cas called out, and soon a voice spoke up that there was a lounge upstairs and two doors down.  Castiel scooped you up in his arms and, using what you assumed was his grace, easily carried you up the stairs.  If there was one thing you were appreciating right now, it was how close you were to the blue-eyed angel. You could feel the muscles beneath his shirt, the heat coming off his body. The strange yet captivating scent that only he had.  All too soon you were in the room, and Cas had to put you down on the couch. Dean had followed behind him, and you knew that Sam was close by. The plan had been to cause a disturbance that would prompt the host, a particularly bothersome vampire, to come see what was happening so you and the boys could gank him and his small nest.  Fortunately, your plan worked. Not five minutes later you heard the door open, a low, male voice calling out.  “I heard one of my guests fainted, I came to make sure everything was alright?” You forced yourself not to open your eyes. You couldn’t explain how much you wanted this guy dead; even his voice was making your skin crawl.   “My wife will be fine. You, not so much.” As soon as Castiel finished speaking, you could see a blinding light, even through closed eyes.  Blinking several times, you looked down to see the vampire lying dead on the floor. Sam came crashing in with his machete drawn, almost breaking down the door.   “Easy, tiger.” Dean said, placing a hand on Sams arm.   “I missed it.” He said in disbelief, glaring lightly at Dean.  The older Winchester raised his hands in surrender. “Hey, blame the angel.”   “Blame whoever you want,” you spoke, causing all three of them to look at you, “there’s still a whole nest in this house. You’ll get your turn.” Pulling your dress up to your thighs, you removed multiple knives from your holsters before dropping your dress back to the floor and standing up.   “What?” You asked as you looked around, giving the boys confused looks. They were all staring at you, eyes wide and mouths open.   “That’s a lot of knives to hide in one dress.” Sam commented, swallowing hard. You rolled your eyes.   “That’s not even all of them.” Pushing past the boys, you left the room and turned down the hall. You could hear three distinctive footfalls behind you, so you continued, clearing rooms as you found them.

---------

By midnight you were all sweaty and exhausted, not to mention covered in blood. After you’d gotten rid of the vamp bodies, you’d driven out to a field in the middle of nowhere and parked the car.   Now you were all leaned up against or sitting next to the Impala, drinking the beer that Dean had packed in the trunk.   “Well, that went smoothly.” You commented as you attempted to wipe the blood off Sam’s face. Trying to make you feel better, he leaned down so you could reach him.    “Hilarious,” you muttered sarcastically, your and Sam’s actions making all of the boys laugh.  “You’re right, Y/n. That was a pretty good hunt.” Dean said, taking another swig of his drink. Cas nodded in agreement, opening his third bottle of alcohol.  Looking around, you smiled and let out a satisfied sigh. Here you all were, dressed up nice and covered in blood, yet you couldn’t be more content, because you were doing something that mattered. And you were doing it with people you cared about.  “Alright, sweetheart,” Dean slung his arm around your neck, “let’s head home.”

----------

#supernatural #spn #dean winchester #sam winchester #castiel #hunting #impala #x reader #spn love

[goodgoodpolypals]

Boyhood Bravery || Chapter Two

Nick and Griffin find a place to themselves. Nick tells Griffin a secret. Talking all night brings the boys closer. Nick finds courage. Time changes everything. Nick comes to a realization. 

THEN

“Nicky! Wait up!”

The following spring was one of rebirth. The grass of Nick’s backyard is lush and dark green, the just blooming rhododendron offer splashes of purple and violet and the air smells like honeysuckle. The morning couldn’t have been more beautiful, the skies are clear, the birds serenade the adventures and the dew drops soak their shoes just enough to dampen their socks. Despite it all, Griffin has tears in the corners of his eyes and his voice is a waiver of someone trying to be strong.

Nick turns with his hands on his hips, a maneuver that was impressive considering the overstuffed backpack on his shoulders. “Ditto, come on!” Griffin was always slowing down Nick, but he didn’t mind it too much. He made good company. Only today, Nick had something he wanted to show his friend.

It’s obvious Nick’s tone of voice only upsets Griffin further and he looks up at him from where he’s crouched, cradling his knee, “It hurts.” There is blood running down his pale leg which originates from a decent sized scrap. Nick is the master of scrapes and boo boos of all kinds, but Griffin is not. He’s easily hurt and he cries almost every time. He is, in a word, delicate.

Nick sighs, his shoulders sagging forward, under the weight of both the backpack and his friend’s wound. Still, he walks over to Griffin, taking a seat on the cobblestone path in front of him. He grabs a hold of the bloody leg and examines it, “It’s not bad.” Using a less-than-gentle thumb he wipes away the small pebbles and dirt that has collected in the cut. Having it touched makes Griffin gasp, biting down on his bottom lip to keep from outright crying. He wants to be tougher for Nick. Nick gets hurt all the time and he just gets back up like nothing happened. Every time.

When Nick notices the fact that Griffin still isn’t consoled he sighs again and then leans forward to give the scrape a quick peck. “All better?”

He doesn’t feel all better, and he knows kisses really can’t do that. And Nick’s kisses just aren’t as healing as his own mother’s but he wants to be a big boy. He nods, feigning toughness.

Perhaps Nick believes him, or maybe he just wants to get moving again. Either way, after he stands he helps Griffin up and begins forging the path once more. They travel outside of the aging white picket gate, pass the bushes of golden honeysuckle and the large Mulberry trees, right into the 15 or so feet of greeny woods that separates rows of houses.

To their child eyes, it seems like something out of a fairytale, the mild early spring weather only adding to the wonder. The crunching of leaves under feet and the snapping of twigs bring the quiet, sleepy woods to life, Griffin marching right behind Nick, trusting him completely. So much so, that he knows they probably shouldn’t be venturing out past the gate, but does it anyway. Still, he asks, just to be sure, “Nicky, does your mom let you come here?”

Nick’s voice is a cheerful chirp, “Nope.”

Griffin expects it but it still makes him smile. “Ok.”

It’s not much more of a walk until they come to a big line of unkempt bushes, one of which has a decent sized hole. It’s nothing special, just a regular bush with dark green leaves and before Griffin can even comment on it, Nick climbs into the space. Griffin is ready to protest but Nick reaches out his hand to take Griffin’s and pulls him in before the words can even form.

As soon as he’s in though, he launches into them, “Nicky! What are we doing! There’s bugs!” The little hidey hole isn’t actually that bad, but Griffin is one for dramatics. There is actually a blanket laid down, and it’s decently sized, enough to fit the backpack, both boys and still have a little room between them, and above them.

“Come on, Ditto, it’s a secret hide out, just for us.” Nick is clearly pleased with himself, unloading the backpack gleefully. He’s got some oranges for snacking, books and action figures. It felt like they were moving in. And...it excited Griffin. He loved his family, but the thought of being apart from them, just with Nick, in a secret place was exhilarating. To the children, this was another world.

Just for them.

Griffin still stays cautious but indulges in the orange Nick hands him, nonetheless. He doesn’t even really like oranges, but eating it here feels different. Out of place. In the hideout that would become their base for the years to come, where they would share secrets and comfort each other. Gossip and play. It’s something about it that makes the orange juice that runs down their chins taste just that much sweeter.

“How did you find this place?” Griffin asks around a bite of orange, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. His knee has already been forgotten.

“Just came out here. Mom’s busy with Porter so she doesn’t know.” Nick is picking at his orange more than eating it, looking around at the hideout that was his before it was theirs. “I broke some of the sticks so it’s bigger.”

Griffin hums an approval and then a thick silence follows as both boys munch on their oranges quietly. Griffin finishes first and wipes his fingers on his striped shirt. With his knees still bent into peaks, Griffin lays back, there is just enough room that most of him fits, the top half of his face sticking out so he can watch the sky. He’s still worried about bugs, but Nick makes him brave.

Nick fills the silence with sounds of gunshots made my his mouth, moving around army men and a He Man action figure. Both boys are content for a while just being in the same vicinity, Griffin’s face being warmed by the sun and Nick playing war. But after a while the sounds stop, and Griffin sits up to investigate.

“Can I tell you a secret, Ditto?” Nick’s voice is uncharacteristically soft and it makes Griffin’s stomach turn in a way his young mind doesn’t full understand.

“Uh-huh.”

“I really hate school.” Nick’s looking down at a book when he says it and then he looks to Griffin, who’s young face is full of concern. “I don’t get it.” Griffin is a model student, and though he is only in Kindergarten he is ahead of his class. He picks up subjects quick and loves following rules. Nick is the opposite. He doesn't want to stay still, and he doesn’t get the basic concepts.

Griffin doesn’t know what to say. Nick fills in again, his voice stronger this time, like he suddenly decided it was stupid, “I just wish we were in the same class.”

That is something Griffin can agree with. He has friends, sure, but none of them are Nick. “Yeah. Next year maybe.” It’s almost summer and the time flies by these young years.

“If not, will you still be my best friend?” The lack of confidence is back in Nick’s voice. Griffin is almost surprised. He has always been surprised that Nick has chosen him as his best friend.

“Well, yeah.” Griffin smiles a brilliant smile, showing off a missing tooth. It’s enough to make Nick grin too, and Griffin is relieved.

“Pinky promise?” Nick pushes, holding out his pinky.

“Uh-huh.” Griffin takes the digit in his own, “Always.”

NOW

Fat drops of rain pound against  Griffin’s bedroom window, the sound periodically interrupted by the crash of thunder. The white light of sizzling lightning illuminates the bedroom for seconds at a time. The summer storm isn’t enough to wake him, but the light sounds of scratching and meowing is. Cecil is like Griffin’s child, he’s attuned to him. He always gets antsy during storms.

Blinking the bleariness from his eyes, Griffin sits up and scrambles for his glasses. The lightning that flashes aids in putting them on and padding over to the door. Once he opens it, Cecil sprints into the room, jumping up onto the bed. Griffin sighs and it melts into a yawn as he makes his own way back to the bed, climbing in and scooping up his cat to rest on his bare stomach. Griffin soothingly rubs behind Cecil’s ears and glances to the clock.

It’s 2:30 AM.

Griffin pets the kitten until he falls into a near constant state of purring and regulated breathing. Only then he reaches for his phone, his eyes adjusting to the blaring light after a few blinding moments. He has a few app notifications and a missed text from Nick. It was sent around midnight.

Nick: Get that air conditioner fixed yet?

He hadn’t. The technician can’t come until Monday at the earliest, which meant Griffin will just have to suffer through the heat. Even the rain doesn’t offer much solace.

Griffin: Not yet. I’m in actual hell.

The text comes in at 2:38 AM and when Nick reaches for his phone he expects almost anyone but Griffin. He’s almost always in bed by this time. When he does see who it’s from though, Nick sits down on the edge of his couch, grinning like an idiot. He can’t help but have this reaction every damn time, even if he is frustrated at their situation.

Nick: Hell has good cell reception then

It takes but a moment for Griffin to close out of Twitter in favor of his texts.

Griffin: What the hell are you doing up?

Nick: I’m always up at this time. It’s the best time to play DDR. What are YOU doing up?

Griffin: Thunderstorm. Cecil is scared. Had to comfort that good boy.

And they just keep texting. The time between each text is minuscule. It’s been a long time since Griffin has stayed up into the late hours of night talking to someone and with Nick, it just feels natural. Before Griffin knows it, the storm has passed and Cecil has wandered off once more. He’s back laying down on his side, his eyes heavy as types out yet another reply to Nick.

Nick, who is still on his couch, condensed in a corner as he cradles his phone like it’s precious. Dance Dance revolution has since shut down and his console powered off after being abandoned for hours and Nick has forgotten about the bowl he’d been smoking.

It’s the first time Nick no longer feels like just a fan of Griffin, but like a friend. It almost feels like it used to, when they were kids huddled up sharing secrets and playing pirates and existing just by themselves. The line that connected their phones and sent the texts to each other made Nick almost feel like they were back in that hideout he’d made when he was just a child.

It’s a combination of the late hour and the weed he’d smoked and the familiar feeling in his heart that emboldens Nick. Even with that courage in his veins his heart still pounds and his fingers shake as he types out the text, and then it floats on screen for way too long before he actually sends it.

Nick: You know, you remind me of this childhood friend I had

His heart is in his throat and he regrets sending it immediately. He doesn’t know why he did it in the first place. Is he trying to spark a remembering in Griffin? To taunt him? Or maybe some part of him still doesn’t believe Griffin has just forgot about him.

Minutes pass. At first, Nick thinks that Griffin does remember and he doesn’t know what to say. He thinks he might have scared him off. Then he just starts to think he fell asleep during the absurd amount of time it took for Nick to send his text. But eventually three dots blink at him and Nick’s heart starts pounding all over again. The text pops up and before he can even read it, Nick sends his phone to sleep, burying his head in his hands. He wants to know, but he’s also afraid. He doesn’t know which outcome he would prefer, actually. Griffin remembering and then what? Being weirded out? Thinking it was funny? Feeling bad about forgetting for so long? Or Griffin remaining blissfully ignorant.

Either way, Nick turns on his phone, unlocking it with trembling fingers.

Griffin: Huh. Funny. I had a friend named Nicky.

A sigh leaves Nick’s lips in a shaky sort of way. The reply was very middle of the road. At least Griffin remembers him, he just doesn’t know Nick Robinson and Nicky are the same person. Some part of Nick’s brain whispers that Griffin must be an idiot. He ignores it.

Nick: What was his last name?

He erases it and tries again.

Nick: My friend was named Griffin. Weird

He erases this too. Fuck it.

Nick: I know. I’m Nicky

He almost has the courage to send it before another text from Griffin comes in. It’s demoralizing. Nick’s stomach drops as he erases his text. In fact, he closes the app all together. He completely turns off his phone and drops it onto the side table.

Griffin: You’re nothing like him though. He was super cool.

Nick stares at the ceiling of his shitty apartment, feeling numb. He’s not even sad. It’s the hollow kind of feeling that takes over instead. For the first time since reconnecting with Griffin he wonders if he’s changed too much. That even if Griffin did remember, they would never have that connection again. He knows Griffin is joking in the text, but his stomach is still so heavy it feels like it’s filled with lead.

Really, Nick should have known things would never be the same. They grew up. Time changes everything. Nick and Griffin would never be Nicky and Ditto.

Nick falls asleep on the couch that night.

#shipboys #softboys #nnnggg I love writing young niffin so much #so cute #also such a slow burn!

[gothic-chicanery]

Two Towns, Both Alike in Dignity

Parts: 2/? 1

Pairing: Cecilos

Summary: The course of true love never did run smooth, and this is no exception. A radio host and a scientist, separated by the enmity of the towns they live in, fall in love. A Cecilos Romeo and Juliet AU.

Warnings: Some Strex creepiness

Dedication: To my friend WHO MADE ME FANART

Wordcount: 1722

Tags: @xaandiir @ass-gardiann @doodlethebarisax @heartsandhachets

A/N: Thank you to everyone who read this and liked it and reblogged it, you guys are amazing! Also, welcome to some fun times with Strex Corp!

Lauren sat in the Strex Corp branded yellow office chair for her monthly evaluation and check in with the President of the company. Her posture, like everything else about her, was calculated to maximum efficiency. However, it held a peculiar stiffness. In fact, her whole body was tense, as though every bone, muscle, and nerve were screaming a terrified message that her altered mind could not hear.

The Smiling God was different every time they met. He, she, it, Lauren wasn’t sure, had no permanent form, at least not one that could speak, so it would inhabit a new body for each of their meetings. Today the form it had chosen...disconcerted her somewhat. The Smiling God had borrowed the body of a small girl, probably no more than 6 years old. Lauren had always hated children, and this girl looked too much like herself at that age for her to be entirely comfortable with the conversation. Come to think of it, the girl looked exactly like the photographs that she had seen of herself at that age.

“How are things progressing?” it asked in a high-pitched, girlish tone that held the familiar timbre of her own voice, further unnerving Lauren. She shuddered involuntarily at the sound and immediately cursed herself for the reaction. Why would she shudder? Strex Corp was a wonderful company that treated its employees like family! And the president was capable, forgiving, and an all-in-all amazing leader! She’d had nothing to complain about since she had joined the company. So then….why had she shuddered?

Lauren began to give her report, anxious that it had noticed the momentary lapse. “All going just as great as great can be!” she said, mustering as much enthusiasm as possible as she could. “Productivity is 110% as usual and business continues well. There have been minor altercations with the inhabitants of Night Vale, but our workforce has always come out the victor and come back with only minor injuries that don’t affect their efficiency. Some even reported that the boost of adrenaline helped increase their productivity!”

She bit back the words she had been about to say relating to those fights and a certain Voice of the company. It was...unprofessional for him to get into those petty battles. However, she knew that it would have no effect to include that in her report. Lauren would never accuse the Smiling God of favoritism, but it had always had a fondness for Kevin. Besides, even if he was summoned to a company meeting to talk about his behavior, Kevin would weasel his way out of it somehow. He could twist words and make them dance like marionettes to whatever tune pleased him, Lauren thought bitterly.

The Smiling God leaned forward, placing its childlike hands on the table that separated the two. Lauren noticed a birthmark on the borrowed child’s arm, a small red cloud that sparked a long suppressed memory. Didn’t she use to have a birthmark like that? A quick glance at her own arm showed nothing but smooth skin, but then again Strex had removed all imperfections when she had joined. “Very good Lauren,” it said, breaking her out of her thoughts once again, “You are truly an asset to this company. Is that all? No setbacks? Remember, there is no mistake that cannot be...corrected.”

Lauren nodded, remembering some times she had been corrected. “There is one...what shall we call it...an irregularity. No one’s fault, but just one of those things that happen sometimes.”

The Smiling God’s smile dropped for a moment and Lauren had to suppress every reflex in her body to avoid shuddering again. “Really,” it said, voice devoid of inflection, “What is this...irregularity as you call it?”

“Oh it's nothing serious,” Lauren assured it, “I remember telling you about a scientist who came here to study our town, saying something about how it was the most scientifically interesting place he had ever observed. I welcomed him into our town, as you advised me in our last meeting, but since then, he’s declined all our kind invitations to join the company, saying something about how he is already employed by his university. He has been encouraged to help us out with a few little projects, but he’s not part of our family yet, and he would be a valuable asset to our company.”

The Smiling God paused for a second, considering the situation. “There is a way. It is somewhat archaic, but business has always been about mixing the old with the new.”

“Yes?”

“Briefly, a marriage contract,” the Smiling God answered. “I propose we have a celebration, and let the scientist choose among the higher ups of the company. Use whatever influence you have to get him to agree. Kevin’s good with words, you can request for him to help you out. Strex Corp is a company that takes pride in tying up loose ends and I’m trusting you to get rid of this one. Besides, I haven’t been to a party in millennia.”

Lauren nodded, relishing the chance to make up for her earlier lapses. “You can count on me!”

“Wonderful. Now I must leave, this host is starting to fall apart, and I’d hate to deprive this company of such a valuable addition to its future workforce,” it said, examining the girl’s hand, which had begun to disintegrate and a blinding light was beginning to shine through. “Until next time, Lauren,” it said, before the unnatural light left the girl’s body and she collapsed to the floor.

Lauren took only a moment to calm her heartbeat, which had increased exponentially before turning around to face Daniel, the Strex supervisor, and turning him back on. She was the picture of efficiency, not a moment wasted, and the smile plastered on her face showed that she was happy to do her work. If the Smiling God was watching, and there was no doubt it was, then it would see nothing less than the very model of what a Strex Corp employee should be.

“Daniel, spread the news. We are going to have an office party, to officially welcome Carlos the Scientist to Desert Bluffs! Everyone invited is strongly encouraged to attend. And if you have time, could you head down into Night Vale and make sure our lovely Voice isn’t getting into anymore fights. I want to keep him in peak working condition.” Lauren looked at the girl, and the girl looked at her, tears falling from her mist grey eyes that matched Lauren’s own.

“Make sure she gets back where she belongs,” Lauren told Daniel, before getting back to her desk, and back to work.

In another town, another, later, time, Michelle was reluctantly fulfilling her promise to Leonard and visiting Cecil at his house. From the dust that had gathered on the furniture, Michelle guessed that her assumption made last night had been correct; the place didn’t look like anyone had been in it for weeks. She hoped Leonard didn’t expect her to tidy the place up, because there was no way that was going to happen. Mentally, she reviewed her plan of action, she would get Cecil out of the studio, attempt to give him a life, and if after that he crawled back into his radio cave and never came out again, that was not her problem.

Cecil was still asleep, so Michelle stood around awkwardly in the hall, listening to her music and feeling like a stalker. Unfortunately, it cannot be revealed what she was listening to, as then it would become too mainstream. After a little while, Cecil came out into the hallway, looking like a mess, though somewhat better for having had sleep.

“Did I miss my broadcast?” Cecil asked, attempting to run out the door before Michelle grabbed his arm.

“No, you didn’t, you’re fine,” Michelle reassured him, rolling her eyes. “Ok Cecil. Maureen hijacked a Strex robot which was really cool, and apparently there’s going to be some kind of party tomorrow or whatever. So anyway, we’re going to crash it, and you’re coming with us.”

Cecil looked back at her, briefly tempted by the offer, but then just shook his head. “Sorry Michelle, but I have too much to do. Radio is important. Community radio is important.”

Oh well, Michelle thought. She had tried. Then a thought hit her, something that might persuade Cecil. “It might be a good broadcast topic. The secret office parties of Desert Bluffs. Save it for a slow news day.”

Cecil paused and Michelle could see him turning over the offer in his mind. After some contemplation, he looked at her confused. “Why do you care what I do?”

Michelle shrugged. “Leonard told me to, I owed him a favor, so here I am.”

“Michelle, Leonard’s dead,” Cecil said.

She shrugged again. “Whatever. Just come to this party with Maureen and I, and then we can go back to our antisocial lives and never bother the other again. Besides, it’ll give you a good story to tell on the air.”

Cecil considered again. He was so tired, not much physically, he had slept well for the first time in months, but mentally. He was exhausted with the world and all that was in it. Days seemed to drag on for weeks, but the years slipped by like days. Friends and family had drifted away, or maybe he had; the distinction was irrelevant. All that mattered these days was the hour or so a day he spent speaking through a microphone, telling the citizens of Night Vale all the news they were allowed to hear. Going to a party was not part of that.

But yet, Cecil found himself tempted by the offer. He remembered days when he would do things like this, go to parties, talk to people face-to-face and not just through the radio. It was completely unprofessional to crash a party that he wasn’t invited to, much less one held by the Strex-owned town of Desert Bluffs. It was probably even illegal, given the way things were run there.

This all might have been the reason why Cecil found himself agreeing to meet Michelle and Maureen at 7:00 the following night. And, despite his earlier objections, Cecil began to feel more excited about tomorrow night’s adventures.

#wtnv #welcome to night vale #cecilos #cecil #carlos #kevin #lauren #strex corp #my trashcan romeo and juliet au returns #with lots of strex creepiness #and i figured out how to work read more this time #i hope