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lemonhobgoblin · 3 years

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A Casual Night

Mothman x human reader (gender-neutral)

Word Count: 7k

(I remember saying I would have a fic done the same week I posted my other fic. Well, that was a lie. After dealing with work, creating new wips, and editing what started as a 2k fic became this long-ass post. I tried to keep this gender-neutral, but if there are any parts thats not gender-neutral, or if something doesn't make sense give me a message and I'll fix it. Anyway hope you enjoy!)

The faint sound of your car running and the sound of the wind whipping against the surface was muddled out by old tunes playing from a random radio station filling the lonely ride home. Your eyes trained on the dark empty road ahead, your headlights on full beam, lighting your way. The subtle notes of a box of cooling pizza wafting in your direction every so often.

You were driving from a city over from where you lived, coming back from a friend’s home who was having a small get-together. It was a great time, unwinding from the stresses of work and life in general, with games, movies, playful banter, and sharing a couple of drinks. As the night progressed, things began to slow down, one of your friends passed out on the couch while everyone else turned to some lighthearted conversation. Leading the host to pipe up if they were willing to spend the night given how late it has gotten and mostly due to how much some people drank.

While everyone was willing to stay the night and continue their night of merriment. You on the other hand as well as one other person had to leave for the night due to work obligations you both had tomorrow morning.

Regretfully, you made your exit not without being offered leftovers for the ride back. But halfway home, you received an email detailing how you were not needed for work tomorrow as you were getting gas.

With this newfound information, you had the choice of making a U-turn back or continue straight home.

Rather than driving back to your friend's home, you were just going to continue your way home. You already said goodnight to them, and you were almost home even though it was still quite a ways to go. Nevertheless, they probably turned in for the night by now, and there was always next time to make it up to them.

So driving down an empty two-way road, with no lights fixture to light the road. With no other cars passing through, keeping you company. Only the trees crowding around the road giving you some sort of haunting looming audience. This was a normally busy road; however, by how late in the night it was, it was understandably dead.

Fortunately, enough, you saw your first signs of life up ahead. It seemed to be a herd of deer passing by. You honked your horn to scare them away from the oncoming danger that was your car.

Except instead of dispersing, they stayed in place, it didn’t seem out of the ordinary why else did they have the saying 'a deer in headlights.'

But what was odd, was the closer you approached the herd of deer they seemed to be floating off the pavement, apparently, they were one entity and not a group and had a pair of red glowing eyes. It stirred an unpleasant feeling in the pit of your stomach.

Promptly, an undiscernible screech erupted all around, jolting you in your seat, feeling a pang of sudden fear washing over you. Convincing yourself it was only the radio going off the fritz, peeling your eyes away from the road you scrambled to shut off the device. During your haste to bring an end to the blaring otherworldly sound, you didn’t realize how fast you were driving.

"What the fuck?!" Seeing a flash of a large dark mass smashing against your windshield - shards of glass flying around and onto you.

Swerving your car over to the side of the road, feeling the right side slope down, the bumps of the grass making you rattle and jostle in your seat. Putting your car to a complete stop.

Frantically, you scrambled to free yourself from your seatbelts, ripping yourself from your constraints, you busted out your car. Not giving a single care to the state of your car or your frazzled state. Only concerned about what or who you hit.

Jogging down, you saw a crumpled figure on the ground, he was a good distance away from where you parked. "Oh my god," You exclaimed.

“I didn’t see you coming, I’m so sorry," you yelled, hurrying to aid the individual. You didn’t get a response or see any movement - he did hit your car pretty hard.

Scared for their wellbeing you slowed down and fished for your phone in your back pocket to call for help. But before you could dial for help, you saw something that put halt to your actions. You starred in disbelief as your phone locked out.

From the figure, a wing stretched out toward the sky before folding back in itself.

What the hell did you hit?!

Cautiously, you crept forward to get a better look, you could see he was wearing a fur jacket. No. He was furry everywhere, dull in color but with an interesting print on what you believed was the wings, the pattern was similar to a moth's wing. A costume perhaps? His legs were a digitigrade structure and his feet are similar to a bird's foot arrangement. The talons of which were scraping against the road like an animal in pain.

"A moth?" Perplexed at what exactly you were looking at, it still seemed human, but it was too large in stature given it curled up on the ground. This had to be some large person in a very convincing costume. Assuming it was someone dressed up, as what you could only think of as Mothman. A random tall person dressed head to toe in an extremely convincing Mothman in the middle of an isolated road, for reasons you couldn't conjure but there had to be a rational reason as to why.

The closer you approached, the more of your rationality began to slip. Carefully you squat down, putting your hands on its back, it felt real. Too real.

The wings felt warm, stroking your hand down, you felt the ridges, bumps, and what felt like a pulse, in the wings. You noticed it had a plush ruff around its neck that could’ve been mistaken for a scarf. And there were antennas on its head, it was featherlike and twitched every few seconds. You had no desire to investigate further, yet you had a gnawing sense of curiosity that compelled you.

Besides what if was someone who was severely injured and needed immediate help. And what kind of person would you be if you just drove off without a second thought, leaving them to die. You couldn't live with yourself if that was the case.

This is too unreal. But all the signs suggested otherwise.

Bracing yourself, you gently turned him over to face you, the moment you caught a glimpse of his face, you felt instant regret surge through your veins. You stumbled backward, landing on your back, trying to push yourself away from the massive creature with your legs.

"MOTHMAN!!" You screamed.

This in turn alarmed the cryptid, flapping his wings erratically in response to your sudden outcry. It was emitting these indiscernible sounds that you had heard earlier in the car, it provoked that familiar immense fear within you.

Except, this was louder than when you were in your car, the sound reverberated through you, chills traveling up your spine. You could feel your heart palpitating within your chest, your trembling limbs growing numb. You felt your senses heightened at an alarming rate it was nauseating that you felt your mind blur. If these disquieting sounds alone could trigger your flight or fight response, without the presence of the monster. It was nothing in comparison to the full show that was in front of you, it was overwhelming in all the senses, inciting you to get far as possible.

"Holy shit!" Pulling yourself from your state of shock, you turned over onto your hands and knees, pushing yourself up and away, making a straight beeline to your car without delay.

The screeching stopped behind you. Glancing back toward the monster curious if it was making a move towards you. But all you saw was a poor incapacitated being, pitifully attempting to lift itself away. One of its wings was flapping while the other was barely moving at all. When it tried to move its stiff wing, it wouldn't fully extend before retracting it back, making what sounded like a pained low screech.

In all honesty, even in your fear-driven state, it pained you to witness this distressing scene. Pondering back and forth between taking the car and leaving, or taking your chances with the monster.

Inching toward the car, all without removing your eyes from the scene. Then you heard a more distressing shrill, stopping you dead in your tracks. You couldn't leave him.

He still needs help.

Inhaling a deep breath, you shakily walked back, each step was challenging you felt so weak in the knees and you felt lighter than usual. Your mouth desiccated of any moisture but persisted in swallowing nothing. It felt as if you were walking down to your execution and it might as well be. You couldn't predict what it would do or what it was capable of doing if you got any closer. Regardless, you tried to push your fears aside and help him, even if it killed you.

"Hold on, I'm not gonna hurt you. Just don’t hurt me please." Easing yourself onto your knees, mindful of not doing any sudden movements to provoke it any further for both of your sakes.

Bringing a hand back to where you had it before, you delicately brushed your hand up and down in small strokes on its wing. Focusing on his state and not his appearance, you saw cuts and scrapes littering its wings and body.

You grazed over an open wound, causing the creature to flinch, silently apologizing to him in a hushed tone before continuing to pet him while avoiding any more wounds.

Its breathing began to slow, quelling its jitters. You took this as an indicator of the creature growing at ease at your presence. “See I just wanna help." You whispered as the Moth creature peered up, gazing into your eyes in a sort of mutual understanding. Ensuring a feeling of reprieve within you and within him, or so you thought. It was soon to be proven wrong. The moment was short-lived when the cryptid began to thrash around again, this time trying to keep you away from him.

"Wait I thought we had an understanding there." Pulling yourself into a ball to avoid the cryptid's violent flapping wing and arms recklessly whipping around. "The eye contact we had! The eye contact!" you screamed after being betrayed by this false sense of amicable trust you thought you both had shared at that moment. But this ineffectively did nothing to fix the dilemma, merely adding more to the chaos.

"Please I want to help you." Reaching your hand out to calm him once more, without the screaming and flailing this time. "This was my fault, I wanna help and then you can go on your Mothman way, okay?" You tried to coax. Once more the monster began to quiet down, its quick shallow breathing slowed. Weary of his soothed behavior, you waited a bit before wrapping his arm over your neck.

"Okay, I'm gonna pick you up or at least try to." You said, guiding him upward into a standing position.

"Christ, you’re heavy!" Bending under the weight, propping him against your frame, so you could get a proper footing and grip on him. You struggled to the car, trudging over, but not without one of your legs giving out from under the weight occasionally. What caught your eye was how his head lulled forward or side to side, he might be disoriented from the blow. Not wanting to move his head much, you trudged much slower than you already were and stopped every few seconds.

Arriving at you your vehicle, you rested against your car, before opening the car door and easing him inside into the backseat. Tucking in any stray limbs and wings fully inside the car. Shutting the door you looked at the heavily cracked windshield. It was damaged pretty well, you summarized that you had to slowly drive all the way home. Wait home.

"Wait, I can't just bring you to my house." You said, bringing a hand to your mouth, realizing a new issue. "Someone's gonna see you." Remembering you lived on a busy street near pubs and shops, and it was Friday night you could only assume there were still people out and about enjoying the nightlife. Peering inside your car, your eyes locked on your jacket in the front seat.

"Maybe I can disguise you, and it is Friday night maybe people would be too drunk to notice."

"As long as we don't draw too much attention." You said, getting into your seat and starting up the engine. But something about saying those words aloud, felt like it was going to bite you in the ass but what’s the worst that can happen, you had him handled.

….

Here you were driving back home with the low-volume melody playing like before. However, this was different, before you were alone and you welcomed the tranquil ambiance you had riding home. But now you were riding back with an elusive creature. Creating an unsettling silence within the vehicle. What was maddening was that you were unsure what he was thinking, making you unsure of what to do besides drive. Maybe you were overthinking this but you felt you had to do something to break this disorienting atmosphere because this was too hard to fathom as reality.

"D-Do you want gum? L-Leftover pizza?" Your voice cracked, quickly clearing your throat asking again in a stronger confident voice.

No response. You tapped your fingers on the steering wheel, sucking in your cheek prompting you to purse your lips in your endeavor of finding what else to say. Flitting your eyes back and forth from the road to looking around your car on what else to offer.

"My coat?"

No response again.

Looking at your rearview mirror to get a glimpse of the cryptid only to be met with its red eyes staring directly back at you. Hastily looking back to the road and sinking into your seat, alarmed. How long was he staring at you? Why was he staring? At least he seemed less disoriented now, but you didn’t need that right now, maybe you could draw his attention onto something else other than you.

"How about some air?" you asked, hoping he would stare out the window or put his head out, anything but him staring at you all the way home. Gliding your left hand over to the window control panel on the side of your door, you pushed down a button making his window rolled down. This captured his attention, redirecting his gaze towards the open window, watching the trees and road signs passing by. O thank god. but just as he turned his head to the outside, he took this as an invitation to spread his wings to catch some air.

"That doesn't mean you can start flapping, put your wings down." Whipping your head back and forth from the creature to the road, drawing a hand at him, swinging it around to get him to fold his wings down. "PUT YOUR WINGS DOWN! PUT YOUR WINGS DOWN!" Veering your car off to the side of the road.

.....

Back on the road, after sorting out the matter. "Okay, no rolled down windows." You remarked. Mothman looking like a perfect angel in the back tapping at the rolled-up window while you were in the front with your hair messed up and arms lightly scratched. You weren't a mother, but you now had a vague idea of what it would be like and further respect and admiration for them.

Needless to say, you rode the entire way back in silence without a single word being uttered.

…..

Steering your car on the side of the street in front of an apartment complex, you placed your car in park. You turned off the engine. Street lamps and other building lights were illuminating the street. The neon signs from the local business started to shut off, looked like some of them are turning in for the night.

You snatched your jacket from the passenger seat before slipping out and making your way to open Mothman’s car door.

"We need to move, quickly." Throwing your coat over him to conceal him in the event of someone walking by. Mothman pawed at the coat and clutching it closer to get a better look and smell of the material. After gathering your phone and keys, you whirled back toward Mothman. Fussing at him to not move the jacket, readjusting it over his head. You surveyed the streets for anyone coming down or seem like they are heading out in your direction.

Once more putting his arm around you, you strode as quickly as you possibly could to the complex without either of you falling over. Mercifully, you got to the door with no problem at all or bumping into anyone.

Until you heard something you’ve been dreading on the way home, something that made your heart sank down into the deep trenches of your stomach

"Holy shit! Is that Mothman!?!" A male voice exclaimed.

You whirled your head toward the stranger who was slowly approaching you two. Fuck!

Where did he come from and what made him so confident that he’s looking at Mothman. You glanced back over to Mothman noticing that the jacket that was covering his face, was now draped over his shoulders. Drastically you scoured your brain for an excuse or some sort of explanation to counter how this wasn't a cryptid. But he beat you to the punch before you had a chance to find a solid response.

"Dude sick costume!" He said excitedly.

O fuck. Relieved that it wasn't the worse, but you were surprised he didn't question any further especially how close he was to you both. Even you would've questioned, the details and just the overall realism of said 'costume'. It didn't take long for the answer to hit you square in the nose. When a waft of alcohol invaded your nostrils, the man was drunk, and you never were more grateful.

"Thanks." You nervously laughed.

"That’s crazy good man, you did this all yourself?” He asked enthusiastically towards Mothman, beholding every bit of intricacy on the creature.

"He can’t talk right now; he drank too much to function." You interjected. “We just got back from a party.”

"I gotcha, but is it okay if I get a photo though?"

FUCK! you blurted internally, but externally with faux delight, you said "Sure!"

" 'Chad' you cool with that?" you sheepishly asked your moth friend with the first name you could think of for him. And why were you asking him? As if he could make a cohesive verbal response. But you were hoping at this moment he could magically talk, alas all he did was blankly stare.

"I'm not hearing a no." You heard the man say and you woefully agreed.

"Gimme a sec." The man pulled out his phone and tapping it unlocked.

"Okay," your heart was racing in your chest and you could feel a layer of sweat beginning to form and pool in places. But by some sweet grace of some higher being, a miracle happened right before your eyes. You heard a melodious chime sweetly ring through the crisp early fall air.

"O dang getting a call, hold on" the man answered the call, turning his back towards you.

Maybe there was a god, after all, a fucking sadist with a sick sense of humor. Either way, you were not about to pass up this chance for a free getaway.

You took this God-given opportunity to jam your key into the lock swiftly to get the both of you inside. Twisting to unlock the entrance, you could overhear the man to what sounded like him wrapping up his conservation. Turning the knob, you ushered Mothman and yourself inside the apartment complex, but not without throwing a quick apology to the stranger. Slamming your back against the door shutting it closed, a wave of relief washed over you.

"Aw man, that was too close." leaning your head against the door, desperate for a quick breath from your ordeal. You hadn't felt this much adrenaline since, since. You were so winded you couldn't even recall a memory.

Peeling yourself off from the door, feeling ready to make the final steps home. Deceptively though your body wasn’t as ready to move just yet.

"Nope wait." still trying to catch your breath. Doubling over, leaning forward, and resting your hands on your knees. Mothman all the while just tilted his head at you, confused. While you were over there feeling like you were going to be sick. The wave of nausea quickly fading away allowing you to straighten yourself out.

"Okay, we're good." You said as you grabbed his hand leading him up the stairs. Unbeknownst to you, the large creature was zoning in at the unfamiliar contact.

During his entire time with you, he was just as wary of you as you were with him. He wasn’t one to present himself to people, only as a forewarning of what was to come or an indication that Mothman will be the very last thing they would see. He trailed and stalked others like you in your car but was never hit, that was a first for him. Albeit though, him getting hit with your car, leaving him cut up and bruised did give him another reason to be extremely defensive and antsy around you.

Yet, you were gentle, loud but gentle with him when he wasn’t. Risking your safety in an effort for him to get mended. Lightly ghosting his thumb over the soft skin of your hand, tightening his hold on you. But you didn't notice, you were too preoccupied with climbing higher up the stairs, vigilant for any neighbors.

"Come on we're almost to my place." Giving a reassuring hand squeeze.

"Try to stay quiet a little longer." Peering back at the cryptid flashing him a quick warm smile, before looking back straight ahead. The creature looked directly at you, then to stairs, and back to you again. He came up with a grand idea to help with your effort. But first, he had to gain your attention and for this to work, he had to disregard everything you told him not to do earlier. The cryptid started to emit his screech directly at you to get your attention. And to you, he was making a ruckus, that was echoing through the entire stairwell and halls.

"What part of stay quiet do you not understand?" Grimacing at the noise. You stopped your movement, aiming to cover his mouth with your free hand, you felt his mandibles tickling underneath your palm.

The creature pulled your hand away and into his own, clutching both of his hands close to himself, bringing you into him. This gesture was unexpected and left you feeling warm in the face by how close he was pressing you into him. But it didn't last long when he began to bend his knee and flap his wing readying himself to fly up.

"Wait don't" Pushing yourself away from him, you freed yourself from his grasp to stop his actions. He was still injured this would only cause more harm to him and to you if he tried doing what you thought he was about to do. In your effort to stop him, Mothman tried to reach out for you again, only for his wing to smack into you causing you to land on the hard edge of the concrete stairs; headfirst. “Shit."

Groaning, "Well, I deserved that." you brought your hand to your head, you winced at the touch. As you yanked your hand away you caught a glimpse of red in your peripherals. Bringing the hand in your line of vision you saw blood smeared on the tips of your fingers.

Mothman immediately brought his actions to a halt when he saw what he had done to you. His antennas drooped down, he came close, giving you a hand up. Gladly accepting the gesture, he brought you up to an upright position, he felt bad for what he had done to you. Tentatively, he brought a hand up, lightly swiping his claws over your forehead making a low pained screech.

“It’s okay, you just wanted help didn’t you.” He nodded in response, you pressed a hand to the wound preventing the blood from dripping down. You couldn’t be mad at him he didn’t know better, and you did hurt him first, it only felt fair. Disrupting this tender moment, you heard yelling and heavy footsteps approaching one of the doors on the floor you were on.

"Let’s go!" you rushed up the stairs, luckily for you both it was the final flight of stairs. Reaching the top of steps in record time when you heard the front swing door open.

"What's with all that commotion!?" A neighbor yelled upward toward the sound of your feet stomping up. Coming to an abrupt halt at your door, you whispered for Mothman to stay where he was, while you dealt with the matter below. But he decided to follow behind instead, not wanting to leave your side.

"Sorry I was just goofing" You admitted, showing your face over the rail, outing yourself to your neighbor.

"Sorry my ass, I got work early tomorrow, you expect me to sleep with this fucking racket outside, and now this." They argued back, and rightly so, who wouldn’t complain about an unearthly ear-piercing screech penetrating through the halls along with banging sounds hitting all around the walls. But you couldn’t help but feel annoyed

"I’m sorry, it won’t happen again, promise." You leaned forward resting against the rail while one leg was kicked up behind you, preventing Mothman from coming toward the railing. You exchanged a few more words with your neighbor to avoid the landlord getting involved. Finishing up, you pulled yourself away calling it wraps on the conversation as the individual below continued spewing profanities at you and about the building.

You unlocked and opened your door “In! In! In!" You shoved the imposing cryptid inside, already getting peeved by the neighbor's continuous rambling. It wasn’t anything new they hated everyone in the building, but it wasn’t something you grew used to though.

"Jesus Christ finally." you sighed, kicking the door behind shut.

Slipping off your shoes, leaving them by the entrance, your feet ached in relief from its constructing confines. Dragging yourself through the small hall leading the way to the main part of your home, it was small but cozy.

"Here we are home sweet home." you chimed, leading Mothman further into the living room, grabbing the jacket from him and tossing it to the couch. As well as turning on a lamp to properly illuminate the room. It didn't take long for Mothman to be drawn to the light fixture like the moth he was. He grabbed the lamp hugging it towards him, looking directly at the bulb. Chuckling at the sight, you could’ve given him a flashlight on the way home if he was going to be this mesmerized. You proceeded to make your way to the kitchen for your first aid kit.

"You can make yourself comfortable, but don’t wreck anything please," you shouted from the room over, but Mothman was unbothered, he was solely transfixed on the soft light, eyes wide and grabbing at the lampshade. "I'm gonna go find my first aid kit to fix you and my cut." You really hoped nothing else gets broken, there was already enough screaming and thrashing for the night.

Shuffling through the kitchen, trying to remember where you last placed the kit. You rested and slid a hand over the cool smooth linoleum counter, looking between cabinets for any sign of a small box. Coming to the last cabinet, you rummaged through before finally pulling out your first aid kit.

But you couldn’t help but stop and think about tonight’s events. It started as a fun night, then filled with pure dread, mothering, and now what felt like taking care of a drunk long-time friend. Except, what really dominated your mind was this odd feeling you started to feel, you recounted back in the hall the way he held you close. It made you feel bashful, to say the least. Up to now, you saw him as a friendly harmless dare you say, an unexpected friend. But that didn’t accurately describe what you were feeling. Shaking your heading, you had other pressing matters to attend to.

"Got it, let's see." And not to your surprise you saw the tall cryptid sitting on the couch, clutching the lamp close to him as if it was his lifeline. You contemplated whether you should take the lamp away. But he looked to be enjoying the light source, hearing faint happy chirps emitting from him. Sadly, you decided to ruin his fun, seeing as there were wounds you needed to tend to on his chest and you needed the light to properly see them.

You attempted to pull the lamp away so you could have better access to examine his injuries. In response, he chittered in objection to his lamp being taken, and nothing was going to separate him from his precious lamp. He was going to soon learn that the lamp was barely holding onto the outlet. Hugging it closer to himself, the plug came out, extinguishing the light. Perplexed as to where his light disappeared to, he presented the lamp towards you hoping you would bring the light back.

“I’ll bring it back, but only until I get a look at you.” He nodded vigorously as you grabbed the lamp and setting back on the mini table, blindingly trying to find the plug and inserting back into the outlet turning on the lamp again. You sat on the couch next to him, motioning for him to come closer so you could get to work.

......

"I don’t see any major cuts or anything broken." Scouting out the state of the injuries, they were honestly not that bad, you guessed it was probably due to the now dried flaky blood around his cuts gave the appearance that they worse than what they were. He got pretty lucky but it was probably due to his build that he was capable of taking on more than a couple of hits.

"Only just a sprain and a couple of cuts, that’s a relief" Thinking to yourself glad it wasn't any worse, you couldn't imagine the stress of trying to keep him at your apartment while he heals, and away from your neighbors’ eyes. The fear of him getting caught and taken away and dissected. Being bombarded by officials and Mothman lovers. And getting questioned or probed, maybe even both. You didn’t know if they would, but you knew deep in your heart they would probe you for answers. Stopping your paranoid-filled train of thought from delving any further. You finished tying up a couple of loose ends and sticking on on salve on minor areas.

"See all better. Don’t move too much, it'll heal quickly that way" Gathering any trash to throw away. Everything is fine now; you don’t have plans tomorrow so you could probably sneak him back out the next night.

Huh.

Letting him go. The idea of it should have given you some relief and yet you couldn’t help but feel conflicted. Would he come to visit again? No that would be reckless. Or you could convince him to stay longer to heal, no that would be irresponsible and selfish of you. He deserves to go back, and you're going to help him get back on his feet and let him be on his way. You walked back to the room.

“Feel much better?” you inquired to Mothman who busy was playing with the bandages on him.

He looked directly at you and nodded in response.

"That’s good, the sooner you get better the sooner you can leave," you told him, seating yourself back next to Mothman who hasn’t kept his eyes off of you. You peered up to catch a glimpse of what he was doing, only to capture him looking directly at you with his head tilted.

Not this again. you thought.

He’s certainly not making this any easier. You looked away trying to focus on anything else in the room before you resorted to looking at the floor.

"You know it’s still kinda crazy, that this is even real. Like I feel like I’m going insane," you jokingly confessed to Mothman, laughing to yourself. But you thought about it more, maybe you were, "O my God is this what a psychological break is?" You looked back at him, having an unfazed look on him.

"Can I?" you asked reaching a hand forward. He stared at your hand for a bit, until he leaned forward giving you permission to proceed.

"So soft" allowing yourself to fully feel him, combing your hand through his dark fur and traveling up his ruff. It was surprisingly plush for how it looked, it felt you were touching a cloud but with some tiny debris within it. You gathered more courage to let your hand wander up to his face, giving a couple of brushes before stopping your motion, cupping the side face. His eyes were a brilliant red color comparable to a lustrous gem.

"You really are real." You muttered, stroking a thumb over his cheek.

Mothman brought a clawed hand to your face in a likewise manner, curious of your own features. Where for him he found them peculiar and to other individuals such as yourself they found it normal. The universe was messed up, making it much harder for you to separate yourself from him when the time comes for him to leave, but you allowed this, forgetting your initial plan.

Feeling a sharp claw gliding up against your skin, perfectly capable of nicking you or doing so much worse to you than you could imagine. But he had no intention to do so, merely entranced by you.

His hand wandered up to your forehead, where your gash was, flaky and dried the blood was chipping at the edges. His antennas lowered and chirped in response, for what he did to you back at the stairwell, he didn't mean to. Even if you said it was alright, it still didn’t make him better, bringing a hand to skim the wound, you flinched at the sharp pain of your forgotten injury, knocking you out of your trance-like state.

Mothman drawing back in his seat, alert and worried thinking he hurt you again.

“It’s okay, you did nothing wrong.”

You reached a hand out to calm him, you aimed for his arm but managed to miss and land your hand on his thigh. Wow, that’s great! you internally cringed feeling a blush rush over you, instead of pulling back you still tried to alleviate him by patting his leg, telling him it was the injury that was hurting you not him.

Instead of defusing his concerned mindset, he only tried to push away from you to avoid causing you any further harm. Hand still anchored on his thigh, you launched yourself trying to stop him from hurting himself more.

Fortunately, with your luck, you ended up top of him, Mothman laying on the couch while you hovered over him, with both of your legs planted on either side of his thigh. Your left knee was alarming close to his crotch if you moved an inch closer you would be bumping your knee right into it. Your hands rested squarely on his chest, finger splayed out as you looked down at him with a similar wide-eyed expression.

You gotta be fucking kidding me.

Maintaining your effort of trying to console Mothman, you coughed to clear your throat and your mind of any dirty thoughts from springing up. “Hey, I know you didn’t mean to, and if you did, I would tell you and- and I’m sorry that I gave you the impression that you hurt me and I’m sorry for hitting you with my car, I feel like saying it doesn’t do justice for what I did.” You panted after your long-winded speech.

“Also, I’m sorry for tackling you down that wasn’t my intention. So, you good? I didn’t hurt you?”

He slowly shook his head, as a response that you didn’t hurt him. Startled yes. Hurt no. Bobbing your head in understanding, you carefully crawled off him.

"Well, I guess I should go get the blood washed off, I'll be right back." You informed the still cryptid who made no effort of getting up, just continued to lay on the couch staring straight ahead in shock.

Walking off to clean off the blood and to regain your composure. You were just going through too many emotions than you should for the night. On your way to take care of your problem, you could’ve sworn you heard something akin to a cat purring where Mothman was. But you blew it off and justified it as hearing the blood rushing and the beat of your heart pounding in your ears.

Striding down a hall and into the bathroom you turned the faucet on allowing the water to flow into the sink and onto your hands. Water pooled in your cupped hands before splashing the cold water onto your face, the water, and dried blood dripping together down around the curves and grooves of your face into the porcelain bowl below. It was a satisfying contrast to your heated face, splashing another round of water at your face but an intrusive memory replayed the moment that happened a few seconds ago. Leaving your face buried in your hands, groaning from sheer embarrassment. Fucking hell why am I like this?!

Unwillingly you slid your hands off and look at yourself in the mirror you looked like the accurate personification of a hot mess. You weren’t going to think too much into this, you are going to pretend what happened didn’t happen, you were going to disinfect and stick a bandage on your cut and not dwell on your emotions around the situation at hand. Allowing him to leave as soon as he is better and not have any other affiliations with him again.

Opening the medicine cabinet for an alcohol wipe and unwrapping the wipe from its small packaging.

"Now for the worst part." Quietly hissing at the contact with the antiseptic. Finishing up on cleaning the wound, you foraged through the cabinet looking for a bandaid. Noting there wasn’t one to be found, you sighed.

Guess I need to go find one.

Turning toward the door to walk out, you looked up and saw Mothman standing at the doorway, watching.

How long was he standing? And how the hell is he so silent for such a big guy and why wasn't he like this before? You were about to question him what he was doing here or if needed something when you noticed he was fiddling with a band-aid in hand. Slowly he brought it up, placing it over your cut.

"Thanks." Laying a hand over the band-aid, feeling not just your cheeks warming up but now a butterfly feeling in your stomach, solidifying your emotions for him.

So much for my plan.

Weaseling past him, before enthusiastically asking him, "Well, we got time to pass, so what do you want to do?"

…..

The sun rays bled through the curtains lightening up your home, the light seeping past your eyelashes and into your eyelids forcing you to wake up. Blinded by the light, you groaned in discomfort, pushing yourself up hearing a couple pops in your back. Rubbing a hand up and down your face trying to wipe away the sleep.

What the hell happened here? Why was there glass everywhere? Looking up you saw your window smashed in with only a few jagged pieces in place around the sides. Turning your attention away you looked around the room, wasn’t there someone else here. O yeah.

But the question was, how did you end up falling asleep on the floor, and where was the large cryptid. Wait a minute.

…

"No, you can't go out, you're still hurt." Trying to hold him back from going through the window. Everything was fine, you both were sitting on the couch, watching whatever, and snacking on fruit, and next, you found yourself asleep but woke up to a ruckus, the tv still on, and seeing Mothman trying to rip the curtain off the window nearby. Jumping to action to stop him, he successfully pulled off the curtains along with the rack, you assumed he was trying to leave even though he wasn’t better or so you thought.

And here you were struggling to hold him back, you thought he was difficult before but now that he fully adjusted and patched, you fully experienced that he was pure indomitable power.

"At least wait till the street is clear." You insisted, noticing some people walking or jogging down the street in the dark early morning. But he didn't listen he was adamant in making his exit. So, you made the decision to let him go.

"Okay, okay at least let me get the window, I don’t want glass on the floor." Racing in front of him to slide the window open. A quick gust of wind whipped against your face, causing you to squint your eyes in response.

"There! AH-!" the last thing you saw was Mothman coming at you and the last thing you felt was his frame bulldozing you down by fast approaching torso.

…

"O right." That explains how you ended up on the floor and the glass strewn all over the floor. More incredibly, even when you opened the window, the creature still managed to break the window in its haste to leave. Your head was pounding, he really is a force to be reckoned with. Bringing a hand to your head, you winced at the contact to your forehead but noticed something else. Delicately raising a hand back to your forehead and skimming along the surface. There was the band-aid from the stairwell and on the other side was another. You didn’t remember adding when did you?

Oh.

……

"My window," you muttered groggily, your vision fading out not before the moth creature gave his assistance to you for the last time and a thanks to you by sticking a band-aid on your sure-to-be bruised noggin as you lulled into an unconscious state.

……

At least bug boy was nice enough to get you another band-aid when he put you out cold, before making his exit. Slowly standing up to get started on assessing the mess and knowing full well that you needed to inform your landlord of the window. You peered out the window, curious of any indication of Mothman to spot, unfortunately, all there was to see the was hustle and bustle of the city around and below.

Turning your attention back to the mess, maybe you could make a fib of some large man drunk man pretending to be Mothman breaking into your home believing it was his. Sighing, you went to grab a broom to clean up the mess, at least you were able to encounter a real living and breathing legend. Made you wonder if other cryptids exist, but you’re pretty sure handling one creature was enough for now after last night.

Finishing up, you gathered all the shards and brought them to the trash. You didn’t have work for today, which gave you the opportunity to get a breather and get things done. Making your way to your room and getting ready for the day.

As you were getting clothes on and getting a good look at yourself in the mirror. There square above your eyes and your right eye was a bruise evident from last night's escapades. Shaking your head, laughing to yourself you weren’t going to be able to cover up the contusion. Bringing a hand to your head, you couldn’t help but smile at the cryptids' cute gesture. Walking out of the restroom deciding to let the shiner shine, ready to do some damage control.

Grabbing your keys, and heading out the door, and yet you couldn't stop thinking of that little moth guy. What are the chances of seeing him again? Probably unlikely, a mere once in a lifetime chance but you were grateful to encounter a sweet bug boy like him.

#mothman #mothman x reader #mothman x human #exophilia #cryptid #cryptid x reader #mothman fanfiction #mothman imagine #monster #monster lover #mothman my beloved #monster fucker #monster x human #monster romance

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kamari333 · 3 years

Text

Got tagged by @starsgivemehp for this meme!

Rules: List the first lines of your last 20 stories (if you have less than 20, just list them all!). Then tag 10 of your favorite authors!

I'll go backwards from last update, if thats okay? First paragraph of each first chapter...

mind the tags and be responsible <3

iNVaDeR FeLL: The Nightmare Begins :: The Irken Empire (which had retained its name even after the shift in management brought about by the events of Operation Impending Doom I) was more alive than it had been in years. Signs replayed message after message redirecting convention-goers how and where to attend the Great Assigning in the Main Convention Hall on Conventia, one of the many planets conquered and repurposed for the good of the Empire. The teleporter ring was blazing almost as brightly as it once did before OID1, only this time, it brought to the surface not Irkens, but Monsters; creatures of every shape and size. They came not only from the 'kingdom' that had overtaken Irk (they called themselves 'Fell'), but those from the 'kingdoms' of conquered worlds as well, which had been expeditiously subjugated in a fashion worthy of the Irken Empire.

How Dance Got a Picture of Lust Covered in Kittens :: "there's sammaches in th' fridge," Red mumbled, feeling the lunchbox lid click shut under his claws. "'r if ya want some'n lighter, there's soup in th' freezer. just gotta nuke it..."

Burlesque Noir :: Lust peeked around the curtain to look out at the crowd, as he had done so many times before the last few days. The speakeasy was full and vibrant and alive as it was every night, as swanky a joint as Grillby could make it and still keep it safe. As packed as it was, however, Lust didn't see any sign of his favorite patron.

It Could be Worse :: Life... Could be worse.

An Anthology of Dreams :: Sans was at his desk, as always, analyzing his latest attempt at a synthetic soul compound. His last two-thousand-and-twenty trials had been devastating failures, but even Dr Gaster was intrigued by his steady progress.

The EMV Anthology :: Red had a love-hate relationship with the holiday season.

An Anthology of Nightmares :: Sans stumbled out of his room just in time to escape. He had no idea what was coming, he only knew his years of fighting for his life underground was screaming that he had to move his bony ass if he wanted to live. Just as he crossed the threshold of his bedroom into the hallway, there was a loud crash. When he looked back, his whole room was gone.

A Growing Future :: Red stumbled out of the house, squinting at the glare of sunrise peaking like a glinting knife over the neighbor's rooftops. The air had a crisp chill to it, made all the more shocking by his lack of a shirt, but he knew it would be overly warm in only a few hours, and there was a lot of work to do.

Kinktober 2020 : Kamari333 Edition :: HI FOLKS! Beyond this point you will find 72.5k words of pure, unadulterated, self indulgent, Undertail-themed SIN, ~57.7k of which was prewritten in September, the rest in October, all written and published for Kinktober2020. This year, due to conflicting schedules, the sin was written in September, to be published on time in October. Please note that there may be plenty of typos, although I will/have since gone back and fixed some of them since I'm garbage and read my own stuff, and this year I have been indulging in the use of my lovely betas!

A Night in the Woods :: Red bit back a curse as he once again had to detangle his phalanges from the flimsy tent material. Stupid-ass cheap plastic bullshit, so thin he could breathe on it wrong and watch it disintegrate, but the packaging said it somehow kept out wind and rain, and that was honestly all he could have asked for. That, and perhaps that the piece of shit stop snagging on his claws every five god damn mother fucking seconds, fuck-

Arum :: The room was pitch black, save for a nearly indiscernible ambiance that glowed low and dim like the twilight right before the true darkness of night. The walls and floor of the room oozed with a viscous substance that stank of fermentation and rubber. At the end of the room, upon a throne of black stone, sat a diminutive figure from whence the slime seemed to originate, itself drenched in it to the point of blackness save for the singular glow of one lavender eyelight, shining like poison in the darkness.

Poignance :: Sans Blueberry pulled on his modified gloves, rolling his shoulders to make sure his makeshift pauldrons were cinched tight enough. The scalemail he wore under his chestplate made a soft noise, not quite the clink of chainmail, but not quite the hiss of cloth or leather either. He fingered at the tiny plates over his torso before pulling his bandanna back on around his neck, grateful to Alphys again for donating her sheds, and Undyne for reinforcing them so they wouldn't turn to dust.

Those Feelings at the Bottom of a Bottle :: Ink carefully managed his supply of emotions, keeping his usual level of orange (excitement) and yellow (happiness) as he made his way back through the house. The crowd of people, with their ever-vivid colors and gold-glittered eyes, made it easy to blend in and keep himself inconspicuous to the ever watchful guardian. It was like a game of hide-and-seek: Ink hid, and Dream looked for anything potentially amiss.

A Skeleton Plague Doctor in Lord Dream's Court :: Falsi woke up from a restful sleep on his examination table, shifting under his thick black blanket (one of the few luxuries he was allowed, usually kept hidden away in his bedroom with all the other small luxuries he had managed to keep, like his collection of skulls, his beast fur pelt, his mask, and the tapes and videos of a more personal nature he had collected over the years). He slid down to the floor, thankful once again for the mercy of a windowless apartment, as he folded his blanket and stumbled into the adjacent room: his bedroom.

Bad Day :: Edge was used to getting ominous messages from Red at odd times. It was just the nature of any relationship Red was involved in.

Burlesque (Censored) & (Uncensored) :: Of all the bars Red frequented in Ebott City, this was his favorite.

Happily Ever Laughter :: It was almost midnight. Papyrus had been sitting at Muffet's bar, enjoying his third (or was it fourth? Fifth? Hard to say) glass of Spider Cider, when he got the call. He pulled out his phone, surprised. That was his brother's ringtone. He flipped it open. "heya, bro. wazzup?"

Egg on Arrival :: Slinky could feel it in his bones: the hum of his future, the tremble of his soul. Even if it was still cold as balls outside the nest, his internal clock said it was spring.

I think I'm Paranoid :: Red came back into the livingroom, popcorn in one hand and a six-pack of coke in the other. He lingered, taking in the scene in front of him.

Another Me :: Lust fiddled with the TV remote idly as he mentally went through the available channels in his head. He didn't dare cable surf, not when He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named was so prominent, and Pink's relentless job searching made his schedule so erratic that he could show up at any minute. The sight of the blackout curtain over the bookshelf (which served as the house's movie collection's honored display) reminded him of how understanding Papyrus had been of the need for temporary censorship.

...oh my some of these are terrible for catching the readers attention XD (why are all my hooks like 3 paragraphs in gdi).

EDIT: i forgot to tag folks! um... @deku-lily @silverryu25 @bonerpuns @msmkcreates @jellyficsnfucks @jellyfish-swims-through-gold @tkwolf45 @nanenna @dana-chan325 @skerbaderbadoo @keelywolfe ...im terrible with names and can't remember anyone else's handles ;-;

#kamari333thoughts #kamari333fanfiction #invader fell #burlesque *ship #burlesque noir #ebott is a multiverse #it could be worse #thats just the fic name #dr33mtal3 #kinktober mention #is this nsfw?#burlesque *fic #aint this more than lust #aint this a lamia

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general-mahamatra · 4 years

Text

Visus Cæcus

Focus: Eret

Genre: Spooky Season

TW: Blood and injuries

Pairing: Platonic Fundy and Eret

Wordcount: 6283

Read it on AO3 here

Note: This is part of a trade with the glorious @strawberry10 !! They have my whole heart and this piece has been a work in progress for maybe a month now. It’s only fitting I post it so close to Halloween :)

The crunch of decaying leaves and broken twigs mixes with the soft chirping of birds. Sunlight peeks through the leaves, sending shadows across the path and illuminating the forest and accentuating the vibrant green of the foliage. On such a perfect afternoon, the forest is lovely. Tranquil and perfect--almost too good to be real.

A soft breeze rustles the canopy followed by the scutter of a squirrel climbing a nearby tree. Everything is serene… virtually untouched by humans despite the man-made path twisting through the forest.

It goes for ages, disappearing through the trees. Where it goes is impossible to tell with the way it turns. Undergrowth stretches over the brown trail, small bushes encroaching as young saplings reach across--a strain for sunlight.

Laughter breaks through the peace and the crunch grows louder. Shoes tread along the footpath, ignorant of the bugs that scuttle out of the way. Two people walk along the trail, bags on their backs, and dressed for a hike. They were chatting, entertaining each other as they made their way down the path.

One of them nudges the other, grinning as if they had just said the most clever thing. The other, a brunette, rolls their eyes with a small smile.

“C’mon Eret, you know I’m right!”

The brunette--Eret--scoffs. They shove the man back, just enough to make him stumble. “You are not. There’s no way that’s even possible!”

“What do you mean?!” He exclaims, eyes wide with shock. "I'm always right! I'm literally always right!"

"Fundy," Eret deadpans.

"Yeah?"

They stare at each other, quiet for a moment.

"How the fuck are peanuts meat?"

Fundy can barely contain his laughter as he tries to explain, “but they are! They’re literally meat, they’re with meat on the food pyramid. And, AND! They basically have the same protein. SO,” he points at Eret, “checkmate.”

“That’s not how that works!” Eret protests. “That’s not how that works at all! Just because they’re with the meat doesn’t mean shit!”

Fundy hums. “Uh-huh, sure.”

“They’re a nut!” the brunette whines. “They have nut in their name, they’re not ‘pea-meat’!”

The ginger chuckles, covering his mouth as the other tries to argue. It was clear Fundy wasn’t going to back down from the dispute, he had no intention to let Eret win, even when they had a point. Besides, he’s not dumb, he knows they aren’t meat. It’s just fucking hilarious.

After calming down enough to talk, the points to Eret’s pocket. “Get your phone out, prove to me they aren’t meat!”

“Fine! I will!” Eret fumbles with their shorts and pulls out their phone. A couple of seconds pass followed by an “aha! They aren’t meat!” They began to triumphantly read the blurb, far too confident over the fact that they won the debate. “Peanuts do not come from animals. So they are not meat. Although they are called a nut, they are not... a nut…” they trail off, a small frown appearing. “The peanut is a legume, related to the pea family.” Eret huffs and turns off their phone, shoving it in their pocket.

Fundy cackles, the sound disturbing a nearby bird. With a flurry of black feathers, it flutters off.

“It’s still not a meat,” they grumble.

Fundy steps closer to them, grinning as he pokes their shoulder. “But they’re not a nut~” he coos, clearly proud of his victory. If it could even be called that.

Eret rolls their eyes and shrugs the man off but the upturn of their lips is a hint of their amusement. They were enjoying the back and forth--it was far better than the two walking in silence. After all, they weren’t too sure they’d last a week in the woods if they didn’t have the sort of chemistry for lighthearted banter.

The two found the forest a week ago just driving around town and immediately decided to explore it, especially since they’re visiting Fundy for a couple of weeks. What could go wrong anyway? It’s just a forest in the middle of nowhere.

Though there were times as they were getting ready that Eret thought about some of the… warnings they’ve seen. They never took them seriously, but they always found the posts interesting.

They were warnings about going to certain places in the dark or at night--warnings about the things that stalk the cornfields of the Midwest or the forests around the world. Hell, even the creatures that lurk beneath the surface, just waiting for a ship to pass by to take without a warning.

As the two continue, Eret’s mind wanders. It drifts to the text posts they’ve seen and just how serious they seem. They were so detailed and specific, it made them start to wonder if maybe there was something behind them. There’s no way someone could come up with those warnings and make them so realistic without having something to back them on.

One that won’t leave them alone is a caution about the forests. The number of times they read it… they had it memorized at this point.

Start traveling during the day, it is always asleep by dawn and it will leave you be.

Never move at night.

Stay on the path at all times.

Never set a campfire outside of a designated area. It can smell the smoke and it will find you.

Always travel with a group. Never go solo. If someone gets injured, never leave them alone.

When the forest goes silent, stop moving immediately.

If you don’t, the crowns will come. When you see the crows, it sees you. Stop talking immediately, find a different way to communicate. It can mimic your voice.

When the crows swarm, run. Do not let them injure you. It can smell the blood.

If you stray from the path, find it again as soon as possible. The longer you are off the path, the more likely it will find you.

If you can't find the path, never stop moving at night. Rest during the day, run during the night. It hunts at night and if you stop, it will attack.

Keep anyone injured close, never leave them alone.

If you hear someone call for help, do not go to it. It’s a trap.

Eret shakes their head to clear the thoughts. There was no reason to be thinking about the list. The paranoia is stupid. It was made to scare people--a short thing for the niche group of people addicted to horror.

They're on a hike with their best friend, not on an exploration trip to try and get murdered by some forest monster. Whatever that forest monster is.

The thing is only ever referred to as "it".

But the reassurance that it's fake doesn't do much to calm Eret's nerves. If anything, it leaves them anxious--wondering if maybe… just maybe it isn't fake.

No, stop. It's fake, it's literally fake. Why the fuck would this stuff be real?? They think. It's just a forest.

The absence of their friend next to them is what makes Eret pause and look around. So caught up in their thoughts, they didn't even realize Fundy stopped walking. Turning, they find the ginger frowning, brown eyes staring at something obscured by the trees.

"Fundy?"

The man raises a finger to his lips, shushing Eret. Slowly, he points to his ear and glances at the brunette. "Do you hear that?"

Confused, Eret looks the same way Fundy is. When greeted by nothing but trees and chirping, they shake their head.

"Listen closer," Fundy insists.

Eret glances at Fundy, slightly concerned but curious nonetheless. They fall silent, this time trying to focus on the noises around them.

At first, there is nothing but the regular ambiance of the forest. Nothing out of the ordinary.

A few more seconds pass before they finally notice it. A rustling--faint and distant. It only grows louder, almost as if it’s approaching. It puzzles Eret, making them frown slightly as they comment, “What… is that?”

Fundy steps closer and squints into the trees. His hands wrap around the straps of his bag, his quizzical expression mirroring Eret’s feelings.

“I have no idea.”

The two stand there, watching. Maybe if they were thinking straight, they would’ve continued. But not everyone is bright, are they?

It’s the first crow darting out of the dense tree line that makes them jump, the bird squawking and frantically flapping its wings. Eret watches it, mouth agape as they stare. Confused, they can’t pull their gaze off the struggling bird.

They don’t even realize the shuffling is still getting louder.

Eret points at the bird and turns to Fundy. “You’re telling me we got scared by that?” There’s a slight smile on their face that only falters when they realize Fundy isn’t smiling and is instead still looking at the trees. “Fundy?”

The ginger doesn’t respond and instead backs up. Slow at first, speeding up within seconds as he grabs Eret. “Move, MOVE!”

Eret doesn’t get a chance to react before more birds burst from the trees. Their screeching is quick to overwhelm the two as a couple of birds turn into ten, then twenty, then a giant shrieking mass.

Feathers are everywhere, flying around as the crows swarm. They twist and turn, diving around as they grab each other with their talons. They rip each other apart, spraying blood and guts everywhere. The cawing never stops as bodies drop to the hiking trail, the hot crimson liquid misting the two humans as they try to get away.

And then the birds turn their attention elsewhere: right on the two.

“GO GO GO!” Eret cries, throwing their hands in Fundy’s direction. They make contact and manage to shove the man, forcing him to turn around and book it to the trees. He’s able to get his arms over his head to protect him from the birds. Eret, though?

They weren’t fast enough.

Crows latch onto them. Peck them, claw them. Their clothing tears under the sharp talons as Eret tries to swat the frenzied animals away. Panic gripped them and completely emptied their mind of conscious thought. It left them running off instinct, and it’s their downfall.

It only takes a couple of heartbeats for the crows to start digging into their skin. They shred the brunette’s shoulders, drawing blood under their sharp claws. Eret cries out and frantically tries to rip the birds off.

But a slash to their cheek is what utterly terrifies them.

They don’t even hear Fundy shouting at them to run.

Some of the birds stick to their upper body, but others go for Eret’s head. More specifically their face.

Razor-sharp claws do their work. They make the brunette finally start to try and cover their face. Even with the birds in the way, Eret did what they could, trying to force the animals away. But not before the most excruciating pain they’ve ever been in radiates from their face.

A blood-curdling scream tears through their throat. High--full of terror and agony. Their hands were on their face as the birds kept coming. But the simple touch only makes it worse, stinging every open wound they touched. Made Eret lower their hands only for them to come away hot and sticky. Bloody.

Eret stumbles back, shaking and terrified as the birds keep coming. They’re quiet, trying to back away…

Another slash to their face.

The world goes black.

They can't stop screaming.

Hands grab their shoulders and drag them back. Eret struggles to stay upright, feet catching on roots and bushes. They fumble around, frightened. They can’t tell where they’re going or who’s holding him or what’s going on. Their hands shoot out and grab onto a tree. Nails dig into the bark, break under the pressure.

A whimper falls from their lips as they continue to be pulled along.

But the birds are gone.

Eret’s pulled along for a few more paces before they’re stopped. They stumble, lightheaded and sick for reasons they don’t understand. All they know is the feeling of something trailing down their cheeks. Blood… tears… a mix? It’s everywhere.

Arms wrap around them, stabilizing them. A soothing voice follows the action.

“Eret… Eret listen to me, I need you to listen to me.” Fundy. Their friend. “Eret please, look at me.”

They turn slightly, blindly following the man’s voice. It’s dark… Why is the forest so dark…

A hand guides their head, making them turn a bit more.

“Open your eyes,” Fundy says.

It’s then Eret realizes they’ve been squeezing their eyes shut the entire time. It hurt so much to open them. Like something is stuck in them, stabbing their eyes every time they try to look around. They reach up, pressing their hands to their eyes only to gasp. The shock of pain that rushes through them is enough to make them let out another small whimper.

The hand never leaves their face and Fundy tries again. “Eret, don’t- stop. Don’t touch them just open them, please.”

Eret shakes their head.

The pain…

It’s horrible.

They’re shaking at this point, arms now wrapped around themselves as they lower their head. They don’t pull away from the touch… instead, they lean into it a bit.

The only soothing thing in the world of agony Eret’s living in.

“Eret… please,” Fundy begs.

A shaky breath. They look up and open their eyes. The sound that comes out of their friend is nearly lost to Eret as they immediately close them again. It hurt… so much. More of whatever was in their eyes fell down their face, wet and sticky. It trails into the corners of their mouth, leaving a salty… coppery tang on their tongue.

Blood and tears.

Fundy starts mumbling. Eret doesn’t understand him. Everything around them fades out, sounds becoming muffled as if their head had been dunked underwater. Their stomach knots and their body sways. A dizziness takes hold, making their breathing short and head spin. They can’t seem to catch their breath, every inhale shorter than the last as they struggle to breathe.

Eret digs their nails into their arms. They couldn’t focus. Couldn’t think.

The bag on their back is really heavy, teetering their balance.

Take it off…

Cold, clammy, unsteady.

So much is overwhelming and yet there’s nothing at all. The world is dark and quiet but the pain in their eyes reminds them they’re still awake. The feeling of Fundy’s hands on Eret’s elbows trying to keep them upright…

They open their mouth as if to talk but all they can do is wheeze.

Breathe breathe breathe…

A second passes and their knees buckle. Eret collapses against the ginger and before they even drop that far, they fall unconscious.

Eret moans as they wake up, body sore. Their head is fuzzy, mind vacant of thoughts. Everything is black and their awareness of their surroundings is gone. The only things they can tell are they’re lying down, the bag is gone, and there’s a weird pressure on their face. It rubs weird and keeps their eyes shut when Eret tries to open them.

The pain that follows only makes them whimper.

But then a voice… someone is talking to them. It’s inaudible. Can’t tell who’s talking.

Shuffling followed by someone’s hand on their shoulder.

They nod off as the person tries to get their attention.

The next time they wake up their arm is slung around someone’s shoulder. An arm around Eret’s waist is what’s keeping them upright as they’re being partially carried, partially dragged through the forest.

Their foot catches on a root, causing them to stumble. Eret’s reaction is delayed to the point they’re guided by the man carrying them, only barely managing to pull their foot away with the man’s help.

“Come on… ..almost… ..got this.” Fundy. It’s Fundy carrying them.

Eret doesn’t catch much of what the ginger says, only nodding in reply, hoping that it’s the right answer.

Fundy’s hold on them tightens.

Time passes as a blur. Unable to see, Eret is barely able to tell how long they’re awake. Sometimes they fade to unconsciousness, sometimes they’re aware and helping walk around. Their sense of direction has long since vanished as well, the brunette completely relying on the man carrying him.

Eret trips; their legs come out from under them. Fundy catches them, a death grip on the brunette.

“I gotcha.”

Fundy’s mumbling under his breath. They’re still moving, only much slower. He’s messing with something at the same time, Eret can tell from the way the man is struggling to hold them up with one arm.

“Come on… Turn on…”

“Where the fuck is the path?” Fundy mutters.

“Fuck fuck fuck fuck. Don’t die, come on!”

Eret gets tugged along, Fundy seemingly more frantic than before. He’s moving fast, trying to get the taller one around obstacles with less care than before. Panicked, almost.

Both hands are on Eret now. Tight, nails digging into their wrist.

The ginger breathes heavily and Eret can feel him shifting around, constantly looking back.

“Eret, Eret wake up. Wake up right now.”

They lift their head, dazed and confused as they once again become aware. Their face scrunches up as they turn their head towards Fundy.

“We gotta go, you gotta move,” Fundy hisses. He sounds freaked out… Eret can’t figure out why. “You gotta move.” He starts to pull them along, forcing them to get their feet going.

Caught off guard, they lose their balance. Fundy doesn’t wait, not this time. He continues to tug Eret along, set on wherever their destination was. Forces Eret to get their act together and stay upright. They try their best, struggling quite a bit to keep up.

Eret manages to hold their own despite being unable to see. With their feet on the ground and the ginger guiding him around trees and undergrowth, the rush becomes easier. It gives them a chance to finally talk. “Why are we-?”

Fundy shushes them. Pulls them along faster. “Stop talking, just keep moving.”

They fall silent.

Eret didn’t even realize they passed out again until they’re suddenly being dragged along the forest floor. Arms wrap under their shoulders and around their chest; their feet trail through the brush and debris.

They lift their head. Barely moves much else, lulling in a fit of exhaustion.

Breathing is hard… really hard. Short, rapid, erratic. Can’t get enough in can’t take a deep breath why is it so hard to breathe?

They start to move but it’s sluggish. Weak hands reach up and try to pry the arms off.

Breathe… need to breathe…

Fundy is quick to try and get them to stop. "Stop- stop it! Quit moving, you're only going to slow us down more!" His voice is low and hurried. It seems strained and distant…

...is he running from something?

The brunette wakes up to being propped up against a tree. The two had stopped moving at some point. When, Eret wasn't entirely sure.

With Fundy no longer holding them up in some way, Eret assumes the guy had finally found them a place to stop so he could sleep. It only makes sense.

Rubbing their eyes, they come to find their face covered in bandages. The rough cloth was stark compared to the smooth skin they expected to feel. Carefully, they run their fingers along with the bandages. They're wrapped around most of the upper half of their head, concealing their eyes and ears.

Covering the horrible wounds that mar their face.

Lowering their hands, they find more haphazardly wrapped gauze around their shoulders. It pokes through their shredded shirt.

Makes them wonder just how bad it was.

Their hands shake as Eret pulls them away from their chest. So much so fast…

The two just wanted to hike, to explore. And yet within hours, everything had gone to shit.

And now they have no idea what time it is or where they are or where Fundy is.

"Fundy?" They try to sit up further, looking around despite being unable to see. Somehow the darkness only makes the world lonely.

There's shuffling nearby followed by the crunch of leaves. "You're awake!" More movement and then a hand is on Eret's shoulder. "How are you feeling? You alright?"

A stupid question really.

Eret feels like shit. Constantly being jostled around while unconscious, waking up over and over and being forced to run… it's hard to feel alright after all of that. And yet, at the same time, they were in considerably less pain than before.

"I'm… okay?" They sound uncertain. "What happened?"

Fundy doesn't say anything at first. He seems lenient to explain and the silence has a weird air to it. It doesn't sit well with Eret.

Soon enough, the ginger says, "a lot. So much.” There’s a pause. “After we got thrown off the path by those birds we got lost and… and I tried to get back to the trail.” The hand falls away, fingers trailing along Eret’s shoulder before dropping entirely. “I couldn’t find it. But! You slept pretty hard I’m glad you’re alright.”

Eret frowns. That… That’s not…

That didn’t explain what happened every time Eret woke up. The carrying, the running, the dragging, none of it.

“What else?” they press, tone skeptical. “We were running, right? Why did we run?”

And there’s the hesitation again. Almost like Fundy doesn’t want to answer him. “Uh- It- It was nothing! Nothing really!” The man spoke quickly, voice pitching up at the same time. “Just thought I saw the path!”

Odd.

“Where are we?” Eret asks.

Leaves crunch as Fundy moves. “Somewhere in the forest. I don’t fucking know where.” He sighs. “I got lost last night… I have no fucking clue which way is what.”

Night.

“You mean it’s morning now?”

“Well, yeah.”

< If you can't find the path, never stop moving at night. Rest during the day, run during the night. It hunts at night and if you stop, it will attack. >

The thoughts come back, whispering in their ears and latching on to Eret’s conscious mind. Paranoia and anxiety refuse to leave them alone, pushing for them to think about the short list. That horrid, horrid list.

< When the crows swarm, run. Do not let them injure you. It can smell the blood. >

Eret froze, their entire body growing tense. It's just a list, it can't be real. Some stupid post they saw one day that happened to stick with them. They're just paranoid.

< “We gotta go, you gotta move,” Fundy hisses. He sounds freaked out… Eret can’t figure out why. “You gotta move.” He starts to pull them along, forcing them to get their feet going. >

They reach out, shaking hand finding itself on Fundy's shoulder. "Fundy," Eret says slowly. It earns a small hum. "What did you see?"

The voice that answers is quieter than usual. Small, frail almost. Vulnerable in a way Eret has never remembered Fundy being.

"I- I don't know."

The two ended up sleeping, exhaustion overtaking their need to stay awake and leaving them napping throughout the day. Though, more often than not, Eret finds themselves awake. Sitting propped against the tree, head resting against the truck as they stare up into the black expanse that is their vision.

They never were claustrophobic. Small spaces didn't make them feel too bad despite their height. Busses, trains, rooms… they were always fine. But the inky darkness that became their reality is constricting. It wraps around their body, suffocating them and leaving them to writhe and struggle in isolation.

But it's all mental. Up in their head in a world only they know; a world they'll never escape. The only signs of the toll the blindness takes on the man are the faint, quick breaths in and out. And with Fundy asleep somewhere nearby, there's no one there to see Eret holding themselves, lips pressed in a line as they try and stay calm.

If there weren't bandages over their face, maybe a trail of tears would adorn either cheek.

Shuffling makes them perk up. Drags them out of their head and forces them to pay attention to their surroundings. Something was moving nearby.

“Fundy?” Eret calls quietly, just in case the man was still sleeping. The lack of a response is enough of an answer. “Hello?” Now it was more directed to whoever or whatever was moving around.

Not like an animal could reply to them, but maybe someone was wandering off the path. Someone who could get them out of the damned forest. It was worth the shot.

When nothing answers them, Eret sighs and leans back against the tree. The small flicker of hope that ignited in their chest dwindles, snuffed out by the silence.

How far from the path are they anyway?

For all Eret knew, they could be ten feet away. Move around a couple of trees and there it would be. The man-made trail hikers travel on every day covered in sticks and decaying leaves, surrounded by beautiful plants and scenery and just… perfect.

But they’ll never know. They’ll never know just how close they are to the stupid path because those fucking birds STOLE THEIR SIGHT.

They take a deep breath, nostrils flaring as their hands ball into tight fists. A second passes and they slam the side of their hand against the cold hard ground. Frustration and anger isn’t a common emotion for Eret, it never has been. But sitting there with one of the most important senses ripped away from them, drowning them in a world of perpetual darkness… it’s starting to get hard to keep their emotions in check.

Sighing, they force themselves to relax, fingers uncurling and shoulders slouching. There’s no way the two of them are gonna be able to get out if they can’t stay calm. With so little experience getting mad, there’s no telling what could happen.

Tilting their head back, Eret stares up towards the sky. Wonders what it looks like… how the canopy must look with the yellow leaves dispersing the golden rays from the sun across the forest floor.

Shifting grass right next to Eret startles them. It’s faint, only audible because of the silence that hovers in the clearing, and it confuses them. Sitting back up, they carefully reach their hand towards the sound.

They lower their hand, fingers outstretched as they try to touch whatever is there. It could be a rabbit. A fuzzy little animal just hopping around trying to find something to eat or somewhere to sleep…

What they feel is not a bunny.

Slimy and boney, gnarled like a tree root but warm like a living creature. It writhes beneath their hand, moving around like a… a finger.

The sound that comes out of Eret is one of disgust and horror. A distorted scream rips through their throat as they try to pull their hand back only for whatever it was they touched to grab their wrist. A strong, wretched hand tightens its grip. Larger than a human’s, nails sharper than should be possible. Digging into their wrist, slicing up the delicate skin.

They kick out, squirming in the thing’s hold as they try to shove it away.

“Let GO of me!” they shriek.

Their foot makes contact with something solid. A grunt follows and the grip loosens.

THUD.

The thing lets go, a warbled cry following suit. Heavy breathing can be heard above Eret before something heavy is dropped on the ground. Barely even a second passes before Fundy speaks, the man on the ground next to Eret with his hands on their shoulders.

He sounds breathless as he talks. “Hey, hey it’s alright. Eret. Eret, look at me.”

Probably the worst thing someone could say to a blind man but it got the brit to react anyways. They turned their head slightly, hoping they were facing the right direction. They reach out, trembling hand finding a perch on Fundy’s arm. Once certain they were holding the ginger, their grasp tightens. A grounding.

“Breathe,” Fundy directs. “For the love of God, please calm down. It’s gone, you’re alright- we’re alright.” The reassurance is partnered with the gentle pull into a hug. Arms--human arms--wrap tenderly around their body. The ginger stays there despite the tension in the brunette, refusing to pull away until Eret finally melts, burying their head against Fundy’s shoulder as they return the gesture.

Fists ball into Fundy’s shirt and a choked sob rattles through the brit’s body. The slow-motion of the ginger rubbing their back is joined by what sounds like his own struggle to keep from crying. Hiccuped inhales and steady exhales… Fundy was... Trying…

Eventually, Fundy whispers, “it’s evening, we need to keep moving.”

Walking with the guidance of someone with sight is more off-putting than trying to learn a new language. At least, that’s what Eret would compare it to. It’s like relearning how to walk. Their perception of reality permanently altered, sense of balance destroyed, and their ability to perceive their surroundings forced to rely on their hearing and touch. But surrounded by a thick forest, they’re more than thankful for how accommodating their friend is.

Fundy laughs quietly. “Come on, you know it’s true.”

Eret scoffs, wishing they could roll their eyes at the man’s stupidity. “I can’t believe this is your focus right now.”

“Would you rather me talk about the fact we’re lost in a forest nearly out of food traveling in the middle of the night with no service, a dead phone, and your severe lack of a phone?” Fundy asks, voice deadpan. “Personally, I think my Minecraft boyfriend is far more important.”

Using their free hand that’s not wrapped around Fundy’s shoulder, the brit lightly punches the ginger’s side. “You proposed to him with a diamond only for him to get possessed! And then he had a fucking baby and George claimed to be the father!”

“WELL,” Fundy started, “that’s beside the point. Fuck you.”

Eret chuckles with a fond grin. It’s nice, being able to have a normal conversation despite the impending doom of whatever the hell went after the brit back where they were resting.

A slight discomfort is felt on the back of their head, making them shiver. A weird feeling. One that sets them on edge and spikes their anxiety. But they ignore it, preferring to focus on Fundy.

"Can't believe you got engaged and your man had-"

"Help!" The distance cry of what sounds like a young child can barely be heard. At first, Eret thinks it may be a trick of the ears, the wind whistling just right through the leaves. But Fundy stops walking.

He heard it too.

The child calls out again and it sets in stone the reality of the situation. "Please! Help!"

The two adjust their course and start to make their way towards the voice. Stumbling through the undergrowth, tripping on loose plants, and smacking against low hanging branches.

< If you hear someone call for help, do not go to it. It’s a trap. >

The wails grow louder but so does a weird smell. It makes Eret scrunch their nose, face contorting to one of disgust when they're first hit by the scent. "What the fu-"

Fundy shushes them, shutting them up. He doesn't clarify why, simply pulling the brit further along. Closer and closer to the cries of the young child.

"I want my mommy!" The kid cries, voice cracking with sadness.

The two come to an abrupt halt and the horrendous stench assaults Eret's senses. Malodorous and foul, it makes them gag as the smell becomes unbearable and so fucking strong they can taste it.

Eret covers their mouth, biting the inside of their cheek to keep from vomiting right then and there. Nothing could describe what they were experiencing. Nothing would ever be able to describe it. From everything they’ve dealt with in their lives, nothing prepared them for the sheer revulsion they were feeling

Something they vaguely remember their mother telling them creeps into their mind.

< “You never forget the smell of rotten human flesh or burning flesh. People say it haunts them for years.” >

They blocked that memory out years ago but now that they’re standing there, struggling to keep their head clear because of the stench, they can’t help but think about it again. Their head spins, dizziness growing as they reach up to cover their mouth.

Buzzing… Is that buzzing? Is all Eret can hear now that the child has gone silent. Loud and annoying, way too similar to the sound of a fly.

The tickling feeling of a bug landing on their hand is what confirms their suspicion. Shaking the bug off, they go to grumble a complaint but it’s drowned out by Fundy’s panic-stricken commands as the ginger drags them back.

“Come on- Eret work with me we need to fucking move right now.” He lets go of the brit, instead of focusing on grabbing their shoulders and spinning them around, shoving them back the way they came. Forces them to run--to get their legs moving.

The young child calls out again. “No- wait- please! Come back! Where’s my mommy?”

Fundy’s grip moves from Eret’s shoulders to their wrist, now pulling them along. Weaving between trees, ignoring their protests as they stumble around and run into branches. The two don’t stop moving and soon enough, Eret figures out why.

Crashing follows them. Plants being trampled and branches being ripped apart. Distorted voices begging for the two to come back. Children, adults, boys, girls… all warping and twisting like a broken record.

“Please, come back-”

“-not scary-”

“Hurt you! We won’t!”

“Come back…”

“I wanna go home.”

Heavy breathing… feet slamming against the hard ground… being yanked around every which way as Fundy navigates the forest. Getting them away from the thing chasing them, away from the horrible image Eret can only imagine had been laid out before them.

Their shoulder rams into a tree and the brit gasps and trips up, feet catching against the roots and making them stagger, nearly falling right then and there. The shocking pain that shoots down their arm disorients them. Hit right on the bandaged gashes from the birds’ sharp talons.

It makes Fundy grab them by their upper arm, becoming a better support as their fleeing continues. “Come on, keep moving. We gotta keep going.”

Eret’s only response is a nod.

Move.

Keep moving.

A warbled shriek from behind makes them cringe. Panic and adrenaline. A rush to run. Get away.

Run.

It’s the motivator that gets Eret to finally match Fundy’s pace, finally managing to ignore the obstacles in their way as best as they can. Trying to get away from the creature right on their tail.

“I think-” Fundy pauses for a moment. “I think I see something!”

A small spark of hope ignites in Eret. What the ginger sees, they have no idea, but that doesn’t stop them from hoping. Maybe, just maybe-

An excited cheer comes from the ginger. “Yes! YES! LIGHTS!”

Safety.

The two continue their push forward, exhaustion starting to set in and nearly making the brit slow down. But they can’t. They can’t. They’re so close…

Something grabs their ankle and tugs. Pulls their foot out from under them and sends Eret flying to the ground. They slip from Fundy's hold, falling into the dirt with a cry cut off by the wind being knocked out of them. They reach out, scrambling for purchase as the thing pulls them back. Nails did into the dirt, rip up small shrubs…

They finally get their hands on something. A tree root. Rough bark digging into their skin, leaving small cuts as it scraped against their palms. "FUNDY-"

They kick, doing everything they can to hold onto the roots while trying to dislodge the creature. It’s to no avail, the thing tugging and nearly making Eret let go. The bark shreds their hands and rips their nails. Makes them scream. Makes them almost lose their hold.

The ginger says something. What it is, Eret can't tell, but it vaguely sounded like "hold on."

No shit.

A pained, gargled cry, and then the creature let's go.

Fundy's helping them up now, getting Eret to their feet so they can keep running towards the lights. "They're so close, we're almost there!"

Breathing ragged, the brit does what they can to stay upright and focused on moving. It burns…

Their breath hitches when they run into another tree and it takes Fundy guiding Eret to put their arm around his shoulders for support to get them to ignore it.

It hurts…

Eret flinches when the ginger starts shouting. Presumably at whoever had the lights. They can’t process the words but from what registers, the man seems just as hopeful as the brit.

The two slow down, finally done running. More hands find themselves on Eret’s shoulders and arms, more voices speaking up and talking all at once. The touch makes them snap into reality--makes them listen to what’s going on.

The first thing they hear is Fundy. Breathless, happy, relieved. And a hand on their cheek as Fundy lets go of them… then they’re pulled into a tight hug. A head buried against the crook of their neck, cold, shaking hands wrapped around their shirt…

“We did it,” Fundy whispers. “We’re out…”

Eret returns the embrace, limbs weak and movements slow. They refuse to let go. Even when the ginger begins to profusely apologize. On and on… and Eret refuses to listen.

They’re safe.

#eret #the eret #fundy #itsfundy #dream team rpf #rpf #prince's writing #horror #halloween #spooky szn :)#l'manberg #dream smp #dream smp rpf #fanfic #platonic

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sweetest-honeybee · 4 years

Text

Tears of a Banshee

Summary: Logan is a banshee and he has to live through the day that Virgil will be meeting his end soon.

TW: Character Death, Heavy Angst, Crying, Mentions of Burning Sensations and Magma, Scratching at the Throat, Vivid Descriptions of Screaming, Creature!Logan, Dragons, Fire, etc.

THIS IS ANGST WITH NO HAPPY ENDING. DO NOT SAY “Someone pls give it a happy ending” BECAUSE THAT IS NOT THE INTENTION. ITS SAD AND MEANT TO BE SAD.

Characters: All the Sides and mentions of Thomas

Word Count: 2472

Enjoy!

————————

Logan had intended to wake up peacefully like he did many months before- years, in fact. He hadn’t usually woken up with that single thought in his mind: Someone was going to die. How he’d known for sure, he didn’t know. But the tingling sensation in his throat and his growing inner grief had already started building up.

He sat up, waving aimlessly at his nightstand to put on his glasses. He scratched his throat and swallowed thickly.

Ah, this is what happens when you’re a banshee.

Repeating his daily morning routine still hadn’t been any harder than before. Soreness and a lump in his throat came to be otherwise. However, he was sure he’d be fine to join for breakfast. Though, he’d been wondering who it was. Who was going to die? Traits could certainly “die”, he knew. Their physical forms were merely vessels with memories that could be killed off and the trait inside them would live on to find another vessel roaming in the Imagination.

But again, no vessel means the loss of memories and personality. He was close to almost all of the sides now, he couldn’t help but to worry.

Taking a last look into his bathroom mirror, he straightened his tie and sunk out. Appearing again in the dining hall, he was greeted by a happy Patton plating him some waffles. The twins had their journals and glitter pens sprawled on at least half of the long cherrywood table. A map set right in the middle.

A nod from Virgil, a mindless hello from each of the busy twins, and a polite greeting from Janus later, the group was seated and discussing day plans.

“Thomas has two meetings today to discuss the next Thomas Sanders and Friends video. Since it is the end of the month, he has the monthly Vine compilation due in three days.” Logan made margin notes and small diagrams as he went. “I need a list of more Sanders Shorts ideas from the twins by the end of the day today.”

An exaggerated double groan confirmed his statement but the twins announced their progress.

Logan looked around the table. The others were still eating their breakfast. Nothing had seemed off so far. Virgil scrolled through his social media with a single earbud in. The twins continued discussing their ideas, Roman occasionally grimacing at The Duke’s input. Janus stayed quiet, answering some of Patton’s occasional questions and indulging in smaller conversation starters.

Who was it?

A few minutes went by and he finished his breakfast. The tingling sensation returned and suddenly flared into a stinging for a few seconds. Unable to hide his discomfort, he coughed. And coughed quite loudly. Playing it off as a small choking fit from his food, he drank the orange juice next to him.

“You okay?” asked Patton.

“Yes, I just choked a bit-“ he coughed again.

“...Are you sure?” The moral side continued. “Do you need more orange juice?”

As if that we’re the figurative magic words, the coughing ceased. “I’m fine, thank you.”

Then a thought had hit him. “What were you guys planning to do today? In your spare time, I mean.”

“Remus and I were planning to take you all on a tour of the new and improved imagination!” Logan’s chest tightened and he briefly became upset. The emotion flickered only for a second but enough to signal his near to happen deafening screech.

“Oh that sounds like a fun idea!” Patton cheered.

“No! I- I mean no, we can’t,” Logan sputtered. The twins stared at him as if he just killed a man. “I love the idea, I do. It sounds nice, but uh, we just can’t. I’m sure there’s other activities we can do.”

Janus merely squinted at the logical facet. “The twins have been working on this for months now, why do you want to cancel it?”

“I can’t explain right now, I’m just taking precautions.” The others stared at him. “I’m sorry.”

“Well we didn’t say you had to go if that’s the problem,” added Virgil. Logan’s throat flared once more and he coughed awkwardly.

“That isn’t it, maybe you should both spend a few more days working on it. Fix up the final details and make sure it’s safe.”

“Alright….?” The twins responded in unison.

“Good, I’ll be heading off to my study to work. If you need me, just call.” He gathered his notebooks and other belongings and sunk out.

“I- Okay then,” said Patton.

“He’s acting weird,” Remus said plainly with a pout on his face.

“Yes, I suppose so. I certainly haven’t been here long but this isn’t his usual behavior, correct?” Janus glanced at Patton who was still staring at Logan’s empty seat. The father figure looked away and began to gather the used dishes.

“Well,” he began. “If Logan believes it’s not safe, it may not be. It’s good to take precautions.”

“Pfft, he’s such a prude. A small dog would probably seem threatening to him,” Roman commented. “What if we take Virgil there or something?”

“Excuse me?” The anxious side glared at them. “I’m with Logan, dude. I’m literally anxiety. If even he thinks something may be dangerous, I’ve already got a list of stuff that could probably kill us.”

“Come on! I promise it’s safe! I bet you a whole week of peace and quiet that it is.”

Janus couldn’t help but to snort at the offer and he made a face as if he was considering it. “I don’t know, Virgil. He’s betting his sanity to show you that it’s not harmful.”

Roman rolled his eyes but glanced at Virgil. Virgil eyed him with a playful squint. Dramatically turning off his phone and removing his earbuds he made his decision. “Fine,” he said. “But one wrong move and we’re out of there ASAP.”

“Prince’s promise.”

With that, Roman snapped his fingers and he, Remus, and Virgil disappeared from the room.

“Janus, do you mind giving me a gloved hand for all of these dishes?”

Four extra arms appeared on Janus’s sides. “Of course.”

—

Scratching, scratching, and more continuous scratching. An undone tie and hardly finished budget plans. Logan felt miserable. Generally and mentally. He simply felt awful.

He’d only been working for about two hours. Something was going to happen. But bit down on the straw of his water bottle to suffocate an upcoming scream.

His throat was burning. As weird as it sounded, he simply felt as if he was going to cry. He was already mourning a dead trait before the event had even happened yet.

Logan decided to pull up some images of the others’ current activities. Patton was baking and keeping an eye on Thomas once in a while. Logan warmed a bit at Janus walking into the scene to steal a kiss from the moral facet. He pulled up the twins and his eyes widened.

Look, nothing stopped the idea that Janus or Patton could be harmed in the kitchen but the Imagination had creatures roaming that could kill in two seconds as well. Surprisingly, Virgil was there as well. Virgil would’ve stayed behind due to his anxiety and Logan’s throat tightened at Virgil’s image. He became deeply saddened simply by looking at the anxious side.

Scream, just scream. It’s him. It’s Virgil.

Logan made the image disappear and took a deep breath. He shuddered at the thought of Virgil ever dying and coughed the edge of his desk until his knuckles were white. His posture wilted at the images of the monsters that he’d come in contact with. He swallowed and he felt as if he drank a cup of magma.

“No, no, no, no, no-“ he stood from his desk. “I have to save him-“ he sunk out and reappeared in the Imagination.

“Virgil!” He called. He tried to keep his voice low but loud enough for someone at least fifty feet away to hear him. “Virgil!” His voice cracked. He sunk out again. This time reappearing a few feet away from the trio. He sighed a breath of relief.

“Oh heeeyy, Logan. Didn’t think you’d come in here,” Roman said sheepishly.

“I need to borrow Virgil.”

“Well we’re kind of using him right now. Can it wait?”

“No, no, it really can’t. I need him right- nOW-“ another voice crack and a minor screech.

“Jesus, what’s going on with you?” asked Virgil. “You sound like literal shit and you’ve been acting weird since breakfast.”

“I’m- I’m fine, I need you out of here now.”

“Why what’s wrong? It’s been fine so far-“

A deep thundering roar sounded from the distance, not even a mile away and they all flinched. The group turned their heads to a large dragon towering over a thicket of trees. Before they could react, a ball of fire was thrown into their direction.

“Scatter!”

They spread into opposite directions away from the landing flames. Roman wasn’t fast enough and it caught him by the legs, pulling him harshly away from his initial direction. The other three stared at the now half scorched prince in fear.

“Okay okay I’ll get us ou-!” Remus couldn’t finish his sentence. Another dragon swooped in and flew him away from the others.

“Logan, did you know about this?!”

“No! I just knew that- that uh-“ he stuttered, chest tightening for the hundredth time.

“That what, Logan?!” Virgil dodged one of the fire balls.

“That you’re going to die, Virgil! It’s inevitable!”

“How do you know?!”

Logan then got tackled by Virgil in an attempt to dodge another attack. He swallowed thickly. “I’m a banshee.”

“Wha- AHH-!” The dragon who took Remus swooped down again to rip Virgil away from Logan.

“LOGAN HELP!”

“No- no, no, no- wha- where are Janus and Patton?!” The now sad excuse for a logical side tugged at his hair and watched the dragon ascend up into the clouds. “I- What do I do- I don’t have control here-“ his voice cracked pathetically.

“Roman- Roman day you-“ he looked over to Roman who laid unconscious in the ground, a small stream of blood dripping from his forehead.

“They’re gone- they’re dead- I can’t save them-“ He whimpered and the grief kept building and building. Roman was hurt and not only Virgil, but Remus would be ripped apart by the clutches of the dragon.

So he began screaming.

A spine curdling wretched screech ripped its way out of his chest. He shrieked and a dense sadness surrounded him. He howled and hollered, not even taking a breath between the full minute of continuous screaming.

He cried, he cried out in volumes that shook the ground until it cracked under his feet. Animals ran away and so did the dragons. The first dragon flew away in terror of the sound escaping Logan’s throat. Rocks broke and he felt sorry for the prince laying not hardly ten feet away from him.

That he had to listen to the sound of a creature's pent up grief. His sadness, his desperation, his mourning, all let out to the sky in a way that would never let him be seen as human again.

Higher and higher in pitch it ascended until he stopped. The cries faded into sorrowful sobs and he was broken between coughing and heaving and simply just falling to the ground. Like him, the dragon in the clouds holding Remus and Virgil fell to the earth, limp. The screams of the boys could be heard from miles in the sky and they dissipated with the rumbling crash of the dragon.

Logan didn’t know what to do. He needed help.

“P-Pat-“ he croaked. He grimaced at the searing pain in his throat. “Patton, I- I need help- I need Janus-“

The words barely left his tongue before he heard a pair of gasps above him.

“Oh my….Logan, honey what happened….” the father figure was immediately led to tears before he could process the scene around him. While doing so, Janus stepped back away from the pair. He studied the cracks in the ground circling Logan, the logical facet being their obvious cause.

“Logan, what happened here? Where’s Virgil and the twins?”

Logan weakly pointed towards Roman on the ground to his left. “R-Roman.” He posted behind Janus at the unconscious dragon. “They- they’re-“ he muttered hoarsely.

“It’s alright, I’m going to go help them. I’ll be back.” Janus summoned his cane and sunk out, reappearing by the dragon. “Virgil? Remus? Are you both alright?”

He made his way around to the front of the dragon where the boys laid limp in the talons of the dragon. Remus seemed mostly fine other than unconsciousness, a few lacerations here and there. Virgil on the other hand…..Virgil brought him to his knees.

“Virgil….Virgil no….” he moved forward to the anxious side quickly, bloody and a talon sticking into his stomach pooling with the red liquid. Janus cupped his face. “Virgil please wake up.” He traced his fingers over Virgil's neck, not finding any signs of life. His eyes watered and a few tears slipped down his cheeks. He ducked his head into Virgil’s chest. “You're an idiot, you know that?” He chuckled meekly. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t here to help you.”

As if on cue, a small glowing purple orb pulled itself out of the side’s chest. “It’s okay, I’ll find you another one. Sleep well, darling.” He shakily pressed a kiss to the top of Virgil’s forehead, pulling away slowly.

Remus stirred a bit, groaning. Janus turned his attention to him. “At least I still have you.” He pulled Remus from the talons and slung him over his shoulder.

“Wh...wht’s….where’s Virgil…..” muttered the Duke.

“In a better place.”

“Oh…” and again, he was out, pressing all of his weight into Janus. They sunk out and came back to Patton, Logan, and Roman.

Roman and Patton stared in shock when Virgil wasn’t with Janus or Remus.

“He….he’s…” Janus nodded and Patton welled up with more tears.

“What happened, Logan.” Logan flinched at the stern tone coming from Janus.

“I-“ he sighed. At this point he may as well tell them. “I’m a banshee.”

Janus’s eyes widened. “You knew Virgil was going to...How long have you been like this?”

“Ever since I was created.”

“That’s why the ground looks like this, isn’t it. Because you were screaming.”

Logan ducked his head and nodded.

“Well, we need to find him another vessel, I can’t put it any other way than that. There’s not much to help with Logan being a banshee and we can’t postpone the inevitable.” Proving his point he pulled a hard with the purple orb floating around in it.

“Yeah...yeah let’s do that,” Logan agreed.

It takes a while for any of them to explain what happened to Thomas. He’ll have to reintroduce himself to Virgil and accept him once more. Re-establish a new relationship again.

And start over.

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xlady-saya · 4 years

Text

better than a night light [fic]

Relationships: andrew minyard/neil josten

Summary: Neil hasn’t had the chance to examine the feeling of fear in a long time. He’s all too familiar with it though; from the nightmares, to the memories of a cold basement floor, he knows the feeling like the back of his hand.

But this fear is new, loaded with ridiculousness and a complete lack of reason. It’s nothing more than pixels on a screen, far away theories that can’t hurt him like his past can.

Maybe that’s why he’s beginning to not mind it as much. It doesn’t hurt that Andrew is also there to hold him through it.

Tags: neil is a scaredy cat, fluff, fluff and humor, the monsters watch alien movies

Read on ao3!

The movie poster Nicky keeps shoving in Neil's face doesn't exactly do much in terms of persuasion.

Neil stares at the bold graphics, at the text of the title that drips as if it’s oozing blood. It's got an almost static quality to it, not original, but not trying too hard to be. It's an older movie, that much is clear, so not exactly Nicky's usual taste. There's nothing there to tell him about the plot, just a few shadows and a stark silhouette standing in the center. Neil stares at the poster on Nicky's phone, then at Nicky's expectant expression, and then back.

Surely there has to be some kind of clue to tell him what this is all supposed to mean, but he's not seeing it.

Nicky does his best to show Neil a few more posters from the same movie, some restyled and revamped for the modern era, but...

Nothing.

"For fuck's sake," Nicky huffs, putting his phone away. "It's a classic horror movie, Neil, and we're watching it tonight."

Oh. Neil's not sure why he had to know that.

It's never up to him to pick the movies for movie night, mostly because most do nothing for him or bore him to tears altogether. Watching them with Andrew is typically the only time he bothers to pay attention, and that's for the commentary about the stupid characters.

Nicky is the opposite.

He and Allison fight over the films every Friday night like it's a ritual, but on the rare occasions the upperclassman are busy, Nicky takes over and tries his best to drag Neil into it too. A seasoned movie buff, he's made it his mission to find a movie genre Neil actually likes. Neil's attempts to convince him otherwise have fallen on deaf ears.

After weeks of action spy movies and no luck, Nicky's obviously decided to up his game by switching to a new theme altogether.

Neil's not sure what this will do, though. The horror movies Nicky has picked in the past only served to annoy Neil or make him laugh with their horrible effects and impractical plot points. Nicky had still labeled that as progress.

Already, Neil is rolling his eyes. Neil has dealt with real horrors; ghosts and poltergeists aren’t what haunt him. He's only seen one or two slasher films with the team, but those were just nonsensical.

It's not something he enjoys thinking about, but it's hard to be afraid of being sliced open by some fictional asshole in a mask when his childhood already made him numb to the feeling of a blade.

As if sensing the underlying truth behind Neil's annoyance, Andrew makes his presence known with a loud thump of his soda can against the counter.

Nicky jumps, but Neil turns on instinct, a small smile on his face. They have new barstools, and he swears they're a little taller than the other ones. Andrew's legs swing, almost carefree in nature, and Neil averts his eyes at the glare he receives for staring.

"I said no horror movies," Andrew says finally, flicking another page of his novel over. It's for a class, Neil notes, and beams a little brighter. Part of their pact; if Neil has to do better in school, Andrew has to start trying to, too.

With some encouragement...it wasn't a hard compromise to make.

"Technically, you said no slasher movies," Nicky says, smirking at the loophole. Andrew stares, thoroughly unamused, and Neil blinks between them. He hadn't known about that. He glances back over to find Andrew already looking at him, resignation clear on his face. It's a common expression from the beginning of their this—less rare now, but just as endearing in Neil's mind.

It's Andrew's 'you caught me caring about you, and I hate that because it's not hard' look.

Neil hops up to sit on the counter, and Andrew's gaze flicks down to his knee as if debating resting his chin on top of it.

"You don't need to baby me, those movies don't affect me," Neil says with a fond smile. It's the truth; he's not sure why, but the masked villains and their carving knives just seem tacky to him at best. He understands Andrew's reasoning though, and appreciates it more than he can say.

Andrew would never think of him as weak, and Neil can handle most things no matter how painfully they might stir up old memories. Regardless, Andrew will spare him if he can.

The look of acknowledgement passes between them, and Andrew nods.

Then: "Even still, they're bad," Andrew says, aiming the statement at Nicky. "I refuse to suffer through them."

Aaron, who up until this point has been a silent bystander on the couch, grunts an affirmative. Kevin's got his headphones in, not even listening.

"Killjoys," Nicky mutters, clutching his phone tight to his chest. He points an accusatory finger right at Andrew, and keeps it there in challenge. "You might like it too, if you would just give it a chance!"

Andrew, highly unconvinced, raises a brow at Neil. The blond and Nicky are a lot better at having actual conversations without Neil now, to the point where Neil wouldn't even call Nicky afraid of Andrew anymore. Still...looks like this is not a case Andrew has the energy to make.

Neil smiles, all too smug.

"I thought you said horror movies were overrated?" he asks Nicky, grin just the right amount of shit-eating. "And by overrated, you meant you're super scared of them and won't be able to sleep for days."

"First of all, Neil, fuck you," Nicky says without hesitation. Aaron snorts in the background. Unwilling to be defeated, Nicky holds up his hand, counting off the reasons. "Second of all, this one is different! It's an alien movie, and those don't scare me as much. I mean, they're super impractical!"

That's what's super impractical?

Neil rolls his eyes. Their whole lives are impractical. Ha.

But ah, Neil realizes. Maybe that's the reason for the weird poster silhouette. Aliens. He'd almost prefer a slasher film. He crosses his arms, blowing his overgrown bangs out of his eyes. "Yeah, I'm sure Jackson with his goalie mask is just as realistic."

The room goes silent, and Neil isn't too prideful when it comes to pop culture. It's clear he fucked that up. Nicky blinks at him, and even Aaron is confused enough to turn around and lean over the side of the couch.

Neil blinks back, combing his brain for the revision. Nothing.

Andrew sighs below him, long and suffering, and this time he really does put his chin on Neil's knee. He glares a hole into Neil's abdomen, but Neil suspects it's mostly self directed.

"I think he means Jason," Andrew says, closing his eyes to ground himself. Neil's always been quite impressed with his self-control. "He's just trying to provoke me."

Oh, yeah. That prick.

A small chorus of realization goes through the room as Neil smirks down at his boyfriend.

Nicky squints. "Huh? Provoke you how?"

"Don't ask about their weird flirting," Aaron interrupts, making a slicing motion over his throat. Then, after a beat, he shoots a glare at his brother, who actually meets it for once. "Though for the record, you deserve to have a thing for morons."

Hey.

"That time, I really thought his name was Jackson," Neil defends, not caring that he just exposed how sometimes he will say the wrong shit on purpose just to get Andrew...in a mood. Aaron gags, and Neil is quite done with the conversation.

He squeezes Andrew's earlobe because, well...it's right there.

Nicky throws his hands up. "Oh my god, who cares! Neil, the point is that yes, a serial killer terrorizing a summer camp? Unlikely. But if someone were inclined, they could. And at minimum, slasher movies are scary because I could actually be stabbed on any given day."

"The chances of you running into a slasher are still pretty low," Neil tries, and Nicky gives him one of those looks like he's missed the point entirely.

"I'm talking about Andrew."

Ah.

"That's fair," Andrew says, eyes closing once more as Neil kneads his ear gently.

Done with the lot of them, Nicky shows Neil the button to rent the movie on his account, and rebelliously presses it. As if that somehow traps Neil in this apartment. Like he can't just leave.

The sad thing is that he won't.

Even without the upperclassman to join them tonight, this is his family—despite all their shitty taste.

"Your point?" Neil asks, though he's fully resigned at this point.

"So, alien movies are way cooler than anything else. Plus, the effects in this one are practical," Nicky says, and Neil tilts his head. Instead of bewildered, Nicky's excitement only grows. "You know, none of that cheap computer crap. You'll see, you'll love it."

Nicky squeals lightly as he goes to make snacks, dropping a few dishes in the process. It's a chorus of curses and clanging that Neil is all too used to, and Andrew barely flinches from it. It's hard to mind anything with Andrew's head in his lap and Neil's hands moving into his hair.

Neil stares over at the television, and sees his own annoyed expression staring back from the void.

Love it, will he?

Yeah, whatever you say.

They're about thirty minutes into the movie when Neil realizes there's a problem.

Nicky, for effect, has turned out all the lights, and the television illuminates the whole room despite its dark ambience. Neil's perfectly prepared to not pay attention, especially when the movie starts off slow and without any of the promised aliens. Nicky scolds him for his impatience, and things gradually start to get more suspicious between the characters on screen.

Neil's not bored out of his mind, but he's yet to see the full appeal. Because it's his spot, he curls up into Andrew’s side, sharing the bag of plain gummy worms between them since Neil hates the sour ones. Neil's more fixated on that at first; sometimes if they grab the same one on accident, they'll start the contest of pulling the poor worm and stretching the gelatin until it snaps. So far, Neil has won the longest piece two out of three times.

Then, in a shocking twist, the alien shows up.

Nicky was right about the practical effects. It's a grotesque creature, animatronic and padded with a fleshy substance that looks like bile. Its limbs are coated in it, sticky and disproportionate to its thin, skeletal body. Neil can see every disgusting ridge, and grimaces at the bubbles of flesh and pus that the effects team coated it with. After a while, he stops viewing it as a product of humans, as a robot. He starts seeing it as just the creature, in all its vileness. Random limbs and appendages shoot out from it, impaling some of the unlucky side characters, and the squelching sounds make Neil want to vomit.

Neil's throat begins to feel tight, and he's not sure why.

Throughout the next fifteen minutes, the creature starts its ruthless hunt after the team of scientists which make up the main cast. Only when it disappears does the audience realize the creature can shapeshift—that it's among them, somewhere on the base.

At first, Neil thinks he might have to go to the hospital. His pulse is fast, and he's sweating a little. It's weird, and he finds himself trying to calm down his own breathing. His muscles aren't usually this tense, and there's a nausea-inducing lump in his stomach, swimming around like the goop on screen. Maybe he's sick, maybe he ate some undercooked meat for dinner. That has to be it. He tries his best to stretch out, but his ankle hits Kevin's fancy metal flask, and Neil nearly jumps out of his skin from the cold when it coincides with a character being ripped in half on screen.

"Damn, that was pretty cool," Aaron concedes from his beanbag, watching the characters rush to safety from the gore they just witnessed. Even Kevin is invested, though he's still occasionally checking Exy stats on his phone. The creature is gone again all too soon, blending in, and the scientists begin to arm themselves against one another. Nicky looks over at Aaron gleefully, triumphant for his good choice.

At this point, Neil hates to admit he's fully invested. The characters in the movie have started to suspect one another, and the focus has shifted from the gore and the alien’s origin over to pure paranoia. It does a remarkably good job of capturing that feeling—one Neil knows all too well. Neil begins to suspect some of the characters too, even the main protagonist. The theories run through his head, but the film leaves everything as vague as can be.

There's a blanket of dread over him he's never felt before, because it's not real. There's no imminent danger to his person or his family, but he wonders what he'd be feeling if he were in this situation. The idea of imposters, walking around and having no way of telling them apart from your friends, from a human...

It takes Neil awhile, perhaps a little too long given his acquaintance with the emotion, to understand the tension in his body is fear.

He's afraid.

And isn't fear a strange thing?

He tries to remember fear, and it's not hard. It's always cold, piercing. It narrows down the world so that the fear is all that exists, along with the impending doom of the consequences that come with it. For him, fear has always eventually had a result. His fear was always well-founded. But this is nothing like that fear. Real, genuine, valid fear. This is not being threatened by his mom's scowl from across the room, or being on the basement floor, seconds from death. This is a queasy, unrealistic fear. One he can't get rid of, as much as he knows it shouldn't exist. There's nothing on the horizon, nothing coming to get them.

It's a lot of what-ifs and how-comes.

Neil hates it.

He can't look away as the characters all perish, eaten alive in part by the alien, but mostly by their own suspicion. In the end, the discord between them kills them all, and the ending hints heavily at the creature's survival and spread into the outside world.

Maybe here.

Neil scoffs at his own ridiculousness, rolling his eyes. That would never happen. He knows that, it's just—

"So?" Nicky says right in his face, and Neil jumps. Luckily, no one notices, and Andrew has already moved to switch the television off. Good. He surely would've felt the jump of Neil's body.

"So?" Neil parrots, unable to keep up. He keeps looking out the dorm windows, watching the darkness for any sign of life beyond it.

"Did you like it, Neil?" Kevin asks, turning around from his perch on the floor. He's also been weirdly committed to finding things for them to enjoy outside of Exy. Neil has a feeling that's mostly Thea's and therapy's doing, an attempt to get them some distance from the harsh Raven routines of old.

Kevin's attempt at getting them into trivia had been a disaster, and he'd abandoned it quickly.

Neil swallows the lump in his throat, eyes tracking Andrew to keep himself grounded. Aliens or no aliens, the sight of Andrew is a relaxant that's fifty times stronger.

Still, all he manages is a small: "It was okay."

It's a compliment coming from him, since his standard response is to shrug whenever any credits roll, and Nicky heads off to shower for bed with an extra lightness in his step.

Neil is not so fortunate.

An hour later, they're all turning in. Kevin has already passed out while Nicky takes his time in the bathroom with his twenty minute skincare routine. Neil had done everything in his power to not be alone once the lights began to go out. He's lucky his proximity to Andrew isn't unusual, but he keeps a few steps of distance just to throw off any suspicion the blond might have about why his boyfriend’s clinginess is off the charts.

The night sky is still pitch black through the windows, and any passing noise has Neil turning around and checking on his family critically. No, no—if Kevin were a creature, he wouldn't be snoring so loud.

Right?

He feels like a child, and does his best to go about his business without reading into everything so much. Even still, he hops onto the bed so he doesn't have to stand in front of the bottom of the bunk for too long. Something could grab his feet.

Andrew, per routine, wraps his arm around Neil's midsection to pull him closer, not yet aware of what's happening. Neil usually delights in this each time it happens, though he's certainly used to it by now. The path to sharing a bed had been a cautious one, and spooning even more so, but now he can't imagine sleeping without being cocooned like this.

Tonight, however, there's a problem.

Neil stiffens when Andrew moves to scoot him closer, a stark contrast to how he usually relaxes all his muscles. It's kinda fun when Andrew drags him. Andrew pauses, regarding Neil curiously, and Neil's dry throat seems to close up even more. The dread in his veins obviously isn't apparent, but it feels that way. Paling internally, Neil says, "I want a glass of water."

He really wants a glass of water. Fuck.

But is it worth it? Is he willing to die for a glass of water? He can make it until morning. If he were smart, he would've thought about this when everyone was still in the living room and he had access to knives to defend himself.

Andrew, calm as ever, concedes with a short nod. He removes his hand and waits for Neil to get up, and that's when Neil can't hide it anymore.

See, he doesn't move. Neil just lies there, staring up at the ceiling, and feels Andrew's eyes grow more and more critical with each passing second. Neil is torn. Does he get up despite his fear to preserve his dignity? Andrew of all people deserves to know when Neil has none to spare. Neil doesn't hide anything from Andrew, no matter how ridiculous.

The truth is, he'd love nothing more than to stay here on this bed with Andrew, where it's at least kind of safe. But, if he thinks more critically, he'll never get over this fear if he doesn't venture out into the dark common area to get his goddamn water.

Also, he's thirsty.

What to do, what to do.

At this point Neil begins to squirm, his gaze flicking over to the open bedroom door. It's black on the other side, inviting him and his imagination to wreak havoc.

Humans can survive a few days without water.

The whole time, Andrew doesn't stop staring at him, and Neil winces when he feels a gentle tap against his collarbone.

He's hesitated too long to keep the secret now. Better get it over with.

"Neil."

"Uh. Y-yes?"

"Look at me," Andrew says, and Neil can't disobey a request like that. Andrew's sleepy voice is gravely and soothing, like enticing smoke from a cigarette, and Neil follows it with all his senses. He turns over, then tenses up. Now his back is to the door. Can't have that.

He goes back to lying flat, and turns his head to send Andrew a desperate look.

It's stupid, it's pathetic. But...

"It's dark." That’s all he says.

Andrew's brows knit together, searching for the truth under that statement. "It's one in the morning."

Oh, but I'm the smart mouth.

Neil glares, and jumps when Nicky drops something in the bathroom. Neil waits for a sign of movement, and breathes a sigh of relief when Nicky's routine resumes.

Andrew sends him another look, no doubt already piecing it all together, and Neil huffs to himself.

"Asshole," he says, and picks at the thread of their blanket with his finger. He tries not to think of the aliens splitting open. Quietly, he admits: "The creature in the movie could see better in the dark."

It should be helpful to say it aloud, but it's not. It should convince Neil he's being truly unreasonable, that the odds of something otherworldly coming to target him are slim. He should be more worried about real killers coming for him on any given day.

But here he is, still afraid.

Andrew, in his own Andrew way, actually looks surprised. Something swims across his features that Neil has seen before, but can't pinpoint in the moment due to his own shame. He groans, turning away.

"Shut up, I know, forget it, I'm—"

A hand comes out to grab his chin, and Andrew turns Neil's face back towards him in one firm motion. Okay, now Neil definitely knows there's something in that look, and it renders him speechless for a moment.

"You're afraid." He swears he sees the corner of Andrew's mouth twitch, and he's so fixated on it that the truth comes easily.

"Yes."

"Of the...aliens. From the movie?"

Ah, but when put that way...

Neil groans again, pouting slightly. It's hard for Andrew to ruin anything for Neil, but it's difficult to stare fondly at one's boyfriend when he's trying to wring the embarrassing truth out of you. "Yes! I don't know why, okay?"

Andrew just nods, not judging. Not yet. Taking that into account, he taps Neil's chin a few times, maybe to the beat of invisible cogs moving in his head. Then he pauses, and gives Neil's earlobe a tug. Because...it's there. "Nicky said aliens are impractical. They aren't real. You know this, I assume."

Neil glares, but doesn't refute the statement. He's familiar with Andrew's process of retracing their steps, hypothetically. Trying to understand where the fear came from, how to best help Neil push it aside.

"Neil, confirm these things for me," Andrew says, and Neil nods, counting the freckles that dance over Andrew's nose. "You have dealt with members of a deadly mafia family."

Neil, because he's a shit, takes time to think about it. It's worth it when Andrew huffs.

Neil nods. "That is true."

"You are arguably more capable than me when it comes to killing someone," Andrew points out, and Neil does his best to ignore the spark of heat in Andrew's voice from that knowledge. "In fact, you've probably killed many people without remorse."

Hm. Okay.

"Mhm." Neil hums, and while he sees where this is going...

"You could potentially be Jackson, minus the hockey mask," Andrew finishes, and Neil is only somewhat insulted. What does he want with a summer camp?

Feigning stupidity this time, Neil squints. "Wasn't he immortal?"

"Neil."

Neil's laughter dissolves into a desperate whine, and he throws his hands behind him, hitting the headboard. Dammit. "Just—I know it makes no sense," he huffs. He scrambles up to a sitting position, an explanation on the tip of his tongue, and Andrew follows him calmly. "I know they're not real but...I think that's the problem. It's an unknown. I'm familiar with killers, with knives on my skin."

Neil almost feels guilty when he mentions it; Andrew accepts all his scars and experiences, but it doesn't mean he likes that they happened. They can't change the past, but the idea of either of them being hurt never fails to put a little pit of anger in their guts. He sees it bloom in Andrew's right then, and Neil smiles gently to quell it. It's not about that right now.

"But this is so removed from any of that," Neil explains, laughing at himself. It's sort of amusing if he thinks about it—that he’s made it to the point where he has the luxury of being afraid of such things, but he still doesn't feel relief. "I know it should be stupid and ridiculous. But that's probably why it bothers me. I mean, okay, what do we really know about aliens anyways? Nothing! No road map, no weapons. We're completely unprepared."

And...his explanation goes off the rails just like that.

Neil thinks he has a good point though. Like...who is really to say aliens don't exist? And if they do, they're all pretty much fucked. Who wouldn't be afraid?

Andrew only stares at him.

At the expression of disbelief, Neil whines and does his best to backtrack, but Andrew is having no more of it. Andrew just lays back down, hands covering his face.

It's a novel reaction, considering this is Andrew. He looks so beside himself, unable to process whatever is going on in his head, but not in the bad, overwhelmed way he might be used to. Neil leans over him, and artfully pokes Andrew between the eyebrows.

"Andrew?"

His boyfriend sighs. "I don't ever know what to do with you," he concedes, removing his hands so Neil can see his pissy expression. "Alien movies. It's goddamn alien movies."

Neil's not sure what to make of that, but even in the dimness of their room he can see the reluctant fondness in Andrew's face, poorly concealed behind a facade of neutral indifference. That, and the tips of his ears look a little red.

Neil's confused as hell before he realizes what it must be. He perks up, fear momentarily put on pause. "Oh...oh, you like this," he observes, not smug, just factual. Andrew glares. "You think it's—uh..."

Not hot, at least Neil doesn't think so. But—

"The word you're probably looking for is cute." Andrew grimaces when he says it, like it's a crime for the word to come out of his mouth. If Neil's being honest, he's surprised too. Not that Andrew thinks it, but that he actually said it. Hm. That's new. Neil likes it. He always insisted to Andrew that he didn't have to try harder at verbal affection just for Neil's sake, not if he didn't want to.

Clearly, part of him does.

Andrew glares at Neil's small smile, pushing his face away. "And you're wrong, so don't read into it."

Neil ignores that advice completely. "Oh, okay. So you think it's cute," he repeats, and mulls that over in his head.

"I just said—"

"Wait, why?" Neil asks, suddenly offended. Here he is trying to tell Andrew his alien attack plan, and the blond thinks the severity of the situation is cute. "Does my terror mean nothing to you?"

"Not in this case," Andrew admits, and this time there's clearly a small smile threatening to break the mask. Neil tries (pettily and unsuccessfully) to not let it affect him. "Now quit it, and go get your water."

Shit.

The fucking water.

The source of his woes comes back as a painful reminder in the form of his parched throat, scratchier now from all the discussion.

Noticing Neil's stricken face, Andrew wordlessly gets up with him, pulling him along to the edge of the bedroom so Neil can't talk himself out of it. Flicking on the light for the living area, Andrew pushes Neil out in front of him, a silent nudge to hurry up.

The room definitely looks a lot less sinister like this, but Neil's brain is reluctant to let him relax. He walks quickly and stiffly into the kitchen, turning back halfway to make sure that yes, Andrew is watching him.

"I'm here," the blond says, despite the roll of his eyes.

Neil practically runs to get his water, moving back to Andrew faster than the speed of light. As absurd as Andrew finds it, he dutifully waits for Neil to step fully back into the light of the bedroom before turning off the living room light again, and offers to take Neil's glass back when he finishes. Unwilling to lose Andrew by making him go alone, Neil takes his turn watching from the door.

Andrew looks back—not out of fear, but just to see the way Neil tracks his every move, wary of the surroundings. Something soft escapes Andrew's mouth, a vulnerable sound Neil swallows when he gets back into their bed.

He still can't fall asleep, but at least Andrew holds him a little tighter that night, a silent reminder that Neil's not alone in the darkness.

Neil's entire being burns with embarrassment, and he can't wait for a few days to pass so his brain will forget the movie entirely.

At least then the fear in his veins will be but a lingering memory, teasing fuel for Andrew at most.

Except, per routine, Andrew is a giant bastard.

"We're watching this tonight," he says a week later, throwing a library DVD into Nicky's lap.

Neil doesn't think much of it as he finishes the last of his math problems at his desk, kicking his legs happily since this means he'll be done with homework and his kissing ban will be lifted.

Nicky's voice has all his expectations shriveling up and exploding like alien guts. "Aliens again?"

Neil's head snaps up to meet Andrew's gaze across the room, betrayal lining his face. The DVD cover Nicky is looking at is old school again, another classic Neil assumes. It's less detailed than the first one, with nothing but a green, glowing egg on the front.

Hell no, Neil thinks, and glances back at Andrew with a desperate look in his eyes. Maybe it's a joke.

But Andrew's sense of humor is cruel.

"It wasn't awful," Andrew answers Nicky while looking right at Neil. There's nothing amused or challenging in his features, but Neil still senses it. Andrew has weighed Neil's fear, has no doubt picked it apart and tried to decide whether or not that fear should be quelled, or if it's fair game to prod.

The conclusion is clear.

"Awesome!" Nicky shouts, unaware of the turmoil between the two of them. "Finally, we found something you don't tune out completely."

"I'll make the snacks," Aaron says, and Kevin actually seems okay with the selection. He shoots them both a weird look—which, given the intensity of Neil's stare, is appropriate. However, living with them has given Kevin enough insight to know when and when not to intervene. He walks past them, as he should.

When they're actually getting settled in to watch the damn film, Neil has switched tactics. He's refusing to meet Andrew's gaze, foot tapping impatiently against their stained carpet. As peeved as he is, the fear is starting to outweigh it. What if this movie is worse? Is he ready for another night wondering if aliens are going to come absorb him into some hybrid monster?

What the fuck does the egg mean? Aliens lay eggs?!

Neil refuses to sit by Andrew at first, and Andrew's legs are spread in such a way that his lap is wide open and inviting.

It's difficult to resist.

Eventually, Andrew sighs, and slouches into the couch a little more, leaving a perfect Neil-sized spot next to him.

"You're going to sit over there by yourself?" Andrew asks. With the rest of the group out of earshot, he adds lowly: "Aliens pick off the stragglers first."

Neil's glare would melt flesh from bone if it wasn’t directed at Andrew. The blond is unaffected by Neil's threats, though there's definitely power behind them. Just...never towards him.

An unfortunate fact, but one Neil would never betray.

Sulking, he climbs up onto the couch and fits himself snuggly into Andrew's side, head on his chest. Completing the dance, Andrew manhandles Neil to rest more comfortably against him, and Neil ignores the smugness radiating off the blond.

When Aaron walks in, he regards them suspiciously. Neil hates him for smiling that knowing, shit eating little grin once the realization hits him.

Fuck Aaron. Neil knows he's afraid of possession movies. He better be ready.

"This one is especially gross," Aaron says, offhand, but aimed at Neil entirely. "I've seen it."

Neil stares into the television again, done with all of them, and hopes his brain is over it. He hopes this movie is as boring as it can be. "Let's get this shit over with."

And they do. But no, the movie is not boring.

This film is arguably worse than the one they watched last weekend. The aliens are somehow grosser, with tar-like skin and oozing orifices. Even worse, they're more parasitic than the other aliens, and extremely hard for these idiot characters to kill. Neil sees one of the alien babies jump down someone's throat and has to look away.

He supposes it's too late to ask how he got here, to wonder why he can't get over it and understand none of it is real.

But then again, what does he know about the universe?

Neil's glad everyone else is too into the film to notice him burying himself further into Andrew's chest, eyes glued to the screen reluctantly. That's the problem with fear—it takes hold of him. He's not one of those people who can look away or close their eyes, so he just wrings Andrew's shirt between his hands into a wrinkly mess.

At a certain point, the alien from earlier bursts through the character's chest and makes Neil jump away from Andrew's, but the blond grabs Neil's head gently in anticipation of this (which means he's seen this shit already, the asshole) and guides it to rest over his heart. It should make it worse, the rhythmic beating, pumping in time with the chest burster's onslaught. Instead, it's grounding, as it always is, and he sighs.

He wonders if this was Andrew's plan all along, but would that make sense? Having to comfort a scared Neil can't be anything but annoying.

Later, when he's having a mug of hot chocolate with Andrew and Aaron before bed, and steadily getting grumpier with the thought of the sleepless night to come, he says as much.

Aaron just looks at him, as if he can't believe Neil exists. "You really are a moron."

And with that, he goes back to his own dorm.

Neil tries to get clarification, but Andrew only takes the mug from his hands. He avoids Neil's questioning gaze and laces their fingers together, pulling Neil into the room before the lights go out.

It's hard to look serious when he's lying on top of Andrew's chest, glare peaking out, but he tries.

It's weekend three of Andrew's onslaught of alien movie sequels, and luckily he's promised to back off from now on.

Still. Neil's gonna pout all he wants.

A sound from outside makes him jump, but it's just an extra hard downpour knocking against the windows. If Neil closes his eyes, he almost sees the alien claws tapping on the glass, trying to get in.

"Poor, frightened little bunny," Andrew states without any inflection or tone, but Neil can sense the teasing underneath.

"Fuck you," he says, but it's dampened by the way he leans over to close the window blinds.

It helps. A little.

"And risk the alien contamination?" Andrew adds, tugging on Neil's bangs for his attention. Like he has to; he somehow always has it, even when Neil is less than pleased. "Tell me, just what do you think is going to happen? Nothing's going to burst out of you just from watching that movie."

Neil feels his stomach flip flop from the thought of it, his heart taking the tower of terror through his body. He makes a disgruntled noise in the back of his throat, and Andrew pulls him up by the scruff of his neck to get a better look at him.

"I still feel queasy," Neil says, a poor attempt at revenge. Andrew doesn't move away, isn't even remotely grossed out.

The blond just sighs, and rolls Neil over to the other side of the bed in a display of vulnerability. Instead of being pressed to the wall, Andrew's back is open to their room, to the world. Neil balks for a moment before he gets himself under control. They've done this a few times, so he closes his jaw. He knows he should be happy for these moments, not surprised by them. Because he knows they're not small. It's Andrew telling him something, it's Andrew giving. And that's nothing new.

Still, Andrew never has his back to the door, and it probably won't last long. Eventually they'll go back to their normal positions, but for now Andrew shields Neil from the world.

It's a silent emphasis, a promise.

Despite the dimness and the new tension in his shoulders, Andrew's gaze is like a spark to the gasoline pooling in Neil's body. "Neil, you're safe."

Yes. Deep down, that's the biggest truth of them all.

Neil sighs, and gently rolls them back over. It's his own affirmative, his own way of protecting Andrew—whether it be from real threats, or fictional ones. He slides over Andrew until he's on the edge of the bed, and is happy when the bits of tension bleed back out of Andrew. Much better.

"I know that." Neil curls up, and though his back is to the door, he doesn't turn away. It's another silent response. He's afraid, but he knows if an alien were to suddenly bust through the door...

Well, Andrew would let him know. "But I'm still...mph," he grunts, glaring at the blinds above Andrew, and this time, the edges of the blond's lips lift easily. Just for Neil to see.

"Scared?"

Neil rolls his eyes for the billionth time, mostly at himself. "Yes, Andrew, the stupid alien movies scare me. I'm glad you're enjoying it so much."

He won't lie; he expects a silent response, maybe the old 'I don't enjoy anything' just to make him laugh, because they both know it's not true.

Instead, Andrew grabs his wrist, tracing the veins there with his thumb.

"You're right," he admits, slow, as if he's considering taking it back. Neil waits with bated breath, and Andrew must ultimately decide that it's impossible to. "I am."

The blatant admission catches him off guard, and well...Andrew can be pretty cute too, when he avoids Neil's gaze like this. The blond fixates on where they're connected, tracing the scars farther up Neil's arm.

Neil hums. "Because you're a cruel otherworldly imposter, or because you know I secretly have a thing for when I amuse you?"

The master plan, all along.

At Neil's cheeky grin, Andrew rolls onto his back, questioning his existence. He slides Neil's hand over his chest, draping it across him. "You're a nuisance," he mutters, and Neil's grin softens at the edges. He still doesn't understand it all, but when Andrew's being so open like this he can't help but dive in. He slides his hand lower, resting it over Andrew's heart.

"Your heart's beating fast," he says quietly, nearly a whisper. "Could be a chest burster."

"Mourn me," Andrew responds, and Neil smothers his laugh in his pillow. It's got that fresh lavender scent, and reminds him that there's no way he's going to do laundry by himself this week. That room is dark.

For whatever reason, that makes him laugh more. He hears Andrew move closer, hears the stuttering breath of words kept back, and peeks an eye out. Andrew tends to look kind of constipated when he's trying to say something especially revealing, and Neil has long since stopped telling him he doesn't have to.

Because...Andrew told him it wasn't necessary.

'If I want to say something, I'll say it.'

Neil smiles; he remembers thinking it was such an Andrew answer. So now he waits patiently, letting his giggles fade into staggered huffs.

Moments pass, and then, quietly: "I like it," Andrew says, voice barely above a whisper. It hasn't lost its firmness, its inability to be argued with. "I like that you're scared of something that actually can't ever hurt you."

Neil's smile falls, but he's not upset, not in the slightest.

Andrew's statement from weeks ago feels wrong now. It's Neil that doesn't know what to do with him sometimes.

There's plenty of things Neil is scared of—things that have actually hurt him, ruined and scarred him. Those fears are more deeply ingrained and clawing, impossible to erase completely with a few nights of sleep. He doesn't have to wonder if they're real, how they'd hurt him or how painful it would be.

He knows. He can feel the ghost of a blade often, the searing scent of burning flesh whenever he's near a bonfire or when he touches his scars. He sometimes still wakes up from nightmares of being held down, except this time he's not able to get back up. He's never able to run again.

And as much as Andrew would like to, he can't go and reach into the past to stop those things from happening. The realities are so much more frightening, and that terror has no remedy. Andrew knows that better than anyone.

So maybe it's nice, maybe it's just a little rewarding, to see Neil so scared of fictional aliens and monsters instead. Those are the things that can't hurt him, that can't reach him. Perhaps it's better that they occupy his mind instead so that the other demons do not.

And that's the consideration that has Neil so at a loss; he can't do much more than echo Andrew's name in his head over and over, and scoot closer to him until he's all he can make sense of.

It's quiet, aside from the rain, but now it actually sounds like itself, calm and cleansing.

"Well, yeah," Neil whispers into Andrew's chest, then sits up. He wants to say it more firmly, with no room for doubt. This way even if Andrew doesn't believe him...he knows how Neil feels. "You protected me from all that other stuff, so those fears...they're easier now."

He's never put it into words before, but it's the truth. He'll always have nightmares about knives and guns, about fires and cold, blue eyes. But he knows any new threats that come crawling back from the mafia underworld won't have just him to deal with. He'll have Andrew by his side, fighting.

So he's not as afraid of that.

Andrew's grip around him tightens, a promise that never has to be renewed. Neil knows it's forever in place.

On the other hand...

Neil nudges Andrew sheepishly, tapping his finger right between Andrew's pecs. "I just don't know if you stand a chance against an alien hivemind," Neil admits. Though to be fair, no one does. They're all fucked.

Andrew, after a beat of silence, concedes. "For once, I think you're right."

Neil nearly feels better from that, light and warm, but then Nicky comes back into the room and turns off the lights abruptly, plunging them into darkness.

And suddenly, nothing is okay.

He scoots as far away from the edge as possible, practically pinning Andrew to the wall, but the blond takes everything with a sigh.

He deserves it anyways.

Neil still jumps from any little sound the next few nights, and yes, Andrew has to walk him to the laundry room, but that's alright. The teasing he eventually gets from the rest of the Foxes is more than worth it if he gets to make Andrew hold him extra tight.

The fear eventually fades, diluted, but if he pretends to cling to it a bit longer…no one has to know.

If Andrew catches onto Neil's dramatic, fake flinches and continued unwillingness to go anywhere by himself, well...

He certainly doesn't point it out.

#aftg #all for the game #andreil #andrew minyard #neil josten

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sun-spark · 4 years

Text

Shadow's of the Past Haunt and Creative Monsters Hide

In celebration of a new Sander Sides Episode, I finally finished editing the 36 page fic that has been completed since March of 2018. Yes, 2 years. No, don’t ask and take it up with my depression.

Summary:

Directly 'After Can Lying Be Good?' Thomas and the sides make an effort to accept Deceit as part of their famILY and see past his function to his personality, much like they did with Virgil, not wanting to have a repeat of when the anxious trait had disappeared with Deceit. As the half-snake gets more comfortable with them Thomas starts to notice that he is always tense, waiting for something, and he intends to find out what it is. Before he can ask carefully the thing Deceit was afraid of comes back from eh past to haunt them all.

The mysterious thing from Deceit and Virgil's isn't the only thing to return, as Roman loses control and is forced to deal with his other half, long hidden and unknown to the others...well most of them.

Warnings: Reference/Past Abuse (Verbal, Physical, Emotional) - This is stated not described.

Tags: Sympathetic Deceit, Protective Thomas, Protective Virgil, Protective Roman, Protective Logan, Caring Patton, Hurt Deceit, Hurt Roman, Hurt Virgil, Hidden Side, Hurt/Comfort, FamILY, Healing, Trauma, Trauma Recovery, Angst.

Ao3 Link: Here

Enjoy and let me know what you think!

It was hardly easy, but Thomas had been making an effort to make Deceit feel like part of the family, as had the others, not wishing to repeat what had happened with Virgil. True, none of them were particularly fond of what he represented, but they attempted to set aside his function and focus on the person behind it, and they had to admit that sometimes his function was self-preservation for Thomas’ sake rather than a source of darkness. It was a rocky journey to be sure, unlearning stiff morals they’d had ingrained from childhood. It had taken some time for Deceit to drop his walls and let them in, to stop snarling and spitting lies dripping with cruelty every time they addressed him.

Things were better, though still tense. Patton took to it the best, practically shoveling food at his new ‘snakey-kiddo’ when he realized how thin he was, and layering blankets on top of him at every random interval. The abrupt and energetic affection made Deceit jumpy and elicited many hisses out of him, but he soon learned to just accept it, startling a bit and settling with an eye-roll as Patton bumbled around him affectionately.

Logan had “seen the logic in treating the other as a member of the group rather than ostracizing him, after all his function is not to harm you or us, Thomas” and had, as such, made an effort to converse with the lying trait whenever possible. It had been frustrating for both of them, Deceit not used to calm conversation that didn’t hide danger, and Logan annoyed at having to flip all of Deceit’s words around to mean the opposite. It didn’t help when Patton laughed gleefully and said he was “proud of his kiddos for playing opposites!”

Virgil, oddly, had been both the worst and the best of them. He knew what it was like to be shunned and hated for a nature he couldn’t change, but Deceit’s very nature made him uneasy. Their attempts at cohabitation had been halting and tense at first, but eventually they settled into a truce on the common ground of them both acting to keep Thomas safe above all else, even if neither of them liked how the other went about it. These two could often be found silently curled up near each other, sharing the silence as they read or scrolled through their phones. To the others, it seemed tense, but Deceit and Virgil both appreciated the calm nature of their time together.

Thomas had shocked all of them when he had not only been the first one to suggest they include Deceit, but when he had gone the extra length of summoning the half-snake for the sole purpose of keeping him company. All of them, especially Deceit, had expected their host to be hostile towards the manifestation of his deception, but apparently the young man’s kindness had won over his apprehension.

Deceit spent nearly a month waiting for the other shoe to drop. Waiting for Patton to disown him, which had admittedly come to a few close calls with the strict-moral compass the side had. Waiting for Logan to snap and yell at him in anger, shunning him permanently and attacking his core with cold facts. Waiting for Virgil to finally bare his teeth and tear at him with claws and teeth alike. Waiting for Thomas to either admit it was helpless or drop the charade of pretending he didn’t despise everything Deceit was. But it never happened, none of it, and, albeit haltingly, Deceit started to hope that maybe he was truly welcome.

The only problem was Roman, and Thomas became aware of this as Deceit began popping up more and more often, unbidden and uncalled. He didn’t really mind, the half-snake wasn’t obtrusive, and he seemed kind of lonely when he first showed up, though he denied that relentlessly. At first, he thought his Deceitful side was just more comfortable with him, that he was beginning to feel more included, and that had made him happy, but then little things had started to catch his notice. Deceit still startled when Patton popped up, but he began looking around with wide eyes, every muscles tense, as if waiting for an attack, even though Patton wanted nothing more than to wrap him in blankets, knowing the half-snake ran cold. He tensed when Logan rose up to speak with him, eyes darting to the corner nervously as he carried on the conversation, and Thomas watched, noting how he seemed ready to bolt. When Virgil appeared and flopped on the couch next to him, Deceit jumped before settling, but his eyes stayed on the tv, though nothing played on its black surface. Thomas hung back and observed, frowning as the progress they had made seemed to be erasing itself, replaced with an ever-growing fear.

He had pulled Virgil aside briefly and asked him about it, but the dark trait had only shrugged. “He’s worried about somethin’. Darn near terrified, but I dunno what.”

That hadn’t been the answer he wanted, but it was the only one Virgil had to give, so Thomas resigned himself to watching and taking note of Deceit’s reactions to, and interactions with, the others. He watched for nearly another month after the first, silently taking it all in to examine later. More than one night found him without sleep as the niggling pit of worry in his stomach kept his focus. As he stared at his ceiling late in the night, he would examined Deceit’s reactions to each side in turn, and how their interactions had changed. Thing was, at nearly three months since they had accepted him as part of the family, they hadn’t changed in any massive way. He still quietly submitted to Patton’s excessive affection with eye-rolls and snarky comments. He still sat in companionable silence with Virgil with occasional conversation and sibling-esq bickering. He still debated with Logan, and while that had not become less tense, it also had not become more so. He and Roman…Thomas sat up wide-eyed with realization.

Three months and he had never seen Deceit interact with Roman outside of a few videos. Indeed, the snake-like side had always managed to disappear when the fanciful side showed up to talk with Thomas or one of the others when they were manifested. He would go silent and slip away as quietly as he could, while Roman held the attention of everyone else, not to reappear until Roman was gone once again. He thought about it for a moment, a sick feeling twisting in his gut. When one side showed up Deceit would scan the area where the others normally stood, as well as the rest of the room, before turning his attention to his companion, panic lessening only when his scan was complete. His eyes were always drawn to the corner, to the tv, whether it played something or not...where Roman usually stood. Thomas had seen that mentions of Disney or theatre, or any point that usually sparked an argument with the creative trait elicited muted panic from Deceit. He just hadn’t made the connection, assuming that Deceit either didn’t enjoy Disney films or loud conflict.

Thomas frowned as he lay back down. Was Roman acting toward Deceit as he once had Virgil? He had hoped that Roman had learned better than that by now. Or perhaps things were merely tense between them because of Deceit’s manipulation of the creative trait months ago? He wanted an answer to these questions, but…. he sighed, he wasn’t going to summon them and risk accidentally cornering Deceit and making him panic with his queries. Or getting Roman defensive and hostile. He would wait, he wasn’t sure for how long, but he needed a better plan than that.

***

As fate would have it, finicky mistress with a twisted sense of humor that she was, he never got to make a better plan, though he did get the answers to his questions, just not how he would have liked.

Very rarely did all the sides, or even more than one or two of them, gather in Thomas’s physical living room if they were not filming a video or if he wasn’t having a crisis, but today was different. Thomas was relaxing on the couch, Logan was reading a novel in the armchair, Patton was ‘doing’ a puzzle on the floor, meaning he was haphazardly putting the pieces together, Virgil was curled up on the other couch on his phone, and Deceit was contentedly curled up under Thomas’s arm like an adorable puppy, half asleep. He’d figured out rather quickly after Deceit had started to trust them that the half-snake trait got cold very easily and would take almost any excuse to leech body heat from someone else, not that Thomas or Virgil, his usual ‘victims’, minded. The only one missing from their gathering was Roman. That was soon to change as the Prince rose in his regular spot, boisterous voice filling the room without warning.

“Thomas! About the next video, I was just thinking, and we should totally-“ he stopped as his eyes fell on Deceit, who had gone tense and wide-eyed but was unable to sink out, held as he was to Thomas’s side. Roman crossed his arms over his chest, both eyes and tone falling flat and cold. “What is he doing here?”

Thomas’s brow tic’ed up as he looked at Roman, his own voice betraying nothing of his sudden annoyance. “He spends quite a bit of time here, Roman, which you’d know if you spent any time with him.” It was a mild reproach for not making an effort, and he certainly wasn’t expecting the response he got as the prince’s eyes quite literally flashed an amber color in anger before returning to brown.

“Spend time with him?” Ah, well, storms were so often calm before they roared. “Why the hell would I want to spend time with that vermin?!” The prince spat. Deceit curled into Thomas’s side as Virgil grit his teeth, unconsciously settling into a tense posture, fight or flight gearing up. To his side, Logan set his book down, cold steel in calm eyes as he gazed between Roman and Deceit. Patton went still, trembling as if sadness and anger and shock were warring inside him and he couldn’t decide which to settle on. Thomas leveled a glare at roman.

“What. Was. That?” Virgil flinched minutely, having never heard such an icy hard tone from the normally joyful man, but Thomas paid him no mind as his attention remained on a now agog Roman. The fanciful side recovered from his shock quickly, red flushing his features with anger, venom rivaling any snake’s lacing his words. “You heard me, Thomas.�� He scoffed “I have no wish to consort with the likes of that snake. I fail to see why you would!”

Thomas tightened his arm around Deceit ever so slightly, stopping the increasingly nervous side from leaving. “I wish to spend time with Deceit because he is a part of me. Part of me that I care about. And he is far more than his job Roman, which you would know if you made any effort to know him.”

Roman scoffed, a hand waving through the air dismissively. “Oh please, Thomas! He is a villain. There is not a single good thing he can do. All he does is lie and hurt us, and you, and your friends when he influences you! He is a dark side!”

No one noticed Virgil flinch a second time, wounded eyes glaring at Roman. Deceit couldn’t take anymore, he had had enough. He lurched off the couch, tearing himself from Thomas’s grip, teeth bared and eyes glaring furiously as he stood before Roman, the several feet between them irrelevant as he spat. “And you most certainly aren’t one yourself, Pride!”

Deceit went still, his eyes going wide as the blood drained from his face. He clapped a hand over his own mouth, terror at his own words clear as he began shaking. Logan stared at him, emotionless and evaluating, while Patton was momentarily jolted out of his inner conflict for sorrow or rage by shock. Virgil jolted into a standing position, fight or flight thrown into overdrive to the point of short-circuiting, eyes widening to show more white than color as his gaze locked onto Roman, seeing him in a way he hadn’t before. Roman, for his part, had gone still, ice creeping in where a moment ago there had been fire. Everything remained still a moment, a single long echoing click sounding through the room as the clock’s hand moved, before the tense silence was broken as Roman audibly snarled. He lunged forward and grasped the sides of Deceit’s collar, lips pulled back in a snarl. “You take that back you foul creature! I am not like you!”

Thomas stood quickly, Roman’s name catching on his tongue, as Virgil made a jerky movement forward and halted again, fight to flight unsure how to handle the current situation as memories of another royal side flooded his memory, blocking his desperate wish to protect Deceit. Patton stood with a cry of “Roman-!” but stumbled and Logan gripped the sides of his chair with white knuckles, eyes fastened unblinkingly on the dispute before him, ready to move should he need to, but unwilling to act before he understood what the hell was going on.

Deceit, despite his trembling, bit back his fear, figuring the only way to handle this was to face the monster he had just unchained, though his anger may have fueled that particular, ill-advised, plan. He pulled his lips back in a snarl of his own, glaring furiously at the other. “What? Don’t want everyone else to see you for who you aren’t?” He got his footing, regaining his balance despite Roman’s hold on him. “Or don’t you want to not look at yourself?” His tone turned mocking, despite the hatred in his sneer and the fear in his chest. “Pity, you used to ~love~ nothing more, what with all those mirrors you didn’t used to have in your room, Pride.”

Roman’s eyes flashed in pure rage, a snarling growl wrenching out of his throat as he pulled Deceit closer to him roughly, one hand raised into a fist as if to strike the smaller side. “That is not my name!” He roared furiously.

Deceit looked up into no longer brown eyes, seeing the chains falling away and the creature so long caged inside coming out. He began to shake in earnest, mindless terror wiping any trace of bravery from his being.

Thomas moved, quickly grabbing hold of Deceit’s shoulders and pulling him back sharply, resulting in the smaller stumbling back and landing against their host’s chest. Thomas’s arms encircled him protectively as he stared at the enraged side before him, shock, but not quite fear lancing through his tone. “Roman! That is enough!”

The side in questions growled, stalking forward a step, his eyes only for Deceit. Patton’s eyes caught on Roman’s chest and he stumbled up from the floor, a cry on his lips as worry won out over rage and sorrow both. “Roman, stop it!” He made to grab the other, but Logan stood swiftly, an arm outstretched to stop the movement. Patton stopped and stared at him wide-eyed, Logan only shook his head silently. The moral side swallowed thickly and nodded, holding still. Thomas bared his teeth. “Princey, I’m warning you, enough already!”

The royal trait paid him no mind, gaze locked on the half-snake trait who was pressing back against Thomas fearfully, yet meeting his eyes defiantly. He’d be damned if he was going to go out sniveling. Virgil’s fight-or-flight response finally pulled out of its spiraling nose dive and he jolted forward through the step he had frozen halfway through. He stared at Roman, eyes wide with fright, chest beginning to heave in preparation to hyperventilate, still, he kept his tone even, dripping in panic though it was. “Roman.” The other didn’t acknowledge him. ‘Damn it. He can’t be! Please, he can’t!! …but his eyes…’ he took a shaky breath and stalled his mounting panic.

“Roman. Your eyes are red.” Red. Orange. Gold. Amber. Colored like fire and shifting wildly in rage.

Roman jerked back as if physically struck, eyes breaking away from Deceit and flying to Virgil in near panic. “No.” His voice was tight, fear coating it, freezing the flames of his rage. ‘nononononono!!! Not again! No! This can’t be happening….this is just a nightmare! Not real, notrealnotrealnotrealnonononono!’ he stumbled back, hands tangling in his own hair as his breaths began to come in short bursts, half the words in his head, the other mumbled frantically.

Patton’s timid voice filtered through his racing thoughts from where the father figure was protectively held behind Logan’s side. “Ro…what’s wrong with your chest?”

Roman’s eyes flew to his chest, wide and panicked, and took in a sight he’d hoped never to see again. An inky blackness was seeping through his pristine white clothes, a pinprick starting over his heart, spreading out like an oil spill. It clung to him and stretched, arching away from his body like a living darkness. He stumbled back another step, panic clear in every line of his body as his hands frantically clawed at the darkness, trying desperately to tear it away from himself. “N-no! I-I” His eyes flew to Thomas and back to his chest. “I-I have to go!”

He popped out of existence in the manner Virgil and Deceit did, not risking the time it would have taken to sink out, ignoring frantic twin calls of his name from Patton and Thomas. He reappeared in his theatre, center stage under blinding spotlights, the world around him a haze of yellow light and the blurred shapes of the darkened auditorium.

He looked down at his chest and his thought were overrun by panic.

‘No, not again!’

Inky blackness, living darkness.

‘I threw you out! Not again!’

Rising from his breast, from his heart.

‘I can’t!’

It arches around him, living, breathing,

‘I banished you!’

It slid over his skin, caressing him, surrounding him, he tore at it, felt it choking him.

Y-you can’t have me, not again!’

Like the greeting of a lover,

‘D-don't! Stop!’

It covered him, suffocated him, he couldn’t claw it off,

‘Leave me alone!’

It seeped into his skin, slid down his throat, choking him, poisoning him as it filled his being.

‘I don’t want this, not again!’

It swirled around him in a vortex of darkness, sinking into him and changing him, warping him into something else. When all stood still, silence reigned.

‘Well hello there~.’

Where Roman had stood was a slightly taller man, dressed in black robes not unlike those the creative side normally wore, intricate golden buttons and cords decorating the fabric, and a crimson cape draped around his shoulders in place of the scarlet sash the prince was known for, falling to brush the heels of polished black boots trimmed with delicate golden chains. The spotlights fell on him, their light striking perfect skin and sharper features, pale pink lips curled in a sharp smile. He stood tall, chin held high, power radiating from his posture. A crown of silver and black rested on his head, impossibly deep, blood-red jewels set around its circumference, sucking in all the light that hit them.

“Roman. Roman!”

The figure cocked his head to the side jerkily. He hadn’t been able to hear the calls during his transformation, but now that he looked, he could see the others and their host standing on the side of the stage, watching him in varying degrees of shock, curiosity and horror. His moves were lithe and graceful as he turned dark flame-red eyes on them.

“Well, well, what have we here?” He purred in a voice deep and soft like velvet, it felt like ice sliding down Virgil’s spine, clawed poison stealing his breath away while it snapped his spine. The man grinned as he stepped toward them, swaying with easy poise, presence filling the room in a manner that the great actors could only dream of achieving, and he purred, “Come to watch the show~?”

He stepped closer to them but did not leave the circle of light radiating from the spotlights, still standing center stage. His red gaze fell on Deceit and he sneered, voice cold and arrogant. “I suppose I ought to thank you for releasing me,” he sniffed turning his head away dismissively, “but I don’t make a habit of showing such kindnesses to lowly creatures such as you.”

Deceit, hiding behind Thomas, shrank back with a whimper, stumbling into the curtain as his body shook violently. Virgil’s protective instincts kicked in, overruling the dire need to run as far away from this thing as he could, and he stepped in front of the other, arms raised protectively as he stared wide-eyed at what had been Roman, panic racing in his veins. They both remembered quite well what this creature had considered ‘kindness’ to ‘lesser’ creatures, and the memories paralyzed them.

Thomas’s eyes flicked back to them in concern but wisely focused back on center stage. Perhaps not as wisely, he stepped forward and cleared his throat before meeting the stranger’s eyes. “What is going on?”

The figure smiled brightly, “Oh just a show, that’s all!” He said it almost jovially as he turned toward the front of the stage, half facing them, flicking a hand dismissively. “Any great actor must master the art of transformation, as you’ve just witnessed. Sadly,” he sighed forlornly, but the smirk on his face was smug “few ever manage it~.”

Thomas frowned and went to speak but a second whimper cut him off, louder and more pitiful than terrified as Deceit’s had been. It emanated from a distraught Patton who was being held back once again by Logan’s outstretched arm. “Roman? Kiddo?”

The figure sneered disdainfully, and Virgil spoke up, the words he’d been trying to form finally spilling from his lips, squeezing their way through a panic choked throat. “Th-that’s not Roman Patt, tha-that’s-” he choked off, breathes coming too quick and short to speak as flaring red eyes gazed coldly into his own. Deceit’s shaky voice sounded from behind him, filled with more terror than either logic or morality had ever thought possible, a whisper, a whimper, and a scream crushed together in his vocal cords to create this single syllable. “Pride.”

With all eyes back on him in varying degrees of concern, alarm, and fear, what once was Roman rolled his eyes. “Well!” He huffed “That introduction was just dismal!” He smiled wide and turned back to face Thomas, grace and arrogance dripping from his every pore as he raised a hand in a graceful arc so like the prince’s normal gestures but so much more sinister. “But indeed, I am ~Pride~.” He finished with a flare, and one might think he would have bowed dramatically with a sweeping gesture, but this man did not bow to anyone, not even his host.

Thomas glanced at the sides behind him, worry for their safety overtaking his penchant for resolving things with humor. He took a deep breath to steady himself and forced his eyes to meet those of Pride. “Roman? What is going on?”

The figure sneered. “‘Roman’?” He scoffed and waved a hand as if batting the offending name from the air. “What a pathetic name.” He drawled, “No, I am Romulus.” He finished dramatically, holding himself up like a king over his subjects.

Logan stood in preemptive protection before Patton, hummed as he often did before providing information. “‘Romulus’. Founder and first king of Rome. Considered in Roman myth to be among the most powerful and impressive men to ever live. Blessed by the divine and raised by wolves. Stronger and more accomplished than any general who followed after him. Killer of his own brother and descendant of the Roman gods and both Latin and Greek nobility.” Romulus smirked, but Logan continued, voice sharp. “Also one of the most highly conceited and foolish men to ever exist, if indeed he ever did.” The dark man sneered and looked as if he might leave his precious circle of light, if only long enough to strike Logan.

Thomas side-stepped ever so slightly and placed himself in front of the others as if to block them from Pride’s gaze. He pressed his lips together unhappily, keeping his tone even. “Where is Roman?”

A scoff preceded his answer. “I am Roman. Or rather, he is me, I came first after all.”

“Then why are you…. this version of you…here now?

The other hummed, tilting his head and swaying side to side as if bored with the whole conversation. “I simply saw no reason to continue as I was. Denying myself was quite…detrimental…” he frowned at speaking negatively of himself. “to my success. Honestly, why I ever bothered subduing myself so others would feel less inferior,” He broke off with a scoff and a shake of his head, burning red eyes glaring at Virgil and Deceit. “I’ll never know.” He waved a hand dismissively as he turned away, moving as if half remembering a dance. “But no need to worry Thomas! The work you share with the world will be beyond adequate, rather, it will be quite spectacular now that I no longer see a need to play nice.”

Thomas frowned but attempted the gentler approach he normally took when one of his traits was acting out. “Wha- hey now, no need for that. I’m sure we can all get along just fine without anyone feeling inferior.”

Pride rolled his eyes while Virgil grit his teeth, forcing out words past his chocking panic. “Thomas.” Brown eyes focused on the anxious trait curiously, and worriedly at the strangled sound. “He…he won’t listen… he’s Pride!” He said the name almost frantically, as if trying to convey the sheer depths of his terror through that one word alone. “He thrives off feeling superior…I…. we…” his voice broke and he stopped to take a breath. “Pride doesn’t play well with others Thomas, he can’t, not knowing he can never be good at their roles.” He had intended to say more but a vicious snarl cut him off and he flinched back violently, lowering into a crouch and pressing back against Deceit, who clung to him from behind, eyes flying to where Pride stood, fist curled at his side, looking for all the world like he might just cross the stage and attack Virgil.

“I thought I taught you manners brat.” He spat the cruel nickname, “or do you need to be taught again? You and your” he adopted a high, squeaky, mocking voice, as he tilted his head condescendingly, “precious little snake~?”

“Now that is enough!” Pride’s eyes tracked to Patton, the fatherly figure having stepped out from behind Logan just a bit, fists balled at his sides and anger in his eyes as his whole body trembled from the force of it. “You have no right to come here and threaten our family. Even Roman wouldn’t cross that line!”

Pride smiled, mocking and sickeningly sweet, bouncing once on the balls of his feet and clapping three times in mock excitement - a mockery of Patton’s usual gestures. “Oh Morality, so you finally grew a spine, hmm? Shame it doesn’t make an appearance when your lungs are being crushed by depression, eh?” His smile grew wider, sharper, as Patton flinched back. “How dismal a job you do Morality, too bloody broken and malfunctioning under your own emotions to even work properly.” His eyes and voice took on a hard glint. “If you can’t stand up straight and do your job, maybe we should remove that spine of yours and let someone else do it, hmm?”

Patton shrunk back with a whimper and Logan stepped in front of him with a frown. “Surely your functions do not require harming the other facets of Thomas’s personality? What purpose could this possibly serve?”

Pride paused, tilting his head to the side in contemplation, a neutral expression sliding over his face. “Logic. Perhaps the only one I have no issue with. You work well, and you take great pleasure in your work, carrying it out efficiently and with dignity. Tsk.” He clicked his tongue, eyes narrowing as he shook his head in disappointment. “But you can’t even make yourself heard without someone else to silence the drivel. Shame really, that you conflict with my goals. You’ll learn to be silent, even if I have to remove your vocal cords.” He smiled sweetly, saying it like a child who just told their mom they just saw the most amazing thing. Thomas’s back straightened and he lifted his chin, fear-driven defiance taking root, but he was stopped before he could speak as Pride let out a series of high, childlike laughs.

“Oh, don’t worry yourself, Thomas!” He shot a look at Virgil and smiled sickeningly sweet and cruel, making the other cower. “There won’t be any reason to soon enough~.” He laughed then pouted playfully. “It really is all for the best, you just don’t take any real Pride in your function or your work.” He smiled, wide and sharp and deadly, playfulness gone and replaced with cold cruelty, voice falling to a deep and melodic tenor, hypnotizing. “We’ll fix that.”

He took a step forward, towards the group.

‘NO!’

He stumbled as the shout both sounded through his mind and echoed through the theater, resonating through every cell of his being.

‘No! You can’t!’

His form began to blur and he clutched at his own chest. “What the hell?!”

‘I won’t let you’

As the others watched, the dark kingly form began to pull away, separating from the prince beneath like a specter.

‘You do enough damage in me! You don’t get to come out and do more!’

A violent gust of wind nearly blew them back, forcing them to close their eyes as dust flew up from the stage. When they looked again four gasps and a fifth grunt of surprise sounded, echoing through the empty room.

Roman was kneeling center stage, slumped over and panting, face turned up to stare brokenly at the dark form of pride, hovering in the air above him like smoke, form flickering and almost transparent. Only his top half was manifested, while what should have been his bottom half turned into inky darkness at his waist, curling elegantly down like smoke and toward the other, connecting him to Roman in slimy tendrils that stabbed their way through his black shirt, into his chest.

It appeared very much like a broken man facing a spirit that had been possessing him, now forced partially from his body. Distantly Virgil’s snark informed him that Hamlet would be proud.

Pride scowled down at Roman, seemingly more annoyed than bothered. Roman panted and grit his teeth, voice a whisper, rough as sandpaper. “No.”

Pride scoffed, his voice sounding musical even in that harsh sound, while Roman sounded as if he had been screaming a thousand years without reprieve. “‘No’? Whatever do you mean by that~? Not ready for the performance to end?” He smirked, voice turning sickly sweet and cruel. “Don’t worry~…. There’ll be plenty more~”

Roman’s eyes flashed, the golden orange of a sunrise instead of bloody red. “No!” He clutched his side and coughed, red speckling the ground before him. He paid it no mind as he glared up at Pride, snarling. “You do enough damage without a physical form! You’ll not take one and harm them!”

Pride snarled, leaning down inches from Roman’s face. “You can’t even move, and you think you have any say in this?” He hissed furiously, then straightened back up, pouting like a disappointed teacher. “Tsk. How unsightly, arguing with yourself!”

Roman flinched but continued to glare, unfalteringly, up at the other, coughing up more red. “We are not the same.” The specks of red began to pool into small drops on the floor.

His counterpart laughed, a magical sound like a hundred musical bells in a summer breeze. “Oh Roman, Roman, Roman!” He leaned down, grasping the prince’s chin harshly, tilting his head back painfully, and looking him in the eye. “I. Am. You.” He tilted his head to the side, smiling in a manner that might have been kind, as one might smile at a child they found endearing, but its sharp edges spoke of nothing but malice. “Good thing too~ lucky little prince you are.” He released Roman’s chin with a snap of his wrist, nearly giving the man whiplash, standing back up with a click of his tongue. “Could you imagine any of them being a king?” He scoffed “No. They are far too flawed to hold such an honor.”

Roman stared down at the floor with a broken expression on his face, small trails of blood dripping from his lips. “You couldn’t handle being imperfect, could you?” He whispered. Pride just hummed and turned away from him as far as he could while they were connected, flipping a hand dismissively. “Why should I? There is not an imperfect thing about me. Something you should be grateful for, seeing as I am quite literally, you. I don’t know why you bother to hide it. You’re a subpar actor Roman, hardly a creator at all, simply stunted while you deny your nature.” He hummed as if in thought. Logan wondered if this is what it was like to stare up at a madman before they dissected you. “We’ll have to fix that as well.”

Roman looked up at him, gazing past him with hazy vision to see his family cowering. Logan holding onto a crying Patton, Virgil crouched protectively in front of a terrified Deceit, the both of them shaking in fear, all of them cowering behind Thomas…Thomas…his host was staring at him, not at Pride, but at him. He stood straight, almost relaxed, staring and somber. Roman couldn’t read his expression, and that alone stabbed pain into his gut. He looked back at Pride, expression withdrawn and resigned. “A King?” He whispered, a small sound, so much like an unsure child.

Pride smirked, not turning back to him. “Yes. The little prince could be a king again, perfect and powerful.” he said in a sing-song manner before his voice started dripping honey “Wouldn’t you like that Roman?”

Roman raised a shaky hand, grasping the crown on his head and bringing it down to chest level. He held it there between shaking palms as he stared at it. Perhaps it was his imagination, too many hours spent in the theatre, but the weight of his family and host’s stares seemed so heavy they might crush his lungs, their fear so thick in the air it was stifling. He gripped the crown tightly and twisted, muscles straining and protesting, ignoring the blood that spilled as his fingers slid over the sharpened edges of the steel spires. The metal creaked and Roman strained. The crown snapped in half, the metallic ‘schlink’ echoing through the auditorium, seemingly endless. He gripped the halves in shaking hands as Pride spun around to face him, surprise etched on his face. He let them fall, the two halves falling with his blood, the hollow ‘thunk’ as it hit the wood of the stage marking the moment he met Pride’s eyes. “Some princes don’t become kings.” He meant to spit it vehemently, but it came out surreally calm and hoarse.

Pride stared, then he laughed. “You think breaking your crown makes you any less a king?!” He laughed again “You were never a prince, Roman! You only pretended to be, dressed in white, no crown on your head. Another part executed nearly perfectly.” He leaned over and picked up the edge of roman’s cloak, holding it up. “But your true colors shine through, don’t they, majesty?” The last word was taunting as he stood again, letting the edge of the cape fall, lazily through the air, settling over Roman’s bloodied hands.

Roman stared at it, watching his blood seep into the fabric, barely darkening the crimson cloak. His eyes fell to his own chest, to the black fabric there, taunting him with its symbolism. His hands lifted of their own accord, before the thought was finished, and fisted in the fabric. He pulled, the cloth tearing under the force, and he tossed it away, shirt and cloak landing a few feet away. He sat there, bare-chested, and met pride’s eyes again, expecting anger, but the other merely clicked his tongue and shook his head, seemingly amused with this all.

“Such a petulant child! Clothes don’t make the king, Roman. They aren’t part of you, they simply hide you from prying eyes, an indication of status.” He chuckled, light and airy as it was dark and terrifying. “Honestly, if perfection was always on display, lesser creatures would never get anything done!” He scoffed then, staring down his nose at Roman with disdain. “Stop being such a child.”

Roman dropped his hand to his knee, palm up and open, summing an ornate dagger to his hand. A gleaming silver blade the length of his hand melted into a golden handle, carved in intricate designs and inlaid with shining jewels. He held it up at chest level, slowly twirling it around in his hand, examining it without expression. Inwardly he snorted, ‘So dramatic. Even now.’

Pride raised a brow at him, sneering at him from where he hovered, hands folded behind his back in an almost military style. “And what are you going to do with that? Stab me? You’ll just harm yourself you fool.”

Roman pulled his lips back in a snarl, the first expression he’d shown since his outburst. “No.” He raised the blade to the side of his face, laying its side against his temple. He held the other’s gaze, tone mocking. “But then, you can’t stand imperfection, can you?” He brought the blade down swiftly, cutting a gash that ran from his forehead to his chin, cutting over the corner of his eye but barely missing the eye itself. He cried out and dropped the blade, pressing his hands to his face and curling into himself in pain as blood flowed from the wound.

Pride screeched in rage, all pretenses of grace or elegance cast aside, lunging forward with hands reaching out toward Roman in claws. “Damn you!” He broke apart as he fell, fracturing into smoke that settled over Roman’s back, seeping into him and settling under his skin.

Roman sat where he was, curled tightly into himself, shoulders shaking in quiet sobs.

It took a moment for the others to react, for them to comprehend what they had just witnessed and for them to process it. Deceit slowly uncurled himself, clutching to the back of Virgil’s hoodie as he whispered, “Is he not gone?” Virgil nodded softly, trying to calm his frantic heartbeat, “Yeah, I think he is.” The two slowly uncurled themselves from their defensive positions, adrenaline still coursing through their veins in anticipation.

Patton unlatched himself from Logan’s side and tried to run forward, but he stumbled for the tears in his eyes. Logan caught him round the waist and the moral trait held onto him, eyes not leaving Roman’s figure as he cried. “Is he alright?!”

“I believe he will be Patton, but I cannot know that without examining him.”

Patton made to move again but fear held him back and he froze with a whimper, “Is…is Pride…?”

Logan nodded curtly. “I don’t believe he will return any time soon, but I cannot be sure.”

Thomas remained silent in all of this, though it was only a mere few seconds, watching everything happen. He released the breath he was holding quietly and walked forward when the others could not on their own, luckily, he wasn’t any of them, he was all of them. He sank to his knees next to Roman softly, not wishing to startle the distraught side, and gently laid a hand on the other’s back. “Roman?”

The side in question flinched at the touch, whimpering pitifully and curling into himself more tightly.

“Roman, it’s ok.” He rubbed his thumb over Roman’s shoulder comfortingly. “Whatever just happened, we’ll figure it out, ok? It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that all of that wasn’t in your control. It’s gonna be alright.”

A whimper and a choked sob were his answer. He sighed, not wanting to push the issue, but he could see crimson blood slowly spreading over the floor and he knew he couldn’t leave this until Roman was ready, the wound couldn’t wait that long. He gently grasped Roman’s chin and lifted his face, meeting his utterly destroyed expression with one of near serenity and concern. “Roman. You have to look at me. We have to take care of that cut.”

Roman’s eyes met his briefly, but the creative side flinched, and they jerked away to land, unseeingly out at the rows of seats. Thomas didn’t sigh, he didn’t reprimand him, he didn’t react in any negative way, merely tilted his head a bit to the side, kept his eyes on Roman’s looking away from him, and spoke softly, more breathing the word than speaking it. “Ro.”

Roman whimpered quietly, eyes falling shut as he twitched, body seeming to want to fold in on itself but frozen in place under his host’s gaze. The nickname had broken something in him though, the need to hide overcome by a wish to do what was asked of him. He opened his mouth but only a choked sound came from his throat, prompting new tears. He squeezed his eyes shut in a futile attempt to stop them from falling and gritted his teeth, nodding once tersely.

Thomas sighed lightly through his nose and sat back a bit, turning his gaze to the others, taking note of each of them in turn as he curled his hand over the back of Roman’s neck, comforting and firm, grounding.

Logan’s eyes were cold as he stood at near military attention, but not emotionless. Thomas knew this was Logan’s care for the others manifesting in a protective need to understand everything, so he could defend them from harm, logic cold and unbending as steel. But where there was wariness, there was no anger.

Behind him was Patton, hunched in on himself and pressed to Logan’s shoulder, hands fisted in the polo always pristine, now rumpled under the fatherly trait’s hands. Logan’s arm was still outstretched protectively, to keep Patton back and to place himself as a barrier between the other and any potential harm, it wasn’t straight through, it was curled backward, nearly wrapped around Patton. Morality’s eyes gazed out from behind thick glasses, worry and sorrowful pain mixed with a bit of hurt shone through unshed tears, as his teeth worried his lower lip. Thomas’s gaze moved on.

Deceit’s mismatched eyes laid on Roman, clear fear overpowering everything else, though concern peaked through at the edges. While Patton was barely hidden behind Logan, Deceit was barely visible from where he hid himself at Virgil’s back, hands fisted in the other’s jacket just under his shoulder blades, his nose tucked behind Virgil’s shoulder to reveal only the top of his head and those piercing eyes. He was scared, but Thomas could see he didn’t want to abandon the others, or, he suspected, Roman. Lastly, his gaze shifted to Virgil and he almost wanted to chuckle at the dual nature of everything about the side. He stood nearly as tense as Logan, arms at his sides and hands fisted, lips pulling back ever so slightly at the corners as if he wanted to snarl, his fight reflexes more than ready to tear any threat apart. Yet he pressed back against Deceit, as if he wanted to both shield the other and curl back into his chest, his shoulders were hunched ever so slightly inward with his chin tucking towards his chest, his legs too were tense, but they were angled as if to run away, so his flight reflexes too were overwhelmed. His eyes though were the oddest bit. Fear lit their edges, but the centers focused on Roman with such intensity that, if not for Thomas’s understanding of the anxious side’s nature, he wouldn’t have known if that gaze wanted to tear roman apart or mend him.

Thomas himself was more somber than normal, a rare jaded maturity replacing his playfulness. He wasn’t angry, in fact at the moment he wasn’t even upset, rather, it was as if an unearthly calm had settled over him. A need to protect those that felt more like family than mere aspects of his personality clashing with a need to mend and heal that one that was injured, spinning round and round until they merged. He released a second deep breath and turned his gaze back to Roman for a moment.

Roman was…scared. No…he was terrified and in pain, every line of his figure screamed it. Thomas shook his head minutely and let his eyes slip shut, centering himself silently he exercised a power he knew he had but didn’t fully understand. The world seemed to tilt slowly on its axis before righting itself upside down. When he opened his eyes again they were back in his living room. The others were all standing by the stairs while he and Roman found themselves kneeling in the center of the living room.

He breathed deeply, quietly, and centered himself. Gently he grasped Roman’s shoulders and made to lift him just a bit. “Roman.” He kept his voice soft, but the other flinched all the same “Roman, Let’s get you on the couch, ok?”

Roman didn’t answer, but he did get his feet under himself and try to stand. His legs were weak, and he stumbled immediately. Thomas had anticipated this and practically picked the other up, using the prince’s momentum to set him on the couch. Roman hunched into himself once again as soon as he was seated, legs curling close to his chest and shoulders hunching as his eyes pressed shut. Thomas knelt on the floor beside him, a hand on his shoulder, and paused a moment to send a searching glance over the others. From the corner of his eye he could see Logan standing close to his normal spot, merely further forward and closer to Virgil’s, turning himself ever so slightly to let Patton lean against the wall and still remain curled into the logical man’s side. Virgil was in his normal space, and he had herded Deceit to sit on one of the steps, the lying trait having done so but remained pressed forward, every line of his body making it clear he wanted to press himself into Virgil’s side and stay there. Virgil likely would have let him, but his protective instincts and fight or flight reflexes had him half knelt half crouched in front of the stairs, easily ready to spring up and run or come up swinging if needed, so he settled with reaching back to place a hand on Deceit’s arm in comfort. One of Deceit’s hands was nearly crushing Virgil’s. Both kept their eyes on Roman and Thomas, one fearful the other tense.

Thomas looked away from them all and closed his eyes again, breathing steadily, pushing down the sudden swell of sadness in his chest. The sides were something between imagination and reality, everything about them one step from nothingness and an equal step from solid form, Thomas knew this. He understood it on a base level and knew that it was the reason he could interact with them as he did. He also understood that the games the sides played, making sweaters and sheet music and rubiks cubes appear out of thin air was a similar concept. It didn’t come as easily to him as it did to them, but he could use that ability. After a few moments, he felt a weight settled in his empty hand resting against his leg and opened his eyes to find a first aid kit in his grasp. He didn’t question it, understanding that focusing too hard on the fact that this thing was only half real would make it fade. Instead, he turned his gaze and attention back to the creative trait.

“Roman.” He sounded as if he were talking to a frightened animal, intentionally gentle and conveying steady strength, but sure enough Roman flinched inward regardless. “I need to treat that cut. I need you to move your hand and let me clean it.”

Roman’s whimper was the quietest in existence, Thomas was sure. But he remained calm, no frustration in his tone, or even his mood. “Roman, you need to move your hand.” He let his hand trail slowly down Roman’s arm from his shoulder, then up to his wrist. There he gently curled his fingers around the other’s hand and applied a gentle yet firm pressure to pull the limb away. Roman was tense, but he didn’t fight him as Thomas pressed the hand against Roman’s leg, silently nudging the other to drop his legs as well.

Thomas scanned the wound with his eyes and frowned. Starting at the inside of Roman’s temple it dangerously skirted over the outer corner of his eye, bowed outward slightly on his cheek, and fell in a sharp line down past his chin. He was lucky the momentum hadn’t made the blade hit his throat. It wasn’t deep enough to be deadly, barely going beneath the layers of skin to the muscle beneath, but it was deep enough to worry the man, and certainly deep enough to scar. Gently squeezing Roman’s hand on the prince’s lap, both for reassurance and to make sure he kept it there, he opened the medical kit and retrieved the disinfectant and a few cloths.

Gently grasping the other’s chin, he tilted his head to give himself more room to work. He kept his hand there afterward to ensure Roman wouldn’t move. Silently he started at Roman’s temple and began cleaning the cut, taking great care around his eye. For a time, they sat in silence, the others slowly relaxing the tiniest amount, but not fully, where Thomas kept an eye on them in his peripheral vision. Roman sat still and tense, silent tears slipping from his closed eyes, his lower lip no longer trembling but nearly white from the pressure where it was trapped between his teeth. Thomas worked silently and carefully. For a time, the silence reigned, but once Thomas had reached Roman’s cheek he broke it, tone even and calm.

“So that was Pride. I know who, what he is…in theory…but who is he to you, Roman?”

Roman’s eyes flew open as he flinched and tried to look away, his whole body trying to recoil but he didn’t move far before Thomas’s grip stilled him. “He…I….” He closed his eyes again, voice choking with tears. “I was him… to start with…when you were younger, still a child.”

Thomas frowned as he continued to clean the cut, wincing as Roman flinched in pain. “Then why are there two of you? You’re my creativity, aren’t you? How can you be both?”

Roman’s eyes opened halfway, focusing on the floor before him without truly seeing it. The prince smiled, but there was no humor in it, just tired weariness. “None of us have only one function. I was…him…when you were a child, before your imagination grew, back when your fantasies and dreams were fueled by the creativity of your parents. Eventually, as all children do, you began to imagine on your own, without their stories….and you were so…proud” his voice hitched in pain, “of what you created, that eventually, I became creativity too.”

The host furrowed his brows as he began closing the wound and securing it with steri-strips. “Then why are you separate now?”

A small sound of sorrow and pain broke out of roman’s throat, tears brimming at his eyes that he held back. “I am your ego, Thomas, that hasn’t changed…. but as time went by things…changed. You…you began to love Disney, and it fueled the majority of your imagination, of my new role… you loved the princes and, as a child, loathed the villains…..” His quieted with sadness. “even as I was then, it did not take long to realize that I was the opposite of what you wished to be, despite now embodying your hopes and dreams, that I was, in fact, what you despised…. I did not wish to be that way. I…. I locked it away, that part of me, buried it beneath everything you ever wished to be, the traits of every prince you admired…”

He sighed and stopped talking as Thomas started bandaging his jaw. Perhaps sensing that Roman wasn’t finished, Thomas didn’t ask anything else yet. When he was finished he sat back and waited. Roman didn’t meet his eyes, choosing instead to stare at the floor and fidget, drawing his legs back up to his chest and hugging them tightly.

“I buried him so far that it ceased to be an act, that we truly became two halves of one being…. I…I despised him. I despised how he made me think and feel, how he pushed me to act…so I pushed him as far away as I could. It was never enough though, and you’ve seen him affect me, the days when ego and harshness overcome the rest of my being…” he sighed and tightened the death grip on his legs, hugging himself. “I don’t understand it completely myself, Thomas, hell, the day I appeared in the ‘light side’ of your mind was a shock. Somehow, through mutual loathing, we became separate enough that I was no longer Pride, but merely Creativity, that he was a separate entity that only affected you subconsciously…. not entirely separate though, as you did correctly deem me to also be your ego.”

Thomas stayed silent for a moment, gaze falling to the black mark over Roman’s heart. He frowned and pulled roman’s leg down, so he could run his fingers over it. Roman flinched and chuckled dryly, without humor. “We all have our dark marks…that…he, is mine.”

Thomas lifted his gaze to Roman’s, gaze narrowed in wariness and curiosity, but not hostility. “Why is it there?” Roman barked a humorless laugh. “Over my heart you mean?” Thomas’s silence was answer enough. Roman sighed and let his eyes fall shut again, pinching the bridge of his nose as his head hung forward. His voice the clearest it had been since this began, but quiet with weariness.

“You call Patton your heart, and you are not entirely wrong. Morality and ethos are matters that deal with the soul and empathy of a person, and the heart is indeed the metaphorical seat of both soul and emotion.” He let his hand fall without care and let his gaze rest on Patton where he stood tucked into Logan’s side, for the moment the prince was nearly emotionless save for sorrow and pain. “but he is not all of your heart, that is merely where he ‘lives’, if you will.” His eyes slipped shut as he sighed heavily. “Pride is against morality, it must be.”

His gaze dropped, and he looked toward Thomas but did not yet meet his gaze, instead staring just past his shoulder. “Pride earned is one thing, but arrogance is quite another. It poisons logic into believing you can do anything you damn well please and that you can rationalize anything. It silences caution and abuses deceit, turning you against yourself until you think you are invincible.” He winced minutely but ignored the twin flinches that came from Virgil and Deceit at the rather literal explanation of what Pride had done to them. His gaze fell back on Patton, voice bitter and sad. “And once it’s done that, it destroys your morality.” Patton shuddered and shrunk back. “You think you are invincible. You lie to yourself without knowing it. You believe you can rationalize anything into being right. You believe you are right, that you know best and that only you know best. You believe that anything you do is perfect and any criticism is beneath you.” He paused and sighed deeply. “And then…then you don’t care anymore.” His gaze slid down to the floor, blurring as his voice became thick with tears again. “You don’t care about the emotions of others, nor their well-being. Your ethics disintegrate, your empathy evaporates, and your morality is gone, replaced with something…something exactly its opposite.”

Roman’s voice had already been sorrowful and oddly resigned, but it took on a bitter tone that made Thomas realize the prince wasn’t just describing what pride could do to him, the host. But what it had been doing to Roman, even from the shadows. He set his gaze back on the mark above Roman’s heart, not liking the dark blood smeared around it. Silently, he set to cleaning it off the unmarked skin. “It only covers half your heart…” Roman hummed but it sounded choked. “Yeah, well, it covers enough of it.”

Thomas looked up at him, a brief glance before returning to his task. “He never stopped affecting you, did he?” He asked it lightly, but Roman still flinched. “N..no…. he didn’t…” Roman sighed. “Is that why you acted the way you did, before…?” Roman winced and hunched forward as far as he could while Thomas was cleaning the blood from his chest, head hung low. “Yes….” He sighed and opened his eyes to set his weary gaze on the floor, the patterning of the carpet swirling hazily in his vision.

“Morality…he could tolerate…begrudgingly…didn’t find much need to worry about him” Roman snorted softly. “Too arrogant to acknowledge how bloody scary Patton can be…Logic…he could live with, not concern himself with...” He pressed his eyes shut tight, voice catching. “but Anxiety and Deceit-“ his voice choked off and pressed a hand to his mouth to muffle the sob. It passed and he rubbed at his eyes. “he could not tolerate them. Their presence, their jobs, their very existence…. they were the two most dangerous to him…to his plans…..” A shudder wracked through Roman but he kept the sob back, voice going tight. “He couldn’t kill them either…. not for lack of trying…” at that a single sob did break free, but he immediately cut it off and took in a strangled breath, then cleared his throat.

He dropped his hand and once again stared blankly at the ground. “After we separated, well, as separated as we could be, he was content enough to be silent…even if he did do his best to put me intentionally at odds with Patton and Logan. But when Virgil –“ his voice broke. “when Virgil showed up…I couldn’t stop his influence anymore…I barely kept him from becoming dominant between us again.” His voice had trailed off into a broken whimper, so he stopped to steady himself. Thomas and the others let him.

Roman raised his head and looked toward Thomas, but did not let his gaze go past the man’s neck to his face, much less his eyes. “It took more strength than I possess, and more help than I would have liked, to treat Virgil even amicably. To my shame, I could do no more, but when Deceit…” he took a deep breath, eyes staring upward, ignoring the clear tears that flowed over their edges. “when Deceit came, I couldn’t…there was nothing I could do to keep him at bay anymore…my own anger at Deceit for his tricks did not help matters…so I hid. I avoided him…” he smiled wryly, a sick twist of his lips as his gaze fell again. “But anger left unfaced festers, and when I did finally see Deceit face to face again, my anger was enough that I wasn’t even conscious of how much P-pride was affecting me.” His gaze dropped in shame to the ground. “Deceit’s charge broke what little control I had left over him….” Roman swallowed thickly and looked away, staring unseeingly at the wall, away from everyone else. “it…it wasn’t their fault…they ne-never did anything… but they were the c-catalyst that let him out…and I couldn’t stop- couldn’t stop it…” the prince’s voice broke, fully this time, and he just barely held back sobs with a hand over his own mouth.

Thomas said nothing, nor did the others, though while they were in various stages of shock, Thomas was turning everything over in his head, considering and calculating everything. Absentmindedly he stroked his thumb over the inside of Roman’s wrist where his hand still rested around the other’s arm. His brows furrowed after a minute had passed.

“Roman, you separated from him, for lack of a better term, you locked him away. Why didn’t you separate completely?” Though there was no malice in the words, the oddly cool and neutral tone made Roman shudder. He shook his head minutely. “I do not even know if we could have, completely. We started as one being…I do not know how separate we are even now. But it was not for lack of trying.” He took a shaky breath, eyes fixed on his lap now. “It was not for lack of trying that we are still connected…. Years I spent trying to tear the anchor of him out of me…but I cannot… pain notwithstanding, I am not strong enough. Regardless, I eventually came to the conclusion how…foolish it would have been if I ever succeeded.”

Thomas’s eyebrow rose, the only change in expression, indeed in demeanor at all. “How’s that?”

Roman laughed, head tilted back, twisted lips pulled back over fractured teeth. It was a broken sound filled with shattered glass that made Patton wince and caused Virgil to shrink back ever so slightly into Deceit. Roman was broken. And as they watched where they stood, though they said nothing, each and every one of the four sides hanging back in caution, came to the same conclusion: they might not be able to fix him.

For the first time Roman’s gaze strayed closer to Thomas’s, but still could not quite meet it. “You’ve seen how much damage he did to me, Thomas, what he’s done as a whisper in your subconscious.” The second laugh sounded more like that of a mad man. “What the hell do you think he’d have done on his own?!” The laughter died and Roman hunched in on himself again, shaking his head as a man resigned to hang at the gallows. “No. Better he stay trapped within me. Better he hurt me, and only me, rather than have a manifested form of his own to hurt you.”

Roman was hunched in on himself, the hand not caught in Thomas’s grip rubbing absently at his ribs, a haunted and faraway look in his eyes. As Virgil watched from the sidelines pieces started to fall into place like a long-forgotten jigsaw puzzle scattered throughout the dusty corners of an attic. He stiffened, eyes going wide, and as Deceit gasped quietly behind him, he knew his old friend had followed the same train of thought to the same conclusion. Logan looked back at them curiously, having missed the signs he wouldn’t know to look for. Virgil swallowed thickly, voice trembling but strong as he called out to his longtime nemesis. “We’re not the only ones he hurt, are we Roman?”

Roman’s flinch and quick movement to curl himself into a tight ball, arms grasping his own chest as if in protection - even at the cost of ripping his hand out of Thomas’s, to the other’s great surprise - were the only answer the anxious trait needed. Deceit whimpered and it trailed off into a hiss of unhappiness and anger. Virgil was inclined to agree with that sentiment, but his normal reactions of growling or hissing wouldn’t achieve anything right now. Eyes even wider than they were before, he swallowed past the sudden feeling of crushed glass in his throat and asked a rather insensitive question in his shock. “H-how?! He…you…you share a body. How…?”

Roman shook almost violently but barked another laugh, even more broken than the previous two, this one filled only with pain, a deep and cutting pain that made one think of the wailing of an injured dog when heard. Thomas winced just as Patton did.

“The imagination can be such a wonderful thing… it’s where I go to battle beasts to find inspiration and create ideas…I can create anything there…escape there…hide there…” his voice became strained. “A place where anything can take shape isn’t always so wonderous….”

Logan’s eyes went wide, lips parting silently in an almost gasp. Patton did gasp, but it turned into a wretched sob as the two realized just what it was Virgil and Deceit had picked up on. Those two, for their part, looked at Roman in a new light. Not as the host to their abuser - though he had certainly been that - but as a victim the same as them. Thomas caught up with the four of them pretty quickly, in truth he had already known, but he hadn’t wanted to put the pieces together into such a gruesome picture. For the first time, his expression and tone showed emotion other than neutrality, softening and straining with grief. “So every time you went into the imagination to create things and come up with ideas…?” He trailed off, and Roman nodded brokenly. “N…not every time…. there are certain areas…and I avoid them unless I have to follow a creature there…. but he doesn’t always stay in their bounds…”

He trailed off helplessly and the other five absorbed this information. That meant that every time Roman did his job - every time Thomas daydreamed, every time he created something, every time they needed a new script, every time he dreamed, every time he fantasized – Roman had walked into hell, and more often than not he had met the devil wearing his own face.

Patton clamped a hand over his mouth harshly to quiet the sobs tearing out of his throat, Logan, uncharacteristically, tried to reach back to steady and comfort him, but he barely kept his balance as this information set itself in his brain, as every possible meaning, every possible variable, and every possible outcome to the dataset played itself out for him to see. He swayed dangerously, nausea suddenly threatening to knock him over, it would have if it weren’t for the presence of Patton leaned against his back.

Deceit had pressed himself to Virgil’s side by this point, and the two of them were holding onto to each other with an arm around the other, old memories, living nightmares from the past playing through their minds, merging with the knowledge that Roman had faced the same…possibly worse, and for much longer than they had.

Thomas took all of this in without thinking about it, after all, anything and everything his sides knew or realized, he knew too, should he actually think about it. He bit back the wish to scream, or sob, or cry, or tear apart the thing that had hurt his Roman so badly, knowing it would do no good. Instead, he did the only thing he could think of and lifted himself onto the couch to sit by the creative trait, and wrapped his arms around him, drawing Roman to his chest and holding him close as the prince finally broke and began to sob.

His cries were a broken and pathetic thing, the wretchedness sounding from them cutting them all to the bone in a manner none of them- not even Logan with his literal dictionary of a mind – could describe in words. Through his sobs, they heard occasional words and sentences, broken up as they were gasped out roughly.

‘I’m sorry.’ ‘I tried.’ ‘I didn’t mean to.’ ‘my fault.’ ‘I’m sorry.’ ‘shouldn’t have let him.’ ‘I’m sorry.’ ’I’m sorry.’ ‘I’m sorry.’

Virgil and Deceit both jerked forward instinctively, a desperate wish to comfort Roman as they had once comforted each other cutting through them, but they each halted equally as instinctively, for they neither one had any idea what to do. So they held each other, taking what comfort they could from whom they had thought was the only other person in the mindscape who could understand, until now.

Patton tried to move forward as well, a sob finally breaking out of his throat, but the weight of the shock and grief he was under drove him to the ground. Logan’s stunted but still quick reflexes were the only thing that kept the man from falling completely as his friend caught him. All the same, the end result found Patton on his knees, Logan knelt beside him on one knee, arms wrapped around Patton from having caught him. The logical trait was staring, unblinking and wide-eyed at Roman, a sickness choking his throat and cutting off his usually bountiful speech.

Thomas felt all of this, but he didn’t acknowledge it. He felt it hit him like a punch to the chest, and his breath hitched in response, but he ignored it. There would be time for his own sorrow and shock, and theirs, later, for now, he took a deep breath and focused on holding the man in his arms whose whole world, and indeed being, was finally tearing apart for the first time after 29 years of being precariously stitched together.

Roman’s tears, it seemed, had no end to them. Thomas continued to hold him, a silent and steadying presence of strength and comfort. After a time, Roman’s tears did begin to dry up, even if his sorrow and pain did not, but he had exhausted himself too much to move, and so stayed where he was, curled mostly in a ball and burrowed into Thomas’s chest, head resting very nearly over the other’s heart. As the energy to cry faded he allowed the steady thrumming under his ear to lull him into a calmer state. He opened his eyes now, but rather unseeingly as his gaze did not go past Thomas’s chest and upper arm. Thomas, for his part, just kept his arms wrapped securely around the creative trait, one hand lightly running over Roman’s arm and shoulder. As he felt Roman’s breathing even out and his body start to go lax he chanced splitting his attention away from Roman to check on the others.

As he has already been aware, the other four had moved closer but had not interfered. Logan sat on the arm of the couch, his normally smooth expression roughened by furrowed brows and the slightest of frowns fueled by concern as he watched Roman. His posture too was less rigid than normal, as he was hunched forward a bit to reach out one hand to Patton’s shoulder. Patton had also moved close and had taken the open side of the couch. He had curled himself into a ball, pulling his legs up to his chest hugging himself. Though he was pressing back into Logan’s touch, he was leaned forward and edged as close to Roman as he could be without touching him. That being said, it wasn’t lost on Thomas that the fatherly trait’s arms kept twitching as he stopped himself from reaching out and pulling Roman to him. Thomas tried to ignore the twinge of hurt he felt at seeing the sad frown set in Patton’s expression, instead he looked away from them and toward the floor in front of him.

Virgil and Deceit were there. At first, they had stood before the couch awkwardly, not sure where to fit into the picture, wanting to care for Roman, but both still a little afraid and knowing from harsh experience with each other that sometimes you just had to wait for things to pass before you could approach the broken and try to mend them. They had hovered for a moment before understanding that this was not going to be a quick process, and had settled on the floor. Virgil, particularly, had sat on one of his legs, pulling the other up and hugging it to his chest. He wasn’t completely settled though and was pitched forward the same as Patton, a hair-trigger away from propelling himself up and forward to Roman. Deceit kept the same overly attentive and concerned gaze on Roman that Virgil did, and he was only minorly less tense, but he sat completely, legs hugged to his chest, curled into Virgil’s side.

The lot of them sat in silence for a time longer, but once Roman had calmed completely and was resting in a near-sleep state, they could wait no longer. Patton was the one who reached out, a hand pressed gently to Roman’s shoulder, accompanied by a soft call of the other’s name, “Ro?”

The effect was immediate, and unfortunate, as the side in question immediately tensed and his breath hitched. Virgil was up in an instant, kneeling in front of Roman and ducking to get in his field of vision, though the prince didn’t seem to see him at all.

“Princey.” Virgil was conscious not to touch the other and to keep his tone low and even. “It’s alright. You’re safe.” Roman flinched and Virgil frowned, understanding quite immediately. “And so are we, Princey. Just focus on me, ok? On my voice. Ok?” Roman didn’t move, but his breathing was labored once again. “Easy Roman. Focus on your breathing. In 4 seconds, hold 7, out 8. Alright? Again. In 4, hold 7, out 8.” This process repeated for some time, and the others did not protest letting anxiety calm Roman from the beginnings of a panic attack.

When Roman’s breathing was once again steady, though heavy and wet, Virgil risked slowly raising a hand, well within Roman’s vision, and pressing it to his thigh. Roman twitched slightly but did not panic or shy away, but he kept his gaze fixed unseeingly ahead at Thomas’s arm where it curled around him. Deceit, unsure what to do but remembering plenty of times when all he had been able to do was sit close, moved closer and sat down, leaning against the couch. One of his hands instinctively reached out and fisted in Virgil’s jacket, the anxious trait easily reaching out to settle his free hand on Deceit’s knee. Deceit pressed close to Thomas’s legs and laid his head down on the couch, looking up at Roman who met his gaze.

Roman’s face crumpled, and he whimpered tearfully but did not cry as he had no tears left. “I’m sorry.” His voice broke in a dry sob and he closed his eyes, unable to turn his head away. “I’m so fucking sorry…”

Thomas knew this wasn’t the time for all problems to be resolved, indeed it would be sometime before that point came. But he did know that right now they needed to take care of Roman. He tightened his arms around the distraught trait and ran one hand through his hair, an old trick that had calmed him as a child and had the same effect on the creative side now. “Roman.” It was a whisper, soft and strong. “It’s alright.”

Roman shook his head immediately, almost violently, but could do no more as he found himself held closer still. Left with no other choice he stilled and listened to the calm and steady voice above him. “It will be alright Roman.” The hand carded through his hair again. “We will figure this out, and it will be ok.”

He wanted to disagree, he wanted to apologize, but he knew that there was no use arguing. He took a shaky breath and nodded. His eyes though, they left no doubt that he didn’t believe it. Thomas smiled, a sad curl of his lips at the corner into the smallest grin, colored over with grief and love. “It will be aright Roman, and we will fix this, I promise.”

Roman didn’t respond, but he relaxed again. His eyes felt heavy, but he lifted his gaze to find Deceit and Virgil, a desperate need driving the action. When he found no malice or betrayal nor accusation in their eyes, but only concern and care, he finally allowed himself to stop. It wasn’t solved, not by any means, but he was so tired, had been for years, but was beyond exhaustion now. His eyes slipped shut and he allowed the comforting presence of the others around him, the surety of Thomas’s promise, and the steady beating of a heart left unstained beating under his ear lull him into the first restful sleep he’d had since he had become a separate entity. Maybe, maybe he was wrong.

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earth-ambassador-jim · 4 years

Text

A Bad Reaction: Chapter 2

Summary:

“Changelings call it "Gravesand”. Derived from the pulverized bones of fallen Gumm-Gumms, gravesand aids us changelings in shedding our human form and embracing our more trollish nature…“

Strickler is a little off in his calculations and the gravesand draws out an unexpected response from Jim. Hopefully he can figure out what is wrong and how to fix it before it is too late.

AO3 - Fanfiction

~~~~

Barbara wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting when the pink rock monster had kidnapped her and brought her to an underground bunker but meeting her ex-boyfriend had not been it.

The moment she set eyes on him anger had eclipsed fear as the ever growing feeling of betrayal she’d been brooding on for the past few weeks reared its head in full force.

“What. The. Hell.” Barbara said slowly -but with great feeling- as her hands clenched at her sides.

The sharp pain in her skull that had just started up was not helping. For some reason the painting she had been working on surfaced in her memory.

“Sorry to interrupt,” The pink monster said in what sounded like an amused tone. Barbara jumped. She’d forgotten about it for a second. “As much as I want to see you beat up Strickler, there are more important things to deal with right now.”

It was then that Barbara saw who was in the table in the middle of the room. A sharp gasp escaped her and she rushed to her son’s side.

Her fingers immediately went to his throat, feeling for his pulse, and then to his forehead before she turned around to stare at Walt. She had been angry before, but it was nothing compared to what she was feeling now.

“What have you done to my son?” Barbara practically growled.

Walt… Strickler swallowed audibly and held his hands out, open and palms facing her, in from of him.

“It was an accident…” He started to say slowly.

“An accident?!” She yelled. “Is that why you have him tucked away in this secret base? You lured me out here with his phone! And what’s that?!” She added pointing at the monster.

And why did she feel like she should know the answer? Barbara drew in a sharp breath as pain lanced through her skull again.

“Please let me explain. You may yell at me all you wish later,” Strickler said.

Barbara grit her teeth and drew in a breath to start yelling again.

She never got a word out.

At that moment Jim jerked upright on the table. Barbara turned toward him and felt her heart skip a beat. His eyes, now open, were glowing a sickly red and gold. He made a low guttural sound in his throat and his lips pulled back in a snarl. She stumbled back a step.

He drew in a shallow gasping breath. His still glowing eyes widened and he clawed as his chest for a moment before collapsing back on the table.

For a sickening moment Barbara couldn’t move, then the symptoms she had just seen registered and she lunged forward with a string of curses. She pressed two fingers to his neck and felt a calm fall over her as her years working in the ER asserted themselves.

“Is there an AED here?” She asked Strickler sharply as she pulled Jim’s shirt up.

Some part of her mind vaguely registered a series of branching scars that she hadn’t seen before but, as they were currently unimportant, she mentally filed them away for later. Strickler ripped something off the wall and hurried over to her. She received the machine, noting that it was an older model than the hospital’s, and then with quick efficient movements placed the pads on her son’s skin.

“Get clear,” She said sharply.

Jim’s body jerked as the electricity coursed through him. Barbara checked his pulse. It was weak but the rhythm was now regular again.

She let out a sigh of relief before turning back to Strickler. The underlying protective rage layered over with her professional calm made her feel like she was floating outside her body.

“Explain what is going on now,” She said coldly.

~~~~

And so her ex-boyfriend explained how humans weren’t really the only intelligent species on earth, that magic was real, and that her son had been drafted to fight giant rock creatures.

It turned out there was a bit more to those images and dreams that had been flickering through her mind since the accident than she thought.

“Let me get this straight,” Barbara said as she kneaded the skin of her forehead. “You decided that it was a good idea to give my son, a minor, some sort of troll heroin to ‘hone his feral instincts’… you didn’t see any way that could go wrong.”

She was also rather disappointed in Jim for going along with this. They’d had the drug talk. Just because it was magic did not make it any less of a drug.

“How do you still have your teaching degree?” She wondered out loud.

Off to the side the pink changeling snickered.

“That’s not important right now,” Walt… Strickler said. “Right now I need your help to keep Jim stable while I figure out what exactly is causing this.”

Barbara really wanted to argue that Jim should go to a hospital to receive proper treatment, but she doubted they would know what to do with gravesand poisoning, or whatever was going on. She was also not foolish enough to expect that they would just let her leave. Not without a fight that she couldn’t hope to win. She drew in a slow breath and counted to ten before blowing it out through her nose.

“So you haven’t found anything in your files about why this might be happening yet?” She asked.

“No,” Strickler responded. “But I still have a few more to go through.”

“And these other trolls that Jim is helping can’t help?” Barbara would really like to have someone else here. Wal… Strickler had dropped completely off the bottom of her trust list. She wasn’t sure how she felt about the other changeling. “There isn’t any kind of troll-doctor?”

“Unfortunately Trollmarket’s healer was one of the first casualties according to Young… Jim. There might be other healers but it’s unlikely they will know how to take care of a human and even if they did they would not be familiar with gravesand.”

Barbara sighed.

“Okay, you keep searching your files.” She turned to the pink changeling. “I’ll need you to…”

She paused eying the changeling’s sharp claws with trepidation. It seemed to catch on and in a flash of pink transformed into the museum curator Ms. Nomura. Barbara jumped but otherwise didn’t react.

“Okay,” She said with a sharp, shaky breath. This was fine. She was fine. She could do this. “I’m going to need you to assist me. Follow my instructions exactly.”

Ms. Nomura moved to stand beside her and they got to work.

~~~~

“Any progress?” Barbara’s voice was something that could have loosely been described as professional.

Strickler looked up from the file he was currently reading.

“Nothing yet I’m afraid,” He said shoving down a pang of longing.

Barbara made a quiet frustrated sound and turned away. She and Nomura started talking in low voices. Strickler rubbed his eyes and glanced around the room. How long had they been here now?

Jim was now hooked up to a heart monitor and oxygen. He looked bad. Rashes had appeared on his skin and he was sweating profusely. Something in Strickler’s chest twisted involuntarily.

He had done this. He should have known better. Humans reacted differently to even regular medications. Why did he think having a child inhale magic sand was going to be okay?

What if they couldn’t save him? What then?

The more analytical side of his mind was already trying to come up with contingencies for dealing with a new Trollhunter this late in the game. The more pessimistic side suggested that between Barbara and Nomura he wouldn’t live long enough to have to worry about that. He’d deserve it too, he supposed.

He grimaced and pulled out his pen to fiddle with.

Focus.

He needed to save Jim. Failure was not an option.

He opened the next set of files, a series of experiments that had been ran by a changeling scientist back during the Cold War.

He started reading and froze for a moment before reading faster.

It wasn’t possible…

~~~~

“A question Barbara,” Strickler said. There was something stiff and deliberately level about his tone that made Barbara wary.

“Yes?” She asked without turning around.

“Do you have any pictures of your… of Jim’s father?”

That did make her turn around.

“Why would you need that?” She asked suspiciously.

“I will explain if my hunch proves correct.”

Oh she didn’t like that at all…

She studied his face. The lines around his mouth and eyes were tense.

“Please… it’s important.”

She made an irritated noise and glanced at his computer.

“Can that connect to the internet?”

“Yes…”

She wasn’t really in the habit of carrying pictures of James around. In fact, she’d gotten rid of most of the ones in the house as well. Both she and Jim generally preferred to pretend he didn’t exist when they could.

She brushed past Strickler and started tapping away. In a few minutes she’d pulled up an old finished projects page from a company website.

“That’s him,” She said pointing at one of the men in the picture. She pushed down the old ache in her chest as well as the strange feeling that rose when she realized how much Jim as starting to resemble him.

Barbara moved out of the way and Strickler settled down into the chair. In a few quick moves he’d downloaded the image and cropped it down to just James Senor’s face. Then he opened the image in another program. Immediately the computer pinged. The word “match” appeared on the screen.

A few more clicks and a new window was opened up on the screen.

“Barbara? Is this him?”

Barbara leaned over his shoulder. He twisted slightly in his seat to watch her expression. Her eyes tracked across the page and her lips moved slightly as she read through the words before she froze.

“Why…”

“It would appear that your ex is a changeling,”

“What?!”

Strickler moved back as she pushed forward to read the file more thoroughly.

“This explains Jim’s unusual reaction to the gravesand,” He continued. She could just barely hear him through the roaring in her ears. “Normally, in humans gravesand would only serves to draw out their feral instincts. It makes them angrier and their eyes glow. Long term use may have other side effects, but one use should not result in something like this.”

“So why is it causing this?”

“Because the gravesand is trying to activate Jim’s dormant changeling traits.”

“His changeling traits?” She echoed.

Strickler nodded and pushed a hand through his hair.

“Yes, but since Jim was… I assume he was conceived while James was in human form?” Barbara didn’t appreciate the question there but nodded anyway. “The only genes he has from his father are the ones that would allow him to shift not the biological template he needs to have a trollish form to shift into.”

“Which means..?”

Strickler grimaced.

“To put it simply the gravesand’s magic is causing Jim’s latent shifter magic activate, but as there is nothing to shift into his cells are basically tearing themselves apart.”

That wasn’t good. Understanding, mixed with new fear, settled in Barbara’s chest.

She turned away from him back toward her son frowning as she took off her glasses and polished them on her scrubs. This seemed to be one of the situations were knowing what was happening was not going to make thing easier…

She wasn’t even sure if she could use conventional medicines on Jim with the gravesand in his system.

Strickler was frowning as he continued to leaf through the file.

“It looks like all recorded cases have been fatal…”

Barbara whipped around, her heart lurching sickeningly in her chest. Across the room Nomura stiffened.

“But!” Strickler said before either of them could say or do anything. “The scientist in charge of the trails theorized that if a sample of changeling blood and stone was enchanted and then injected into the hybrid it would give the sifting magic something to latch onto and pattern a trollish form off of.”

“Did they test this?”

“No,” Strickler said. “It seems that the changeling in charge of the tests met an untimely death before he could find anymore test subjects.” There was an odd tone to his voice that Barbara could not quite pin down. It vanished quickly as he moved on. “I do however have the groundwork and necessary ingredients listed for the spell here.”

“What are the chances of success?”

Strickler sighed.

“I can’t really say. I doubt they are high… but what choice do we have?”

“You said that none of the… half-changelings… survived the gravesand?”

“None recorded.”

“Did they try removing the sand from the lungs? Or any similar measures to stop the reaction?”

“Yes and they all failed.”

Barbara stood quiet for a moment, acutely aware of the two changelings waiting for her response. She hated everything about this situation. She had a short moment of time to make a decision for her son that would at best be life altering and at worst fatal and the only information she had was from shady people that she didn’t trust.

But if she didn’t do anything…

Barbara glanced at Jim. She clenched her jaw and sucked in a breath through her teeth.

“Then I think we should take the route that still has a chance even if it is slim,” She said finally. “What do we need to do?”

Strickler took in her straightened posture and determined expression with a wistful expression. A jolt of bitterness passed through her.

“I am going to start running over the runes and layout for the spell to make sure there are no errors. Nomura…” The magenta changeling straightened up. “I will need you to retrieve some things from my office.” He pulled his pen out of his pocket and hesitated a moment before tossing it to her. “The lock is behind Landmark Thucydides.”

He paused for a moment and then pulled out his notepad and quickly scribbled out a list of what he would need and where she could find it.

“I’m also going to take a quick run to my apartment and retrieve the rest of my magic supplies.” He turned to Barbara. “I should be about a half hour. Can you handle that?”

She nodded.

“Good. Let us go.”

Barbara watched as they left.

Gradually their footsteps faded from hearing.

It was just her and Jim now.

She walked over to him and gently smoothed his fair out of his sweaty face. Even without touching his skin, she could feel the heat radiating off of him.

His eyes remained closed.

Barbara blinked furiously as a lump began to form in her throat.

How had it come to this? She’d known something was wrong.

Her vision blurred and she sucked in a harsh breath.

Why didn’t he tell her? Why hadn’t she…

Barbara’s hands clenched around the edges of the metal table as the first sob broke free.

~~~~

Author Notes:

I am going to go into a little more into the specifics about what is going on with Jim's reaction to the Gravesand in the notes next chapter, so be sure to read those!

We’ll get a little more on Barbara’s thoughts on the situation next chapter, but right now she really just needs a good cry.

I was a little rushed on editing this chapter (Just started a new job this week!) so let me know if anything needs clarification.

#Trollhunters #Tales of Arcadia #Trollhunters Fanfiction #A Bad Reaction #walter strickler #Nomura #Barbara Lake #jim lake jr #james lake jr #james lake sr #(mentioned)#gravesand #grave sand #my posts #my writing

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ericsonclan · 3 years

Text

Ugly Sweater Surprise

Summary: James, Omar, Louis get together to work on a special Christmas surprise for their friends.

Word Count: 3103

Read on A03:

James took a deep breath, letting the aroma of gingerbread and sugar cookies fill his nose as Omar pitter pattered around the Ericson High dorm room kitchens. The brownie was gathering up all the cookies that they had already baked. The cyclops looked in awe at the amount Omar and he had created and the variety too. Blood, insect, seaweed, chicken, charcoal. All types of cookies that were suitable for monsters had been made for the special surprise the two of them and Louis had come up with for tomorrow. They needed to finish all these cookies before they went over to the frankenstein’s mansion later that night.

“How’s the frosting coming along?” Omar’s calming voice pulled James out of his thoughts and back to the frosting piping bag that was halfway filled with green frosting.

“I think I should be able to get the first batch done soon,” James smiled softly over at his friend who returned it in kind before moving to get his oven mitts. The cyclops returned to his task, his eye focusing entirely on making the best Christmas designs on the different sugary treats.

“So, have any fond Christmas traditions?” Omar glanced up from the oven as he moved a sheet of sugar cookies onto the stovetop.

“Hmmm,” James thought carefully about that, his nose scrunched up in concentration. “Nothing that special. We’d go to the forest and during wintertime the light bugs would come out and dance around the trees,” James had a nostalgic look in his eye. “It was magical.” He continued frosting the cookie.

“That sounds really beautiful,” The brownie smiled over at his friend.

“What about you?” The cyclop’s brown eye wandered over to Omar.

“The feast,” Omar set down the last batch of cookies to cool. “My family and I would make the greatest food. Our kitchens would be filled with all kinds of food: ham, chestnuts, potatoes, rolls. It’s a once a year feast that puts all others to shame.” Omar had a warm smile on his face as he moseyed over to join his roommate in finishing up decorating the cookies.

“Are you going to have it this year too?” James looked down at his friend who gave a short nod.

“Yep, I can’t wait. Although,” Omar began to decorate a sugar cookie in the shape of a candy cane, “I am going to miss everyone and having you as a roommate even if it’s only for a week or so.”

James got a little teary eyed at the thought. He wouldn’t be visiting his family during this time of year so it would be sad not to have his late night conversation and snack times with his friend.

“Well, it’s not for too long. Oh,” James’ eye fell when he saw he’d messed up on a cookie.

“It’s okay,” Omar pitter pattered over and got up on his stepping stool. “All you need to do is add some more red there and it fixes the mistake.”

The cyclops looked in awe at his friend’s skill and gave a gentle smile over his way.

“Thank you,”

“It’s no big deal,” Omar hopped down and continued his work. The brownie and cyclops continued to work until all the cookies were decorated and safely placed on the Christmas trays. They walked together, talking casually as they headed back to their dorm room. When they entered the room, James took the cookie trays and placed them in a safe spot while Omar bustled to get their Christmas sweaters. After a minute the brownie returned, moving past the bookshelf filled with cookbooks and nature and towards his roommate. James thanked his friend and placed his sweater on. It was a red and white sweater with the words “All Eye Want for Christmas is You” on the front.

“Do you need some help?” James asked as he saw Omar struggling with his sweater a bit.

“Yes, I would really appreciate it,” The brownie’s voice was muffled from the item of clothing. The cyclops delicately worked with his pal and shuffled the sweater back and forth until it fit snugly over his form. It was a simple design on the blue sweater with the words “Hug the Brownie” plastered sloppily on the front. Omar had told James that Louis had made it for him then the frankenstein got so excited about the idea of making ones for all the others. That was how this event tonight was happening. It was why the two friends were heading over to the Louis’ house to make a Christmas gift for everyone. Omar glanced down at his watch and gave a small tsking sound.

“It looks like we’re running a little late,”

“Oh no!” James’ already large eye grew even larger.

“It’s fine,” Omar waved a hand dismissively. “Knowing Louis he’ll be waiting anxiously, but I’ll send him a text to let him know,” Omar pulled out his phone and tapped a few buttons before placing the device back in his pocket. With that the pair set out towards the front of Ericson where to neither of their surprise a car waited with a driver sent by Louis. The duo walked forward and thanked the chauffeur, getting into the car and enjoying the ride there.

Both of them were thankful for the ride. Neither had a car and taking the bus to even get close to Louis’ house would most likely damper their Christmas mood with all the odd looks and whispered insults the humans would give when they say the sweatered monsters. Smooth Christmas jazz music was playing on the radio which the cyclops and the brownie enjoyed as the car slowly made its way along the snow-covered road and up to the mansion.

When the car pulled into the driveway they saw that Louis had already been waiting. The frankenstein’s usual friendly smile was plastered on his face as he slipped and skidded on the snow to get to them. “You made it!” Louis smiled brightly at the pair. “And you’re wearing the sweater I made,” He looked over at Omar who gave a small smile.

“Of course,”

“Oh, I like your sweater t...t..tchoo,” Louis’ head nearly slipped off due to the force of the sneeze as he complimented James’ sweater.

“Are you okay?” James looked concerned for his friend’s health.

“Yeah, yeah. Come on, let’s get inside. I made a ton of hot cocoa and treats to munch while we work.” The frankenstein led the way, clearly excited to have people over while his father was away for the next week or so. Louis opened the door and began to guide his two buddies through his maze of a house. The trio moved past the movie theater and pizza parlor, through the different guests rooms and finally made it to what Louis declared to be the decorating room. There on the floor were three sets of five pairs of sweaters. Glitter, glue guns, and all other types of arts and crafts were there to make the “bestest Christmas sweaters in all of Ericson High” as the frankenstein put it. The three monsters took their spots and took a few minutes to chat about this and that as Louis turned on the Christmas music that played through the speakers. Omar looked intrigued by the hot cocoa that Louis brewed which he said Clem had shown him how to make and was an “Everett secret”. The brownie made a note to ask the human about the recipe at tomorrow’s surprise party.

“So, should we get started?” James swayed nervously back and forth.

“Yes!” Louis snatched up the first sweater and grabbed the glitter. “I’m gonna make the best sweater for Clem!”

“Oh, then I guess I’ll start with one for Jesse,” James said with a shy smile.

“I’ll make one for Ruby then,” Omar smiled warmly at the thought of his best friend receiving this homemade gift. He knew how much Ruby loved and was touched by homemade gifts. The trio started their work on the sweaters. The frankenstein used all the red and green glitter he could while writing every so carefully the words “You’re My Christmas Wish” in white. Louis smiled proudly and shook off the excess sparkles then held it up for his friends to see.

“Ta-da!” The frankenstein beamed proudly at his creation for his girlfriend. “Get it, cause she’s my Christmas wish!” The frankenstein’s cheeks began to flush.

“Wow, that looks good,” James’ eye widened at the sweater then looked down nervously at his own.

“You want to show us?” Omar asked James in a gentle voice while Louis let out an excited gasp and started bouncing this way and that.

“Ooo! Ooo! I want to see Jesse’s sweater!” Louis poked his two pointer fingers together. James thought about it for a second then moved back to show his progress so far. The words “I’ll Put a Christmas Spell on You” were present on the blue sweater while a small gorgon face was at the center of it. The colors and stripes of candy canes replaced the snakes that were usually on a gorgon’s head.

“That's really good,” Omar smiled warmly at his friend then returned to his work while Lous continued to praise James who wasn’t used to so many compliments and got slightly overwhelmed by them. After a minute Omar had finished his sweater while the other two had begun to work on their second sweaters; the frankenstein was working his hardest on one for his werewolf best friend while James had begun work on Tenn's ugly sweater.

“I think it turned out alright,” Omar held up Ruby’s sweater that he had made. It was a beautiful Christmas tree that had the words “O Christmas Tree, O Christmas Tree” delicately written in yellow over the tree that had small ornaments representing each of the monster pals.

“Whoa!” Louis leaned forward and almost spilled glitter onto Violet’s sweater. “Oh shit!” He caught the bottle of glitter. The cyclops looked over with concern before letting out a sigh of relief.

“I love it,” James complimented the brownie’s handiwork. “All the different ornaments like this little bat one and the matching bird ones. It's super detailed. I’m sure Ruby will love it.” That made Omar’s smile grow as he carefully placed it aside, excitement bubbling within his heart at the thought of his best friend receiving the gift. He moved on to Allison’s sweater. Louis hummed happily to “Santa Claus is Coming to Town” which James and Omar quickly joined in on. Each of them was enjoying their ugly sweater making party so far.

After a little while each of them revealed their second finished creations. Louis displayed his dramatically, holding up a deep blue sweater that looked like it held thousands of stars. White and yellow letters read “Starlight, Starbright”.

“Violet will definitely love that,” James’ response made Louis jump for joy, causing one of his hands to pop off. After Omar had retrieved the hand and helped his friend place it back on, he held up his creation. It was a pale blue sweater with delicate snowflakes dancing around the fabric with the words “Heart of Snow” with a small snow heart beside the text. James was next. The cyclops shyly held up his latest work: a green sweater saying “The Ghost of Christmas Present” with a red and green present below it.

“Tenn’s gonna flip when he sees that!” Louis’ dreadlocks swayed with how fast he lunged forward to get a closer look.

“I-Is that a bad thing?’ James looked at the sweater then at his two friends.

“No, it’s a good thing,” Omar said with a calm expression on his face. “Tenn is really going to like it.”

James beamed at those words and tucked away his second creation. With that the trio of monsters worked on their next designs. Louis got up for a few minutes, saying he would refill the snacks and drinks. After nearly fifteen minutes he returned and placed a plethora of goodies in front of his pals. The three snacked happily for a while as they brainstormed some more ideas.

“Alright,” Louis tossed the remainder of a Christmas cookie in his mouth and dusted off his hands. “Let’s get started on another great sweater!”

It was some time before any of them had finished up. Omar was the first this time, holding up Willy’s gift. “Christmas Under the Sea” read proudly over the top in seafoam green and blues as different seaweed and cute sea creatures filled the sweater. Next James showed his finished work for Sophie. He had wanted to make some special adjustments to the sleeves so the harpy’s feathers wouldn’t get pressed harshly against her arms. It was a vibrant red sweater that had two turtle doves that flew in the center of it.

“Who’s the second turtle dove?” Omar’s question made James’ eye blink in realization.

“Oh, I didn’t think of that. I guess it could be Minnie or Tenn.”

“No!” Louis shook his head; his dreadlocks bounced with the force of his movement. “I bet it’s Marlon. True love conquers all!”

“I don’t know,” Omar leaned back, his hand on his chin. “I think it could be Renata. Friendship is just as special as either of those two bonds.”

“True,” James nodded along then looked back at the sweater.

Louis pondered the conundrum gravely. “Well, I guess there’s only one way to settle this. We’ll make a bet on which we think she’ll say tomorrow when I ask her.” James and Omar shared a look before nodding in agreement. Then Louis held up his latest masterpiece. The words “Baby It’s Cold Outside” were dancing in fiery letters above a fireplace on the maroon sweater. The cyclops and the brownie didn’t even have to guess whose it was. It obviously was made for the fire elemental Aasim. The monsters looked around and saw that they were already halfway done. Their smiles remained ever present as they kept humming along to the carols and decorating.

James seemed focused on working on his last two sweaters simultaneously and so the frankenstein and brownie finished their fourth sweaters first. Louis held up his gift to Prisha: a white sweater with the words “I’d Take a Bite of That” were shown in blood red above a Christmas cookie that had a bite already taken out of it. Omar showed off his latest sweater next. It was an ocean blue sweater with the text “I’m Dreaming of a Blue Christmas” in a light blue color. Seashells and little seals were placed at the center of the sweater.

“You’re both so talented,” James looked up from his work with a gentle smile.

“Heh,” Louis rubbed the spot under his nose. “I love making gifts for friends.”

“Me too,” Omar’s smile grew as he pitter pattered over to add Brody’s sweater to the rest of the finished clothing. The pair of friends glanced over at the cyclops who looked busy, still hard at work on his duo of sweater projects. So Louis and Omar began to work on their last ones. The frankenstein’s tongue stuck out slightly as he worked on Marlon’s sweater. He wanted it to turn out really cool for his best friend. Meanwhile Omar was working as diligently as ever on Mitch’s sweater.

After what felt like ages all three monsters finished their last sweaters. Omar displayed his sweater first. It was a white and red striped sweater where a reindeer rode on top of a comet.

“Oh!” Louis hit his fist on his open palm. “Comet like the reindeer!”

“That’s right,” Omar gave a short nod. “What about you, Louis? What did you make for Marlon?”

“I made this!” Louis smiled as he held the sweater in front of his face so his friends could get a closer look. It was a set of snowmen that had the words “My Mind Is On Christmas” below them. It sparkled and shone in the light due to all the glitter the frankenstein had put on it.

“Marlon is really gonna like that one,” James said as Louis and Omar moved over to place down their last sweaters in the sweater corner.

“Thanks! Now show us yours. You gotta have been working on Renata’s and MInnie’s,’ Louis sat crisscross applesauce and leaned forward in excitement. Omar also seemed intrigued by what the designs could be. James shifted the sweaters and placed them side by side. “The one on the left is for Renata and the one on the right is for Minnie,” the cyclops explained. The monsters leaned forward, taking in the sight of Renata’s sweater first. The word “Naughty” was placed in the center with little foxes standing above it and playing below it. A fox tail in the form of a question mark was beside the word. Then they looked over at Minnie’s that had the word “Nice” on it. It was tucked away in a little nest with small white eggs decorated in Christmas colors.

“Wow! These are great!” Louis hopped on his feet and did a little spin. “They all turned out awesome! Our secret ugly sweater making party was a success!” The frankenstein pulled proudly on the air by the sides of his shirt.

Omar gave a warm smile. “It was a lot of fun.”

Yeah, I-” James was cut off by a sharp yawn that made his eye water slightly.

“Oh, are you tired, James? If you two want you can totally stay over for a sleepover.” Louis looked anxious for their response to his question. The two roommates shared a look before a happy, excited smile took over both of their faces.

“Sounds like fun,”

The brownie’s words made Louis do a little jump as he sprinted out of the room. “I’ll get the guest room set up with sleeping bags and stuff! Oh! Let’s also watch a Christmas movie too! I wonder which….” Louis’ voice disappeared as he slid across the floors and headed towards preparing what was sure to be a fun all-nighter with how this evening was panning out. James and Omar rose from their spots to help out their friend. Pausing for a moment, the two looked at the completed sweaters with proud smiles.

“They’re gonna be super excited tomorrow,” James commented which made Omar’s smile grow.

“With these sweaters and cookies, I’m sure there won’t be a non-smiling face in sight,” The brownie and cyclops continued to talk as they ambled out of the room, excited for tomorrow and all the joy it would bring.

#twdg #twdg james #twdg louis #twdg omar #we are monsters we are proud au #fanfic #twdg christmas #ericsonclanchristmaschallenge #louis omar brotp #james omar brotp #louis james brotp

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creative-poptart · 4 years

Text

Fifteen hours.

That was how long you had been in labor, officially speaking.

Thankfully you were more than prepared for when this occurred, all the needed supplies in a bag at the door for any time. Sans had obsessed over having the bag ready in time, constantly checking it over and over again to make sure everything was there. You and Papyrus both had reassured him that it would be okay, but your husband would hear nothing of it.

It surprised you really, how the labor process crept up on you. It was nothing like what the movies depicted, at least not in the beginning phases. You had felt some intermittent cramping in your stomach starting around one in the afternoon, but that was nothing new. Braxton-Hicks, as your doctor had called them, were a common thing to happen in the later stages of pregnancy as your body prepared for birth.

The thing about these cramps, though, is that they didn’t stay intermittent. The relative closeness gradually grew closer together as you went about your nighttime routine. Sans was worrying, of course, because you were only thirty-seven weeks along and shouldn’t be in labor yet, but you told him it was probably fine.

Your water broke around eleven that night.

Papyrus had an early morning shift at the hospital, so Sans opted to let him get what little sleep he could before trying to wake him. You told him to leave a sticky note somewhere he would see it so he wouldn’t panic from the both of you suddenly disappearing. Your husband was so nervous for the twins to be born that he was visibly shaking in his half laced sneakers. The two of you managed to shortcut over to the hospital with no issue, but that was where the smoothness of the process stopped.

For whatever reason, despite checking into the exact same hospital that Papyrus worked at, the front desk lady refused to let you check-in. She claimed that monsters were not allowed in the facility, and you outright refused to let Sans wait outside for the birth of his first children. For a half-hour, you argued with her, gradually growing more and more uncomfortable with the intensity of your contractions ramping up.

The fighting finally ended when you called Papyrus. It made you feel downright guilty and horrible, to call him at almost midnight when he had to be up in a few hours anyway. However, once you explained, he came striding in twenty minutes after your phone call, flashed his employee badge, and got you squared away in a room.

Sans was a complete nervous wreck, trying to do anything to be useful in easing your pain. You knew he hated seeing you in pain with a burning passion, so you did your best to quell his worries. Your best solution at the time was to give him the most scientific answer you could remember your doctor told you about labor.

While the explanation itself was simple, it did appear to ease Sans’ non-existent nerves for a bit. For the majority of the time, he and Papyrus chatted with you at your bedside and played the waiting game. There wasn’t much else they could do, aside from that, anyway. The twins decided when it was time, not you.

A few other doctors and nurses bustled in and out, checking up on your progress and making sure you were hydrated and mentally ready. Sans was on edge any time someone who wasn’t him or his brother came close to you, and the first time that the doctor went to check on your dilation, he almost ripped the poor woman’s arm off. Papyrus had taken him outside for a quick chat because of that, scolding his brother and telling him this was a necessary part of the process. After the little conversation, Sans had calmed down considerably, chatting with you in the minutes you were awake between small naps.

“how are you feeling now, lamb chop?” he asked you softly around four in the morning. If you were going to be completely honest, you were feeling like an utter wreck. Your body was getting close to giving birth, that much you could tell based on the sheer intensity of the contractions you felt. Each one hit so hard it practically stole your breath away from you.

“I could be doing a lot better, to be honest with you,” you grumbled truthfully. “But if it means we get to hold our little ones that much sooner, I would be more than happy to bear this burden.”

Sans grinned tensely at you as Papyrus wandered back in with another cup of water for you. He was the best nurse you had ever had in your life, and you couldn’t picture having someone else on hand for you.

“Thanks, Paps, are you sure this isn’t a bother? I know you have your shift starting in two hours.” The taller brother waved a hand at you dismissively, handing you the water and taking a seat.

“No, Not A Bother At All! What Kind Of Brother In Law Would I Be If I Wasn’t Here To Support My Family?” His smile was catching, and you found yourself breaking into a grin at his words, despite the intense pain you felt. Sans chuckled nervously from your side, stroking a few more hairs away from the sweat on your forehead.

There was chatter for a few more hours, and then you felt the strongest urge to push yet. You managed to keep from yelping or screaming, but the look on your face must have tipped Papyrus off to what you were thinking. Faster than you thought he could move, he was out of the room and grabbing the doctors and nurses for you. Sans was a little confused but clued in quick.

“is it time??” he asked, almost panicking if the tightness of his eye-light was anything to go by. You were incapable of speech, but you managed to nod and sit up just a little on your hospital bed. He helped you up just a little, then moved enough that the doctors could do what they needed to do as they came in.

Thus began the most painful minutes of your life as you began to work with your body to bring your children into the world. It felt akin to having someone dousing your entire lower half from the ribs down in gasoline and lighting it on fire. Sans was murmuring encouragement and praises in one ear while holding your hand, while Papyrus was holding the other and quietly cheering you on.

Seconds stretched into miniature eternities for you, your every nerve lighting up with pain signals. At some point, you’re pretty sure you cursed whoever came up with the idea to cause this much pain to a body in labor, sending both Sans and Papyrus into light chuckles before focusing back in. You pushed with all your might, trying to remember how to breathe, and concentrating on anything but the pain.

A sudden cry broke your train of thought, snapping the three of your’s attention to the doctor on the other end. She held up a bloodied little mess, placing it gently on the small paper they had on your chest, allowing you to get a better look.

A baby.

Your baby.

Sans was instantly sobbing over the little mass of bone and flesh, a proper hybrid of human and monster combined. Papyrus was still very much in encouraging brother mode, though if you looked, you thought you could see the faintest sparkle of tears in his sockets. You were relieved that they were crying, breathing, and well, removing the hand Papyrus held from its hold to gently cradle the little bundle.

It wasn’t long before your body decided to start trying to work the second baby into the world as well. It took all you had to not start screaming with this one, your body still sore from bringing your firstborn into the world. Sans was allowed to cradle his newborn once they were cleaned up, though he could very easily do that with one arm. His other hand went to holding yours again as the labor process continued.

Thirteen minutes after your first baby was born, their twin was brought into the world, screaming and crying just as the first had and very similar in appearance. You were too tired physically to emote much outside, but your heart burst with joy as you got to hold your baby in your arms. Sans was still holding to the first with his one eye-light formed into a large and fuzzy heart shape.

“Wow, They Are So Tiny!” Papyrus whisper exclaimed, trying not to wake the infants. “Who Would Have Guessed That They Would Be So Small To Start?” You couldn’t help but smile at that and checked on the baby you were holding. They had a solid grasp on your finger right now, and you were pretty sure your heart was melting.

“Yeah, babies start out pretty small to begin with, but they’ll grow quickly,” you murmured softly, gently rocking the infant. Papyrus caught the edge of exhaustion in your voice, carefully pulling the baby out of your grasp. Comparatively, they were minuscule in his grip, but it was too adorable for you to make a joke about it.

“get some rest, lamb chop,” Sans said softly from your side, pressing his teeth to your forehead. “you’ve done a lot of laboring today, and you deserve a rest.” Papyrus automatically groaned and tipped his skull backward.

“Must You Ruin A Tender Moment With Puns??” he asked in exasperation. Sans merely chuckled, and you smiled in return. Your eyelids were drooping closed, bit by bit, until you fell asleep to the sounds of quiet bickering between the brothers. After you fell asleep, Sans took a moment to look at the twins.

“wow... i never thought that i would be so lucky as to have you two in my life,” he murmured, gently running his phalanges over one of their cheeks. “but here you are. stars... you two are my little miracles, and i love you with all of my soul. i can’t promise that i’ll remember everything, but i know that i’ll never stop loving either of you. welcome to the world...”

~~~~~~~~~~

And that’s the end of the saga!! This is a (extremely late) gift for @popatochisssp on my little baby series!! This was a lot of fun to write, and I’m pretty happy with how it turned out!! Thank you to everyone who kept up with it, and thank you for reading!

Who knows, I may return with a Family Life Shenanigans series later!~

Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Five

#tw: mild blood #tw: descriptions of birth #it's pretty vague though #but tagged to be safe #pregnancy #horrortale #horrortale sans #horrortale sans/reader #horrortale papyrus #reader is female #it's not explicitly mentioned #but implied female/female bits #babies have arrived!!!!#reader insert #so you decide the babies' names #and whether they're boys or girls or one of each

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thatfairyfangirl · 5 years

Text

Certain Point Of View Chapter 3

Loki woke with a smile to the sound of Shake It Off pouring from your window as your shimmied and shook to the upbeat tune bringing. Though he tried to not invade your privacy all too much he just couldn't pull his eyes away, giving him the perfect start to his day. Deep down he felt a little swell of pride and just a little warmer to know that your encounters with him were bringing you such joy.

Clint and Sam both traded glances as they watched Loki lounge on the sofa, the book you had gifted him balancing loosely in his fingertips. Though he didn't find much interest in the story the book had to offer he still pressed onward through the pages, a soft smile lingering on his lips with every word that you seemed to hold so dear.

"Where did he get that book? I don't remember seeing it before?" Clint asked with a growing suspicion, arms crossed firmly over his chest, eyes hardening, very sure he was up to some sort of long game. "Did you give him access to the funds?" He added turning back to Sam.

"Wasn't me." Sam answered with a shake of his head.

With one fluid motion Loki flipped to the next page and pulled the note you had provided to hold in the air, his eyes continuing to dart back and forth over each line. With a raised brow Clint strode forward, plucking the note from the cold slender fingers to read it, completely floored. "This can't be real!"

"I assure you that it is." Loki's sly words cooed as he refused to take his eyes from the book, needing another excuse to go back to that shop again.

~ ~ ~ ~

Another Saturday night, another failed date… at least this one had the decency to admit he wasn't interested before you left the comfort of your apartment. You let out a dejected sigh as you climbed through your window out onto the small fire escape you so often used as a balcony, reveling in the soft fragrant wind and sound of the city below as you opened your laptop to type feverishly at your latest tale of heroics. Deep down you were sure your writings would never be published. Who would want to read about gods when they live among everyone? Your eyes wandered up to the spire of hope towering brightly above the streets of Manhattan. Though you were on the 10th floor of your own apartment building right across the street from the famed tower, the A stood proudly much higher up, readying to cast an otherworldly glow on you once the sun finished setting as you typed out your story.

Your train of thought on where to go with your work of fiction, however, came to a screeching halt as the sweet soft violin melodies that had been feeding your inspiration was very rudely interrupted by the sound of your ringtone. With a frustrated huff you tore your eyes from the screen to the unknown number on your call id. "Hello?" You asked suspiciously as you brought the phone to your ear.

"Oh wow, it is a real number." Clint was taken aback at hearing an actual voice on the other end. His eyes floated back to the reforming villain with awe and a breathy laugh...maybe he really was changing. Loki, however, found little humor in this as he rose, planning on taking his reading elsewhere. "I'm sorry to bother you miss, but did you gift a book to a tall slender man with dark hair?" Loki's fingers plucked the note he had been using as a placeholder from the hawk's fingers as he passed.

"Yes, I did." You answered rather matter of factly. "Look, I'm not sure what's going on over there in that tower...but it is quite clear that Loki is at the very least attempting a change for the better." You half scolded, unsure where you were finding the courage to tell off an avenger. "Now if you lot are satisfied I have some writing to get back to." With a huff you ended the call, starting your music once again. You let out an elongated sigh as your eyes traveled up the building, the light of the setting sun quickly vanishing, leaving only the otherworldly glow of the large A standing high and proud above the city and the light of your laptop to illuminate your face.

Loki paused at the door to his room, quickly spotting you, immediately recognizing you as the most beautiful being in all the nine realms, both inside and out. With slow careful steps he moved to the window to get a closer look at the heaven on earth he could see clear as day in you, while you stared upward, blissfully unaware of the way he studied every aspect of you with a wide grin.

Brittle gold and brown leaves soared past your eyes as a soft breeze tugged at the strands of your hair. With a deep breath of the crisp cooling air, your time with the trickster god found its way to the forefront of your mind, pulling a soft bashful smirk on your lips as you let the thoughts of the two of you bring a strange comfort to your soul and twist the inspiration the tower before you used to bring into a new, better version of the story. Though he didn't mean to, just by his nature the way he stood and smiled seemed sinister as your eyes slowly sunk back down and the inspiration for your story in progress crept back into your mind.

Your eyes passed over the window in the tower you were so used to being empty, that you nearly passed him right over. But your eyes soon found the chill of his skin and a twisted grin. Though the sudden realization of your audience made you jump and your eyes widen with alarm, you found a strange warmth in his grin and a sense of serenity as the thought of him watching over you settled in. However, seeing the startled reaction to him, Loki's lips quickly turned downward. His eyes fell as the hint of fear you held in your eyes drove daggers into him while the realization that this ray of sunlight was probably just as afraid of him as everyone else killed any joy your gaze may have given him. Your eyes lingered in awe of him as he reached up to close the curtains, shielding you from further terror at the sight of him.

His long slender fingers brushed against the cover of the book you had given him. Suddenly the gift felt so tainted and wrong.

~ ~ ~ ~

You sat at the sales counter in your book store, lazily flipping the page of one of the books you had set aside for yourself the day before, until the chime of the door pulled you away from the words. For a moment you looked on the god with excitement and deep reverence, which only grew as you realized he was carrying with him the book you had gifted him only a few days prior. You seemed to glow with delight as he stepped closer, your grin only falling from your lips as the hardened stony look in his eyes became apparent. His eyes lingered on you for a moment, the woman who was able to deceive the god of deceivers so easily. In an odd way he had to respect it, and that it seemed so effortless for you to keep it going. "You didn't have to bring it back...it was a gift." You chortled lightly as he flapped the paperback onto the counter.

"Oh I am well aware." You felt enthralling chills run up and down your spine as his eyes wandered over you with each syllable. His eyes shot down to the book of norse mythology you had set aside behind the counter. "But I am not like the gods of old you have read about. I don't require sacrifices or offerings to be appeased or to spare you."

Your brow folded over itself as you looked over him, wondering where in the world this was coming from. "What? No." You insisted. "I just hoped you would like the book as much as I did." And he did, up until last night. Not so much for the story, but for the idea of the gift. But that idea is tainted now.

"Oh please! This juvenile drabble?" He pushed the book toward you as he let the words push you from him, distancing himself for the sake of you feeling safer. "Keep your childish offerings." He spat out before spinning on his heels leaving you, pausing at the door. "I'll be sure to draw my curtains, spare you from the sight of the monster." He added before letting the door swing closed behind him.

"But I didn't think you were a monster." You muttered lightly to yourself as you drew the book in close to your chest. "I've always thought you were wonderful."

#loki #loki x reader #loki laufeyson #marvel #marvel x reader #Avengers #avengers fanfiction #avengers x reader

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zippdementia · 5 years

Text

Part 70 Alignment May Vary: Escape from Hell

Situation: As the players destroy the chains around the demon train’s heart, they are forced through a passage that appears in the heart chamber, rushed up to the “brain” of the train, the front car engine room, where an old conductor with pits for eyes (and four eyes that may remind one of Verrick’s four eyes), tells them of their success in freeing him and his desire to help them murder devils. He also explains that Arbeyach has been left behind in a discarded train car, still living in the world that Arbeyach created for himself, but now unable to flee it.

Alyss tells the train their next destination: the tower of Mammon and the conductor smiles in anticipation. She uses her phone device to signal to the rebels where they are and their situation, then lowers herself to the ground to try and heal her hurts. Aldric returns her bike to her in a cool roleplaying moment and realizes that she is developing feelings for Carrick, which grows his enmity towards the Paladin.

The players also heal up: the soul stuff that Ratticus gave them heals their hurts completely and also cures the curse that was left upon them by Arbeyach.

Then, rushing across the desert towards the city and Mammon’s tower, the players have one more obstacle to face: they are waylaid by Hecate in her gunship as she tries to blow apart the demon train.

The demon train fight I’ve set up to be an unusual one: the players are pulled inside the train’s “skin” and actually fight AS the train against the gunship, combining their hitpoints and using the following rules:

Their life force combined makes up their hitpoints. AC is 10. Each turn player can choose either defense, maneuver, or attack (only attack can be multiple players). Hecate fires her ship’s weapons at the beginning of the turn. The player maneuvering through the canyons gets to dodge Hecate, adding to their base AC of 10 by a d20+Dexterity or Wisdom roll. The player on defense can subtract damage by a D20 roll + either constitution or charisma. If no one is on defense, this doesn’t happen. Hecate has the following attacks, and DM either chooses or rolls randomly to determine effect each round:

Missiles: 5 missiles at 6 (1d4+4) each. Instant success.

Dual Lasers: fire twice +13 to hit for 27 (5d10) fire damage

Bombs: Player on maneuver must make a dexterity DC 20 save or else take 39 (6d12) concusive damage, halved on a save. Failure means players roll at disadvantage for all attacks.

Power siphon: a harpoon that steals life. +15 to hit. If it hits, steals 26 (4d12) life, no subtraction.

Then players get to attack. Each player in the attack area can use their normal attacks, using spell slots and all of that as normal, but everything is amplified as the train mimics the attack with its own demonic version (so an attack with Imoaza’s scythe may manifest as clawed hands erupting from the side of the train and tearing into the gunship), adding two more damage dice, but no damage modifiers.

Hecate has 212 hitpoints and AC 19. Her saves are +7. She can’t be affected by conditions. She is immune to poison damage. If there are more than three players, she gets an extra attack for each weapon for every three players.

After a drawn out but dynamic fight where Hecate’s rage builds more and more and her mother, Imoaza, continues to taunt her more and more viciously, Hecate’s ship finally blows an engine and she crashes in the desert.

The players are told to cure up, get a short rest and they’ll be at the vault soon. Mammon interrupts their journey with another psychic visit to his throne room, but the players completely ignore him while he tries to offer deals and a chance to join his side. Like I pointed out before, he’s really grasping at straws here, and they know it. Carrick finally loses his anger, telling Mammon that he’s the lamest devil they’ve come across, and that the players give zero shits about him. Mammon takes the revelation calmly and informs them that they are ants to him, ants he was debating whether to crush or not. But now he’s made his decision. The psychic connection is cut and the players arrive at Mammon’s tower in a fairly spectacular way: the demon train crashes into the side of it, ripping it open, and deposits them inside, as close to the vaults as it can. Then it races off to fight a new, horrible threat, while the Hells Rebels arrive and Puck flies down from the sky to join them in their race to the vault of the crystals.

The Conductor let out a gleeful laugh, the sound odd coming from his weathered and cracked lips and completely out of place with the rest of his austere appearance. “When a demon dies in battle, our souls return to the Abyss! My greatest foe comes. Today I go out in a blaze of glory! Today is the day I go home!”

I’m going to take a break from my structure here to chat for a moment about the difficulty of setting challenge in Dungeons and Dragons, because it is highlighted by the next scene.

I know Xanathar’s guide and the DM’s guide both have different methods for setting and figuring out good difficulty for fights, but you really can’t know how something will go in Dungeons and Dragons until you are playing it. I have three players at level 12. Xanathar’s guide suggests CR 5 monsters will be a decent match for them. I want this vault to be guarded by Abishai tasked with ensuring that those who enter the vaults are worthy, so I pick two black Abishai and a White Abishai (CR 7s and 6, respectively) and run a fight against them as the beasts drop down from among rows of statues of similar looking monsters. It’s a cool set up, the Black Abishai causing the vaults to become shrouded in shadow which then gives the Abishai advantage on their attacks.

But in three rounds, the fight is over: the players wipe the floor with them!

I was ready in case this happened, and have a Green Abishai standing by. He is a CR 15, and he comes into the arena with his fear effect blasting across the room indiscriminately, terrifying not only the players but the surviving White Abishai. This fight is a little more dynamic and long lasting, as Carrick and Imoaza flee in fear and the Abishai takes over Aldric’s mind, commanding him to turn on his fellows. The fight could have gone either way, but a mixture of poor die rolls from the Abishai and Aldric mean Carrick and Imoaza get a moment to break him free from his mind control and turn the tide on the Abishai.

Side note: there is a fun moment where the Abishai leaves a suggestion implanted in Aldric and Imoaza’s mind to flee from him and go stand in a corner, a suggestion that carries on after the Abishai is dead, and leaves Puck and Alyss and Carrick arguing with them to get moving. It’s also where we develop something deeper between Carrick and Imoaza: Carrick uses the bond they established on The Arc to take her hand and break her from the spell’s hold with soft words. Imoaza, not used to feeling anything and with her emotional wall weakened by the suggestion spell, feels a twinge of something for Carrick. It’s upsetting for her and strange, but maybe a little exciting too. Alyss catches the moment and believes that Carrick and Imoaza are already a “thing” setting us up for all sorts of romantic comedy action later... if we want to go there.

After all of this, the players rush back to the hole caused by the Demon Train, Alyss having stored a ton of crystals in a bag of holding, and leap out of the hole onto The Arc, which swoops down to catch them. The monster the train was fighting (in fact, died fighting, its soul returned to the Abyss) was none other than Tiamet, Queen of the Dragons.

A ridiculously tough beast, I know the players can’t defeat her in a fair fight. I use her toned down stats from the Rise of Tiamet final fight, but even then this is a beast capable of one-shoting an entire party with a single breath attack. And yet Aldric also hits like a beast, able to take off over 40 hitpoints each turn he attacks something. So I have to do a lot of tweaking as the fight progresses in order to achieve what I want this scene to achieve: a crazy final fight as the party flees from Hell.

Captain Krisp ran around the deck of The Arc, shouting orders. His generals and confidants: Ikbaldi the Barbarian, Star the Tiefling, Tinia the Cleric, Otto the Warlock, Jacobs his First Mate, and Geth the Rogue, all leaped to their battle stations, manning guns and turrets and swiveling them all to point at the rear of the ship as Tiamet crashed into them, her claws and talons wrapping around The Arc and hugging it close to her like a cat about to tear into a trapped mouse. Her five heads darted and dove down at the ship, tearing metal and wood apart, dodging bullets (or seeming to ignore them) as the gunners launched assault after assault upon her, raining down a barrage that would have destroyed a fortress. Aldric, Imoaza, and Carrick stood their ground on deck, Aldric laughing as gleefully as ever the Demon Train had at the prospect of facing such a mighty foe. He ran forward and leaped towards the nearest head, even as it swung around to regard him with fire in its eyes.

I recently did a podcast where I talked about setting difficulty for encounters in DnD 5e. In it, I come to the conclusion that one of the best ways to go about creating good encounters is to let the game world and your plot tell you what needs to be where and to worry about the challenge afterwards. Basically, don’t build with numbers: build with story.

In this case, I know I want Tiamet to be the final fight and I want it to be tough, really more of a feel of surviving a siege than a fist fight with a god where they are going to knock her out. Tiamet is (and rightfully so) way above their pay grade. But I also don’t want the fight to be impossible or a straight party kill. That’s why I have Krisp’s team launching barrages of attacks at her, and also why Puck steps in to use some pretty incredible high level magic to shield and block the worst of Tiamet’s attacks (we don’t yet know the limits of Puck’s powers, but the effort does seem to wear him down).

I also don’t want this to be a fight without consequences, so I let the situation and character choice determine where the danger is. For instance, I let the players roll damage for all the gun barrages being launched each turn. I don’t use all of Tiamet’s legendary breath attacks. And when she does unleash her attacks, I make one of them poison (which Imoaza is immune to). Even when she finally unleashes her signature fire breath, rather than make it about pure numbers, where Tiamet’s attacks are left at their full power, I use Puck to reduce damage to a more reasonable place for the player level. I also really focus my attacks on Aldric, who is insistent on taking on Tiamet directly, which to me is letting the player character steer this fight. Aldric is playing it like a crazed bad ass, which means he’s drawing the focus of the attacks. After lasting two orounds in close quarters with Tiamet, he does fall unconscious, and here is where Krisp finally rushes forward with a rocket launcher, lobs a missile into Tiamet’s mouth, and calls to everyone to get below deck, that he’s got a final plan.

There is one last challenge I place here. In order to let Carrick grab Aldric and flee, Imoaza places herself in the line of danger to distract Tiamet for one more round. This works, but then Imoaza has one chance, one dodging roll, to get away from Tiamet before she gets hit by a bite attack from the Goddess of Dragons. She makes the roll, but had she failed, the damage certainly would have killed her and we would have to roll up a new character. It’s a moment that creates the mood I want, it takes this fight from the status of story battle to one of real consequence and danger, but I don’t just throw it in: it’s set by player decision and action.

Imoaza rolled forward through the open hatch leading into the belly of The Arc, jaws snapping shut behind her in a rush of hot air and sparks. She stumbled to her feet and kept running as the jaws tried to force their way through the narrow opening.

She soon caught up with Carrick and Krisp and Krisp’s commanders. Aldric was coming to, having been cured by Carrick’s magic. Krisp was yelling into a phone: “Alyss, is everything ready? The crystals are in place? Good! Then let’s do this!”

Krisp--talking a mile a minute about how everything had to come together in a spectacular fashion in order to make this all work and about how hell was never going to be his forever home--leads them down to the hold of The Arc, where the bottom of the ship has opened up to reveal The Surveyor’s repaired massive ship flying beneath them. Krisp tells everyone to jump down, and crew and commanders alike rush to obey, Carrick and Imoaza joining them. Last to go is Aldric and Krisp himself, who stands for a moment looking around the now empty hold.

“She was a good girl,” Krisp says, his voice uncharacteristically sad. “She served well. I’ll be sorry to lose her.” Aldric places a hand on his shoulder. “As a fellow captain, I know what it’s like to lose something. To lose your mount.”

Krisp smiles. “Well, if we are going to lose her, let’s let the girl go out in style, eh?”

He pulls a device with a large red button on it from his waistcoat, then pushes the button. He grabs Aldric and leaps out of the hold with him, shouting his catchphrase: “Let’s get Krispy!”

And behind them, there is a sudden roar as The Arc explodes in a ball of intense flame, engulfing Tiamet who is still wrestling with her prize. They do not see if it is the end of the Dragon Goddess, for they are pulled inside the Surveyor’s Ship and the hatches battened down behind them, and then there is a sudden jolt as the ship, their new Arc, blasts out from the atmosphere and leaves the world of Hell behind, for the vastness of space, and the first step on the long journey home.

Epilogue

Somewhere out in the blasted desert of Hell, Hecate pulls herself from the crash of her ship and rolls onto the hot red rock. She coughs up black tar and smoke and wheezes as she sucks in clean air. Her eyes are slits of rage as she looks towards the city where her foes disappeared. She shakes a fist of rage towards the sky as she manuevers her snake away from her crashed gun ship.

“Mother!” she screams. “I will have my revenge!”

And then, unexpectedly, a voice answers her from behind. She turns and sees something unusual discarded on the rock behind her, a sword, black as night, and emanating all the power that it had promised to its last bearer, before Aldric lost it and Carrick refused to bring it back. Blackrazor speaks to Hecate, and its voice is pure menace:

“Did I hear you say revenge?

#dungeons and dragons #Dnd 5 #Blackrazor #Hell #Planar #Campaign Journal #Alignment may vary

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wulfrann · 5 years

Text

The Hero & The Villain - Prologue

Original Work

Rating: Teen and up audiences

Story Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence & Major Character Death

Category: F/F, M/M

Characters: Misha 'The Hero' Malenkov, Cordelia 'The Restrainer' Kasabian, Nataly Faukner, Deb, Andy, Will, Danton, Tina, Idir, Liêm, Ginette Dubois, Amaal Al-Amin

Additional Tags: Superheroes, Supervillains, Superpowers, Science-fiction, Anti-hero, Anti-villain, Emotional Isolation, Found Family, Self-destructive Behaviors, POV Alternating, Multiple Endings

Chapter Warnings: Mentions of violence - Surgery - Body Modifications - Alcohol

[Chapter 1 out of 7 - 3 212 words - Posted 2019-01-04]

Story Summary:

Once again, the Hero had saved the day. She had smashed Chaos down, right through the macadam of the street, and now order could reign again. Until the next villain came, and it would start all over again.

The Hero lives to destroy evil, and hopefully herself in the process. The Restrainer perpetrates evil to take care of her family. This is the story of the confrontation that took one of them out - or both.

(Also posted on RoyalRoad.)

Read it on Ao3 or right here under the cut.

Chapter Notes:

Happy New Year, everyone! Here's to a 20biteen filled with peace, growth and all the healing you need.

This all started from a tumblr prompt, and tumbled down the hill of inspiration to become this monster you are now presented with. The themes are heavy, but the story is, hopefully, interesting - as for the ending, you get to keep the one you like best. Aren't I generous?

As always, a huge thank you to my precious friends and amazing (though unofficial) betas @nichanana, @madeshika, @cupcakeofcrowns and @aoquesth. You all are the best and I would probably never post anything if it weren't for your support and comments.

Chapter 1: Prologue

Once again, the Hero saved the day. She had smashed Chaos down, right through the macadam of the street, and now order could reign again.

Her breaths came hard through her battered body, exiting her mouth tinted with the taste of blood. Drops of it dripped from her knuckles, knees, her cheek, her flank. She hated projectiles. Hated it when she couldn’t focus solely on reaching the villain and had to take too many other elements into account. She wasn’t as good in defense as she was in attack and it showed, especially with Chaos. Big scraps of ground, rocks, cars - everything had swirled and swung and soared. She was nothing if not one big throbbing pain - but the Hero was still standing, and Chaos was dead, and order would reign again.

Until the next villain came, and it would start all over again.

Sounds were coming back to her ears. Cries, cheers and the distinct flashes of the press. The Hero straightened her back. Looking like a winner - a savior -, the Hero gave the gathering crowd a solid smile for them to hold onto. They screamed and laughed and cried and the Hero stood in a plain of debris. Then the flock of journalists swooped on her, and the Hero smiled and smiled and talked, and the journalists asked and asked and fought, and when the questions became barbs the Hero pushed on through.

She flew off. The crowd on the ground gasping as one was the last thing she heard before wind filled her ears. She flew for a long time, too broken to speed through. She could feel the tissues starting to grow and mend and scar, and the blood stopping to drip. It itched terribly every time.

When she came home, she was greeted by silence. It almost felt off, this emptiness, but she remembered then and shrugged it through. She peeled her mask off in the equipment room, and walked on to the repair room before she stepped out of her suit. The material was solid, but it was not armor, and she would have to stitch it up before giving it a good wash. Speaking of a good wash… she left her suit next to the sewing machine, shuffling around in her underwear to the bathroom. She took a long, scalding shower, letting the water flow until it didn’t came down red, or dirty, or with piss. She was the only one to ever use that shower - if she was too tired to prevent herself from peeing right now instead of later in the toilet, no one would mind.

Once she was all dry and dressed, she poured herself a large glass of water. She gulped it down, then downed three more of them. When that was done she started to stretch, battling hard not to wince at every pull and flex and twist. It was a painful half an hour before she could finally eat something. She made meat, a lot of it, with vegetables and a big glass of milk. She did the dishes. She sat on the couch and ate an apple. She sewed her suit back up and put it in the washing machine. She brushed her teeth. She did not look at her phone. She went to sleep.

"Mom! I’m leaving!”

“Have fun at school!” Cordelia shouted from the lab and into the intercom, careful not to let her eyes wander away from the operation she was conducting. Surgery and transplant on the ocular system was always delicate - the one she was trying to achieve was more than that. One tiny fraction of a millimeter off and Danton could not only lose his left eye, but half of his face and probably his life as well. Cordelia was confident she could do it, as long as no one and nothing decided to chip at her concentration and distract her. She was the best surgeon to have ever surged, after all.

A few hours after Deb’s departure - and eleven and a half since the beginning of the operation -, Cordelia was done. She moved the camerarm (a robotic arm with a built-in camera of her invention that she used for particularly delicate or small-level interventions) away from Danton’s eye with extreme caution, then rolled it to the sanitizing room where it would be cleaned with a thoroughness no health facility could yet achieve. She rolled the rest of the equipment back in its place and away from the bed, which she pushed through the automatic door of the operating room. On her way to the resting room, she flicked the switch from a red OPERATION IN PROGRESS, DO NOT DISTURB to a green DONE, PLEASE CLEAN. The message was displayed in every room of the mansion, and on every device belonging to a resident. For those on cleaning duty, it would even come with instructions. Cordelia was pragmatic like that.

Once Danton’s bed was settled and Danton himself was connected to the monitors, Cordelia fished her phone out of her pocket. She typed a short message.

[To: William] I put him in room 05. He should wake up in about an hour.

She checked every screen and digits one last time to make sure it was as safe as could be, then hit send and left the room.

She was almost done with the pasta a la carbonara when her alarm went off. Danton was starting to wake up.

She texted Andy to come season the sauce and make sure lunch would be ready in half an hour, and was off. She ran down the flight of stairs to the underground floor, ecstatic and worried all at once. She really hoped the operation had worked. She stripped quickly and stepped into the sanitizing airlock, where she dressed back up into her surgeon clothes as the sanitizor did its work. When the screen on the right wall of the airlock declared she was clean, Cordelia was free to step out and half-run to Danton’s room.

William was here, of course, looking at a slightly stirring Danton with concern etched in every line of his body, craving but not daring to take his hand. He glanced up at Cordelia when the door slided open, and managed a small smile. Cordelia hoped the one she flashed back was as reassuring as she wanted it to be.

Then Danton made a feeble sound, and Cordelia stepped further into the room. She checked the monitors: everything was good. He was waking up normally, slowly, and with his regular heart rate. He didn’t seem in pain, either. William gasped, and Cordelia almost asked him why before she saw that it was just Danton gripping his hand. Somehow, in semi-consciousness, he had still managed to find it. It was Danton’s turn to gasp, then, and Cordelia turned to him.

“Breathe, Danton. Danton, it’s me, Cordelia. Breathe. I’m with William,” she said, stroking his mess of a hair. She glanced at the monitors. Still nothing. “Everything’s fine. Just breathe. You’re home, in the resting room, after your operation. Do you remember?”

Danton’s breathing slowed. His body relaxed back down, and his eye fluttered open. He fixed his eyes first on the ceiling, then Cordelia. Carefully, he nodded. Cordelia smiled.

“Good. Don’t talk yet, just breathe. You have to drink some water first,” she said, and as she did so turned to grab the glass of water she had prepared on the nightstand. “Will, can you make him sit up, please?”

William startled away from Danton’s face, and immediately bent down to push one of many buttons linked to the many functions of the bed. With very low speed, so as not to frighten or strain the patient, the first fifth of the bed raised Danton up in a sitting position. He was still holding William’s hand, and Cordelia had to touch his shoulder to make him look away from William long enough to drink the whole glass.

“How long,” he croaked at her, and Cordelia made him drink another full glass.

“About twelve and a half hours,” she said when he was done, and he nodded.

“How are you feeling?” Will asked, brows furrowed.

Danton smiled at him. “I’m fine. Missed you.”

“Missed you too,” he said back with a tremor and a smile.

Cordelia rolled her eyes, but let them have their moment. The operation hadn’t been without risks, and she could understand the emotion - she herself was being washed over by a wave of relief. And she remembered love, too; she remembered caring for someone so strongly she had feared it would break her. She remembered the meetings of eyes that shut everything else away from them, remembered holding hands like a lifeline. She remembered how intense it could be, and so she let them forget she was here, for a time. Then she clapped.

They both jumped. She grinned.

“Alright! Now let’s see what this eye can do. May I take a look at it?” she asked, and Danton nodded, letting go of William’s hand. She gestured for Danton to lie down against the mattress and scooted her chair closer to the bed. The eye looked good. Normal, or at least somewhat close to it. The pupil looked reactive, and bigger, as it occupied the space that the iris previously had. It didn’t look much different than if Danton’s iris hd been black, except that it shrank and extended depending on the light, like any normal pupil did. The eyelids were gone - she hadn’t had a choice.

“Well, this looks good,” she said, and patted Danton’s shoulder. “How well can you see with it?”

He blinked his right eye, looked around, squinted, then shut his right eye closed.

“P- Pretty good, actually. Better than with the other one, and much better than before. It… it does feel kinda weird though.”

“How weird?”

He frowned and shook his head, visibly troubled. “I don’t know, like… enhanced, or something. Saturated, but not just the colors, it’s everything. And it kind of hurts, too, but I’m guessing that’s normal.”

Cordelia nodded, smiling. “It’s all normal, really. The change is a lot to take in, and you’re going to have to get used to it before you can really deploy its full potential… Do you want something for the pain?”

“Oh, okay, cool, and uh, no thanks. I’m good,” he said, not really paying attention but looking around instead. “This is really cool.”

Cordelia smirked. “Wait until you try the coolest part.” Both William and Danton turned to look at her, a question in their look. She wiggled her eyebrows. “You can actually shoot laser with it.”

“What?” they said, then looked at each other.

“This is so cool, ” Danton whooped, at the same time that William said: “That’s terrifying.”

Cordelia grinned, pleased by both of their reactions. “Isn’t it great? You’ll have to learn how to use it first, but once that’s done you’re going to be amazing. And it’s perfectly safe, too,” she added, looking at Will. He seemed dubious, but Danton was excited enough for the two of them. “Wanna try it?”

He looked at her like she was giving him the best of gifts. “Can I?”

“Just look to the ceiling, and think about it. I built it like a muscle, so if your brain sends the command, your eye should respond.”

Danton did as she said. He looked up, frowning - and a ray of laser shot to the ceiling, not leaving so much as a trace on the surface. That all walls should be laser-proof was a doctrine of Cordelia she was particularly proud of.

Will and Danton gaped at her. She beamed.

The Hero woke up with a start and a gasp in a puddle of sweat. The whole room stank with it. It took her a second to figure out what’d woken her: her phone, ringing, buzzing, on the nightstand. Without thinking she grabbed it and pressed ANSWER. She only realised her mistake when a voice started speaking through it.

“Hello? Misha?”

She wanted to throw up.

“I can hear you breathing, Misha. I know it’s you.”

“...Nataly,” she croaked, slumping back against the wall in defeat. Her ceiling was so white.

“So you still speak. Good.”

“Why are you calling?”

Silence. Then: “Are you serious?”

She sighed, and let her head thump backward against the wall. Nataly swore.

“You really are serious. I worry, Misha. That’s why I called. I saw the pictures and the articles they wrote about yesterday.”

Nataly waited for her to say something. She said nothing.

“How are you?”

“Fine.”

She heard Nataly sigh. “I’m not stupid, Misha. I saw the state you were in.”

She wanted to throw up. She wanted to punch something. She wanted to smash the phone.

“I’m fine.”

She hurt all over, but she was alive. She could still fight. She could still save the world.

“I don’t believe you.”

She pinched her nose, fighting the urge to crush the phone and the annoying voice within.

“I don’t care,” she groaned. Nataly swore.

“God dammit, Misha, I care about you. You’re going to kill yourself if you keep going on like that.”

She let out a breath through her nose, slowly and with intent. She made herself lighten her grip on the phone.

“We are divorced,” she forced out, through gritted teeth.

“So what, you think just because we’re not married anymore, I don’t worry? That I don’t care about you? I love you, asshole. I’m not going to stop loving you just because you divorced me.”

She wished she could just smash her head against the wall. Be done with Nataly and all those aggravating headaches once and for all.

“But I did.”

Silence.

The bile was rising in her throat.

“...I see,” Nataly said, and her voice broke on the last word.

She flinched, but said nothing.

“...Take care of yourself, Misha.”

Nataly hung up.

The Hero sagged against the wall, empty and drained and hurt. She hoped Nataly would stop calling. She hoped Nataly would be fine. She hoped Natlay would move on, now. She hoped Nataly would not find out she’d lied.

As Cordelia was leaning against the car, waiting for Deb’ to get out of class, she thought that trees were really beautiful. Both materialistically and metaphorically: labyrinth of intricate roots scavenging the soil, a solid, reliable trunk, branches like dozens of arms reaching for the immateriality of the sky. Life, growth, death, with reproduction thrown into the mix. Humans were really just ugly trees. Weak, mobile trees that made far too much noise.

The end of class rung then, and a flow of teenagers ran out the doors. Or dragged themselves out the doors, depending. Cordelia looked for a flash of blue on top of the most beautiful, most handsome face in the world. It wasn’t hard, in this mass of stupid, ugly trees, to find the one she was looking for. Deb’ was making their way through the crowd with ease and a grace none of the others possessed. When they spotted Cordelia, Deb’ shot her the brightest smile and pushed some kid out of their way, extracting themself out of the crowd with class. Cordelia grinned.

“How’s my favorite person ever?” she asked, ruffling Deb’s frizzy hair.

“I pushed an asshole down the stairs and he broke his leg,” they said, grinning.

“Good. Did anyone see you?”

“Nope, not even him!”

Cordelia smiled, feeling like her heart was taking all the room in her ribcage. She ruffled Deb’s hair again, smiling. “I’m proud of you, you know?”

Deb’ smiled back, dimples digging in their cheeks. Their dark skin shone like no other under the afternoon sun, reflecting the light like a little moon. Deb’ really was the most beautiful person in the world.

“I know, mom. I am too,” they said, circling the car to get to the passenger seat. Cordelia shook her head lightly and got into the car.

“Ready to go home?”

Deb’ looked at her, amusement and fondness shining in their eyes. “You know you don’t have to come get me every time, right?”

“Nonsense. Now work your magic, little beetle.”

Deb’ shook their head at their mom, smiling, and snapped their fingers. A fraction of a second later the school disappeared, and they were home.

Cordelia saw Andy jump at their appearance, and bang her head against the hood of the car she had been tinkling with. She stifled a laugh to spare her friend’s dignity, but Deb’ snapped their fingers again and appeared right next to Andy, scaring her to death. Cordelia shook her head, smiling despite herself, and got out of the car. Deb’ had always liked messing with others as soon as they’d discovered what they could do. Cordelia thanked the universe for linking the trigger of Deb’s power in a snap of their fingers, and not something easier to learn. She didn’t know if she would have survived a teleporting baby - raising a regular one had been hard enough as it was.

“Sorry we scared you, Andy,” she said, shooting a look at her kid. Deb’ shrugged.

“Couldn’t help it.”

“That’s alright,” Andy laughed, rubbing her head where it had met the hood. “I’ll get used to it eventually.”

Deb’ leant forward to peek into the car, eyes roaming along the pipes and pistons, trying to make sense of it all. “What were you working on?”

“Oh, uh, nothing much, just - trying to make this one work again, I guess,” she said, and blushed at the curious look Deb’ gave her. “What?”

“Why would you want this one to work, when we have dozens of others much nicer vehicles?” Deb’ gestured to the rest of the garage.

Andy looked around too, considering the question, but her gaze quickly found its way back to the old, dusty car she’d been trying to fix. “I like this one.”

“Why?” Deb’ pressed on, sounding frustrated. Cordelia smiled.

Andy shrugged, hand brushing along the red edge of the car’s guard, smiling fondly at its chipped paint job and dated engine. “I like that she’s old. They don’t make these anymore. They’re too slow, and too small, and not adapted to the engines we make today. Trying to fix her - it’s like flicking through an old photo album.”

“So you’re, what, nostalgic? Did you use to have one like this before?”

“No, I wasn’t born when they stopped making them,” Andy said, shaking her head. The light caught on the shaved skin, and Cordelia spied Deb’s eyes briefly glancing at it. “It’s more like looking into the past, I guess? And dusting it off,” she added with a grin.

Cordelia smiled. It was a nice thought, that in the present the past could be fixed.

“You know,” she said, “I don’t think I ever saw this car working. It’s always been sitting here, as far as I recall.”

Andy looked at her then turned to the car, looking wistful. “That’s a shame, it’s a beauty.”

“If you can fix it, it’s yours.”

“Really?” Andy gasped. There were stars twinkling in her eyes, brighter than Cordelia had ever seen.

She laughed, patting her shoulder. “Of course. Now come, the both of you. I smell dinner.”

#Superheroes #Supervillains #Superpowers #OCs #writers on tumblr #Original story #The Hero & The Villain #Prologue #Found family #The restrainer #The Hero #this story is my baby please leave feedback I would love you forever #Wulfrann writes

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