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stories-to-tell-by-lantern-light · 3 years

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Who Am I Really?

(Eyeless Jack X Reader)

Iron was all he could taste, as he hugged his arms close to his chest. The white snow that speckled the forest floor contrasted greatly with his newly acquired ash-grey skin. He could feel blood crusting under his fingernails, he could feel the sting of the cold snow underneath his bare feet as he walked. Whatever they did to him, he was no longer human that much was clear, his feet turned more animal-like and had ripped through his old shoes. If he was being honest with himself he knew that from the moment he awoke and could still see that he was no longer human.

Jack Nichols shivered as he caressed the hollow sockets where his eyes should’ve been. They were dripping with the black tar that was mercilessly poured in there by Jenny and her cult.

‘That absolute fucking bitch.’ He thought, and an animal-like snarl tore through his throat. He could feel the stretching and popping of his jaw as he ground his teeth together. Killing her and her stupid friends was therapeutic to him, remembering the taste of their blood as it filled his mouth when he tore out their throats made him feel euphoric. Pausing his steps only for a brief moment he let those memories of eating their flesh and organs consume him, it only served to make his mouth water.

What was wrong with him? Why did that memory, which happened only hours ago, make him so god damn hungry? What exactly had they done to him, as much as he tried not to dwell on that thought the hunger that ate away at him even after the slaughter was almost too much to handle. All Jack wanted when he woke up this morning was to go on a date with a cute girl, get a little drunk, and maybe get lucky (though realistically that was just wishful thinking). The true college experience one might say, even for a med student. Especially with a schedule as busy as his...that was as busy as his. He knew he should’ve just stuck to focusing on school and studying his brain out, god why did he have to listen to his friends as they urged him on the date.

‘What’s the worst that can happen?’

This. This was clearly the worst possible outcome.

What he really couldn’t believe, however, was that he allowed one of the cultists to get a hit on him, and a bad one at that. Turning his head to glance down at the tear in his thigh, it was a deep gash that desperately needed to get medical attention and fast. The only problem the former medical student faced was that whatever was pouring out of his leg wasn’t blood. It was a deep black ooze that stained the white snow that littered the forest floor. In fact, Jack wasn’t even sure if normal medical supplies would even heal his wound. Jack grit his teeth trudging onwards into the forest, a faint buzzing reverberated around in his skull like flies buzzing around a corpse that he couldn’t seem to shake.

He placed his hand against a tree the world spinning around him. Whatever the blood-like substance that was pouring out of his leg was, he was losing it fast. Jack heard the crunching of snow in front of him and a small gasp. It took most of his strength but he picked his head up and snarled. Jack bared his teeth and tried to make himself look as dangerous as possible, he felt like a wild animal that was cornered by the hunter. There was a girl in front of him, she had (h/l) (h/c) hair that was stuffed under a furry winter hat. She took a few steps back, her brown snow boots making giant footprints in her wake. He could hear the blood flowing through this girl’s veins, as her anxiety levels seemed to spike. The anxiety caused her heartbeat to quicken drastically, hearing the sound only served to increase Jack’s seemingly ceaseless hunger. Jack tried to take another step towards her, flexing the sharp nails on his hands but collapsed under his own weight, his fucking leg. He really couldn’t catch a break, could he?

“What are you?” The girl’s voice held a slight quiver to it and Jack could feel her sharp eyes burning holes into his body. He watched as she hesitantly took a step closer, her (f/c) parka standing out against the muted colors of the forest.

“I don’t know.” He responded with a raspy breath, she smelled divine but he had no strength to attack. Something in his bones told him that he was beyond human, something so much more, a god perhaps? What a silly thought that he couldn’t shake away. Through his quickly blurring vision, he swore he could make out a pair of fancy dress shoes a little bit behind the girl. He saw the girl drop to her knees and cover her ears, his vision went black and the sound of static accompanied the darkness.

---

Jack was expecting to be dead. He expected to be accompanied by beautiful white light, maybe an angel or something. However, it caught him very off guard when he suddenly awoke in a rather plush bed. He threw the plaid covers off himself unceremoniously and moved to swing his legs over the side of the bed. The baby god never got far because he let out a howl of pain as a sharp sensation traveled up his thigh. Shit right, his entire upper thigh was practically ripped open. He forgot all about that, glancing down at his wound he noticed it was wrapped tightly in medical bandages and he assumed it was stitched up underneath the dressings. Whoever fixed the wound seemed to have done at least a semi-decent job, at least he wasn’t dead. Sniffing the air with his newly acquired sense of smell he could make out the distinct smell of humans and...was that lavender?

Jack felt his stomach growl and he doubled over clutching it. They smelled delicious. He could practically hear their organs singing out to him, rip open the human, steal us, devour us.

He was snapped out of his thoughts by the door opening, in the middle of the doorway stood the exact girl he’d seen in the forest. Immediately going on the defense he bared his teeth opening his jaw as wide as he could, he heard the popping sound of his jaw as it extended, he felt something swirl around in his mouth. He felt a chill run down his spine at the unwelcomed sensation.

Did he have more than one tongue?

Shaking the thought away Jack didn’t move to attack, he was never the type. He would always rather listen to rationality before getting his hands dirty, the only issue was he was starving and the girl would absolutely make a fine meal.

“Don’t try demon.” The girl scoffed eyeing Jack up and down, if he was still his old college self he would’ve gotten flustered at the gesture. A girl showing him attention? Unheard of back them. However, after Jenny, he was almost positive he’d never let that happen again. His sockets looked down at what the girl held in her hands, it was a plate, a plate that had kidneys on top of it. He was only mildly aware of the fact that he was drooling all over himself. “Oh gross.” She scrunched up her nose placing the organs on the bottom of the bed.

Without hesitation, Jack attacked the cold meat shoving it in his mouth with vigor. He knew blood was all over his face and hands but he couldn’t bring himself to care. Jack knew the girl’s calculated eyes were watching his every move, even so, he couldn’t help but let out a groan of pleasure as the food slid down his throat. Once the meal was finished and Jack was satisfied he finally felt he had enough strength to start asking questions.

“Who are you?” He rasped, whipping his mouth with the back of what was left of his sleeve.

“Really? You’re asking ME that question.”

“I’m not a fan of your attitude.”

“I’m not a fan of you bleeding out on my property.”

Jack growled low and guttural.

“Don’t make me hurt you.” The girl had the audacity to laugh in his face was she not aware of what he was capable of now?

“Nice try but I’m not scared of you. You’re not allowed to hurt me as long as you’re under my care.” She pointed to herself with her thumb, puffing out her chest a little however he could hear her pulse increase just the slightest bit.

Jack only scowled.

“What pray tell is exactly stopping me?” He raised an eyebrow watching carefully as the girl lifted up her sleeve to her sweater. Scared into her wrist was a symbol that Jack had never seen before in his life, but for some unknown reason, he felt dread wash over him. Carved into her wrist was an O with an X slashed through it. “What’s that supposed to prove exactly? That you’re into weird tattoos?”

The (h/c)-ette let out a loud sigh like this conversation was boring her. Oh he’s sorry it’s not his fault he was turned into a fucking organ-eating monster by a cult at his local college! If he still had his eyes they would be rolling so far back into his skull, yet he still waited for the girl to explain.

“My name is (y/n), I’m a medical proxy under The Operator. Currently one of the only ones he has left because we keep getting killed off by rogue killers.” The girl, (y/n), clicked her tongue in clear distaste at the mention of said killers. “Since I’m under The Operator it means if you kill me, he’ll kill you, that’s the deal Jacky boy.” That put him on high alert.

“How the fuck do you know my name?”

“You’re certainly full of questions for someone just waking up out of a coma. If you must know The Operator gave me a brief rundown of your file after we found you in the woods.” (Y/n) crossed her arms over her chest “It’s your lucky day because you just got hired to work for him.” She gave him a round of applause, but it sounded more mocking than serious and he only grew more confused.

“This doesn't make any sense to me. I hope you’re aware.”

“I’m sure it isn’t. It’ll all be explained in due time. For now, all you have to focus on is getting better so you can begin your training. Lucky for you, I’m your registered nurse and caregiver, so enjoy your stay at castle de la (Y/n). Trust me when I say you should value your time here while you still have it.” A thousand more questions ran through Jack’s mind and his little question and answer session with his self-proclaimed nurse didn’t really help.

“So you’re a med student then?” She made a noise of affirmation picking at the strings of her sweater.

“Was a med student Jack, that pretty much came to a screeching halt after I was scouted by the boss man. That, however,” He watched as (Y/n) put a hand to her lips signaling him to stop asking questions, “Is a story for another day. The first order of business now that you’ve eaten is a shower. Cause no offense but you smell like dried blood, and coming from me that’s saying something cause I smell blood all the time.”

Jack still didn’t trust this stranger fully and it got under his skin that she seemed to know everything about him and he knew next to nothing about her. Yet, a shower did seem nice at this moment, he glanced down at his hands and noticed his nails were caked with dry blood. He could only imagine what every other part of his body looked like, (y/n) clearly didn’t bother cleaning him up aside from dressing his wounds.

“A shower sounds good.” Jack nodded in confirmation and the girl gave a relieved smile.

“Oh thank God you agreed, it took me a week of convincing to get Jeff to go take his first shower.” Jack decided it was best not to ask who Jeff was deciding that that was a can of worms he shouldn’t open just yet. She reached out to touch him and he immediately recoiled back almost biting her handoff, the smile that appeared disappeared into a frown.

“Don’t touch me.” Memories of Jenny’s friends holding him down while he pleaded for his life flashed across his mind. The blade coming closer and closer to Jack’s crystal blue eyes before making contact and-

“Alright, cannibal boy snap out of it. Can’t have you succumbing to blood lust just yet. You don’t wanna injure yourself more.” (Y/n) snapped her fingers next to his ears and he couldn’t help but feel a little grateful that she snapped him out of his stupor. “I was going to help you to the bathroom because you really shouldn’t put pressure on your leg. Is that okay?”

Jack felt himself nodding reluctantly. She was right, he really shouldn’t put stress on his leg or it could cause more harm than good. Especially since he didn’t know the extent of the injury yet, for all he knew he was lucky they didn’t hit the femoral artery. Her arms went around his waist as the god and the human girl hobbled to the bathroom together. On the short walk there Jack was trying to get a feel of the house, in case he needed to make a grand escape in the future.

“I’ll put some fresh clothes outside the door for you, call for me when you’re done so I can help you back to the bedroom.” (Y/n) explained as Jack hobbled into the bathroom, he didn’t feel the need to respond to her as he shut the door in her face. He heard a faint click of a tongue from the other side of the door and listened to the girls retreating footsteps.

Jack leaned against the sink putting most of his weight on his hands. The sink creaked at the newfound pressure and Jack wasn’t sure it was because it was an old house or because he had newfound strength. He glanced up at the mirror, it was weird somewhat seeing when you had absolutely no eyes. It was the first time since the incident he got a good look at himself, he looked about as good as he felt.

Terrible.

His auburn hair curled around his now pointed ears and was caked in mud and dirt. He was almost grateful that (y/n) didn’t touch him aside from the wound while he was unconscious, Jack couldn’t imagine what he might’ve done if he felt anyone go near his face. Speaking of his face, he opened his mouth and saw his teeth were shaved into razor-sharp fangs. His stomach turned as he remembered the exact reason why they were like that, organs. They were like that so he could eat organs. The thought wasn’t nearly as nauseating as it should’ve been.

His skin was unnatural and sickly grey color, as he lifted up his shirt the color seemed to spread all the way down his body. He glanced down at his hands and saw his nails were long and black, almost like those girls who wore acrylics, except he was sure their nails couldn’t rip into people's chests with a single swipe. Continuing down his body he lifted up one of his padded feet, he was correct in his assumption from earlier. They were much more animal-like, he wondered if they made him faster, what purpose could they possibly serve other than that?

Gently letting his footfall back down on the floor he shuffled to the shower and turned it on, the water sprayed out in a burst and he patiently waited for it to heat up. Eventually, he was able to step inside, not before knocking his head not only against the curtain rod but also on the showerhead.

“Fuck!” He snarled glaring down at the showerhead. Jack did a little double-take, okay he was also super tall, at least he got one blessing out of whatever the fuck was happening. Jack had to kneel on the ground in order to let the water roll down his body, with a deep breath he enjoyed the warm water pelting his skin. He fumbled around with the shampoo trying to figure out how to open it without popping a hole in the container. As the lid popped open he was hit with the calming scent of lavender.

~~~

“We’ll send someone to come back and check on him in about a month give or take, see how he’s adjusting and healing.” A figure spoke from the kitchen shaking a cigarette into an ashtray, as (y/n) stood across from him. The man ran a hand through his messy brown hair “Then we’ll reassess him, give him a test and see if he’s fit to come to the mansion.” Meanwhile, the girl heaved a sigh of her own and leaned against the cool tiles of her kitchen wall.

“So it’s gonna be my responsibility to explain everything that’s happening to him? Isn’t that supposed to be your job Tim?” (y/n) raised an eyebrow “You realize he’s, like, almost seven feet tall, has no eyes and eats organs right? I’m not even sure WHAT he is.” She muttered, “The rundown I got really only gave me his background and his clear trauma.”

Tim clicked his tongue like the girl in front of him was wasting his time, it made her ball up her fists subconsciously.

God, the main proxies really got on her fucking nerves sometimes.

“You won’t have to worry about that, The Operator will handle all of that throughout the coming weeks. No need to worry. You also don’t need to worry about harvesting organs for him, and hopefully, once he’s healed he’ll work on doing that himself. But for now, someone on a kill close by will be dropping off organs.” Tim’s nose scrunched up a little and the (h/c)-nette’s did the same, she normally prided herself on her strong stomach, but this was a lot even for her. “The only thing you have to do is monitor his eating, see how much he will need on a weekly basis, and obviously keep him alive.”

“Obviously.” They both seemed to have a mutual understanding about that at least, she fucks up and he dies they’re both in deep shit with The Operator. Tim reached to the side where his porcelain mask sat against the countertop.

“Don’t fuck it up.” He pointed to her before slipping out the door leaving the women alone with an organ-eating monster. (Y/n) mimicked ‘don’t fuck it up' in a nasal voice before kicking off the wall and heading back in the direction of her guest's room, she pulled out a pair of crutches from the closet and rested them by the bedside. She gently scratched at the faintly buzzing symbol on her wrist, this is going to be a long month.

#creepypasta x you #creepypasta x reader #x reader #x you #x y/n #eyeless jack x reader #eyeless jack x you #proxies #proxy reader #horror #fanfic #ej x reader #ej x you

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yellowocaballero · 3 years

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Hey wouldn’t it be funny if I wrote a crossover between canon and the roleswap AU.

So I did <3. There’s no reason for this to exist, I was just bored and self-indulgent and amused myself by thinking about how fucking insane the Space Cadet team has to be in comparison to canon. This takes place at S4 Canon!Jon’s time, and basically between chapters 2 and 3 of solitaire. It is not canon. Do not think too hard about it. Enjoy. Story under the cut.

“Yes, in almost every way.” Jon wiped his mouth with a napkin, balling it up and dropping it on the table. “Jonathan Sims, thirty one years old, Aquarius. Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute. The Archivist.” He paused a beat, uncertain of how to broach this. “I think Helen may have deposited me in an alternate dimension? Best case scenario.”

Everybody stared at him blankly.

“Well,” Basira said finally, “sounds like the kind of bullshit you get yourself wrapped up in, Jon.”

“I knew it!” Sasha cried, before deflating. “I mean, I didn’t, really, not at all, but that’s fascinating! Will you answer some questions? Who’s the Queen in your universe?”

“I’m back from the dead for a week and my life’s already stupid again,” Tim said blankly.

“Two Jons?” Martin asked, far too excitedly.

“Can I leave you alone,” Melanie gritted out, between clenched teeth, “for five minutes?”

Jon woke up at his desk, which was so common that it was somewhat pathetic.

Not that a lot of things weren’t pathetic about Jon, but seeing as he no longer technically had anywhere to live he’d give himself a pass. Or was it pathetic to be homeless too? Jon felt strongly as if it was, but he was working on the judgemental thing. Martin had always -

Martin. Jon blinked blearily at his empty desk, scrubbing a little at the sleep that had accumulated in the corner of his eyes. Right. Speaking of pathetic. Jon didn’t like admitting that Martin was the first thing he thought about when he woke up and the last thing he thought about before he went to bed, but he was working on being more honest with himself. Denial about the situation didn’t do anyone any favors. Denial was what made him start stalking and hunting people like - like some sort of awful predator. No more denial. Jon knew who he was, and he knew what he was, and he was going to try and be as good a person as he can be despite it. It was the least he could do.

Wait. Why was his desk empty?

It wasn’t completely empty. There was a laptop on the center of it, and some assorted papers stuck haphazardly underneath. The usual recorder was tucked into the corner, clicked off. He swiped his hand over the trackpad of his laptop, quickly logging in, and instead of seeing his usual research or theory maps, he saw...a video game?

Jon squinted at the video game. What was The Sims?

He looked around his office, well-lit with the harsh fluorescent lights. It was his office, complete with the couch on the far wall that Daisy had taken to napping on and the two walls of metal shelving that held filling boxes and collections of tapes. Several filing cabinets were lined up behind Jon, holding his favorite statements. Organized by Entity. He was quite proud of it.

But the Statements seemed to be gone. Some loose papers were always scattered around, slipping out of boxes or sitting in haphazard piles weighed down by tape recorders. None of them were there. Basira must have taken them. Jon stood up, moving around the desk to pull out a box and peer inside. Empty.

Some part of Jon’s brain, growing louder every day, wailed and gnashed its teeth that someone had stolen his Statements, his knowledge. Most of Jon was just worried over what Basira could possibly be doing with them.

Unconsciously, Jon’s hand drifted down to his stomach. It was purely a habit, of course - the hunger never gave him stomach pains. He was so hungry all the time, he could barely feel it anymore.

The Statements were all gone.

Was Basira trying to starve him out…?

Jon shook himself. She wouldn’t - well, she wouldn’t go behind his back to do it. She knew that he’d just start preying on people -

His life had gotten so pathetic.

A loud crash and a yell echoed from the other side of the door, and Jon recognized Melanie’s voice. He winced, and decided to stay in his office for the time being. Best to stay out of her way. She always reacted somewhat explosively to him -

Then the faint, muffled tones of Martin’s voice echoed through the door, and Jon forgot all hesitation as he burst out of his office.

The bullpen was just slightly different from where Jon had seen it last - the desks arranged differently, different detritus scattered around, no sleeping bags or hair dryers - but he wasn’t paying attention to any of that. He was only paying attention to Martin, who was sitting at his desk as easy as you please. He was smiling.

Jon hadn’t seen Martin smile in so long.

He also hadn’t seen Martin wear those adorable little sweatervests in so long, but that wasn’t important right now. Jon cried out softly, like he had been punched - he did feel as if he had been punched, it wasn’t an unfamiliar sensation - and Martin turned slightly in his chair to look at him. He smiled when he saw Jon, so kind and happy and Martin, and Jon felt like he was dying at the sight of Martin just smiling, just looking at him.

“Look, you don’t need to worry about me,” Martin was saying, to an unamused and remarkably composed Melanie. He held up a large combat knife, the metal glinting off the fluorescent lights. “Jon likes it.”

“See, it’s not you I’m worried about,” Melanie said, arms crossed. She was dressed - in her jeans and green flannel, like she used to. Her hair looked clean. The crop top, cut-off shorts, and fishnets, that Jon hadn’t seen her take off in the last month, where - “It’s poor Jon. He’s too desperate for affection to stand up for himself.”

“Jon, you okay?” Tim asked, sitting behind Martin and sipping a margarita. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

That was when Jon - hungry, tired, hallucinating - felt his legs give out. It was just in time, too. He collapsed to the ground just as Martin threw the knife, sending it whistling where his head had been half a second ago.

Then he hit his head on the floor, and blissfully fainted.

****

“ - she’s not his mother, it’s not Georgie’s job to make sure he eats.”

“It’s because Daisy isn’t here.” That was Basira’s voice, almost mournful. “Daisy always used to remind him to eat.”

“How did this guy make it to thirty again?” An unfamiliar voice asked.

“If it wasn’t for this ragtag bunch of lesbians, I would have killed him months ago,” Tim said, then paused a beat. “What? I’m owning up to my mistakes.”

“Remind me to give you a sticker later,” Melanie said dryly.

Jon opened his eyes, to see five faces crowded in front of him. They were all bending over him, identical expressions of mild intrigue on their faces as they bickered with each other. Martin looked very, very mildly concerned, as Melanie and Basira just looked exasperated. Tim - and the woman - who was the woman?

Instinctually, Jon reached out with his mind and sought the answer. But it was as if he was reaching with a limb that had been cut off. No, a limb that had never existed. Dazed, Jon lifted his real hand, if only to make sure that he could still move - and found himself staring at an unmarred, smooth, healthy hand.

“Martin didn’t cut it off,” the woman said helpfully. She had a thick mane of curly brown hair, and brown skin a similar shade to his. She was holding a granola bar, and she easily stuffed it in his outstretched hand. “If that was a concern or anything. When’s the last time you ate, Jon?”

The question spent a spike of anxiety through him, Jon instantly interpreting it as an accusation. The granola bar wasn’t going to do anything. Of course he was hungry, he’s always hungry -

Jon wasn’t hungry.

Jon sat up, letting the assorted people, both alive and dead, step away. He mechanically unwrapped the granola bar and stuffed it in his mouth, chewing lethargically. It didn’t taste like sawdust and cement. It tasted like salt, and nuts.

He swallowed the granola bar, forming a hypothesis. He looked at Basira, who at least was the most familiar here. It galled him even having to ask, not just knowing, but - “What year is it?”

She stared at him, unimpressed. “If you hit your head we’re taking you to C&E. We can’t afford for you to get any stupider, Jon.”

“Your concern is noted,” Jon said, strained.

“Don’t make fun of him, he’s a concussion victim,” Melanie scolded. She smiled at Jon - hideously novel. “It’s 2018. I’m calling Georgie and getting you home, you’re useless to us with a brain injury.”

He no longer had a hypothesis. Jon shook his head mutely. The last person Jon wanted to field questions from was Georgie. “I’m fine,” Jon said hoarsely. “I think I just need to - lie down a bit.” And not look at Tim. He was wearing a Hawaiian shirt, and was still slurping his margarita obnoxiously. He was leaning against a desk, somewhat heavily. “I’ll be fine.”

Everybody looked at each other, then shrugged. Melanie reached down and helped him up, gently pushing him towards the couch set up in the corner of the bullpen, and he found himself stumbling towards it and lying down. Martin loudly offered to nurse him back to health, which incentivized Basira and Melanie to quickly push him inside the recording room and lock the door for...some reason. Jon wanted to go talk to Martin, figure everything out with him. But he didn’t - paralyzed, or maybe just frightened, or maybe just very tired.

The knife he had thrown was still lying on the floor, somehow innocently. The woman picked it up, inspecting it closely, and sighed.

“There is something off about that guy.”

“None of them are ever going to believe you, Sash,” Tim said dully, flipping through a brightly colored magazine on his desk. Jon’s breath caught in his throat. “Melanie thinks it’s freakier if you haven’t stabbed anyone.”

This was it. This was when Tim would say, ‘Everybody wants to stab Jon’, or something. It’d be fair. If this was a dream, a fantasy of dead friends, then that’s what he would say. But he didn’t. Tim - strangely small, strangely gaunt, with hollow cheeks that reminded Jon a little of Daisy - didn’t look up at Sasha, flipping through his magazine, and Sasha avoided eye contact with him. She looked at Jon instead, from where he was lying on the couch, and gave him a strained smile.

Jon found the courage to speak to her. It should have felt familiar, like Sasha, but nothing about her was familiar. He had listened to her tapes a dozen times, any scrap of her voice he could find, but - well, everybody sounded different on the tapes. “Sasha. Can you get me my phone? And a...Statement?”

Sasha brightened enthusiastically. “You want a Statement? Say no more, Jon, I’ll hook you up. Nice to see somebody taking an interest. Let’s keep this between you and me, okay?”

“What…?”

But she had already disappeared into his office, and the faint sounds of banging echoed throughout the room. Melanie and Basira were standing in the kitchenette, chatting lowly, Basira occasionally laughing at something Melanie said.

Jon wondered where Daisy was, and instinctively tried to reach again before hitting that wall. He gritted his teeth, head still swimming.

The most important thing was figuring out if this place was dangerous or not. Wherever he was, whatever was going on, he had to discern if it was a danger. Could this have anything to do with an unknown ritual? No, how could it? Elias? He wouldn’t put any of this past Elias.

With a twist in his gut Jon remembered the cannibal priest’s Statement. Any suspicion of unreality, any feeling as if things were not as they should be...or was this a pleasant, Lotus Eater’s dream instead? If that was true, would Martin be throwing knives at him?

“Here you go! First one I saw on your desk.”

Jon sat up, mutely taking the paper and phone Sasha held out to him. It wasn’t his mobile - it was much nicer and sleeker than his own battered thing - but he had to assume it was Jon’s. He took the Statement too, scanning it quickly.

Of course, of course. It was Anya Villete’s. Jon thought about this one frequently, captured by the prospect of multiple realities. Not worth the danger of exploring, but there was an intoxicating element of danger. Maybe the Jon that these people thought they were talking to had been reading it, and accidentally triggered something -

“What did I say!”

Before Jon could react, the paper was unceremoniously ripped from his hands. Jon cried out helplessly, only to see Melanie standing in front of him with an unamused expression and his lifeline in her uncaring fists.

“We’ve been over this,” Melanie scolded - scolded? “No statements, they’re bad for your tummy.” She frowned at Sasha, who didn’t seem very guilty. “And I told you to stop enabling him. He’s already sick, and you know these things upset him.”

“I’m gathering data,” Sasha said cheerfully. “Something weird was happening in his eyes when he was reading that Statement. Give it back, I need to record it.”

“Can I have that back, please?” Jon asked planatively. “I need it.”

“You do not.” Melanie folded up the statement tightly, shoving it in her jeans and ignoring Jon’s cry of despair. “If you’re feeling under-stimulated, go play knife monopoly with Martin. Otherwise relax and make sure you aren’t going to faint again.”

“I’m not going to -”

“I will call Georgie,” Melanie threatened, and Jon clicked his mouth shut. Melanie nodded, satisfied in having won the argument. If it was even an argument. “Sasha, if you let Jon find another Statement I will be locking the library and giving the key to Martin.”

“Yes, boss,” Sasha said, depressed.

“Tim, you’re with me, we need to design our plan of attack for chasing down Daisy,” Melanie barked, and Tim straightened in his seat. Jon saw for the first time that there was a folded up cane on his desk. “I need your dumb fear demon powers.”

“That’s not how they -” Tim started, but at Melanie’s look he quailed. “Yeah, boss.”

“Great.” Melanie folded her arms, frowning down at Jon, and at the receiving end of the look Jon found himself quailing too. “If you leave the Archives to do anything other than go to the bathroom the rest of the day, I will tell Georgie that you were exerting yourself while sick again. And she will call you a poor little dear and give you lots of hugs and lots of soup. You will hate it. Is that clear?”

“Yes, boss,” Jon said, depressed.

“Good. I need to go psychologically torment more people, I’ll be in the library. Tim!” She snapped her fingers, and strode off to the library as Tim scrambled up and limped after her.

Jon watched her go dazedly as the library door clicked shut behind her. Sasha sighed and went back to her desk, cracking open the thick books on the top and relaxing. They weren’t even research books, just nonfiction about the Mayflower. Basira was back at her desk too, this time with her chin resting on her arms folded on the desk as she watched a...movie. Was that a romcom?

This was dangerous. The situation was dangerous, doubtless the plot of some force or another that hated Jon personally and wanted him to suffer. He had to do some research, find out what was going on, track down Elias and find his power and dig into that source of infinite knowledge lying dormant in his mind, uproot every terrifying thing that hated him and shake them down for answers.

But he was more scared of Melanie. Just because she didn’t seem to have any knives on her didn’t mean that it was the case. Unless Martin had them all. So Jon lay back on the couch, rotely pressed in the passcode to his phone, and idly opened up the internet browser in complete comfort and relaxation.

The couch was so comfortable and soft, in fact, that Jon soon fell asleep. Easy and smooth, as if he really was still a human, who needed sleep at all.

And when Jon dreamed, he dreamed of blissful and restful nothing.

******

He woke up to someone shaking his shoulder, and Jon screamed himself awake as his eyes flew open.

But it wasn’t anybody dangerous, or anything willing to hurt him. It was just - Basira. Just Basira. Jon exhaled in relief, ignoring Basira’s incredulous expression.

“It’s five, we’re heading out. You feeling well enough for pub night, mate?”

They were going home. The strangeness registered first, the fact that Sasha was shrugging on a jacket and Melanie was stuffing a laptop in a backpack, before Jon remembered where he was. Or where he wasn’t. He mustered a faint smile for Basira, but judging from her frown it came out closer to a grimace.

Pub night. They were going out for drinks, then going to their own flats. Eating dinner. Sleeping. Waking up the next morning, then heading off to work. The mundanity boggled.

Maybe it was a Lotus Eater, Jon thought, dazed. A world where there were no Entities, no fears or harm. Where everybody was human, and happy.

Maybe. He hadn’t actually been allowed to look at any of the Statements, so he didn’t actually know. He couldn’t imagine that this group would be so casual if the Statements really were true.

Part of him wanted to beg off, curl up and sleep in document storage so he wouldn’t have to interact with these people for any longer. He was out of practice: these days he rarely had long conversations with anybody who wasn’t Daisy, and he hadn’t seen Daisy all day. Basira exchanged a few curt sentences with him each day. Melanie...cried and screamed, a lot. Not exactly conducive to social skills.

Sasha’s face was buried in a book, not even looking up as she navigated the desks. Tim was talking a patient Melanie’s ear off about Nietzche.

“I think I can make it,” Jon found himself saying. “Just a pint.”

Besides, he had the feeling that if he curled up in document storage Georgie would...be mad at him. Or something. They were flatmates? Or something?

They walked out the door in a herd, talking and laughing. Jon found himself hanging in the back of the group, next to Sasha. She wasn’t looking up from her book, so Jon felt safe in staring unabashedly at Tim. He was using a cane, just like Daisy had for two or so weeks right out of the coffin. He even used it in the same way: not favoring one leg or the other, using it for strength instead of balance. Muscle weakness. He was just as emancipated as Daisy had been too, in that particular corpse-like way that made him look like a zombie. His hair was long and lanky, brittle strands reaching to his chin instead of his normal lush and gelled look.

The faces in the lobby were the same - Sabrina behind the desk, Roy playing security guard - even as the decorations were different. No portrait of Jonah Magnus, or of the other directors. They broke out into the London street, as smoggy and crowded as ever, and Jon found himself trailing behind the others in a direct route to their usual pub. The same one he, Basira, Melanie, and Daisy go drinking at sometimes. Only sometimes. They went without him more often, but Jon didn’t blame them, really -

“Something on my face, mate?”

Tim’s wry voice startled Jon out of his reverie, and he flushed. Tim smiled at him, thinly and without humor, and gestured him forward as he dropped behind Melanie. Jon stepped forward, tucking his hands into his jacket, fighting the rising swell in his throat.

“You’ve been staring. I’m not that much uglier, am I?” Tim asked lightly, a parody of his old good humor. That, at least, was familiar - Tim’s fragile and brittle humor, tightly leashing rage.

“You...you look good,” Jon said. He buried his hands deeper in his jacket pockets, fighting the lump in his throat. He couldn’t stop himself from adding, “It’s good to see you again.”

It was probably a strange thing for Jon to say - but Tim just smiled, even more bitter than the last. “You’ve always been too nice for your own good, Sims.” First time that’s been said about him. “You forgive too easy.”

“Grudges...aren’t worth it, in my experience.” Jon exhaled slowly, watching Melanie’s red hair glint in the sunlight in front of him. “Life’s too short and all.”

“Really? Thought you people loved grudges.” Tim blinked a second, before clearly remembering something. “We love grudges, right. Still, Jon, I never really…” He trailed off awkwardly. “You know.”

He did not. “Right,” Jon said.

“Apologized,” Tim said hurriedly, when it became clear that Jon wasn’t about to say anything committal. “For trying to kill you all those times. Uh, and trying to get you arrested. And helping frame you for murder. And that whole kidnapping incident -”

Something began to occur to Jon. A rational thought seeped into his brain.

“In the woods,” Jon said slowly. “Because you thought I was a monster.”

Tim winced, confirming Jon’s suspicion. “Right. Trust me, I’ve had a lot of time to think, and I know I was wrong. I’ve turned over a new leaf and everything.” He brightened. “Did you hear I’m bisexual now?”

“Everybody heard you were bisexual now,” Basira said, bored. “Ten times.”

“Good for you,” Jon said, as sincerely as he could. “That’s...great. Bi rights.”

Tim beamed. “Bi rights!” He clapped Jon’s shoulder supportively with his other hand as Melanie held open the door to the pub for them, ducking inside. “Man, I never thought I’d see the inside of a pub again. I only got to go a few times with you guys before everything. Can Martin still hustle the room at pool?”

“One way to find out,” Martin said serenely.

“Please don’t start a pub brawl,” Melanie said, pained. “We’ve been kicked out of three places already, I don’t fancy making it a fourth.”

But when Jon looked backwards, he saw Sasha looking up from her book, staring directly at him, blinking owlishly.

They crowded into a corner booth, squishing up against each other and all talking at once. Jon wanted to drift towards Martin, get him alone and ask what was going on, but after one look at him eyeing up the pool cues speculatively he changed his mind. Only Basira was acting even remotely normal, so he settled for sliding in between her and Sasha. He was dizzy with the noise and the clamor of the familiar pub, overwhelmed by the familiar-unfamiliar tide of voices, and it was taking all of his energy not to spend hours just staring at Sasha, memorizing every line and crease of her face.

The first thing he did was order every single crummy, greasy, soggy serving of pub food he found on the menu, ignoring the way his Assistants laughed at him, before settling in the corner of the booth and pulling out his phone. Jon wasn’t even hungry - he wasn’t hungry - but he was shoving every soggy chip into his mouth until he puked. A human body was a drastically underrated thing.

Out of curiosity, Jon turned on the front camera of his phone and scrutinized his reflection. He had noticed that his hair was shorter, tied back in a puffed bun instead of his customary ragged ponytail, but beyond that he hadn’t checked.

He looked...good. No longer gaunt and malnourished, he was a healthy weight. No bags under his eyes. Well kept fade and modest, well trimmed facial hair. No scar over his throat, no circular worm scars. That was less of a surprise - Tim, Martin, and Sasha were all missing the worm scars.

His eyes were brown. Just brown. No electrifying green, no spinning iris, no churning wheel of knowledge. Just his normal, boring brown.

He hadn’t known how much he missed it.

As the others started arguing passionately about...vlogs? Or something?...Jon pulled out his wallet. Money had the same old Queen on it, along with his old collection of take-out receipts that had all started disappearing when he stopped eating. A photocopy of a picture of his parents, heavily worn and creased. Still an orphan, then. Jon missed the days when that was his biggest problem.

His driver’s license was the same as ever too. Same name - Jonathan Andrew Sims. Same birthday - February 14th, which he had always considered life’s practical joke on him. The United Kingdom still existed, which was either a good or a bad thing.

He replaced his wallet, ignoring Sasha’s curious stare, and pulled out his phone. He had only gone so far as making sure that major world events were the same before passing out. This time, he pressed his text messages, and scrolled down his most recents. As usual, it was only a few people - almost all of which were at this table - but there were a few other people too.

Georgie was the obvious one, and the most recent. He clicked on that conversation, unsurprised to see an immediate photograph of the Admiral looking angelic as he rolled around in some grass in a patch of sun.

Georgie: Baby at the park soaking in some rays!!! <3 <3 <3. I caught him terrorizing a stray dog. Naughty baby!!

Jon blinked at the message. The Admiral did seem a little...more evil, than he once did. Why were his eyes green? Underneath was Jon’s own text, sent twenty minutes before he had woken up that afternoon.

Jon: He’s committing atrocities and you’re laughing. You’re laughing.

Jon couldn’t fight a smile. He missed Georgie.

He switched over to the text conversation just underneath. He squinted at the contact name. That couldn’t be right.

Gerry: can u pick up milk from aldis? and scented candles

Gerry: for necromancy reasons

Jon: Can you raise the dead tomorrow? Helen said she wants to talk to me so I may be home late. If you don’t hear from me in five hours she’s likely kidnapped me. As a heads up.

Gerry: OH, SO LONG AS I HAVE THE HEADS UP?

Gerry: I’m making Georgie give Melanie the money to buy that toddler leash she’s always threatening to get for u. If u die im not resurrecting u.

Jon: Have fun with one less person to share the rent

Gerry: we dont PAY RENT

Gerard Keay. Jon blinked at the phone. That conversation raised as many questions as it answered. Gerard Keay was alive? He was Jon’s flatmate? He practiced necromancy? None of it seemed very relevant right now, but it made Jon wonder who else was resurrected from the dead. Was necromancy common in this universe, like knitting?

Still, Helen explained quite a bit. It also suggested what Jon was already wondering: that the supernatural was far from foreign. If Helen was supernatural, and not just...a jerk.

If Tim was an Avatar of the Hunt...if he had been in the coffin...and Daisy’s been hard to track down…

Jon was interrupted in his increasingly coherent train of thought by his food arriving, and all thoughts were thrown out the window. His basket of fish and chips slid in front of him, and he wasted absolutely no time in cramming the fries into his mouth three at a time, not wasting time salting or putting vinegar on them. They were dripping with crease, soggy and burning his tongue.

They were perfect.

The waiter, looking somewhat intimidated, slid his bacon butty on the table too, and Jon took barely a moment to swallow before stuffing that in his face too. Bacon, butter, brown sauce - it exploded on his tongue, a cavalcade of salt and seasoning. Increasingly terrified, the waiter put his pie and mash on the table and quickly fled, as Jon finished cramming the sandwich into his mouth before moving back to the fish. It was hot, crackling on his tongue, strong and fishy and perfect.

Jon looked up from his food long enough to grab a glass of water and gulp half of it down. It wasn’t until he put his glass down that he saw the looks on the faces of his Assistants. All of whom ranged from frightened to terrified.

Everybody except Martin, whose chin was propped on his hand and was sighing dreamily. “It’s really hot how you can pack it all away, Jon. Do you want to come over to my flat and let me cook for you? I’d make a lot of food. ”

Jon choked on his fish.

That was it for Sasha. She slammed her book down, expression intent, and jabbed a finger at a now wheezing Jon. “Jon would never choke at Martin’s creepy flirting! That isn’t Jonathan Sims!”

Jon stole Tim’s glass of water, ignoring his squawk, and downed that too.

Now everybody really was staring at him, and Jon felt heat rise to his cheeks. As the kids say, busted. He should probably stop eating and make his escape while he still could, before Tim decided to change his mind on his ‘murdering Jon’ stance.

But outside did not have pub food. Inside had pub food. Jon made his decision with the knowledge that, if his Assistants reacted from a reasonable place of Imposter-based trauma and killed him for pretending to be Jonathan Sims, he’d deserve it. He was not moving from this spot until his food was gone or his Assistants killed him.

Jon finished off Tim’s water, dropping it back on the lacquered table, and hoarsely said, “I’ve been having a very strange day.”

Nobody leaped for his throat or pointed a gun at him, which was always nice. It was more than Jon had been expecting. Instead, everybody looked at Melanie, who narrowed her eyes. Jon realized, a second too late, that they were waiting for her. Whatever happened to him, Melanie would decide.

...why Melanie?

Melanie rested her elbows on the table, steepling her fingers in front of her mouth. She locked eyes with Jon, breaking him down like a judge at a dog show, and Jon tried to shovel mash in his mouth as innocently as possible.

“Sasha. What’s your evidence?”

“He’s been acting weird all day,” Sasha said promptly, as if she’d been expecting the question. She shifted her arm purposefully, and Jon realized with a start that she was concealed carrying. Was that legal? “Jon never asks me for Statements outright, he always just sneaks them behind Melanie’s back. If he really fainted because he was hungry, he would have eaten his lunch too, instead of just my granola bar. And he hasn’t talked to Martin since he fainted - he isn’t even sitting next to him.” Sasha drew herself up triumphantly. “And, he looked actually scared when Martin threw that knife at him. He’s never scared of Martin. He normally just role-plays the fear bit.”

“Which I appreciate,” Martin said supportively, making Jon blanch. That elicited more suspicious looks from everyone, which Jon couldn’t even begin to parse. “But he has been acting strange today, hasn’t he?”

“Tim?” Melanie asked sharply.

Tim sniffed loudly, wrinkling his nose a little. “Smells like him.” At Melanie’s intense look, he grudgingly added, “No sawdust or plastic. Flesh and blood, boss.”

Jon began stuffing forkfuls of pastry and meat crumb from the pie in his mouth as Melanie went back to squinting at Jon. Not glaring - just an intense, sidelong look, fingers steepled in front of her. “You aren’t denying it, Jon.”

Jon mumbled something.

“Swallow your food.”

Jon carefully swallowed his mouthful of dough. “I have not eaten human food,” Jon said delicately, “in five months. I will answer your questions momentarily.”

And then Jon cleaned all three of his plates, to the dumbfounded looks of his Assistants.

Finally, after everybody else’s drinks had arrived - including Jon’s pint, which he reached for so quickly that Martin stole it away from him and refused to give it back - and Jon had cleaned all three of his plates, he felt ready to talk. He thumped on his chest, burping a little, and leaned back in his plush seat. Melanie was nursing her pint, sipping from it slowly, as Basira gave him her usual ‘I don’t trust you as far as I can throw you’ look.

“Okay,” Jon said finally. “I apologize for not - ah, clarifying before. I thought I was dreaming. To be honest, I worry that I’m still dreaming.” He looked down at his empty basket and plates. “I dearly hope that wasn’t human flesh or something horrid like that.”

Sasha perked up. “Like in the cannibal priest statement? That’s fascinating -”

“Shut up about cannibal priests,” Melanie groaned, and Sasha guiltily shut up. Oddly rude, but nobody seemed surprised. “You are Jon, right?”

Everybody stared at him blankly.

“Well,” Basira said finally, “sounds like the kind of bullshit you get yourself wrapped up in, Jon.”

“I knew it!” Sasha cried, before deflating. “I mean, I didn’t, really, not at all, but that’s fascinating! Will you answer some questions? Who’s the Queen in your universe?”

“I’m back from the dead for a week and my life’s already stupid again,” Tim said blankly.

“Two Jons?” Martin asked, far too excitedly.

“Can I leave you alone,” Melanie gritted out, between clenched teeth, “for five minutes?”

Then everybody was talking over each other, arguing and exclaiming and yelling, and Jon frantically drank his pint. They were so loud.

Finally, Melanie chopped a hand through the buzz, and everyone quieted. She pursed her lips, looking Jon up and down, and he anxiously let himself get looked at. “How did you know it was an alternate universe? What’s the difference?”

“Martin threw a knife at me and Tim and Sasha are alive,” Jon said instantly.

“I’m not actually dead in your universe,” Tim said quickly, “just trapped in an infernal demon hell coffin. If you can get me out, I’d be really thankful -”

“No, you’re quite dead,” Jon said apologetically. “That happened to Daisy in my universe, though. A - a lot of what you did here, I think, Daisy did.” He looked at Basira, frowning. “Where is Daisy? She’s not…”

“She’s fine,” Basira said curtly, folding her arms and leaning back. “Having lots of fun ditching us and having fun at her little secretary desk. It’s fine. I don’t care. She can do what she wants, she’s an adult.”

“Basira’s been pining tragically ever since Daisy ran off to go work for Peter Lukas,” Melanie said sympathetically.

Jon felt a little called out. “Ah. That’s - that’s very unfortunate.” He slowly turned to Martin, who still seemed caught up in the ‘two Jons’ aspect of this. “And you’re...you would define yourself as full of rage?”

“At all times, all the time, without cessation,” Martin agreed affably. “Why? That’s not weird to you, is it?”

“Uh huh.” Jon slowly turned to Sasha. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to insult you, but...did you happen to once work as a Constable for the Met?”

Everybody winced. Sasha sighed. “I regret all of my actions and I’m very sorry that I was once a pig and I’ll never do it again because I value due process now.”

“Word, sister,” Tim said, raising his pint.

“Hm,” Jon said, far too much coming together. But that left a big question, one thing that didn’t make sense. “What about me? Do I - eat trauma?”

Basira stared at him blankly. “You try, sometimes, but we usually just spray water at you until you stop.”

“That explains it,” said Jon, despite the fact that it didn’t explain anything.

“Your questions are pointless, and this is a waste of time.” Melanie clapped her hands sharply, making everyone straighten to attention. She stood up from her seat, everybody scrambling to protect their glasses as Melanie clambered on top of the table. “Helen! Get out here!”

“She’s not - she’s not Beetlejuice, you can’t just call her name and make her appear,” Jon said blankly. “How’s she even supposed to hear -”

“She can hear me just fine,” Melanie called, “because she’s been sitting at the bar this whole time.”

Everybody’s heads craned around to look at the bar. Through the stream of people, carrying drinks and laughing, Jon could faintly make out a tall, willowy figure with a large afro sitting on a barstool at the bar, tapping the rim of one elegant martini with a long, manicured fingernail.

Then she swiveled around, and Helen grinned broadly at all of them. She waved cheekily with one hand, fingers waving and rippling strangely in the dim pub lights. “Hello! You rang?”

Melanie jabbed a finger at the table pointedly. “Michael’s too young to be here too, Helen!”

“They’re eighteen, they’re a big non-Euclidean concept!” Helen tittered, as she hopped of the stool. Jon’s draw dropped as a much smaller, slight figure next to her hopped off too. They were a teenager, with a curly mop of blonde hair and big, watery blue eyes that seemed just a little strange. Everything about them was on the edge of familiar, and not in the usual way of the Spiral.

“She was waiting for us to figure it out,” Basira murmured, catching Jon’s attention. “It’s definitely funny to her.”

“Helen defined schadenfreude, I’m afraid,” Jon said, depressed, as Helen and her tagalong popped up at the edge of their table. Melanie had said Michael - and the kid did look like Michael, younger and alive and wide-eyed. Their watery eyes caught on Jon, and they tilted their head curiously. The sight of them hurt Jon’s head more than the Spiral usually did - a testament to the human body he was borrowing.

Human. That was no defense. He was vulnerable, and judging from the angle of Helen’s smile she knew it.

“Enjoying your vacation, Archivist?” Helen tittered, folding her hands girlishly as Melanie hopped off the table and back in her seat. “I’ve been having so much fun in this universe I thought I ought to bring a friend! Buy one plane ticket get one free, you know. I have this coupon for a great spa around here -”

“Helen,” Melanie intoned dangerously.

Helen tittered a nervous laugh. Was she...scared of Melanie? “Don’t worry! Your darling little Jon’s perfectly safe. He’s having a great time in one of my favorite dimensions, this wonderful post-apocalyptic adventure with a werewolf -

“Helen,” Melanie said slowly, danger building with every word, “we talked about what happens when you remove Jons from their native ecosystems.”

“They get sick,” Michael said somberly, nodding their head. “An’ wilt.”

“It is very stressful for the Jon, Helen. You know what we don’t like?”

“A stressed Jon?” Michael volunteered.

“Yes, Michael.” Melanie smiled pleasantly at Helen, who blanched. “A stressed Jon. Because when Jon gets stressed, my girlfriend gets stressed. And when my girlfriend gets stressed, I get stressed. And when I get stressed, everybody is about to have a very bad time. Get it? Helen?”

“Completely understood, very sympathetic, I see your point completely,” Helen said hurriedly. “Really, you can say that I did my dear Archivist a favor! He hasn’t had a human body in almost half a year, the poor dear was so sad about it. It’s a break, really!”

Tim squinted at Jon. “You’re really full on fear demon, then?”

Jon squirmed guiltily, ashamed. “I prefer the term Avatar. But...yes, I’m an amoral monster distant from humanity, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Melanie said impatiently. “You’re about as far from humanity as I am. Having stupid superpowers or cramming shitty food into your mouth doesn’t make you inhuman, it just means you hang out with the wrong crowd. Go back to your own universe and get some rest, I bet you’re stressing out all your friends.”

“I’m really not,” Jon said weakly. “I - I really only have one friend.”

“No wonder you look so tragic all the time,” Sasha said thoughtfully. “Jon gets all mopey without affection. Like an unwatered plant.”

“I eat trauma,” Jon said, bewildered at the perception of harmlessness.

“You and half of the YouTube vlogging community.” Melanie clapped her hands again sharply, pulling everyone to attention. “Helen. Put Jon back where he came from or so help me.”

“Ruining all my fun,” Helen pouted, but at Melanie’s glare she sighed. She held up one hand, and static rippled through the air. The hand elongated, twisted, and turned into Helen’s signature lengthy claw. Michael eyed it with interest, before holding up their own hand and doing the same. “Fun while it lasted, Archivist! Now hold still. I wouldn’t want to lobotomize the wrong lobe.”

“Nice meeting you,” Sasha said politely, to a very freaked out Jon. “Don’t come back, though.”

“Come back if you want,” Basira yawned. “My life’s boring, spice it up a little.”

“Sorry I’m dead in your universe or whatever,” Tim said, waving a hand. “Life and death is meaningless anyway, so I’m sure it’s for the best.”

“I want my Jon back,” Martin complained. “Go on and get out, then.”

“Tell your friends what we told you,” Melanie said. “Don’t they know that you get all tragic when you’re lonely?”

And Jon didn’t know how to say it - that they didn’t know, or if they did then they didn’t care, because they had so many bigger problems than if Jon was sad or not. With Elias’ strange plans, with Jon’s encroaching monsterhood and his slow and steady starvation, with Martin’s loneliness and Basira’s desperation and Melanie’s instability, Jon’s feelings were the least important thing in the world.

Did it matter, to anybody but Jon, that he thought of Martin first thing in the morning and last thing as he went to bed at night?

“Hold still and look straight at me!” Helen said, and Jon had to be thankful - because that let him look at Sasha and Tim, eyes wide and intrigued, as Helen speared her finger through Jon’s forehead.

Jon blacked out, but the images of Sasha and Tim stayed burned behind his eyelids. He dreamed calm dreams, of him and Martin and Sasha and Tim, laughing together, as the world faded away.

****

When Jon woke up, it was with a crick in his neck, and he knew immediately he had fallen asleep on the battered old couch in his office again.

There was a heavy weight on his chest, and when he pried his eyes open he saw the top of Daisy’s head in front of him. Dusty blonde hair pooled on his chest as Daisy snored, deep asleep, arm stretched over his torso.

The taste of salt and grease was on his tongue, and Jon let himself go back to sleep. The dreams would be terrifying and desolate, but at least in them he was never hungry.

#my writing #tma #the magnus archives #tma fanfic #the magnus archives fanfic #im also doing an UNBELIEVABLY self-indulgent tim character study but im not sure if i should post it because tim's not funny #melanie king #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #slaughter!martin #basira hussain #sasha james #helen richardson #michael shelley

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novantinuum · 3 years

Link

Fandom: Steven Universe

Rating: Teen Audiences

Words: 700~

Summary: A series of shorts detailing what might’ve happened in the moments after I Am My Monster, told from six different points of view.

Connie time! Apparently I really love writing phone calls. I’m not sure why that’s a constant trope in my stuff, ahah.

If you read this and enjoy, I’d greatly appreciate your support through reblogs here, or kudos/comments on AO3. Thank you! <3

(This is chapter 4/6.)

____

Chapter 4: Connie

Connie paces the shore a good few yards away from the base of the beach house, clutching her phone to her ear in a grip so tight it’s left her fingers trembling from muscle strain.

The line rings once. Twice. Thrice. Every pause between those high pitched trilling tones carries yet another rush of anxiety, filling her basin ever fuller against her wishes. Her head thrums with the aura of migraine, a side effect of her stress that’s become disconcertingly common as of late. (It’s the tension, she reminds herself with a quiet sigh. She’s clenching the muscles of her face and limbs rigid far too often.)

“Mom?” she says when the call finally goes through, her voice strained with indescribable exhaustion.

The sheer unprofessional urgency in which her mother responds honestly stresses her out even more... so, so different from her usual levelheaded demeanor. It’s obvious, then, that she must have been fearfully expecting this call.

“Connie? What’s—“

“Mom, y-you know how you said to let you know if there were any more incidents? With, uh... with the swelling?”

“Oh. Oh, goodness. Is he okay?” she asks. “Are you okay??” she quickly adds before her mouth can bob open to reply to her first query. The question probably stems from blind parental worry more than anything. In her mind, though, it should be obvious she’s physically okay if ‘I’m hurt’ isn’t the important detail she leads with.

“Yes, he’s—“ she shifts her phone to her other ear, her right hand shaking too much at this point that she’s afraid she’ll drop it— “no one’s hurt. We’re fine. Well, not fine, but... not in immediate danger, I guess.” She swallows hard, her throat growing progressively more narrow as she attempts to stammer out a somewhat useful explanation. “Things got messy, though, a-a-and I still don’t know how to feel about it, or what to do, and I-I’m—“

“Kahaani, love. Take a deep breath for me. You’re safe, yes?”

Initially struggling to wrest control of her respiration’s sharp pace, Connie pauses for a few moments. She distracts herself from her swarming anxieties by watching the tide wash in, its motion constant and reassuringly cyclical. Recent memories— of that creature thrashing, clawing, and roaring amidst the water, only held back by the Cluster’s might— almost threaten to overwhelm her, but in the end it’s just a thought. It can’t control her, right? It... it can’t control her.

“You’re okay,” the voice on the other side of the call affirms. “And I’m listening.”

The world’s still standing. The sun still shines. Despite every living nightmare today has offered, she’s still here.

“Now,” her mom leads gently. “What happened?”

She swallows hard.

“The swelling, it... well, it kinda got worse,” she says. “When he came home, he was pink again, and at first he kept swelling up like before, but then... He kept saying all these really negative things about himself, that he’s a fraud, a monster, and—“

“And... what?”

Her words sinks into a hoarse whisper as she desperately tries not to relive this horrifying reality all over again. “And then he just... exploded, and turned into one.”

“You mean, he—“

“I mean it literally, Mom!” she interjects before her mother can try to rationalize her words in terms of human medical knowledge, a futile activity. “I’m not just being metaphoric, here! He grew taller than the entire hillside. He was covered in scales, and spikes, a-and he seemed to barely recognize us.”

There’s a long, nauseating pause as her mother drinks in this information.

“Is— he still in this form?” she eventually manages, her tone strained.

“No. Thankfully, no. We got him back. I don’t know how we managed it, but he’s safe. He’s resting now. But some of the others are worried about how this might’ve impacted his health, since he’s half-organic. I think...” Connie closes her eyes, inhaling briefly before continuing. “I saw scarring, when we were moving him back to the house. And honestly, I don’t really know what I should do now. About anything.”

“Connie, I’m coming over the second my shift ends, okay? Just... hang in there for an hour longer. I’ll bring some equipment so we can check on his vitals, and we’ll go from there.”

“Okay,” she replies, and wipes relieved tears from her cheeks. “See you soon.”

“I love you, honey.“

“Love you.”

#su #su future #connie maheswaran #priyanka maheswaran #su fanfiction #my writing stuff

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ozarkthedog · 4 years

Text

Safe Keeping: Part 4

Summary: Ransom needs you to hold onto his Pinky Ring.

Pairings: Dark!Ransom Drysdale x Reader

Warnings: NonCon, Abuse of Power, Sexual Assault, Swearing, Asphyxiation, NonCon Drug Use, Ransom being an asshole. You have been warned.

Word Count: 2.9k+

Authors Note: This is the end my friends!

I had no idea when I started this “one shot”, that it’d turn into a 4 Part fic. I am proud of myself. I hope that everyone who reads this series enjoys it as much as I did.💙

No Beta, all fucks up are my own.

Reblogs and Likes are amazing! Feedback and comments are encouraged!

Safe Keeping: Part 1 // Safe Keeping: Part 2 // Safe Keeping: Part 3

Knowing you can’t be gone for too long; you splash cold water on your face. Your eyes were red and your face pale. Taking a bated breath, you made yourself leave the bathroom. Maybe there was still a way out? Your mind couldn’t come up with anything. You were at a loss.

Just as you were about to leave you remembered the ring. Bending down to pick it up, you clenched it in your fist. You’d never look at gold rings the same way again.

Upon leaving the bathroom, you found Fran in the foyer putting on her coat. “Where are you going?” you ask her. Your anxiety spiking.

She sent you a puzzled look, “Harlan has his weekly meet up at the diner. Did you forget?”

You bite your lip, heart thumping harder in your chest. You were going to have to be alone with him. That thought terrified you.

You tried to not shake from fear, you clasping your hands together. You mentioned to Fran that you could take Harlan instead. Praying she would just let you take him.

“Don’t you still have Harlan’s manuscripts to organize?” she asked, as she buttoned up her coat. You shuffled on your feet; you forgot the rest of your tasks after you saw the murderous look on Ransom’s face when you dropped his ring.

You clenched your jaw, “Oh yeah, right.”

Sending you a smile as she opened the door, “Hugh is still here…somewhere. You might have to make him dinner. We will be home in a few hours.”

The door shut, along with the hope that you’d get out of this unscathed. Swallowing down your fear, you looked around the foyer for any sign of Ransom. The house was silent. You felt eyes on you.

You decided to grab your cell phone from your coat pocket by the door. Feeling a little more comfortable with it in your grasp, you make your way to the kitchen. You also felt safer being surrounded by sharp utensils, should you need one.

Turning the corner were stopped short by a thick mass of muscle.

Ransom.

You ricocheted off of his body, tumbling backwards. Your phone and his ring slipped from your hands as you landed on your ass.

“Seems like you have a bad habit of dropping things.” He tone was deadly.

You quickly reached to get your phone but Ransom was faster and kicked it across the foyer. He picked his ring up and slid it back on his pinky.

He reached down to grab you but you scrambled away on hands and knees, the harsh floor already leaving bruises. You get your footing before he grabs you and you run as fast as you can to the kitchen.

“You’re only making this worse on yourself.” He yells out heavy on your heels.

Your body felt electrified as you dove for the draw that contained the large carving knife. Just as you get the draw open, Ransom slams against your body closing the draw.

Pain ignites in your hips as Ransom smothers your body into the marble counter top. Adrenaline surges making you fight. You throw an elbow back and up, barely clocking Ransom’s chin, but he stutters, not expecting it.

He grabs your hair in his left hand and painfully angles your head to the side. “You little bitch.” He spits out. You yelp at the sting coming from your scalp. Afraid he’s going to rip it out, you bring your heel down into his instep, trying all the ways you were taught. He wasn’t fazed by your futile attempt and spun you around to face him.

“I warned you and yet, you still couldn’t follow my simple order of keeping my ring in your cunt.” He spat out and slapped you across the face. The impact landed solid as his other hand was still wrapped in your hair. Dizziness took over, your eyes having a hard time focusing as your cheek felt on fire.

Too dazed to realize his actions, you slumped forward as he tied your wrists up behind your back with one of his expensive scarves. You shook your head, coming to when your knees collided with the kitchen floor. You heard a belt buckle clink.

Ransom fisted his already hard cock out from his pants, smacking you in the face with the appendage.

You tried to shift your weight to the side but his big legs were blocking your way, “Uh uh, you’re not going anywhere.” He crowded your kneeling frame into the wall below the counter top as you clamped your mouth shut.

He laughed out, eyes brightening at your attempts at stopping him, “You think that’s going to stop me? You’re so stupid.”

You lips quivered under the pressure you were putting them. Tears stung your eyes as he wiped his cockhead across your lips smearing pre-cum all over. He enjoyed watching you suffer.

“Ok, that’s enough” he says as he grabbed the sides of your face and slammed your head against the wall. The flash of white pain to the back of your skull made you cry out, easily allowing Ransom to thrust into your mouth.

You gag around his length as it hits the back of your throat. As if he could sense your thoughts of biting him, he stuck a thumb into your mouth. His thumb pulled your jaw down all the way, giving him more access and sufficiently keeping you in place. His finger nails dug into your skin making you weep.

Pulling out all the way he watched you suck in a broken breath. It made him all that much harder. His cock found its way back to your throat, bottoming out, feeling you heave around his aching member.

He sped up giving your throat quick harsh thrusts that made your eyes water. Your groans were muffled by his cock as he fucked your head into the wall behind you.

“Ah, fuck. I love seeing you on your knees.”

Thrust, “Right.”

Thrust, “Where.”

Thrust, “You.”

Thrust, “Belong.” He growled out the last word sending chills up your spine.

Your jaw ached at the pressure he was holding it down with, and your lips were puffy from the abuse.

He shoved his length into your mouth one more time but held it, cutting off your air with his cock. You tried to shake him but his hold on you was firm. He won’t let you go until he wants to. He feels your jaw trying to shut, but it barely moves with his hand holding it open. His face was dark and wild. Hard lines etched on his forehead.

You choke harder around his cock, throat convulsing frantically trying to gasp for air. He watches with pleasure as your face turns red, wanting so badly to breath. You pull madly at the scarf around your wrists and shake your shoulders trying to get some air.

Blood rushes to your head making the pain in your skull throb.

A deep voice cuts through the fog, “Look at me.”

Your watery eyes meet his even though they were unfocused from lack of air, “See the spots yet? That’s when the real fun beings”. If you weren’t on the verge of passing out his tone would’ve made you scream.

Drool slipped down your chin making a mess on the front of your dress. Just as the spots he was talking about started to pepper your vision he dragged his cock from your mouth.

You collapsed to the floor with a heavy thud. Your lungs burned as you sucked in precious air, coughing after each breath, spit coated your throat with a thick film.

Just as you caught your breath you feel Ransom crouch over you, a warm hand rubs over your head, almost soothing. You shut your eyes and sighed out.

“Ready for Round 2?” It wasn’t a question.

Ransom grabbed at the base of your hairline and pulled you up on your feet. You wobbled a bit but his hands caught your hip and led you over to the island. Your face met the cold counter top as he bent you over it with a firm hand to your back.

Your toes barely grazed the floor as the marble dug into your hips, the bruises would last a while. He pushed your dress up over your ass and grabbed handfuls of each globe. He lifted his hand, smacking your ass then squeezed the reddened cheeks.

The abuse stopped for a beat, as he looked over your pussy. “Did you fucking clean yourself up even though I told you not to?” he bellowed out at you.

You nodded your head, ashamed that you even thought you could get away with it. He “tsked” at you, shaking his head. “What a stupid girl you are. Maybe this’ll teach you to follow my fucking orders next time.”

Strong hands gripped your hairline, forcing your head back at an awkward angle. You cry out as your neck makes a weird popping sound under the duress. Ransom uses that moment to shove his pinky ring into your mouth.

The ring hits the back of your tongue making you gag at the unusual object. He fastens one hand over your mouth as the other smacks down suddenly on your ass.

“When I tell you to do something, you better follow through or else I will have your ass until you manage to do your fucking job right.” He threatens you as he brings his hand down again with a harsh smack.

His large hand swatted you forcefully on the ass. Over and over. The pain made you wither in place, struggling to get away as he laid blow after blow on your ass, giving you no reprieve. The ring bounced around in your mouth, clinking against your teeth. The metal leaving an unpleasant taste in your mouth.

You cried out as he bruised and blistered your ass. He stopped after 10 excruciating blows.

Grabbing at your cheeks with a hard grasp, he shoved his fingers in your mouth. His fingers tickled the back of your throat, you whined out thinking he’d make you swallow it. You gagged brutally around his digits as he played with his ring on your tongue. “Clean your whore juices off of it.” After another few ruthless thrusts, he dragged his ring from your mouth.

He draped himself over you, pushing you hard into the marble. He licked a line up the side of your neck making you cringe and whine out.

His lips brushed your ear with a hushed but evil tone, “I’m going to wreak this cunt and you’re going to thank me after.”

You cry out at his words trying to shake your arms free again. The knot was tight, cutting off your circulation. You wouldn’t be surprised if your hands turned purple by the end of this nightmare.

You stiffened when you felt his large cock head swipe through your folds. They were soaked with your unwanted slick. His head fell to your shoulder, relishing in the way your pussy rubbed against his dick. He pulls back and spits lewdly on your pussy. The act made you dry heave.

He gritted through his teeth, “Say please.”

Shaking your head, you cry out in frustration. “Come on, be a good whore and say it.” He accents his statement with a sharp smack to your ass.

You yelp and let your forehead fall to the marble, whimpering out in submission, “Please.”

“Please. What?”

You swallow before spitting out, “Please, Hugh.”

He smiles into your neck before shoving his legs between yours, lining up and shoving his cock deep inside your pussy. He hits your cervix on the first thrust, filling you up completely. You scream out in pain at the stretch and the intrusion.

He drags his cock out and pushes back into your tight hole with a firm thrust. He groans out at your tightness. Your hot cunt swirls around his cock, making him rut into you with fervor. Another deep thrust hits your cervix making you cry out.

Ransom stands up, allowing your crushed frame to finally take a full breath. He grabs your hips and pulls you to meet his thrusts. Your slick trickles down your thighs and makes lewd sounds as he takes you from behind.

You cry out at every thrust; the pain never ceases until Ransom snakes his hand under you finding your clit. You tense up at the feeling, not wanting to cum from the abuse he forces on your body.

His fingers glide around your clit, flicking and pulling on it as your cries turn to mewls. Shaking your head, you will yourself to not cum for him.

“Don’t hold back from me, bitch. I know you want to come.” You cry out as he smacks your clit hard. The pain shocks you making your pussy convulse around him. He hits your clit again and again forcing you to cum on his cock.

His thrusts quicken as he feels you tense up. Your body going rigged with pleasure as he lands another smack to your swollen clit making you hit your peak. Your body tingles and spasms around his cock as you cum with a shout.

“There you go. Good Girl.” He grunts out chasing his own orgasm.

Ransom pounds into you hard. Groaning with every pull of his cock, his balls slap against your clit as he feels your pussy slicken up more from your orgasm. He drapes his body over yours pushing the air out of your lungs, making it hard to breath again as he fucks into you deeper and deeper.

He bites at your earlobe before gritting though his teeth, “I’m gunna cum.”

Your eyes go wide. All the blood rushes from your face. He can’t.

Trying to get him to stop, you shout, “Hugh, please, no! I’m not on birth control!”

He growls out, hips starting to stutter, “You think I fucking care.” With that he shoves the side of your face against the counter with one hand. His palm is sweaty on your face, crush you down on the marble.

You cry out as you feel him come inside you with a loud groan. His grip on your hip and face tightens as his body goes rigged. His seed floods your pussy, coating every inch. Coming down from his high, he moves his hips in and out watching as he fucks his seed into your cunt.

“Damn, what a sight.” He say as he pulls his cock out of you and steps back. Some of his seed oozes out of you dripping down your legs. He unties your wrists and slides you off the counter top.

Your back to kneeling on the floor, completely wreaked. Every part of you is sore and aching. You sniffle as Ransom stands over you, “Do you job. Clean me up.”

You despise him.

He can sense your hatred and smirks down at you, “I’m waiting.”

Taking him in your mouth, you lick him clean. The mixture of your fluids hits your tongue, making you cringe. Sour, salty and musky. You swallow it down in a hurry trying not to vomit.

Ransom tucks himself back into his pants and stands there waiting for you to get up.

You push your dress down to cover yourself, not that it matters.

He gets a glass of water and hands it to you. You take it in confusion, sending him a look as he takes a pill out of his pocket. “Take this.”

“What is it?” You ask, not trusting him as you look the pill over in your hand.

The look he shoots you is deadly. “Do what I say.”, His tone heavy with command.

You put the glass down and shove the pill back in his hand, “No. I don’t know what it is. I’m not taking it.”

He shakes his head, “You fucking stupid bitch.”

He lunges at you, taking you in a headlock. He pried your mouth open and dropped the pill in. Clamping your mouth shut with his hand. His threat is simple, “Swallow the god damn pill.”

You try to shake him off again, but it was pointless. You whimper as you swallow the pill, horrified at what you just did.

He lets you go with a shove. Turning to face him you see the irritation painted on his face. “Why can’t you just follow simple directions?” He sighs out at you, “It was a Plan B pill. I certainly don’t want to knock you up.”

You slump to the floor feeling lightheaded. What had you done to incur his wrath?

Standing over you with hands on his hips, full of arrogance, “Don’t you have something to say to me?”

You wrack your brain, other than “fuck you” or couldn’t imagine what he wanted you to-

You remembered now. Your face full of anger. “Ah ah, say it nicely.” As he raises his hand up in warning.

Huffing out, you take a deep breath calming yourself down, “Thank you, Hugh.”

Smiling at your submission, “You’re welcome.”

He points with disdain to your pitiful form on the floor and says “Clean this place up, it’s a mess.”

As he walks out of the room, he reminds you, “Remember, you still have to organize Harlan’s manuscripts.”

You watch him leave with a spring in his step. Not sure if this was a one time thing, or if this was the start to a whole new life working for The Thrombeys.

#safe keeping #my fics #ransom drysdale #dark!ransom drysdale #ransom drysdale x you #ransom drysdale x reader #ransom drysdale/you #ransom drysdale/reader #ransom drysdale smut #ransom drysdale fanfic #chris evans #knives out

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brandstifter-sys · 3 years

Text

Crisis Angel

@dukexietyweek Day 2: Swapping (Ao3)

Word Count: 2277

Characters: Roman, Virgil, Remus

Pairing: Dukexiety

Rating: T+

Warnings: Blood, death mention, Gore, sex mention, Body Horror, Fire, Criss Angel references

The Dragon Witch causes Remus and Virgil to switch roles because she's tired of listening to them whining about the other, but they manage to fix it

---

It wasn’t everyday that Remus got cursed by the Dragon Witch, in fact it was incredibly rare, since she actually liked him and his antics. But he had to complain and whine about his predicament, no one liked him, and he seemed to scare the shit out of Virgil. All he wanted was cuddles, clothing optional–was that too much to ask!? A duke can fall in love and want to be with the person who had his heart, and he can want without shame! If only he weren’t the embodiment of intrusive thoughts he could win that emo over. The Dragon Witch just had to take his ranting to heart!

Remus woke up feeling a general unease. He was very much aware that he had to fix his weapon rack or else he could do some serious damage, and there would be blood and broken bones and sprains and he didn’t know how to mend himself! That’s what Janus was for—and for being a friend, like the golden boy he was. He was kinda saddened when he remembered that no one else really liked him or wanted him around. He had a feeling he knew what happened, and he didn’t want to think about the implications of it. He did anyway. It's not like he had much of a choice.

Instead of his usual attire, he threw on a Green Day shirt, leggings, sneakers, and Virgil’s old hoodie. He kept it for the nostalgia and because Virgil didn’t wash it before he got to it, so it smelled nice. It was the only part of his outfit that made him feel comforted and safe. He would need the safety to manage his way through the day and back to the Dragon Witch’s castle. She had to be behind this sudden change! He just hoped he was the only one affected.

However, when he stepped into the common area, Remus realized that he was not the only one affected. Oh no, he saw more than he bargained for!

"I can't believe you of all people would suggest such a thing!" Roman huffed from his usual recording spot and crossed his arms.

"Why not? Just because I hate him doesn't mean I don't think he should be royally fucked into submission!" Virgil jeered from the stairs, where he was spread out and lounging like some kind of rockstar. He definitely dressed the part—tight leather pants covered in zippers, an open spiked leather jacket that showed off his defined torso, and knee-high combat boots.

"I want to vanquish that foul villain, not create a fanfiction worthy scene to deflower him!"

"You wouldn't, I made sure he was flowerless years ago. You're just making excuses, Princey—we all know you want that snake cake and to tear into that dandy with your second sword—unless you're more interested in a new pony to whip."

"What happened to you? You sound like—"

"—me," Remus said and announced his presence. Two sets of eyes landed on him and he swore he wanted to disappear at that exact second.

"Are you saying I sound hot?" Virgil jeered and leaned forward, smirking coyly at Remus. Roman huffed and ignored him, deciding that Remus might be more willing to explain.

"Do you know why Virgil is acting like this? And what are you doing in that hoodie? You look like death!"

"I don't know for sure but I'm pretty sure Mille did it," Remus shrugged and leaned against the staircase tiredly, but not letting his guard down, not with the way Virgil was eyeing him. He shivered at the thought that crossed his mind—too much blood he did not want.

"Millie? Remus, have you been bothering her as of late?" Roman pressed.

"I don't know if I would say I was bothering her, I visit her at least once a week with snacks and we hangout. I could have been bothering her, though. Maybe I was! Oh god, what if I was and she didn't say anything because she doesn't trust me to listen to her when she's uncomfortable?!" Remus freaked out and tugged the hoodie closer around him to shield his body.

"You know you could have asked me for that hoodie, I would have given it to you, in exchange for a few organs," Virgil mused and licked his lips. Remus winced and curled into himself, uneasy about getting that kind of attention in front of anyone else.

"You switched," Roman said as it dawned on him, "but why would she do that? Unless—"

He froze when Virgil casually drank lighter fluid from a flask and then a lit match. The plume of flames that shot from his mouth towards the ceiling made Remus jump back and clutch his chest. At least he wasn't thinking about how he could have made a mistake with the Dragon Witch.

"Hmm the Dragon Witch did this? Do you think she'd make a better pair of boots or a belt? I'm tired of the flood of new parlor tricks," Virgil hummed, "It's agony without any relief—but I know one of you can make me feel better."

Roman scowled as Remus inched toward the couch. Virgil snapped his fingers and appeared on the couch behind Remus.

"I'm a better seat than this old thing, Dukey," he teased, getting Remus to yelp and freeze.

"I'll go see her and save you the heart attack, at least from that journey. I'll see if I can stitch the pieces together since you don't seem to be prepared for that."

"Need a few needles?" Virgil asked lazily and pulled a string out of his navel, shockingly there were needles threaded along it. Roman sank out with a huff, unwilling to deal with any more nonsense. Remus was more distracted by Virgil's bare skin and toned abdomen to be bothered. So he might have been gawking.

"You can get a closer look, with your tongue if you're brave enough," Virgil teased before tossing the thread away. Remus turned bright pink and averted his gaze. He kept getting horrible ideas about what he could do to that body.

"You don't want me to do that," he sighed and hugged himself, "No one wants me to get too close, even Janus has his limits. And I know it's for a good reason."

Virgil sat up and leaned towards Remus, pouting.

"You really think that, Cuddlefish?"

"Yeah, everyone else just wants me to get lost, except Janus, why wouldn't I think that?" Remus said bitterly and sat on the arm of the couch.

"I only want you to get lost in my eyes, or my intestines after I go Dahmer on your ass."

"Come on!" Remus snorted, "I scare you, and you don't like me and my gross ideas. I make you uneasy and I don't know what to say to not do that because everything could go wrong and I don't want that. And now more than ever, I'm terrified of everything that could go wrong!"

"I usually don't like the thought of you seeing my pants tenting—that's a circus that's not usually in show. But you can get ringside seats whenever you want, if you want."

"What?" Remus questioned, trying not to focus on the image of Virgil wearing Britney Spears' ringmaster outfit from the video—or something more revealing.

"If I don't keep my distance I'm not gonna be able to let you get away. I like you, so goddamn much I just want to rip your eyes out to stare at them forever."

"Virgil?"

"It's a lot easier to say it without the crushing weight of anxiety squeezing my innards out through my pores. I like you, that way, hell, I might even be bold enough to say I love you! And it's usually so terrifying I could drop dead from emotional overload at any second and you'd have a corpse to play with as much as you want!" Virgil raved, jumping to his feet, "You are everything I'm not and I want you to want me the same way but you deserve better than a panicking maniac with anger issues and low self-esteem! And I know that this change won't last so I have to tell you now before I go back to being a pants-shitting basket-case."

"And what are you going to do when we switch back? I don't know if I can take a confession like that just for it to change jack shit, especially when I want you to mean it. I don't wanna be the emotional victim of the resident mind freak," Remus pressed. Virgil stood in front of him and tapped his chin in thought.

"Actually," he hummed and thrust his hand through his chest, revealing some torn muscle and his broken ribs. Remus' eyes went wide as he grabbed his thundering heart and tore it out, blood spurting on the floor.

"I want you to keep this, keep it safe, and that way I'll know that it's safe to act on these feelings, even when I'm an anxious emo mess again."

Remus reverently took his heart and cradled it in his hands like a treasure he was afraid to break. He stared up at Virgil in awe before pressing his lips to the gift.

"There's a different throbbing muscle you can put your mouth on," Virgil teased. Remus scrunched up his nose and stuck out his tongue.

"Not when you have a hole in your chest, Angel!"

"Wanna stick something in it?"

"Kinda," Remus admitted sheepishly. Virgil leaned down and cupped his cheek.

"First let me show you my greatest trick," he purred, "turning a man into a puddle." Remus' breath caught in his throat and his eyes fluttered shut as Virgil captured his lips and licked into his mouth. Remus melted into the kiss just as expected, his heart racing with his thoughts.

And then a familiar feeling took over him. The Dragon Witch really went with the biggest cliche to lift the curse.

"I can't believe I just did that," Virgil mumbled as he pulled away. Remus grinned and wiggled in his seat.

"But you did! And you can do it again!" Remus sang and giggled, "But first—!" He conjured a jar around the heart and set it on the ground gently, then he eyed Virgil's wound.

"Do you want to fix that or can I stick something in it?" he pressed, getting Virgil to glance down and flinch.

"No, too many risks, I don't really want you to accidentally mess something up."

"Accidentally?"

"I don't think you would do anything like that on purpose with this hole."

"This hole?" Remus purred, "So there are others I can mess up? Please, do go on!"

"Maybe later, after I skin the Dragon Witch. I didn't want her to actually get rid of my anxiety so I could tell you—y'know—"

"So you were bemoaning your cruel fate too? Maybe we should thank her! You're really hot when you're confident and having my kind of thoughts!"

"Give me enough time and somewhere private and you can get more of that," Virgil mumbled and rubbed his neck, "If I'm in a comfortable place, I might be able to relax—but don't get your hopes up, anxiety sucks."

"It was kinda not that bad being Anxiety," Remus mused, "I didn't feel great but I was a lot more aware of my surroundings and the way my pulse thundered from excitement! Now I know what I need to fix in my room and what really gets me going!"

"Even if I'm not Creativity anymore, I still might have a few ideas worth trying," Virgil said in agreement.

"Creativity?"

"Yeah, your role."

"But I'm an intrusive thot!"

"You think you're the only one with twisted thoughts?" Virgil scoffed and grabbed the hair at the base of his neck, "You know you were still having them, I could see how you flinched without me doing anything, it's so obvious. That part didn't change for either of us."

"So you have intrusive thoughts too? You should tell me about them! Over dinner!"

"I could do that, if you can't come up with a more creative date."

"You can come to my room to watch a few horror movies and cuddle—but you have to wear that outfit or less because goddamn! I forgot how ripped you are!"

"Dinner it is," Virgil huffed and loosened his grip. Remus whined and leaned closer with a pout.

"Movies and cuddles. But jammy pants and no shirt under the hoodie instead," he countered, "I need skin to skin contact no matter how platonic."

"You mean the mouth to mouth won't be enough for you?" Virgil mumbled and blushed down to his shoulders. Remus' eyes went wide.

"You never said that would be an option! I didn't think you'd want to do too much on the first date!"

"You have no idea what I want to do with you right now."

"You can show me!" Remus grinned and wiggled his eyebrows. Virge scoffed and loomed closer, gripping his hair tighter. Remus' breath hitched as those lips brushed against his own.

"You'll just have to wait for that," Virgil mumbled and pulled away without kissing him.

"Tease!" Remus whined and crossed his legs. Virgil smirked at him and shook his head.

"See you tonight at eight—or more like seven since I tend to panic and show up early," he said and pressed a kiss to Remus' forehead before sinking out.

Remus picked up the jar again and squealed. It was going right above his TV so he could see it while he held its owner close to his. He definitely owed Millie big time!

----

Inspo pic for Virgil’s outfit

#dukexietyweek2021 #remus sanders #virgil sanders #sanders sides #dukexiety #roman sanders #anxiety!remus #dark creativity!virgil #body horror mention tw #fire mention tw #cannibalism mention tw #blood mention tw #death mention tw #i really liked making virgil a total criss angel rip off for some reason #sandyscribed

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mirkwoodshewolf · 4 years

Text

Guardian of creatures; AU! Queen x oc female x reader Chap. 3

*Author’s note*

Wow just two days of writing and here we go with the next chapter. Now here you as the reader finally learn the truth about the owners of the BEWITCHED nightclub, as well as it’s star employees. More of a background will happen in later chapters but for now I hope this will do for you all enjoying this series.

Warnings: Objects coming alive, some swearing, graphic mythology.

Taglist:

@plethora-of-things

@waddles03

@psychosupernatural

@ixchel-9275

@simonedk

@kinole009x

@queen-paladin

@queensdivas

@jd-johndeacon-or-jackdaniels

@dancingcoolcat

@queendeakyy

@klausidiot

@geek-and-proud

____________________________________________________________

Chapter 3

Monsters are real!?

Hissing, deep roars, flashing lights, and something scaly. That was what was flashing through your mind like a film. You also remember hearing faint voices of Serafina and John talking to someone, but the last thing you could recall seeing was two eyes staring down at you.

The hypnotic, enticing yet warm yellow eyes staring down at you. You also remember feeling something smooth and scaly wrap around you before everything went black.

Finally you find the strength to open your eyes and you let out a loud, breathless gasp. The kind of gasp you make when you’ve been underwater for too long, the kind where you’re so desperate for air it didn’t matter whether a fly flew into your mouth or not.

The first thing you feel is a cool rag at the top of your head and you take in your surroundings. You’re in a large bedroom. The walls were a mix of purple and grey pattern wallpaper. One strip of the wall was a beautiful dark shade of purple, and the other was a grey with a floral design, then another strip of purple, and the pattern continued around the entire room.

The bed you were lying in was the softest thing you had ever felt. It was like sleeping on a cloud and the blankets were the softest of silk. Or was it Satin? Whatever it was, it was soft. Much better than any bedsheets you’ve ever slept on. After removing the damp cloth from your forehead you turn to see a beautifully hand-carved dresser.

Through the blackwood, you could see that engraved onto it were what appeared to be wolves. Wolves running alongside the entire dresser. You continued to look around to also see a large wooden wardrobe to your right and a small purple loveseat just at the foot of the bed.

Two Elegant candelabra lights were also on both sides of the room as well as one more right above you. Slowly you get out of the bed to feel the soft yet fuzzy texture of the carpet beneath your feet. The fuzzy points of it tickled your bare feet but one thing was screaming in your mind.

Where the hell were you?

Sneaking towards the door, you open it up to reveal a grand hallway. The wooden walls and low lighting gave it almost a haunting quality to it (and it didn’t help that it was still dark out).

Quietly as you could, you sneak down the hallway hoping to find a way out. As you walk, you can’t help but notice some of the pictures that hung along the walls.

In normal homes you’d see pictures of family members, paintings by famous artists or paintings of family members themselves. But this house—well one picture was of what appeared to be an evolution of some kind of human-serpent like creature.

Another picture was of the ocean but under the waters of the picture were terrifying creatures with sharp teeth, claws, webbed-like hands and tails like a fish. After what felt like forever of walking down this dimly lit hallway, you finally arrive at a grand staircase. A split staircase with one set of stairs (that you were in front of) and another set of stairs across from you joined together on a grand landing and then continuing downward to the main floor of the mansion.

The carpets were blood red and floral designed as well as some other intricate designed patterns that you had never seen before. You hold onto the railing as you quietly sneak down but of course the floor creaks beneath your foot.

You quickly take back your foot and quickly look around, your heart racing with anxiety. You then try your luck at a different part of the staircase and you thank God above that you didn’t hear a creak beneath your foot this time around. Cautiously you walk down the steps when you hear the strangest sound you had ever heard.

It sounded like a mixture of animals, it had the light cooing sound of a dove, but it had the deep resonance of an owl. You thought you also heard the purr of a cat mixed in there too. Slowly you turn your head around and you were frozen in fear to see the wooden shape of some sort of snake.

Half it’s body had lifted from the column that stood by the top of the staircase. It’s head tilted curiously at you as it’s wooden forked tongue occasionally came out. You and this wooden snake didn’t break eye contact with each other for even a split second, it’s unblinking eyes staring straight at you. You feared if you had blinked once, you’d be dead in an instant.

Suddenly all along it’s neck began to spike up into some sort of frizzled up wooden mane as it let out a demonic hiss/roar like sound. You yelp as you suddenly felt yourself falling backwards along the staircase.

The loud roar like hiss soon began to call up an alarm as the lights began to flicker on and off, the sound of an organ began playing but you saw no one was pounding on the keys and a few suits of armor started to come to life.

You let out a terrified scream as you scramble yourself up and tried to flee out the backway but you hear the sound of the locks clicking, telling you that it had locked itself up. Keeping you trapped inside. The suits of armor continue to come towards you so you now run to our left and you soon arrive at a very large den-like room.

Thinking fast, you shut the door and pull a chair towards it and lean it against the doorknob so that nothing could enter inside. As an extra measure, you ran towards a giant desk and hid underneath it trying to control your breathing.

“Oh my god, oh my god oh god oh god!” you whimper fearfully. Slowly you peek over the desk just to see if anything is trying to break down the door.

Unaware of a dark green tail that was slowly slithering towards you. Slowly feeling around your ankle you feel something cold wrap around your ankle. You look down and see a dark green snake tail wrapped around your leg. It then begins to tug at you hardly but you quickly grab onto the desk and try to hold on.

It’s a tug of war as you scream and beg for the tail to let you go. You kick at it with your free foot but it does little to deter the snake tail. Soon coming through a second door that you had no idea existed, John and Serafina are there.

Serafina grabs you while John shoots out a purple light from his hand down onto the snake tail which reals back and vanishes from sight. You scream up at Serafina as you try to escape from her grasp.

“(Y/n), sweetie it’s okay. It’s just us.” She tried to assure you. But you let out another terrified scream.

“Well that’s one way of saying thanks.” John said in a sarcastic tone.

“John behave!” she snapped at her husband. Wait, you then noticed that her low, southern accent wasn’t there. She sounded British. Was she faking the accent when you first met her? She turns back to you and says softly, “I know you’ve been through something traumatic but……”

“Traumatic!? TRAUMATIC!? You call that traumatic!?” you yell at her.

“It’s a lot to take in but please just let us……”

“What were those people!? Who are you!? Are you both gonna kill me?!”

“What no. No we’re not gonna kill you.”

“You guys are gonna kill me. You’re gonna chop me up into little pieces and serve me up in a pie!” you panicked.

“Sweetie no one’s gonna chop you up and bake you into a pie.” Serafina assured you.

“Then why did the house attack me!? Why am I here? Why—” suddenly your voice goes quiet. You can still feel yourself speaking but no voice is coming out of you. You panic once more and mime out a scream as you rake your hands through your hair.

“John Richard Deacon!” Serafina snarled. You stop screaming for a second to see John lower his hand as he said.

“Well how else were we gonna get them to stop overtalking you?”

“Uhh not with magic. And like civilized people with compassion and reassurance.” Magic? Did she really just say magic?

“Yeah like that was going so well just now.” John sassed as he crossed his arms over his chest.

“John I’m serious. Give them back their voice, and try to be empathetic about the situation. You were the exact same way when we were told of this.”

“That was a different story.”

“Not really.”

“Yes it was!”

“No it wasn’t.”

“Yes it was!” I tapped Serafina’s shoulder and she turned to me and sighed softly.

“Sorry love. We didn’t mean for things to go out the way they did but—we had to make sure the curse on you was fully gone. That’s why we brought you here. To our manor in Cold Spring.” Cold Spring?! You were in Cold Spring New York?!

You then feel a warmness coming back in your throat and that’s when John said to you.

“Try not to go screaming at the top of your lungs again. Otherwise your voice will be gone for a week.”

“John!” Serafina warned.

“Who are you guys?” you finally ask. The two young owners of the Jazz club looked at each other when John said.

“That’s—a long story.”

“At this point I don’t care. I want the truth!” you tell them.

“Come with us.” John said as he walked out of the room. Serafina held out her hand for you. Her red eyes giving you a sense of calmness and maternity. You give her your hand and she helps you stand up and walks you out of the study room.

You now stand before a grand library filled to the brim with books. Shelves so high you swear they touched the ceiling, you also notice that there is a giant globe at the center of the room, a few display tables with some pretty interesting and freaky stuff. Like one was a mummified hand or a golden statue of a cat.

As you walk through the library with curiosity that’s when Serafina asks you.

“What’s your knowledge of witches and wizards (Y/n)?”

“Not much. I mean I know about the Salem witch trials that happened a long time ago. But other than that……pointy black hats, broomsticks, and are said to be green skinned, old and ugly.” You say as you look at some of the books and items in the display cases.

“Well, I think they’re a little bit more than hats and broomsticks.” Serafina said as she sat down on one of the red velvet chairs.

“And they’re not ugly. That’s just a stereotypical characteristic.” John said as he came up and stood over Serafina’s chair.

“Well I don’t know. I’d classify your mother as one of the ugly bitches if I could.” Serafina teased.

“Can’t argue with that.” John chuckled.

“Wait.” You say as you turn to them. “Are you saying—you guys are witches?”

“The technical name for a male witch is a wizard. Or Warlock but that’s only reserved for the most powerful of wizards. But—yes. We are.” John replied.

“Does that frighten you?” Serafina asked.

“That depends. Are you both good or are you bad?”

“Well, it all depends on what you mean by ‘bad’. I’m nice but not that good.”

“You always degrade yourself love. You’re the best potions brewer I’ve ever met. You can name every single ingredient of every potion known to any wizard and witch. And you don’t even need a spell book. Not to mention your knowledge of magical creatures.” John said as he lowered his head towards Serafina’s and pressed against it lovingly.

“You’re one to talk Mr. Honor’s degree. You were the top wizard of our class in everything.” Serafina said as she gently poked John’s shoulder.

“A school? You mean to tell me there’s a school for wizard’s and witches?” you ask.

“Yes.” Serafina say breaking her eye contact with John to turn back to you. “There is only one school where wizards and witches go to become the best they can be—”

“But it was a long time ago when we went. I can barely recall it’s name.” John said as he turned his head away from Serafina.

There was a look in his eyes that read out—anger? Regret? You didn’t know but it you did know that it seemed John didn’t want to talk about it anymore. You see Serafina take John’s hand and stroke the back of it.

“Look, it’s been a long night for all of us. I think it’s best if we all go back to sleep, we’ll continue this discussion in the morning with the others.”

“You mean…….” Serafina placed her finger over her lips in a shushing motion.

“Come now dear, I’ll take you back to your room. John, you can go downstairs and apologize to you know who for the shock you gave.” She sat up from the chair and placed an arm around your shoulder to guide you out of the library.

“If I end up a ghost after talking to him, I’ll be coming for you first.” John told her.

“Please I know what you would do to me as a ghost.” Serafina called out back to him.

The two of you walk back up towards the room you were just at, every now and then you watched as Serafina ordered the suits of armor to go back into position, silence the piano, and shoo the wooden snake back against the column pillar.

“Do you and John always fight like that?”

“What married couple doesn’t? John and I can go at each other like dragons but through all our fights, we’ve never loved each other any less. Trust me when you’ve been with someone for over 1000 years you learn to compromise through your fights.”

“1000 years!?” you exclaim. “You’ve been married to John for a 1000 years?!”

“Technically we got married in 1465 so it’s only been 500 when we legally became husband and wife. However we were childhood sweethearts back in 1020. So we’ve just counted our relationship from when we first met.”

“So do witches and wizards age slower? Or are you guys immortal? Sorry if it sounds to personal. It’s just that you don’t look a day over 24.” She chuckled softly.

“Thank you dear. Well it goes both ways. You can form a spell to keep your immortal looks, but typically wizards and witches do age slower than muggles.”

“Muggles?”

“Oh that’s what we call humans back in England. Muggles, people who can’t do magic.” You nod.

Finally you arrive back to the bedroom and Serafina guides you back to the bed. As soon as you get into it, she tucks you in gently and adjusts your pillow.

“There we go. Comfy?” you nod. “As I said, we’ll explain everything in the morning. But for now rest is the most important thing you need right now. Goodnight (Y/n).”

“G’night.” You tell her. She then leaves the bedroom and with a snap of her fingers the lights go off and the door softly closes behind her.

Okay. So witches and wizards are real. The owners of the jazz club your boss wanted you to look into and expose are a witch and wizard. Just when you thought they only belong in storybooks, you find out witches exist and are real.

You could only imagine what else could exist in this world.

Morning came and you awoke to the smell of pancakes. You open your eyes and saw the sun’s rays coming through the windows in an elegant way, kinda like a hanging halo of light.

You get out of the bedroom and follow your nose till you stand before a grand kitchen. Inside you see the Blonde Siren sitting with Brian at a booth table. The blonde siren had basically every kind of breakfast meat there was on his plate. Bacon, sausages, ham, etc.

While Brian had some toast, two pancakes, and a tall glass of what looked like red wine. What really caught your attention though was the way the both of them were eating. Even a sip of the wine, Brian handled his breakfast with a high degree of grace and decorum (like those high aristocratic people), while the Blonde Siren was eating away at his food like a starving animal and—were those fangs in his mouth.

“Honestly Rog, must you eat like an animal?” asked Brian.

“Must you eat like you’ve got a pole shoved up your arse?” retorted Rog. Was that his real name? It sounded more like a nickname or something but what was it short for?

“Honestly I can’t see how you can devour animals like that. It’s quite sickening to watch at times.”

“You know what else is sickening? Listening to you complain while I’m trying to eat. Seriously Brian, you elves go on hunting parties, and yet you can’t stand the sight of me eating other animals? That’s very hypocritical of you.”

“I never once participated in a hunting party and you know it!” Brian exclaimed.

“I swear do you two ever stop arguing with each other. It’s like watching two children fight over a toy.” John said as he came through the back door entrance of the kitchen and headed back to the stove. He then turns his attention to you and says, “Ahh I see that my wife’s cooking has woken you up.”

When Brian and Rog look up, their eyes widened in shock as they look around trying to pretend their conversation didn’t happen.

“I was just…..I didn’t mean to intrude.”

“Nonsense, come sit. Eat. Regain your strength, you need it. Also I would like to apologize for my behavior last night. I get a little testy when I’m woken up after a battle.”

“It’s okay John.”

“Now we have a selection for breakfast, do you prefer vegetarian or the regular breakfast selection?” you tell him what you prefer and he shows you the selection they have for your preferred breakfast.

After getting your breakfast made, you go towards the table where Brian and Rog sat and take a seat across from the two men. As you take the first bite of food Rog speaks up.

“How—much of that did you hear?” before you could answer that’s when John speaks up as he snapped his fingers and soon the plates began to clean themselves up.

“We told them Rog. Well the partial truth about what Serafina and I really are. So they know to an extent of what creatures really exist.”

“I see.” Brian said.

“Serafina said she wanted to talk about it with you guys as well. Are you guys wizards like John?”

“Thank Poseidon no. I don’t know what I’d do if I were one of those stuck up, pompous, egotistical……”

“Watch it stallion! You forget Serafina is a witch so insulting me means you’re insulting her.” John warned.

“Oh I would never put Serafina with the likes of you. She is something extra special.” Is he sure he’s not in love with Serafina. Cause the way he praises her is. You feel Brian touch your arm as he explains.

“Roger here comes from a Scandinavian race known as the Nokks.”

“Neck, Nokken, Nixy, Nix, there’s a shit ton of ways to spell our name.” Roger waved his hand nonchalantly. “Just depends on where you come from is where the pronunciations differ.”

“Anyways. His kind are nothing more than horny hound dogs that seduce women and lure children away with songs or beautiful music.” John sneered as he took a bite of a piece of toast that had cheese on it.

“I NEVER ONCE LURED A CHILD TO THEIR DEATH!! I could never stomach something like that.” Roger first snapped angrily before softly speaking with solemness.

“But you don’t deny the way you are with women.” Brian said more as a statement than a question.

“Is there anything wrong with that?” Roger asked as he turned to the curly haired man who held his wine glass in his hand with purpose (was that even possible?).

“You have always loved your beautiful women.”

“Beauty should always be praised and treasured, wouldn’t you agree Elf Lord?”

“Elf lord?” you ask. At that point Brian sighed heavily and set his glass down and said to Roger.

“Thank you for that.” Roger merely grinned cheekily at him. Brian then turns to you and pulls back some of his hair to reveal the pointed ears of an elf.

“Back during the middle ages, long before people started over populating the land with their cities and towns. Brian here was known as the High Elven lord of the West. Skilled fighter, wise ruler, protector of the forest, and Seer of the stars.”

“I…..I thought elves like you know—worked up at the North Pole and were……and don’t take this the wrong way Brian but uhh…..I honestly thought you’d be shorter.” At this point Roger began to laugh hysterically as Brian pinched the bridge of his nose groaning.

“I don’t know where humans got that idea that elves were supposed to be as short as dwarves and worked far up North were hardly anyone can survive.”

“Oh man! That is probably the funniest thing I have ever heard! How come you never told us that’s what humans perceive you as?” Roger said through his laughter.

“Because I knew you would react this way!” Brian shouted.

“Oh Trident’s spear. You are never gonna live this down mate.” Brian groaned as he dropped his head to the table.

“Now, now Roger don’t tease him like that.” Serafina’s voice soon spoke up. You look up and coming from the back entrance was Serafina.

She walks up to John and the two of them share a kiss with each other and you see as John wraps his arms around her. You also couldn’t help but notice that in Serafina’s eyes she seemed—sad.

“How you’re awake, how did you sleep (Y/n) dear?” she asks you.

“Better. And the breakfast is delicious.”

“Thank you. John always prepares the best meals.” She said as she looked up at her husband who looked down at her and gave her a kiss to the crown of her head.

“Flattery will get you anywhere my love.” She rested her head against his collarbone when Roger spoke up.

“As lovey dovey as this is, it still makes me sick to my stomach seeing you to act like that in front of me.”

“Which is why we do it.” John sassed at him with a glare.

“Darling, behave yourself.” As they continue to argue, your mind then transitioned back to last night when you met Jarod. When you saw all those creatures with fangs, and then that one man.

The man with the long, crazed black hair, the yellow piercing of his eyes, and the scales all over his body.

“(Y/n)?” Brian’s soft voice calls out to you. You snap out of his and he asks you, “What’s on your mind dear one?”

“I—I was just thinking about…….what happened last night. With Jarod.”

“It’s my fault. I should’ve fought back! He never would’ve touched you had I just not been afraid to reveal my powers.” Serafina snapped at herself.

“My love you were in the right mindset. We all agreed to never show our true selves before the eyes of humanity.” John said as he held her closer to him. Roger whose eyes showed pure sympathy at Serafina now turned to you and you saw them shift into anger as he explained to you.

“Last night you had the unfortunate pleasure of meeting one of the fae Princes, Jarod. Son of Queen Titania of the Faeries.”

“Fairies?”

“No not fairies, faeries. There’s a HUGE difference.”

“What is the difference? Aren’t they all the same?”

“Not in the slightest.” Brian now took over saying. “See, you humans think of fairies as tiny, miniature versions of yourselves. That fly about with pixie dust trailing behind them, and in some cases mending and taking care of the earth?” you nod. “Well there’s not like they are in your books.”

“They are dark, evil creatures. In touch with all things beyond morale and humane.” John then spoke up.

“Faes can take the form of humans, far past the human standards of beauty, and lure humans to be their pets of sorts. Draining your life force or forcing you to bare their children till you’re nothing but a withering whisp of your former self.” Serafina stated grimly.

“And all you have to do in order to form that contract with a fae, is tell them your name.” Roger finished.

Oh shit! That means…….you had told Jarod your name. Does that mean he’ll be coming back for you? Or send in more faes to kidnap you?

“It’s alright though (Y/n). They won’t be coming back for you though.” Brian assured you.

“How do you know that? I told Jarod my name, how could I be so stupid!? I’ve put you all in danger! I could get you all killed!”

“No, no, no, no, no darling no. You are not a danger to us because you’ve been freed of the contract.” Serafina said to you as she came up and cupped your face in her hands.

“What? But he said that I had to tell them my name. And I did…..”

“You did do that yes, but the way to free a human from a faes control is if the fae that knows your name dies, the contract is no longer valid. Jarod is dead sweetie, and Titania isn’t stupid to try and come back for you.” she strokes you cheek assuringly.

“Was it……was it that man with the long black hair that killed him?”

“You saw him?” asked Brian.

“It was fuzzy. But—I remember seeing a flash of scales, and—hypnotic eyes staring straight down at me. And his voice—it was…..soft and warm. Like honey. Yet……”

“Struck the earth like an earthquake.” They all said together. Okay that was creepy that they all said it together in a chorus-like monotone.

“Yeah. Who was he?” they all went quiet. Serafina walks away from you and stands before a window looking outside.

“He is an ancient creature that has been around since the beginning of time itself.” She started off.

“A great race of creature, the like of which no one had ever seen before. A creature that can see the past, and the future.” John spoke ominously.

“His race is said to have been Gods themselves. No other creature would dare challenge the likes of his kind. Except one.” Brian said. You notice his eyes briefly flicker towards John before turning back to you. “Now he is the last of his kind.”

“The last of a supreme race of mythical creatures. All fear yet respect him. For he is law of the world, seer of all, and shaman of life.” Said Roger as he fingered the table, tracing an infinity symbol.

“Freddie Mercury, the last of the Nagas.” They all finally chorused out once again.

You feel a sudden cold chill in the air as that name was said. A shiver ran up your spine and your heart almost stopped. Just hearing that name made something in you feel—afraid, but at the same time comforted.

“What’s a—a Naga?” it sounded so foreign to you and even through all your love of fantasy genres of books, not one book ever spoke of a Naga before.

“They are a hybrid like creature. The first ever to roam the earth. Their upper bodies are human, whether man or woman, but their lower half is full on snake. The biggest Naga ever said to exist was over 60ft long from his human head to her snake tail.”

“They are gifted with all things magic, and cannot be effected by other magical creatures. Which is why the faes let us go when Freddie came to save our arses.” Roger said as he took a bite out of his food.

“But make no mistake. Nagas are neither good nor bad. They stand on a neutral ground, only observing the world around them. But it’s always wise to never, ever anger a Naga. Less you end up their next meal.” Serafina said.

“God knows we’ve all nearly been on Fred’s menu at least once since meeting him.” John said.

“I haven’t.” Brian said.

“Don’t go bragging Elfling.” Roger snapped.

“I’m over 4000 years old Roger!”

“Yes and I have been around since the oceans and seas formed. Which makes me older than you!”

“Enough! Both of you!” John snapped. You sit there in silence for a moment before John asks you. “You alright poppet?”

“Yeah I just…….”

“It is a lot to take in over breakfast.” Brian said. “We don’t expect you to accept it all right away.”

“Will I ever see Freddie?” you ask them.

“He’ll see you when he wants to see you. But now isn’t the right time.” Serafina tells you as she picks up the empty plates from the table and uses her magic to clean them up.

“When I do see him, he won’t……eat me. Will he?” you choke out.

“So long as you don’t give a reason to.” Roger said as he stood up and headed out of the kitchen.

“And how am I supposed to do that?”

“We’ll tell you when the time comes. For now let’s just get you properly dressed. Brian, why don’t you take (Y/n) to your room and have a change of clothes ready for them.” Serafina said.

“Of course Serafina.” He stands up from the booth and comes over to you extending his hand. “Come with me dear one.” You look up at the Elf Lord and take his hand. He helps you out of the booth and escorts you up towards his room.

*3rd Person POV*

“I really hope we’re doing the right thing.” Serafina said softly as soon as the Elf Lord and human were out of range.

“It’s what has to be done my love.”

‘He’s right. I thought you of all people expected this Serafina?’ Freddie’s voice soon entered into their heads.

“That was before the faes came into play. Freddie must it be them?”

‘Yesssss. I have seen it with my own eyes. This is the human that will lead us to salvation. To our bright future.’

“It’s just……”

‘That’s why the next part of our plan will come to place; you and John will teach them everything you both know. Turn them into a magic wielder.’

33 notes · View notes

angstyaches · 4 years

Note

what if Elliot’s stomach for some reason is bothering him from the moment he wakes up one day and just slowly gets worse as the day goes on but they have stuff to get done so he doesn’t mention anything to Felix, instead he accidentally falls into “ignoring” Felix but it’s actually him just being sort of distracted by his insides. Finally, Felix gets his attention but not in the nicest way, maybe being just a bit to hyper or annoying to Elliot in the state of mind he’s in and (1 of 2)

(2 of 2 sorry it wouldn’t fit in one 😂) he snaps at him kind of meanly. But before he can explain what was wrong Felix storms off, refusing to listen to a word Elliot is saying

Okay Milo, AS USUAL your prompt has sparked plot and character development for my Bois. Elliott’s not going to thank you for this. I, however, do!

CW: pain, anxiety,

“Now, the thing is,” Felix mused, leaning back in a plush white chair, “if it were up to Ryan, everything would be black and silver, right? But our task here is not to choose what Ryan would choose. What we’re trying to decide here is what Nancy would pick for Ryan. She’d want Ryan out of her comfort zone just slightly, so maybe she’d go with something – something like this off-purple, with the satin-y finish.”

Elliott grunted, not lifting his head from his fist. All of the colours in the book were starting to look the same to him, and there was no way he could focus hard enough to read the name of the shade Felix was pointing at. Felix had been extremely talkative all day, acting like an excited puppy ever since Nancy had asked them to take care of the colour scheme for Ryan’s birthday party, and Elliott had been able to tune it out until now. For some reason, hearing him ramble on and over-analyse the decision like that made Elliott roll his eyes.

“Good Lord, Fee,” he sighed, the words grating in his throat. “It’s starting to sound like you’re talking just for the sake of saying something.”

“Pardon me?” Felix folded his arms over the front of his t-shirt, which was loose and faded and exposed about a hand’s width of his chest. “Am I talking too much? You want me to be quieter?”

“Yes.” Elliott’s head spun when he realised what he’d said, and how bluntly it had come out. Felix’s face reacted as though he’d just hit him in the stomach. In reality, it was Elliott who felt like something had crashed into his gut, sending his organs into disarray.

Oh god, say something. Elliott pressed a hand against his stomach below the table, desperate for a moment of relief so he could just think straight long enough to make this better. The cramps weren’t letting up though, and probably wouldn’t while he was so tense.

“Oh, perfect,” Felix sang. “I’ll shut up, shall I? And we’ll just be two idiots sitting here, looking at colour charts in complete silence.”

“Great.”

The book of colour charts swam in his vision as he watched Felix slowly bringing a hand up to flip over the cover and slam it shut.

“Fee,” Elliott mumbled.

“No, no,” Felix said, shoving the heavy book across the table so it bounced against the arm Elliott was supporting his head with. “You barely speak to me all afternoon, and the first thing out of your mouth is this? I must really be driving you crazy, so... You know what, El? I’ll take myself off your hands.”

“Fee, I - hang on, I just -” Elliott sighed, watching the boy get to his feet and sling his jumper over his shoulder. He got to his feet to go after him, but that was when he was incapacitated by a horrible cramp that made his throat contract and his head spin. He had to put his hands down on the table to keep himself from swaying. As the pain ripped through his stomach, he prayed that Felix would still be there when he looked up.

He wasn’t altogether surprised when he wasn’t.

Wincing, Elliott lowered himself back into his chair, sweat coating his face and neck as he flipped open the book of colours. He hurriedly looked for the pale purple shade that Felix had been talking about, kicking himself for not paying more attention. He thought he was going to start blacking out any second, but that was when the party planner came back. He forced a smile and pointed to one of the light purples at random, telling her they’d be pairing it with black. Then he told her that would be all for today, and waited for her to leave the room before trying to get up again.

Outside the manor, it was starting to get cold. Elliott’s stomach churned when he saw that Felix had taken the car. He sat himself down on the curb by the parking lot, curling one arm around his aching gut and supporting his head with the other.

He and Felix had stopped for lunch on the way to meet the party planner, and though Elliott’s stomach had already been upset then, he’d put it down to not having enough blood lately. He’d ended up ordering two double-stacked burgers, hoping the red meat would compensate for it. He’d ended up finishing some of Felix’s food too, as Felix’s appetite often shrank a lot when he was excited or hyper-fixating on something.

He’d also noticed his blood cravings coming on a lot more sharply in recent weeks, but he’d been brushing it off in the hopes everything would just go back to normal. He didn’t want to consider the alternative, and what that would mean for his body, and for his relationship with Felix.

In the time he waited and choked back sobs of pain, Elliott saw several staff members go to their cars and leave, and some others arrive to start their shift. They would cast him a glance and look away again right away. Elliott had always been good at being unapproachable.

The cramps in his belly dropped from agonising to tolerable and then shot back up again, more times than he cared to keep track of. Sitting hunched up was probably making it worse, but standing and walking would have taken too much energy, energy that was already being sapped by the pain.

When it was finally his own car that crunched the gravel in the elaborate driveway, Elliott wasn’t sure if his eyes stung from the pain or from relief. He waited until Felix had parked before trying to stand up, and even then, it was an ordeal.

“Elli?” Felix called out, the spike in his voice indicating that he’d realised something was wrong.

He left the driver’s side door open and rushed to Elliott’s side, offering him his arms. His eyes were reddened from tears, which made Elliott’s heart twinge on top of everything else.

“Fee,” he gasped, reaching for him and collapsing forward. “Fee, my – my stomach hurts, it’s - it’s really horrible.”

“Oh my gosh. I’ve got you, I’ve got you.”

Elliott shouldn’t have believed him, and absolutely shouldn’t have let so much of his weight lean against Felix as they staggered towards the car; in terms of height, Elliott was nearly a foot taller, and in terms of weight, Elliott weighed almost two of Felix. Yet somehow Felix got him into the passenger side seat of the car, closing him in and sprinting around to crawl into the driver’s seat. Elliott let his head hang forward, gasping with muted pleasure as Felix stroked light fingers across the back of his neck.

“Darling,” Felix whispered, drawing Elliott’s head against his neck. “I’m sorry I didn’t notice something was wrong. I was being childish, I – do I need to take you to a hospital?”

Elliott’s teeth chattered, and he let out whimpers into Felix’s soft, mint hair. “Just get me home?”

“Hmm. Okay.” Felix pressed a long kiss against Elliott’s temple, stroking a hand over his arm since he didn’t usually like external pressure on his stomach when it hurt. “But I’d like for us to tell Ryan about this. We need to know if this is –”

“Don’t,” Elliott gasped out. “Don’t – don’t say it, Fee, I – I can’t.”

Felix let out a shaky breath before he nodded and moved away from Elliott and reached for the ignition.

“Don’t bite me,” Elliott mumbled, settling his arm against the passenger side door and tucking his head into his elbow. ‘Don’t bite me’ was a rule he and Felix had invented so that they could be objectively honest with each other, but it could only be used sparingly. “Try to drive smoothly, if possible.”

“Oh, I’ll do my best, darling,” Felix promised. “Close your eyes and try to imagine we’re on a boat on a lake.”

Boat on a lake, Elliott thought with a weak, private smile. Boats on lakes didn’t lurch violently on bends or jerk forward at traffic lights. Elliott wrapped his other arm loosely around his waist, bracing himself and his aching stomach for a rocky forty minutes with Felix at the wheel. But god damn, if he didn’t love that boy, if he didn’t want to spend the rest of his existence –

“Hey, Fee?” Elliott’s voice trembled as he felt the car begin to reverse out of the parking spot. “If it won’t distract you too much from the road, can you sing something while you drive?”

“Oh, darling, you’re going to regret giving me permission for that.”

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greekowl87 · 4 years

Text

Fic: Elegy for the Dead; Hope for the Living

A/N: I’ve been playing a lot of the X-Files in the background as I’ve been working the past few days. I just rewatched Elegy and got some major cancer arc angst inspiration. And I can’t sleep with anxiety again. So, cancer arc angst anyone? Lucky you! @today-in-fic @suitablyaggrieved @baronessblixen No beta. Sorry

She is me.

Scully awoke, gasping for air, remembering the blood-stained letters in mirror reflecting back at her. Her nose bloody, unable to stop it or the cancer that was slowly killing her. She remembered Mulder telling her that only those close to death would see the ghosts. She had seen those dead spirits. That probably meant her own mortality wasn’t that far off.

She touched her nose, feeling the coppery blood. Turning on the light, she reached for a tissue to stem the bleeding. She pinched her nose and jogged to her bathroom. The stream of blood seemed never-ending. She pinched her nose tighter and leaned her head back. It had been two weeks since her last treatment and she was beginning to reconsider even doing them at all. She grabbed a new tissue and closed her eyes, feeling sudden pain.

She walked quickly to her bedroom, blindly grabbing her phone. She dialed Mulder’s number and he answered it on the first ring. “Scully? What is it?”

“Um, can you get over here as fast as you can?”

“Are you okay?”

“Can you just get over here?”

“I’m on my way.”

Her pulse was racing. She is me. See the dead girl and the apparition of Harold Spuller. She had tears as she rushed back to the bathroom. The nosebleed had slowed as she grabbed another tissue. Scully sat on the edge of her toilet seat and tried to take a few breaths. Not only was she trying to stem her nosebleed but she was also trying to curve the panic attack that was threatening to rise in her chest.

She checked the tissue, seeing that bleeding had finally stopped but now she could feel bile rising up in the back of her throat, stomach twisting. Her pulse spiked and she could feel her heart pounding in her chest. Then, she couldn’t handle it... nausea. She flipped open the toilet, got on her knees, and braced herself as the panic wrecked the rest of her body.

* * * * *

Mulder sped into Georgetown on the empty Beltway. He managed to find a parking spot right in front of her building. He looked up to her apartment and saw the lights turned off. He rushed up the stairs and unlocked her door. Darkness greeted him as he stepped into the apartment. His heart stopped. “Scully? Scully!”

“I’m in the bathroom, Mulder.”

He could Scully’s shaking voice and in a few long strides, he went to her bathroom. She was sitting on the floor with her knees to her chest. Her hair was askew, her eyes bloodshot. “Scully? What happened?’

She lifted her hand and he saw tremors. “I can’t get my hand to stop shaking, Mulder.” She held up her other hand. “My hands won’t stop shaking. And my heart, it feels like it’s about to burst on my chest. I can’t stand. My head is swimming. I’ve been dry heaving for the past hour. I’m sick to my stomach.”

“Is it cancer?”

“I don’t think so.” She shook her head, tears in her eyes. “No.” She strangled a laugh. “It’s a panic attack. I have all the classic signs of a panic attack.” But her weak laughter turned in a sob and Mulder bent down in front of her. “I’ve never had a panic attack, Mulder!”

Mulder placed his hand against her breast bone and wrapped his arm around her. Carefully, not breaking contact, he sat next to her and pulled her against him. She cried harder and tried to curl into him. “I’m right here, Scully.” He kissed her hair and held her tighter. “I’m here.”

“I can’t breathe.” She began to hyperventilate and she pulled back in alarm. “Mulder!”

“Scully, it’s your panic attack. You have to calm down.”

“I don’t want to die. I don’t want to.”

Her tears were coming faster and he frowned and pulled her into between his long legs. He wrapped his arms around her and tried to surround her like a blanket. He took a deep breath and held it and breathed out slowly. “Scully, you need to breathe. Breathe with me.” He took another deep breath, held it, and slowly exhaled. “Do you feel it, Scully? You have to breathe with me. Come on, let’s take another breath.”

Scully clutched his hands and tried to slow her breaths to match his. After about five minutes of repeating their breathing cycle, she could feel her world become a bit steadier.

“You okay?” She nodded, closing her eyes and leaned back against him. He tightened his arms around her. “Do you think you can stand?”

She shook her head. “I’ve been feeling light-headed and from throwing up...it really takes it out of me, Mulder.”

“Okay. Give me a second then.”

He stood up first and held out both of his large hands. Scully stared at them, her eyes trying to focus on them despite her swimming head. She grabbed his hands and he helped her stand effortlessly. “Are you okay?”

She swayed slightly and kept her eyes closed. “I think so...I don’t know what happened. I woke up from a nightmare and then I had a nosebleed. I don’t know what possessed me to call you. I probably wasted your time.”

“I wouldn’t call this a waste of time. You had quite the panic attack from the looks of it.” He was silent, gently caressing her cheek. “Let’s get something to calm your stomach.”

“Mulder, I’m fine.”

He growled in frustration. “Scully, what did I tell you? The sooner you stop denying it, the more I can help you. Hearing you say you didn’t want to die tonight was the closest you’ve come to telling me the truth in the past seven months.”

She lowered her gaze, remembering her conversation with her therapist. “I don’t want to disappoint you.�� Her confession was barely a whisper but loud enough for him to hear. “I’m sorry.”

Mulder sighed, shaking his head. “Don’t be.” He wrapped his arm around her neck and pulled her into a hug. “Aw, Scully. I can never be disappointed with you.” She nodded silently into his chest. “But let’s try to get some food into you. Do you have anything you think you might be able to stomach?”

She nodded. “I’ll get it…”

“No, you will sit on your couch. I’ll make it for you.”

“Mulder, it was just a tiny panic attack.”

“No, it wasn’t.” He rubbed her shoulder. “As a psychologist, I am telling you it was a bad one.”

“And I’m a doctor.”

“And together we make one hell of a team.” She looked up and smiled slightly. “I’ll take care of it. Why don’t you go lay down and I’ll make you something to eat.”

He lead her to to the couch and began to dig through her cabinets. Scully took her Afghan and wrapped around her shoulders. She watched him. “I have Lipton noodle soup above the sink. During my first rounds of radiation, that was one of the few things I could stomach.”

“Okay,” he smiled, “we got somewhere to start. So, I know Chef Mike personally who’ll do a great job on this.”

“Chef Mike,” she whispered. He saw her smile slightly. “Who’s that.”

He tapped her microwave proudly. She chuckled and nodded. “Chef Mike.”

Mulder quickly filled a microwaveable container with water and the soup mix and put it in for 12 minutes. He went to the sink and poured her a glass of water. They sat in silence for a bit. “So,” he began, walking to join her on the couch, “You want to tell me what happened?”

She drew her knees close. “A nightmare. She is me. I woke up with the nosebleed and then one thing led to another.”

“What did we just talk about, Scully?”

She cleared her throat, trying to organize her thoughts. “After I left tonight, I saw Harold Spuller’s apparition in the back of my car, Mulder. Just like I did with the murder victim. What you said about them being a fetch...an omen of death…” her voice trailed off and she wiped away fresh tears. “I don’t want to die, Mulder. I’m not ready to die. But I’m afraid. I am so afraid.”

“Is that what caused the panic attack?”

“Part of it and this nosebleed, I was afraid it wasn’t going to stop. I mean I’m a doctor but a part of me thought of the illogical possibilities.” She reached for the water Mulder had brought her. Her throat felt raw and the water soothed it a little. “I’m scared, Mulder. I’ve tried so hard to be strong and keep my faith but I have never felt more lost. I know I’m dying but I can’t accept it.”

He reached for her hand and held it. “That’s the first time since this all started you’ve told me how you actually feel.”

She cringed and hide her face in her other hand. “Sure you aren’t disappointed in me?”

“Why would I be?”

She shrugged. The microwave timer went off and he held up a finger to fetch her a mug of soup. Scully watched him, feeling so touched by his signs of affection. He returned with a steaming cup and handed her a spoon. She nodded and sipped the scalding liquid slowly. “Thank you.” She looked up to him and shrugged. “I don’t know. I feel like even after four years, I still have to prove myself to you.”

“You have nothing to prove to me, Scully.” He sighed. “I just wished you would have told me sooner. So you saw Spuller’s fetch huh?” She nodded. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Maybe because you’re so close to death right now...you’re a pathologist…”

“Mulder,” she whispered, “We both know what it is. It’s the cancer.”

“That doesn’t mean you won’t get better,” he said. She ate more of the soup. “I refuse to believe it.”

“Mulder, I’m getting worse, not better.” She sighed. “I went to the doctor after my previous nosebleed and things were fine. I am not lying about that; I do feel fine. Most days but my treatments...I’m not responding to them anymore. It’s getting worse. We need to have this conversation. We’ve both been avoiding it.”

“You aren’t going to die from this, Scully. I won’t let it happen.”

“Oh, Mulder,” she whispered fondly “If I only had the strength of your beliefs.”

“I’ll find you a cure, Scully. I swear to God, I’ll find you a cure.”

The tone and seriousness with which he vowed to her made her shiver. Maybe this was a conversation for another night. “Mulder,” she tried to downplay it. “Maybe...maybe this is the wrong time.”

“When will there be a time, Scully? I’m not going to let you die.” He took her hand and squeezed it. “I promise you, I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”

She had tears in her eyes. “I’m not going to be able to eat all this myself.” She wiped them away. “And it’s late. I don’t want to see you driving home this late. Do you mind staying here tonight?”

Mulder titled his head. “I would be happy too, Scully.”

She gave a small smile as he got up to get the rest of the soup. They ate in silence, finishing it off. Somehow, unspoken communication did more for them compared to when they used their words. They finished the soup and Mulder washed out the mugs. Scully stood up on unsteady feet. He came to her side and she grasped his hand, leading him to her bedroom. Mulder felt his heart race. This was the stuff of his fantasies, but right now, those dreams took a back seat in favor of the present. “Stay with me, please, Mulder?”

“Whatever you want, Scully.”

He took away the Afghan and helped her into bed and gently tucked her in. He went to the other side of her bed and sat next to her. “I am sorry for not telling you the truth before,” she whispered.

He lay down on top of the covers next to her, kicking his shoes off in the process. “It’s okay. But you have to trust me when I say we’ll get through this together.”

Scully recalled the fetches. He turned onto his side and held out his arm. She snuggled against him. “I hope you are right,” she whispered.

“We will.” He hugged her tightly. “I’m glad you called me.”

She closed her eyes as he nuzzled her hair. “So am I.”

#xfiles #xf fic #txf #txf fic #post ep elegy #cancer arc #angst #mulder and scully #mulder #scully #msr #msr fic

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sidespromptblog · 4 years

Text

Truly.: Part 4 (End)

One, Two, Three

Summary: And just like that, walking further and further away from Thomas’ house, his host, and all of the other sides…

Logan was alone, truly alone.

Word Count: 2900

AO3 LINK

To say that Virgil was worried when the second hour of Deceit being gone had passed, was just as easy and obvious as saying that Roman was the most extra man he’d ever seen in his entire life. It had been two hours, two whole hours since he had last seen Deceit, and two whole hours since Deceit had promised to bring Logan back to them. He had spent one of those hours pacing like a caged tiger back and forth in the confines of Deceit’s room, occasionally stepping all over the dishonest side’s strewn out clothing that he hadn’t bothered to put up or even wash. The next ten minutes had been spent organizing such a mess, or at least until he had been summoned by the others.

“You’re sure that he’s going to find him?” Patton nervously asked, his leg bouncing up and down from where he was standing, as Virgil sat before him on the couch a mess of fabrics strewn out before them. “What if he doesn’t come back?”

It’s almost freezing outside. His mind helpfully and quite vindictively supplied in a way that made his heart jump in his chest. He’s part snake, his internal organs could shut down and he could die, cold and alone with nobody to even know or care where he was. He already thinks that you hate him, he’ll die thinking that. He’ll die knowing that he’s alone and-

“He will.” Virgil snapped out, not meaning for it to sound so harsh as he chased away the thoughts and internal images of Deceit being curled up on the side of the road somewhere. “He’s going to come back and he’s going to come back with Logan. Just trust him.” Like he did? He had never trusted Deceit before now, and yet… the other side hadn’t even spared a second after he had asked him to help. “He’s self-preservation too Pat, he’ll find Lo and he’ll bring him back. I promise.”

The needle pricked at his fingers as he absentmindedly tugged the white string through the bright honey-golden material of the jacket.

He had to come back, he still needed to give him his jacket.

He had to… Virgil needed him to. He needed to tell him that-

The sound of the door opening and shutting snapped Virgil’s attention away from the jacket, just as it snapped Patton’s, Roman’s, and Remus’ attention away from mulling and worrying. Like a cast of hawks, their attention laser-focused onto the two sides that had just come through the door, a pair of sides that were still rubbing their arms in an attempt to ward off the chill that clung to them like sand burrs from the outside world. Their cheeks and noses had a light dusting of pink on them, from where the winter wind had nipped at the open portion of their face spreading a shade of coloring their that hadn’t previously been there.

They were home.

“Logan!” Several voices chimed in as the sounds of pattering feet across the living room floor, ran towards their resident logical side as if even the forces of down under wouldn’t be able to stop them then. There would have been several collisions had Logan not held his hand out then, as it became obvious only then that he was holding several pizza boxes.

“I brought dinner,” Came the even and stoic reply that hid the nervousness and sheer terror lingering underneath. “I need to talk to you all.”

And just like that, the cheery tone took an abrupt nosedive as the logical side set the pizzas down on the coffee table. But not before sending one last equally stern and resolute look towards Deceit, who had remained standing at the door not making a single move since they had come in and most certainly not smiling at the joy from the other sides. It had been almost like he had been invisible to the others, with them barely offering him a second thought. Not that he minded too terribly, he was kind of meant to be ignored. It was just who he was, and besides… it gave him extra time to just… think about what on earth he was going to tell Virgil, that would even come close to satisfying the deal between him and Logan.

He just needed to get it out of the way, so that he could go back to his room and they could pretend like he never brought Logan back in the first place.

Looking up, his eyes locked onto Virgil’s and that pit in his stomach wormed its way into being a black hole.

It was either now… or never. And Logan wasn’t going to stand for it being never.

“I need to tell you something,” Deceit stopped Virgil dead in his tracks as he extended his arm stopping the anxious side from joining the others on the couch. With no more than a gentle nudge towards the kitchen, they stood there in silence for a moment. At least until... “Ordinarily you would never hear about this, the only reason you are learning about it right now… is because Logan wants me to tell you. But more importantly…” Deceit swallowed, “This isn’t a ploy to make you feel guilty, I’m not lying to you, and… I honestly don’t expect anything to come from me telling you this. Nothing has to change after I tell you this, and… I really don’t expect it to. You can keep hating me, and.. and I’m not going to ever hold it against you. I promise, Virgil.”

If it was possible, the anxious side in question felt that pit in his stomach widen more and more. Rationally he knew.. he knew that Deceit was telling him all of this to lessen some kind of impact, and whatever impact it was… it wasn’t going to be a good one. Otherwise, the dishonest side would have just told him, and walked away. He was only saying this, because in whatever he was going to say… it was bad, it was really and truly bad.

Was he dying?

That one thought alone sent a spike of terror through his already pounding heart, it hammered against his chest until the only thing he could hear was the slamming of it against his ribs. There was no way… no way on earth that sides could die. Right? And someone like Deceit wouldn’t be nearly so calm about it, he’d have plans and he’d fight to stay alive if he was dying right? He’d address them all if that were the case, because despite it all.. him dying… as much as Virgil hated to admit it, would in fact negatively affect Thomas. There would need to be extensive plans in order to make up for Deceit’s absence and.. And… He couldn’t be dying right?

He couldn’t. He couldn’t. He couldn’t. He couldn’t be...

“I…” Virgil’s eyes snapped back to Deceit in an instant almost as soon as the other side opened his mouth. He looked nervous, Virgil could feel the anxiety pouring out of Deceit, as if it were oozing from every single one of his pores. Guilt, the expression on Deceit’s face was… guilt. “I… Ran away after you left to live with the light sides.”

Everything came to a screeching halt.

“What?”

His words were no more than a whisper, and yet Deceit looked as if he had just shouted them into his face.

“I.. I was gone for two and a half weeks before I came back.” The dishonest side carried on, completely oblivious to the mounting horror that was sweeping through Virgil with every new addition to this new information. “I won’t say that I’m sorry for leaving,” Deceit finally said, and something vicious and ruthless twisted in Virgil’s gut. “Because I’m not sorry that I left, I know that you probably don’t want to hear about this, and a part of me would be content to take this with me to my grave. Remus doesn’t even know that I was gone, I didn’t want anyone to know that I had even left.” Nervous hands twisted at the scarf around Deceit’s neck, and just when Virgil had thought that the emotional kick to the balls had already come. “Usually when I think back to leaving… I wish that I had never come back.”

That hurt.

There were no words, anything that Virgil could have drawn from… any past experience with Remus running away or even Logan leaving for as brief as he did. It all left him completely blank in the face of… this. What on earth could he say to this? What could he say to the revelation that him leaving… him acting the way he did, not only pushed Deceit away… but it made him get as far as he possibly could from not only him.. but everyone else as well. What exactly could he say… that wouldn’t ruin things beyond what they were already?

Remus had been right… despite going to the light sides, he.. he never really was able to stop being the bad guy.

He just kept hurting people, again and again…

“This isn’t a ploy to make you feel guilty, I’m not lying to you, and… I honestly don’t expect anything to come from me telling you this. Nothing has to change after I tell you this, and… I really don’t expect it to. You can keep hating me, and.. and I’m not going to ever hold it against you. I promise, Virgil.” Deceit had said to him, without a single lingering lie in his voice and an open honesty in his eyes. He honestly wasn’t expecting Virgil to give two shits about what he was going to tell him, he was just doing this because of the deal he had made with Logan.

He didn’t expect Virgil to care. He expected him to just walk away without even giving so much as a second thought to everything he had just been told. He expected Virgil to go on hating him.

A tired and quite frankly exhausted ghost of a smile curled on Deceit’s lips, a look of hopelessness spreading like wildfire in his eyes. “I’m sorry that you ever had to learn this, but thank you for listening regardless. But please just… forget everything I just said to you, don’t let it weigh you down any.” And just like that… the dishonest side stepped back, moving to sink down and return to the safety of his bedroom so that he could spend the next week curled up in his own bed not talking to a single soul. Because maybe if he laid in one position long enough, perhaps moss would start to grow on him and suck away every feeling and sensation that he had so that he could just watch cute snake videos instead of crying.

That was much more preferable.

A fist seized the back of his shirt, seizing the fabric before ruthlessly jerking him back before he could so much as start sinking down.

Virgil’s arms constricted around him, squeezing him so very tightly and smooshing Deceit’s face right against his chest as he held onto the dishonest side for dear life. “Do you have any idea how dangerous that was?!” He blurted out, squeezing the other side all the tighter. “You could have gotten hurt and none of us would have known about it! You could have gotten mugged in an alleyway with no one to find you! You could have died!” With his arms still wrapped around Deceit like a python learning to hug for the first time, he gingerly swayed the both of them from side to side. “Don’t you ever do that again, especially not without leaving a note or at least telling someone first!”

For a moment, there was silence between them.

At least until Virgil felt Deceit’s fingers bunching the material of his shirt, and the other’s face pressing into his shoulder.

“You… actually, care about that? Why?”

Just the sheer fact that Deceit asked, let alone in that whispery unsure and even more borderline terrified voice wrecked Virgil’s soul. Because… that should never even be a question that the other side needed to ask him, it should never be a question that Virgil made him feel like he needed to ask in the first place. He should be better than this, he should do better than something like this. He had made Deceit feel like he needed to leave, and.. and not a single soul had noticed that he had been gone. Virgil should have noticed, he should have been there to stop it or in the very least open up a channel for Deceit to come to him if he had those kinds of urges.

They had been a family once, until he left.

“Because I’m sorry,” He whispered into Deceit’s messy curly locks, “I care, I honest to god care about you and I care about Remus. I should have shown it better, even if I did leave. I.. shouldn’t have ignored you. You deserve better, you don’t deserve to be ignored, and you don’t deserve to be alone. That… I can promise you.”

He wasn’t going to cry, Deceit had told himself that after bawling in front of Logan… he wasn’t going to cry.

But hearing those words from Virgil, a promise that he wasn’t some monster to be hated, feared, or even shunned… It made his eyes get a little misty as he clung even harder to Virgil and his shirt, burying his face into the others shoulder just the slightest bit more as he attempted to focus on keeping it together and not turning into a sobbing wreck where just anyone could hear and see him. It would be entirely too embarrassing to even think about right now.

A few tears slipped out, staining the fabric of Virgil’s shirt.

Before the overwhelming guilt and shame could even stick, a gentle hand ran over the back of his head gingerly smoothing down his unruly hair. “It’s okay,” Virgil’s voice was so very gentle and soft that it nearly made the dishonest side burst into uncontrollable sobs right then and there, “You’re okay Dee,” He whispered, slowly rocking the both of them back and forth. “Now come on, let’s go have some of that dinner that you and Logan brought. I’m starved.”

For a second, a single split second. A draft of overwhelming uncertainty and sheer horror dawned on Deceit as Virgil’s hand slipped into his, leading him back to the living room where everyone else was. Would they accept him being there? Would they even want him there? Logan would, but the others… They’d just want to go straight back to ignoring his very presence until he asserted himself, didn’t they? Why wouldn’t they?

Sure Virgil didn’t hate him now, but that didn’t mean that-

Time slowed to a crawl as soon as he stepped foot into the living room, everyone was crowded around Logan. With Patton having seized the logical side into a hug on his front, and Roman hugging the logical side’s back with even Remus giving a sympathetic pat on his shoulder. Clearly, Logan had done his part of the talking, just as Deceit had just done his. And yet… Everyone looked up as soon as he and Virgil entered, and everyone was looking at him. They were all staring, were they going to tell him to go away?

“You still like cheese pizza yeah?” Virgil asked, and just like that the tension flooded out of the room as soon as Deceit found his seat squished next to Logan and Virgil. The couch was in no way made for that many people to sit on it, but with Remus languidly laying across the top and Roman sitting on the armrest they were fitting easily enough.

“Yeah,” Came his soft whisper, and just like that dinner began.

It was… the first dinner he had ever been included in since Virgil had left. He was so used to either spending so many nights sitting alone at the dinner table or just taking his food to his bedroom and just watching videos as he ate by himself. So, as far as firsts went… this one wasn’t too terrible, Remus, of course, attempted to stuff five different pizza slices and flavors into their mouth. But… all in all, it wasn’t terrible, and by the end of it, he felt…

Nice, he believed that the world was nice.

Eventually, after cleaning up everything and setting the cleaned cups aside it was time to go back to his room. However, before he could even think to sink down, and collapse onto his bed and conk out for eighteen straight hours…

“Deceit,” Turning his head at Virgil’s voice, he was soon met with a face full of fabric having been thrown straight at his face. “I told you I’d make the jacket,” Cradling the soft and so very warm fabric in his arms, Deceit stared openly back at the equally warm smirk on the anxious side’s face. “Come back again tomorrow, and I can help you put your logo and even some thumb holes on it. If you want.”

He did want it, he so desperately wanted it.

“It’s a date then.”

He didn’t want to be alone anymore, and he wouldn’t be.

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goparkseonghwa · 4 years

Text

A Devil’s Covenant [ Prologue ]

Genre: Angst, Romance, Horror, Smut (in future parts)

Pairing(s): Seonghwa x Reader (mostly) x Wooyoung (briefly) + ATEEZ

Word Count: 1.8K

Summary: Making a deal with the devil to bring back a loved one has its consequences. Are you ready to pay the price for your sins?

Warning(s): Themes of Horror, Strong Language and Violence, Character Death (these will be throughout the storyline so read with caution).

| next

⊱ ────── {⋅. ✯ .⋅} ────── ⊰

"For the love all things holy, Seonghwa," You laugh down the line, the sleeve of your sweater covering your gaping mouth slightly, "This isn't the type of talk you should be indulging in with your best friend." You flush at the recollection of his previous statement, becoming hot and bothered easily at his low voice alone but his choice of wordage easily made you weak in the knees.

"Ah, but you love my sensual talk," He breathes down his end of the line, joking none the less, but still how he says it sends a faint tremble down your back. You secretly love it when he speaks to you in that manner, but you'd never admit that to his face - or rather to anyone in your inner circle. Hell, you could barely admit that to yourself the first time his words took a different toll on your heart. "And besides, who else would I use to practice my pickup lines on?"

Continue using me, please. You tap your finger against your lower lip as if you were in deep thought, letting a playful hum reverberate through your vocal cords in light spirit, lips turning up in the corners in the slightest motion. "Mmmmm, I know, you could use your suave moves on Yunho. He'd really have a fond appreciation for you after that." You stretch your arm behind your head, tousling your hair slightly as you run your fingers through the mess that was long overdue of a wash.

"You mean he'd probably have a fond appreciation for my chopped off penis sitting in a jar if I pulled that shit on him." He chuckles, and you can't help but gently roll your eyes at his sentence, knowing for a fact that the younger would actually find his elder's practice sessions enjoyable, being able to pick up on some tricks himself all while acquiring some form of blackmail to dangle over Hwa's head in the future.

"He loves your penis too much to ever bring any harm to it." You smile, crinkling your nose in endearment when you hear a scoff echo throughout the speaker, knowing his own cheeks were becoming flushed from embarrassment at your erotic, sinful thoughts.

"I highly doubt you on that one," He starts, voice becoming a bit muffled as the rustling of bags and other voices that echo throughout your speaker, indicating that he was at the market picking up groceries for a dinner he was hosting tonight at his and Yunho's shared apartment. Yunho had gotten in contact with Jongho, who seemed to be as much of a recluse nowadays as the spider, and convinced him to take a break from working on his novel to indulge in friendly conversation and delicious food. Seonghwa's stepbrother, Mingi, was in town for the week on business and Hwa wanted to reunite the five of you before Mingi jetted off to the next country for who knew how long, and before Jongho sealed himself off from the world again. ". . . thank you. . . alright, I think I have everything for tonight."

"Eh, you never know what could be going through Yunho's mind, so you shouldn't be too surprised if he has thought about it once or twice." Standing up from your bed, your knees slightly popping from being in the same, stiff position for so long, you maneuver your way into your bathroom to assess the damage that needed to be tended to before dinner. Cringing upon the sight of your greasy hair, and stained sweater from countless fridge raids, you turn on the sink faucet to begin your much needed 'spa treatment'. "Anyways, so what is Chef Seonghwa preparing for our taste buds this evening?" You inquire, picking up a washcloth to dampen.

"Ah, little one, it's a surprise," He playfully taunts, the tone in his voice making you huff out in annoyance. Surprises were nice and all but you would like to know what type of food you get to daydream about until it's finally sitting on a plate in front of you.

"Let me guess, you've decided to treat us to a frozen pizza?" You shift the phone from your hand so that it is now pressed between your shoulder and ear, allowing you to utilize both hands as you prepare your skin care routine.

"Damn, I can't believe you figured it out. You and the others get to indulge on a frozen entrée while I prepare myself a lovely steak dinner." He states, amusement easily interwoven within his words. His drawl that was as smooth as velvet was dangerous in itself, but when paired with any form of teasing or amusement it was a catastrophe just waiting to happen. The sultry undertone just waiting to pull anyone into a delicious, sinful paradise where temptations were acted on rather than ignored. A heaven within hell, the angel's fall from grace at the mere prospect of being entangled, consumed with another being that was corrupted beyond a point of redemption. But, those sickly sweet, lust driven whispers would be worth the fall if it meant you could spend eternity with him.

Knowing that he is merely pulling your leg, you decide to play along, "Mmmm absolutely delicious. My mouth is already watering at the mere thought of a burnt piece of bread with a pathetic excuse of toppings decorated on top." Sarcasm drips from every syllable that is enunciated with your tongue, a genuine, but snarky, way of conveying the lightness of the conversation. A smile graces your plush lips as wipe your face with the cloth, the water alone already making your skin feel better, more refreshed than it had been minutes ago.

A beautiful, deep laugh reverberates through the line and you could literally feel your heart rate slightly spike as the sound danced around within your ears. Something so pure, so sweet coming from the lips of a man whose heart was as big as the moon and whose soul was as golden as the sun made you feel as though heaven had answered your prayers, blessing you with a magnificent human who deserved nothing less than the stars. Park Seonghwa had easily found a way to leave pieces of himself within everything you did or saw, intertwining his existence with yours. A colorful pattern so bright it managed to dynamically shift your view on the world from one of black and white to one of vibrant, explosive pastels and neons. He was the artist and his words were the paintbrush as he transformed your life into a living, breathing masterpiece. He meant more to you than anyone could ever imagine, and being so fortunate to hear his laugh, to be around him when he was happy, to see him at his highest while also being there for the lowest was, and is, something you hold close to you. You would never trade anything in the world for those moments you are able to spend with him, the memories too precious to take for granted.

"But on a serious note, the meal I have planned tonight will be to your liking, so you have nothing to worry about," He reassures you which does improve your mood. Not that you weren't in a good mood prior to his statement, you were placed in a tranquil atmosphere the second you saw his name appear on your phone screen, but by him confirming that the meal tonight would be up to the high standards he always set made your spirits heighten further than the clouds.

"You better not give me food poisoning, Park," You grumble, scrubbing your face with the cleanser, "Or else you and I will be having a very strong, very colorful discussion tomorrow."

He gasps on the other end, "I'm hurt, Y/N, truly. You've punctured my heart." He feigns mock hurt, and you can only imagine the cute pout that is present on his plump lips, the crease between his sharp eyebrows and one of his hands placed on his chest, directly over the organ that you wish would belong to you.

"Let me grab my sewing kit so I can stitch that tragic wound of yours," You smile, grabbing the washcloth to dampen once more so you could remove the soap from your face and move on to the next step in your routine, "So, have you heard from Mingi? Is he in town yet?"

"Yeah, his plane landed about a half hour ago, so him and Yunho should be heading back to the apartment as we speak," He trails off, voice becoming muffled, distant from the phone as he must have gotten distracted by something or someone in the marketplace, "Hey, you like roses right–" He's cut short by the sound of a loud bang, startling you to the point of your phone nearly slipping from your shoulder.

"Holy shit! What the hell was that?" You shriek down the line just as another bang can be heard off in the distance, screams following quickly after. Worry starts to flood your veins as you drop the towel onto the counter, fingers now gripping tightly to the phone as you press it harder against your ear, "Seonghwa, what was that? Is everything okay?" There's rustling on his end, shuffling that sounds as if something has dropped or has been thrown down. When you hear short, sharp breaths through the receiver that's when your anxiety spikes dramatically. Something is wrong, something is terribly, horrifically wrong. The screaming intensifies as it draws closer to the phone, panicked voices forming incoherent sentences are jumbled together as well, frightening you even further. "Seonghwa, answer me! What happened?" A faint whimper, a grunt of pain and one final, sharp intake of breath is made before a soft, long exhale is emitted. Your heart sinks. "S-Seonghwa?"

"Someone call an ambulance!"

"Check for a pulse!"

"Oh my gosh! He's dead!"

At that, the phone drops from your now shaking hand, landing on the floor with a smack. Your mouth slackens, head becoming dizzy as your vision begins to produce black splotches in the corners of your eyes. A pounding sensation is heavily felt within your skull as the bathroom begins to spin. You lose your footing, stumbling backwards away from the vanity as your lunch from earlier begins to churn violently in your stomach. No, no, no, no, no. This isn't happening. They can't be talking about Hwa, it has to be someone else. But hearing his name faintly come through the speaker by an unknown voice confirms your worst nightmare.

You’re numb, face the palest white possible as all of the blood seems to evaporate from under your skin, from your veins, your heart stuttering in your chest. It rapidly presses against your ribcage and you feel as though it’s about to combust from the pain that is pulsing through it, searing it so deeply that being physically stabbed in the chest would be like a measly paper cut – and you’d much rather be impaled a hundred times over than feeling what you are currently feeling.

Your eyes connect with your reflection for a brief second, in the next they roll into the back of your head, your weak frame toppling over, falling right next to your phones now cracked screen.

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disembodiedapparition · 3 years

Text

Masterpiece

"Hello, everyone," Gerard Way began, his shifty hazel eyes darting through the crowd with nervousness, searching for a familiar face in the ocean of the inquisitive audience. "I'm here today to inaugurate this majestic gallery, which, admittedly, consists of a few of my own works" — a laugh reverberated like a ripple through the audience — "but also beautiful pieces from tons of other talented artists, like Kurt Cobain, Ray Toro, Bert McCracken..." he mindlessly listed off.

He had been coerced into "opening" for the gallery, the organizers clearly not caring about his tendency to stutter, or his crippling anxiety — "You're popular," they had reasoned. "Everyone will love you anyway."

So here he was, having around sixty simultaneous panic attacks, cheesily introducing their display of swirls and colors as the crowd scrutinized and judged his every move. As you can tell, Gerard was having the time of his life.

As he rambled on about the hard work and effort and time that everyone had put into the gallery — it's not like anyone really cared; it had become a mere formality at this point — his eyes stealthily raked over the crowd, scanning the variety of expressions on people's faces; boredom, interest, restlessness, a couple of eager relatives who were hoping their kin would be mentioned — you know, the average. Everyone at art galleries were just naturally boring, he reasoned. It was sort of a given that anyone who actually wanted to spend a good three hours just walking around and staring at brush strokes was.

His eyes suddenly landed on a young scruffy man standing apart from the crowd in total contrast; unlike the formally dressed men and women, who were clad in suits and dresses, he was wearing worn ripped jeans, muddy brown converse that had been defaced with black sharpie, and a tattered black hoodie — and Gerard wondered what someone like him was doing at some sort of fancy art convention like this.

He concluded his monotonous speech (which had surprisingly only gone on for ten minutes; really, it had felt like ages) and stepped down from the podium, as the crowd applauded, actually seeming like they'd enjoyed his half-hearted monologue; further confirmed by one of the managers patting him on the back and telling him that he'd done a great job. Gerard, however, was not focusing on the meaningless validation he was being showered with; instead choosing to occupy his thoughts with that of the young man who'd been staring at one of his comic book displays in the little corner in the back of the room.

Yeah, Gerard did comics too, and today was one of those rare events in which the managers had allowed him to put them up for display (after literally hours of persuasion, but whatever). They were in the back corner, where they wouldn't ruin the whole "abstract art" vibe they had going on, but still there, and that made him very happy — despite the fact that barely anyone ever spared a glance for the tiny superhero-themed stand in the dark shadows of the room.

He pushed his way through the chaotic swarms of art critics and interviewers, all flocking to congratulate one of the alternative scene's most popular artists — he wished he was liked solely for his artwork, but everyone knew his soft hazel eyes and fluffy black hair had a little to do with it as well; although he couldn't understand what was really attractive about him, as such. All he really did before leaving the house was brush his long fingers through his loose hair, pull on an Iron Maiden shirt or something, and yank on a (probably unwashed) pair of unfashionably faded denims — yet everyone claimed that he was an artist, he was only expressing himself.

He was making a statement.

Really, the press overanalyzed the hell out of everything he did — he could blink, and the press would conjure something up about how he closed his eyes to avoid the harsh reality of the dying earth, but opened them again to show bravery, or some bullshit like that.

Gerard finally got through the ocean of scrambling reporters and fans when one of his equally well-known peers caught the media's eyes, and they all rushed over to the latter; Gerard shot him a look of pity before wrapping his suit tighter around his chest, furtively scrambling to get near the enigmatic stranger. Which was quite funny, considering it was usually the other way round — with fans and paparazzi rushing for a photo with him, or an autograph, or a quote they could slap on the cover of their magazine.

"Hey, dude," he awkwardly started, causing the stranger to lightly choke on his coffee and whip around, his eyes settling in relief and mild irritation at the sight of the harmless looking artist who'd been on stage merely minutes ago.

"Oh my god, man, you scared me," he laughed, breathing deeply. His voice sounded playful, and his eyes were a cocoa brown, with tinges of eyeliner coating his thick lashes — Gerard immediately liked him.

"Sorry!" Gerard replied with a giggle, before pausing, rocking back and forth on his toes. "So, um, how do you feel about these..." he gesticulated erratically at the graphic novels lain open on the plastic table.

"The comics?" the tattooed man asked, scratching the back of his neck. "Dude, they were rad! I totally need to find this, uh—" he stole a glance at the cover of one of the issues. "Gerard Way guy."

Which totally made Gerard smile; he never really got any feedback on his books, apart from semi-interested kids, who'd been dragged along by their parents, flipping through the pages. An actual person who thought his comics were half-decent would be an angel in his eyes, to tell the truth — yeah, he was that thirsty for validation.

"Here he is," he laughed, as the guest's eyes widened and a light blush erupted on his freckled cheeks.

"Oh damn — that sounded stupid."

Gerard immediately shook the suggestion off, a wide grin overtaking his features.

"No really — it's fine. I'm so glad you like them, usually no one really bothers with this little stand in the first place." The stranger hummed, smiling at the illustrations on one of the pages.

"I usually don't bother with art galleries in general," the man admitted. "I mean, they're mostly filled with pretentious people trying to sell some blue blob in the midst of black smudged paint under the pretext of "deep thoughts", and a bunch of gullible, mainstream, rich people too focused on staying with everyone else that they can't understand that they're literally paying thousands for shit their kindergartener could do."

And Gerard couldn't help but choke as he realized that that was actually a perfect description of more than a few of the "abstract" paintings hung up in this place.

The man took a breath, looking at the snorting black haired man in front of him with a grin.

"Never seen comics at one though. I'll have to check out more of these places."

"Dude, are you not seeing how my managers attempted to completely hide the very existence of these things at a place as respectable as this?" Gerard chuckled. "Literally — they're actually so embarrassed that I insisted on keeping them here, a bunch of lowly comic books at their high and mighty art gallery — they probably wouldn't even be here if it weren't for the fact that I'm kind of the only reason half these people showed up."

Gerard realized his last few words sounded mildly egoistic, relieved when he noted that his new companion didn't seem to mind much, in contrast actually nodding along with him.

"Yeah, I bet at least half the girls are here because of you," he winked, causing Gerard's lips to round into a surprised O, shaking his head before a throaty laugh escaped his throat.

"Wha- no! They're not — they don't—"

The stranger burst out into peals of laughter at Gerard's flustered state, as Gerard slowly realized he didn't even know the dude's name.

"What's your name anyway?" he questioned, a grin tugging on his lips.

"Frank," he replied, while Gerard just laughed again at the contrast — the guy had such a childlike personality, yet he was called one of the most serious names in history, Frank — honestly, he was beginning to think someone had spiked one of the drinks he'd had tonight. Since when did he laugh so much?

Maybe it's because you're not hanging out with some boring wannabe Da Vinci for once, his subconscious told him, and Gerard proceeded to ignore that suggestion, and stick with his spiked drink theory.

#gerard way #frank iero #my chem #fanfiction #writers on Tumblr #short story #fiction #my chemical romance #mcr #mcr fanfiction

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txtdiaries · 5 years

Text

Momentum - Chapter Two

SUMMARY | You don’t know what to expect during your first ever date with the boy of your dreams, but as the night goes on and things start to fall into place almost effortlessly, you realize one thing and one thing only about Choi Soobin - he is perfect for you.

PAIRING | Soobin X Reader

CATEGORY | college au, crush, slow burn, sports, date night, etc.

WORD COUNT | 7.9k

WARNINGS | swearing, fluff galore

SONG REC | Two More Minutes - Jaymes Young

PLAYLIST | momentum playlist

Preview / Chapter One / Chapter Two

Your eyes scan the football field, searching for the only jersey with the number 8 etched into the back of it as your feet carry you across the damp turf. You notice the group of players huddled up a few yards away as you get closer, and you make sure to skew from the coach’s line of sight - not wanting to draw attention to yourself in the process.

Regardless of it being almost seven at night, the sun still hasn’t fully set, and the sky is radiating a slightly darkened blue color. You take a moment to skim over the players again, eyes finally focusing on one specifically when they find the tallest boy amid the group.

Soobin is always easy to find.

He’s adorning his black and white football uniform, paired with his cleats and black knee socks, and a checkered sweatband is wrapped around his wrist to finish off his practice attire. You take note of the way your chest squeezes once he grins at something another one of his teammates says, and quickly shake your head to somehow shake the feeling off.

You notice how Soobin’s helmet dangles from in between his fingers as you get closer - having been taken off only moments before - and how his black hair is matted down; clinging against his forehead and neck. His glasses are nowhere to be seen, and seeing him without them sends butterflies erupting in your stomach. The number on his back - Soobin’s famous number - beams proudly under the fluorescent lights dotted around the edges of the field, and you take a second to mull over the nickname he’s carried since freshman year to now. The unforgettable nickname that’s been his, and only his, since the first game of the season, two years ago.

The golden infinity, he had been labeled, since Soobin is supposedly the best in everyone’s eyes, and always will be. You can’t exactly blame them for thinking so. Soobin is the best of the best - you just can’t help but wonder if he sees himself this way too.

You know better than to think so.

After a few moments of shifting your weight from one foot to the other, you clear your throat; causing a few eyes to look your way. You don’t actually know that many of the boys on the football team. You only recognize a cute boy named Hyunjin, who has Math with you, and another boy named Mark.

You’re familiar with Mark. Not only because he’s popular and the football team’s star quarterback, but because he hit on you in English class last week. You avoid his burning stare instantly

“Yo, infinity,” Mark interrupts the coach’s light speal about the game-plan review for next week and looks over toward Soobin. He snaps his head in Mark’s direction at the mention of his name and his eyebrows furrow in confusion.

“Your girlfriend is here.”

Your heart lurches in your chest after the words are said, and you watch as Soobin’s cheeks burn suddenly when Mark motions towards you. He quickly looks over with a light chuckle before his gaze lands on you. Your eyes widen as they flash over Mark before meeting Soobin’s again. He only grins at this.

You don’t actually know how Mark knows you’re there for Soobin, but you quickly gather that he had to have told some of his friends he had a date. Teammates or not, word spreads fast amongst jocks. Soobin is clearly no exception.

The coach finishes his speech and the players all break, half of them barely paying attention anyway as he tries to keep everyone’s energy up for the next game. Soobin shoves Mark’s shoulder amidst the chaos, and then moves quickly to grab his bag and walk over to your spot near the bench, a shy grin adorning his face as he does so. You fight to hold one back as well.

“Hey, sorry for having you come all the way here. Practice ran over.”

You shrug lightheartedly, “It’s fine, I don’t mind.”

His dimple carves it’s place into his cheek, and you feel yourself smile back at Soobin, heart rate accelerating.

“Alright. We can head back to my dorm just so I can get out of these clothes and then we can head out, sound good?”

You nod as if you aren’t spiked with anxiety, because you’re really about to go to the Choi Soobin’s dorm room. You try not to overthink the situation, and then follow him off the field and onto the sidewalk, walking towards the student housing buildings quickly.

Soobin keeps you both occupied as you make your way east of the football field - asking you about your classes, how your day was going, and just about everything in between. You can sense his nerves as you two speak, but try to relax. After all, it is just Soobin.

“My roommate shouldn’t be back yet, he had a test to study for.” Soobin explains once you two finally reach his dorm and stand in front of his room. He fishes a pair of keys from his black duffel bag and slides a small silver one into the lock, twisting lightly before pushing the door open. It’s one of the most mundane things ever - but it brings a blush to your cheeks.

Get it together, you tell yourself.

You walk in behind Soobin and watch as he carelessly tosses his items aside and onto the floor near his bed. You avert your eyes after he opens one of his dresser drawers, not wanting to seem nosy before your eyes start to wander around the room, studying it curiously.

Soobin’s roommate truly is nowhere to be seen, but his side of the room is so messy, you wouldn’t be surprised if he happened to be buried somewhere under all the laundry on the ground. His side of the room is far less organized, so you don’t pay much attention to it.

Soobin’s half, on the other hand, is practically spotless.

His bed is made, adorn with black bedsheets and matching pillows. He has a small bunny plushy propped up against one pillow, and you grin when you see it. Colorful throw pillows and even a small fluffy blanket are the only colorful items occupying the bed, making it look extremely comfortable along with welcoming. Your heart warms at Soobin’s possessions.

His laptop sits closed on his desk in the corner, and a pair of speakers sit on each side of it, turned off. Textbooks are lined up neatly on his long shelf just above, and his black backpack rests on the chair just next to it. Soobin doesn’t have a lot of space for his things, but from what you can see, everything on his side is just purely Soobin. From his bottled cologne resting on his shelf, or his glasses resting on the Algebra book laid open on his bed. Small details of him lie right in front of your eyes, and you take note of all of them.

The packet of unopened ramen noodles near his books, most likely for late night snacking. His pencil case shoved to the brim with different colored pens and highlighters for the hours he undoubtedly spends studying. Even the black journal you see peeking out from under his pillow, and the romance novel he strategically has shoved next to a science textbook on his desk, these small things hidden by others, almost as if he doesn’t want to be completely and fully exposed - even in his own bedroom. It all comes together perfectly.

You know right here and now - you really like Soobin.

“I’m sorry it’s kinda messy.” Soobin speaks up as he pulls out a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt, leaning over to swipe his glasses of the book before looking down at you bashfully.

You smile up at him, “You gotta stop apologizing so much. It’s not messy at all.”

He chuckles lowly at this before shaking his head.

“You can sit down if you want, I’ll just be a minute.”

You tuck some hair behind your ear and nod, moving to sit on his bed as he makes his way to the door again. Your stomach flips at the thought of being alone in Soobin’s room - almost like you shouldn’t be here at all. Like it’s his sacred place you shouldn’t have invaded in the first place. With your thoughts running and your eyes wandering again, Soobin steps out, closing the door behind him.

Your phone buzzes instantly - almost as if it was waiting for him to leave.

You pull it from your back pocket in confusion, eyes scanning over the text you see as soon as you do.

HOW’S IT GOING? - Junie

The text sent in all caps stares back at you in all its glory, and you laugh at Yeonjun’s excitement. You thumb back a reply easily.

I’m literally in his dorm room right now - send help.

You lock your screen and pocket the device again, fingers drumming against your knee in boredom. You don’t want to inspect every inch of the room, because that would be weird, so instead you stand and peer at Soobin’s book collection, trying to see if you have any of the same ones.

You can’t remember if Soobin is a literature major or a communication major, and your memory flashes as you swiftly recall that he had switched from one to the other. The only reason you know this is because Yeonjun, ironically, had a mutual friend with Soobin, and they had seen him leaving the Advising Center one sunny day last semester. After his friend Beomgyu, Yeonjun had later filled you in on his name, saw him, they chatted for a bit with Yeonjun right there. Although he couldn’t remember any of the most pressing details - you were lucky, and a little shocked, to get any at all. Besides, Soobin was just a casual crush you had - a boy you blushed and hid from whenever you saw him crossing campus - it almost felt weird to be informed of these things when you didn’t really know him in the first place.

Until now. Now, you were getting there.

After your eyes scan over his Digital Communication book and his Human Relations book, you safely decide that he was in fact a COMM major. You can’t help as your mind starts to wander, filling with questions and wondering why he switched in the first place. Clearly he loved literature - that was obvious given his extensive collection of literary classics and, surprisingly, modern romance and sci-fi novels, stacked on his shelf. Maybe he had simply switched because it wasn’t for him. Or maybe he switched for an entirely different reason. You can only wonder.

Soobin re-appears in no time, and you glance over as he walks in again, noticing how his hair is now styled and his outfit, changed. You smile at this before meeting his eyes.

“Ready?” He questions, a cute grin tugging at the corners of his lips. You nod swiftly and step forward, moving to walk out the doorway with him.

“You still haven’t told me where we’re going,” You comment, noticing how Soobin’s shoulder brushes against yours as he reaches into his pocket for his keys again to lock the door, “You could be kidnapping me for all I know.”

Instead of giving you a clear answer, he chuckles and pulls you gently, excitedly by the wrist towards the exit, “Well it wouldn’t be a surprise if I told you, now would it?”

“You’re swinging too low!” You call to Soobin who stands behind a chain linked fence, baseball bat in hand and helmet on head, facing an automatic pitching machine.

Out of all the places Soobin could have taken you on a first date, he took you to a sports playground. And to make matters even better - he was losing.

“Aren’t you supposed to be a jock?” You tease, watching as Soobin swings aggressively again, missing the ball by a longshot. His shoulders shake with laughter at your comment before he yells back, fixing his stance again.

“I’m out of practice and you’re making me nervous!”

You nod even though he can’t see and tug your own helmet on, laughing at his final swing. Soobin ticks the ball and sends it flying to the left of him, travelling a few feet away before crashing into the fence. His eyes meet yours as you walk up to the gate entrance.

“Well I could have done better than that.” You say.

Soobin laughs at you, and it warms something deep in the pit of your stomach, “I’ll school you at basketball later on, don’t worry. Just try getting a few swings in to warm up and then get ready to lose.”

He was overly enthusiastic when you two first arrived, hands covering your eyes so you wouldn’t peek and ruin the surprise. When he finally revealed the large sign outside reading Benny’s Sports Playground, he was grinning ear to ear. You should have known Soobin would take you to a place like this for your first date. It was perfect, and you were both eager to play some games.

First on the list was baseball, seeing as it was the first actual game to be seen as you both entered. It was secluded enough, through a small entrance and shielded by a chain fence linked around its perimeter. It was a good warm-up game, you and Soobin had both agreed on that. After baseball, though, it’s basketball. And after that, you don’t dare guess what Soobin has in mind.

“I won’t be the one losing.” You feign confidence, stepping onto the artificial field before making your way over.

“Okay,” He shrugs, voice raising a few octaves as he shrugs goofily, “Okay! Prove it then.”

You laugh at his tone, walking over to take the bat from him. Soobin pulls back gently as soon as you reach for it, lifting it back and up so it’s just out of reach, and smirks at you. You frown now and grab at it, pulling after your fingers wrap around the handle.

You realize, just then, that you two are acting like a couple. To a complete stranger, it could be interpreted as shameless flirting, and the thought alone almost makes you blush. Because Soobin is flirting, and you are actually letting him.

“Okay, okay, let’s see what you’ve got.” Soobin finally releases the bat after your shared moment, and steps back to lean against the fence enclosing the two of you a few feet away. You know he shouldn’t be the distance away that he is while you’re batting, but you don’t mention it. The workers took their break as soon as the two of you arrived anyway, not seeing the need to watch over two adults. You just hope they don’t arrive back anytime soon.

“You’re gonna regret making fun of me, watch.” You giggle, widening your stance before lifting the bat up, squaring your eyes on the machine a few yards away.

“Focus on the ball, not on me.” Soobin teases you back, but it makes your stomach flip anyway. You clear your throat after his words hang in the empty air, finally taking a deep breath before preparing to swing.

“I can do both.” You admit, far too quickly than you’d like, and you feel your cheeks heat up right after. You hear Soobin let out a laugh again before you laugh along, finally focusing the majority of your attention on the machine.

You only just let out a full breathe before the white ball is shooting out from the pitching square and flying rapidly towards you. You can feel yourself react a few seconds too late, and the ball goes rushing past you and clashes harshly into the fence just right of you as you swing, body spinning as you lose your footing from your uneven swing.

Soobin is right by your side now, trying to hold back his giggles as you stumble.

“Oh my- are you okay?” He beams, trying not to tease you.

“I’m fine.” You huff, shrugging his hands off your shoulders nonchalantly from where they touched your skin, feeling it tingle from where his fingers came in contact. You pretend not to notice. You feel a bit embarrassed.

“You gotta swing a little earlier,” Soobin encourages you, backing up swiftly before finding his spot against the fence again, “Focus on swinging as soon as it leaves the pitch so you’ll knock it as soon as it gets to you.”

You nod at his words, stabilizing your footing again before looking straight ahead again. You take another deep breath and grip the bat in your hands tightly, trying to do exactly as he told you. A beat passes and another ball is being shot towards you, causing your nerves to spike as soon as it gets closer.

You swing too soon.

You whine a bit as the fence behind you shakes, the force of the ball setting it out of balance as the sound echoes off it. Soobin is laughing now, finally moving back towards you before the next ball comes.

“Okay,” He starts, hands suddenly on your arms. Every nerve springs to attention where he touches, hyper aware of how he feels against you. You let out a soft sigh, hoping he can’t hear it.

“So you need to hold the bat up more.” He explains, fingers enclosing around yours as his front meets your back just slightly, helping you get your grip right. He gently taps your shoe with his, causing you to spread your stance again with a small, “Oh.”

“Now that your stance is good, twist your body. Not a lot, just slightly for your force.”

Soobin twists with you to the right, helping you stop just where you need to.

You wonder, suddenly, if he’s done this before. Not the baseball part, because obviously he has, but the flirting part. Helping other girls with their stances and so on. It’s a good move - practically a classic. You wouldn’t be that surprised if he’s done it before.

Soobin’s voice suddenly starts shaking, just slightly and almost unnoticed by you as his body comes in contact with yours a bit more when he speaks again, almost taken over by his nerves. The previous thought disappears instantly.

You realize now - he hasn’t.

“I- okay.” He says softly, “When the ball comes, wait until you know you’ll swing and hit it. You have to time it perfectly.” Soobin is patient with you, hands hesitating on yours longer than they need to before he steps back, taking all his warmth and scent with him. You miss him as soon as he steps away, before catching yourself. You remember that you need to focus.

“Okay.” You say, determined to hit the ball this time. You take another breath, your third ball is the final one, and you know you can’t miss now.

Mercilessly, the ball shoots from the machine with no time to spare, and you force yourself to wait - to time it and not swing too soon or too late. You force yourself to get it perfectly.

Crack!

The ball flies opposite from the direction it came. You’re barely able to focus on that though, because along with the metal in your hands sending a painful vibrating feeling through your hands from the force, your body still hasn’t registered that the ball is far gone. It still moves along with your arms, sending your feet out of balance again as you tip to the left as your balance falters.

The bat falls to the ground with a repeated clanking sound, but you barely notice. You notice Soobin’s presence again, only just a second too late as you trip over your footing, sending him down with you as your body throws his balance off as well.

“Oh shi-”

You’re unable to finish your sentence as you both slip, knees burning underneath you as your bodies come in contact with the artificial flooring and then each other, Soobin’s body already taking more of the impact than yours.

You can still feel his hands gripping your hips when the world stills, pain shooting through your left side intently.

It all happens so fast it’s almost impossible to know it even happened until it’s over, your body throbbing in pain as you realize what happened. Both your helmets lay next to the two of you, flipped upside down.

“Oh god.” Soobin suddenly groans from underneath you, taking a shaky breath.

“I’m so so-”

You finally meet his eyes, heart dropping at your current position.

Soobin is underneath you, eyes no longer covered by his glasses but closed tightly as his head rests against the floor, only inches from yours. Your bodies are pressed against eachother’s, limbs intertwined messily due to your fall.

You’re level when he finally opens his eyes, meeting yours.

All the words you had planned on saying are wiped from your mind when Soobin looks up at you.

“I...” You try again, finally realizing the intensity of all of this.

You see emotion flash in Soobin’s eyes when he realizes too - but he doesn’t move. His hands keep their place on your hips as you both breathe heavily, staring into the other’s eyes.

“I’m sorry.” Soobin says softly, even though it wasn’t his fault. Your eyebrows furrow as his soft breaths splay over your cheeks in light puffs. Soobin smells of mint, and your stomach flips at the softness of his tone.

“It was my fault.” You retort, aware of the feeling of his large body against yours. Every single cell in your body is screaming at the feeling, but you try and act unaffected. Soobin, on the other hand, doesn’t try as hard.

His eyes trail down from your eyes to your lips before moving back up, head tilting just slightly. It’s almost like Soobin is curious - just to see how you react to him like this. You feel the crackle of excitement and nerves find place in your stomach, and your cheeks heat up with a blush you know Soobin sees.

It’s all on him, you think. It’s his move.

After all, you aren’t bold enough to make the first move with Soobin. You think he knows this.

“Maybe we...” Soobin hesitates, eyes flashing with emotion, “Um- maybe we should move on from baseball. We both suck at it.”

And just like that, the moment is gone.

“Ah, yeah.” You cut through the silence, clearing your throat before your hands plant themselves on his shoulders, lifting yourself up and off of him. Soobin lets out a sigh as you move farther away, almost looking less nervous, and you pretend you don’t notice. Your knee burns at it comes in contact with the floor, but you ignore it and push up off it, regain your footing steadily again.

Your nerves die down, the feeling of hope stamped down in a cloud of smoke as Soobin stands up, brushing his hands on his jeans lightly before he leans to grab the bat abandoned a few feet away along with his, luckily, unharmed glasses. You know that the machine times out after three balls each so theres no need to worry about it going off again. The only worry in your mind is Soobin and how the two of you will interact after what just happened.

You don’t want to make it awkward, so you try your hardest not to.

“I hit it.” You speak up, hoping Soobin accepts the transition easily.

Relief floods your veins when he smiles over at you from the bat rack.

“I know, you hit it pretty hard too. You should try out for softball next season.”

Things slip back into their own rhythm as you two laugh, the moment gone but not forgotten as you meet back up near the exit and leave the batting cages after putting everything away, walking back into the main junction of the building to choose a new game. Your heart feels better when Soobin gives you his best smile, calming you down.

“So, basketball?” He asks, reaching in his back pocket for the small map provided when you two first came in displaying the location of every activity the company provides.

“Ooh, yes. I’m actually decent at basketball.” You nod, skipping slightly out of excitement as Soobin maneuvers you both around other people, holding onto your wrist gently again as he does so, not wanting to lose you in the process.

“We’ll see about that,” The corners of Soobin’s lips tilt up, “I was the captain of the basketball team last season.”

“You were also one of the best baseball players last season, but look what happened there,” You tease, reffering to him barely hitting the ball.

Soobin presses a hand to his chest to feign offense as you two finally step onto the joined court surrounded by slightly padded high walls and beams, and it makes you laugh. After a moment, you look around at your surroundings. Dozens of basketballs occupy each rack set up near the entrance, all in different colors, and the baskets are high on their beams on each side of the court. You aren’t that confident in your sport abilities, but you hope you are actually decent when it comes to this. You can only imagine how cocky Soobin will be if he wins. The thought itself makes you want to laugh again.

“So should we have a fair game, or just do free throws?” Soobin questions softly, already grabbing a bright green ball from the rack.

“You realize you’re like six fucking feet tall, right?” You ask Soobin incredulously. He snorts and then covers his mouth at your small outburst.

You laugh and continue, “We aren’t playing against each other. Let’s just see who gets to three points first and then go eat something?”

Your suggestion is met with a competitive Soobin speaking up suddenly.

“Okay, loser buys dinner.”

“This is a date, Soobin”

Soobin pouts at your words, and you have to hold back from smiling too wide.

“I mean if you want me to pay for dinner,” You backtrack, watching as Soobin retracts the idea immediately.

“Okay, nevermind, loser has to do rockclimbing and climb to the very top.”

You think about this for a moment before agreeing.

“Fine, loser rock climbs.”

Soobin is happy with this as he starts dribbling the ball excitedly, standing in place as he warms up a bit. You follow suit.

“How long have you played basketball for?” You ask him, not only wanting to know what you’re up against but also being curious about Soobin in general. The small talk up until now has been fairly basic, and you were ready to be a bit bold and ask Soobin some questions that have been on your mind.

“Around ten years.” He answers honestly, lifting the ball to spin it on one finger.

“Jesus, I played for one.” You say back, trying to do the same but failing miserably. Soobin blushes as he watches you scramble to grab the ball again, dimple showing.

“I’ll go easy on you, then.” He says. The words register deep in your stomach and you scoff at him, trying to appear normal. Soobin moves back to finally start the game, gesturing to the basket with his free hand.

“You can go first.” He says. You nod and bend your knees a bit, rolling your shoulders slightly to loosen up before raising the ball, preparing to shoot.

Soobin’s hand flashes in front of your view, acting like he is going to stop the ball before it even leaves your hands

“No cheating!” You laugh at him, moving farther away.

Soobin laughs loudly and it echoes off the gym walls, making you shake your head. You take a deep breath and sush him, going again.

The ball soars through the air and slams noisily against the backboard after you throw it with all the strength you can muster, but instead of going through the hoop it knocks off the rim and meets the court again, bouncing towards you. You grab it easily as a groan leaves your lips.

“I’m scared of heights.” You say to Soobin, hoping this gives him the idea to go easy on you. He shakes his head and hides the permanent grin that has been on his lips all night.

“Better get over that fear real soon, sweetheart.” Soobin throws the ball towards the basket, and it falls in easily after he does so. Soobin yells out what sounds like a mix of ‘woah’ and ‘yeah’, and raises his arms in triumph, almost as if he didn’t even expect himself to make it, before you’re protesting and moving to shove his arms down jokingly.

“That’s not even fair!” You’re laughing, shoving him with your shoulder as he pokes his finger against your ribcage. Soobin runs forward to grab his ball after it bounces closer, jogging over to be by your side again once he grabs it.

“This is a fair game.” Soobin chuckles before quieting himself down again.

You’re focusing on aiming when Soobin speaks up again.

“So can I ask you a question?” His voice is slightly more serious, and you shoot before answering, actually making a basket. You cheer loudly for yourself and run to get the ball, beaming at Soobin before you reply, “Yeah, what is it?”

“How come you’ve never talked to me before, except for that night in the library?” He asks carefully, curiosity lacing his words.

You ponder this as Soobin shoots, the ball bouncing off the backboard and across the hoop, not going in. He sweeps it into his hand as it bounces back easily, starting to dribble it again. You step back up to shoot, deciding to just be honest with him.

“Well, I obviously had seen you around and wanted to talk to you, but the situation never really called for it.”

“Until your friend left us alone together?” He asks with a knowing smile.

“Until my friend left us alone together.” You agree without meaning to, shaking your head and throwing the ball to the basket again. It bounces against the rim and miraculously goes in, earning an excited yell from you. When you look back at Soobin he’s already looking at you.

“What about you?” You ask him, “How come you never talked to me?”

Soobin blinks at you, tilting his head gently.

“I didn’t think you’d like someone like me.” He answers without hesitation before blindly throwing his shot, the ball going nowhere near the basket as it bounces off in the distance, loud against the wooden gym floor.

You open your mouth to speak as your brows furrow in confusion, but no words come out.

Soobin just gives you a soft smile, eyes never leaving yours.

“Looks like you win.”

Your leg bounces up and down anxiously as you sit at a small table in the food court, phone in hands as you await Yeonjun’s reply to the text you previously sent.

You know Soobin will be back with the food the he promised any minute now, and you took the chance to text Yeonjun as soon as he left, your nerves getting the better of you as soon as you had been left alone.

CALL ME ASAP. 911.

You’ll admit that your text is fairly on the dramatic side, but this was an emegency. You needed your best friend’s advice.

You jump in your seat slightly as soon as your phone vibrates and a selfie you took with Yeonjun appears on your screen, signifying his call. You slide your thumb over the answer button and press it to your ear quickly.

“Who’s ass do I have to kick?” Yeonjun says before even saying hello, calming your nerves immediately.

“No, dude, it’s nothing like that.” You speak down the speaker, looking around cautiously for Soobin. Yeonjun listens as you go on after a moment.

“We had a moment.” You explain, brushing some hair behind your ear with your finger slightly, “Like, a moment moment.”

“Well yeah,” Yeonjun says like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, “You two have insane chemistry. I’d be worried if you didn’t have a moment.”

You roll your eyes, “Junie, I’m serious.”

“So am I!” He goes on, “You two are soulmates after all, what more can I say?”

You groan and cover your face with your hands, “I just feel like I’m fucking it all up, especially because we almost kissed-”

“Woah, back the fuck up?” Yeonjun stops you, “You two almost kissed? Like, actually almost kissed?”

“What do you think a moment is, dumbass?” You ask him.

“Like a holding hands moment or a cute flirty moment, I didn’t think he would try fucking making out with you on date number one!”

“It wasn’t like he meant to- oh my god I can’t explain this right now. Problem is, what if I ruin it all?”

“You won’t. I’ve seen the way he looks at you.”

This shuts you up.

“In the library he couldn’t stop staring at you. And on campus when you think he isn’t looking at you because you’re too busy hiding? Yeah, he is.”

“So you didn’t think to tell me this, oh I don’t know, before I was a complete blubbering idiot in front of him?”

“It wouldn’t have made a difference, if anything it would have made you even worse in front of him.” You can hear your friend cackling.

Soobin rounds the corner a few feet away, food in hands, and your heart suddenly leaps up in your throat.

“Oh fuck, I gotta go, he’s coming back.”

“Wait, Y/N,-”

“Bye!” You snap, ending the call and shoving your phone back into your pocket, trying to look natural as Soobin finally reaches the table you’re at.

“So,” He says instead of a greeting, “They had these really cool drinks with food in these small trays in the lid? I’ve never seen it before and thought you’d like it. Anyway, I got us some. I think they’re chicken nuggets.” You make an impressed face as Soobin sets your meal in front of you, noticing that he got you one of each sauce since he didn’t know your favorite yet. You hold back a full blown smile as he settles into the seat across from you.

“Very cool, thank you.” You say, giving him a grateful smile. He smiles back and tears open his own sauce packet, starting to eat. You do the same.

“Is this the part of our date where we ask our deep questions?” Soobin asks around a mouthful of chicken, cheeks full. You take a sip of your drink before raising an eyebrow.

“I don’t know, is it?” Soobin scrunches his nose up at your reply before giggling, and you swear it’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen.

“I think it’s gonna happen eventually. It may as well be now, since we have food here to comfort us if we make complete idiots out of ourselves.”

“You’re pretty confident in your idiocy.” You joke before taking a bite of your food, “But how do you know I’m the same?”

“You blush at a lot of the things I say.” Soobin answers, watching as your cheeks go red right after, “I know I’m able to make you nervous. And you’re like me, so when you get nervous you start rambling things out.”

You roll your eyes as if he’s wrong, but you know he’s spot on.

“Yeah well your lisp gets worse when you’re nervous.” You say back, trying to one up him. His eyes widen in surprise at you.

“So does yours.”

“Shut up.” You laugh, “I barely have one anymore.”

“You have one, and it’s adorable.” He answers before dipping his head down to take another bite of his food, hiding from you. You want to compliment his back, but instead decide to change the subject.

“Okay okay, let’s get into these deep questions you had in mind. You start.”

“It was my idea.” Soobin pouts, making you whine playfully at him. You laugh and then speak again.

“Fine, I’ll start. Ummm...” You take second to think before a question pops into your head, “What’s your major and why?”

Soobin perks up, “Not that deep but getting there. Was English but is now Communications. What’s yours?”

You were right about your assumption back in his dorm room and smile at his answer.

“Communications. Why’d you change from English?” You shoot back.

“Copycat,” He teases even though you had the major before him, “And I loved it, I just wanted a different type of job after awhile. I felt like English kind of restricted me to just one type of writing job, and I wanted to have a more creative career options in the future.”

You nod at his answer, agreeing completely. It seems you two were more alike than you thought.

“Okay your turn,” He says before taking another drink, awaiting your question. You make a face at him, “Uhhh no I already asked you.”

He shakes his head, “And I asked you your major.”

You glare, “You can’t bounce off my question and act like it’s yours too. Be creative, Soobin! Use those critical thinking skills of yours. Come on, wow me.” You’re teasing him, and he knows it. He’s shaking his head and chuckling as he thinks.

“Okay, fine. Tell me about one of your passions.”

You think about this for a second, eyes looking down at the table in thought before you answer, “Writing, probably. Reading doesn’t really count as a passion - it’s more of a hobby.”

Soobin looks pleased with your answer, nodding gently as you speak up again.

“Yours?”

“Nope, no bouncing off my question.” He says back smugly. You cover your face and laugh loudly, not even realizing your mistake.

“God, okay, tell me one of your hobbies.”

Soobin takes a drink and thinks about it for a few seconds.

“Maybe academics? I don’t know... I just... I like school,” He explains as he talks to you, “I just kind of do good because I’m a perfectionist. I have no choice there.”

You nod, urgining him to continue. He adds to this quickly.

“My passion is dancing, I think.” He says this quietly, almost like he’s shy about it. You’re surprised at this.

“Dancing?” You ask, unsure if you actually heard him right.

He nods silently, a deep crimson powdering over his cheeks as he does. You’re surprised, but somehow, it totally makes sense.

Soobin, although a jock, could be very unpredictable at times - and this was definitely one of those times. Dancing, you think. It’s impressive.

“You didn’t strike me as a dancer.” You say honestly, “Considering you do sports most of the time.”

Soobin nods, “I’m not the only guy on the football team who does dance, which is really great and, like, super progressive, but I’m the only one who does it as a hobby and not seriously. I don’t know if I could do it seriously, or even professionally.”

The only other dancer on the team you know is Mark, but you don’t say anything. You keep on listening as he speaks, fully interested.

“I dance with my friend Beomgyu who’s, like, killer at it. We use the practice studio late at night when our classes are all done. He’s a dance major so he gets to practice whenever he wants which is really convenient for us.”

You nod, “So how long have you been dancing?”

“Not long,” He answers honestly, “Maybe just over a year now. I don’t know, I’ve wanted to start for awhile but never did until just this year when I got the chance.”

“I think that’s really cool.” You smile at him finally, watching as his face lights up.

“Thank you, I try.”

You both talk for a little while longer, sharing dreams and hopes, and things you never thought you’d even tell eachother before finally finish your food and standing to throw away your trash. You can’t help but yawn a bit once you’re finally done, tiredness finally hitting you once you realize it’s well past 9 at night.

“Are you tired?” Soobin asks, hand suddenly running up and down your arm soothingly. You lean into him, nodding a bit, “It is getting late, but I still want to watch you do rock climbing.”

Soobin laughs, “I think it’s probably closed by now, but for one of our next dates we can come back and you can watch me break my leg while rock climbing.”

You ignore the way hope crawls up your body, knowing that Soobin wants a next time. You blush and nod softly, letting Soobin see that you’re fine with it before he leads you both to the exit, finally taking you back home.

The sky is clear as you both walk the short distance from Benny’s back to campus, and somehow, Soobin’s hand has entangled itself in yours as you two walk, gently rubbing circles on the outside of your palm as you two make small conversation. It feels so right - all of it. Your heart beats steadily in your chest as you walk through the cool night air with Soobin.

“-And that’s why I chose to move so far for college, I guess.” You finish what you were previously explaining, glancing over at a nodding Soobin.

“I think it’s brave that you moved so far away to achieve your goals. It’s admirable, really.”

You laugh gently at this, appreciating his words.

“I feel like-” Soobin hesitates, “Well... I don’t know, I feel comfortable like this.” He speaks up, looking at you as you two walk. A slight breeze blows, sending your hair in front of your face gently.

Soobin doesn’t hesitate to reach up and brush the few strands behind your ear, lips tugging up at the corners after.

“Me too.” You agree softly, finally spotting your dorms a few yards away, “I’ll be honest, I was really nervous for tonight.”

Soobin laughs, almost not believing you.

“So was I, but you shouldn’t have been, it’s just me.”

“I know,” You nod as the two of you reach the dorm’s entrance, “I just couldn’t help it, I guess.”

Soobin nods a final time, showing he understands before stopping in front of you. Even though the two of you are done walking, his hand still holds yours lightly, causing goosebumps to spread over your skin. You try to shake the feeling but can’t.

“So next time I’ll kick your butt at baseball.” Soobin jokes, eyes crinkling up cutely as you laugh.

“Okay, we’ll see about that.” You hide your face behind one hand, trying to cover up as you laugh at him. You don’t notice Soobin moving until your other hand is being pulled down away from your face, and is entwined in his.

“You’re pretty when you laugh.” Soobin says softly, sending butterflies loose in your stomach.

“I-,” He corrects himself, “I mean you’re pretty all the time, not just when you laugh.”

You giggle, “You’re pretty too.”

Soobin’s cheeks redden, like he’s never been praised for his looks before, and then his grin drops a bit.

His eyes are back to flashing down your face, to your lips, and you feel the tension start to rise again; the same feelings from earlier hitting you in what can only be described as a whirlwind of emotion.

You tilt your head just slightly, watching him. You don’t know what he’ll do next - or if he’ll even do anything - but part of you hope he does.

“I...” You start but your word hangs in the air as soon as Soobin steps closer, one hand loosening from yours to move up and cradle your face gently. His fingers are soft on your skin as you gaze into his soft eyes, breathing erratic.

“Is this... is this okay?” Soobin whispers, words almost lost in the nighttime breeze as he dips his head down, moving that much closer to you. His lips are inches from yours now, and your senses are heightened.

You just manage to nod before Soobin does the same, his other hand which is holding yours starting to shake. You glance down to make sure it’s not just you shaking, but your eyes flash back up when you realize it’s not.

You make it a rule to not kiss guys on the first date - but for the first time ever, you think it would be okay to break that rule.

Soobin’s breath is gentle on your skin as he lets out a soft sigh, voice coming out a few octaves deeper when he speaks again.

“Can I- would it be okay if I did something I should have done earlier?”

You’re nodding before you realize you are, and it’s like the whole world around you stops as Soobin nods in affirmation before slowly leaning in.

You feel the way your breath catches in your throat as soon as Soobin’s mouth slots against yours, and his soft lips press lightly against slightly parted ones. The kiss is gentle, and you two hardly move the whole time, scared that if one person does, the spell will be broken and real life will come crashing down around the two of you.

You feel yourself sigh when he momentarily pulls away, but his hand pulls you closer afterwards, surprising you by looping around your waist and bringing you firmly against him.

This kiss is better than the first.

Soobin’s hand is steady against your hip, and his thumb strokes your jaw lightly as he kisses you, teeth grazing your bottom lip as it deepens, evoking a deep sigh from you. You want to be closer to him - ironically, since you’re already as close as you can get - and you know he feels the same. His chest is rising and falling when you two finally detach, and his cheeks are pink. Soobin’s hands are still shaking.

You laugh lightly, unable to do anything else. Soobin does the same, both of you buzzing with nerves.

“I... okay.” He struggles for words, stepping back slightly, giving you space.

“Thank you... for tonight.” You clarify, moving to grab your keys from your jacket pocket. Soobin is already nodding.

“It’s no problem. Thank you for going.” You nod back, smiling again.

“I’ll call you, I promise.” Soobin adds, dimples appearing on both of his cheeks. Your heart warms at the sight.

“I’m looking forward to it.” You say, biting your lip as Soobin steps even farther away.

“Okay, I’ll see you, Y/N.” Soobin says sweetly, hands burying in his hoodie pockets before he walks backwards towards the sidewalk again.

“See you, Soobin.” You smile before finally going inside, heart pounding.

You close the door behind you, and with your heart soaring and one of the brightest smiles ever adorning your face, you make your way to your bedroom, unable to hide the excitement you have for the next time you’ll be able to see him.

Because that’s what Soobin does - you suddenly realize.

He gets under people’s skin, and he brings light into them.

Your heart thumps loudly in your chest as you finally enter your room, closing the door behind you.

Soobin had gotten in just a little bit tonight, and had started to let some of the light into you. And after everything that had happened - you were letting him.

#SooBin #choi soobin #soobin scenarios #choi soobin imagine #choi soobin au #choi soobin blurb #soobin blurbs #tomorrow x together #tomorrow x together au #tomorrow x together imagines #tomorrow x together drabbles #kpop #kpop imagine #kpop drabbles #kpop moodboard #kpop au

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completelypeccable · 4 years

Text

Unfortunately, I thought of a real plot

Can I Have This Dance? (new title)

There’s drama in the Batfam, with a song about dancing somehow worked into each chapter. Something is wrong again, and the family is falling apart. Now, they have to put the pieces back together. But the thing about puzzles is you can only figure out the full picture by coming together.

Chp. 2 We don’t have to dance

The phone was ringing.

Tim was awake, of course. The pale yellow dawn had begun to creep into the apartment, the cozy glow illuminating last night’s exploits. Twin controllers on the floor. Styrofoam takeout boxes that should be in the trash, not on his already messy table. And, his favorite part, his brothers snuggled together on his couch.

He had been perfectly happy to take the chair.

Tim looked at the caller ID. Bruce. His fingers found the power button, sending it to voicemail.

It was the first call since he carried Damian hyperventilating out of the gala seven hours earlier.

If he cares so much about where Damian is, Tim thought bitterly, let him figure it out. Use those big boy detective skills.

Tim turned back to his laptop screen, where he had been editing his report on the recent Teen Titan mission. The past few weeks or so had been a blur. The team foiled a plot to blow up half of São Paulo, culminating in a chase by air which Tim, as a non-super, had probably no business participating in, but inserting himself where he had no business was pretty much his mode of operation. Then, with that finished and the criminals entering international custody, Tim had been planning on a night of video games and report writing when he got the call from Dick.

Tim glanced at the couch and realized he probably would never quite get used to this sight. He spent about an hour staring between the hours of 3 and 4 alone. Curse Dick and his bleeding heart, his was getting infected, too. It was just so cute.

Jason was lying on his back, one arm behind his head, the other hooked all the way around Damian’s little body. His eyebrows were knit together, so he looked concerned and vaguely grumpy- a sleep softened version of Red Hood’s ‘don’t even try it’ look. He was protecting precious cargo.

Damian had wiggled his face into the skin of Jason’s neck and chest, his mouth just open, face completely relaxed in the deep sleep of an exhausted child. An extended panic attack will do that to you, Tim thought. Jason’s hand rested on the skin of the pushed out belly peeking out of his t-shirt. The kid always seemed to gravitate towards skin-to-skin contact, as if he was finally going through the infant stages of emotional development. Which was entirely possible, considering they were the first people he was truly safe around. The thought twisted in Tim’s gut. Convincing Damian the league’s actions were wrong was about as difficult as convincing him they would never be like them: slow going but definitely rewarding. Tim could barely believe there was a time he would have punted the kid out an open window if given the chance. He felt a bit guilty, but he knew they had both changed since then.

Damian was completely pressed up against Jason, but his feet barely reached his mid-thigh. Even though Jason was a big guy, the size comparison was still nothing short of completely adorable, and Dick, Duke, and the girls had been sent multiple pictures already. The baby curls of his soft, short hair poofed up like they did every morning before he tried to gel them into spikes. One hand twisted into the front of Jason’s shirt.

The weighted Robin-themed blanket had fallen off the couch in the middle of the night, and Tim slipped it back up to his brothers’ shoulders gently on his way to the kitchen.

Coffee was the order of the morning. He’d make a pot: four cups for him, one for Jason. If he had to deal with Bruce, he wanted to do it with some semblance of control.

By the time he walked back into the room, Jason was awake, staring at the ceiling as he ran his hand up-down along Damian’s spine.

“Morning,” Tim whispered, sitting next to him in the chair.

“Nerd,” Jason scoffed, smirking.

He choked and spit out his coffee. “Dude!”

“What? You sound like an old man.”

“Why did I let you stay at my place, again?”

“It’s because you love me.”

“I’d love to hit you.”

Jason was entirely too satisfied. “Can’t hit me when I’m holding a baby.”

Tim scowled into his cup. He couldn’t argue, though. Last night, they realized they didn’t have any of Damian’s clothes at the apartment, so Jason gave him an old t-shirt and Tim got him a pair of boxers with ties around the waist. The t shirt alone went to his knees.

He was tiny.

The phone started buzzing again.

“Tell me it’s not-“

“I wish I could.” He declined the call.

Jason shifted up, swearing.

“Hey! Be-“

“He’s sound asleep,” he grumbled, arranging the kid so he was leaning against his chest, blanket curled around him. “Look at this sleepy burrito boy.”

They gazed softly as Damian sucked in a shaky breath, whined, and cuddled in further, gripping Jason’s shirt tighter.

The phone buzzed.

“Mother- Does he not get that we’re ignoring him?”

Tim hit decline call. “He will eventually.”

Damian’s feet twitched, and Jason held him just a bit tighter, one hand at the base of his neck, the other smoothing a circle into his back. His lips and brows ran in parallel lines across his worried face.

“I don’t think he’s going to wake up any time soon,” Tim said, noting the brood session.

Jason grumbled.

“I’m going to text the girls, tell them to postpone their plans.”

“Mm.”

“Let’s do the zoo trip tomorrow. It looks like Damian is wiped out.”

“Mm.”

“Take today to deal with Bruce.”

“Mm.”

“Give zombie boy here time to develop organized speech.”

“M- wait,” Jason broke out of his thousand yard stare. “What did you say you little crap stain?”

Tim cackled, but held the phone steady.

“Do not send that snap, Tim, I swear I’m gonna-“

“Can’t hit me when you’re holding the baby,” Tim sang, scooting backwards, already hitting the contacts for Steph and Cass.

Jason swore.

…

They laid around the apartment for a few more hours, Tim working on his laptop and Jason reading The Outsiders while Damian slept. Jason kept a shelf of old novels at Tim’s place; it wasn’t uncommon for one to spend the night at the other’s. They kept an eye on each other like that, knowing too much time alone tended to do more harm than good.

The silence itself wasn’t uncomfortable, but Tim could have used a distraction from his own thoughts.

This was a big deal. He and Jason were trying to downplay it, keep it together for the kid, but they knew.

They were essentially disowning their dad.

And it wasn’t like this was a sudden decision either, it had been something on the horizon for months, a serious topic of discussion among the older kids for three weeks now. These past few days may have forced their hand, but the hurt was still the same.

Bruce had never been the ideal parent. He was gruff, he usually didn’t have the words, and he literally had a t-shirt that said “Emotions are my enemy”. But he had loved them. At least, Tim hoped. He had made Bruce his life, let his business become his work, held his mission in his hands like a guiding light. He had been so lonely, left neglected in an old, empty house. Bruce got him out, introduced him to a world that never stopped expanding, and gave him access to the tools he needed to change it.

But lately, Bruce seemed… different. Tim thought when he brought him back, everything would be okay. Everything would be understandable and solid again. Tim had felt so sad and confused without his dad. His grief was overwhelming. But Bruce came back, and Tim was so glad, he was sure that would fix it.

Instead, he was even more confused. His dad was unrecognizable in and out of the cowl. Bruce yelled at him over everything, cut off communication and left. Batman… Batman hit him. Tim touched his jaw, trying to control his anxiety.

Dick had found something, videos deleted off the bat computer. He hadn’t recovered all of it, but what he found was evidence enough. Tim wasn’t the only one Batman was getting more violent with.

There were three videos. The Batman beating thugs within an inch of their life. Screaming at Robin. In one, right after throwing a man off the roof, Batman turned with his armed raised and Robin flinched so hard he fell over.

That was bad enough. But there was missing information, hours of footage gone. And that scared them even more. Tim couldn’t stop his mind from running through every single possibility. He could never shut it off.

A stomach growled, and Tim looked up to his brother trying to flip the page with his nose.

Finally, an external stimulus.

“If you’re hungry, Jason, I can get you something to eat.”

Jason scoffed, finding his nose a bit too large to be useful. “What do you have, pickles and mustard?”

“Ha, ha,” Tim closed his laptop. “You only get the mayonnaise now.”

“Good thing that wasn’t my stomach.”

Another gurgle, and Damian’s face scrunched up.

Tim paused on his way to the fridge and blinked for a minute, not sure if they should let him sleep or wake him up, but by the time he made a decision, the kid’s eyelashes fluttered apart on their own.

His green eyes crossed and uncrossed in narrow slits. When they focused, they found Jason’s chin, and he scrambled to sit up.

“Woah there, squirt,” Jason tugged him back down, going back to rubbing his back. Damian grumbled and frowned, but let his head fall back down.

“Just take a minute, remember where you are and all that fun stuff.”

Tim cleared some room to sit, moving aside paperwork on the table next to the couch.

Damian’s face twisted for a beat before he pushed himself up again with a huff. Tim had to hand it to him for not immediately falling down.

“Alright, Todd. I remember now. Unhand me and I’ll return to Father’s soon.”

“Ha! Nope.” Jason sat up and yanked him onto his lap.

Damian scowled and threw his head back dramatically.

“Do not suffer me this injustice, Todd.”

Tim smirked. Damian was very clearly not yet awake, what with the slightly unfocused eyes and leaning into Jason’s chest. “Suffer”, he said.

“Sorry, baby bat. You’re not going back to the manor.”

That seemed to wake him up more. He jerked around to look at Jason’s nose, then his eyes.

“What?”

“You’re not going back to the manor.”

“Oh,” he said, a blank look on his face. “I am staying here today?”

“Mm.”

“Zombie boy.”

“Shut UP, Tim!”

Tim laughed. Damian still hadn’t gotten off Jason’s lap, hadn’t leaned away from the hand on his back.

“Is Father away again?” He asked instead, clearly confused. Tim would bet his last jar of peanut butter that Damian was still fuzzy on why exactly he woke up on Jason in this apartment.

“Something like that.”

“Father has left me home many times, Todd. Pennyworth is usually around, unless he is with Father.”

Jason didn’t react, but looked at Tim over the kid’s head.

“What do you mean by that?”

Damian fiddled with the blanket, pinching it up and poking it back down.

“It’s just that, he is busy. He’s home when he can be.”

Tim didn’t like the sound of that. He didn’t like the sound of his voice, the hollow loneliness. He suddenly felt pissed.

“Damian,” Tim said evenly. “When was the last time you talked to Bruce.”

“Batman and I-“

Jason tapped his nose, and he crossed his eyes to follow it. “No, Damian. Just Bruce.”

Damian looked at one brother, then the other. They could see the way he was reaching back in his still foggy memory, trying to figure out the answer they wanted to hear.

“No bullshit, kid,” Jason warned.

Damian looked to the side, schooled his face into a blank expression, and looked Tim in the eyes.

“It has been a while. Father is often… upset with Robin.”

Jason rubbed his back again.

“Alright,” Tim said. He was going to kill Bruce. “You’re staying with me this week, anyways.”

“What?”

“You,” Tim shifted to poke Damian’s nose. His eyes crossed, and Jason grinned. “You are gonna stay with me.”

“For an entire week?”

“Yup.”

“And I am not going back to Father’s?”

“Nope.”

“I… do not have clothes.”

“I grabbed a bag when I visited yesterday.”

“You probably missed-“

“Alfred packed it.”

“Oh,” he blinked, glancing back and forth at them. “And Todd?”

“Does what he wants, thank you,” Jason tickled his side. Damian swatted at his face, falling off his lap. Tim caught him by the armpits and helped him back on the couch.

“Don’t make him hit his head. I really don’t want to make an ER visit outside the mask.”

Jason rolled his eyes, then turned, trapping Damian with his legs.

“Get off me, you massive troll!”

“Just when I thought you loved me.”

“Careful, Jason, he’s hangry, remember?”

“I am not!” Damian’s stomach protested the statement, and he looked down betrayed.

Laughing hard enough to rock forward, Tim hit his head on Jason’s knee.

“Now who needs an ER visit?”

“Ugh, you two are the worst.”

“We did not cause you to become an uncoordinated hyena.”

“Harsh words from a chipmunk.”

“Hey!”

“Children, please,” Jason smiled. “We have to feed the wildlife. It pisses off the government.”

Tim stared at Jason for a good long while.

“Okay, I’m not gonna… Who wants breakfast?”

Jason made to stand up, but fell back on Damian, who yelped before being squashed.

“Todd! What are you-“

“Damian,” he whined. “I am so hurt. You called this weirdo over here Timothy last night. Timothy!”

“What?!”

“And you only call me Todd.”

“Get off-“

“Not until you call me Jason!” He met Tim’s incredulous look and raised his eyebrows convincingly.

“Todd, I will stab your kidneys.”

“Will you call me Jason after?”

“Not likely.”

“Boo!”

Damian began to squirm, but Jason leaned more of his weight on him and he growled in frustration.

Tim sighed and dragged a hand down his face. “Jason, it’s too early for-“

“Shush.”

“No,” Damian grunted. “Listen to Timothy!”

Jason leaned his face directly into his field of vision. “Bruh.”

“No.”

“Jason”

“No.”

“Jay?”

“No.”

“Big Jay?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Come on, Dames,” he whined. “I wanna be your favorite.”

“That’s Richard,” he smirked.

Jason grinned at Tim, who started to back away waving his hands.

“Oh, no. I don’t want any part in this, whatever this is.”

The wicked look in Jason’s eye grew worse. He flipped off the kid, just to jab his fingers into his armpit.

Damian immediately began to thrash.

“No!” He kicked the man’s stomach. “Stop!”

“Call me Jason!”

“No,” he choked, “never!”

“I can do this all day, kid!”

Damian fell off the couch, and Jason trapped him between his knees on the floor. He would have hit him again if his arms weren’t trying to protect himself from the attack.

“You have,” he gasped, “no-“ a squeal. “Mercy!”

Jason laughed then. “All you gotta do is say my name!”

“Todd!”

“Nope,” Jason moved on to his belly.

“No!” He giggled, “Stop, I!”

Jason made a goofy face and tickled harder.

“Jason!” He gasped, belly laughing.“ Jason, I yield!”

Jason opened his legs, and he shot out, scrambling onto the arm of the couch.

Jason whooped and held up his arms in victory.

Damian glared at Tim.

“Traitor,” he grumbled.

Tim laughed and held up three spoons and a jar of peanut butter.

“If you losers are done, I have peanut butter and pretzels for breakfast.”

“It’s nearly noon.”

“And we are breaking the fast. Ergo breakfast.”

“Fine,” Damian flopped onto the cushions, hiding his smile. “I will extract my vengeance at a later time for this injustice.”

“Oh, Timmy, the chipmunk just chirped at me!”

“Aw, Jay Jay, he’s so cute!”

“I can kill you eight different ways with that spoon.”

“Do you want us to feed you? With the choo choo train?”

Jason caught the pillow before it hit his face.

“I can and will use lethal force, Todd!”

“Jason.”

“Jason Todd.”

“Baby steps,” he chuckled.

Tim smiled as he scooped his own portion of peanut butter. The sirens in his head were easier to ignore. He watched Jason wiggle his fingers menacingly, then take a pillow to the face

He plopped the bag of pretzels on the table, inserting himself between the two. “Eat your shut up peanut butter.”

Jason stuck out his tongue, but grabbed a spoon.

“And after this, we’re cleaning my apartment.”

Jason looked horrified.

Tim felt no remorse. “If you guys are going to be staying here, we need to clean it. I’ve barely been here the last two months, and I do not trust my own cleanliness.”

Damian raised his eyebrow, “If the pizza under your bed has gained sentience again, I am not touching it.”

“Eat,” Tim glared, “your shut up pretzels, veggie boy.”

“Gladly.”

…

Damian stood and joined his hands together behind his back in a fair imitation of Alfred, if Alfred wore a Gotham Knight’s muumuu.

“I shall put on music, so that the arduous task of tidying this hovel is mildly less gruesome.”

“If you think,” Jason closed one eye and pointed his spoon, “that I’m gonna let you put on a classical music playlist, you are crazier than a bag full of cats.”

“A bag of cats sounds quite enjoyable, actually.”

“Metaphor, Dames.”

“I am aware.”

“And it means?”

“… I am very crazy?”

Jason held up his hand, and Damian returned the high five.

“Alright, ladies. Cleaning time.” Tim stood and took the spoons on his way to the kitchen.

Jason made a show of selecting his playlist titled ‘I Wanna Commit A Crime’ (we’re vigilantes Tim, it’s in our job description). Apparently, emo rock music was the ideal cleaning soundtrack.

Tim laughed at Damian’s concerned frown over Jason’s head banging as he washed the dishes.

He was just finishing up when Jason came in, crossing his arms and leaning against the wall.

“If you have time to lean, you have time to clean,” he grinned.

He turned around, planning on flicking water at him, but stopped at the serious look on Jason’s face.

“What’s wrong?”

“Do you want a list?”

“Jason, don’t do this to me. I have anxiety.”

Jason shrugged, chewing on the inside of his lip.

“I just want to make sure you’re doing okay with all this.”

Tim really didn’t want to deal with this conversation yet. He didn’t want to deal with any conversation.

“I’m fine.”

Jason’s brows became a shelf again. He scuffed his foot.

“You keep doing the finger thing.”

“The finger thing.”

“You know,” Jason huffed. “The thing you do when you twitch your fingers and start tapping out random- I don’t know how to use words, okay? English wasn’t my first language, you butt. Just- You’re upset.”

Tim leaned against the sink. “I mean, I think we all are.”

An ambulance passed by the window, and they watched the lights pass by several floors below.

“I’m glad you came by,” Tim finally said. “You really helped Damian last night.”

Jason pushed off the wall and pulled him into a one armed hug. “I came for you both, you know.”

Tim closed his eyes, leaning his head against his brother’s shoulder. The buzz in his chest felt a little less overwhelming.

A car honked, and a thud came from the other room. Muffled complaining followed. Jason laughed, ruffling Tim’s hair as he made his way to the door.

No rest for the weary, Tim smiled and tied off the garbage. It was starting to really smell.

“Be right back!” He yelled as he stepped out the door, locking it behind him.

He did feel better, knowing that Jason was there. Once Dick came, they could really talk everything over, and Tim would relax then. But he was content at the moment. He would just ignore it for now. He was content. It was fine. It was-

He sent the bag down the chute.

Actually, this whole situation was garbage.

Who did Bruce think he was? When did he ever become the type to hit his own kids? It was wrong, it was so wrong. Red Robin wanted to punch him in the face, especially when he heard him over the comms from countries away scolding Damian for things he told him to do.

And he didn’t care what was going to happen. He didn’t care if he got screamed at, or fired, or- or- he didn’t know! He didn’t care! Tim was not giving Damian back to anyone. Bruce didn’t deserve that kid. He was stubborn sometimes, and prickly, but he didn’t deserve to be treated like that. He had been through more than any of them knew, and he needed someone that loved him unconditionally. Bruce wasn’t that. Bruce was acting like a huge jerk-

He slammed open the door to his floor to be confronted with a man’s back, hand raised to knock.

Speak of the damned devil.

“What do you want,” Tim spat.

Calm down.

He clenched his jaw, because as much as he wanted to fly off the handle, that would probably make things worse.

Bruce turned around slowly. He looked him up and down before putting his hands in his pockets. His smile was easy and so Brucie stupid.

Tim wanted to hit him back.

“You took Damian home last night.”

“Yep.”

“I came to take him home.”

“Yeah,” Tim glared. “No.”

Bruce quirked one brow. He let the silence hang for a beat.

His thumb tapped frantically against his fist. If he doesn’t leave, I am going to do something I’m gonna regret.

“You’re angry.”

“Great job, detective.”

“That’s… fair.”

Bruce shrugged, still smug and unaffected. Tim just glared. He didn’t want to do this.

“I’m-“

“You should go, Bruce.”

Surprise flashed briefly through his eyes before it was replaced by annoyance.

“Look, Tim, you know how Damian gets-“

“Kay.”

“I’m just here to-”

“Nope.”

An exhale.

“I’m just here to take him back home and talk to him.”

“Oh,” the cold in his tone hurt him as he spoke, but it was too late to stop. “Now you’re going to talk to your own kid?”

Bruce stared. Tim stepped forward, the picture of casual.

“Not last night. Not last week apparently. Maybe all month. You’ve been too busy to deal with your own kid, but you’re ready now.”

“Tim, I-“

“No, just shut up, actually. How long did it take you to realize he wasn’t even in the same building as you anymore? Did you even care?”

“Of course I-“

“Shut- Ugh! I’m not doing this for you, B. This wasn’t a babysitting job. I don’t care what you think. You’re not taking Damian back. Me and Dick and the rest of them talked it over. You don’t deserve that kid.”

The flip switched, and Bruce was angry. His shirt pulled tight across his shoulders.

Tim widened his stance.

“And you do, of course.”

“I care about him more than you do.”

“I do care!”

“Could have fooled me!”

Bruce was tense from his shoulder to his fist. Tim belatedly notice he had gotten in his face.

“You don’t-“

Tim threw up his hands and walked past. “Have to talk to you.”

“What? Listen-“

“I don’t have to talk to you. I’m keeping the kid, so-“

Bruce grabbed his shoulder hard, “Actually, Timothy, I have custody, so-“

Huh. Tim turned and smiled, cold and clinical. Just like Janet, they liked to say. Bruce looked unnerved for one satisfying moment and dropped his hand.

Tim stepped close, his nose inches from Bruce’s chin, devastatingly sharp.

“But you don’t, actually.”

“What the hell are you-”

“You supposedly died, remember?” Tim rolled his eyes. “Everyone thought so. Did you think we could just leave Damian in the custody of a dead man?”

“But I-“

“Came back, obviously. But we didn’t change the paperwork. Just in case.”

Bruce looked wonderfully, furiously constipated.

Tim turned his back on him and slowly pulled his keys from his pocket. “So, no, I don’t have to do this with you. You’ve changed, Bruce. And who you are now, you don’t belong raising a kid as emotionally fragile as Damian. I don’t have to pretend to be okay with it, and I don’t even have to like you. Because you have no right to be here.”

“I am his father, Tim.”

“And sometimes fathers are neglectful and abusive.”

The space behind him stayed silent. Bruce didn’t even move. Tim flicked through the key ring.

“And as far as the state and the press is concerned, Damian is adopted. Showed up at age 10, clearly not white. You had adoption papers filed, Bruce.”

“Tim, you can’t be-“

“I am, and you should go.”

“Tim-“

“It’s been so nice to see you Bruce. Let’s not talk again soon.”

Bruce stood a moment longer before turning sharply and storming down the hall. The doors slammed shut, but Tim stood there gripping the keys and shaking. He wanted to scream.

He breathed in deeply through his nose, feeling the cool air travel into his nostrils, down his throat, past his vocal cords, trachea, bronchi, bronchioles, and down to his alveoli. Left lung, right lung, into the blood stream the oxygen diffuses. He thought of Jason tickling Damian, and the kid calling him Timothy as he held him against his chest. He breathed out the waste.

He looked down at his shaking hands, where his grip on the keys drew blood, and wiped them on his pants before turning the lock and opening the door to-

“Timothy!” Damian ran forward, “Timothy you love this song!”

Tim really looked at him, the way his hair stuck up in three different places, the dust streak on his cheek. His eyes danced just like they always did when he was trying so hard to make one of them happy. His hands were out to the side, and that grin. He really was Timothy now. Huh.

He was worth it. This kid was worth it.

Jason danced out of the bathroom just as the chorus hit, singing loudly and mildly off key.

We don’t have to talk

We don’t have to dance

Damian grabbed his arm, dragging away from Jason.

We don’t have to smile

We don’t have to make friends

Jason chased them, sing-screaming along.

It’s so nice to meet you,

Let’s never meet again!

We don’t have to talk

We don’t have to dance!

We don’t have to dance

The song was at least an understandable statement, Tim thought. It was kind of a dance, or a stand off. He knew as soon as he took Dick’s side that he was cutting the last of the ties between him and the man who adopted him.

He was fatherless again.

He watched as Jason tried to get Damian to do the Macarena, only to get a towel to the butt.

He would make it through this.

Jason chased Damian around the kitchen, insisting he try the snorkel, the shopping cart, no the sprinkler!

Tim laughed, even knowing all that he did. That his nighttime gig would definitely change, that he would have to quit his day job.

It will be okay, he thought, when Damian rolled his eyes and tisked at Jason long enough for him to be swung over his shoulders as he jumped around the kitchen.

It might be better than okay, he thought as he opened up his laptop to hit send on one more application, which he had written as Damian slept.

Jason called for help, and Tim let the tension leave his body, exhaled it out in one breath, and joined them. He grabbed Damian from Jason’s arms and was spinning him around the living room by the next chorus.

#batfam #family drama #Damian Wayne #jason todd #Tim Drake #they're good boys #jason is into conspiracy theories #but like #only to mess with the others

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gooddadstan · 5 years

Text

Fuzzy Walls and Tired Eyes Chapter 2

Dick Grayson was usually collected on patrols. Even while searching for the Joker like they were, he’d expected himself to hold some kind of stability above the rage boiling in his bones. Bruce knew that if he didn’t get to the Joker before Jason or he did there were going to be problems, but there weren’t any issues over that before they left. The Joker always managed to snatch Batman himself first, after all, unless he was planning something specifically against the hoard of Robins. It’d been the status quo last time, and the time before that, and before that one, and so on and so forth. So really, while his eyes were peeled and his heart burned with rage, he was collected.

That is, until a beep he’d only heard a handful of times rang through his ear. The beep of an emergency tracker being activated. A fresh panic settled intrusively in him as he clicked into the channel to hear the report, halting his movements on a rooftop and turning should he need to sprint off to help Duke. Cass should be fine, being to the right of him in their spiral, and Jason would be the one to Duke’s left coming in with Dick.

“This is Red Robin reporting in, requesting assistance. The initial situation has been resolved, but I have sustained injury inhibiting my return to the cave.” His voice was an almost painful monotone, words so clearly spoken as protocol burned into his mind instead of a genuine wish for help. It sent that small, cold feeling of dread into his heart with every word. As Tim rattles off the address of the warehouse he’s in, closest to Cass and him, he immediately flung himself into motion. No time for extra flips, just freerunning and grappling his way to his brother. ETA 17 minutes, the GPS he’d pulled up told him. Not fast enough.

What if the Joker had thought it’d be more fun to chase after birds instead of bats this time, and ambushed Tim after he’d finished up the drug bust tonight? If it was the Joker, that would’ve been in the report though, unless it was the Joker trying to lure in more of them to set the trap against Batman like he had last year? No, there would’ve been an indication of that too. The Joker would far rather leave Tim unconscious on the ground and screech into their comms himself than lure them in duos like this. Then what the hell happened that could leave Tim needing an emergency pickup? He knew better than to pick a case he couldn’t handle alone, and he’d said the situation was resolved. Was it unexpected additions that made the situation too much of a wildcard? Why didn’t he request backup in the middle of the fight instead of waiting for an emergency situation?

As Cass falls into step beside him, Dick takes the momentary reprieve from his concerns to respond. “Red Robin this is Nightwing, your request has been acknowledged. Black Bat and Nightwing are en route, with an ETA of 15 minutes.” He gets no response, and as the tide of anxieties rise he bites his lip to try and stop his own voice. Trying to uphold a conversation would only slow him down, distract Tim from bandaging what he can. Just get there as fast as possible, Dick tells himself, he can ramble about anything and everything once they’re on the scene, keep Tim distracted and awake.

The fifteen minutes between when Dick first speaks to Tim via comms and their arrival pass agonizingly slowly, every rooftop seeming to take eons despite the way he clears them in two or three steps without fail, and the sweat on his brow a testament to how hard he’s pushing his legs to just move faster, please. Cass is never more than a half step ahead or behind him, silent worry over her brother causing her to stick closer to Dick than she normally would to compensate for not keeping Tim safe.

Five minutes in, when the time for a check-in comes and goes without a word, Dick immediately dropped the professional take of ‘no names on the field’ for the sake of ‘this is my little brother and if he ends up dead at the end of the day I’m going to murder the Joker myself’. “Tim? Tim, you missed the check-in, are you okay?” There’s nothing. Not the distant sounds of a scuffle, or the vile taunts of a madman. He couldn’t hear any breathing, and he gets the strong suspicion that Tim’s comm had been turned off and was only buzzing with his questions.

Throughout the rest of the trip, too long and too slow, Dick repeats his pleas for a response from Tim with varying levels of fear and urgency in his voice. It’s only when he hears the click of a comm entering the line that he lets his hopes rise, and no matter how much he wanted to remind himself that it could be some random person or a villain, he felt like he was swinging from a skyscraper with the light sensation in his gut. “Timmy! Timmy you’ve got to answer me, can you hear me?” He doesn’t bother keeping the emotion from his voice, unrestrained panic coming from his mouth in buckets. ETA 3 minutes.

For a heart wrenching second, there’s nothing on the other end. Then, a shaky breath that really shouldn’t be audible for the comm breaks through, and Dick feels a cringe spread through him at the labored sound. Slowly, painfully, a voice comes in. “Nightwing?” It’s small, weak, hurt, and it’s Tim. He’s alive, but he can barely breathe from the sounds his lungs are making, and every single alarm in Dick’s mind was only getting louder with each consecutive breath that doesn’t make it through uninhibited.

Years with the Titans seized his actions, voice coming from a place of not entirely consciousness as pouring into the air are not words of encouragement but questions to assess the situation. “Yeah, yeah it’s me, Nightwing. Timmy, Black Bat and I are coming to pick you up and bring you back to the cave. Is your tracker still on you? How badly are you injured?” It’s deceptively calm, far calmer than it was only seconds ago, calmer than he thinks any hero could be in a situation like this.

There’s a hitch in Tim’s breathing, followed by an almost silent cough leading way to what can barely be called a hiss of pain, and it’s more than enough to send another spike of urgency through any calm image he’d forced himself into. Shuffling sounds in his ear, and the concern at the fact that Tim still has to check how injured he is sends a fresh round of rage at the GPS saying there’s still a minute before they arrive at the warehouse. Groans drag his eyes away from the screen, gurgly in a way groans aren’t supposed to be. A loud whap followed all too quickly by a metallic sound of the comm hitting a metal floor brings an unprecedented relief into his heart at the feeling of the warehouse under his feet.

Maneuvering towards a window, he doesn’t let himself pause as he registers one person inside, surrounded by a level of blood he’d only seen accompanied by a corpse. Crashing through the window with no hesitation, he pays no mind to Cass analyzing the room around them as he crouched next to his brother focusing on one thing then another and another, none of them bringing anything but bile rising in his throat. There are bones sticking out of half of his little brother’s limbs, his eyes are open and empty, this amount of blood loss needs a transfusion, there’s no rise and fall in his chest. Shoving it all down, he cradles his brother’s head in his lap as he searches for a pulse.

He finds nothing.

Every single internal organ pooling down into his toes, he forced his hands into steadiness as he slid his brother’s head off his lap and moved to one side before checking the airway. Going through the motions of CPR as fast as he could without causing further injury, he paid no mind to the blood now seeping through his pants and gloves onto his skin.

Minutes pass, and when Cass lightly presses a hand to his shoulder in a silent wish to take over, he gives a nearly imperceptible nod while she gets into position. Switching seamlessly, Dick slid himself backwards and stared ahead. His little brother wasn’t breathing, didn't have a heartbeat, and had a highly concerning amount of blood around him that was most certainly his if the haphazard bandages colored red in a pile on the floor had anything to say about it. Other, cleaner bandages had been applied where they could be, and a part of him says that it was Cass even though he hadn’t seen her until she switched off on the CPR. This was so beyond the capabilities of the cave, especially with Alfred on another continent. With a jolt, he rose from his seat and pulled out a phone as he dialed Leslie Thompkins’ number.

“What’s wrong.” She answered immediately, launching to analyze the situation that would warrant a call ahead instead of just popping in like they usually do on a night like this.

Without hesitation, Dick described as much of Tim’s state as he could and what they’d done, throwing in a request for prepared blood and an extra plea for help. As his words finally die down, there’s a heavy sigh from Leslie, more dejected and tired than he’d ever heard her.

“Dick, with injuries like that, and you’ve already swapped on CPR, I…” He can almost see the hand running through her hair in a silent show of stress. Then he heard a gasp from behind him.

Twisting in a way that almost makes him trip over his own feet, he sees Cass kneeling with her hands by her sides, Tim’s chest rising and falling with shaky, inconsistent breaths. He’s breathing. Practically falling by his brother’s side, his fingers snake around to feel the pulse in his veins, and it’s like the world was lifted from his shoulders when he found it. Weak, but there.

“Dick! What happened?” Leslie’s voice rang from his phone in the background, and he reached one arm out to grab it as his other stayed on his brothers heartbeat.

Relief flooding every part of him, there’s none of the past dread in the back of his mind as he says, “He’s breathing, Leslie, and his pulse is there again. Not incredibly strong, but enough where he’s alive. We’re bringing him over now.”

“Good, but be careful. Blood loss seems to be the biggest issue now.” With a short click the call ended, and Dick didn’t hesitate with shoving his phone away and gathering Tim in his arms as carefully as possible. Cass stood before him, watching with her careful eyes as she moves two steps ahead and clears a path.

Tim might be breathing, but that doesn’t mean he’s out of the woods yet, and they know that more than anyone. They only need to make it to Leslie’s clinic in time.

#batfam #batman #robin #red robin #tim drake #dick grayson #fwtr

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aliceslantern · 5 years

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Beyond this Existence, a Kingdom Hearts fanfic, chapter 8

Summary: After Xehanort's death, Demyx finds himself unexpectedly human in Radiant Garden. With nothing but fragments of his past and a cryptic statement from Xemnas, he's left to figure out who he is. When Ienzo asks for his help with a project, the two find common ground, but the trauma and secrets in both of their pasts could tear it apart. Zemyx (Demyx/Ienzo), post-KH3 canon compliant

Read it on FF.net/on AO3

For the first few weeks little about their relationship seemed to change. The acknowledgment sat between them. Perhaps Ienzo grew a little more casual, shedding his coat and loosening whatever cravat or tie he wore; when they worked together, he would let Demyx hold his hand, or kiss his cheek. The air still felt charged, but there was a certain innocence to it, an ease. Demyx wasn’t sure what would push him into another shutdown. He also wasn’t sure what he could take either. He felt simultaneously more brittle and stronger than ever before. Being open, vulnerable, and patient was difficult. Sometimes the moments felt like a test.

“Are you still having nightmares?” Demyx asked him.

“Not as frequently. And yourself?”

“No. Not really. I’ve been kind of distracted lately.”

“By what?”

Demyx raised an eyebrow.

Ienzo nodded. “Right. Forgive me.”

He smiled. “Sometimes you’re immune to flirting, you know that?”

“Perhaps my way of expressing interest is far different than yours.” He smiled.

“You make me read too much into it.”

“Isn’t that the point, as it were?”

“No!” They were spending less and less time working, more and more time talking.

Ienzo laughed in that quiet, stifled way of his. “It is… strange, being known this way.”

“What do you mean?”

“I feel as if I’m to let you see a part of me that is guarded,” Ienzo said.

“You feel vulnerable.”

“Yes. It’s frightening.”

“Very,” Demyx agreed.

“I had thought for so long that being open was a bad thing. Maybe it’s… necessary. Maybe in a way this is what I need.”

“...And now you’re flirting with me.”

“Very astute of you. You’re catching on.” He kissed him, all softness and light, and Demyx kissed him back as long and as deeply as Ienzo would let him. His skin seemed to burn where it was touched. When they broke apart, they were both breathing hard. “When you first kissed me,” he admitted, “I could not get it out of my head. I thought there might be something wrong with me.”

“What, that you’re a person that has hormones? Congratulations, Ienzo. You’re like most of the human race.”

He didn’t make eye contact when he said, “I’m not used to feeling want.”

Demyx kissed him on the forehead. For a long time they remained there, half touching. He wanted nothing more than to hold him tightly and not let go. Ienzo’s hand was trembling where it rested on his arm. Demyx felt sure this was already pushing his boundaries. Instead, he said, “And you decided you wanted me. There was a lot of thought behind your decision. That’s pretty gay of you.” He realized he didn’t even know Ienzo’s orientation, not that it mattered at this stage in the game.

“Don’t make me regret it.”

A few more weeks passed. As soon as he thought his connection to Ienzo could not get deeper, it seemed to grow, to become more intense, until it was so deep that he felt the same fear Ienzo did. Maybe Demyx had kissed a few more people, but he sure as hell had never felt anything resembling intimacy.

The bright, sparkling longing seemed to take over the time they spent together. He had no idea what to do with it. He felt giddy and reckless, but he had to tread carefully, and doing so left him feeling constantly stifled in an indeterminable way.

Their work was suffering horribly.

“I’m going to be spending a few days with Master Ansem,” Ienzo said one of those afternoons. “You might not see much of me.”

“The simulations?”

He nodded. “The more time passes, the more everyone worries that Sora’s drifting farther away. He and I will be doing what we can, and a few of the others will be visiting too.”

“The others?”

“The guardians of light. I’m sure you know all of them.”

“We didn’t exactly… talk all that much.”

“Well, you can see this as an opportunity to get to know them, then. It would be good for you to make some connections.”

Demyx knew that on some level, Ienzo was right. He did need friends. But as it was Demyx would rather spend time with him. “I’ll try. Just like you better take care of yourself.”

“Or what?”

He smirked. “For me to know and you to find out.”

“I see. Not much of an incentive, then.” Ienzo rested his hands on Demyx’s shoulders and kissed the top of his head. “I like your hair soft like this. It suits you.”

He’d been rationing the last bit of the tiny tube of hair gel from his Organization coat for weeks. It was finally gone. Without the coat, and a different hairstyle, Demyx barely recognized himself. “You think so?”

“Yes. A tad more mature.” Ienzo smoothed down some of the strands. Demyx felt goosebumps that had nothing to do with the temperature break over his skin.

“Do you have to go?”

“I’ll be right here in the castle. We’ll see each other at dinner.” Ienzo hugged him from behind, a first; and rested his cheek against him for a moment.

“Do they know?” Demyx asked weakly.

“Who knows what?”

“Ansem and the others. About us.”

“I… do not know how to bring it up.”

“Do you think he’ll be mad?”

“Master Ansem? No, I don’t think so. Surprised, no doubt. But he likes you. You did save him, after all. I know you two have not spoken much.”

Thinking about how the others would react sent a cold wave of anxiety through him. Even, Aeleus, Dilan; they hadn’t cared for him in the Organization days. He was changing, but could he ever reach their standard of being good enough when they had the old Demyx in mind?

“We will cross that bridge when we’re ready,” Ienzo said. “Maybe, for now, try and get to know them better. They haven’t seen you change the way I have.” He turned and kissed him again, slowly. It was clearly meant to be a short kiss, but somewhere in the interim Ienzo had changed his mind. Demyx brought him closer, trying to keep his grip loose and unconfining. He always smelled so comforting, like detergent and the sweetness of ink and something indefinable but purely his.

Demyx felt a sliver of something against his lips. His tongue, he realized, and was momentarily startled.

“I’m sorry--I should have asked--” His face was flushed. “I have thought of this as an experiment. It… helps.”

“An experiment,” Demyx said slowly. “Yeah. I like that.” And kissed him again. This time he let his lips part. He let Ienzo experiment. Admittedly it was clumsy and uncomfortable and it wasn’t exactly like he could explain how to do it the way they were tangled. But gradually the discomfort faded, and the kiss went from being awkwardly moist to sending a completely different kind of chill through him.

Ienzo pulled away abruptly. “I really must go. They’ll be waiting.”

“Do you have to?”

“Yes. As much as I’d be happier sitting here with you.”

“Making out.”

“Well. Yes.”

Demyx kissed him on the cheek. “I’m serious about you taking care of yourself.”

“I’m aware. I will try.” His hand slipped free from Demyx’s and he left him sitting there, dizzy and almost painfully turned on and trying to will his body to please calm the fuck down at least long enough to get back to his room. He couldn’t see how Ienzo was going to do science after all this. He really must be wired differently.

Everything just felt so goddamn intense.

So Demyx went back to his room. He was even able to sanely and normally greet Dilan. But as soon as it went silent in the hallway he thought of the kiss and touched himself, feeling weirdly guilty all the while even though (and he repeated this) it was a perfectly normal, human thing to do, especially if that human had very strong physical and emotional feelings for another human.

He felt momentarily better. And then he scrubbed his hands until they were raw.

Demyx tried to listen to Ienzo, and meet up with the guardians of light. As he went towards the infamous lab, a cold, anxious sweat started building under his arms. Meeting new people didn’t usually make him feel like this, but these were not new people. He didn’t know how they would react to him.

Demyx saw them before they saw him.

There was Lea, of course, calming a worried Roxas; Naminé, blonde and wraithlike; and a dark-haired girl Demyx could only half remember. His eyes passed over her and caught the last person in the room, the only one who had noticed him so far.

Isa.

Saïx’s somebody regarded him curiously. Demyx’s anxiety spiked with memories of being told off and he blanched. This was going to be harder than he’d thought.

Isa approached him. “Peace,” was the first thing he said. “I know you must have bitter memories of me, and I you. But times are different. I think it’s best if we let that be water under the bridge.” He offered his hand. Demyx hesitated, but shook it. “You performed admirably in our little heist. I knew you would. Xehanort vastly underestimated the strength of boredom and spite.”

Demyx froze. “You mean you’re the one who planned the whole thing?”

“Yeah, he did,” Lea said loudly. “Good to see you, man.”

To Demyx’s surprise, they were all looking at him warmly. His face burned. Lea came over and clapped him on the shoulder. “Glad to see you’re back in one piece. When nobody had heard from you we were worried that Xehanort had got you. Or a little bit of him was off somewhere. But that looks like it’s taken care of itself.”

“Yeah. I’m human now. Mostly. It’s a work in progress.” He felt a bit breathless.

“We wanted to say thanks. Me and Naminé,” Roxas said. “While we’re here.”

“I really didn’t do much,” Demyx insisted.

“But you did do something,” Naminé pointed out.

“And for you that used to be asking a lot,” Lea added, with a wink.

“I’m sorry,” Demyx said to Roxas. “For how I treated you in the Organization days--”

Roxas shook his head. “I think after this we can consider ourselves even.”

The dark-haired girl, who had so far been hanging back, joined the group. “I don’t know if you remember me,” she said. “I was… well, my body was one of the real vessels. But that was before I was me again.”

Demyx squinted. “I sort of do,” he said.

“I’m Xion,” she said. “I was number XIV. We didn’t really have any missions together. That doesn’t help.”

A sudden wave of dizziness came over him. He could still only half-remember her, like dreams. “I think I owe you an apology too,” he said.

Xion giggled. “It’s okay.”

“So,” Demyx drawled. “You guys are here to get Ansem’s help, right?”

The mood in the room, which had been light, darkened considerably. Almost everyone looked away from him.

“Something like that,” Lea said.

“We’re exploring our options,” Naminé said. “Riku’s looking for Sora. But if Sora’s lost for good--”

“Do you think he is?” Demyx asked.

“That’s the thing. We don’t know,” Namine said. “Kairi’s gone too. I want to help get her back. Only we have no idea where to start.”

Demyx frowned. “Well, I hope you can get the answers you want,” he said, even though he knew from his conversations with Ienzo that it was unlikely. “If there’s anything I can do to help, let me know. I promise I’ll actually do it this time.”

Roxas smiled a little. “We’ll keep that in mind.”

“I guess I’ll leave you to talk to them,” Demyx said. “You in town long?”

Lea shrugged. “Depends. Isa and I were probably going to bum around town though later. See what’s changed.”

“Oh. Cool.”

“If you want to join us,” Lea added. “That was an invitation, you know.”

“He’s still oblivious,” Isa said, with a slight shake of the head.

“Thanks,” he said. “I guess I’ll see you later then?”

Lea gave him a small salute.

He caught up with them later that afternoon. The sky was turning pink but the air was noticeably cooler. Soon it would be winter. He watched the parts of town he could see from up at the postern, tracing patterns in the cool metal.

“You been waiting long?” Lea called.

Demyx turned. “No, not really. Just getting some air. Where are the others?”

“They’re staying behind to answer some questions,” Isa said. “Ansem was intrigued about their connection to Sora. There wasn’t much else for both of us to do. Lea here was getting stir-crazy.”

“Hey, what can I say?” Lea said with a shrug.

Demyx hoped Ienzo was okay. He hoped Roxas could be of some help. Anything to ease his stress. “What is it you wanted to see?”

“Anything,” Lea said. “I’ve barely been here since the town’s been repaired.”

For a few hours Demyx followed them as they wandered through town. They commented on changes, voices caught up in reminiscing, old teenage misadventures. (“There’s still a mark here where you set off fireworks,” Isa said. “I cannot believe you only got a warning from patrol.” “And I’d do it again. The look on old man Miller’s face was absolutely priceless. I wonder what happened to him.”) Demyx tried hard not to feel left out, even though that was implicit.

It grew dark. Lea lit a small fire in his hand. “Hey look. It’s still here.”

“What is it?” To Demyx, it just looked like a utility shed.

“Our old hideout,” Isa said.

Lea pulled a hairpin out of his pocket and jimmied the lock. The door took some forcing open, but then they were standing in dusty, dank darkness. “Hold on… let me…” Lea fumbled at the wall and tugged a barely visible chain. A light bulb popped on above their heads.

It wasn’t a big space, barely big enough for the small card table and chairs in the center. Moreover, it was cluttered. Milk crates of comics and papers lined the walls. A hand-drawn diagram of the castle was pinned to the wall. Isa touched it. “Good intentions that were sadly misguided,” he said. “I wonder what it is that would’ve happened if we hadn’t gone to the castle that day.”

“What happened?” Demyx asked.

Isa and Lea looked at each other. Lea took one of the empty milk crates, flipped it over, and patted it. “Pop a squat,” he said. “It’s a long story.”

Lea and Isa took it in turn to tell the story. As teenagers, they used to sneak into the castle, because around then the experiments had started and people were disappearing. In there, they met a girl, a girl without any memory, and befriended her. Eventually, they decided to become apprentices in order to help not only her, but the others who were trapped there. And the rest was history--while Xehanort convinced Dilan, Even, and Aeleus to cast off their hearts voluntarily, Ienzo, Isa, and Lea were not so lucky.

At this point, Lea pulled out a flask and both he and Isa drank deeply. They offered it to Demyx and he took a mouthful, but it burned and made him cough.

“We don’t have memory of what happened exactly,” Isa said.

“But all of a sudden we woke up and there were eight Nobodies.”

“Wow,” Demyx said softly. “That’s… really shitty.”

“Well, it’s over now,” Isa said.

“Did you ever find out what happened to your friend?” Demyx asked.

Lea shook his head. “We have our guesses. She probably became a Heartless, or died. Either way, she hasn’t reappeared.”

For a moment, none of them spoke, and the only sound Demyx could hear was the quiet slosh of the flask and the crickets outside. “I’m sorry,” he said.

“We’ve already grieved her,” Isa said. “But… I think I will always wonder.”

“Anyway, how have you been?” Lea asked.

“I’m… okay,” Demyx said. “Still figuring things out. You know. I have no idea what it is I’m supposed to do with my life.”

“Tell me about it,” Lea said.

“We’ve been involved with Xehanort for so long. We scarcely know where to begin,” Isa said.

“Isn’t this what you wanted, though?” Lea asked. “To be human, just you and your sitar?”

The old lightbulb wavered. “I don’t have it anymore,” Demyx whispered.

Lea and Isa glanced at each other. Without another word, Lea handed Demyx the flask, and he took several good swallows.

“...They say it’s part of being human,” Demyx said. “We don’t need our weapons.”

“But I’ve still got mine, and the Keyblade,” Lea said. “Isn’t this part of you?”

He was starting to feel woozy, tipsy. “I thought so.”

“I was glad to be rid of mine. But I can see how that would be painful,” Isa said.

“You can’t give up on it,” Lea said. “Maybe the connection’s still there.”

“I don’t know how to find it. I don’t even have memories to help me. I just--”

Isa cut him off. “You don’t?”

“I thought you kept your old name as preference,” Lea said.

“I really don’t,” Demyx said. “It’s all fuzzy. It gets fuzzier day by day.”

“Did you tell anyone?” Lea asked.

“Not really. Not fully. What could they do for me? I’d get the same tired excuse, that my heart is still forming.”

Isa raised an eyebrow. “That’s not how that works. Why else would we have retained our memories as Nobodies? The heart only holds connections. It’s the mind that makes sense of things.”

It felt like someone had sucked all the air out of the room.

“Demyx?” Lea said softly.

A hot, tight nausea washed over him. He ran outside of the shed and was promptly sick.

“...You think he’s drunk?” He heard Lea ask Isa.

“Maybe so. Maybe it’s something else.”

Still half in a crouch, he felt Lea’s overly warm hand on his back. Weird, disjointed tears were running down Demyx’s face.

“We should take you home,” Lea said.

He was again feeling the same faintness he’d felt before, but this time there was no pain involved. Demyx tried to stand. Lea helped him up.

“Lean against me,” he said.

“Deja vu,” Demyx said.

“What do you mean?”

He was still salivating, his whole mouth sour, and he spat. “FYI, I’m going to pass out,” he whispered, and like clockwork, he did.

A cold hand on his face. Demyx flinched, treading consciousness.

“It’s all right. Go back to sleep.” Ienzo’s voice.

He blinked. His vision was so fuzzy. He’d been put back in his own bed and tucked in. It was still night, and the lamp on the bedside table gave the room a weird glow. “You came,” he said.

“I heard you were ill.”

Demyx sat up. His eyes were still adjusting. Ienzo was again pale, his complexion washed out. He blinked like it hurt--exactly like he’d been spending too many hours in front of a screen. “You’re tired,” he said. His voice was scratchy.

“It’s nothing I can’t handle. Don’t worry about me right now.”

His stomach was still off. “It’s okay. We were drinking, and I guess I’m not used to it. I’m fine.”

Ienzo’s gaze was sharp. “You don’t believe that,” he said simply.

“Well, it’s true.”

“Please don’t lie to me.”

Demyx again felt tears in his eyes and blinked them back. “I was with Lea and Isa,” he said falteringly. “They were talking about their human memories, and how it connected to their weapons, and how my sitar should still be a part of it and I…” He was hiccuping now. “I don’t remember, Ienzo. I don’t remember anything.”

“Nothing?”

“Almost nothing.”

Ienzo’s brows furrowed together in confusion. “I don’t see why that is. If you’re human--or at least getting there--you should have no trouble remembering anything. I…” He seemed ready to keep thinking aloud, but seeing the expression on Demyx’s face, he kept it to himself. He pulled him into his arms, and Demyx couldn’t help but cling tightly. Everything in him seemed to be breaking down all at once. He sobbed against Ienzo’s shoulder until the muscles in his stomach hurt. Ienzo stroked his hair. Demyx tried to focus on that instead. “I’ll help you figure this out,” he said.

“I’m sorry,” he sobbed.

“Demyx, I’m positive this is not your fault.”

--Ancient Keyblade legacy which slumbers within you--

Tell him.

He couldn’t get the words to come, no matter how hard he tried. He was so exhausted, and sick.

Ienzo kissed his cheek. “Try to get some rest,” he said. “I’ll come find you tomorrow.”

Don’t go. He wanted so badly to ask Ienzo to stay with him. But he didn’t. Demyx watched the empty door frame after he left, cold to his core.

#beyond this existence #demyx #ienzo #zemyx #demyx/ienzo #plot? what is plot

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