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ivystoryweaver · 11 months

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With You part 6

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Summary: Will you always have to wake up in the middle of the night just to get to know Jake? Marc and Steven notice your yearning to see Jake again.

Pairings: Marc Spector x reader, Steven Grant x reader, Jake Lockley x reader. Gender neutral reader. No use of Y/N. Reader is engaged to Marc and Steven.

Word Count: 3k

Warnings/notables: Fluff, complicated relationship stuff, cursing, angst, sex but the language is not overly explicit and nothing gender-specific. Let me know if I missed a warning. inaccurate DID, based on the show. Not beta'd we die like arthur harrow in the back of jake's car

Dividers by saradika

PREVIOUSLY, on "With You"...

Wondering what he would ever do without you, Marc pulled you close, gently swaying with you in the silence of your flat. He had always felt so hard to love - his childhood had made sure of that. But you loved him hard.

One of the delicious advantages of being with Marc was that he liked to bury his angst, longing and inadequacies inside your body. Perhaps fucking through his feelings wasn't the healthiest coping mechanism, but it was better than drinking, and cheaper than therapy.

That's not to say Marc didn't see a therapist - he did, pretty regularly. But being inside you felt so much better than unearthing the shit from his childhood.

That's where you found yourself now, face down on the mattress, Marc's strong chest pressed to your back. Your sweat-soaked bodies writhed in tormented bliss as he thrust in and out of you - hard and almost frustratingly slow.

His thick fingers pushed their way through yours, intertwining, pressing your hands high above your head as he twisted his body deeper into yours.

You were helpless beneath him. And you loved it.

Marc was able to control so few things about his existence. The use of your body was one thing you happily and trustingly put completely in his control.

You and Marc did make soup together for dinner, but no matzah balls were harmed in the making of the soup. It was hearty enough for Marc, but also vegan for Steven. You made a mental note ask Jake what kind of food he liked.

"I don't think Jake's a vegan," Marc spoke up, reading your mind. "I think he's the reason my sandwiches are gone half the fuckin' time."

Marc and his sandwiches. He had sworn up and down, on more than one occasion, that either you or Steven had eaten his damn roast beef sandwiches. You always denied it, preferring turkey to beef. And Steven always fired back with, "Y'know I don't eat that shite, mate."

"Oh my god, I think you just solved a mystery," you marveled. The Mystery of the Roast Beef Sandwich and its thief.

Yeah, Marc wondered what else Jake was prone to stealing. Clothes? Money? You?

Then again, Marc couldn't really say anything about money at the moment. He didn't have a job, unless he counted the occasional times he fronted during Steven's university library shift. You were the breadwinner, at least for the time being, lovingly supporting Steven in getting a degree to actually match up to his intellect.

But sharing you? Was it even sharing if it was the same body? And was it even his business if you wanted to be with Jake? He had no fucking clue. All he knew was that you were about to be his spouse. Steven's too, really. But you barely knew Jake. How could you marry someone you didn't know?

"I can hear you thinking," you teased, slathering some fresh-baked bread with butter. "Wanna talk about it? Cause I don't think I can go anymore rounds today - between you and Steven." Meaning Marc wouldn't be able to bury his worries inside you until your body got a damn break.

"Do you mean between me and Steven and Jake?" Marc pointedly asked.

You dropped the butter knife. "W-what?" You squawked. "I haven't slept with Jake."

"But...you want to." Easing beside you, Marc leaned back against the kitchen counter. "Do you?"

You reallly should have spouted off a quick 'no'. But you hesitated.

"Shit," he groaned. "I shoulda known."

"I didn't say anything!" You protested, a little too innocently.

"Exactly," Marc huffed. "You didn't deny it."

"You kind of put me on the spot," you defended, retrieving the knife and returning to your task, furiously coating a slice of bread with five times too much butter. "Besides, Jake drives me crazy. If he climbs in the damn window again, I think I might shove him right back out."

"Ah, hell, it's worse than I thought," Marc grumbled, folding his toned arms over his chest in a distinct, defiant pout.

"How is it worse?" You scoffed. "And...what is worse?"

"You... him... shit," he sighed. "He got to you."

"He didn't," you protested. "Nothing happened. N-not really..." your voice trailed off as Marc's eyes flashed with possessiveness.

"Not really? I thought you said he didn't touch you. What the hell..." He paused, glancing at his reflection in the microwave.

"Is that Steven?" You interrupted, barging in to what you usually respected as private conversation between the boys. "What is he saying?"

Fixing his eyes back on you, Marc smirked triumphantly. "He's saying you look 'a bit flustered,' which would make sense, since you wore those black satin pj's and set your alarm just to see 'that mysterious bloke'."

"Steven, you are such a traitor!" You whined. "You guys are ganging up on me! I just wanted to talk to him."

"Mm-hmm," Marc hummed, caging you in against the counter with one arm on either side of your body. "So that's all you did - talk? In black satin? In the middle of the night?"

Narrowing your eyes, you called his bluff. "You guys are really obsessed with those pj's. Maybe you would have preferred I only wore your t-shirt? Or, I could have slept the way I sleep with you half the time - in nothing."

"Sure, mm-hmm," Marc playfully nodded down at you, mockingly agreeing with every word out of your mouth.

"Besides," you added, giving his chest a playful shove, "who knows how many times Jake has come home and found me like that - then slept beside me anyway?"

Marc went dead silent.

"I'm gonna kill him," he decided, waiting just a beat before scooping you up and throwing you over his shoulder, spinning you around the kitchen playfully. "First him..." you squealed as he tickled your side, feeling a mixture of giddiness and dizziness as he manhandled you, "then you. And then him again."

"Marc, put me down, put me down!" you giggled delightedly, banging your fists on his back.

After a few more twirls, and howls of laughter from you, he conceded, steadying you back against the counter. The two of you were smiling, breathless... his strong arms caged you in again as he wet his lips with his tongue.

Ducking down, he pressed his body into yours, breathing hotly against your open mouth.

"Promise me something..." he murmured, sucking on your bottom lip and swiping his tongue inside your mouth. He pulled back just a little, teasing you.

"What?" you impatiently demanded, chasing after his lips.

Sliding one hand around the back of your neck, he crushed his lips to yours, giving you what you really wanted. Gripping your jaw, he slid his tongue over yours, licking hotly as you groaned in satisfaction. You could never get tired of kissing this man.

"Promise me," he finally whispered, kissing the corner of your mouth, nuzzling your cheek with his nose. "Promise you'll tell me if something does happen - with Jake, I mean."

Easing back, he stared down into your eyes - his own warm, brown gaze pleading. "I know you don't have to. It-it's not my business, really, but..."

Sighing reluctantly, he poured his heart out to you. He knew he was safe with you - safe to show you what he really felt inside. "It's not like Steven," he admitted. "I don't know Jake. I just...I don't want anything to happen to you."

Nodding quickly, you reached up to caress his face. "Marc, of course. You're going to be my husband - of course I would tell you that."

"Really?" His eyes sparkled with relief and love.

"Yes, really," you sweetly whispered. "And I know there's no part of you that could ever hurt me."

After all that fuss with Steven and Marc, and the damn black satin pajamas, you actually thought you might see Jake again soon - particularly since he had finally introduced himself to his alters.

You thought wrong.

Jake went back to being Jake, not interacting with you or Marc or Steven, and the three of you were none the wiser about how he spent his time.

You couldn't wreck your entire sleep schedule just to look for him every night. He clearly had no intention of interacting with you during waking hours. You tried very hard not to take it personally. After all, you barely knew one another. But Steven and Marc could tell you thought of him...worried after him.

"I think you should wait up for him one night, love," Steven suggested one evening as you sat cuddled on the couch, reading together. London was being London again. The heavens had opened, dumping cold, wet rain for hours, and creating the perfect, candlelit night in for you and Steven.

Glancing over at your fiancé, so adorable in his oversized jumper, your eyebrows knit together questioningly. "You mean, set my alarm? 'Ambush' him again?"

Reaching up to pull his reading glasses off his nose, Steven shrugged. "Don't think it's much of an ambush, really. Just lovely you wanting to talk, is all. No harm in that."

Smiling warmly, you reached for his hand. "I don't think he sees me quite the way you do, my love."

"Not very bright then, is he? Running 'round at all hours for the old bird, missing the chance to come home to a wonder like you."

"Steven," you gasped, grinning at him. "Talking like that is going to bring an end to our night of reading very quickly."

"Fine by me, darling," he chuckled, tossing his book aside without even bothering to mark the page - something Steven never did. "Because I'm not the dimwitted bloke ignoring what's right in front of me." Scooting closer, he pulled you into his arms. "His loss is my gain, I'd say. Have you all the more to m'self."

So it was decided.

You would wait up for Jake (or wake up -whichever) to see if he wanted to interact with you, and ask how he was doing. It was possible, and in your mind, likely, that he didn't want to be a part of your life. But you wanted to hear it from his own mouth, especially since he slept beside you - in your bed, in your home.

Despite your general apprehension, you decided to be your most normal self and sleep (or in this case, stay awake) in one of Marc's white undershirts - they were so soft and smelled so deliciously like him. Steven's fuzzy goldfish socks found their way to your freezing feet.

You took a long nap and drank a huge cup of coffee (made perfectly by Marc) before bed. You were determined to stay up and see how Jake typically began his nighttime routine. He always ninja'd around like some sort of Father Christmas - waiting til everyone was completely asleep before darting in and out of the flat.

It would be your luck that Jake probably wouldn't even front tonight, and your caffeinated body would stare at your sleeping fiancé for the next several hours.

At first, it was difficult to resist cuddling up with your sleepy Steven. He did manage to adorably whine that he needed you, but you quickly reminded him that this was his idea.

"Just miss you 's all," he murmured, drifting off to dreamland.

You got bored very quickly. Steven had recommended a podcast called, 'Welcome to Staying Awake.' Finding some headphones, you tried it out, following the directions it suggested - reading, solving a puzzle, and so forth.

You were just starting to doze in the comfy chair in the bedroom's corner when your fiancé stirred...only to roll over and fall back asleep.

"Ugh..." you huffed, pushing off your chair to head to the kitchen. After a quick splash of water to the face and a long drink of water, you stumbled back to your bedroom...

...where you saw Steven? pulling a pair of tailored black trousers up his legs - his cozy pj's nowhere in sight. Fastening his pants, he turned around - shirtless - nodding once to acknowledge you.

"Jake?" You tentatively greeted, breaking the late-night silence.

"Hola, mi amor," Jake's rich, deep voice greeted you smoothly - his chocolate eyes flickering down to your bare legs. "I'm sorry I woke you."

"Jake," you exhaled shakily, easing toward him slowly. "You didn't wake me up. I was waiting for you."

Warmth bloomed in his chest, but he simply reached for his white dress shirt, quickly easing his arms into the sleeves and fastening the buttons.

"Where...do you keep your clothes?" you cautiously asked, inching closer.

Nodding to the closet, he remained quiet, knotting his tie and sitting down on the edge of the bed to pull on his socks and shoes. Khonshu had awakened him. Time to get to work.

"Where are you going?" you questioned after a few quiet moments watching him getting dressed.

Finishing the lacing of his shoes, he stood, reaching for his leather jacket. Realizing your question was not rhetorical, he granted you a slight smirk. "You know where."

"Can I come with you?" You blurted, already flustered. How did he manage to do this to you?

Narrowing his eyes, he shook his head, tutting a bit condescendingly. "You're not serious."

"I am," you insisted, scurrying over to the drawer to find some joggers for your bare legs. Of course, in this state, compared to Jake, you would be way underdressed. He looked head-to-toe incredible.

The faster you moved, trying to get dressed in enough presentable clothing to go out into the frigid rain, the slower Jake moved. But each action was nonchalant, as if he barely noticed your effort.

Why was he so damn infuriating? Then again, those were the exact words he'd said about you...

Pulling a leather glove over his long fingers, one dark eyebrow shot up inquisitively.

"Almost ready," you huffed, feeling like a child asking to go to work with a parent.

Realizing you were serious, Jake yanked on the second glove, giving his knuckles a crack. "Mi corazón..." he warned, pulling his flat cap over the lustrous curls on his head, and wondering what had gotten into you. You couldn't possibly think he would let you anywhere near his night life.

You were dressed now, in a weird mixture of your clothes and Marc's, but your goldfish-clad feet still poked adorably out of your joggers. Glancing all around the room, your eyes frantically searched for the nearest pair of shoes.

Approaching you confidently, Jake reached for your elbow, bringing you to a standstill. "I have to go. You should sleep."

Yanking your arm out of his grasp, you huffed. "I told you I don't respond well to orders."

Rubbing his gloved hand over the stubble on his chin, he nodded, "Goodnight," and turned to walk out of the bedroom.

"No, I'm coming with you, Jake, wait--"

"No, mi corazón. No." He whirled around, his gaze burning into yours.

"Why not?" you shot back, your hands landing on your hips. "You're going to work, right? I need to talk to you. And I want to see what you do."

He scoffed. "No. You don't."

"Stop telling me no," you snapped, realizing this whole stay-up-and-talk-to-Jake thing was already an unprecedented disaster. You simply could not keep your cool around this man.

"Ah, I see - I can't tell you what to do, but you can give me orders." Stalking back over to the night table, he reached for Marc and Steven's phone.

"I-I'm not giving you orders...I just- why can't I come with you?" You were desperate. You realized, at that moment, that alll this was not a good look on you. What happened to cool, calm and collected you? What happened to the you who respected the hell out of Marc and Steven's autonomy and choices?

You went so far as not even trying to dictate to Marc whether or not he should drink. It was his choice, always - it had to come from him. So why couldn't you do the same with Jake? You knew the drill - people were going to do what they decided to do. Arguing the point was only arguing with reality itself.

Sure, you could explain your fears or needs, and Jake could take that information into account. But ultimately, every person in the world always chose what they were going to choose - period, the end.

"I'm not taking you out there. You know it's not safe," he explained with infuriating calmness. "I'm not exactly working a normal job here."

"You mean...you mean Moon Knight. Like...saving people. Like you did with me that night."

His eyes flashed - you couldn't decipher if it was anger or surprise. "Marc told you."

"Yes," you answered softly, taking a moment to breathe in deeply. You had to calm down and stop sounding so desperate. "I just don't understand why you can follow me - why you can watch over me and save me, but you won't just talk to me." Your lip trembled as you started to realize he just may not ever want to be in your life.

"I thought you said that I was your family," you whispered, moving close to peer up into his eyes. "But you haven't talked to me in a week. I've been worried...I've been thinking about you."

Wetting his lips, Jake swallowed hard and shifted from one foot to the other - the first inkling that you were having any effect on him whatsoever. His dark eyes flickered down to yours. "I told you I can take care of myself," he gruffly responded, his resolve beginning to crack. "So stop worrying about me."

"Stop telling me what to do," you fired back, refusing to shrink away. "You're driving me crazy. If you don't want to talk to me, or know me - if you want to sneak in and out of here every night and never see me again, then just say so."

Your chest heaved with emotion. "I won't like it and I won't ever stop worrying about you, or wanting to know you, but --"

You didn't get to finish because Jake roughly pulled you into his arms and crushed his mouth to yours.

@stormydaysxx laaundromat @kindlover @spxctorsslxt @deezisnotreal

@rivalriotrenegade @wordacadabra this--is--music @i-still-dont-like-your-face

idk if all the tags work. I tried!

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cassandralie · 9 months

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Muriel, the Dimmest Little Morningstar

Maybe the question isn't "was Crowley Lucifer?" but who else was also Lucifer? After all, there was more than one Morningstar

or, as Crowley put it more casually,

he doesn't remember them, of course, probably due to Book of Life fuckery, just like he doesn't remember Fufur and Saraquel, who were also probably in the Morningstar Legion (that or the rebels called themselves Morningstars).

Which is why he also doesn't remember Muriel and Muriel also doesn't remember him. Both of them had their memories altered by the Book of Life*

*Sub Theory: the Book of Life erases who you were, makes it so you never existed... but you don't disappear or die. You become someone new. Hopefully this theory doesn't implode later--yeah, that's right, I made that sub joke instead of the other kind involving um...sandwiches.

But, just like Pepperidge Farms, the Metatron remembers.

he didn't say the "dumb" one, or the "stupid" one. Maybe to be polite. But "dim" isn't very polite either. It's just slightly less on the nose than the "not very bright one", aka the Dimmest Morningstar

But what happened to Muriel and their original memories? The same thing that was going to happen to Gabriel, obviously!

Muriel is basically a junior reporting angel. Sorry, scrivener. A no one and they know it.

Ranked so low they didn't know there was a rank under (which there probably wasn't until the Metatron wanted to punish Gabriel)

whatever Muriel did Before the Fall, whatever their name used to be, the Metatron didn't get rid of them because:

that's right, Neil Gaiman the Metatron will need Muriel for his evil plans, probably involving thee Second Coming and another apocalypse.

maybe to keep them out of the way, or maybe because they have power he's waiting for the right moment to unlock.

But he does make sure it's still locked.

Other people have explained that the book is about pieceing together fragments of the past* Maybe Muriel will remember who they are? Remember who Crowley is? Remember what really happened to cause the War in Heaven, the Fall, all that?

Maybe they will remember just in time to stop the Second Coming and the Second Armageddon--with help from our divorced dads, of course.

(*also a missing uncle - Crowley? A fellow Morningstar.

*also an estranged father with a belief in a higher power - Aziraphale? the Metatron?

*and also an exploded Grandmother - God? Muriel's previous identity?)

For further evidence, please note the star and crown on their helmet and recall "everything is meant" TM

This looks like a former Prince of Heaven, Morningstar Legion to me

And that is my theory :)

(if anyone said this first, sorry! All credit to you!)

Now, I'm no published author and barely anyone reads my fics (but the ones who do are Real Ones-- I love ya'll), so I have zero street cred here, and am probably so off the mark my dart hit the wall instead of the dart board, but I wanted to share my thoughts anyway and see what everyone thinks. Please let me know!

(Bonus Crack Theory: Muriel's original name was Lucy/Luci/Luciel. Combine with Fufur, that would make a Lucifer with bad demon spelling Lucyfur.)

#gos2 spoilers #gos2spoilers #gos3 speculation #good omens meta #muriel theory #the Metatron #Crowley #Aziraphale #not coffee theory or crowley is lucifer theory but a third even weirder theory #cassandratruths

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covencupid · 1 year

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Unfinished Friday (I was too late for WIP wednesday)

I had a draft for this but it's gone AUGH.

Basically I wanted to write a cute story where you give Danny a sandwich because you noticed he hasn't been eating.

What I wanted to say was that I began writing this as I first began playing DBD. I've now unlocked all the lore pages, and thing is I got to one tome where the way it started it just made me things fuuuuuuuuuck this sounds similar. Like it is and it isn't? If any of y'all have read his lore pages lmk if you see what I mean. Like the story doesn't go in the same direction and it's overall different, but the similarities did give me pause, and not gonna lie it kinda took the wind outta my sails to continue this. So this may be all there will be plus a tiny part I have half written, but idk. It was just a bit disheartening to because I don't even wanna walk the line of "ripoff" territory, but I already had this part written and I was really proud of the drama. Idk y'all tell me.

Anyway, here's the beginning of the sandwich story.

A little Something

Richard Thomas.

Two first names and twice the pain in my ass.

Danny had chosen the non-descript man because there really was not much there to begin with. He was a blank canvas. On the outside, Richard Thomas was the perfect empty vessel for the masses to insert themselves into the story. A mirror to the populace that tells them “It could be you.”

Great idea. Perfect idea. It’s what they want, they want to relate, they want to wear the victims shoes and feel comforted that it wasn’t them. It was just anybody off the street, so feel caution, but feel gratitude that it was someone else this time.

But little Bitchard Thomas, Danny found himself thinking, apparently had something that very much set him apart from the rest. An entire wriggling mass hiding under his squeaky clean skin. If he looked back, Danny thought that the clues were all there. For his exterior the two words Danny would use to describe him would be “plain” and “particular”. He was inoffensive, if not dull. Plain of looks, personality, and opinion. He ruffled no feathers, he had no hills to die on.

But he went about life, even in his most private moments, as if he was being watched. Yes, of course he was, but at this point Danny hasn’t made any contact and Bitchard had no reason to believe he was actually being watched.

By now, Danny had been watching the man for five weeks. By week one Danny figured out his daily routine, his preferred route to work and back, and how he spent time. Week two he was able to account for how he responds to deviation and the type of things that would mess with his routine. Week three went by like the first, and so did the fourth. Week five is when the bullshit began. It started with him going down to his basement late at night on Sunday. Danny didn’t see what he did there but he went in at 2am and didn’t come out until 5:33am. Whatever he did, he looked haggard by the end of it. The next day Danny decided to pay his little basement a visit and find the reason for his late night rendezvous.

After seeing little Bitchard off to work, Danny went about his investigation. He was annoyed because he already knew the house. He could walk through it blindfolded. Danny knew where he kept his sheets, where he put his birth certificate, and which drawer he kept his dirty magazines. He could give tours of this boring little bitch palace if he wanted to. But now, in his home again with a new sense of skepticism, it felt too plain. It’s not well kept, it’s pristine. It was lived-in in the way IKEA showrooms gave the impression of a very neat life lived in their implied walls.

Danny put himself at the entryway of the home. He turned around towards the door and closed his eyes. Danny inhaled deeply, held it for 8 seconds and quickly spun around for the length of his exhale. He opened his eyes and steadied himself as the entryway funhoused its way back to normal. He took a step forward.

Okay. Let’s walk the house for the first time again.

The first thing that Danny noticed as he took measured steps around the squat bungalow is that everything at the front of house was displayed. Every single thing was displayed just so, angled at either side to face the doorway. A subconscious invitation to look inside and see the perfect domestic display. Danny walked forward until he reached the inner hall that splintered the rest of the house. He spun around sharply on his heel and looked at the display from the back, towards the door. It was almost right, almost normal, but aware as he was now Danny saw just how hollow it was. A life did not cause the end tables to be shifted at a slight angle towards the door. Everyday motions did not tousle the stack of books into its perfectly unkempt spot. No, no, it was all wrong. Looking at it all together it looked like the inside of a TV. The shiny screen hiding the mess of wires that allowed it to function.

Danny continued on to the bedroom. This room had more signs of life, of actually living, but it was all so surface level. Rumpled sheets, dirty laundry abandoned halfway on the floor, at his desk a picture with friends and some drawings from his students.

He’s walked the houses of many varied people. Type A people, Type B people, minimalists, maximalists, the eco conscious, and the hungry consumer. They all lived differently, and their home was always a reflection of themselves. Their personalities lived in the idiosyncrasies of their dwellings, their tchotchkes, their mementos. This house had nothing. It was as if the furnishings were the decoration. Sure a handful of milquetoast prints that all seem to be variations on a theme dot the walls. There are small vases with fake flowers. Two plaques with generic homely quotes. Nothing identifiable to its homeowner, but giving the impression that it has a homeowner, like an open house.

It didn’t make sense. This guy definitely lived here, walked through these halls, and shit in these toilets. Yet for all of its evidence of a life lived, the house felt just as empty a vessel as Danny hoped Richard Thomas would be.

Alright that’s enough.

Danny made his way to the basement. In his prior walkthrough, the basement was far less intriguing than it was now. It was cold, damp, and littered with everything you would expect to be forgotten down here. There were some plastic boxes of old clothes, and a handful of outdoor Christmas decorations.There was a set of old wooden furniture bunched up in the back corner of the basement by the stairs. Next to it was a stacked upright workbench either bolted to the wall or built into it. Danny looked at the whole of the room. The placement of the furniture, packed awkwardly close in that far corner, felt at odds with the rest of the room. The basement was definitely spacious enough for the furniture set to be spaced out without taking up much room. In fact so much of the basement was empty. It’s not that the furniture looked out of place, but it didn’t make sense with how precise and evenly spaced out the rest of his belongings sat throughout the house. No, it doesn’t jump out at you. It’s some old shit. But there’s something so oddly human about the way it’s slapped against the wall. Something entirely at odds with the rest of the house.

An odd tugging feeling was inching its way up Danny’s spine, it wasn’t fear but it was equally potent. He approached the wooden furniture the way you might approach a cat you’d like to take. Cautious, observant, eager. Danny’s eyes raked over their lines and angles. There was a notch in the wall in the spot where the workbench met the wardrobe. It was small enough to be imperceptible at any distance that wasn’t intimate. Danny felt his eyes lock on the knick, it extended the line that united the furniture ever so slightly. He carved his gloved fingers into the crack, gripping the wardrobe from the raised trim at its top. A groan strained from his throat as he pulled the wardrobe out toward him an inch. He pulled it the rest of the way out by its side. A tickle of satisfaction made Danny give a short huff.

A discreet panel blended into the wall, negligible if not for the faint glint along its edge. Danny felt along the wall, placing light force along its inner perimeter until he heard a faint click. The small door eased open enough for Danny to be able to grab onto it and pull. The entry was cramped and looked like the open maw of a beast. It was a black hole. With more intrigue than trepidation, Danny made his way into the short passage into a black open space. Feeling along the wall, Danny felt a small panel and flicked a flat switch. The room blinked to life.

This was Richard Thomas. There was a squat couch to the right of the room with a few clothes cast about. Two doors faced him on the far wall. On the left close to one of the doors, a desk sat flush against the wall with a computer, several stacks of CDs and floppy disks. Danny went to examine it up close, the screen had a bar flashing but seemingly making no progress. Above it the screen read “Upload in progress. Do not power off or exit the program.” Danny went for the adjacent door to its right. Unlocked, no lock on the door at all. Doesn’t expect intrusion, cocky even by his measure. Smug little prick. As the room formed from the shadows Danny recognized what this room was instantly.

It was a darkroom.

Richard, Ricky… What have we got here? No photos out here for me? Making me work? I will find everything you’re hiding under that drab little skin. I’ll flay you alive if I have to… Well shit, I want to.

Looking through the drawers and cabinets in the darkroom, Danny only found various supplies for developing film. Danny turned to exit the room.

What kinds of people hide their hobbies? What kind of person hides their hobby this much?

Danny went to the door by the couch. No lock. Probably real pleased with himself. Opening it, he felt for the switch by the doorway and flipped it as if acting on instinct. Like Richard would, walking in. He was met with a four by four room with wall to wall cardboard file boxes. The room was exceptionally cold, biting.

The boxes had dates, some had dates and locations. April 1985, October 1990. The boxes reached up to his nose. His finger reached out to tap the date on the box closest to him. February 1988, Ft. Lauderdale. His hand reached into its open mouth. Pulling it out, it held the weight of, if not a large dog, maybe a small child. He popped the lid off and let it slide onto the floor. It was filled to the brim with envelopes large and small. Larger ones lay flat and the smaller ones sat stacked together in neat rows, some grouped together with large rubber bands.

Danny plucked an envelope from a bottom heavy stack, grouped awkwardly in a corner. He plucked the flap up from the throat. Negatives, two thick stacks. Danny slid one out and held it up to the light. Awkward arms, hard to fully make sense of it at first. Then he moved the negative up to illuminate the next frame. It was undeniable now.

Jesus fuck. This fucking-

#dead by daylight #danny johnson #ghostface dbd #danny johnson x reader #danny jed olsen johnson #ghostface x you #ghostface x reader #danny johnson x y/n #danny johnson smut #dbd ghostface #dead by deadlight #jed olsen #dbd ghostface x reader #ghostface fanfic #danny johnson fanfic

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crazycatgirl420 · 1 year

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Reincarnated as Danielle Fenton-Masters part 2

A self instert Danny phantom fanfic

The ride from Vlad's Illinois mansion to Amity Park wasn't that long actually, though I had spent the last hour and a half lost in thought.

How much of the show did i actually remember and how much of what I knew was phandom created? Most of what I remembered was likely phandom created, because I think the show was intended to be a kid's show.

It doesn't really matter though, I'd just have to deal with life one day at a time, worrying about issues as they develop. For now, that meant using my human form to get into the FentonWorks disaster of a house.

It was horribly easy to break into FentonWorks. The front door wasn't locked, there were no cameras or security for non-ghostly threats. Danny and Jazz weren't here, and the doors to the basement lab were shut, the bright red light above the door saying it was in use. I made

The house was a mess, and the kitchen was the lesser known sibling of a toxic waste land. I couldn't find cleaning supplies anywhere, so I sent the driver, Ms. Nancy, to get some from the store.

I don't know how long I spent cleaning, the familiar mind numbing routine from my last life made the time fly by so fast. I was short, and physically weak, so I had to carefully figure out my powers to get anything done. Flying, cleaning the windows, walls, corners, tv, ceiling fan, changing the light bulbs, dodging the anti-ghost security attacks. Vaccuming the couch, under the cushions, lifting the couch to lean under the couch, the floor, wiping off the tables, moving all the dirty laundry to a basket and then tracking down the laundry room.

I cleaned the kitchen much the same way. Top to bottom, sorted through the fridge, sent Ms.Nancy grocery shopping, restocked the cupboards and fridge, washed the dishes, got them a mini fridge specifically for their vials of ectoplasm.

When I was done I noticed there was someone else in the kitchen with me. I turned around to see Danny, so much more real than he'd been in my memories of a cartoon. Messy black hair, gray-blue eyes, human and alive and real, right in front of me.

"So, who are you kid?" he asked.

"I'm Danielle Masters," I said, "I'm your clone, Vlad wants your dna because i'm dying, and he wants to either save me or create a better clone of you"

"That's... a lot to process," Danny said, sitting heavily on the nearest chair.

I nodded, turning to the fridge and pulling out the stuff to make sandwiches.

As Danny and I ate, we talked. I admitted I had only came to life this morning, was physically about three or four years old, and haven't done more than the basic ghost powers because I don't want to accidentally die doing more than that.

He pulled out his cell phone, and we watched videos, listening to music for funny cat videos or scrolling through celebrity gossip articles. It was fun, and I learnt most of the songs I knew existed here but not all of them. It seemed to be a coin flip on if a certain celebrity or songwriter existed in this universe. As I was scrolling through movie titles, a wisp of cold breath from between my lips, I glanced up and knew Danny had left the same.

"...Do you need help?" I asked, I wasn't sure how much help i could be but I'd do my best if he needed me too,

"No, stay here. Or hide in my room if you want too, I'll be back in a few minutes,"

So I went to Danny's room, which was just as much of a disaster as the rest of the house had been. after looking up the current ghost fight on Danny's phone, seeing Phantom fighting one of Vlad's failed experiments at the school, I sighed. I wasn't there to attack Danny from behind like my character had done in the show, I wasn't sure what would happen.

There wasn't much I could do, but I could clean. When Danny returned, his room would be clean, his bed sheets changed and his laundry washed and put away.

#dp fanfic #danny phantom #self instert #danielle phantom

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mememanufactorum · 10 months

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Things I’ve said out of context (June 2023 edition)

* FEEL FREE TO SHARE AS YOU PLEASE, NO CREDIT NEEDED. CHANGE PRONOUNS OR ANYTHING ELSE AS DESIRED.

The creature has finally appeared.

Hate this. Fucking hate this. Goddamn fucking hate this.

Yeetus deletus.

My room might be getting dangerously close to becoming 50% methane.

Don’t tell me you too are intimidated by the mcnuggies.

[name] literally so brain blunted that he doesn't even realize he's naked on a beach until someone specifically points it out to him. It’s perfect.

How are you supposed to prove you’re better than [name] by jobbing?

WHAT ARE THEY SCORING FOR?

AH I SEE. PUT YOURSELF INTO A POSITION WHERE IT DOESN’T MATTER.

[name] going for blocks like he’s playing in 800 ping.

It's only when a ball's flying towards his face that [name] remembers how to dodge.

[name] ACTUALLY DEFENDED THE GOAL? THE FUCK?

Shit’s lit.

Bruh got bullets put up his ass for saluting a fallen comrade.

RING FINGER. WHAT WAS EVEN THE POINT THEN?

How many times in a row can [name] get thrown through a glass display case.

How many times can [name] get hit by a car.

Although ACTUAL WATER BULLET PHYSICS had me thoroughly entertained at least.

So it's starting to get a little creatively bankrupt in the "Let's find new ways to physically hurt [name]" department.

So I might be making a little fucky wucky.

Oh holy shit. We actually have Korean BBQ.

If I die in the next 24 hours, you’ll know why.

I feel marginally more awake than I did before. Marginally.

PUSHING BUTTONS.

WAIT, BUT I THOUGHT YOU WERE EATING DONUTS. WERE YOU EATING, LIKE A MARTIN LUTHER OR SOMETHING? A BURGER SANDWICHED BETWEEN TWO DONUTS?

This sounds like some SS13 shit.

I don't think the Bang did shit for me. I am right back to feeling like I did before I drank it.

I am also in the shrine. My shrine.

Everyone can’t wait to not play it.

Why can’t we get Gary Busey in DBD?

I hope she ass gets the poetic justice treatment.

I'm just trying to watch a Japanese man spend 3 days in a net cafe room. I ain't ask for a near 3 hour ad.

I offer you nothing more than the silence of shame at that pun.

Bros, you want a cheap ass Keurig with Pokemon stickers slapped on it?

This isn't even the weirdest Japan thing I've seen today.

I literally just watched a video about anime VN video games made about Uno.

I know I do literally no damage, but my self-sustain though.

[name] apparently made Clara so strong that she broke her internet.

Here's everyone's regular reminder that Lucina and Kaine have the same voice actress.

My source may be that I'm making this the fuck up, but how else do you explain it?

You don’t know what powers you invoke.

I just had to fucking double check to make sure I didn't just somehow make it up in my own head.

Let me just firmly root myself in reality for a moment.

This exists. We can all confirm this is a thing that exists.

The Jhammel’s just gonna grow its head into the giant voidgate on the moon, look Zeromus dead in the face, and call him a bitch.

Time to interrogate everyone you know.

For once, a batshit comedy anime gave me practical knowledge.

Time to fucking burn the chair.

Because when you steal from the criminals' monetary depository and then suddenly turn around and try to pay them back for the same exact amount that got stolen, they're going to most likely put two and two together.

WHO WANTED MORE SMALL SOLDIERS?

Things are beautiful just before they die, struggling until the very end.

Let me make something clear here: Just because 2 out of 3 of us aren’t a threat doesn’t mean I’m still not a threat.

#roleplay meme #roleplay prompt #rp meme #rp prompt

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xticklemeemox · 1 month

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The Love You Want: III, Part Four

hehehe i hate the shopping trip section and the bit after that it does not seem well written to me i am going to lose my everloving mind =D

all aforementioned warnings apply, just in case <3

Masterlist

Ao3 Link

Next chapter

word count: uh 13,519?

Fic under the cut <3

Vessel waits with bated breath all morning, hugging his stuffie tightly to his chest as he stares, unceasingly, at his bedroom door. II and III had already been moving about for a couple hours now, their quiet voices and sleepy laughter telling Vessel of a comfortable night spent in III's room and a cozy morning. Vessel wishes he had joined.

His room is dark, the only light coming from under the door. Vessel is alone, as he wanted, and he hates it. He buries his face in his stuffie, snuggling into his Alpha Wolf hoodie, and tries to ignore the stinging in his hips, and the tears threatening to slip onto his cheeks. He lays there for who knows how long, waiting for the floor to open up and swallow him and his bed whole.

Someone knocks on the door. Its II, asking for Vessel to come down to the living room. He says something about wanting to start that talk now, and maybe something else but Vessel can't hear past the sudden ringing in his ears.

This is it. They're going to be mad at him. They're going to be mad he put them to sleep without asking, they're going to hate him. They're going to hate him. Vessel doesn't want to do this, he didn't want them to know about any of this. Vessel wanted to keep all of this to himself so II and III could continue living happily, without any knowledge of what Vessel has done.

Vessel forces himself to stand up when he hears II's retreating footsteps after a couple minutes of Vessel not answering. When he opens his door, Vessel makes sure his hood is up and his mask securely buckled. III is making their way up the stairs when Vessel starts to head down, and their smile is as soft as the blonde curls on their head when they see him. "I made you a coffee! Its on the table downstairs, in the living room, if you're ready to talk now."

Vessel isn't ready, but he takes III's outstretched hand anyway, hunching into himself to hide as much as possible. Let's III lead him down the stairs, focuses on them rubbing their thumb over Vessel's knuckles, focuses on not launching himself off the staircase to his hopeful death and asking Sleep to let him truly die.

II is bouncing his leg, reading a book while sitting on their couch when Vessel and III enter the living room. His eyes do not read the words on the page, staring blankly and worrying his lip, lost in thought. When III calls his name, II looks up, almost surprised by their presences, though III is never exactly quiet when they enter a room.

"Three, Ves! Good, you're here. Sit, please, we're just going to talk. We got you some coffee Ves, hopefully its how you like it. Three wanted to put more sugar but I like to imagine I know your limits, and their idea of sweet enough is far, far past it."

Vessel sits on the edge of his seat and readies himself to bolt if he needs to. He makes sure to keep space between all three of them for when they inevitably don't want to be near him anymore.

Even as he does so, keeping distance, III scoots closer and II completely gets up, moving to sit next to Vessel on his other side, effectively sandwiching him between them while placing a large, fluffy blanket over his shoulders. It should make him nervous, to be caged in like that and unable to escape like he initially wanted, but their knees are warm where they brush against his own. The length of III's thigh is pressed against Vessel's and he tries to focus on that warmth to ground him to this moment when all Vessel wants is to be anywhere but here.

Vessel avoids their searching gazes but smiles gratefully at II, wrapping the blanket around himself as further protection, and everyone waits for another of them to speak. Silence ensues for what feels like hours until II breaks it, also wanting to get this over with if only to get that terrified slip of emotion Vessel is allowing through the bond to go away.

"Tell us about this ability Sleep mentioned, the one that isn't yours. I just want to understand, Vessel, okay? I'm not mad, I'm frustrated you seem to keep hurting yourself in more ways than one, but I'm not mad. I'm concerned."

Vessel opens his mouth, trying to just get on with it, but his voice won't come out again. No matter how hard he tries. No. No, no, no, not again. Please. He'd finally moved past this, he'd- They looked so pleased to hear him and he's already fucking up.

III leans into Vessel's side, reaching under the blanket and gripping a portion of Vessel's hoodie, unsure what to do. II is saying something to him, holding his hand, but Vessel can't hear him. He's still trying to force words out, mouth opening and closing with no noise coming out. Vessel wants to cry, to sob, to tell them everything and nothing. He wants to be held.

II takes Vessel's hand and puts it over his chest, in the middle where Vessel can feel his heartbeat and the deliberate rise and fall of his breathing in slow, deep breaths.

Vessel tries to copy it. He really does, but it's hard when his head is swimming and he's suffocating in his own distress, the anxiety eating at his nerves as he shakes and shakes. Why can't he stop shaking?

II and III talk in hushed voices over him as Vessel hunches over further, torso almost meeting his knees, clenching his eyes shut and trying to focus on breathing at the same pace II is. A broken sob forces its way past his lips, coming out as more of a low keen that he muffles into the material of his stuffie that has managed to stay in his lap. He hates that he's staining it with his tears. He ruins everything he touches.

It takes what feels like hours to get his breathing under control, but it must have only been minutes. He is still trembling when his ears stop ringing. He wants to hide, he wants to escape into the forest and not return for a few days. Maybe not return at all. He isn't ready for this.

"Can we hug you? Please, you look like you need one." III begs, looking to II for help, but he only shakes his head sadly, already knowing what Vessel's answer will be.

Yes. Yes, please. Vessel wants a hug so badly. Please. Please.

"No." Vessel whispers, voice cracking as he refuses. "But, lean into me. Just- Don't wrap your arms around me. Please." Vessel compromises, desperate.

III leans into Vessel immediately, the full length of his torso pressing into Vessel's side as III puts the other hand under the blanket to wrap both arms around Vessel's own arm in as much of a hug as Vessel will allow. II scoots impossibly closer, using both hands to hold one of Vessel's own, rubbing soothing circles into his palm, or a thumb over his knuckles.

Vessel can breathe again. Letting his hand go limp in II's hold, he leans into III's side heavily as he tries to calm down. Vessel steels his nerves and just lets the words spill out of his mouth before his throat is wrapped with thorns again, hiding his masked face in his hands.

"I can- Make you sleep. That's all it is. I couldn't stand to see you suffer like I... I didn't want you to be awake and in pain the entirety of your transformation, so I experimented with my abilities as a vessel of Sleep and well, it got easier after the first time. You kept waking up though, and you were in so much pain... I had to keep putting you under. When you woke up and weren't in pain, I knew your transformation was over. I just... repeated the process with III."

"Sleep said this power was dangerous for you...?" II knows he won't like the answer.

"It makes me sick. It- I change. Two new sets of eyes, the split tongue. My blood becoming more like Sleep's. It seems I gain more of their features the more I use the ability."

"You're not using that ability again." II demands, not leaving any room for argument.

"What? But-"

"Vessel, you're not making yourself sick for us. Do you think I enjoyed your suffering as you puked up that weird black shit, or how you couldn't even sleep any of that sickness off? Because I didn't. I didn't enjoy a single fucking second of it. I hated it. Hated that I couldn't help you, that I couldn't take your pain away." II states, eyes like blue fire.

"We understand where you're coming from. You wanted to help us, but you never should've done it at the cost of yourself." III cuts in, nervously glancing between Vessel and II, pressing more of their body into Vessel's.

"Neither of you deserved to hurt, I- I was trying to help..." Vessel says weakly.

"I know you were, Ves, but you're not doing that to yourself again. You don't understand that we don't want you hurting either. You don't need to kill yourself to make sure we don't feel any pain." Vessel flinches into III as though struck and II wonders, fleetingly, why he felt as though he'd come upon something he shouldn't have.

"Vessel... do you think you deserved it? Your pain?" III asks, voice low and carefully neutral to hide the concern, thinking back to Vessel saying that they didn't deserve to hurt.

It wouldn't be much of a stretch, would it? To think that Vessel believes himself to deserve the pain the transformation brought, when the man actively self-harms.

Vessel will not look at them, staring resolutely at the ground. He does not address them directly, merely speaking out into the room, knowing they will listen.

"I- I don't... know. I- It made sense. For me to hurt. It still does. It's all I know. I felt... useful, when I was able to help Two that first time. Like I was finally doing something right. By the time Three came around, I- Well, I already knew the consequences and welcomed them if it meant I could spare you both the pain. The eyes aren't so bad, and I'm already getting used to the tongue."

"You don't deserve it. You have never and will never deserve any of the pain you put yourself through, or that anyone else has put you through." II despairs, taking a deep, unsteady breath to try and abate the tears he wants to shed.

Vessel remains silent, knowing he doesn't agree. II and III are the only ones who have ever thought that.

"You're not using the ability again. I don't care what you say, you're hurting yourself every time. I- Fuck, Ves, I already hate your self-harming, I don't want to see you continue hurting yourself this way too." II says, shoulders hunching with the stress of the conversation.

"I don't use it unless I need to, and I haven't needed to since your transformations ended." Vessel agrees easily enough, voice as small as he feels.

He doesn't understand why they care so much. He's not sure he ever will.

"Why won't Sleep let any of us rest during our transformations? I- I don't understand why He would decline if you asked Him to let us sleep."

"I didn't ask." Vessel murmurs quietly. "The- the way He said I handled mine, I didn't think there would be a point. He wouldn't have agreed. He said I handled mine beautifully, but- It hurt. It was... Agony, for weeks and I could feel everything- Everything changing in my body, the- the bugs-" Vessel cuts himself off, throat closing in at the memory.

He pushes his hands into all of his eyes where the skin meets the softer flesh of his closed eyelids. He can still feel the flies crawling over his burning eyes- the roaches over his hands and the way they came close to crawling in his ears or his mouth-

Vessel wants to throw up, the taste of that black sludge foul on his tongue. He curls in on himself, struggling to breathe. Again.

II and III share another concerned glance, "Bugs?" II whispers, mortified.

"Manor wasn't clean. Full of bugs. Crawled all over me. Over my eyes, across my hands. Felt all of it." Taking a deep breath to try and quell the nausea, Vessel manages to answer in short sentences.

"You... Where did you lay, Ves?" III is terrified of the answer.

"Floor. Barely made it through the front door. Hurt the whole walk here. I- fell a lot too. Over roots and just, the ground. Couldn't see anything, it was too dark. Didn't know where I was going." Vessel grunts, trying to will away the tremble in his frame.

He has said far more than he ever wanted to, but they are asking, and Vessel cannot refuse them most things. Not when their bodies are warm against his, their heat sinking into his bones and chasing away the constant chill. The blanket they'd wrapped around his shoulders helps keep him warm, too, but Vessel wouldn't mind being able to touch them without the barrier of it and his clothes. It is not something he can grant himself.

One proper hug from II and Vessel craves another, and another, and another. He wants their gentle touch on his skin all the time, in any way they'll give it. He wants to feel wrapped up and safe in III's encompassing hold, he wants to wrap II in his own arms, to hold him to Vessel's chest and rest his chin on the fluffy mess of II's hair. He wants their touch. He wants. He aches. He desires. Anything they will give him.

If their gentle touch ever turns painful, Vessel knows he wouldn't mind. It would simply be time for the abnormalities of his relationships with them to end and return to the familiar.

"... the fucking floor? You... you didn't have time to, to even get into the house properly?" III can't stop himself from crying out, just utterly horrified.

"No, my transformation was already beginning to start when I woke up in the forest. I- There wasn't any time." Vessel explains, closing his eyes and pulling II's hand closer, beginning to play with his fingers.

"Why would Sleep do that? He gave me time to get settled in..." II says, eyes wide with confusion.

"I asked Him to give you that time. I couldn't go into the stores and get you what I knew you needed. I was too much of a coward. My anxiety wouldn't let me. I- It was weak of me, I know."

"No, no, Ves, it worked out better that way. I wouldn't have expected you to be able to do all of that on your own... Its alright."

II is trying his damn hardest not to let his fury get the better of him.

He wants to fist fight his God. For what they have done and what they've failed to do. If Sleep could put off II's transformation when Vessel asked it of Him, there was no reason for Vessel to have needlessly suffered.

"It hurt." Vessel forces out, eyes opening and listless behind his mask, "It was like every atom was lit on fire after being put through a shredder. It hurt. For weeks. I- I laid there for weeks. It hurt. I couldn't sleep. Couldn't escape. Couldn't die either. I wanted to."

III tries to stifle their sudden sob, but ultimately they fail.

"It hurt." Vessel repeats, "It hurt and I was alone."

"You're not alone now." II is quick to assure, "You made sure we weren't alone, its our turn to return the favor."

III is nodding, trying to speak past their hiccupping sobs, but they can't. Not when they're imagining what Vessel must have gone through. Those few moments III was awake during his transformation was an agony they knew could never be replicated, would never be able to properly describe. To think that Vessel was forced to be awake for weeks, to experience something like that without any reprieve... And still Vessel thinks he deserved it.

III wants to hold Vessel tightly and never let go, wants to tell him that they love him, that he didn't deserve any of what has happened to him. Wants to kiss away all his tears, to wrap him in his arms and never let him go.

How could Sleep have just- let Vessel go through that? III doesn't understand. They were all personally chosen by a God, and yet that God shows little care when it comes to the safety of His vessels outside of having money and a home. III knows II said that Sleep does not understand human pain, does not feel it, but does that make any of this okay?

III's not sure if it does, when he sees the furious tears in II's eyes as they both hold Vessel as close as he'll allow, shuddering breaths and small hiccups still escaping him as he stares blankly ahead.

Once Vessel calms enough, he disappears to his room for the rest of the day, asking for space and leaving his coffee untouched. Much of that time is spent listening to II and III move about the house and contemplating whether or not he wants to kill himself, adding random lines into his skin when the temptation to simply end it draws too close to the surface. By the time Vessel has made a decision, hours after starting and stopping his current book, attempting to write new lyrics, and pacing his room repeatedly, it is dark outside. His arms ache something fierce, bandages stark white against the darkness of his skin.

Dinner has long since passed, Vessel guiltily ignoring III's knock on his door, asking him if he was coming down to eat or just to hang out. Guilt ate away at him, and so Vessel cut into his arms again to relieve it. The pain helped, somewhat, but Vessel only felt more guilty than before, afterwards.

Vessel stills when another knock sounds, II this time, telling Vessel goodnight and that the two of them were going to be in II's room that night if Vessel wants to join.

II audibly sighs when Vessel doesn't answer, leaning his head against Vessel's door for a moment before walking away. III, staring silently from beside him, follows and intertwines their hands, eager expression crumbling.

Vessel's eyes well with tears, and he wants to join them so badly. He should've agreed yesterday, too, but Vessel was afraid. Shoving on his Alpha Wolf hoodie and grabbing his thickest blanket, Vessel practically runs to his door in his haste.

"Wait!" Vessel exclaims, opening his door and stepping out, holding his plushie close to his chest.

II and III stop at II's door immediately, turning around with such hopeful expressions that Vessel knows it must match his own hope exactly, even without the bond confirming it.

"Are you sure it's okay?" Vessel asks, back to being quiet as a mouse, and II and III share wide grins.

"Of course. You don't even need to ask if you want to sleep with us. II and I will always welcome you." III holds his arm out, making grabby fingers at Vessel who reaches back with only a little hesitation, crossing the distance between them in a few purposeful strides.

III pulls him into II's room, a beaming smile lighting up the dim room. II follows behind them, leaving the door cracked for Elvira in case she wants to come visit.

II goes around moving pillows while III bounds off to grab more blankets. Vessel sits gingerly at the edge of II's bed, trying to gather up his courage.

He is fiddling with the edge of a bandage as II and III finish up, beginning to get comfortable on the bed. "I-. Uh, shit. Shit." Vessel starts, stopping immediately as his anxiety strangles him.

He doesn't want to ruin their happy expressions. He knows what he says next is going to kill the peaceful atmosphere.

"Go on, Ves, its okay." III encourages, and II nods in agreement, eyes soft and questioning.

"I- cut again. Can-" Vessel clears his throat nervously, letting go of the fraying bandage and digging his nails into his wrist, the sting helps, "Can you hold me?"

II cannot keep the sadness from his eyes or his bond, but he smiles softly regardless, "Of course. How about you get comfortable with Three while I get the med kit. You know I prefer making sure you take care of your cuts."

Vessel is... relieved neither of them are angry with him.

Vessel nods, climbing further into bed and into III's awaiting, outstretched arms. III brings one hand up to run through Vessel's hair, carefully avoiding pulling any strands stuck under the mask strap, the other splaying against Vessel's waist where he has carefully draped himself over III's chest, half on his lap. Vessel's blanket and hoodie acts as a barrier between their chests, and Vessel begs Sleep to keep III unaware of Vessel's lack of heartbeat.

II smiles, single dimple on display as Vessel settles in close, subconsciously snuggling further into III's warmth. He's off to get the nearest med kit and returning in record time, taking only a second to watch III whisper soft nothings into Vessel's hair, nuzzling into the soft strands as he holds Vessel close.

Vessel opens his eyes from where they had fallen closed in his contentment, bond open enough for them to feel it. Anxiety creeps in as II asks where the wounds are. Leaving his hoodie on, Vessel maneuvers himself so he can comfortably stretch his arms out, shoving up both sleeves past his elbow. His left arm was clearly bandaged better than the right, the material loose and sliding down his arm.

"Proud of you for taking care of them." II says, leaning forward with his weight on one hand to kiss the forehead of Vessel's mask.

A tiny, unsure smile pulls at Vessel's lips, ducking his head shyly, but II does not fail to notice that Vessel doesn't refute his words.

III looks stricken as II begins unwrapping the bandages on Vessel's left arm. Vessel had at least cleaned the blood off of them, but his skill in wrapping them is lacking. II knows its because Vessel has never bothered to take care of himself Before, and fuck, does that break II's heart into pieces.

Vessel winces when II begins disinfecting the cuts, surprising II and III when he buries his masked face into the space between III's shoulder and neck. Its uncomfortable, the mask digging in to their jaw and collarbone and wherever else it touches, but III would rather cut off their own leg than ask Vessel to change positions.

Slathering antibiotic ointment over the wounds marring his forearm, a bit below the elbow, with smaller little slices heading down towards his wrist, II begins rewrapping the arm with a fresh strip of bandage. The next arm is easier, but the cuts are more sloppy, some digging deeper, and its clear by the wounds that Vessel was more distressed when he dug a blade into that arm.

That one is nearly finished being bandaged up when II chooses to speak, "Thank you for telling us, Ves."

Vessel opens his eyes, different sets watching the movement of II's hands and his face. He simply stares for a moment, while II continues working and III's hand continues playing with his hair, "Kept thinking you would leave me. Kept thinking you would hate me. Knew you would, after you found out what I did. But... You stayed. Both of you stayed. You- Don't hate me."

II and III share a glance that Vessel doesn't miss as II says, "I don't hate you, Vessel. What I feel for you is the furthest thing from hate."

"I don't hate you either. Could never hate you."

Vessel wets his lower lip nervously, a fang peeking through, "Okay... Thank you."

Vessel wants to say more, he wants to spill his guts all over the floor, let them rifle through his insides, examine every inch of his viscera and bones, and their marrow, until they understand him so completely that he never has to speak of his feelings ever again.

Vessel supposes that is what the bond is for. That gift from his God was intended to help him connect, and he has refused it to some extent the entire time he has had it.

II yawns behind a raised hand, Vessel tracking the movement carefully. "You both should rest." Vessel says, and neither one of them disagree.

III pulls away long enough to let all of them under the covers. Vessel has been maneuvered so III is in the middle, without much say in the matter. He lets them do as they please, keeping his blanket wrapped around his shoulders and bunched around his neck. II asks if Vessel will get too warm like that, under both the blanket and the sheets but Vessel merely shakes his head. Temperature hasn't affected him like it used to when his heart still beat in his chest. The others have said he is cold to the touch, but he doesn't feel it.

Everyone gets comfortable, Vessel allowing III to wrap their arms around him. III pulls Vessel close, then shoves themself back so they're up against II, since the bed is a bit small for three grown men.

Goodnights are shared without much preamble, and Vessel knows its because the earlier conversation did not exhaust only him. He's felt it in the back of their bonds all day, guilty for that too.

Vessel sits and listens for a while, as the others settle down to sleep. II falls asleep first and Vessel is endlessly amused by the others ability to fall asleep quickly, always appearing so tired despite Vessel being the one who doesn't sleep. III takes longer to nod off, needing to adjust positions a few times, or fluff up their pillow. Its cute, as Vessel finds III is prone to being.

Vessel realizes he didn't bring anything to occupy his mind during the long hours of the night.

"Are you leaving?" III asks sadly, voice distorted by a yawn.

Vessel pauses from where he was moving off the bed, "No. I'm getting my notebook from my room. I'll... be back."

III nods, brushing a hand over Vessel's bicep, turning over to snuggle into II's back. "Go, so you can come back sooner." They murmur, "Miss you already."

Vessel's face warms, a smile pulling involuntarily at his lips. III says he'll miss him, even though Vessel is only going to his room and back. The thought makes Vessel giddy, and for once there is no voice in the back of his mind telling him that III is lying, or delusional.

"Be back soon." Vessel says, knowing III probably didn't hear over II letting out a loud snore right then, the others bond already fuzzing back up with sleep.

Vessel huffs out a laugh, smile remaining. They're both adorable. He makes it to his room and back in record time, sliding back under the mass of blankets, pressing the length of his side against III's back, who hums at the contact but otherwise remains asleep.

It's perhaps an hour or two later, Vessel silently scribbling potential lyrics in his notebook with the dim light of the bedside lamp (though it isn't needed), when III first shows signs something is wrong, when Vessel feels that something is wrong.

There is a furrow in III's brow when Vessel places a careful claw over his temple to coax out the nightmare after he sets down his notebook and pencil. Without a thought, he swallows it whole, loving the taste and yet afraid of what he will see this time.

It truly is a nightmare.

He was sprawled out on the ground, jaw aching fiercely. There was a weight on their hand, harsh pressure being applied with a foot. Trees surrounded him but in his peripherals, light from a building blinked on and off haphazardly.

"Fucking shithead! Should've stayed the fuck away from me." Someone spits on him.

It splatters against their cheek, dribbling down and off his chin, and he only barely manages to stop from cringing in disgust, "I was only being nice-"

A foot slams right into his ribs, once, twice. A groan of pain is torn from their throat with the action, a whimper as something cracks.

"Shut the fuck up. God, running your mouth even now. No wonder you couldn't keep a fucking job." With every sentence, another kick brings new agony to his ribs.

He moans as another kick glances over their jaw, stars bursting behind their eyes when their hair is grabbed in a tight fist, a knee meeting their nose and spewing blood all over the blue jeans of his assailant. He grins anyway, all bloody teeth and confidence, "Momma never taught you how to take a compliment? I didn't have a mother and I can handle someone telling me I'm pretty with proper decorum. A thank you usually suffices."

The grin is wiped off their face as a fist slams against their cheek, cracking the bone beneath his eye with a blinding pain that stuns them. Pain explodes in multiple spots on their body as they struggle against the people holding him. They force him to the ground roughly, blow after blow after blow landing on his ribs, his stomach, his head. He aches everywhere, barely conscious, and still they hold him down. Still he struggles.

There's no fucking way they're going to kill them without a fight-

Vessel gasps, still feeling rough hands around his arms, holding him down, he can't breathe- there's a hand wrapped around his throat- no- no that's not what happened, that was-

Vessel's bond slams shut as he tumbles out of bed, legs caught in the blankets. The harsh movement of the bed wakes II and III, but by that time. Vessel sees the tears in III's eyes, a single one slipping down his cheek and he's filled with unadulterated rage at the sight.

He can still feel a hand around his throat. He knows that wasn't from III's nightmare, III's death.

"What happened, Ves, are you okay?" II asks, holding on to III in a tight back hug.

"Nothing, I'm fine. I just fell out of bed. Got caught up in the blankets." Vessel reassures through gritted teeth, trying to keep his anger and terror, his confusion and understanding, out of the bond.

He does it with ease, projecting that calm sea he can picture so clearly in his mind. Even if his bond is shut, Vessel would prefer taking no chances of them discovering his anger.

"Okay, that's okay. Do you need help getting-" II starts, III cutting him off.

"Don't shut us out entirely. Please. Keep the bond open. I- I want to feel that you're here." III asks, brokenly, desperation and fear leaking from every pore.

Vessel is struck with the sensation of arms holding him down again and feels terrible. III has just woken from a nightmare and they're focusing on him- Vessel hates it. Wants to wrap III up in his arms and never let them go so they'll be safe-

II follows III's words up, like a knife to the chest, "I know I said you can shut yourself away whenever you want but it's like- like you're dead even if we know you're right here."

The fury simmers down in an instant, being put on the back burner in favor of processing what they're telling him.

Like... he's dead? It feels like he's dead? Vessel doesn't understand. Do... do they know? Do they know what he does? Vessel is quickly becoming overwhelmed by the events that keep occurring. His brain can't keep up, tired as he is and always so stressed.

"I'm sorry." Vessel apologizes, not sure what else to say, opening up his bond again, his regret seeping into II and III's side of the bond.

"Have you felt it?" III asks, tears in his wide, shining eyes, "What its like for the bond to be completely shut off?"

Vessel shakes his head no, and the next moment there is a void swallowing him whole. Where III's presence had been shining brightly, full of apprehension and regret and resolve, there is nothing. It's as though the other man doesn't exist, like his body isn't right here with Vessel's. Its a gaping void, like Vessel was missing a limb, a wound ripped right through him that will never heal. He struggles to breath through the aching in his chest, in his lungs, and the house shudders violently, creaking and moaning as the vines writhe along the walls agitatedly.

There is this pain in his chest. His heart which he knows does not rest behind his ribs, he knows it doesn't, is being squeezed with a tight fist. He can't breathe- he can't- why does it hurt so bad-

Vessel gasps, leaning forward to pull III to him, uncaring for that one moment if he can feel his lack of heartbeat through his clothes. Tears spill down his cheeks, lips parted around a desperate apology. There is relief buried deep in his chest, where his heart used to lay. They don't know.

"I'll try not to do it again. I promise, I swear I'll try, just, come back. Come back."

Vessel doesn't even take a moment to really think about what he's promising. What it means for his already unstable mental health. He is promising not to rest, promising to stay alive in this body he hates with a mind that loathes him. He knows there will be times he cannot keep that promise, times where he will need to kill himself to escape from his own body for just a little while.

The image of the bond in his head distorts, becoming less like doors in a hallway, more a tether connecting their souls to one another. Sleep did not give this to them just for Vessel to hide himself away whenever he wants, he realizes. He should've realized ages ago, but Vessel is always struck by how different II and III are to anyone else he has ever known. If... If Vessel wasn't so stuck in his past, maybe he would've been open with them sooner.

"I'm sorry to do that to you so suddenly. I- I should've warned you." III murmurs into Vessel's ear, breath warm as the bond blinks back into focus.

Vessel could sob with the sudden relief that rushes through him. The house settles, no creaking to be heard. The vines calm, and Vessel misses the way II scrutinizes them closely.

II leans on III, wrapping his arms around both of them, hands fisted tightly in their clothing, desperate for their touch after both of them disappeared from him.

"All those times I shut you out, Two... you never said anything all this time." Vessel cries into III's shoulder, reaching out desperately to hold II as well.

"I thought it- I didn't know it felt like anything. I thought I was- I didn't- You were dead, Three, your- Even though you're right in front of me, it was like you had died. Like not even your soul was left. Why didn't you tell me, Two? I would never have even- I'm... I'm so sorry. I'm sorry." Vessel can barely speak through the sobs tearing through him, harsh, wheezing breaths silenced to the best of his ability.

They're caught in his chest, suffocating him with their weight, but still, there is so little noise and it's unsettling. Vessel learned to cry like this, to sob with nary a sound, and its heartbreaking.

Vessel didn't understand what it meant to have his body and soul intertwined with another and then for them to disappear- it was worse than losing a limb. It was like some vital piece of himself that was there only a second before had just vanished, as if it never existed in the first place.

If II and III ever decided to leave Vessel, to tear the bond from their own souls with their God's help, it wouldn't have mattered if Vessel loved them or not, it wouldn't save him, his own soul would be shattered beyond repair and not even death would be a reprieve from the pain.

"Forgive me, please. Please, please, forgive me. I'm sorry. Don't leave. Don't leave." Vessel begs, clutching tightly to the material of III's shirt.

III holds him tighter, pulling Vessel closer even as they try to keep their own tears at bay.

"Ves, Ves, it's okay, just- try not to do it again and all is forgiven. Please, I'm not going anywhere, don't cry-" II regrets his wording immediately when Vessel struggles to pull away, all noise ceasing as though a switch had been flipped.

Vessel's breath hitches with another sob, but there is no noise to accompany it. Where before, there has been small little whimpers that he couldn't hold back, there is now literally no noise at all. Its unsettling, devastating. Tears still drip from under his mask, golden droplets staining everything they touch. His mouth is firmly shut, lips pinched tightly to hold in his whimpers.

"No, no, I- Fuck, I didn't mean it that way sweetheart, I swear. You- You don't have to be quiet around us." II begs, letting some of his own tears finally spill over.

"Two is right, Sugar. You never tell me to be quiet and I know for a fact I can get too loud." III adds, before asking, "Can I take your mask off? It can't be comfortable."

Vessel hesitates, slowly letting himself lean back into them to regain his earlier position. Vessel gives a small nod and III begins unbuckling the mask, wiping his own tears on his sleeve first.

When the mask is fully off and laid to the side, Vessel tries to get ahold of himself, wiping at his continuous tears with a sleeve that quickly becomes stained with gold. II and III speak to him gently, never asking him to be quiet or to stop crying, only ever using soft, comforting platitudes. They never grip his jaw to force it shut, to stop the noises Vessel has long since learned to quell. They never tell him to be quiet, to stop crying.

Gentle words and gentler hands coax Vessel from his tears into some semblance of calm as gold slips down his cheeks. II wipes them away as III braids small sections of Vessel's hair, gold accumulating on his hands and clothes.

Vessel whispers, in a voice hoarse with emotion, as III runs a hand through the mess to try and fix some of Vessel's unruly strands so they could continue braiding, "Not too loud. Like you as you are."

III smiles, a small thing that's brighter than any grin could ever be, kissing above Vessel's brow gently.

"Why were you crying, honey? I can still feel something off in our bond." II directs his next question at III, who is still wiping stray tears every now and then.

"Oh. Uh, bad dream. It's not anything to worry about." Vessel knows III is lying, can tell from the aversion of their gaze

Vessel thinks II can tell, too.

"Okay, if you want to talk about it, I'm here. I'm sure Ves wouldn't mind either."

Vessel is nodding in agreement, watching in some half-shocked, half-awed tidal wave of emotion as II pulls III's face to him gently, kissing his cheekbone, their brow, the tip of their nose. III's face is red but their smile is beaming when II pulls away, only leftover tears gleaming with hints of gold drying on their face.

II takes Vessel's face in one hand next, cupping the side of his head, avoiding Vessel's jaw as best as he can with his thumb by his ear and the rest of his fingers weaving through the mess of Vessel's hair. With that thumb, he carefully wipes some tears away, streaking gold across Vessel's cheekbone.

Without preamble, II leans forward to kiss Vessel's cheek. Then his forehead. The other side of his face, over the lid of his middle pair of eyes. With each careful press of II's lips on Vessel's skin, he grows warmer and warmer, body buzzing with electricity as his face flames, pointed ears going red at the tips.

"Two?" Vessel's voice is soft, eyes wide and not so sad anymore, tears slowing to a steady stop.

Vessel is always so stunned by such casual displays of affection. II and III are always so soft with each other, with Vessel himself. Vessel... never quite knows what to do with that fact. Because it is a fact. They are more gentle and kind than anyone Vessel has ever met. He thanks Sleep at the altar every chance he gets.

II accomplished what he set out to do, shaking his head with a quirk of his lips into a smile. II could get lost in the rubies of Vessel's irises, burning in the midst of the darkness of his sclera.

"You're so pretty. Both of you, so pretty."

III giggles, the sound a little unexpected and it causes Vessel to giggle too, something no one is sure they've heard from him before. Vessel's blush is contagious, spreading to II and III's cheeks like wildfire.

"You're pretty too, Doll." III says with a cheeky little grin that begs for II to challenge the nickname.

"Why Doll?" II pouts, squinting his eyes dangerously.

"Short." III states, before turning their grin towards Vessel. "Don't you agree, Sugar?"

Vessel's eyes are still wide, cheeks and ears still flushed but he nods anyways, adding quietly, "Big, pretty blue eyes, too."

II gasps and places a splayed hand over his heart, scandalized, keeping his tone exaggeratedly playful, "Why, I never. First, Sleep comments on my height, and then you two, the next day no less. I can't believe you both. I ought to take you off at your kneecaps, Three, and see what you say about my height then!"

Vessel tenses, looking between the two of them like he's not sure if they're actually going to fight or not. He would rather not be around if that is to happen. Vessel knows the yelling would make him catatonic with the memories.

"I'd like to see you try, Doll." III sticks his tongue out, laughing as II lets out a put-upon sigh.

There is a moment of silence where they all glance between each other. III's grin grows even bigger, and II's eyes narrow to slits before a smirk slips onto his face.

"Oh no." III mutters, beginning to lean back as though it will save them from what is to come.

Without another word, II launches himself at III, aiming for their sides to tickle them into submission. Laughter erupts immediately as Vessel stares with wide eyes, blinking disbelievingly at the proceedings.

He was- So sad, mere moments ago but with such ease he didn't even notice, II and III have lifted his spirits.

Vessel watches, a smile slowly pulling at his lips, as III makes their escape, managing to get away from II long enough to get off the bed. They're still laughing as they make it about halfway to the door before II launches himself off the bed after them, wrapping an arm around their waist and picking him up in one move, swinging III back around and up into a bridal carry.

"Thought you'd gotten away?" II asks, pretty blue eyes innocently staring at III, their noses close enough to touch if only they would lean in a millimeter closer.

II admits he is sorely tempted to kiss them, seeing that same temptation mirrored in III's eyes. They both refrain, glancing at Vessel, who is still watching them both, smiling gently. Now isn't the time.

"Nah, I got exactly what I wanted, Doll." III reaches up and pats II's cheek, a rogue finger tracing the curve of his smile.

"Now put me down. I'm insecure about being so close to the ground." III jokes and II laughs as he places III back on the bed.

Vessel could not force the smile off his face if his life depended on it as III suggests II start his book at the beginning, wanting him to read it aloud so Vessel will get the full story. Vessel starts to protest, not wanting to bother with something so trivial, but III is having none of it, already gently coaxing Vessel to lay on them as he leans back on a mound of pillows. II comes back from grabbing the book they were reading, a different genre than he usually reads that seemed interesting. Pulling the bookmark out as II gets comfortable on Vessel's other side, where he has let III maneuver him into laying down between them, II waits for both Vessel and III's go ahead to start reading.

Vessel's head is leant against III's shoulder, closely squished between them and II without even a hairs width between all three of them, a blanket spread out over their waists and legs.

Vessel is intrigued as II starts, tone calm but not emotionless as he reads the first page. The next chapter is read by III, who tries to give the characters their own voices and keep things lively while also keeping the tone of the book. The two keep switching off who reads with each chapter, and at some point during the night, II had fallen asleep during III's turn.

Vessel offers to read instead, and III lights up at the prospect, kissing the side of Vessel's head without a thought and settling in to listen with happy, but tired eyes. Vessel stumbles over the first few words, flustered beyond belief, but does not shy away from III's tender gaze. Its not long before III falls asleep too, but Vessel continues reading aloud quietly. He remains vigilant for more nightmares the entire night, warm between the two people he cares for most in the world.

Elvira pushes open the door around daybreak where it had been left cracked, meowing as she hops up on the bed to settle on Vessel's lap. Vessel pets her lovingly as she purrs, III's breath ghosting against his ear as II snores at Vessel's shoulder.

Vessel feels as though a weight has been lifted off his chest, closing his eyes to rest his mind. He lets his bond open, entirely, without holding anything back for what must be the first time.

Over breakfast the next morning, while II attempts to teach Vessel how to cook pancakes after III requested them, III speaks up about going into town. Kicking their feet so that they knock softly on the cupboard, III sits perched on the counter whisking eggs, which Vessel had wrinkled his nose up at, not liking the taste of eggs by themself.

"Hey, can we go into town today? I would really like more clothes, and that gaming console I mentioned to II."

"Gaming console?" Vessel asks, curious, as he carefully flips over a too-done pancake.

He smiles sheepishly when II praises him over it, while III begins to explain how they wanted to get more electronics since most of their entertainment is in book form.

Vessel nods along, asking what sorts of games III enjoys. "Story-driven games mainly! Though I do- did play first-person shooters sometimes."

Vessel hums, interested, as he and II listen to III explain about the different game genres they've tried and which ones they didn't care for.

"We can go into town after breakfast, if that's alright with you?" II questions and III nods along easily, not caring what time of day they go.

"Sure! Are you going Ves?"

Vessel freezes, watching a pancake cook far longer than it should, browning visibly at the bottom edges.

Vessel wants to go with them, just to be near, but he would need to go into stores, with other people, in public. At the mere thought, his anxiety creeps at the edges of his mind, threatening to swarm him.

"You did well in the furniture store that first day I arrived, despite your panic attack. You know I don't mind holding your hand and doing all the talking, Ves." II attempts to convince him, and Vessel admits that he has a point.

Vessel hates that they're coddling him. That he needs physical touch to go into a store. Its pathetic. He's pathetic.

Vessel wants to go with them. He really does. He doesn't want to be left in this huge house alone with only himself as company. It has never ended up well for his body, or his mind in the time Before. He was alone a lot, Before.

Vessel promised he'd try to keep the bond open. He knows what will happen if they leave him alone.

"Okay. I'll go." Vessel agrees, flipping the pancake over finally.

He frowns, staring forlornly at the crispy edges and dark, dark brown middle.

"You will?" III exclaims, excited at Vessel's agreement, handing the bowl of whisked eggs to II so he can start making scrambled eggs out of it and hopping off the countertop.

"Mhm." Vessel contemplates saying more, leaning into III a little bit as the other moves closer to Vessel's side, and decides it should be okay.

He trusts them. He is letting his bond stay open, giving them unfiltered access to his emotions. He trusts them.

"Didn't like being alone last time." Vessel focuses on the pancake in front of him and not the sudden regret spiking down II and III's bonds.

"Before you say anything, I am the one who decided to stay at the house. It's not your fault I felt that way." Vessel can feel their eyes on him and chooses to ignore it.

If Vessel turns around, he fears he may start crying again as the clear reassurance mirrored on II and III's faces trickles down the bond purposefully. He doesn't think he can handle seeing it on their faces.

Feeding Elvira takes priority before they all sit down to eat, not wanting to forget or cruelly have the cat watch, hungry, while they ate. When everyone sits around the table in the dining room that doubles as the living room, Vessel realizes that the pancakes taste a little burnt.

Dejectedly, he apologizes, the taste lingering on his tongue unpleasantly. III is quick to shut him down, scarfing down their pancakes with only butter as a topping, mask pulled up over their nose. "I thought you'd douse them in syrup." II comments, putting only a small amount on his short stack.

III hums in amusement, grabbing a few more pancakes off the plate placed in the center of the table, "You'd think, wouldn't you? I prefer them like this, but sometimes I do douse them in syrup. Absolutely drown them in it. Oh, Ves, maybe uh, a minute less on the skillet next time. These are good though, really! Just a little bit too done."

Vessel apologizes again with one corner of his mouth dipping too far into a frown for III's liking, and they wave him off with his fork and a large, reassuring grin, losing a skewered piece of pancake in the process. It barely misses the plate, falling to the floor as III lets out a whine of disappointment. Vessel laughs softly, no more than a shuddering of his shoulders and his frown lifting into a smile instead.

Breakfast is a quick affair after that, III eager to leave, devouring the rest of his plate in record time. II eats his pancakes and eggs within a normal amount of time, actually tasting the food instead of just inhaling it. Vessel only eats one full pancake, not needing it as sustenance like the others but still wanting to enjoy the taste, as burnt as they turned out. II picks up all of their empty plates before Vessel or III can do it, and Vessel and III share a look. III mouths "mother hen" behind II's back and Vessel huffs a laugh again.

Everyone pushes in their chairs, only one, the Fourth, collecting dust. They have all chosen their place at the table, and so it sits unused until the next vessel arrives. It has not escaped their notice that there are four main bedrooms, four main dining chairs. A decision on Sleep's part, most likely.

It doesn't take any longer than twenty minutes for the three of them to meet up in the foyer, all ready to leave. III's hair is pulled back in a bun so his mask will fit over it fairly well, in one of Vessel's shorter shirts that barely reach his hips, exposing a sliver of midriff that catches II and Vessel's gaze immediately, and a pair of Vessel's looser, billowing pants that he wears often around the house.

III reaches up to tuck a stray, loose wave behind their ear, and neither II nor Vessel can look away as the shirt rides up and exposes more of the pale expanse of III's skin. Vessel blushes to his ears again, II's own blush spreading down his neck as he takes in III as well.

III has no right being so damn pretty.

Vessel isn't feeling much better when he finally sees what II is wearing, which is nothing out of the ordinary, but its II, so Vessel always thinks he's breathtaking anyway. A hood is pulled up over the mess of his hair, the jacket long like a coat, sitting over a plain black t-shirt that hugs the muscle of his arms. A pair of comfortable joggers are tied loosely at his hips, powerful thighs and calves not causing the stretchy material any strain.

"If you continue staring, we're never gonna leave." II states, his dimple showing as one side of his mouth lifts to display it with an amused smile, an eyebrow raised.

"Sorry." Vessel murmurs, wanting to tell them both how pretty they are, but he's far too flustered to be able to get the words out without stumbling over them, and he's already so anxious as it is.

"I don't mind sweetheart, but Three needs more clothes that fit them properly. You can stare at me all you want on the ride to town." II grins, though his bond is a little unsure, holding his hand out for Vessel to take.

II hopes he's not being too bold, but seeing III be so daring with his touches and words, and Vessel not shying away from them like they'd both expected him to, makes II want to do the same.

Vessel takes his hand but doesn't meet his eyes with any of his six, fingers linking gently with II's own. "I'm just teasing, Ves." II admits as he watches Vessel's face get more and more red by the second.

Hesitant relief slips down the bond, and Vessel smiles, nodding as he rubs a thumb over a groove in his mask, held securely in his available hand along with the car keys.

III takes in what Vessel is wearing, a too big, grey t-shirt that hangs low on his neck, revealing their God's symbol on the hollow of his neck, over a black long sleeve with loose sleeves that leave room for his bandages. A pair of skinny jeans hugs his hips, held up with a brown belt that doesn't match the color scheme of the rest of the outfit. He's wearing black boots, which III immediately finds strange. They're not sure they've ever seen Vessel in anything but socks or barefoot. Even outside the house, Vessel seemed to prefer going barefoot despite the twigs and plant matter that litters the ground.

"We ready?" III asks, after ogling Vessel a little longer.

III confirms easily as Vessel hums his agreement and everyone steps outside.

Vessel closes the front door securely behind them, willing the vines lingering on the outside of the manor that climb along the wall to cover the door, wrapping over the handle and crisscrossing over the expanse of the door. Like this, with the vines overwhelming the wooden lattices on either side of the small porch, bolted to the detailed columns, the house looks abandoned, like the forest has overtaken something humans have staked claim to that had never belonged to them in the first place.

The car is parked nearby under the shade of one of the larger trees whose branches creep towards the house, and II asks who will be driving and who's going to sit in the passenger seat.

"I'll sit in the back." Vessel pauses before a small smile creeps onto his face, "I can stare at Two that way."

Vessel is pleased when his horrible attempt at a joke causes II and III to laugh as everyone puts their masks on.

The car starts up loudly, and with some difficulty when everyone gets settled inside. Vessel doesn't like being in the back by himself, even if he was the one who chose it, but II makes up for it when he puts one of Vessel's My Chemical Romance CD's on over the radio, knowing that Three Cheers For Sweet Revenge was Vessel's favorite.

Vessel flexes his fingers as they drive, answering when II and III ask him for opinions on topics he was only half listening to as II drove. Curl, uncurl, curl, uncurl. Vessel watches his claws dig thinly into his skin, misses when II would hold his hand while they drove to town. It kept him from fidgeting too badly, kept him from picking at the skin around his fingernails, pulling until the skin came free and blood beaded at the top. Vessel loved the sting.

Vessel avoids II's concerned gaze in the rear view mirror, singing along very quietly to the music and pretending his anxiety isn't eating away at his nerves. III turns around in his seat as best as they can with the seat belt limiting their movements, a hand coming to rest on Vessel's knee while III continues talking. III is pleased when it soothes a bit of the anxiety they can feel in the bond, the rest of the drive feeling less tense with one of them not so stressed. Vessel slowly inches the fingers of one hand onto III's before wrapping them around loosely, in case III wants to pull away. III casts a smile through their mask Vessel's way, curling their fingers around Vessel's hand in return. Vessel cannot stop his smile the rest of the drive, a small thing that remains as he continues to sing along quietly to the radio.

II parks in a lot with a multitude of stores at the behest of III when they point out a few thrift stores in the area. They know the area far better than II and Vessel, having lived here Before, so following their directions is easy.

As II and III get out of the car, Vessel still sits perfectly still in the back, except the trembling of his hands as his claws pick at the skin around his nails.

II leans back in from where he's gotten out the drivers side door and not closed it yet, "Are you sure you're okay with this sweetheart?"

Vessel nods, even though he is anything but okay. He wants the floor to open up and swallow him whole to escape the stares and the whispers he knows he will hear.

"I don't mind just picking you out some things if you tell me your size, Sugar." III says from beside II, wanting to lean in and look at Vessel properly but knowing there isn't room to do so.

"No, I'm okay. I promise. Just..." Vessel takes a deep breath, "Hold my hands?"

II and III smile, II's a soft lift of one side of his mouth that just barely allows his dimple to appear, and III a big grin. "Of course, I would love to hold your hand." III exclaims while II follows it up with an agreement, stating that he already does that anyway.

Vessel gets out, and his hands are taken in warm ones immediately. It helps, immensely, for them to be so near. To be so willing to touch him.

"What style do you prefer, Sugar?" III asks, attempting to distract Vessel, dragging both II and Vessel with them as they head to the first thrift store III sees.

Vessel stares resolutely at the cracked concrete sidewalk, anxiety making his hands shake as he feels the eyes of the townspeople on the three of them.

"Ah, modern Victorian emo, I suppose? I'm not sure what to call it. I love the Victorian style shirts with the puffy sleeves and more flowy material, but I always leaned towards black skinny jeans and chains, with boots." Vessel stumbles over his words, trying to think back on when he actually dressed out of enjoyment and not just in whatever fit and was mostly clean when he got more depressed.

"I must say I'm not surprised at all." III laughs, squeezing II's hand gently next.

"And you, Doll?"

"Comfy, in monotone colors. Ah, techwear sometimes but I didn't have a lot of free time outside of my job so I mostly stayed at home to drum and read, or game on occasion. Those clothes didn't get much use Before."

"I am also not surprised at that. You seem like a techwear kinda guy." III hums, pulling them along into the two-story building.

It's brightly lit with violet and white paisley patterned walls, small clear-crystal chandeliers and modern light fixtures hanging down a bit too close to head level, with rows upon rows of clothing racks tightly packed into the small shop, organized by color. Racks of shoes and purses line the walls, and towards the back is a couple changing rooms. Crossed off with a chain to the right of the changing rooms, a white-painted staircase leads up to the second floor.

"The old woman who lives here is legally blind, but can still see somewhat. She won't mind our masks. I used to come here all the time Before, she was always kinder than the other townspeople." III says, pulling Vessel along with them as II wanders off, only after making sure Vessel is alright.

Vessel lingers close as III leads them to the black clothing section, letting them pick out clothes at their whim. III has a mound of clothes piled in their arms before long, and Vessel offers to carry them.

"Oh, you don't have to do that Sugar." III refutes, gaze as soft as their smile.

"It's okay, I want to." Vessel assures, and smiles when III begins to hand the clothes over.

"I'll be taking these." II grabs the clothes before Vessel can, breezing by them with a smirk and an offhanded comment, "I'm the one with the super strength, and your arms are injured Ves."

Vessel pouts, watching II speed off as III laughs quietly. "He's right. I'm glad he interfered, your wounds slipped my mind."

"I'm not incapable. Besides, I did it to myself." Vessel frowns, flinching only slightly when III places their hand on his masked cheek a little too quickly.

"I would rather chop off my own limbs than purposefully cause you pain." III states seriously, without room for argument. "Two agrees, without a doubt. Let us be kind to you when you are unable to be kind to yourself. We care for you, Vessel."

Vessel doesn't say anything, but he smiles, taking III's hand and bringing it to his lips for a gentle kiss to their bandaged knuckles, a whispered 'thank you' like a cold breeze on their skin. There is disbelief in the bond, uncertainty that III means what they say. Vessel wants to believe them, he really does. They've done nothing but exceed his expectations. They're kinder to him than anyone he has ever known.

Vessel loves them, both of them. He desperately wants to believe they love him too, but he doesn't know what love looks like, directed at himself. Everyone who has ever claimed to love him has destroyed him, body and mind. He doesn't know what gentle love looks like, would never be able to recognize it on his own.

Sleep knows this. For all that human emotion and its wide range has confounded him, it has also fascinated him. Sleep has watched humans fall in and out of love for millennia.

Sleep knows that His Vessel was never truly loved Before the God went to him. Sleep watched, listened. You do not belittle and antagonize until they snap under the weight of such cruelty. You do not hit those you love hard enough to mar their flesh with purple-blue.

Sleep knows that his vessels all love each other, His First simply cannot see it.

Perhaps it is time Sleep took action again, for the sake of His beloved First.

Vessel tilts his head at the feeling of Sleep's presence lingering near for but a moment before disappearing to the edges of his mind, where He usually stays. III's hand is still held in Vessel's own and when Vessel glances up through the thin mesh covering the eye holes of his mask, he finds III watching him keenly. A soft look and an emotion Vessel can't name thrums ever so gently through the bond, and Vessel forces himself to look away lest that tender gaze lights his soul ablaze.

Another customer walks up, browsing the items with no apparent concept for personal space. The woman leans in close to Vessel, eyeing his mask with an interested gaze.

Vessel clutches III's hand as he presses up against them to escape the woman, flush against III's side in his effort to escape the touch of a stranger. She watches him in interest for a moment, smiling a little to herself and batting her eyelashes. III continues shopping, humming quietly, pressing a little of their weight into Vessel. It's comforting, and appreciated. They reach for a long black pleated skirt at the same time as the other customer, and a stare down ensues.

There is a challenge in III's eyes, the mask covering their features to hide the mischievous smile, the sly humor that is so clear in the bond. There is a dare in the deep ocean of his eyes, as if to say "go ahead, grab it. I dare you. I'll take it personally." Vessel doesn't quite understand how that worked so easily, as the intimidated customer quickly retreats to the other end of the store.

III's eyes still hold some remnant of challenge when they turn to smile down at Vessel, letting go of Vessel's hand to swing one lanky arm around Vessel to pull him closer.

Ah, perhaps Vessel is just weak at the sight of III's ocean eyes surrounded by such long lashes.

"Let's go find Two. I found some stuff for all of us to try on, but I'd like his opinion as well, aside from him running off with the clothes." III says, keeping his arm around Vessel's shoulder, keeping Vessel close.

Vessel doesn't pull away, doesn't even think to force himself out of III's personal space. He's too busy swimming in the contentment such simple affection brings.

The arm feels possessive. Vessel tries not think about how much the idea appeals to him. Vessel wants to be coveted by III, by II. While Vessel wants them to want him enough to be possessive over him, the thought... unsettles him. The distress sits where his heart uses to lay. Deep in his chest, encircling very rib like ivy that cannot be torn away, aching like the memories of people he can't remember.

"What're you thinking about, Sugar?"

"Before." Vessel answers simply, still a little lost in thought.

III hums, pulling Vessel impossibly closer as they near II, then speaks after a moment, "If you ever want to talk about what you remember, I'm all ears. I'd be glad to share the burden of your past if it eases the weight on your shoulders."

Vessel takes time to think of what to respond with. He is always so astonished by the things they say, and sometimes, the only thing he can manage is small, unsure, "Thank you."

II has piled all of their items in an overflowing basket that swamps his form as he holds it. It's a wonder he can see past it, and Vessel frowns, hoping it isn't too heavy, even knowing that II has extraordinary strength. "We ready to try all of this on?" II asks.

III confirms and they all head over to the small changing room section. There are only two, one unoccupied and the other out of order, marked off with a sign that says the same. III has the most clothes, so Vessel and II send them in first.

They sit next to each other on a too small bench, fingers clasped together on top of their thighs pressed close. It doesn't take long for III to come out of the changing room, and Vessel barely manages to stop his mouth from dropping open at the sight of him.

III is in a pair of baggy black cargo pants pulled low and tight at the waist with a white and black checkered belt. A tight black high necked crop hugs their chest, exposing their stomach and the shiny, black gem of a silver belly ring.

A fierce blush flames on Vessel's face all the way up to his ears and he is eternally grateful for his mask. Not so grateful for the bond that he kept open, broadcasting his flustered state and the hint of arousal.

III is gorgeous.

II nudges Vessel's shoulder with his own, laughing at the embarrassed smile pulling at Vessel's cheeks.

"I-is this okay?" III asks, suddenly nervous.

"You look beautiful!" II compliments, gently nudging Vessel in the ribs with an elbow.

"You should wear crop tops more often." Vessel blurts before covering his face with his hands.

II laughs, and after a moment, III follows, their nerves slipping away to be replaced by mirth. Vessel knows the laughter is not out of cruelty. Embarrassment swells within him, and Vessel feels as though he will burst with it.

"Here's hoping the few others I picked out fit, then." III smiles, before heading back into the changing room.

They come out in more revealing tops, some tight, others flowing and loose. There are a few long sleeved shirts and t-shirts in the mix, as well as plain jeans, shorts, and cargo pants. At one point, III comes out in a few skirts, both long and short. One particular skirt, pleated and a pretty pale blue that exposes his lower thigh, catches Vessel's attention. Vessel only looks away when they twirl a little, and his face goes up in flames once more, ducking his head a bit and averting his gaze elsewhere.

By the time its II's turn, III has gotten nearly everything they tried on and hums happily, tapping their fingers along Vessel's knuckles, hands held close while they wait for II to come out.

They don't have to wait long before II exits the changing room in a pair of cargo pants much like III has gotten, held up by a simple black belt, and a plain black t-shirt. "There really wasn't much to my interest or size in this store, which is fine. It happens." II says, unbothered, stuffing his hands in the pockets of the pants.

"We can check out some others, this town is full of 'em." III offers, apologetically.

"No, its fine. I'm content with what I've got at home, and hopefully some of this will fit." II assures, and III nods, smiling.

II goes back in the changing room, coming out a few times with outfits that are mostly the same style. Comfortable and monotone, just as he'd said.

Vessel thinks he looks pretty in every single one of them. II would look pretty in a potato sack, Vessel is sure.

Too soon, it's Vessel's turn. III had managed to find an older style shirt, and Vessel is careful about putting it on.

When he exist the changing room, II and III share a look with matching grins.

"That style definitely suits you." II comments as III hops up, speeding over to Vessel, walking a slow, appraising circle around him.

"How did you manage to find this?" Vessel asks rhetorically, in quiet awe of III's find.

The black shirt is loose, with long sleeves that balloon further toward his wrist, where its then cuffed tightly, held closed by a button. There's a small V cut into the chest, held loosely closed by a black silk ribbon. Vessel hasn't owned a shirt like this in some time. He always loved the dramatic flair shirts like these brought to his outfits.

It fits perfectly.

Vessel is truly a beautiful sight, III thinks.

His hair was pulled back into a messy bun, loose strands framing his mask, leaving his pointed ears on display. III was surprised no one asked about them, but they suppose they could explain them away as a body modification if anyone was bold enough to question them publicly. It wouldn't be too odd considering the rest of their attire. III can just barely see the middle pair of Vessel's eyes peeking out from the middle eye holes of his mask, only the red of his iris' visible.

Vessel looks up, finally, and meets III's eyes, smile soft, "Thank you."

"You're welcome, Sugar. I'll keep an eye out for things like that from now on. The style really does suit you."

III had managed to find a couple of other shirts like the one Vessel had initially tried on. Their condition wasn't great, holes and tears in the sleeves, but Vessel didn't mind. He could just wear them with some of his ripped jeans to match.

When everyone is done shopping at that particular store, Vessel hands the credit card over to II, who leaves him with III to go pay, carrying all of the clothing with ease despite III and Vessel's protests. Holding hands with II and III has become so easy, like second nature. Vessel does not think that it is an act, at least, when they wordlessly ask to hold his hand. Over time, he has grown to cherish it. One action of clear care that he can admit to himself is genuine.

II comes back quickly enough, bags in hand, and they head out, intending to put their bags in the car before going to the only store in town that sells the sort of electronics III wants to buy.

"I don't know what fashion icon finally decided to aim for mental stability and get therapy in this tiny, shit town but I am forever thankful. I found some really good stuff!" III exclaims happily, as they pile the bags of clothes in the trunk of the car.

The game store is a quick affair, and III walks out of the shop with a big grin and a brand new PlayStation console with a few games to try. The large store that doubles as groceries and appliances i next, and they tie down a large tv to the top of the car a bit too precariously. Their next stop is a store that sells phones. III mentions there's one nearby, just a couple blocks down in another outdoor shopping center.

As they are putting the large box in the trunk alongside their clothes from the thrift store, III glances up. His gaze catches on some passerby further into the parking lot.

A man is wearing a deep crimson shirt. It would be pretty if not for the specific color, stark against the streetlight, and III can't tear his eyes away.

The sight makes III nauseous.

He doesn't know why the color is unsettling him so thoroughly all of a sudden, when they know they've seen similar shades all day. Perhaps its the exhaustion of long shopping trips settling into his bones and making him susceptible to the traumas deep in his mind.

"III?" Vessel asks, quiet and unsure, hesitant, no doubt feeling their distress.

Vessel wished he never said anything at all. The look III gives him when the other pulls their gaze to meet Vessel's eyes, it's- Vessel will never forget the look in III's eyes. They're so... haunted.

III can't look at Vessel. All he sees is blood, so much blood. In their minds eye, a flash of Vessel, bleeding from the healed scars on his body overlaps with reality. Blood is soaking through his clothes, slowly spreading from his arms, his thighs, his hips. It dribbles from his mouth, and III shakes their head, hoping to rid the image from his mind.

"I'll be right back." They manage, just barely, struggling to keep the contents of their stomach inside.

III would hate to puke up breakfast after Vessel put so much effort into it. It'll take forever to get the taste of vomit and pancakes out of his mouth every time he even thinks about eating more.

"Oh, we can go with you." II starts, still half in the car from where he was about to get in.

"No! No, its fine. I'll be right back, promise, I just need to use the restroom." III lies hastily, the taste of it like ash on their tongue.

Vessel and II watch them go, their worry in the bond palpable. III hates to be the cause of such concern.

There's a gas station nearby, across the road. The clerk at the front hands him a key when they ask about a restroom, directing him outside and around to the back of the building. The sun has set by now, only dim lights leading the way. It would be creepy if III didn't have night vision, able to see clearly without any issues.

By the time he actually gets into the restroom and locks the door, most of the nausea has passed. III takes a moment to calm down further, wanting to get back to the others but still shaken up. Their hands tremble under the faucet as they wash them with cheap soap that smells far too chemically for III's liking.

Fuck. III hates the trepidation they caused in Vessel's bond because they couldn't keep control over their reaction to a fucking color. III used to love red, why did that have to chance because he saw some blood?

He knows its not just because it was blood.

It was the look on Vessel's face. The apathy in the bond. The ease with which he had cut into his arm, the sight of the blood beading up and spilling over.

III covers his mouth quickly to stifle the sudden gag, the nausea back tenfold. Fuck. Fuck.

A few tears slip from his eyes, sliding into his mask to leave glittering golden specks on the soft material. They are hyper aware of the bandage wrapped around their hand, pulling their hand back to stare at the white cloth. His palm and fingers ache where the blade sliced deep in his haste to get it away from Vessel. They don't regret it.

They wait in the restroom until the tremble in their hands is barely noticeable, until the nausea has receded and not returned for a good bit. Ten minutes must have passed by that point. He's been away from Vessel and II for too long, as II tugs ever so slightly on the bond in question. III replicates the action, feeling II's worry and wanting to assuage some of it.

Tucking some stray strands of hair behind their ear, III lets II's response of agreement wash over him. He still isn't sure how they all can get certain feelings or ideas down the bond, but III is thankful for it anyway. Taking a deep breath, III steps out of the restroom, its key in hand, gaze a little distant, lost in his own mind.

Then, there is a hand over his mouth, an arm around his throat, placing tight pressure as III gasps out precious air in surprise. They kick out uselessly, alarm bells ringing in his mind as a large form drags him into the forest beside the gas station. II and Vessel's bonds are immediately a mess of confusing emotions, swamping him with their own fear and his.

Fuck.

#sleep token #ii sleep token #vessel sleep token #am i tagging this right #sleep token fic #polyvessels #eventual polyvessels #sleep token iii

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findusinaweek · 1 year

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Top 10 movies

Tagged by @aeide like....29 days ago. Cool. A lot of stuff happened lately and also I had to think about this and remake the list at least 7 (now 9) times. So. This is probably not true but it has old favorites and current bias and I’ve put far too much thought into this. Under cut because of gifs causing loading/flashing. Uhhhhh. I feel weird about tagging this, since it’s been so long. I can’t remember who has done it and who hasn’t. Gonna tag folks who I don’t remember seeing. If you’ve done it, or you don’t want to, that’s cool! Sorry I took forever with it. @blue-mono, @cataliinaa, @whereforartthoumisthios, @fikali, anyone else who wants?

1) The Hours

It has music by Philip Glass! Meryl Streep plays a queer woman and that was important to me as a teenager. It’s very sad but it is always there for me when I feel bleak. It’s just a part of my psyche and I can’t really explain it at this point.

2) Lord of the Rings 2: The Two Towers (Extended Version)

Every Thursday for about 8 years the closest group of cousins and I would watch a movie while we had our piano lessons and most of those years we just watched LOTR 2 and 3 extended versions. Every Thursday. For about 8 years. 2/4 people (including me) are most likely autistic, yes. 2/4 (not including me) can play the piano. We are very annoying about LOTR. Anyways, look! It’s Haldir! The first man I loved to die of a weapon through the head. Yeah. I love that guy. Also, this film has great french horn!

3) Pride and Prejudice (2005)

I cannot express how much I love this movie. I cannot explain all the things about it I love. I cannot. Music is by Dario Marianelli (I can play to the second page of the score to “Living Sculptures of Pemberly” on piano. It only took 5 years), Directed by Joe Wright, Kiera Knightley stars as Elizabeth Bennett. I adore the dresses, the hair, the casting, the music, the fact that Simon Wood’s hair continued growing red after filming, the statues in Pemberly, the tiling on the floors in Pemberly, the way Mary plays the piano, Georgiana, Darcy’s sideburns, the HAND FLEX, the weird pig scene, The flower Tom Hollander holds, the nod to Henry Purcell, ect. 4) Anna Karenina (2012)

Dario, Joe, Kiera, and a train walk into a movie. Do not get me started.

5) The Parent Trap (1998)

I saw this as a kid and made my mom watch it with me over and over and over again. She didn’t mind. She thinks she’s like Chessy, but she’s not. She doesn’t cook, for one. And she doesn’t wear a denim shirt. I do though. We still quote this to each other. Formative.

6) A Place Promised in Our Early Days

An earlier Makoto Shinkai movie. The plot is confusing and boring if I’m honest. The background animations are breathtaking. If you like anime but also like realism in art, I’d highly recommend any Makoto Shinkai movie for visuals.

7) The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)

Do you ever just want to eat a sandwich and listen to old italian music and watch your enemy best friend and lover drown? No? huh. Amazing soundtrack! Spy drama! COSTUMING. It makes me laugh! Henry Cavill! Solo/Kuryakin/Teller should be canon. I was pretty upset about the whole Armie Hammer thing, tbh, because I really wanted a sequel to this. But I’m ok with that not happening.

8) Fly Away Home

The first media I wallowed in. Would rewind to the scene with Mary Chapin Carpenter’s “10,000′s miles” and sit way too close to the screen. When we got it on dvd my life changed. I could just press the button!? I didn’t care about the geese, really. I cared about the deep grief this kid was having. Someone probably should have questioned why I was watching it on repeat and gotten me into therapy a lot earlier. All in all, it’s a pretty movie.

9) A Single Man

I love this movie but I gotta admit I skip around watching it. It’s so depressing, I can’t watch it all at the same time. I like the music a lot, good cello. I love watching Colin Firth be miserable. I like crying with George. I don’t give a shit about Charley (except for her house and dress. Sorry Julianne Moore.) I hate Kenny. I want to live in George’s house. I want to live there. It is the J.W. Schaffer House. It’s a modernist house built in 1949 by John Lautner. I want to lick touch that woodwork. UGH. The glass. UGH. I love it. UGH. It’s such an impractical house. UGH. It’s so dumb. UGh. I want to go lay down on the floor, surrounded by books, in that house. uGH.

10) Underworld

What a dumb movie. Somewhere in my mom’s house is a Windows XP with a folder of photos of Selene that I thought were really cool, for some reason that I couldn’t figure out. That computer also has viruses from badly pirating the movie in 2008. I thought it was the coolest thing I’d ever seen and probably the first R rated movie I snuck. On this list because of the family computer destruction. And the ‘armor’, if you can call it that.

#top 10 movies #tag game #sorry I took 5 million years with this one #I love gifs so much

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dreams-of-cerulean · 1 year

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6. What’s your best childhood memory?

10. What was the last thing to make you smile?

6. What’s your best childhood memory?

what's funny is that my best childhood memory is probably my worst. hahaha.

stupid lils. i hope following me to this day was worth it.

i hope i made it worth it.

okay. so back when i got dreamer powers in the orphanage, i thought i was hot shit. couldn't manifest anything in reality, but my eldest sister did train me up a bit - nothing like the extreme bullshit she just put me through - but enough to beat up pathetically weak high schoolers as a primary schooler.

and then came chi, newcomer to the orphanage. runt of the party. hell was she 6? 7? at the time? i'm three years older. can't really remember. all i remember was that i gave her part of my sandwich once when i saw her rummaging through the trash can because she missed a meal again. and she's been stuck to my hip ever since.

i didn't like that. thought i was special. more special than anyone. destined for big things. the sort of idiot that would've died real quickly in the real world. most importantly, i thought i couldn't afford any baggage or weaklings. but she kept following me. and i hated it. because i thought she would die if she continued following me cause she wasn't strong enough.

i knew chi hated heights. it's how i lost her in those early days - just parkour up a building and voila a couple chi-free hours to myself. but it still wasn't enough. i didn't want her around me, but i couldn't kick her away - it wasn't how mom taught me to deal with the weak.

and honestly, i didn't deserve chi. she'd do better with any of the other social groups rather than standing by my side - she reminded me of a small puppy back then, eager to please - and as much roughhousing that goes on in the orphanage, kids often respond to sincerity with sincerity: she would've been better off without me.

to the me of the time, kicking her away was for her own good.

i gave chi an ultimatum to climb with me to the top of this ten-story abandoned building. if she couldn't, she had to stop following me around. and instead of staying on the ground like she always did, she climbed up with me. matched me step for step.

i looked mad the entire time - kept taunting her about how slow she was - about how she wasn't gonna make it.

but i was secretly happy. because no one ever wanted my company that much - not even my eldest sister - to the point of literally facing their fears just to stay by my side. honestly even if she couldn't follow me to the top, i think i already accepted her.

and then the ground, only supported by the wall it was attached to, cracked. and everything fell beneath me. chi was the one who dived at me, pushed me so i can hang onto a piece of rebar on a lower floor.

i watched her fall eight stories. like watching a car crash. just looking up at me.

and thud.

she still wasn't moving when i made it back down trying to check up on her. i was panicking and i think was just spiraling downward. honestly, sometimes i wonder if the reason why i could deal with people dungeons so well isn't just because of my soul's nature; it's because i very well nearly turned into one then and there.

and then i felt someone pat me on the head.

and i see lils with an outstretched arm and a confused expression, unharmed with only the shattered floor around her to mark what had happened. i think i was just babbling and hugging her and saying i was sorry at that point.

and well, the rest is history. i know i don't deserve her as a friend or as family.

but she's decided to stick with me ever since.

10. What was the last thing to make you smile?

sato - and everyone else of course - were there when i woke up from the fight. the hug from her was nice also.

also lils drew me as that dbz guy in a crater meme. ha. thanks as always, lils.

#(( Lev quite isn't aware yet that she's speaking out loud. Very loud ))#(( And the gang is outside her room eavesdropping. ))#(( ahaha ))#online::Levant

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shen-ne · 2 years

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The writers inconsistencies really through me off this episode...

...and that is the reason I didn't enjoy ep 10 as much as I thought I would (long post ahead).

To be fair, the series has suffered from plot holes from day 1. But I decided to gloss over them because something else would make up for it. But there were too many in this episode which prompted me to write this post and share my thoughts once and for all.

Ok so the writers have theses habits of:

1. Putting something in an episode and not following up on it or not giving us any background of where it came from.

2. Putting something in an episode, not explaining a thing about it and leaving the audience to figure out what is happening. This can work once in a while and with the proper set up but the show is constantly doing it with no warning.

3. The dialogue sometimes does not fit the situation. Though might be partly explained with the quality of IQIYI's subs, some dialogues throw you off completely from the show and you ask yourself what are the characters even talking about.

4. Something that obviously happens because the writers want it to happen while it doesn't makes sense in the scope of the story.

A good example in mind of my first two points is in ep 3, when Porsche tells Kinn he hates what he has become/killing someone). After that episode, Porsche continued killing people and we never got a glimpse of what was his state of mind (Does he still hate it? Does he start to like it? I mean he is a murderer now and completely flipped his beliefs, so you know might be good to show where he stands in his new reality).

In ep 10, I legit said "WHAT?" and "Where did it come from?" when I saw Kinn smoking. Yeah that was hot but it came from nowhere. There was no background as to why he started smoking, we never saw him smoking prior to this episode. Again the audience was left on its own to figure out the reason Kinn was smoking, some thought it was because he was stressed etc...Whatever it was, writers should have hinted on that prior to episode 10. And not make it seems like the sole reason they incorporated it was because it made Kinn looks hot and closer to a classic mafia's character. (Also am I the only one that felt like Kinn had a completely different vibe/aura yesterday? While I enjoyed this Kinn, sometimes it felt like he was a complete different person. Like his lost twin reappeared or something. All I ask really, is a smooth transition for a character's actions/ situations to make sense in their universe).

Why have we not seen the reaction of Pete when Kinn let go of Porsche at the beginning? In his mind why would Kinn, after pointing out a gun towards P, decide to let him go to join his enemy Vegas? Because, I don't think Pete is aware they are a thing. We didn't get any confirmation in episode 9. Also, why would Kinn leave Porsche be when he knew the plan "all along"? Is it his way of saying "Make your own mistakes and learn"? Because it doesn't make sense? P could die following Vegas and Kinn had a chance to prevent it but he said to Porsche "Go ahead my love, best of luck!". Writers...I'm looking at you.

I raised an eyebrow when Vegas and Porsche held hands because it was so out of place: they were never that close. It would have made more sense if they had shared meaningful moments before that but they were barely acquaintances. Again we have the writers all over the place just for the sake of what they want and not whether or not it fits the story. I mean they also really dumbed down Porsche and made him so gullible for the sake of the plot.

Can we talk about Tawan being sandwiched between two guns and still able to take his own life. Kinn and Porsche had enough time (plus solid motives) to put a bullet through his skull but they didn't do it and instead talked and wasted time. Why you say? Because the writers wanted Tawan to make the bomb explodes. And I don't have an issue with that but why make it so obvious that there was no intention that K & P would shoot him? It's clumsy!

When Porsche came to the rooftop, I was taken aback by Kinn having the cheek to ask an apology from Porsche when he put him through so much. Are you not self-aware? And it comes off as so arrogant too, like you both fucked up but at least P didn't knowingly put your life in danger. I was checking the time left because I didn't want the pool scene to happen after this, It didn't feel right. They are still not on the same page and I'm glad the writers decided not to do it. Because I wouldn't have been able to enjoy it.

"Yeah. I'm stressed too. It's like I've forgotten something" right after Porsche said that Chay asked him to resign! This is an example of a dialogue not fitting the situation. First, I didn't understand what Kinn was talking about because why would he talk about something he has forgotten when P just told him he might leave? Shouldn't he follow up on this conversation first and then talk about whatever was on his mind? But it felt like it was an afterthought and we just had him respond "Yeah" ?!? There is no coherence here, team of writers.

I mean there were more WTF moments in this episode where the writers dropped the balls: Kim rescuing Chay in a sleeveless black top accompanied with Kinn's most loyal bodyguard (why were Kim and Big together?), Kinn arriving coincidentally late for the "final blow" plus not with Big, Big's sacrifice (show me when he understood Porsche was Kinn's reason of living or whatever. Don't leave the audience in the dark and then show Big save Porsche's life out of love for Kinn! Show us how Big came to this decision), Kinn proclaiming he knew the plan all along (when his incompetence and lack of making any decisions was so flagrant this episode. What I mean is that the writers didn't show any of his "anticipated" moves to trap Vegas/Tawan but only showed us how he followed the flow of his subordinates' actions and then we have Kinn saying he knew everything...riiiight!), Pete spying in a bright red outfit instead of a low key color, Korn not killing his brother on the spot etc..but I've written so much already and really don't want to go through all of them in details.

I did like some scenes however and would like to share them to finish this post on a somewhat good note:

Porsche and Pete fighting - Didn't expect it but was agreeably surprised we got it.

Porsche being protective over Chay and ready to kill anyone that touches him (though you are also putting him in danger but that's for another story): brotherly love is just so beautiful to see even when it leads to murdering people.

Tawan kicking Chay - Ok, hear me out! It's not that I liked the kicking itself but the fact that the writers had the balls to go this route. Chay is this cute/no harm character which happens to be a minor and the fact that he was getting beat up with no regard for his life...and in front of Porsche!! Because really, why would Tawan care about this teenager's life? Chay was treated like anyone would have been in his place. I don't know, I just liked it. And it was in brand with Tawan's fucked up ass too.

Vegas being annoyed with Tawan's idiocy - I don't know, his "that wasn't the fucking plan!" made me chuckle.

Porsche and Kinn sharing a cigarette - Safe explanatory but also because you could clearly see the moment Porsche said "fuck it" before he took his drag (yeah, quitting smoking would have to wait a bit).

The last scene of Porsche and Kinn in bed - They are so in tune and comfortable with each other. Though as I said earlier I didn't like that forgotten line from Kinn (was so out of place). But the rest was beautiful.

All in all, I understand now and will try to accept that the direction the show is taking will continue to not make sense for some parts of it (could be explained by the amount of content they have and not having enough screen time to fit/and make sense of it). Apo and Mile's chemistry and acting are still holding me by the throat and it is plenty enough to be able to enjoy the rest of the show.

#kinnporsche #kinnporsche ep 10

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screechthemighty · 2 years

Text

I wrote more of the Jake&Gena fic to soothe my soul now that I’m finally done with whatever the hell the 2006 run was! AO3 link will be in a reblog, but the whole second chapter is below and you can find chapter one in the “fic: meet me at our spot” tag!

Standard disclaimer: Author does not have DID or speak Spanish, so please correct me if I am wrong about things! Also, spot the cameo.

meet me at our spot: part 2/6 (2020)

She tried not to let it get to her. She really did. But the winter was already feeling long by February and the 14th rolling around did not help her mood. Gena had made a point of not putting up Valentine’s Day decorations, but that didn’t stop people from showing up with dates. She tried not to feel hurt. She didn’t want to feel hurt.

She felt a little hurt.

Business is business, Gena, you can’t be angry about it just because-

The bell jangled. Another couple walked in, followed by the man who’d held the door for them. Jake. Same hat as before. It was almost a relief to see him. “Well, look who’s back,” she said with a smile. She hoped it didn’t look too tired.

“Señora Gena, me alegro de verla.” He sat down, same chair as always, with an exhausted groan. “Shit, what a flight.”

“I take it you won’t be having decaf for a change, then?”

“I’d say I’d rather die, but I wouldn’t get a choice in the matter. Decaf might actually kill me.”

“Regular it is. Same order, too?”

“I may need something more robust, actually. Forgot to have lunch.”

Gena passed him a menu. “I’ll get a fresh pot on for you.”

“Gracias.”

He ended up getting a Rueben. He ate like lunch wasn’t the only meal he’d skipped, but Gena wasn’t going to pry. “Are you going to be in town long?”

“No idea.” He prodded the pickle with his fork carefully, as if testing the tenderness of it before finally picking it up for a bite. “Open-ended contract. How’s your boys?”

“Well, Ricky is somehow getting picked on for not having a girlfriend at the ripe old age of eleven,” Gena sighed. “Ray’s just happy they had Star Wars valentines left. Don’t know why they bother, parents are gonna end up throwing them out…” Nope, too far. “Sorry.”

“No, you’re probably right. Hey, you can tell Ricky I’m in the same boat, if it helps. My hot date for tonight is me, myself, and the worst movie I can find on TV.”

“Not even the best one?”

“Too brain dead for that. I want to watch garbage.”

“Sharknado kind of deal?”

“Exactly. You get it.”

Gena was a little surprised to hear he was single. He was cute, not her type but confident enough to make up for the rough, exhausted edges. Nice smile, kind eyes. She could see why someone else might go for it.

Then again, his work schedule probably made anything that wasn’t long distance hard. There were some things even good looks couldn’t make up for.

She had to bounce between the counter and the tables, which didn’t leave her much time to chat. That didn’t stop Jake from lingering even after his sandwich was done. “Not in a hurry to get back to work?”

Jake shook his head. “Need to be around other people for a bit,” he explained. He carefully folded a piece of paper as he spoke, shaping it into what looked like a bird of some kind. “Trust me, once you get behind the wheel, you’re invisible. It gets to you if you’re not careful.”

That definitely sounded lonely. She even noticed some of that sadness in his eyes. “Well,” she said, “I don’t typically let people linger over the same cup of coffee, but you can stick around as long as you like.”

Jake hesitated. His eyes darted across her face, like he was looking for some kind of lie. When he didn’t find one…

“Gracias.”

…gratitude quickly sank into his face.

“Of course,” Gena said. “Nice to have someone else in here who doesn’t have any plans.”

Jake raised an eyebrow; for a second, she was worried he’d start asking questions. Instead, he said, “Well, even if I wasn’t single…” He gestured towards himself. “I’m Jewish. Not very practicing, sure, but I have a few questions about how we normalized a holiday for a Catholic saint.”

Gena laughed, startling even herself. “So someone could make money selling cards, I think.”

“Of course it was.”

He lingered a bit longer, occasionally chatting with her whenever she had a chance to just stand around. He’d been to Dubai recently–spent most of the time waiting outside clubs, never been more bored in my life–and was thinking he might be able to get upstate this trip stateside–though that's gonna depend on what my boss wants. He asked her about her life, and listened attentively when she complained about rising food costs. It would be easy to assume he wasn’t listening–he rarely made direct eye contact, and sometimes wouldn’t even look directly at her. But she could see it in his eyes. Even when he was staring into the middle distance, his gaze was thoughtful, digesting every word. She felt more heard than she had in…

Shoot, a while. More heard than she had by any other regular who’d come in and ask her about her day. Heard enough that she let one thing slip.

“I’ll figure something out, I know, I’m not gonna let the place shut down…”

Gena had to stop and gather herself for a second. She made a point of not looking at any of the young couples as she spoke. “...it’s just a pain in the ass.” Jake was quiet. She wondered what he might’ve put together from that pause. “Like you said last time, right? Lo que…”

“Lo que pasa, pasa.” Jake looked at her and smiled faintly. Sadly. She wasn’t sure if he’d put the pieces together, but he seemed to understand the basic emotion. “Whatever happens, happens.”

It looked like he knew a thing or two about that feeling.

He left behind one of the little paper birds with his tip. Gena put it on the cash register. Seeing it made the day a little more tolerable.

~~~

He wasn’t around for the actual job, but he slipped in during the aftermath. He dragged their exhausted body back to the hotel, showered, got changed. He did stick to the original plan, watching the worst movie he could get his hands on while curled up under every blanket in the room.

It felt a lot more hollow than he’d expected.

~~~

Jake came and went as the snow melted and the weather warmed. He seemed to come either during breakfast or very late, rarely in the middle of the day. Regardless of the time, the visits started the same way.

Señora Gena. How’re your boys?

He ordered eggs over easy with toast or a Reuben, usually the former but sometimes the latter if work had him skipping meals. He talked about the places he’d been–lots of metropolitan areas, driving around rich people to boring rich people things. She talked about what was happening around the city. He might not have been a regular in the traditional sense, but Gena quickly realized she considered him one. He fell into place so easily for a man who didn’t even live there.

She also found herself worrying about him. He never talked about being in serious danger, but there must have been some risk. And some jobs just seemed to leave him worn out. She was starting to notice the moments when his smile seemed a little desperate, like he was grinning to create a life raft for himself.

Maybe being invisible behind the wheel got to him more than he was letting on.

It was all enough to make her worry a bit more when he disappeared for a month and a half. It wasn’t even the longest amount of time he’d been gone, but it still nagged at her. Maybe it was something about how down he’d seemed last time, or justified anxiety in the face of a world where people could go missing without warning, or God forbid, intuition telling her something was genuinely wrong. Regardless of the why, she worried.

Then, one hot summer morning, he was back.

“Señora, you are a sight for sore eyes.” He sat down in the same chair, with the same smile. “How are you? How’s the boys?”

Gena grinned. “Well, well, I was wondering when I’d see you again, Mr. O’Malley.”

Jake’s smile didn’t fade, but the tilt of his head was clearly confused. “It’s…Lockley?”

Swing and a miss with that one. “Sorry, it’s…from a movie I watched when I was a kid.” She probably should’ve felt silly singing, but the diner was mostly abandoned anyway. “Abraham de Lacy Guiseppe Casey Thomas O’Malley…no? Not ringing any bells?”

Jake shook his head. “No, I think I missed that one. Which intrigues me, because I don’t usually miss movies.”

“Aristocats. I don’t know if it’s any good, but I loved it as a kid.” Her smile widened as he actually pulled out that notebook and wrote it down. “To answer your question, I’m doing okay. Same old. The boys…” She tilted her chin towards one of the booths. “...doing their summer reading.”

Jake glanced over his shoulder at them. “Of their own free will?”

“I lucked out with them.” And Mo always read to them…I’m sure that helped. But they weren’t at a point where she could talk about that. She didn’t think they’d ever be. So she pressed on. “Eggs or a sandwich?”

“Eggs, please.”

She got his order and his coffee before moving out from behind the counter to check on some other patrons. She was still within earshot of Jake, but just far away enough that it made Ray bold. He and Ricky had seen Jake around when he came in late. They hadn’t said anything about him yet, but she knew it was a matter of when. They got funny about male patrons who seemed a little too cozy.

Sure enough…

“Are you flirting with my mom?”

Raymond Gregory Landers…! She would’ve told him to mind his own business if she hadn’t been in the middle of refilling glasses of water. Jake, to his credit, took it well. “I don’t…think so? I didn’t think that was the flirting script.” When Gena could finally look away from the table, Jake seemed genuinely thoughtful. “Could’ve been wrong. I wasn’t trying to, how about that?”

Ray’s nose wrinkled. “Script?”

“What, you don’t have scripts? How do you know what to say to people?”

“I dunno. I just do.”

“Damn. You could probably be an Avenger with that kinda power.” Jake smiled–not the big, easy grin he used with her, but something smaller, more placating. “I’m Jake.”

“Ray.”

“Hola, Ray. That any good? What’s it about?”

Ray looked down at the book in his hand. “Yeah, it’s pretty good.” Which, of course, meant he loved it, but wasn’t willing to say so to a stranger. The shift in conversation was enough to let Gena go about her business without interfering, but she did keep an eye on them. “This kid is half-god and there’s a bunch of other demigods.”

“Half god and a bunch of other demigods? Which pantheon?”

“Greek. Zeus and stuff.”

“Oh, yeah, I don’t know much about them. My brother’s into Egyptian myths. I picked up a few things.”

“There’s one about them, too, I just haven’t read it yet.”

“Huh. Maybe he read those and I just missed it.” Jake shrugged. “He reads so much, I can’t keep track of it all. I prefer films.”

Ray perked up. “Do you like Star Wars?”

“That one that came out four years ago is the best one. No daré más detalles.” The grin was back. “Which one’s your favorite?”

Ray, of course, had seen Return of the Jedi eight times. He was more than willing to talk about it. Jake ate his eggs and listened carefully. Gena didn’t even have the heart to tell Ray to leave the poor man alone.

They both just seemed happy to be talking to someone.

“He’s a chatterbox, I know,” Gena said when Ray finally got bored and ran off of his own accord. “Sorry about…how he opened that.”

Jake shook his head. “Don’t worry about it. And I really wasn’t.” His tone suddenly became concerned. “If I came across like I was…”

“Jake, if I thought you were flirting with me, I would’ve shut it down by now. You had the right script.” And she meant that, too. He was earnest, to be sure, friendly, but she knew the type. Some people defaulted to charm. You just had to figure out the flavor. She’d known more than her fair share of guys like that. Even loved one, once.

The thought stung. Stung enough that her mouth moved without her thinking about it.

“Just curious, if you…were trying…”

“Oh, you want to know what the flirting script is?”

“I am a bit curious.”

“You have a very lovely smile.”

He said it with a smile of his own–not his usual, not the one he’d used with Ray. Something gentle–charming, but not overconfident or overbearing. Another time, another place, if he’d been more her type…

Damn it, that would’ve worked.

Gena couldn’t help laughing. The laugh set Jake back to default mode, back to that same old easy grin. “Be careful with that,” she said. “Don’t want you breaking any hearts.”

“Not that kind of guy, don’t worry. Not on purpose, anyway. And for the record, I wasn’t lying. You do have a nice smile.” He pointed at her with his fork. “But see? Wording, tone of voice, that’s the script part. You have to really think about it. Or I do, anyway.”

“Nothing wrong with that. Makes you mindful. Some people could stand to think before they run their mouths off.”

“Don’t I know it.”

In hindsight, she wondered how many pieces he put together over time: from her having two kids but no wedding ring, to her bitterness on Valentine’s Day, to the fact that she would’ve shut down him flirting if he had been. There were a lot of conclusions you could draw from that, not all of them necessarily the right ones.

But as long as he kept his questions to himself, she was fine with him speculating. Something told her that he would. So far, he seemed like a guy who knew how to mind his own business.

~~~

Sometimes he knew what was going on. Sometimes he didn’t.

Sometimes he was in on it from the get. Sometimes he’d wake up with a crescent in his hands and a job to finish. He went along with it, did the work as promised. Protected Marc. Protected more people than he could count, though he tried to remember them as best he could.

People snatched from the jaws of muggers, rapists, killers. Streets made safer because crime rings and gangs were broken up. Sometimes he got to see their faces, guide them to safety. He started carrying a first aid kit in the back of whatever car he’d borrowed–bandages, Narcan, whatever he could get his hands on. He stayed as long as he could. Just to be sure.

Khonshu didn’t get it. He wanted blood. To see the guilty punished. That goal wasn’t necessarily incompatible with Jake’s, but he saw all the rest as…superfluous. Justice was served; why waste time when there was so much evil in the world?

It’s not just about the punishment, demonio.

He’d tried to explain it, more than once. Khonshu still didn’t get it. Kind of made Jake feel like he was losing his mind, if he was being honest. That was one reason he liked to go back to Gena’s whenever he was in town. Something about being there, around regular people, around someone with a friendly smile who looked at her boys with nothing but fond kindness, two boys who got to live a life as normal as she could make it in a world as hellish as this one…it helped.

It really helped.

~~~

Usually, the sound of the bell ringing right as she was getting ready to close filled her with dread. But that night, when Gena looked up, she felt…a little less dread. And the dread she did feel wasn’t for the usual reasons.

“What the hell happened to you?”

Jake grinned crookedly. The smile was marred by the bruise around his right eye. “Ah, don’t worry about it. Misunderstanding. I ate already, I just…”

“Sit down. I’ll get you ice.”

Jake did as he was told. Gena scooped up some ice into a towel and brought it back out into Jake. “Seriously, what happened?” she asked.

“It’s…” Jake sighed and carefully rested the ice pack against his eye. “...my fault, really. I was talking to a buddy of mine. Good guy, not all there, though. I didn’t realize this was one of his bad nights. Something set him off, he hit me…” Jake shook his head. “He didn’t mean anything by it. I know he didn’t. He’ll probably be apologizing his ass off next time I see him.”

It didn’t look like he was lying, so Gena decided to accept it. “So, I take it you’ve had an interesting night,” she said.

“Oh, very. I know I said I wasn’t going to order anything, but if you have any coffee left…”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ve got some. Here.”

She poured him a cup. He managed to take a sip while holding the ice pack to his eye. For a little while, it was silent. Then…

“So…how’re your boys?”

Gena laughed, despite herself. Jake did, too, though the action made him wince. “They’re with their aunt,” she said. “I wanted to make sure they got enough sleep. School tomorrow and all.”

“Makes sense.” Jake carefully took another sip. “Can I ask you something?”

“Shoot.”

“How much do you know about Daredevil, exactly?”

“Nothing firsthand. People in the Kitchen seem grateful for what he’s doing. He’s just one man, sure, but he’s doing what he can to keep the place intact.”

“So he’s…reasonable, you’d say?”

“Why, you wanna chat with him?” She’d been joking, but when Jake didn’t answer right away, she got worried. “Jake, what are you playing at?”

“I can’t say much, client reasons, but he could use some extra help. I don’t know how much I trust the cops, so…” He shrugged and smiled. “...I know I said I’m Jewish, but I’m not above making a deal with the devil.”

“...definitely having an interesting evening,” Gena noted. “I think he’d be willing to help, if there’s not too much on his plate. How do you plan on getting his attention?”

“Still working on that part. Maybe petty crime, jaywalking or something.” He chugged down the last of his coffee and grimaced. “I’m asking for a bonus for this.”

“You should. Hey.” Gena gently squeezed his forearm. “Just promise me you’re gonna take care of yourself.”

“Lo prometo. Sobre la vida de mis hermanos.” He lifted the ice enough that he was making direct eye contact, both eyes, even if it was just for a second. “And if it makes you feel better, I also promise I will see you tomorrow morning. Eggs and toast.”

“You’d better.”

The extra promise didn’t really help, though at least he was trying. Gena tried not to worry about it. There was sure plenty to keep her distracted as the evening turned into night. But the thought lingered. Stewing in worry.

All that worry ended up being for nothing. He actually beat her to the diner the next morning. She saw him waiting by the door, smoking, his bruise looking a lot less harsh under the morning light. “You’d better have slept,” Gena scolded gently.

“I did. Three whole minutes.” Jake put the cigarette out and held the door for her. “Boys enjoy seeing their aunt?”

“Oh, always. And I’m glad to see you’re not busted up worse.”

“Yeah. I’m glad, too.”

~~~

That was the worst part about New York. Place really was crawling with other do-gooders. Not all of them were as committed as Khonshu, and Marc hated talking to them. So that fell to Jake.

He was starting to hate it too, though that might’ve just been because the whole night was an absolute shitshow.

Jake hadn’t been lying to Gena; what happened with David was his fault. Guy was great for information when it was him Jake was talking to. But many systems had their protector, and one of David’s had decided they’d had enough. So…the punch.

He let it slide. Jake understood the impulse more than anyone.

That left him asking Gena for information, which he felt guilty about. He didn’t want her involved, even indirectly. But this little trip was going to be a whole lot worse if they didn’t get Daredevil out of play. Jake didn’t dislike the guy or anything, he seemed nice, but last time he’d been such a pain in the ass that they had to stay an extra day just to get around him to the target. (Not that Jake minded the extra time in NYC, but Marc had wanted to get back to that girl he liked, and Jake was nothing if not supportive of whatever or whoever could get Marc out of his depressive episodes.)

So, it was time for a little trade: some small fish for a big one. Put on the suit (Marc’s style, Marc’s voice, just to keep things consistent), drop a tip about some drug activity as a concerned citizen, let the Devil go take care of it while they grabbed the real prize. That was Jake’s part to play this time; Marc had been able to handle the rest, free of the aggravation of some guy with horns trying to talk about morality.

Jake did feel a little bad about waking them up early the next morning to fake a bruise and get to Gena’s, sure, but he’d made a promise, and he was going to keep it.

He owed her that much.

#moon knight #jake lockley #gena landers #fic: meet me at our spot

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