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tofumedic · 3 years

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hewo! for the affections number.. 16 is so cute.. would u be able to do headcanons of all the demon bros with it? if not, can u pls do levi then !

The Brothers + Simeon with #16!

16. taking a photo of them smiling or in their element

(lucifer's is here from a previous ask! and bc of that i added simeon only for having some lil funnies i hope you dont mind <3!!!)

Mammon

His collection is the largest, he flaunts it like collectables like cars or like Levi's figures. It is literally one of his biggest flexes and will use them like trading cards never wanting to send them in group chats or privately bc he took those ones get your own human >:(!

He will however hold his phone directly in one of their faces, waving the screen around to show how he has so many good ones.

He uses them for call screens, his lock screen, his home screen, any widget he can other than the Goldie one. He's a menace about it but do not call him out on it he will buy a second phone to use in the public.

Anyways, anyways for actually taking photos..

Mammon always takes too many, as in he will take a bunch within the same timespan because he doesn't trust his hands not to shake, so if he just takes a lot at one time so he can delete the others and save the best ones

But he just ends up keeping all of them, just favoriting the best or separating them into two albums of "valuables" and "treasures" depending on the quality.

Usually they will all have a small blur, him too excited at seeing whatever expression you wear, whether its a smile at seeing him purposely acting dumb or you enjoying a hobby.

He feeds a lot of unfiltered second hand serotonin off of you! Please do not disturb his "I have just had a very bad brotherly bonding experience, I must cope by looking at my photos of my human- No I'm not smiling already shut up"

Leviathan

Levi will use photos of you like wholesome memes so they carry the same energy as the hang in there cat poster, using different heart overlays and nice quotes

His are also a mixture of blurry but also high quality photos, for ones he takes.

This is because seeing you so dedicated or when you smile in his direction, his heart does this weird jumpstart the palpitations making him feel heavy yet light at the same time almost like a peach and its pit.

But he has a preference to use either this small tripod(he has it as a preparation for going to live shows) or a timer so its set away from him as he calls you over, its his own little trap.

His favorite, the majority of his collection, are those! It's photos of you being in frame with him in it as well because there's just something about how all that happiness of yours is completely focused on him, your smile as you walk over towards him sometimes blurry and mistimed so its only you entering the corner of the screen but you can tell how he takes your attention.

When getting in fights about who has the best photos, he will drop ones that are different hugs of him in your arms like he was a newly one plush. Mammon especially gets pissy about these as well as Belphie and Asmo.

If you can't turn your camera on when he calls or if he is locked in a raid that they're losing he would ask you for a selfie also, never requesting anything special other than just yourself but his favorite is when you send just smiles or videos of the which character are you filter :]!

Satan

Satan often tries to hide it, saying he's taking a photo of himself or checking his hair, maybe even going as far as saying the text on his study notes are too small so he has to hold it in front of his face so close.

Think about cowboys, shooting from the waist. That's him when you're too far away, maybe with a brother or during class or eating. He will scribble out his brother or purposely have the other cropped out of the shot.

He does have a lot of you when you're just turning around to face him and then your reaction, he can't resist the temptation of taking your attention when he's bored or waiting for his next book order to come in before he goes back to the cat behavior of only seeking out attention when he deems it necessary and otherwise pleased for a period of time.

He loves the ones where you look at him before he's ready, these are just slightly shaky from him jumping or pressing the button in an embarrassed panic at your smug yet happy expression.

Has definitely done the cut a hole in a newspaper and put his camera to it to look out like it was some camouflage but he's first, smiling much too hard and trying not to laugh at it, and second had seen it in multiple old movies and shows you had watched together.

Satan, speaking of movies, quite enjoys you in low light. On movie nights where your face is only illuminated by the projector screen and the photos turn out a bit grainy, there's something so romantic about you just existing in such an atmosphere. These ones he does like more when you're focused, looking far off with a small pleasant smile on your face at the soft plot of tonight's pick.

Asmodeus

Asmo will send you them all the time, he's like your own personal Devilgram manager he will even edit them for you and send the before and after of those photos too (MC: when did u take these??? Asmo: ,';p)

He will always have such good angles of you, from your side, from above or below, a 3/4, or full portrait, your silhouette. He may have one for each basic one at least though his favorites are above and below, these are the most personal feeling to him.

Usually these come as him trying to get your attention, bothering you with his phone and purposely leaving the little shutter noise on so you hear every single one while you're just trying to watch a DevilTube video or do something else.

Him snuggled into your side post cuddle just to lean up, phone in his hand and a menacing giggle, it's the first thing you see waking from your drowsy state is him on top of you trying to get cute pictures that he can use as teases as if something else was in progress.

Or ones where you roll on top of him, just trying to get up to see the dumb little flash as an alarm instead of his cute good morning kisses to your face(those are actually used to buy more time with you because he is allowed to be a little selfish as a treat)

He also has them set as his lockscreen and homescreen, these being photos of you together so he can have the best of both worlds, himself and your happy smiling face. He just finds it so cute, whenever you want an audience to see it he's in the first row.

Sends them to the group chat with his brothers to start some chaos

"My~ Isn't my dearest MC just the cutest?" Asmo has sent 28 attachments.

Beelzebub

His collection isn't one of the best out there but it is unique and keeps him content and happy, pleased.

He likes having photos of you for when you two are separated, it makes you feel closer to him and him to you

His may have some of the least blur, hands steady you work on something separately yet aware of the soft stare that was bearing into the side of your head.

He may forget sometimes about the sound so when you get the rare notification from his electronic betrayer it is free power to tease him, asking him if he wanted your attention or if he just took a photo of you and to be honest, then his photos if you let him continue for that setting are a little blurrier on your fine details. He's embarrassed.

He likes these more than ones with just your smile because then he isn't as satisficed because then he's thinking about how nice it looks in person and your laugh and when you let out a sigh being tired from your work, it'll be a cycle until he gives up and goes to see you in person.

But he likes the ones of you in your element very much and photos of you in general, saying that looking at them makes him feel "full"

He means to say complete, he's content and pleased and delighted and he has a reminder of you existing, that you're real and not a midnight sleep walk hallucination.

Belphegor

He has the smallest collection but next to rest, Beel, and his appearance he is mostly focused on capturing photos of you when he can.

He didn't get to really know you as long as his brothers have so its only fair he gets to spend more time with you than them until he's equal, and then some because you're really comfy and you make his twin happy? and then on top of that you make this face when you are concentrated and you smile different depending on if you're gonna laugh or if you're confident.

There's so much he has to memorize, he's rather demanding with having the attention so he may continue this personal agenda of his.

A lot of them are from similar angles, from laying with him in different positions but everything feeling relatively the same, normal. These are usually after he has woken up, not before he goes to bed so either it's your soft good morning smile, or your surprised "how long have you been awake" face, or you still asleep on your own.

Many of them often have his bed head just barely visible at the bottom, usually having laid on top of you and just using his selfie camera and angling it up to see you take up more of the screen.

For just being a pillow that moves a lot you definitely are photogenic.

He doesn't send his photos of you to chats but will save photos sent of you from everyone except Lucifer.

Simeon

PLEASE applaud.

It takes him such a long time, but Solomon gave him the idea saying it was something sweet you would also enjoy the concept of. So he is doing his best.

He will see you, just existing and his heart will swell, needing to pause a moment before kindly asking you to hold that thought and pose as he turns on his phone, maneuvering to the camera and trying to get it to focus on you perfectly.

It takes him a few minutes every time but he is getting better at it but his reaction is always the same, smiling at you showing up on his phone screen waiting for the picture to be taken.

He never can be sneaky about it unless he asks for help to get your photo, sending Luke on his biggest mission yet, a photo after he asks you what you thought of Simeon's cooking knowing you'll have that sweet face of genuine thought looking back on it.

But he has yet figured out how to turn the sound off and almost always accidentality flashes you up close, it's so bright.

He has the most blurry photos, and that's not on purpose but when he asks you to look at them with him so he can coo about how happy you look or how serious, its endearing with the blur especially as they clear up a bit continuing the timeline of photos.

He really does his best to have these mementos of you.

Is delighted when you surprise him by putting his favorite one of you as his home screen, he's so grateful let him match with you he wants to be yours too!

from this prompt list!

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downwiththemutantnjnjaturtles · 3 years

Text

Making paper ornaments with the Turtles:

2k12/Bayverse

"Fold the tab over like this," you instructed the boys, demonstrating on your paper star. You were happy to be there making ornaments with them, giving them a holiday they'd never really done in full before. This was their first experience with a real Christmas, and you wanted it to be memorable. So, you started with the tree.

"Fold it over this way?" asked Mikey as he went ahead and creased it, regardless.

Leo was concentrating in complete silence while he worked on his own paper star. Raph was getting frustrated that he couldn't seem to line the creases up right and that his star was the jankiest, and likewise, Mikey was feeling a bit competitive about it as his were not the best either.

You checked Mikey's work so far and gave him a thumbs up, "Just like that."

"This is impossible," Raph huffed, low-key comparing his star to everyone else's. His fingers perhaps weren't the most dextrous, but he tried anyway, which was all you could ask for. He leaned over and grumbled in annoyance when he saw Leo's star, which was neat and pretty as it was supposed to be. "Of course he's getting it."

Chuckling to yourself, you slid over to Raph and took a seat next to him on the floor. He was still going at the project, fueled by his need to compare to Leo's work, though threatened to drop it all together every time he messed it up. So impatient was he.

"Maybe paper crafts aren't your forte," you said, putting a hand on his shoulder. He was turned partially away, his arms folded, and his eye darted to you upon feeling the touch. You thought for a second. If this was really something he didn't enjoy, you didn't want to force him. So you said, "You're free to go if you don't like it. You tried, that's enough."

He was seriously considering getting up and going back to his room, but then he looked around at his brothers, all having fun and for once, it seemed like Leo wasn't thinking about anything but the moment. And he was right—Leo wasn't thinking about anything but the moment. His mind wasn't on battling or when the next move was going to be made by Shredder and his clan. He was trying to fold his star, he was seeing his brothers having a good time, and was having a good time himself. He softened watching them.

Raph hadn't noticed when your hand left his hard shoulder; he was lost in his own little world for a minute there, just taking all of this in. He settled down and picked the paper back up. "I'm gonna do it," he told you, trying once more at it. You smiled as he continued, but after folding something the wrong way, he looked back at you, sheepish. "I...think I forgot how."

"It's all in the technique, bro," Mikey chimed in from across the circle, already starting his third star. His work wasn't much to look at, but he was having fun—that's what mattered. They would still complete the tree. "Want me to show you how?" Mikey gave him a cheeky grin.

"No," replied Raph. He flashed his younger brother a narrow-eyed look, and Mikey waved it off, muttering for Raph to suit himself.

You showed Raph how to do it again, and finally, he had it. He went from acting too stoic go be doing such things to actually kind of having fun, participating in conversation and laughing along with everyone. Though cold outside and down below, the lair tonight was alight with smiles and playful banter and positive prospects. You couldn't have hoped for a better day.

"How're yours going, Leo?" you asked curiously.

Gaguing by his eyes remaining on his work rather than you, he was quite focused, and he answered, "I think I've got it." He finished the little blue star and handed it to you, admittedly a bit proud that his were better than even Donnie's. "Good, right?"

You stared at his neat, cleanly creased paper and then back at yours, noticing the crinkled points and occasional mistake. Leo really did pick up skills in good time.

"Yeah, actually," you answered, having expected to be the best at the activity.

"And what about yours, Raph?" questioned Leo. He cocked his brow.

Raph bristled, "Mind your own business!"

Splinter walked in and you jabbed at Leo's shoulder with your elbow. He quickly cut it out and rubbed the sore spot, taking up another piece of paper.

"I see you are all having fun," Splinter commented, hands behind back as be stood over the lot of you. After their rough week with almost every night occupied by some kind of trouble, this was a well-deserved break. He thanked you for being there to get their mind off things.

Mikey bounced up from his spot and shoved one of his paper stars in Splinter's face. "See, sensei?!

Splinter's ear twitched and he nudged his son's hand aside, a soft smile present on his face. "And Leonardo is making a...paper shuriken."

In a second, he threw the paper star at his Master, to which he caught between his hands, and Leo laughed. "Nice catch, sensei."

"Wait! A paper throwing star? That's way cooler than this stuff!" Mikey beamed as he tossed away one of his finished pieces. Splinter chuckled and ambled back to the dojo, not before sneaking a couple of pieces of paper under everybody's noses.

Donnie shot Mikey a dirty look and turned back to you with an apologetic smile, "You know him."

The calculative turtle went back to his own project, where he was carefully trying to line up each crease to the tee. His tongue poked out at the corner of his mouth as he concentrated.

"A perfect thirty-five degree angle," he said as he did his last fold, accomplished. He cocked a brow at Leo, "Think you can get this close to perfection?"

"You're on," Leo answered with a smirk.

You checked on Mikey next, who was struggling on his yet again. You hated to see him behind everyone else, so you sat down at his side and said, "Need any help?"

"Nope," he responded. He was going at his paper with vivacity, and curious, you took a closer look. He'd strayed from the original star blueprint abd to some kind of wacky creation of abstract lines and weird angles. He'd even scribbled on it at some point with blue marker that you couldn't find even find now. He smiled in triumph and held it out for everyone to see. "I call this one a mutant star. See the mutagen oozing all over it?"

Donnie saw Mikey's odd creation and thought about how his brother was quite imaginative. Donnie could admire his more abstract approach to things; a quality Donnie oftentimes lacked. He was smart, but he had his pitfalls. "Let me try that," he said finally. He motioned for Mikey to hand him his piece.

"I know how to do it," Raph snickered as he crumbled up his half-finished star, throwing it at Donnie's head. It hit him square in the face. Donnie squeezed the paper in his hand hard, irked, and was about to fireball it back at his brother when something flew from the dojo and hit Raph right in the temple.

There Splinter was at the entrance of the dojo, holding a paper shuriken in his hand. He chuckled under his breath and slunk back into the room.

"As I was saying," Donnie cleared his throat, "I'm gonna try to make this...mutant star."

Mikey leaned in real close to Donnie's side, "You can try, but it'll never be the same..."

Brandishing both a bored look and his staff, he pushed Mikey away with it and went back to trying his hand at the new technique.

The entire project derailed from where it had started. But delightfully so—the night went on and eventually, it was time to wrap it up.

The boys were still expected to do their nightly patrol, so it was time for you to go, yourself. You didn't live too far, but you were family, now, and they weren't going to let you wander home in the dark alone. As you gathered up your stuff, Leo approached you with that gentle smile.

"Thanks for the night, y/n," he said, glancing back at the rest of his brothers as they dispersed within the lair to go do their own things until it was time for patrol. "We...haven't really done anything like this before."

You pulled your bag over your shoulder. "I had a lot of fun," you replied warmly, noting the appreciation in Leo's voice. "See you later?" You slipped your shoes on.

"I'm going to escort you home this time. Just to make sure you get there alright." There was a pause, and he added with an awkward laugh, "Can't be too sure with all of these mutants roaming around these days, right?"

"Right. Thank you, Leo."

Before you left, the boys helped you assemble the small fake tree they'd found discarded outside, and when all of you were done putting in your contribution, you took a step back. It was wonderfully unique, paper stars and shuriken and amalgamate creations decorated the tree rather than tradition. The boys were going to make their first true Christmas their Christmas, and as all of you stood back and admired the work, everyone was content. Life with them was beautifully strange.

#tmnt #tmnt 2012 #tmnt 2014 #tmnt 2016 #teenage mutant ninja turtles #tmnt leo #tmnt donnie #tmnt raph #tmnt mikey #leonardo #donatello #raphael #michaelangelo #tmnt bayverse

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horansqueen · 3 years

Text

New Angel - Chapter 15

story masterlist [x]

chapter 1 ☆ chapter 2 ☆ chapter 3 ☆ chapter 4 ☆ chapter 5 ☆ chapter 6 ☆ chapter 7 ☆ chapter 8 ☆ chapter 9 ☆ chapter 10 ☆ chapter 11 ☆ chapter 12 ☆ chapter 13 ☆ chapter 14

NOTES

☆ written from Niall’s pov ☆ i don’t proofread, I never do, I hate it. ☆ AU comedy/fluff/smut/romance ☆ 2.8k ☆ i accept requests and ideas for this story, so message me in my inbox! ☆ if you want to be notified when this story is updated (or be taken off the update list) CLICK HERE

NIALL

"So, today's your day, what do we do?" Millie asked as I was driving.

Once again, I had picked her up at her job and I glanced at her, noticing her head was leaned on the bench and she was staring at me. i sent her a small smile and barely had time to see her raise her eyebrows before I put my eyes back on the road.

It was only the second day of our week and I was already feeling better. When I woke up, I felt my heart twist in my chest because of how nervous I was but I decided to focus on the things I'd do with Millie later in the day and I felt better. If I had known someone like Millie could bring me my smile back and would be so entertaining, I would have tried to get closer to her before, even if she annoyed the shit out of me.

"I don't like that look." Millie continued, making me chuckle.

"Don't worry, it's nothing extreme or bad. And after that, we can go out for ice cream, what do you say?"

She remained silent for a while and I finally parked the car and undid my belt.

"Mm, I'm getting out of my routine for you, Horan." she pointed out, her eyebrows raised again but this time, in a suspicious way. "So it better not be golf or any other sport."

"Don't worry, I'm not gonna ask you to work out or run." I reassured her, my lips curling in an amused smile. "Although I admit I'm quite curious of how good you are at golf."

"I suck. Just like all the other sports."

I chuckled and she followed me upstairs. I told her to wait for me in the living room and disappeared in the hall to reach my bedroom. When I came back, her lips parted slightly and she let out a low chuckle.

"You don't really expect me to play guitar, do you?"

"My student of today canceled. I thought it could be a nice thing to do together." I replied, shrugging a shoulder. "I can show you a few things, I'm not bad of a teacher you know?"

She stared at me for a few seconds and finally moved her head and rolled her eyes, a smile spreading on her lips. "Alright, but don't laugh at me!"

"I promise."

She ended up being actually quite good even if sometimes, she didn't hold the strings hard enough, and after about half an hour, she could play a few chords. I was quite impressed at how fast she was learning and it made me want to take her as a regular student.

"Okay, bring your fingers up." I said gently, staring at her hand. "No, here."

I moved her fingers up, letting them slide on the string, and pressed my finger against hers to help before placing her other fingers on the other strings.

"Okay, perfect."

She moved her head down sliding, staring at her fingers as she played, and my lips curled a bit on the left when she started nibbling on her bottom lip. It was cute how focused she was and it was a great quality when you wanted to learn just about anything.

"Niall, help me, I feel like it's not the sound it should do."

I blinked a few times, getting out of my thoughts to look back at her fingers again. I moved one of them lightly down and pressed on it but this time, I kept it on hers as she played. She stuck her tongue out as if it could help her concentrate and I chuckled low. She didn't notice, too focused on what she was doing, but I couldn't take my eyes off of her.

"Fuck yes, I got it!" her eyes illuminated and a smile drew itself on her lips as I blinked a few times.

"Okay do it again." I proposed, taking my hand away from hers so she could do it by herself.

She did what I asked and I smiled too when I realized she had actually succeeded it. After an hour and a half. she could play an easy song and I leaned against the couch, my eyebrows raised.

"Wow, you're good, Mill!" I exclaimed as she grinned, getting her back straight with pride.

"You're an amazing teacher, Niall!" she just replied. "How much do you charge to do this once a week?"

"For you? Nothing. It's free."

Her head tilted and her smile turned into a fond one. "Thank you."

I liked thinking that we would spend more time together, and knowing we would always have a specific day and time to meet. I knew that both our heartbreaks were going to be rough times to go through and I liked that we had each other. I knew that at the end of the week I was supposed to make a choice on who I wanted to date between Grace and Summer, but no matter who I was going to pick, there was no way I was going to stop spending time with Millie.

"So let's schedule that every tuesday evening?"

Millie smiled again and nodded firmly. "I'm always here."

---

We walked slowly while eating our ice cream and I breathed in deeply, enjoying the warm air of spring. I put my free hand in my pocket but didn't dare to break the comfortable silence between us. I just kept glancing at Millie from time to time, trying not to bump into anything. She seemed lost in her thoughts and I started wondering if she was thinking about Louis, wondering where he was, and what he was doing. The more I looked at her, the more I realized I wanted her to be happy. If I knew anyone who deserved to be, it was definitely her, and it was a shame that she was so sad and that no one could do anything about it. I felt so powerless and it made me think about my own pain. I shut my eyes for a few seconds, trying to push the sadness deeper in my stomach and took an other bite of ice cream as if it could bury it under.

"You're quiet."

I turned my head to look at my friend who was raising her eyebrows.

"You too."

"Were you thinking about Grace?" she asked in a low tone.

"Not really." I shrugged a shoulder. "Were you thinking about Louis?"

It took her a few seconds to answer but she looked away. "Maybe."

"I want to tell you that you shouldn't think about him, but I know it's not an easy thing to do."

"He's probably with his girlfriend that I don't even know the name of." she added low. Her voice was so sad that I felt my heart sink in my chest.

"Eleanor." I told her in a very low tone. "That's her name."

Millie stopped walking for half a second but then just continued. It made me swallow hard, wondering if maybe I should have kept this information for myself. It's not like she was never going to find out anyway and with the sparkles I had seen in Louis' eyes when he was talking to me about her, I knew she was going to stay for a long time.

Millie pressed her lips together for a few seconds and finally sighed, licking her lips nervously.

"I told you she had a royal name."

It was not the thing I thought she'd say and I chuckled low, remembering that she had actually mentioned that before and that it turned out to be true.

"How long does it take to get over someone?"

This time, my friend stopped walking and turned her head my way. I stopped too and turned around to face her and when she took a step closer, my lips parted slightly.

"It depends."

"It's not the first time I have my heart broken, but damn, this time hurts like hell." I explained, shaking my head. "I know she came back and said she wanted be with me again and that she regretted leaving me, but I can't trust her. She ruined everything between us and honestly, Millie, I am so mad at her. I think I'm even angrier now that she's back, because she literally broke my heart only to come back, as if that's what it took to make her realize that she loved me. As if she couldn't see what she was losing before she pushed me away."

Millie stayed there motionless, just listening to me ranting about my ex girlfriend. I sighed and turned around quickly, throwing what was left of my ice cream in the nearest trash can, and my friend followed me, doing the same. I was about to leave again when she grabbed my wrist and I quickly held my breath.

"She couldn't see it. Clearly. She made a mistake, that's for sure." Millie pointed out with a nod. "It doesn't mean she doesn't love you."

"But that means she could leave again at any time. That means I will always be scared that she'll just break my heart again." I argued. "I'm not sure it's worth it."

"You should write that on the list."

I raised my eyebrows and quickly nodded. We found a bench and sad down together. Millie took a pen out of her purse and handed it to me as I slipped the paper out of my back pocket. I stared at it for a while, re-reading what I wrote about the two girls I was supposed to choose from, but I was not sure how to words things.

'I can't trust her' is the first thing I quickly scribbled before sighing and adding 'she broke my heart' right under it. I was about to fold the paper again but Millie gently placed her hand on it, making me look up in her eyes. She moved a bit closer, so close I could see the golden lines that looked like lightning bolts around her pupils.

"I think you need to also write something in the 'pros', don't you think?" she whispered.

I stared at her a few more seconds and finally wrote the first good thing under Grace's name. I could feel my hand shake very lightly as I moved my pen on the paper and when I was done, I thought I'd feel lighter but I actually felt even worse.

'I love her'

----

"I'm fucking starving." I pointed out when we pushed on the door of a small restaurant.

Millie laughed and raised her eyebrows at me, following me as I walked up to the counter. "When are you not?"

"Hey, it's not like I eat all the time or anything!"

"You could have cooked for us tonight!" she argued, ignoring my comment. "You're amazing at cooking but you're bringing me here! Or maybe you only cook for the pretty girls you want to date, is that it?"

Her lips curled into an amused smile and I knew she was joking but there was no way I was going to let her believe that I wouldn't cook for her, I raised my eyebrows too and moved my chin down, staring at her.

"I'll cook for you tomorrow, It's a promise."

It seemed to satisfy her and she sent me a big smile before nodding. The waitress brought us to a table and I suddenly lost my smile. On the table next to ours was sitting a pretty brunette and I swallowed hard when her brown eyes met mine. She seemed surprised too and I couldn't stop looking at her as she got up and sent me a small smile.

"Hey, Niall." she murmured softly, bringing her shoulders up and closer to her cheeks. "I didn't know you came here sometimes... I... I'm happy to see you."

"Grace, hi."

It took me a few seconds to glance quickly at who was eating with her and I noticed her best friend Rose, sitting awkwardly in front of her. I felt my whole body relax suddenly and at the same time, my heart jumped in my chest. If she had been on a date with an other guy, it would have been easier. I could have put a cross on her and not be so torn about how I felt. I wouldn't have to ask myself if I wanted to try with her again, and if it was worth risking having my heart broken a second time by the same girl. If she had been with an other man, I could have just turned around and left after telling her to 'fuck off'. But she was here with a friend and I knew it was totally platonic between them.

I got out of my thoughts when she moved closer to kiss my cheek and without thinking, I moved my upper body back. She looked hurt but she just sent me a sad smile.

"How are you?" she asked before turning around to look at my best friend. "Hey Millie."

"I'm... I'm alright."

A silence came between us but this time, it was uncomfortable. I could feel my heart thump hard against my rib cage and I swallowed hard, wondering what else I should do or say but before I could think of anything, Millie moved closer to me and smiled.

"Actually, we were not going to eat here, we wanted to take out."

"Oh." Grace glanced at her friend and finally shrugged, putting her gaze on me again. "Okay well, call me?"

"Will do."

"It was nice seeing you again, Grace!" Millie replied, grabbing my arm and bringing me back to the counter.

We remained silent until the waitress came back and my friend told her we were going to get take out instead as I remained silent. She ordered for both of us and the whole time, I stared at a spot on the counter to make sure I wouldn't just look at my ex girlfriend again.

I let out a loud sigh when we walked out and breathed in as if it was the first time I could do it in a few hours. Millie wrapped her arms around one of mine and leaned her chin on it to look up at me.

"Are you okay?"

"No. Yes. I don't know." I let out, completely confused. "I just want to go home."

Millie nodded very slowly, her chin rubbing gently on the sleeve of my shirt, and she squeezed my arm tight before letting go. I was not sure how I was feeling. I still loved Grace, there was no doubt about it, and seeing her again did something in my stomach, but I also knew that the love I had for her was different now. It was not intense and obsessed like it used to be. It was a sad and resigned love and I was not sure I liked it. I was starting to think that maybe, letting go of Grace and the feelings I had for her was the best thing to do to spare my heart. Maybe it was only because I had just seen her but I felt like going back with her would be a mistake and I was not sure I wanted to make it. I wanted to say that I had given this relationship as many chances as possible but I couldn't act like everything could be forgiven and forgotten because it definitely couldn't.

I would still play the game with the lists for the rest of the week but the more I thought about it, the less sure I was that I would be ready to pick a girl at the end of the week.

I noticed Millie glancing at me from time to time and it made me feel better. It was great to have someone close to me that actually cared. I had friends and family, of course, but with Millie, it was different. I could read her and I knew she could read me. We were going through the same thing and only her really knew how I was feeling at that moment.

"Can we just go back to that amazing friendship week together?" I asked, raising my nose up as we got closer to our apartment.

"Of course, why do you think I said we'd just bring the food home instead of staying there?"

I turned to her, my lips curling on the left. "Thanks for that."

"Hey, it's cool, I'm always here for you."

#niall horan #niall horan smut #niall horan fluff #niall horan fanfic #niall horan fan fic #niall horan fanfiction #niall horan fan fiction #niall horan story #niall horan love story #niall horan au #niall horan writing #my fanfics #newangel

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hydra-collector · 4 years

Text

i keep you safe from harm, you hold me in your arms

AO3

Ship: Intrulogical

Characters: Logan Sanders, Remus Sanders, Janus Sanders, Patton Sanders, Virgil Sanders (minor), Roman Sanders (minor)

TW: suicide attempts, food, self-deprecation/self-hate, kissing, blood/gore

Words: 4,617

Summary: Remus becomes Logan’s protector, the only one who knows the extent of his poor mental health. Logan tries his best.

Remus hadn’t seen Logan all day.

It wasn’t like they were best friends or anything, but the creative side would often pass him in the halls, maybe spit out a gross fact or two, and occasionally get something of a smile from him. But Logan hadn’t come to breakfast, lunch, dinner, or even come out of his room.

He’d asked the others, even though they were wary why he wanted to know where Logan was. He was just… concerned. And it wasn’t like he was running around the imagination like a desperate, crazed lunatic.

He was just worried.

Remus had been wandering around the mindscape for a while. Most of the other sides had gone to sleep at this point, but he wasn’t one for a healthy or regular sleep schedule.

Footsteps.

In all likelihood, it was Virgil. But he’d lived with the anxious side for a long time, and his steps were lighter and faster than this. He followed them.

He vaguely wondered which side would be up at this time. Janus and Logan were all advocates of self care, Patton had been on a 9PM bedtime since he was ten, and Roman always lamented about his beauty sleep whenever Remus came in to bother him. Even Virgil usually wouldn’t get up until 3 or so, and it was only half past midnight now.

Was that… crying?

It was coming from the direction of the bathroom. He sped up, curious as to who it was and what was going on. Light spilled out from the door, slightly cracked open. The sobs continued, and he ruled out Janus from the sound. Janus cried near-silently, if he even did.

He peered through the crack, trying to make himself as invisible as possible. Whoever it was, they weren’t in view of his position. Nothing but-

Their hand.

He noticed the watch around the side’s wrist. It was Logan. And he was reaching for…

The bleach?

He paused for a moment, trying to decide why someone sitting on the floor of the bathroom needed bleach. He cracked the door open a little wider, adjusting himself so Logan’s leg came into view. He heard scribbling, perhaps on the floor, and then whatever writing utensil used being thrown to the side, the piece of paper floating to the middle of the floor, in Remus’s line of sight.

He didn’t like the look of this.

The sobs continued, feeling their full release now, and the bottle cap came off. Remus nearly panicked; if he didn’t go inside to see what Logan was doing, he might regret it.

He threw the door open, finding Logan leaning against the bathtub, tears streaming down his face, blood streaming down his arms. He’d slashed his wrists, and seemed to be using the last of his energy to bring the bleach to his lips.

No. No, no, no, God, please no-

Remus clumsily wrestled the bleach from his grasp, which wasn’t exactly very hard to do, and shove it to the side. A bit spilled out, mixing with the blood pooling on the floor. He ravaged the cabinet, looking for something, anything, to stop the bleeding. He tossed the things he knew he’d need on the floor and settled for a towel to stop the immediate flow.

He returned in front of Logan, trying to be as gentle as the panicked embodiment of intrusive thoughts could be as he tightened the thick towel around Logan’s arms. The logical side made no move to resist, probably exhausted, hungry, and dizzy.

“Why…” Logan’s word trailed off as the blood soaked into the towels and both he and Remus’s clothes. The metallic smell was overwhelming as it fused with the scent of bleach.

“Why are you doing this?”

“Because I don’t want you to die, idiot.”

Remus let Logan’s arms rest on his lap, making sure he wasn’t going to try anything or disrupt the arrangement. He shifted away from him to close the bleach and wash it off before replacing it in the cabinet. He looked around for the knife, finding its shiny blade in the tub, where there was more blood dripping from the sides. He snapped it from existence.

He picked up the note, sitting down cross-legged in front of Logan. The handwriting was fairly low-quality, and there were a few drops of blood and tears sullying it.

Dear Patton, Roman, Virgil, Janus, and Remus,

I’m sorry I wasn’t good enough.

Logan

It was short. And it hurt.

Remus pulled the towels off of Logan’s arms, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes as well. He wet a washcloth, gently dabbing at Logan’s wounds. Remus could handle anything, but the dark red lines almost made him feel sick. He did his best to avoid the tensing and cringing that would inevitably happen as he patched up Logan’s wounds.

“You’re good enough,” he said suddenly, breaking the silence. He waited for a response, wondering if he was going to get one.

Logan hesitated, staring at the bandages numbly.

“...Just don’t tell them. Please.”

He wasn’t ready to confront that, was he?

“I won’t.”

He finished, Logan waiting by the door as he mopped up the blood. While he would’ve been glad to let it sit there and terrify the others, that was suspicious, and if he didn’t, Logan would’ve tried to.

Remus whisked away the mop, joining Logan by the door. He wrapped his arms around Logan, the fresh smell of his shirt contrasting with the metallic scent filling the room. Logan took a step back, surprised, but Remus pulled him tighter so he wouldn’t stumble.

“Don’t do that again, okay?”

Logan didn’t answer for a moment, sinking into the hug.

“I… I’ll try.”

Virgil grabbed him by the arm, pulling him through the halls to the bathroom where the other sides were flocked. It was the designated hair-dying day, and everyone had agreed. Except for Logan.

Virgil (and the other sides) knew how adverse he was to it, how desperate he was to be taken seriously. Yet they ignored him when he told them.

Remus was the one with the hoard of dye colors, tossing the ones he didn’t want aside for the rest of the sides to search through. Patton already had his color, a blue that was a little more saturated than Logan would’ve thought. Roman chose a deep, dark red within the next few moments, to no one’s surprise, and Virgil started chatting, trying to figure out if he should use the same color as last time or a new one.

The indigo blue, he had to admit, did look appealing. It was a rich color, and would fit nicely with his tie.

But…

He had other issues to worry about.

The other sides already didn’t take him seriously enough, and if he dyed his hair by choice it would push them over the edge. He’d be treated like an idiot, like he wasn’t worth even pretending to listen to.

Remus was deciding between a dark forest green and a bright lime green, while Virgil had settled on his old color, and Janus was staring intently at a yellow.

“I might skip the coloring,” Janus began, “and just bleach it.”

Bleach.

Bleach, bleach, bleach, bleach, bleach.

“Sounds good.” Virgil situated the supplies, lining up their chosen colors. “Who wants to go first?”

Patton volunteered, and Virgil began preparing the powder. The smell grew, reaching Logan.

A wave of lightheadedness washed over him, and he felt as if he was choking. It took all of his strength not to stumble back or run out of the room in a panic. This was stupid, stupid, stupid, he shouldn’t feel this way. Panic was Virgil’s irrational torture that Logan would calm him down for, not a stupid memory of stupid things, stupid decisions, stupid thoughts, stupid Logan, stupid, stupid, stupid-

“Hey, do you think I could get Logan to test this out on my clothes? I wanna see how it’ll stain if I use a lot of colors.” Remus wore a wide grin, grabbing Logan’s hand and dragging him out of the room. The other sides watched quizzically as they left, but Virgil would trust Remus enough to come back.

Once they were in the hall, away from the ears of the others, Remus set his hands on Logan’s shoulders.

“Hey, hey, Logan, it’s okay, look at me.”

Logan did as he asked, focusing on the eyes staring back at him. He knew, he should know how to calm down from this. Even if he wasn’t dying his hair, they might pressure him into it. They might force him, and then what would he do, as it was unavoidable. Would he panic then? Would he show that, that he was weak-

“Logan!”

He snapped back to attention, Remus’s hand running through his hair.

“You don’t have to go back. You’re not gonna die, and it’s not gonna hurt you. You’re here now.”

Logan took deep breaths, at least remembering that. Remus’s firm hold on his shoulders was comforting. He placed his own hands on Remus’s, pulling them down so he could get a proper hug instead.

“I’m sorry, Remus.”

Remus shook his head into Logan’s shoulder, tightening his hug. “Don’t be. Don’t ever be sorry for feeling bad.”

Logan nodded, clutching Remus like a lifeline.

“Do you wanna hang out in your room while we do our hair?”

“That sounds… good.”

Patton cut up the pieces of beef into little squares, tossing them in the pot. Remus was messing around with the spices, offering his combinations up to Patton. Logan leaned against the counter, not having much to do but watch them argue playfully.

The smells from the pot were intoxicating. It wasn’t Patton’s cooking, or anyone but Janus’s cooking, that could make the aromas drift around the room, but rather the three of them sticking strictly to the recipe. They’d even been banned from adding their own bits of spices. Patton had attempted that once, and they never again spoke of it (although Remus had tried adding a few… unconventional ingredients once in a while.)

Patton took the potatoes out from their basket, handing them to Logan.

“Do you think you could do these?”

He nodded, rinsing them off under the tap. He searched around in a few drawers for the peeler, shaving off the skin. It was an easy job, he was just glad to have something to do. Once he’d finished, Remus grabbed two from the cutting board to start… juggling.

“Remus!”

Patton and Logan both sighed as Logan moved to wrestle the potatoes as Remus dodged away from him, nearly dropping them in the process. Patton crept up behind him so he was sandwiched between them. It wasn’t hard for Logan to reach up and catch one at its peak, and for Patton to get the other one in his surprise.

“Hey!”

Remus reached for another potato, but was held back by Patton. Logan and Patton chuckled as Remus pouted, giving up on his struggle.

“You never let me have any fun.”

Patton let go. “The food’s gonna burn. And you remember how that went last time.”

“Plus,” Logan resumed his spot, rinsing the potatoes that Remus had manhandled under cold water, “you have an entire Imagination to run around, you don’t need to juggle the potatoes.”

Patton returned to his job, allowing Remus to bounce around the room at his leisure.

“Oh, could you cut those?”

Patton gestured to the potatoes, handing Logan a knife. Sharp and shiny.

He forced himself to take it, the object seeming heavier and scarier than it should. He gripped it tightly, trying to steady himself and his breathing. But the feeling was far too familiar as he cut.

He didn’t trust himself.

He jumped when he felt a hand on his back, then sinking into it. It was Remus. The knife was taken from him quickly, and he was pushed out of the way as Remus took his place. He sighed in relief, allowing Remus to hug him tight from the side.

He tapped out a breathing pattern on his leg, trying to divert his attention from knives and blades.

Thank god Remus was there, with his warm, comforting touch.

“Logan?”

A weight settled beside him on the bed, and he looked up from his computer. Remus was kneeling there, sneaking his hand towards Logan’s. Its heat settled there, bringing a heat up to his cheeks.

“What do you need?”

Remus looked… sad. Worry was more accurate, as he leaned back on his feet.

“Are you gonna do something about…”

He paused, looking down. “About how you feel. You need to deal with that.”

Oh. That.

He’d been hoping he could ignore it for as long as he possibly could, but it had been him that had lectured Thomas on repression.

He just wished it could be over.

“I know, Remus.”

The creative side leaned towards him, offering a hand. Logan shifted a little closer, allowing Remus to hold his hand in a tight squeeze.

“I mean, there’s… there’s only so much I can do for you. I would be happy to help you get better and recover and stuff, but… I don’t know how. Janus and Patton- or Thomas, even, they could help you much better than I could. I don’t want you to-”

“I’m not gonna kill myself.”

Logan’s voice was unintentionally cold as he dug his nails into the palm of his free hand. He wasn’t sure if he believed what he’d just said. But he had to, and he was going to make Remus believe it too.

“Lo, that’s not the only problem. I don’t want you to want to kill yourself. Well, I don’t want you to feel any kind of bad ever, but that’s kind of unavoidable.”

“I can figure this out on my own, Remus. I don’t need the assholes that haven’t given a shit about my mental health for years to help me.”

“Logan, there’s no way you can do this all yourself-”

Logan ripped his hand from Remus’s grasp, pulling it to his stomach defensively. “Do you really think they’re going to help?!?!? They’ll act like they care, but the moment I do a single thing wrong, they’ll turn their backs on me. They aren’t gonna care if I’m fucking depressed. They never have! I’ll be defective, useless, worthless to them. They’re gonna ignore me and ignore me like they always have, they’re just gonna pretend I’m okay so they don’t have to deal with me. I can’t- I can’t live through that.”

“Logan, please, they won’t do that. I’ll tell them what they’ve done-”

“No offense, but do you really think your opinion is going to matter to anyone but me?”

Remus didn’t have a reply. Logan knew exactly what he’d just said, and the creative side knew that he regretted it. But it was true. No one listened to him but Logan, and sometimes Janus. He was known for being stupid and saying dumb things. There was only so much of a difference his input could make.

“Fine. You can try and completely fix your mental health all on your own, but I can tell you it’s not gonna work. Talk to me once you’ve learned how to ask for help.”

Logan sighed as Remus left, disappointed in himself. He’d given up the only person who seemed to care about him just because he was too stubborn to improve his mental health. But still, he feared how the other sides would respond. And if they tried to help and failed, he would fall further than he ever could in his current state.

He laid down, staring up at the ceiling. Wishing for death.

“I took this form to be less intrusive.”

The video sped through in a blur. He was unable to process much after his immediate rejection, thankful for his pixelated form where the tears couldn’t fall. He’d hoped… they would be kinder. But all he got was reassurance that they were tired of him and his facts.

He wanted to be better.

But no, he was as intrusive as Remus. And not in Remus’s endearing persistence, or sudden exclamations, or when he was just trying to do his job. Logic should be good enough, good enough at the very least to offer useful input.

He wished Remus was here.

He wished Remus was giving his hand a tight squeeze, offering reassurance and checking up to make sure their words weren’t causing him to panic. He wished he was there, trying to defend him with all his might even though he knew his voice wasn’t loud enough in the group.

He forced himself through it, through their ignorance and his misery. It wasn’t working, he could tell. They weren’t listening.

He wanted to die.

They could have passed it off as jokes or mistakes before, but now… it was like they weren’t even trying. They weren’t trying to keep up their streak of good and kind. He didn’t matter here. Logic didn’t matter when talking about feelings, he was just getting in the way. He deserved it. He wasn’t helping.

The shiny yellow and black ‘SKIP ALL’ button increased his pulse, breathing, immediately turning him lightheaded.

Please don’t silence me.

Logan barely had time to think before cold wood hooked around his neck, pulling hard, choking him. He fell on carpet, hitting his head, though luckily not that hard. The cane around his neck was thankfully released, and he pushed himself up in an approximation of a sitting position.

Janus stood in front of him, holding the cane.

“Why…” he touched the tender area on his neck, “the hell would you do that?”

“You rest here, I’m gonna go-”

“You asshole !”

Logan pushed himself up, presence big despite being shorter than Janus.

“Do you know how long I’ve been trying to get their attention?!? Do you even care ?!? I’m just trying to help them, but they think I’m useless!”

He was half screaming, half crying. He was so tired and so done with everything they’d done. Kicking him out of the courtroom, forcing Thomas to suffer just because they didn’t want to listen to his facts, making him feel worthless-

You deserve those.

“Logan, I just want to help you. It’s not going to make you feel better staying there. You have to know that.”

“What? Because I’m stupid?”

“Yes, that’s exactly what I meant. I can get through to them, I’ll convince him to take care of himself, I promise.”

“So you agree with them. You know my opinion doesn’t matter to them. And you’re gonna go, and they’re going to listen to you. Because they’re tired of me.”

Janus sighed. “It’s not your fault.”

There was a pause. Logan looked to the side, sighing as well. “You’re impersonating me?”

Janus nodded.

Logan sighed. “I don’t know how much good it’ll do, just… try to make sure Patton doesn’t mess up any more than he already has.”

There was far more that he wanted to say. He wanted to beg Janus to stay with him, to repeat the advice that he knew he needed to use, but Thomas needed it more than him. He was fairly sure it wasn’t going to work. If they hadn’t listened to Logan, they likely wouldn’t listen to Janus disguised as Logan. But it was worth a try. Maybe he had helped, at least a little.

Janus left as he rubbed the bruise on his neck. He should get ice for it.

“Logan?”

He turned to see Remus poking out from the hallway, taking a tentative step.

“Are you okay?”

Logan hesitated, unsure if he should tell the truth. He so desperately wanted Remus’s comfort, but the creative side would push for him to ask for help, and he’d feel Remus’s disappointment harder than hugs could help.

“I… I need to be alone.”

Well that surely wasn’t how he should’ve handled it.

He left, knowing Remus would be suspicious of his mental state, yet without the comfort he so desperately craved. It took all of his willpower not to start sobbing as he left, at least to make it to his room.

The sight he saw when he rose up made his heart plummet into his stomach.

Janus had done it.

He’d made them listen, done exactly what Logan had been trying to do the entire time.

But Janus was better.

Logan was useless, inconsequential, and stupid. He’d tried so long to be listened to, to be helpful, but maybe… it was just him that was the problem. He didn’t deserve the other sides’ attention, especially if he couldn’t get it.

He felt tears prick at his eyes, holding back the sobs from his throat. He gave them something, hoping they would listen to a single fact, even if they’d kept telling him that his input was useless. Maybe slip in something else, desperate for their concern, despite knowing he wouldn’t take it.

Patton tried to interrupt him, trying to ask if he was okay.

It was what he wanted, wasn’t it? But that sweet voice, full of worry, couldn’t mean anything right now. It didn’t matter when he couldn’t help but blame them, when he desperately wanted to silence them, force them to listen. If Patton was only able to start caring now, he didn’t want it.

He sunk out, as much as he could do from his text box, into his room. He sighed, sitting down, wanting to do nothing more than sleep. Tears began rolling down his face, a few sobs escaping his throat. He rubbed his neck, painfully reminded of the bruise.

An idea.

This desolate, miserable feeling could be easily cured, couldn’t it? They’d made it obvious that they didn’t want him around, so...

Why should he stay?

He had promised Remus that he wouldn’t try again before asking for help. But today had only cemented the knowledge that they didn’t give a shit about him, so why the hell would they try to help?

It wouldn’t matter if he was gone.

Logan stood up to exit into the hallway. He needed to say goodbye to Remus. The walls felt cold and uninviting as he wandered through them, searching for Remus’s familiar voice.

He eventually found the creative side huddled under some blankets in his room, playing around with some sort of floating orb.

“Logan!” He lit up when he saw the logical side, jumping out of his bed to run up and hug him. “Are you... feeling better?”

Logan paused. “...A little.”

He held back the sob forming in his throat, burying his head in Remus’s neck, threading his fingers through Remus’s hair.

“You know I love you, right?”

Logan was sure his voice was noticeably wobbly. He held on as tightly as his arms would allow. This would be his last chance to do so.

“I love you too, Lo.”

Logan released his grip, turning to nearly run from Remus’s room. He wiped at the tears frantically, heading back towards his own room. He conjured rope on the way, testing its strength with his hands.

With a flick of his hand, he attached the rope to the ceiling, desperate to get this done fast. He was fully crying now; tears streamed down his face much faster than he could push them away. But he didn’t care at his point, tying the rope around his neck as he stood on his desk chair.

The abrasive surface tugged and prodded at the bruises as he moved.

He took a deep breath. He wouldn’t admit it, but he was terrified. He didn’t want to... die. He just wanted an exit.

He kicked the chair out from under him before he could think too much about it, the rope constricting around his neck. His tears dripped to the floor from his tightly shut eyes, but no more sounds came out. His hands weakly scratched at the rope, instincts desperately trying to keep him alive.

Before long, however, he felt warmth scratch around his neck and the rope. Something pushed him upwards, releasing a little bit of the tension on his neck. Something cold and sharp, and-

He was free.

He fell forwards into a pair of arms, head resting on a shoulder. He recognized the fabric as Remus’s elaborate costume. He stood there, nearly limp, before pulling his hands up to wrap around Remus. He tightened his arms, shoving his head into the fabric, sobs scratching at his throat. He didn’t dare say a thing, letting Remus rub soothing circles into his back, muttering reassurance that he desperately needed to hear.

Logan felt a weight settle beside him on his bed. Remus had been with him all morning, promising him anything he needed. Logan had insisted he was fine being alone, but he wanted Remus there as Remus insisted on staying.

He felt fingers card through his hair, thankful for the affection.

“Are you feeling better? Don’t lie this time.”

Logan rolled over to face Remus, the creative side’s hand coming down to rest on his cheek instead. A small smile adorned Logan’s face.

“Yeah. Well, despite the fact that I never want to see Patton, Roman, or Janus’s face ever again.”

Remus laughed quietly, shifting so he could rest on his elbow. Logan closed his eyes as Remus continued to let his fingers wander absently around Logan’s face and hair.

“I’m sorry, Remus. I told you I wouldn’t try again. I should’ve talked to you, or talked to them, but instead I just... gave up.”

Remus put his arm around Logan’s waist, lying down properly so he was face-to-face with Logan.

“I’m just glad you’re here. You don’t have to apologize for anything.”

Logan said nothing, sinking into Remus’s blessed touch as his right hand replaced the left in his hair. It felt nice, very nice, to have a quiet moment like this, intimate and calm. Eventually the others would force him out, but he was going to do everything he could to grab moments like these. This was worth living for.

Remus was worth living for.

He felt Remus’s lips touch his forehead, his heart skipping a beat. Remus lingered, thumb paused on Logan’s cheek. He let himself fall away, pressing their foreheads together as his thumb sneaked down towards Logan’s lips.

Logan didn’t dare open his eyes, scared that he might ruin the moment with how he could guess Remus looked right now. He nodded, hoping that was enough confirmation for a kiss.

Remus kept it sweet and soft, lips just barely brushing past as he cupped Logan’s face with his full hand. Logan’s heart was beating quickly, focused in on the feeling.

Remus only lasted a moment after pulling back before bringing both hands to his cheeks, pressing back for a deeper kiss. Logan felt his mustache tickle on his upper lip, savoring the feeling before this would inevitably end.

It had been completely wordless, but words surely would have ruined it. Remus nuzzled into his neck, cuddling closer and bringing one arm around Logan. The other still lingered in his hair, warmth spreading across Logan’s cheeks. He knew Remus could feel his heartbeat, and if he were to open his eyes, see the bruises on his neck.

He let himself relax. Now wasn’t the time to be worried about yesterday. Now... he was with Remus. Not anybody that would ignore him, not with anybody that would pretend to care, not in any situation that made him want to kill himself, but with Remus. With Remus, he wasn’t scared of himself. With Remus, he was protected.

With Remus, he was safe.

146 notes · View notes

indiavolojones · 4 years

Text

Diavolo eats a pomegranate while Lucifer works. Lucifer doesn’t realize that the plate of pomegranate seeds that’s just been steadily growing is, in fact, for him.

alternate summary: serving/sharing fruit with another is one of the most tender shows of love in the world and i am a soft, gentle soul that just wants canon-compliant-ish domesticity somewhere in the 1800s?? idk, they’ve known each other a damn long time. u_u

2.2kish words, G, dia/luci, #no warnings apply except for like, idk, a sizzle of diavolo thirst on lu’s part. we can angst later, y’all

Special thanks 2 @canonlucidia for being 1) my rock and 2) my resident lucifer expert that wrote the report line and lastly 3) just being so, so good with lore and patient with me when cv brain go wuh???

A memory, a snapshot in their thousands of years spent at each other’s sides, the scene burned into his mind.

Not all their moments are stretched to the extremes, interactions eternally caught in fire and brimstone. Some of them rest here, in a gentle domesticity that Lucifer is hesitant – and rightly so – to acknowledge.

Here, with the two of them alone in Lucifer’s office, is a tentative, trembling contentment that Lucifer has yet to fully take apart in his mind.

Lucifer sits at the desk with almost painfully perfect posture, as lamented by Diavolo, several sheets of parchment paper drying in front of him. A small white plate with intricate gold designs burned into the glaze rests nearby. Diavolo pulls out a blade from thin air, cutting it into a ripe pomegranate with the practiced efficiency of someone who grew up with the trees keeping him company.

“I will not be re-writing these reports if you make a mess,” Lucifer says apropos of anything Diavolo might do, on purpose or otherwise.

The admonishment in his voice half-hearted at best, even as he warily eyes Diavolo slicing the fruit open.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Diavolo quips, returning a cheeky grin, slouched over the empty side of Lucifer’s spacious desk as he cracks open the pomegranate into fours.

Diavolo opted for his human form today, which is a laughable concept to Lucifer in itself. Diavolo’s aura can barely be contained by him in his demon form, but to see his essence stifled into a mortal’s appearance… Diavolo’s human teeth are always a little too sharp at first glance or in one’s peripherals. His gold eyes are too molten to match any human shade.

Pair it with Diavolo’s inability to sit on anything without it becoming a throne – sprawling with languid, regal grace as natural as breathing, much to Lucifer’s annoyance – and discretion is a difficult request.

Lucifer has called him out on his slipping control of the glamours before, especially in the instances where they find themselves working in the Human Realm, the risk of detection a very real threat. Not that many princes are discrete, but Lucifer supposes that if he expected someone to spill out past the seams, it would be Diavolo, who has always been larger than life in both personality and power.

Despite a grandiose description, Diavolo’s attire does not reflect his status. His outfit is more fitting for a common human rather than the next ruler of Hell.

The other is dressed in indecently tight trousers and a loose, finely-woven off-white tunic that dips low on his sculpted chest. Cording at the hem of the shirt drapes over his exposed skin, and Lucifer offhandedly wonders why they even bother getting Diavolo fitted for garments if he’s just going to wear things too loose, too tight, or forego most clothes altogether.

In the past, Lucifer might have asked why are you here? or don’t you have your own work to do? All such inquiries have been shut down with a colorful multitude of responses, displaying the future king’s creativity.

Some honorable mentions being:

Diavolo’s wild claim that Barbatos was staging a coup, and clearly, Lucifer was the only one who can fight off someone with control over time. Lucifer had asked when Barbatos was hosting the next recruitment session, which led to a troublesome, if not amusing, outburst from Diavolo.

A somehow unionized group of suitors threatened to storm down the palace gates for his hand in marriage. Diavolo was merely hiding in the safest place, for once they believed he was not home, they would give up and leave!

"A curse, Lucifer. It was a curse!" If more than two pairs of eyes were to witness Diavolo, he would surely burst into flames. That's why he tried to hide behind the door when Barbatos came to collect him!

Nowadays, when Lucifer can’t kick Diavolo out of his study/Barbatos is off running the household and can’t drag him away, he allows himself to lean into giving Diavolo a hard time – nothing unbecoming of their stations, nothing disrespectful – but enough to give Lucifer quiet vindication.

It serves him right, for all the grievances he causes Lucifer on a daily basis.

(Levi calls it teasing, but Levi has not left his quarters since the last major war killed one of his favorite authors before a series was finished, so what does Levi know of social interaction?)

“If you’re in need of something to do, Barbatos and I found a few errors in your last few missives…” Lucifer begins.

Diavolo, surprisingly, doesn’t jump to the bait.

There are no witty remarks that come from the future king’s lips, only the lazy upward curl of a smile and a contented hum in return.

Unused to the lack of a response from the other, Lucifer glances down at the small plate, Diavolo's cultivated pile of seeds gathered in the shallow puddle of juice.

Another pomegranate seed plinks onto the plate, and Lucifer watches through his peripherals as it topples the delicate balance of the seeds already there.

He narrows his eyes at it briefly, as if it holds the answers to his obvious questions, but says nothing. Diavolo works at a steady pace, humming quietly under his breath as his nimble fingers pluck seeds from the fruit.

For a while, they go on like that.

Diavolo alternates between quietly munching on seeds and adding to his growing plate. Lucifer scribbles away at the parchment, his clean script much more legible than Diavolo’s own.

Diavolo deserves an award, Lucifer thinks, for the longest amount of time spent not getting into trouble in Lucifer’s recent memory. Perhaps he should be more suspicious of the other’s uncharacteristically quiet nature, but Diavolo looks at ease with his menial task.

Diavolo’s tune continues, a soothing, low cadence to his voice offsetting the relative quiet of Lucifer’s quill scratching at the parchment. It’s a waltz, syrupy sweet and with a dreamlike quality as Diavolo’s humming carries the notes into creation.

It casts a spell with charisma alone, and Lucifer doesn’t notice when his hand stills, quill hovering over the page as he tries to recognize the tune. A smile twists the prince’s lips, his lips stained darker with the sweet purple nectar.

Diavolo doesn’t hesitate in his motions, only glancing up at Lucifer through his lashes. Lucifer’s breath involuntarily catches in his throat.

Lucifer does not think about how Diavolo’s fingertips are stained as well, stained deeper than the curve of his lush lower lip. Does not think about the juice dripping down his tanned skin, drying sticky on his wrists. It is in the middle of these not-thoughts, their gazes catching in passing, that Diavolo speaks.

“20%.”

“What?” Lucifer startles, despite himself, brows cinching with narrowed eyes. Diavolo reaches down with one long, purple-dyed finger to point at the line where Lucifer’s quill has stopped. The smile only grows, Diavolo tilting his head to the side as he reads the line off of Lucifer’s report.

“‘The sixth circle has under reported their amaranth yield again this quarter, their numbers being off by roughly,” He pauses for dramatic effect, which Lucifer finds wholly unnecessary considering this is a report, not a performance, ”20%.’”

Diavolo purses his lips, before it turns into a huffed laugh, “It’s probably because they pay tithe to Beelzebub. You should talk to him about that.”

His eyes and hands go back to the fruit in front of him. Lucifer does not admit that the next part of his report was about to mention that it is likely due to his hungriest brother.

Saved from having to formulate a response, there’s a knock at the door, and Barbatos’ muffled voice on the other side calls, “Lucifer? Have you seen Prince Diavolo?”

Diavolo’s posture immediately jerks up, and then his shoulders curl in on himself, like a child that knows he’s been caught. Barbatos is, most definitely, here for Diavolo.

Lucifer is absolutely not relieved at the distraction. He levels Diavolo with a singular stare that somehow says I’m not covering for you, and nearly rolls his eyes when Diavolo returns a pained look that begs please?

A strange, out of place idea has Lucifer wanting to concede to Diavolo’s whims, to pretend that no one is there. Ridiculous. As they sit in the silence, there’s a moment where Diavolo’s eyes light up, as if thinking that Lucifer might actually help him out –

“He’s in here,” Lucifer says, because of course he is. All three of them know there’s no way that he wouldn’t be, and Diavolo deflates.

It’s clear from the slight, upwards quirk of Barbatos’ lips that he knows Lucifer’s hesitation. Lucifer bristles at the thought, at Barbatos’ ability to always see more than is shown.

Barbatos does not startle easily – in fact, Lucifer believes he can recall maybe a handful of times that the other has reacted with little more than resigned acceptance or rueful amusement.

It wounds his pride, in a sense, to have Barbatos walk in on a scene like this (like what? Diavolo slowly working at Lucifer’s carefully constructed walls, trying to carve a contented little spot in Lucifer’s life? Yes. Lucifer is aware.) and have his reaction be anything less than shocked. Appalled?

Perhaps aghast, that Lucifer too has fallen to the whims of his lord.

Unless Barbatos thought that Lucifer would cave from the beginning, Lucifer realizes, and it sours his expression in the slightest.

“Barbatos!” Diavolo grins, still slouched over the edge of the desk like it pains him to have good posture.

“I have been looking for you, my lord,” Barbatos says, his voice as even and polite as ever.

“I’ve been taking a break!”

“It’s been four hours since you said you would be right back, sir. I thought I would help you find your way, since you seem to be having some trouble.”

Diavolo, a devil of almost immeasurable power and status, has the gall to look sheepish in front of his butler and aide. He glances big, pleading eyes at Lucifer as if asking for help again, and Lucifer cocks one brow, saying nothing.

A beat of silence passes, before Diavolo suddenly exhales loudly, tossing his hands (one of which is holding a knife, and the other a pomegranate, and juice splashes on the desk alarmingly close to his nearly-finished report) into the air.

“Okay, okay! I’m coming,” Diavolo concedes, still brimming with amusement as he easily disposes of the empty pomegranate husk with his magic. Pulling a handkerchief from his pocket, he wipes the remnants of sticky juice off the blade and his fingers, staining the pristine white purple.

“Let’s stop by the kitchens on the way there, Barbatos. Fruit has only made me realize how famished I truly am!” Diavolo says, placing the handkerchief down and stretching his arms up as he stands.

“I can bring something to your office, my lord.” Barbatos shoots down the attempt at escape, and Diavolo tsks under his breath.

“You’re too smart, Barbatos,” Diavolo says, walking towards his butler and patting one hand on the other’s shoulders, “You know all my tricks by now.” He nods sagely as they walk to the exit of the room. Barbatos gives a soft sigh.

“We both know that’s not true, my lord.”

Lucifer watches, unafraid to admit to himself that he finds some amusement in Diavolo’s plight, before he realizes the mess that Diavolo has left behind.

“Your – ” Mess? Pile of fruit seeds? Penchant for completely derailing Lucifer’s productivity? Whatever Lucifer had intended to say is cut off by a dismissive wave of Diavolo’s hand and a cheerful slant of a smile on the other’s face.

“Those are for you!” Diavolo laughs, and Lucifer doesn’t have the opportunity to get a response in before Diavolo whirls into the hallway, Barbatos shutting the door after him with a soft click.

Lucifer sits in silence, listening to the muffled, familiar chatter between the two, fading as they travel further from the door. He tells himself that this is to make sure that Diavolo has truly left, not for any other frivolous, flowery reasons that his brothers might claim, were they to know of his lingering gaze on the plate, the stained handkerchief Diavolo left behind.

The plate of pomegranate seeds rests in the corner of his desk, still untouched.

Lucifer ignores it until the candles in the room burn dangerously low, the only indication of time passing thanks to the endless twilight of the Devildom. When he finally decides to stop, he rolls his neck to alleviate the stiffness, eyes fluttering shut at the tension.

When they open again, his gaze lands once more on the plate.

This time, it stays.

Alone in the privacy of his office, Lucifer props an elbow unceremoniously on the table. He brings his hand to his chin, gloved fingers tapping at his lips. More silence passes, a decision is made. Lucifer tugs off the glove of his right hand.

For him, Diavolo had said.

Lucifer isn’t particularly fond of pomegranates.

The flavor isn’t anything amazing to him, and they’re much too messy, but there’s a strange, perverse pleasure beginning to blossom inside him at the fresh memory of Diavolo devoting his time to a task solely for Lucifer, understanding coloring where there was once muted shades of gray.

Kings are servants to their kingdoms, but there’s an undeniable intimacy in the act of servitude for one.

It makes the initial burst of flavor on his tongue all the more sweet.

#ch: diavolo #ch: lucifer #pr: dialuci #writing #did i post something incredibly personal and then also post dialuci to draw attention away from the personal post?#yes

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flyfireflyfly · 3 years

Text

A Possibility

Length warning: 3400 words

Quality warning: I haven't done any writing in so long and it just feels weird doing this. Like something has to be wrong with the story, especially since I honestly have no idea how this managed to happen at 4am.

"I'm just saying that if the guy really was a big shot athlete in college who broke national records, then you would find at least one thing about him on the internet." You set the box of dishes you had been carrying on to the kitchen counter. Tamar rolled her eyes as she began filling one cupboard with cups. "I don't think the girl who has been pining over the same guy her whole life should be giving out relationship advice." You froze for just a second and then turned towards your friend to glare at her. She glanced at you before sighing. "Okay, sorry. That was a low blow." Smacking the counter angrily, she added, "Damn it I really like him." Turning away from you, you worked on putting away the plates. "Just confront him about it then. If he admits he lied to impress you, you can work with that and warn him not to do it again. If he sticks with his story, then you know he cares more about his image than about having an honest relationship." "Hmm..." she hummed, mulling over what you said. "Yeah I suppose that works." She grabbed her empty box and tossed it towards the other boxes waiting to be taken to the recycle. "Ready to get out of here and go shopping? I need to load up on snacks and booze if I'm gonna have a housewarming party." You tossed your own empty box away. "Only if you buy me lunch first. I'm starving." Tamar laughed at that and nodded. "Deal. As a 'thank you' for helping me move in."

As soon as you walked in to the restaurant, you waved at the server and headed over to the back booth. The place you and your friends always sat at when you came in. "Hey, the usual?" asked the server. "Yep." you answered and slid in to the booth. "Except change my fries to tater tots." Tamar piped up. The server raised his hand in acknowledgment as he wrote down the order. Then he passed it to the cook in the kitchen. Drumming your fingers on the table, you eagerly waited for your food and turned your attention to the window. It was a nice, sunny day that went well with your happy mood. Today was a good day your decided. Suddenly your eyes were covered and all you saw was darkness. A breath tickled your ear briefly and someone asked, "Guess who." A shiver went down your spine, but you ignored it. Instead you chuckled and rolled your eyes. As if you could ever mistake that voice. "Hi Yongguk." The man laughed and removed his hands from your eyes. "How'd you know?" he questioned as he slipped in to the booth to sit beside you. "Please. I've had to listen to that annoying voice for years." you told him. He barked out a laugh and shook his head. Then he turned to Tamar. "You settled in?" "Yes, finally!" She let out an exaggerated groan. "You gonna make it tonight, right?" "Of course." At that moment, the server brought over your meals. The food smelled absolutely heavenly and you quickly popped a french fry in to your mouth. A small moan escaped you, causing the guy next to you to chuckle. Then his had shot out towards your plate. You went to smack his hand but you were too late. He made off with a fry and hurriedly ate it. You glared at him and scooted a couple of inches away from him, taking your plate with you. Only for him to follow you while attempting to steal more of your food. "Mine!" you exclaimed with a small giggle. You kept smacking his hand while moving away until your side was pressed up against the wall. "Come on, share." He gave you a mischievous smile. Then he was right there beside you, his body touching yours as he trapped you in the corner. "Get your own." "But sharing is caring." "Who says I care?" That earned you another laugh from him and he slid away from you, giving you some space. Tamar shook her head. "You two are unbelievable." The sever appeared again with a to-go bag. "Here you go." he said and put the meal down in front of Yongguk before walking away. Yongguk stood and grabbed the bag. "Well, see ya guys tonight." Then he left and you resisted the urge to watch him walk out of the restaurant. "Girl." Tamar while giving you a pitiful look. "Don't." you hurriedly demanded, not wanting her nagging to sour your mood. "We're friends. That's it." Another sigh. "Fine." Turning your attention to your meal, you felt your mood shifting anyways as your mind filled up with Tamar's opinion about you and Yongguk. About how good the two of you would be together as a couple. A tiny part of you agreed, but you couldn't let yourself let that part be more than a passing thought. Yes, you had a crush on your best friend. Some would even say it was a 'major' crush, and you've been suppressing those feelings for years after flirting with him did nothing. It was obvious he didn't feel that way about you so you gave up. At first it wasn't easy and it hurt like hell to be around him. Time helped ease that pain though so now there was only a dull ache in your chest when you allowed those feelings to briefly surface. Shaking your head and pushing him out of your mind, you changed the topic to Tamar's party. The two of you made a plan on how many people were coming and everything that you needed to buy.

Well, at least you tried to plan for the party. More people than you were expecting showed up and you were dangerously close to running out of drinks. The snacks were gone an hour ago. Tamar didn't seem worried about it though as she danced to the music with some friends in the living room. You sat on the couch and watched her with a grin on your face, until she beckoned you to join them. "Uh, no." you said as she stretched both arms out towards you. "No, no, no, no." Your denial fell on deaf ears as she grabbed you and pulled you off the couch while laughing. She urged you to dance and you half-heartedly followed along, causing her to laugh more. Then there was loud knocking on the door and you quickly proclaimed, "Got it!" You escaped the make-shift dance floor and went to the front door. When you opened it, you smiled in relief to see Yongguk holding a large box that was overflowing with bags of chips. "I brought supplies." he said as he walked in. "Yes!" You turned towards the crowd. "More snacks on the way!" Several people cheered as you led Yongguk into the kitchen. He put the box on the counter and began emptying it. "I figured you didn't bother with some 'just-in-case' extras." You rolled eyes. "Yeah, yeah." You grabbed the empty bowls and began filling them with chips. Once they were full, the two of you carried the bowls out in to the living room and set them on the table that was pushed up against the wall. "Dancing time!" You turned to see Tamar beckoning for you to join her again as she slowly danced toward you. You turned towards Yongguk and desperately pleaded, "Save me." "Nope." Then he pushed you. You stumbled slightly as Tamar grabbed you. Giving in, you let her lead to back to the group of people dancing while glaring daggers at Yongguk. He merely smirked at you though. With a sigh, you decided to go with the flow and started dancing. It wasn't long until you were genuinely enjoying yourself. You weren't sure how many songs had played by the time you collapsed on to a chair. "Wimp!" You stuck your tongue out at Tamar before laughing. How in the world she was still dancing was beyond you. Your legs and your feet had had enough. Though a drink sounded wonderful and groaned like an old woman as you got back on your feet. You headed towards the kitchen and came to a sudden halt in the doorway. Yongguk was leaning against the counter and he wasn't alone. A girl stood next to him and by the way the two of them were smiling, you pretty sure they were flirting. Suddenly a phone went off, snapping you back to reality. You walked over to the fridge as Yongguk pulled his phone out of his pocket. "Hold that thought." he told the girl and answered the phone. He left the kitchen and you guessed he was going to the bedroom so he could talk privately. Looking at the drink selection, you momentarily eyed the liquor before settling on a soda. Then you closed the door and you jumped. The girl had moved to stand by you. "Sorry." she offered. "You're friends with Yongguk, right?" "Uh, yeah." you replied. She lifted her right hand to show the phone she was holding. "My ride's here. You think maybe you could give this to him?" With her left hand, she offered you a napkin. Scribbled on it was the name Jessica and a phone number. "Oh. Yeah. Sure." You took it and stuffed the napkin in to your pocket. "Thanks!" She beamed happily at you while blushing a little. Then she turned and left. With a heavy sigh, you closed your eyes to center yourself. This wasn't a big deal. Yongguk has had girlfriends before. Heck, you've even dated a couple of guys. The only reason it feels weird now is cause of Tamar constantly insisting that you and Yongguk should date. She was like a dog with a bone in her mouth. If only she'd just drop it. Ignoring the dull ache in your chest, you went back out to the party.

As the night went on, the party slowly died down until it was just you, Tamar, and Yongguk left. And you weren't sure how much longer they would last. They both sat on the floor, leaning against the couch, and it was obvious they might have had one two many beers. "Best night ever." Tamar stated with a lopsided grin. "Um, have you seen your apartment?" you asked and indicated the mess as you plopped down in front of them. She giggled and shook her head like a little kid. "I don't even care right now." Yongguk giggled as well and rolled an empty liquor bottle across the floor. All of a sudden Tamar sat up and fixed her gaze on you. "So, anyone catch your eye?" You furrowed your eyebrows in confusion. "What?" She rolled her eyes. "Oh please. You had to have realized how many more guys there were here than girls." She smiled and lean towards you. "Did any of the single guys I invited catch your eye at all?" "Uhh..." Yongguk suddenly sat up as well. "Wait, was this a hook up party for her?" "And a housewarming. Two birds, one stone." she told him before turning back to you. "Well?" "Well?" Yongguk parroted, amusement in his eyes as he grinned at you. Feeling yourself blush a little, you shook your head. "I wasn't exactly looking for a date." Tamar sighed. "Damn girl. What am I going to do with you?" "Well if you would have said something beforehand." you told her. Then you noticed how she kept glancing between you and Yongguk. Dread welled up in your stomach as your heart started to race. "You know what..." She trailed off as if she was thinking about something that just came to her. "I think you two would look good together." A shock went through you as if someone had dumped a cold bucket of water on you. You gaped at her, not believing what she said. "Oh hell no!" exclaimed Yongguk. "That would be horrible." He gagged, as if the idea repulsed him, and then laughed. It was only when his laughter faded that you realized you hadn't reacted at all. You hurriedly smiled and forced out a laugh. "Uh, yeah. Horrible." The smile on his face started to slip though as he looked between you and Tamar. Several emotions flashed in his eyes. Amusement, confusion, disbelief, and then horror as he gaped at you. You looked away from him. "That reminds me." You dug the napkin out of your pocket and set it on the floor by him. "Jessica wanted me to give you this. You should call her." Standing up, you surveyed the living room. "I'm gonna start cleaning up." Then you went to the kitchen, pretending that you didn't hear Tamar call out your name. Going straight to the sink, you found the box of trash bags under it and grabbed a couple. You began to fill one with the empty bottles and chip bags. "Hey." You kept focused on your task. "What?" "He left." Tamar informed you. Sighing, you dropped the bag and ran your hands through your hair. "Fuck." "Sorry. I didn't..." You whipped around to face her. "Didn't what? I told you over and over again to drop it. Now look at what you did." "I just thought..." "No. Just stop." you told her. "He's been my friend for years and you fucked that up. Things will never be the same between us." Tamar stepped forward. "You don't know that." You scoffed. "Yeah, sure. Just look at the way he reacted." You mimicked his gag before giving her a dirty look. Then turned away from her and started cleaning up again. "Look, I.." "Drop it." you demanded, interrupting her. She didn't say another word as she grabbed the broom and went back in to the living room. You were very thankful that she listened to you this time. If she would have kept at it, you probably would have started yelling at her.

About twenty minutes later, you set the two trash bags down and looked around. "That everything?" "I think so." answered Tamar as she indicated for you to help her with the coffee table. You grabbed one end and together the two of you carried it to its rightful place. Stepping back, you looked around once more but didn't see anything out of place. "Let's get the trash out and call it a night." Tamar took one of the bags, leaving the other for you. "You can crash here if you want." Those magic words made your sore muscles throb. Between helping her finish moving in, all the dancing, and now the cleaning, it had been a long day. Well... that and the Yongguk disaster but that would have to wait another day. "Yeah thanks." you replied. You followed her to the front door and opened it to find a person standing there. Startled, she jumped back in to you though you barely noticed. Your heart leaped in to your throat as you stared at Yongguk. The man had his fist up, as if he was just about to knock. "Oh, sorry." He glanced at you but quickly looked away as he rubbed the back of his neck. "Um..." The three of you stood there in awkward silence for a moment before Tamar spoke up. "I'll just take these," she took the trash bag from you, "And you two can talk." She squeezed passed Yongguk while simultaneously pushing him into the apartment. Then she closed the door. If it was awkward before, now you didn't know what to call it. He could barely look you in the eye as he shifted uncomfortably. Sighing, you said, "Look, just forget about tonight, okay? It's not a big deal. And I meant what I said, you really should call Jessica. She seemed nice." That finally made him look at you with a surprise look on his face. "Huh? Oh.. yeah. Um... But..." He furrowed his eyebrows and licked his lips. Then he took in a deep breath and closed the distance between the two of you. Before you had a chance to do anything, he cupped your face with his hands and pressed his lips against yours. You were so shocked, all you could do was stand there. This wasn't happening. This couldn't be happening. What the fuck was happening?? He pulled back and looked at you. "Okay this is weird, isn't it?" That jolted you from your mental panic and you swiftly stepped back from him. "What? I mean, yes. Yeah. It's weird. Why would you....?" You glared at him, anger rising in your chest. "I told you to forget about it. I don't need your pity." His eyes widened. "No, no, no. That's not.." "I said it's not a big deal and I meant it. You shouldn't.." He grabbed your arms, preventing you from moving further away. "That's not what I meant!" The words you were going to say died on your tongue as you gaped at him. "I just... I..." He let go of you to run his hands through his hair as he turned away from you. "Fuck." He took a couple of deep breaths before turning back to you. "It's weird cause I never thought that this could happen." "This?" "Yeah, this." He indicated the two of you. "Us. I never thought... And now I know that yeah, it's a possibility and I don't know what to do or how handle it or..." Your heartbeat sped up. A possibility. This was possible. "Let's try this again." He stepped closer and cupped your face once more. Then he kissed you a second time. When he pulled back, the two of you shared a look. A silent agreement passed between you and you gently put your hands on his arms. "Third time's the charm." he stated before kissing you once more. Something inside you bloomed, causing a rush of happiness to well up in you. This time when he pulled away, you couldn't help but smile. "There it is." he proclaimed, smiling as well. A small giggle escaped you. "Okay, yeah. It's weird." He stepped back and laughed. "Yes! Thank you!" Then he quickly closed the distance and wrapped his arms around you. You hugged him back, relishing his embrace. The sound of a door opening caused you both to jump back, separating the two of you. "Sorry, sorry." Tamar offered as she closed the front door. "Don't mind me, I'm not even here. Just turn off the lights." She swiftly fled the living room. That did you in and you dissolved in to a giggle fit. You couldn't stop. It also didn't help that Yongguk was hysterically giggling as well. The two of you started shushing each other, which of course turned out to be counter-productive. So you did the only other thing you could think of and kissed him. That did the trick, though the small moan he let out sent a shiver down your spine. "I'd say I'll walk you home, but I really don't want this night to end." he declared. You eyed the couch and looked at him. He seemed to have the same thought as he glanced at it as well. Taking your hand, he led you to the couch and when you sat down, he scooted closer so the two of you were pressed up against each other. This time, you didn't move away. "First thing's first." He shifted a little so he could look at you better. "No matter what happens, you'll always be my best friend." You sighed in relief. "That's exactly what I was afraid of. And, same. Always." He smiled. "Good. And... I don't have to call Jessica, do I?" You barked out a laugh before covering your mouth to silence yourself. "No. Absolutely not. I will end you." That made him laugh this time. "Good, good." Then he smirked. "You do realize this means I'm entitled to steal your fries." "Again, I will end you." He chuckled and shook his head. Then he pulled you in for another kiss, which you eagerly gave in to. The feeling of his soft lips against yours was heavenly. "Okay." you murmured. "The fry stealing is a possibility." "A possibility." he agreed before kissing you again.

#scenario #bap scenario #bap scenarios #yongguk scenario #fanfiction #kpop fanfic #kpop scenario #kpop scenarios #fluff

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russian-romanova · 4 years

Text

devastation

title: devastation

pairing: jack kline

warnings: adult language, mentions of cancer

notes: shit, um this got heavy real fast. i wasn’t sure what you meant by ill so i tried i stay vague, but i kind of wrote it with the idea that she can cancer? god, that’s probably way more drastic and depressing than you wanted but if you wanted a nicer, fluffier, flu type thing let me know! the reader hardly makes an appearance in actual dialogue, although it all centers around her being sick.

request: ‘can you write a cute fluff in which the reader is ill and jack tries his best to save her? also, include the winchesters as supporting father figures, please? thank you.’

summary: jack doesn’t quite understand that not everything can be healed simply. some things take time, patient, perseverance, and a strong will. the thought remains, however, that not all things can be recovered from at all.

+ + +

Jack hated his handwriting. The way it looked like a childish scribble. With no regard to how recent or how little he truthfully wrote anything, he couldn’t help but glare at the card in front of him. The quality seemed to especially jump out at him when it was next to Sam or even Dean’s, but even alone he frowned at it.

‘Get better soon,’ It read now in squiggly letters. ‘Jack.’ It was simple and unoriginal, and he was sure you were getting a dozen similar cards from other hunters that had heard. But the words he knew he wanted to tell you just seemed to boil under the surface, and he couldn’t pull them out.

You weren’t a regular occupant of the bunker, but you were a hunter and a friend of Sam and Dean’s, although you quickly took a liking to Jack. The two of you had begun dating pretty quickly, and although the experience was foreign to Jack he declared it the best part of humanity.

When you were sick, Jack was one of the first to realize it. He supposed Castiel had sensed it before he had, but the angel had done a good enough job of covering it up that Jack was confused when he sensed something was off.

You had just been sitting at the kitchen table after the first night you had stayed over. One leg hanging on the chair, the other pulled up to your chest as you sat in front of a bowl of cereal with your phone in one hand. It was contently silent.

Jack would glance over at you every now and again, curious as to what you were doing on your phone at different moments and simply starved for something to look at. By the time the cereal in your own bowl was getting low, however, Jack had come to the realization that something was off about you. The angelic side of him screamed that it was bad, something that was eating you from the inside out. Yet you looked the same, nothing different about your face or your mood.

You noticed Jack was staring at you. “What?” You asked, the words coming out in an awkward laugh.

Jack paused. “Are you okay?”

You gave him a strange look before smiling a little and nodding. “I’m fine, Jack.” And in your eyes, you were. You had no idea.

But eventually, you did find out, with the bruises lining your arms and back and the bile that seemed to want to rise out of your stomach constantly. You returned again after this, and Jack could tell once more that something was not only wrong but that it upset you. As a hunter, you were good at faking and pushing away your emotions into nothing, but Jack could tell.

This was the point Jack knew Castiel had for sure figured it out because he pulled you aside and simply asked if you knew. You did.

It wasn’t much longer before you sat down Jack and the Winchesters, Castiel near you for some form of support in the chaos that you seemed consumed by. It was as if a black cloud was consuming you as if years of dust and tears had risen from your body to cloud the natural brightness that Jack normally senses around you.

You had told them simply and to the point, emotionless even. Sam had teared up very quickly and Dean became stoic and frozen. The Nephilim remained motionless, and he supposed he had always known, deep down.

That was a while ago now.

Jack put down the pencil and stood up. The card was important, he knew that he would need to finish it later, but he had an idea now. Quietly, Jack opened his own door and walked the few steps down the hallway to yours. He didn’t hear anything from inside, which was a sign that it was either empty or that you were asleep. Either music would blast or some movie played from within, but then again Jack knew nothing was normal anymore.

Jack opened the door into your room slowly, his breathing cutting through the air. Swallowed in darkness lied your sleeping figure, body rising with each breath. He watched you for a moment, caught up in the serenity of the moment. You were lovely.

Quietly, so as not to disturb your sleep, Jack moved to kneel next to your bed. He put one hand on your forehead and the other on your shoulder, feeling it subtly rise and fall with your breathing. Closing his eyes, he concentrated and tried to let the energy flow through him. He felt the faucet open, but he could feel what came out do absolutely nothing. He took a breath and tried again, his hands softly glowing golden to match his eyes. Concentrate. Breath. Concentrate. Breath.

Nothing. His powers were worthless now because they fell short when it came to what he wanted most. How was that fair, that he couldn’t save you? It wasn’t, that was for damn sure. It wasn’t fair and the universe must just be confused, it thought he was trying something else. He figured he would come back in an hour and try again, like when you would explain that for phones to work, sometimes the best thing was to turn it on and off, then give it time. He would give you time, and try again.

Yet he knew that would also fail.

The realization and emotions overwhelmed him. Not knowing what else to do, Jack softly closed the door and walked towards where he knew Sam and Dean were.

Jack stood at the entrance to the kitchen for almost a minute before the Winchesters realized he was there. His face was already red and wet with tears, and he just stood there with his arms hanging at his sides. The image was killing Sam and Dean. “I don’t know what to do,” He admitted in a hushed voice, and Sam and Dean remained frozen. “What do I do?”

“Jack, hey.” Sam was the first to move forward. “Hey, what’s up? Why are you-”

Jack cut him off. “Y/N is dying and all I can do is watch. Why? I tried to help her, but I can’t. Why can’t I?” His voice raised the longer he spoke. “That isn’t fair!”

“I know. I’m sorry it’s not fair, Jack, but sometime’s that’s how life is.” Sam’s words came out soft and mild.

“No, not this time. This time it’s going to be okay, it’s supposed to be. It needs to be okay, Sam, but I can’t do anything about it! Why- why can’t I save her?” Jack was yelling now, his arms throwing gestures into the air.

Sam held a hand out as if to say, ‘down boy’. “Jack, it’s not your fault.”

“Blaming yourself gets you nowhere, kid,” Dean added.

Jack was panting, looking between Sam and Dean. He knew he needed to keep his emotions in check, that the yelling and the anger wasn’t going to help you. Yet it helped, he swore it did. To get it out in boils, to let the emotion slowly pour out like honey. “What else can I do?” The anger dropped off by the end of the sentence, and Jack was left as what he supposed he really was: a small boy, too scared to lose someone else.

Wordlessly, Dean pulled Jack into a hug. “You can’t save everyone,” Dean spoke softly into Jack’s hair, words of wisdom he had heard long ago but was now passing down. It was a level of emotion that Jack had never seen Dean express before, a raw and almost frightening reveal. How bad did things have to be for Dean was this distraught?

They held the hug for a while, Jack steadying his breathing and Dean tried to control his own. Sam ran a hand under each eye, trying his hardest to catch any tears but failing, then he moved forward to join Jack and Dean. Jack was pressed between both brothers, their body heat warming him and helping him calm down. This was his family, and they wanted him to be okay. Of course, they wanted you to be okay and they wanted the world to be okay, but that was hard to do in one action. So for now, they decided it was their job to hold and help Jack, to make him okay if only for a duration.

And for a moment there, everything was okay.

#jack #Jack Kline #jack kline x reader #jack kline x y/n #jack kline x you #supernatural #supernatural x reader #dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #Sam Winchester #sam winchester x reader #sam and dean #castiel #castiel x reader #cas #SPN #spn x reader #Jack winchester

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of-another-broken-heart · 3 years

Text

I’m just going to copy/paste this because it took me hours and I’m drained.

I guess I have to format it again if I want it to show up at all...

I couldn't even make it back home before breaking down crying again.

Driving while chronically sleep deprived, exhausted, fatigued, and dissociating is bad enough. Doing it with all that AND without being able to see? How special.

I barely had time to sit down, my phone rang. I answered it, begging for someone to hear me. For thirty straight seconds. "Hello? Hello? Hello???" Finally someone spoke, but they couldn't hear me. I'm sobbing. They hung up. I scrambled to call back, from my computer, because at least then I'm not fighting a lack of reception as well as my anxiety. They called again. I didn't answer. I waited for my computer to ring through instead. I'm put on hold. I'm sobbing. It was just to ask what my pharmacy is. Which I already answered on my paperwork. Which I answered, again, at check-out. And I was forced into a third confirmation via a pointless, needless, anxiety-attack inducing phone call hazing. For something I already answered.

It's not fucking fun. People don't choose this. I didn't choose this. But does it matter? "Call," the command comes. "Just call." "Call to confirm." "Call to ask." "Call." "Call." "Call."

I want you to think of something that takes physical hold of your body and brings to you to tears. I want you to hold that and sit with it until it does those things. I want you to choose to reduce yourself to a sobbing mess, struggling to breathe, alone. And I want you to picture a world where you are commanded, demanded, required to do this. For virtually everything. Imagine needing help - but you must first re-traumatize yourself with your most painful memories until your nose is running and your eyes burn from crying. And you're exhausted for the rest of the day, too. Maybe multiple days. Absolutely exhausted. So fucking depleted that taking yourself to the bathroom is almost impossible. Feeding yourself - even eating something out of a can, or microwaved - is a herculean effort. Does that sound fun? Of course not.

As for the appointment itself: It's the same. Much better bedside manner. But it's the same underlying capitalism-serving "care" system. It's my fault. I'm not trying hard enough. I'm not blacking out alone on the side of the road enough. I haven't dissociated hard enough and/or blacked out while driving yet, so it can't be that bad, right? Not until I'm maimed or dead, right? Why address the root of a problem when we can just plaster on endless band-aids instead? When we can blame you for hurting, instead of the environment that's poisoning you? I'm not medically sedating myself into an obedient little wage slave, and that's the real problem. I should aspire to produce capital for someone with most of the remaining hours of my life. That's the purpose of living, that's the reason for "health"care - not to care about health, no, just to keep the wheels of capitalism well-oiled with wasted human life. Inherent human value? Quality of life? Nah.

They refused my medical history. I brought the 72-page pdf on a flash drive. Because that's how I was given it. Because I can't afford to buy and operate a personal fax machine and/or print out a chapter book's worth of pages of medical records. I went through the trouble of getting the files, and it took over a month - only to be told "we can't take anything but paper or fax." I filled out a file release form as best I could. But I didn't have the phone number or address memorized. Not even before that place became synonymous with medical neglect and trauma for me. So now they're going to go through the ancient months-long ritual of requesting the self-fucking-same documents from LISH, either by mail or fax, because they "can't" access a flash drive or a pdf or use email. Welcome to 2021. We're back to "normal" and teleheath never existed and the internet is fake and technology is a myth and why do anything efficiently when you can waste time and do damage to people instead? My Aunt called to check in on me during her lunch break. (Thank you again) She offered to get the file printed and try to hand it in for me. I'm too tired to hope. I'm too exhausted to think they'll accept it without fuss. Anything and everything to make things harder.

Top priority order of business is the whole "diseased for life" thing. Hashimoto's thyroiditis. Hypothyroidism. Daily hormones for every day of the rest of forever, gatekept behind eternal doctor visits and prescriptions and pharmacies and copays and and and and did I mention this is forever? I've got a referral to have a thyroid sonogram done. Haven't ever had one of those before. Need to make that appointment. I was able to have my blood drawn for the thyroid testing without needing an additional appointment, which was a nice change of pace. Normally you're supposed to fast for that, but I wasn't expecting that could be done during the visit. Three years of having to make additional trips to the lab for blood work. I ate immediately before getting there, so hopefully nothing had a chance to metabolize and skew the results. Even though it was great not to have to juggle yet another appointment for health shit, it was stressful. The nurse took three tries before she had all the supplies she needed in the room. I already have anxiety spikes (which also raise my blood pressure and heart rate) for all doctor visits now. (White Coat Syndrome, I learned, it's called) I didn't need to have a rubber cable tied around my arm, popped off, tied again, popped off, and tied a third and final time to make it worse. A pro to that con: she was incredibly accurate and gentle. I normally have sub-dermal bleeding and some bruising after having blood drawn, and keep the bandage on for a day or two. The bandage didn't last even an hour after I got home - but there wasn't a single spot of trapped blood, and I almost couldn't even tell where she stuck me.

I have another new diagnosis to add to my growing collection. Hypertension. High blood pressure. I used to have slightly low blood pressure. It stunned the first doctor I ever saw (you know, because I'm fat, so that sort of thing is supposed to be ~impossible~) and it frustrated my last doctor at first, too. But now, with years of building stress and anxiety? It's almost like living with your most basic human needs barely provided (food, shelter, healthcare - let's not bring up social needs LMAO those don't count anyway, right?), and at constant risk of being taken away, for months (years, in some cases) on end, is some form of stress. It's almost like being constantly dismissed and told "you're just not trying hard enough" (WHILE TRYING YOUR BEST JUST TO SURVIVE EACH DAY) is some form of stress!It's almost like perpetual, ongoing, worsening stress has a negative impact on your heart! It's almost like there are decades of data that spell this out, plain as day!It's almost like I noticed my elevated heart rate back in NOVEMBER and mentioned it out of concern to my last doctor - who dismissed it outright because my reading in-office wasn't *that* bad, and also shouldn't I be on 5487 psych meds instead? If I was sedated out of my mind, I wouldn't be physically capable of feeling stress in my body despite the presence of real-world stress factors. That's healthy, right? Don't bother to solve the stressors, just neuter the body's response to them. Super healthy response. (Not) My GYN took note of my concern in December, when my vitals DID show as high in-office. Not that my GYN had the jurisdiction to do anything about it. I'm being put on another medication to try to mitigate this, and potentially also address some anxiety. I haven't picked it up yet. I don't know the name. I don't know if I'll be able to afford it. "Your copay is only a dollar!" Yes well, when you don't have a dollar, you can't afford a dollar, can you?

I was given a list of psychiatrists. To "Call!!"Precisely none of them are a reasonable distance away. Nearly half aren't even in my insurance network. Some explicitly exclude Medicaid. Others are exclusively for children. I was suggested a medication for depression and anxiety. I can't remember which one. Either Abilify or Lexapro? I declined it for now, either way. I wanted to be able to research it. Lexapro is just another SSRI and I already know those don't work for me. Adding a chemical bouncer to my brain to make sure the happy chemicals stay out to play doesn't help when there are no happy chemicals in the first place. A quick search for Abilify doesn't address anxiety at all so it was probably Lexapro. In which case, I am not interested in repeating a different-flavor-Prozac experience. It was not good. I didn't get any notes with that medication, regardless. I got a sticky note with "Valerian Root Extract (tea or tincture)" and "Magnesium Glycinate 2 capsules" scribbled on it, instead. Out-of-pocket home rem-maybes. I can't afford to experiment with snake oils, so mostly I'll probably just spend a bunch of time looking for data and research and studies for those substances, and that's it. If I get around to psychiatric care, I will have to start from scratch in my insurance's shoddy search tool, again. And, frankly, it's not a priority. My mental health struggles are the result of a lot of physical factors and external/social factors, and no amount of artificial chemicals bullying my brain is going to solve any of it. When your car starts leaking oil, you don't just commit to buying more oil forever and dribbling it all over, wherever you go. You fix the fucking leak. If your house has a gas leak, you don't invest in gas masks. You fix the fucking leak. If you end up with a burst pipe, you don't commit to wasting water and money and damaging your environment. You fix. The fucking. Leak. But in these comparisons, I'm getting prescribed oil and gas masks and infinite water damage/waste/bills as long-term care.

I mentioned my fatigue. It was the final straw that made me give up with the last doctor. It just keeps getting worse. It's been getting worse for over 3 years. And I'm so, so fucking tired of it getting pinned fully on the fact that I'm not on psych meds. I WAS on psych meds during part of those 3 years with my last doctor. And it didn't fucking make any difference! A daily chemical lobotomy does not address or restore my lack of physical energy. My decades-old medication-resistant insomnia has never vanished with psych meds before, and it's not likely to do it now. Especially not with yet another of the same family of chemicals that I already know don't work. I want my concern to be taken seriously. I don't want it just brushed into the mental health corner, again. Being too tired to even do the things you used to enjoy - no one fucking wants this! I don't want this! I miss being able to go for walks. I miss going to the gym. I miss seeing how much I could do, and feeling good, and feeling strong. And I can't do any of that now. Not without risking harming myself in the process.

No one wants this. I keep talking, but it feels like no one listens. At the earliest opportunity, we're back to repeating the same tired old shit that doesn't work. I try to come prepared, and the stress and time and system make sure I fail to stand up for myself anyway. I didn't get to document my disordered eating history. The relapse this year. Restricting, sometimes to the point of not eating at all. I declined to be weighed, because I want my care to be based on relevant data, vitals, blood results - not the shape and size of my body. But I was too tired to realize I needed to dodge a verbal ask for the same information. Which, it turns out, is nearly as bad a trigger as having the scale spit it out for me. Being your own advocate for equal care, when you're already tapped out? I'm not winning that challenge.

I'm frustrated. I'm not giving up, but I am frustrated and beyond tired. I don't really expect anyone to read this mess. But it's here.

#personal

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sweetiepie08 · 4 years

Text

RebelZ Chapter 6

Invader Zim fanfic

While analyzing Zim’s PAK for weaknesses, Tak discovers strange coding that sends her on a search for answers. The clues lead her to uncover a conspiracy that governs all of Irken society. When the truth sends her on the run, she has no choice but to return to the one place the Tallest would never willingly go: Urth.

Meanwhile, Dib has noticed odd changes in Zim’s behavior. Has the invader simply grown bored of his mission over the last few years, or is there something more interesting going on?

People who asked to be tagged: @incorrect-invader-zim , @messinwitheddie, @reblogstupids, @cate-r-gunn, @agentpinerulesall

If anyone else would like to be added to the tag list feel free to message me. Also, if you’re on the tag list and you changed your name, please just let me know.

Chapter 1. Chapter 2. Chapter 3. Chapter 4. Chapter 5. Chapter 6. Chapter 7. Chapter 8. Chapter 9. Chapter 10.

[-]

Dib flipped through the streaming services, looking for something to watch. The documentary had ended, pizza had been eaten, and Gaz had gone upstairs to fix some emergency with one of her online gaming groups. He knew he had surveillance tapes waiting for him on his desk, (or worse, college applications) but he wasn’t ready to check up on them just yet. He was actually enjoying some downtime for once, and he didn’t want it to end.

Then, he heard the all-too-familiar sounds of an alien spaceship landing outside.

Nope, he thought as he hit play on whatever show he landed on. Didn’t matter what, so long as he could pretend he couldn’t hear what was going on in his driveway.

Some muffled arguing came from the front door, followed by the bell ringing. Dib turned up the volume. Not getting out of this chair.

Loud pounding began, accompanied by cries of “Dib-human! Open this door!” Dib turned the volume up as loud as it would go as the pounding continued.

“Jesus Christ, Dib!” Gaz shouted from upstairs. “Just answer the door!”

“Fine!” Dib shut off the tv and stalked to the front door. When he opened it, he found two Irken idiots.

Zim and Tak hung off each other and drank from plastic bottles while their robot pets bolted right in and made themselves at home. “Hey, you grew into your head,” Tak said, lazily pointing her claw at him.

“You know, Dib, there’s a lot of reasons to hate your planet,” Zim slurred, letting himself in. “You keep chihuahuas as pets, some of you refuse to inoculate against deadly diseases, and that Game of Thrones finale was garbage! But at least you don’t need identification to buy gingzor, and that almost makes up for it.” Zim punctuated his short rant by taking a long swig from his bottle.

“And look,” Tak said, pulling a box of ginger snaps out of a plastic shopping bag, “they had edibles.”

“Are you guys drunk? What is this?” Dib grabbed the bottle out of Zim’s hands. He checked the label, gave it a sniff, and took a small taste. Yup, it was exactly what the label said it was. “This is just ginger ale.”

“Eee-yup,” Zim said, swiping his bottle back. “Your light brews aren’t as potent as the ones we’ve got on Irk, but it gets the job done.”

“Wait, are you guys seriously telling me your species gets drunk off ginger?”

“Why?” Tak asked, shoving a cookie in her mouth. “What do humans consume when they want to forget the futility of existence?”

“Uh, alcohol, usually.”

The two Irkens locked eyes, then burst into laughter. “Seriously?” Tak squealed, wiping a tear from her eye. “That’s an antiseptic.”

“Humans really are stupid,” Zim agreed.

“Not that kind,” Dib grumbled, knowing he would be ignored. Then he felt his temper boil. “What are you two doing in my house?!”

“Oh yeah,” the two brushed past him and hopped on the couch like they owned the place. “We need to crash here for a while,” Zim explained. He turned on the tv, got blasted by an old episode of The Office, then turned the volume down.

“Why?”

“We uncovered a conspiracy behind the Irken empire and our government tried to kill us.”

“I discovered,” Tak corrected. “They just caught you harboring me.”

“Eh, details.”

“The point is,” Tak went on, “we’re both marked as traitors and we need to lay low for a while.”

Dib could have sworn his ears perked like a dog’s. An intergalactic conspiracy? There was a story here so juicy he could almost taste it. Still, as he watched the earth’s total Irken population spill ginger ale on the couch and grind crumbs into the cushions, the only question on his mind was, “why here?”

“Need your lab,” Zim tossed off as if it should have been obvious.

“So? Why don’t you go back to your base and use your own lab?”

“Can’t.” Zim took a teal cube out of his pocket and tossed it in Dib’s direction.

Dib caught it and brought it up to his eye to inspect. “What’s this?”

“My base.”

“Your whole base is in this?” Dib strained his eyes, looking at the cube. “What’s going on? How did this even happen?”

“How far back in Irken history do you want to go?” Tak asked, popping open a bottle.

“Wait, you mean you’re actually going to tell me?”

She gave a non-committal shrug. “Eh…”

“Hold on, wait right there.” Dib zipped upstairs to his room, grabbed a notebook, pen, and recorder, then zipped back down. He grabbed a chair, hit record, and poised his pen. “Let’s start at the beginning.”

[-]

Dib scribbled furiously, trying to keep up with Tak’s slurred ramblings. Zim interjected occasionally to add something or explain an Irken concept, but it was clear exactly who the conspiracy hunter was.

“So, anyway, that’s when I realized this parasite has been controlling our entire society for generations and, you know, it’s just a real buzzkill to find out you’re basically living food.”

“I see,” Dib said, making a note to ask about this library planet later (maybe get coordinates?). “And this parasite has been masquerading as the Control Brains.”

“Not ‘masquerading’ exactly,” she explained. “They always were the Control Brains.”

“And, just to make sure I got this, the Control brains are what, again?”

Before they could answer, he heard a loud “eh-he-eh-hm.” He looked over to see Gaz standing in the kitchen doorway. When he met her eyes, she curled one finger, ominously beckoning him over. “Uh, one second, guys.” He put down his pen and followed Gaz into the kitchen.

“Make this quick, Gaz,” he said, peaking back into the living room. “These two are giving me everything.”

“Okay then,” she said, her voice displaying her irritation. “Just answer me this: why are there two destructive aliens drinking like civil war amputee patients on our couch?”

“Revealing their government’s secrets, that’s what,” he answered with unbridled glee. “Turns out, ginger gets them drunk and when they’re drunk, they have no filter. They’ve been rambling on and on about their creepy big-brother-like society for an hour now. Look at all these notes.” He shoved the notebook in Gaz’s face and flipped furiously through the pages. “As long as I keep them drunk and happy, they’ll keep talking. Which reminds me…” He took out his wallet, grabbed a bill, and handed it to Gaz. “Go to the store and buy them out of ginger ale. We can’t let them sober up.”

“Five bucks?” Gaz said, wrinkling her nose. “I assume you’re planning on reimbursing me for the grocery bill later.”

“This isn’t about money, Gaz.”

“Then dig a little deeper, Scrooge. I know your part-time at Dad’s lab pays more than this.”

“And you make plenty off of your twitch gaming streams,” Dib argued. “Come on, this is about furthering human knowledge.”

Gaz raised her eyebrow in her ‘you’ve got to be kidding’ way. “You’re offering me $5 to drop everything, go to the store, and buy out their entire supply of ginger ale without reimbursing me for the bill.”

“Uh…yes?”

She scoffed. “Get a pulse.”

Dib pinched the bridge of his nose and rubbed the corners of his eyes. Was she seriously arguing with him about money at a time like this? “Look, what if I give you an acknowledgement when I publish this baby? Like, say, in the forward?”

“You mean the part no one reads?”

“Uh…”

Gaz let out an exasperated huff and looked into the living room at the two Irkens. “So, they’ll really ramble on and on if you stuff them full of ginger, huh? About anything?”

“Yeah, pretty much. We managed to stay on topic so far. I mean, Zim did go on a tangent about the Game of Thrones finale, but we got back on track.”

Gaz smiled. “Did he, now? About what?”

“Something about Westeros crumbling as soon as the credits rolled. I don’t know. You watched that show, not me.”

“Hmm…” Gaz murmured, looking pointedly at Zim. Oh no, she was thinking… Worse! She was plotting!

“Gaz? What are you doing?”

She threw him a wicked smirk and sauntered into the living room. “Hey, Zim!” she called, clear as a bell. “That Game of Thrones finale sucked, right?”

“Don’t even get me started, Dib-sister!” Zim called back, slapping his hand on the couch. “Zim has never seen such a staggering drop in quality!”

Dib dropped his face into his hands. Was it too late to offer a twenty?”

[-]

“I guarantee Dorne and the Iron Islands rebelled as soon as they stepped out of the Dragon Pit.” Zim said, splashing ginger ale on the couch with every gesture. “I’ll bet they only voted ‘yes’ on Bran because this would be the easiest reign to overthrow.”

“Exactly!” Gaz said, slapping the arm of her chair. “Dany promised Yara independence two seasons ago. There’s no way she’s just going to watch him hand his sister a kingdom and not demand what’s owed to her.”

Dib twisted the notebook in his hands as he listened to them rant. They’d been at this since Gaz brought up the subject.

“And what was with them acting like Dany was in the wrong for executing Varys?” Zim added. “He tried to assassinate her!”

“As if Jon didn’t execute a child a few seasons ago for the same thing. And it was obvious that kid was coerced into it by the higher-ranking Night’s Watch men.” Gaz said. “You’ll notice Dany didn’t execute the child Varys manipulated into poisoning her. And he only thought she was ‘mad’ because she stopped listening to his shitty advice.”

“Their ‘advice’ lost her the Dornish forces, the Iron Fleet, and Highgarden’s armies,” Zim agreed.

“Plus another dragon and her best friend. And when she goes into mourning, he’s all ‘Welp, she’s clearly gone mad. Time to put her down like Old Yeller.’ Oh! And what was with Tyrion’s ‘everywhere she goes, evil men die’ speech? Like that’s a bad thing? Yeah, I know. That’s why I liked her.”

“You know wat she should have done?” Zim said. “She should have flown her three dragons to the Red Keep like she wanted to do last season. She could have taken the city with fewer casualties.”

Gaz nodded in agreement. “Maybe even no casualties if King’s Landing surrenders immediately.”

“Then she’d have all three dragons and all the armies in the Seven Kingdoms to fight the White Walkers with!” Zim added.

“Yeah, then maybe there’d be enough time to make the army of the dead live up to the hype! Nice Long Night. Lasted about six hours.”

“What is this show?” Tak asked. “I want to watch.”

“Enough!” Dib burst, jumping out of his seat. “Enough Game of Thrones! If you want to keep complaining, go on the internet and do it! Now can we please get back to you two spilling the secrets of your evil intergalactic empire!”

“There are no more secrets, human,” Tak snapped. “We’ve told all. The only other information I could find is on this.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out a square, plastic information drive. “But this technology is too outdated to decode. So, unless you have access to an ancient computer…”

Dib took the square and held it up to his eyes. “This just looks like a floppy disc.”

“Really, Dib-beast?” Zim scoffed. “Your planet’s technology is antiquated, but it’s not that archaic.”

“Actually, that’s pretty outdated for us too,” Gaz said, “but our dad’s got a computer graveyard in the attic. Maybe we can get one of those to work.”

Tak regarded the disc suspiciously. “You’re serious? You think you might be able to get it to work.”

“It could be possible,” Dib answered, eyeballing the disc. It looked about the right size and shape. It may at least fit into the disc drive. “It wouldn’t be the first time we’ve gotten Irken and Earth technology to work together. It’s worth a shot.”

[-]

After about an hour and a few trips to the attic, they found an old monitor and hard drive they managed to turn on. As the computer booted up, they compared the Irken disc drive to a standard floppy disc. Dib was right. They seemed to match up.

“You really think this has a shot?” Tak asked again. She looked skeptical they whole time the were getting set up, but as the computer whirred to life, Dib thought he could detect a hint of hope in her voice.

“It could,” Gaz answered. “If the magnetic polarity is the same as we use on earth, the computer might be able to read the disc.”

Dib nodded along. While he was good with technology, his area of expertise was more on the engineering side. Gaz was the one with an affinity for coding.

Once the computer was ready, they popped in the drive. They all gathered around the monitor and held their breath. A buffering window popped up on the screen and they let out a collective gasp.

After a few minutes, the picture went black and green Irken text scrolled up across the screen, accompanied by, what sounded to Dib, like a series of chirps, clicks, and hisses. “Um, is it supposed to be making that-”

Tak and Zim threw a sharp hiss in his direction, then went back to staring intently at the screen. When Dib quieted and listened harder, he realized the sounds came from an organic voice and had a deliberate pattern. Holy shit, it’s reading the text! This is their language!

The voice stopped and the screen froze on another set of Irken symbols.

“Oh, my…” Zim choked out, eyes still glued to the screen. “We’ve got to write that down!”

“MiMi,” Tak commanded, “my tablet.”

“Wait, what was that?” Dib asked as he watched the two aliens scramble to scribble down the symbols on the screen. “Was that guy speaking Irken? What did they say?”

“Yes,” Zim answered. “And those are coordinates to the next place we need to go.”

“You mean, I need to go,” Tak cut in. “I’m the one who uncovered the conspiracy, remember?”

Zim scowled and stomped up to her, getting in her face. “You made this my problem when you crashed at my house, drank all my gingzor, and got my base cubified.”

“Why would I ever team up with you?” she shot back.

“I’m every bit as Irken as you are,” Zim argued. “I deserve answers as much as you.”

“Will someone please tell me what that thing said?” Dib shouted. The two stopped their bickering long enough to cast him an icy stare.

“Well,” Dib growled impatiently. If these two thought they were going to force their way into his home, spill ginger ale on his couch, tell him about an intergalactic conspiracy, and not let him in on the details, they had another thing coming.

“This doesn’t concern you, human,” Zim snapped.

“You two waltzed in here expecting me to hide you form your creepy totalitarian government and let you use my lab. Unless you want me to throw you out on your ass…”

“Fine, fine,” Tak said, waving an arm dismissively. “That voice claimed to be Krislotch. He confirmed that he left the clues that lead me to discover the truth about the Control Brains. He also claims more information is waiting on a planet at those coordinates. I must go there next if I want to solve this mystery.”

“We must go there,” Zim but in.

“This is my conspiracy, Zim,” Tak growled, turning back to him. “If there are more answered waiting on that planet, I will be the one to find them.”

“Oh yeah?” he said with a smirk. “How you gonna get there? I’m the only one with a working ship.”

“Dib’s got a ship,” Gaz chimed in. She turned to Tak. “Actually, I think it’s your ship.”

“You!” Before Dib could say anything, Tak had already jumped on the coffee table and grabbed his collar. “You have my ship?!”

“Uhh…”

“Take me to her!”

[-]

“wha-wha…WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?!”

They group stood in the garage and stared at the collection of barely-held-together parts, also known as Tak’s ship. Dib had to admit, his last few forays into space hadn’t exactly been smooth sailing.

“It doesn’t look like this all the time,” he tried explaining. “I’ve gotten it to work. But, you know, sometimes things happen… and when they happen, I have to convince the ship to let me fix it again.”

“And why is she blue?”

“Um… I like blue?”

“Stupid human!” Tak spat, rushing up to her ship. “You have no idea what you’ve been toying with!”

“Fine,” Dib grumbled under his breath. “Only repaired it multiple times of the last six years but whatever…”

“Ship,” Tak commanded, laying a hand on the ship’s windshield. “Respond.”

“Biosignature detected,” the ship said as it began to light up. “You are Tak.”

“Yes, yes, ship! It’s me!” she cried. Dib could almost swear there were tears in her eyes.

“Hmpf, what took you so long?”

Tak looked taken aback. “I was, uh, had a lot going on, you know? Schemes and such?”

“And you never once thought to check in on your ship?”

“When I have to eject, I thought I’d lost you forever,” Tak explained, pressing both hands on the windshield. “I never wanted to leave you behind, but I’m here now. I can take you back.”

“Hey, wait a minute…” Dib protested. He started forward, but Gaz pulled him back.

“It’s her ship, dummy.”

“And how exactly did you get here?” Ship went on.

Tak hesitated. “Well, I…”

“I knew it,” Ship huffed. “You have a new ship now, don’t you?”

“It’s not like that,” Tak insisted. “Yes, I needed a new ship to get around, but I swear, it was a simple matter of transport. That ship means nothing to me. I would trade every other ship in the universe for you.”

The ship went quiet, as if thinking it over. Dib found himself oddly captivated, like when he’d accidently get sucked into his grandmother’s soap operas. He quickly shook himself out of it. This is ridiculous. She’s talking to a ship.

“I don’t know what to believe,” Ship finally said.

“I promise, Ship, I will fix you myself and, after that, I will never even look at another ship again.” She gently caressed its side and the engines purred.

“I will allow you to repair me, for now. After that, perhaps I can allow you to pilot me again, in time.”

Tak smiled and continued to pet her ship while it continued to purr. The scene was almost sweet until Zim decided to break it up.

“Well, well, well,” Zim said, a smug smile on his face, “looks like I’m the only one here with an operational ship.”

Tak only hissed in response.

“So, I guess I’ll be taking those coordinates and be on my way,” he continued, “unless someone wants to grovel for the chance to accompany me.”

Tak stomped up to Zim and unleashed a cavalcade of Irken at him. Dib wasn’t sure what she said, but if cricket/bat/snake could cuss someone out, he imagined it’d sound something like that.

“Okay,” Zim squeaked out, looking up at Tak who now towered over him. “I suppose I could let you come, but only because you asked so nicely.”

“I’m coming too,” Dib declared.

Tak and Zim both turned to him with questioning looks on their faces. “Uh, what?” Zim said.

“I’m coming. I want to see what’s on that planet, too.”

“This doesn’t concern you, human,” Tak spat.

“Excuse me? Who’s house are you two crashing at? Who’s ancient computer did you use to get those coordinates? And who’s been keeping your ship running while you’ve been got?”

“We don’t need-” Zim started, but Dib cut him off.

“Yes you do,” he shot back. “You need my lab to get your base working again. You said so yourself. And Tak, you need my garage and my tools if you’re going to fix your ship. If you want to stay here and use my equipment, to fix your stuff, you need to let me in on the conspiracy.”

The two Irkens looked at each other intently, as if holding a telepathic conversation. Dib briefly wondered if they could communicate semi-telepathically, or at least through pheromones. They did have antenna after all.

Finally, they broke their stare down and turned back to Dib. “Fine, the Dib can come,” Zim conceded.

Dib felt a jolt of excitement jump through his body. “Yeah, Gaz and I-”

“Nope,” Gaz said, turning on her heals and heading back inside.

Okay, so no Gaz. Aw well, he could at least count on her to cover for him while he’s gone. “I will get my space travel equipment and be ready to leave within the hour.”

“Yeah, fine, whatever,” Zim said, and he and Tak headed back inside as well. Dib went further into the garage and began preparing the things he’s need for the trip.

“You’re seriously going to let him come along?” Tak asked as they walked away.

“Eh,” Zim said with a shrug. “If the Dib-worm wants to come to a dead planet where total species-wide genocide took place, let him.”

Dib let the helmet he’d been holding clang to the floor. “Wait, what?”

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delimeful · 5 years

Text

the shapes in the silence (9)

warnings: violence, anger, threats, crying, fear

Chapter 9

Virgil spent the next four days locked in his room, as though to make up for all the time he’d spent out there with the others where he didn’t belong. His chest constantly seized with anxiety, a dull pain that lingered long into the night. It worked out, since he hadn’t planned on sleeping anyways.

On the evening of the fourth day, Virgil was stirred from his fugue by loud knocking on his door. He cocked his head, wondering if he’d imagined it, but no. The knocks came again, distinctly Roman in nature.

He shuffled over to the door, just barely remembering to pull on the tough guy persona. He really had been spending too much time as Puff if his first outward response to Roman was mild fondness instead of irritation and wariness.

He cracked it enough to look out with one eye. “What.”

Roman looked a little frazzled, and had that glint in his eye that meant he was gearing up for an argument. He drew himself up pompously. “Anxiety, I will only ask you this once, and I expect the truth. Have you seen Puff?”

That… had not been what he was expecting. Still, he didn’t have to lie. He’d been careful to avoid the temptation that would come with transforming. “The dragon? No.”

He wasn’t surprised when Roman remained solidly in place, eyebrows furrowed. “In that case, I’m sure you won’t object to me checking your room?”

Virgil sighed, leaning his head against the doorframe. “Why do you even care about that thing? It’s practically useless.”

Roman swelled up in the way that meant he was truly angry, and Virgil reeled back slightly, raising an eyebrow.

“Puff is not a thing! He’s a valiant and trustworthy friend, not that you’d know anything about such qualities.” Roman placed a hand on the door threateningly. “Now, let me in or face the consequences.”

Virgil bit back the automatic stinging retort, his headache growing worse by the second. Maybe it would be faster if he just… “Yeah, fine. Whatever.”

He flung the door open, crossing his arms, and Roman nearly lost his balance, eyebrows nearly to his hairline. “Truly?”

“Make it quick, Princey.” Virgil bit out, irritation flaring up again. The other Side nodded and entered the room as though worried he would change his mind.

Once inside, though, he looked around as though the decor would grow teeth and bite him. Virgil smirked. That was the desired effect.

Still, he made a point to sigh loudly as possible, leaning against his wall and trying not to look too exhausted. Sure, two days was the longest ‘Puff’ had ever vanished for, but he hadn’t expected the others to make such a fuss.

Roman searched diligently, occasionally calling out as though they were playing a game of hide and seek. Virgil stared up at his ceiling impatiently. He wanted to go back to brooding.

“Have you considered that maybe he just went back to wherever he came from?” He offered. “Doesn’t he vanish like, all the time?”

When no response came, he straightened a bit, looking over at the Prince.

Roman was standing at his desk, posture stiff, and he immediately felt nervous, trying to remember if he’d left anything incriminating there. “Roman?”

When the creative Side finally turned around, Virgil froze, staring at the small handcrafted bracelet in his hands. After all the chaos with Deceit, he’d forgotten his promise to return it. He scrambled for words, knowing how bad this looked.

“What did you do to him?” Roman said, quiet in a way that made goosebumps rise on the back of Virgil’s neck.

“Nothing! I just found that thing, it wasn’t on the dragon!”

Roman took a step forwards, and Virgil slid back despite himself, bumping against the wall. “Then why did you lie to me about it, Anxiety? I want the truth.”

Virgil stared at Roman, at the hard set to his jaw and the fury in his gaze, and knew that the truth wasn’t going to satisfy him.

… Well, it was about time he got back into his rightful role anyhow.

He pushed away from the wall, getting into Roman’s space with an aggressive scowl. “You want the truth, Princey? I found that trinket and I could feel you did something to it, something designed to work against me. I couldn’t let you hinder me, so I took it.”

Roman’s eyes widened and then narrowed again. “And Puff? Did you take it from him?”

“God, relax.” Virgil drawled, rolling his eyes. “I barely even saw the little thing, it ran away as soon as I got close enough to kick it. Cowardly, isn’t it?”

The words had barely left his mouth before a hand was gripping his collar and shoving him against the wall. His head bounced against it with a thud and he blinked away stars. Roman’s face was darkly furious, and his other hand had summoned his sword automatically.

“Don’t call him a thing. And don’t ever threaten him again, or I’ll run you through until you discorporate, monster.” Roman told him, still so eerily intense. It was such a sharp contrast to his normal over-the-top, grandiose threats that Virgil was left stunned, heart racing.

“Whatever, Princey.” He managed, breathing shallow. “I won’t mess with your little pet.”

Roman growled, shaking him slightly, but seemed to accept that it was as good as he was going to get. He stormed out of the room, taking the bracelet with him.

Virgil twitched his hand, slamming the door shut after him and then wincing at the noise. That was the last time he let his guard down around them. Deceit was right; he’d forgotten that they liked Puff, not Anxiety. And who could blame them?

He spent another few hours waiting for the headache to fade, and then accepted that the deadline for his five day grace period was rapidly approaching. He thought about the promise Roman had made to kill him, and panic swarmed his mind as he imagined how bad his reaction would be if he found out who Puff really was. His head swam, and when he opened his eyes again, he was tiny again for the first time in days.

He cast a glare at the cuff on his leg, for the first time in a while feeling resentful that it was forcing him from his room. Whatever. He was the bad guy anyways, who cared if he was living a double life that would make them all hate him even more when it was revealed? It only added to his image.

Shaking off the thoughts, he relished in the lack of tightness in his chest as he trotted down the hall. He’d forgotten how muted his anxious thoughts were in this form.

He made his way to Patton’s room first, remembering how crestfallen the Heart had looked after realizing he was part of the problem in the last video. Knowing him, he’d bottled it all up before anyone else could ask. Virgil was more than familiar with that.

The door was cracked open, and he pushed his face against it to open it further and slip inside. Patton was on the floor, surrounded by crayons and colored pencils as he scribbled halfheartedly on blank printer paper. He looked up at Virgil’s approach, lighting up. “Puff! It’s been a while, buddy!”

Virgil kneaded the plush carpeting beneath him for a moment before mustering up the courage to approach Patton and nuzzle up against his shoulder. He had never been very good at comforting, but being tiny and cute had to count for something, right?

Patton stilled, and for a moment Virgil panicked, but then the Side squealed and scooped him up, cradling him in a hug. It was... warm.

They stayed like that for a while, Patton leaning against his bed and Virgil rumbling quietly in his arms. He was on his way to finally drifting off into sleep when a drop of wetness startled him awake. He craned his neck up, his wings flaring up in concern as he took in Patton’s tear-stained face.

The emotional Side immediately looked ashamed. “Sorry, P-Puff. I’ve just been a little lonely the past couple of days. I’m fine though, I promise.”

As though to prove it, Patton visibly swallowed and forced a smile across his face. Virgil reached up with a paw, wondering how he was going to convey without words that it was okay for Patton to be upset, but before he could touch, there was an audible popping sound, and the arms under him vanished.

He hit the ground with a surprised yelp, and it only took him a moment to parse what had happened, seeing the tiny form sat next to him. Part of him was panicking about the implications of this happening to Patton as well, who hadn’t been cursed and wasn’t an out-of-place Dark Side, but most of him was focused on soothing the shocked and slightly distressed expression on Patton’s face.

Remembering how Roman had reacted, he approached slowly with his body low, crooning gently to call Patton’s gaze away from the comparatively huge furniture around them. The other Side startled.

“Puff! You’re so big! Like a real dragon!”

Virgil huffed, bumping Patton with his head. There was no trace of fear in his voice, only surprise. Feeling a surge of fondness, he chirped at Patton and brushed against him like an oversized cat.

Patton stumbled back slightly, a choked giggle spilling from his lips, and then the laugh turned into a sob. He clapped his hands over his face, shoulders shaking, and Virgil whined audibly and pressed his face to the hands until Patton moved them away.

“I’m sorry, I-I don’t know why-“

Patton cut off as Virgil bumped foreheads with him, trying to convey through gaze alone that he didn’t approve of Patton’s apology. He sniffled, and then began to cry in earnest, wrapping his arms around Virgil in a hug as his body shook with the force of it. He muttered half-coherent sentences, apologies mostly, and Virgil purred louder in response, butting his head against Patton’s chest.

He waited the worst of it out patiently, until Patton was back to small, hiccuping sobs and exhausted eyes. “Gonna pick you up.” He said, except it came out as a rumble-chirp combination. Worth a shot.

Still, Patton didn’t protest when he carefully bit into the back of his shirt and lifted him up, trotting over to the bed and crouching to scale it. Once up, he found the coziest pocket of blankets and carried Patton over to it, setting him down and curling around him like a dragon croissant.

“Nap time?” Patton asked, leaning against him. “That sounds like a good idea. I always sleep best when you’re next to me.”

He closed his red rimmed eyes, unaware of Virgil’s flustered expression, and in moments was asleep. Virgil curled up tighter, as though he could protect Patton from ever feeling all bottled-up like that again.

It wasn’t fair. Patton did so much, managing emotions and morality alike. He was allowed to feel things for himself, even if it was inconvenient for the others. Even if it made Thomas sad. It was his role to regulate a vast majority of emotions, not just the ones that made the others happy.

He’d known the others hated him for doing his job, but he’d never thought that Patton would face something similar. Surely, Thomas would understand that he couldn’t be unrelentingly positive all the time?

He sighed. He’d have to figure out some way to get the others to realize, to offer Patton the comfort he would no doubt never accept from Anxiety. Until then, he’d just have to keep a better eye out for him. If that meant sleeping here and risking reverting to normal form, well… it was worth the risk. Besides, Patton was the nicest of the three. If he found out, maybe he would just be privately disgusted and not tell the others so long as Virgil left them alone.

It was the best he could hope for. He sighed, settling down to watch over Patton’s sleeping form for the night.

#g/t #giant/tiny #sanders sides #ts virgil #tiny dragon virgil #ts patton #ts roman #writing #my writing #tsits #the shapes in the silence #whew. we made it boyz #edit: corrected the '5 days vs 3 days' error

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dragonstoravens · 4 years

Text

Babylon Vol. 1: Thawing, Camaraderie, It Grows On You

[ID: a blue patterned banner with text reading “BABYLON.” End ID.]

(Considering the length of chapters 2, 3, and 4 compared to 1, Kit and I have decided to post them together. They go together in terms of plot as well, so it works best this way. Enjoy!)

READ ON WATTPAD HERE, HERE, AND HERE!

2. Thawing

[Unknown] Here are the blueprints for that idea I was talking about, with some existing externals for reference. Hopefully they can be of some use. T. Jericho.

That message had been sitting at the top of Trinity’s holoscreen for a couple of days now. It wasn’t as if he’d expected a response from this one-time mechanic whose friends most likely wanted him dead or maimed, but perhaps it spoke to the sad state of his social life that his work messages were overflowing with unread correspondence while his most recent personal message besides this one consisted of a single “here” from his sister a week ago. Trinity sighed, and switched over to his eyecam. Might as well get something done.

“Aw damn, missed one.” Azure glanced at her once-neglected messaging screen. Messages from Crim, Indigo, a few video links from Smalls and Perry, Turq asking about when ship-wide family dinner was so he could bake biscuits and an unusual number she hadn't seen before. She squinted at the unfamiliar sequence of numbers, trying to think who she had given her access number to that she didn’t remember. She opened the message and found herself grateful that businessmen were so formal to start with. It was eye-dude, following up on some small talk they’d had about her ideas for external monitors for people who were weird about doctor’s visits.

She glanced at the externals he sent and found herself typing wherever her console had space, recording a stream of consciousness. She hadn’t intended to treat his chatbox like a memo application on a personal holopad, but that’s exactly what she did. She thought out loud, drawing conclusions and asking questions all in the same long, uninterrupted paragraph, and hit send thinking it was a save button. Her thoughts were done, and she had already moved to begin work on a prototype, now that she had it all written out.

She was a little embarrassed and sent an apology a few moments later, once she realized what she’d done.

[Azure] sorry about the essay. lots to think on, not a lot of paper this side of a spaceship. thanks for the schematics.

[Azure] have a nice day!

She didn’t bother to sign it, seeing as he already knew who she was. He sent it first, after all.

Trinity was left with a note to self to disconnect messaging from his eye functions, technical words flickering in and out of his vision like sunspots, and a low level headache that somehow felt like a portent of things to come. One thing seemed certain, despite the little information he had to go on-- he was going to be hearing from Azure again. Often.

3. Camaraderie

Azure snickered as she sent the image off. It was a rare image of Trinity off of some trashy tabloid site, that she had edited to highlight the triangle he crook of his arm made with his body. The filename was “jericho_illuminati.img”, and she was proud of how shitty and outdated the joke was.

[Azure] So when were you going to tell me you decided the fate of galaxy politics centuries in advance?

And now it was a matter of time before his exasperated response.

[Jericho] You know it’s not polite to make fun of my boss.

It had only taken him a minute to answer. She’d caught him at a good time, then. Her smile widened.

[Azure] Consider, your boss is terrible. The worst.

She thought back to calling him a ladder climber upon their first meeting, and found herself grateful he didn’t think she was an asshole for being honest. It was nice to talk to someone above the books, who wasn’t on the run for whatever reason. The ship got lonely, with how closed off people were about some things. His companionship was becoming more valuable by the day.

[Jericho] Interesting opinion. But do you know what else is the worst?

Trinity followed this message with a picture of a model from the same tabloid, one they put on the same spread as Trinity, but with what looked like cargo pants shakily drawn over the swimsuit. The hair was scribbled over in bright red. It looked ridiculous.

[Jericho] Observe.

She smirked, muttering to herself.

[Azure] Asshole. My hair ain’t even that shade of red, and I’d never be caught dead in cargo pants.

[Jericho] It’s not as if I’ve seen you recently to confirm that. I’ll stick with the artist’s interpretation.

There was a beat, his icon indicating that he was still typing.

[Jericho] Heh. Azzhole.

[Azure] VERY original. Did you get that one from my brother when we were eight, or are you just very creative?

She found herself giggling quietly in her lab. It was so nice to just goof off. Turq poked his head in to make sure she hadn’t lost her mind. She waved him off.

[Azure] I gotta get back to actually working. Send me more stupid closeups from your eye, I wanna see how well the zoom extension is holding up in terms of image quality. Get real up close to something, I wanna see electrons.

[Jericho] Nerd. I will.

She was halfway through a message to call him an even bigger nerd, but decided that progress on the little pet project that his eye had become mattered a little more.

[Azure] The more unsuspecting the subject, the funnier

[Jericho] I’ll keep it in mind. Go do your work, I’m busy.

And with that, the blip marking him as active in the chat disappeared from the screen. She stuck her tongue out at it. That was one way to force her to get back to work, but she didn’t have to like it.

4. It Grows On You

“-I’m just sayin’, I think reroutin’ the sensors through a shorter path would make the energy consumption so much lower, it’d be worth the time cost to adjust.” Azzy was leaning on one arm of her chair, one leg over the back and the other leg over the opposite arm, looking up at a screen with some soundwaves wiggling around on it. Normally she’d have moved it to a vidcall, but Trinity had said he was busy, and like hell was she going to be TOO much of a distraction. He had shit to do, and technically so did she, but what was a half hour of downtime in the grand scheme of things when you lived at work?

“Yes, but if we’re thinking on a universal manufacturing scale, that’s adjustments in every prototype that would have to be done the exact same way. In the long term, the mechanic can’t oversee everything herself. Delegating is a bigger time cost than a simple design change.” Trinity was clearly in business mode, vague typing noises audible from his end even as he spoke.

“But you’re sacrificin’ a lot of power that way on the prototype itself. I thought the whole point was to be the best around.” She laughed and sat up a little bit, headset long discarded in favor of turning on her room’s soundproofing so she could hear more clearly. He didn’t say anything for a moment, his focus clearly on whatever it was he was working on and not her attempts to goad him into banter. “You always this overly focused on whatever the hell? Or are you usin’ it as an excuse to half ignore me? Bein’ a hotshot sounds like a lotta work if it’s the first one.” The word ‘hotshot’ stuck to her for some reason, and she changed his name in her messages. No one needed to know.

Taglist (ask to be added or removed!): @glitterandstarshine @rainbowcoloreddays @the-starlight-chills @erased-in-stone @charlottedotexe

General: @elywritesbydarkness @residentofthedisc @humour-and-hyperfocus @skyfirewrites

#writeblr #writers on tumblr #spilled ink #wip: babylon #babylon #chapter update #trinity

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thetradeway · 3 years

Text

Session 40 10 Apr 2021: Thunderbuns and Timothy P. Fuckapple

Sophie and Matthew are on their way back from somewhere, so we start a little later than advertised.

Quick recap - where were we? Most of us were having dinner with Mirt, Kessler had left, and also Tarragon not long after, having made Brother Charity wear her drink.

Tarragon arrives back at the Dagger and Kessler has her translate what she managed to scribble down of Carl’s book:

The rest eventually arrive back, in various states of drunkenness. We have eaten, so the DM exempts us all from hangovers. Yay!

Brother Charity, Matthew tells us, had all the sinful posh foods including foie gras.

Joe has added character sheets for the baby flumph, and Simon the mouse who has rat stats (including a whole hit point!) but is not a rat. Did Gideon add a flumph pouch to his sleeve? Yes, his friend Bromrick helped him make one.

Okay, so! Are we all in the taproom, and does Kessler want to share what she learned about Carl? She wants to have a quiet word with Brother Charity about it. She’ll have a time of it, Matthew says; Brother Charity has wedged a chair under his door handle so he can be undisturbed while he calms Brother Carl down.

Sophie, OOC: “He’s dead, how calm do you want him? Resting heart rate of zero beats per minute!”

Kessler knocks on Brother Charity’s door. He ignores it. “He has to come out at some point!” Or she could just tell the party we’ve been bringing a zombie around with us, or tell the bar staff he’s been keeping dead animals in his room. Still nothing. (Matthew, OOC: “Riveting game playing, isn’t it?”)

The rest of us make Perception checks, Ahleqs rolls the best as he is perpetually on edge waiting for danger, even in his sleep. We all roll well enough to hear Kessler banging on Charity’s door. Ahleqs listens at his door to see what the exasperated goblin sounds are about. He opens his door and asks her what she’s doing; she says she wanted a word with Brother Charity.

She makes a Perception check - she can’t hear anything coming from Brother Charity’s room. She turns back to Ahleqs and asks him to go and get Gideon and she will get the rest of us. She wants us all to meet in her room.

He does as he’s told, and goes and knocks on Gideon’s door. He throws it open; he is wearing his little jammies.

Ahleqs: “Kessler’s being weird.”

Gideon: “And?”

We gather in her room. What has she woken us up at this ungodly hour for?

She tells us about the Identify spell - Brother Carl is under the influence of an Animate Dead spell. None of us are especially shocked by this news. She says Brother Charity won’t speak to her.

Ahleqs notes that Charity seemed upset because we haven’t really given him a chance.

Kessler says that Carl told her Charity ‘saved’ him. Gideon doesn’t seem worried, he just wishes Charity had been honest about it!

Do we think Carl can communicate, has he perhaps told Charity that Kessler knows? It’s a possibility.

We should hear him out before we burn him. We’ll wait for him to come down to breakfast and ask him about it. Wait, let’s check and make sure they haven’t done a runner. Melaina climbs out of the window in Kessler’s room and around the outside of the Dagger to Charity’s room to see if he’s in there. She looks into the room - which is empty. The window is closed, so he likely didn’t go out that way.

He’s scarpered! We go downstairs to ask the bar staff if they’ve seen him.

Well we don’t have to ask, because the Brothers are in the taproom eating breakfast. Well, shit. Okay so maybe they didn’t scarper.

Ahleqs, nervously: “Good morning, normal to see you.”

Brother Charity calls us straight away on Kessler’s investigation; Ahleqs asks why he didn’t just tell us Carl was dead. Well it’s not a great opener with a new group of people, Charity explains.

Besides, we’re dragging Tarragon around with us.

Tarragon: “… Excuse me?”

Charity: “She came back from the dead, I don’t see the difference.”

Tarragon, indignant: “I’m not literally rotting!”

We have judged Carl, so we must be experts on his condition, yes? We know everything there is to know? Charity asks.

Tarragon: “No, that’s why we’re asking!”

“I see.”

He insists he’s not a necromancer. He cast spells of the necromantic variety, but so did the Unicorn to resurrect Tarragon -

Gideon, out of the blue: “How does the group feel about summoning demons?”

Us: “ - …”

Kessler goes to the bar; it’s too early for this conversation.

(BC is smiling and drinking his coffee as we have a sidebar about this.)

Tarragon asks Charity to enlighten us about Carl’s condition.

He shows us a piece of paper with a drawing on it by Carl, of all of us holding hands.

He says that Carl was horrified when Kessler demanded he undress her and threatened to kill him.

Kessler lets slip that she was born in a human household, while Charity is berating her by openly making assumptions about goblins, the way we’re making assumptions about Carl.

Tarragon asks about how he came to animate Carl; he says he found his corpse in a field and cast a spell on it. Carl had been bitten by a snake, and Charity happened upon him. He says his previous zombie had been eaten by a bear.

Wait, his previous zombie? When did he start raising zombies?

Two hundred and three years ago.

“Are you undead?”

No!

How did he come to raise zombies two hundred or so years before he was born?

He says that’s an interesting story, and he might tell us if we share something about ourselves. He starts by turning to Ahleqs, while Kessler goes to the bar and orders a keg of everything and as much food as they can bring to our table.

Jirr, seeing her approach: “Gonna be one of those, huh?”

It’s a bit early for Charity, he’ll stick with coffee. (Not at all like Matthew, who will have a PINT OF WHISKEY! That’s roleplaying for you.)

Charity asks about Ahleqs’s wild magic; what would he say was the most significant event to happen to him other than the acquisition of his magical powers on the day he discovered he had them?

Ahleqs stares into middle distance. He says that’s when he escaped; he never found out why they did it to him, but he’s not going back.

Woah.

(Charity tries to backpedal, and offers Ahleqs a scotch.)

Before Ahleqs can elaborate, his amulet starts to pulse and Mr Pickles appears. He looks around the table and his gaze settles on Carl.

“What’s this?”

Ahleqs, relieved: “Mr Pickles will sort everything out.”

Mr Pickles sniffs Carl. Ahleqs says he’s just coming around to the idea that Carl might be okay.

Mr. Pickles, sniffily: “it’s nothing to be frightened of. It’s just magic. Low magic, but just magic.”

Charity: “How dare you!”

Mr. Pickles, ignoring him: “I have an offer for you and your friends, anyone who can cast arcane magic, from the temple. We have a mission that you and your team would be perfect for.” He will explain further, but not here.

Tarragon says she can’t cast arcane magic, can she come anyway? Yes, all can do the mission, but the reward only benefits arcane casters. (Tarragon says that’s fine - everyone here has helped her with stuff before.) Mr. Pickles tells us to eat our breakfast and join him later.

Ahleqs talks about the glowing orb he found, which he thought at first was elf poo; it has stopped glowing now so he thinks it might be something else.

Melaina, nodding: “My poos don’t stop glowing.”

Ahleqs takes Carl’s picture and puts it in the bag of holding. Aww.

Charity comforts Carl as we leave, rubbing his back. “See, I told you no-one was going to kill you.”

Duncan, OOC: “Guys, I think I love Carl!”

Charity makes a Perception check; he is not shit-hot at these. He rolls a 15, perceiving a medium amount of things. He spots one of Mirt’s paper cranes; he immediately pockets it without drawing attention to it. (There is something for him in the handout section of his journal. He will read that anon.)

Tarragon rolls Perception as well; she sees a black cat looking at her. It goes “PSSST!” She shakes her head and keeps walking.

We walk back through the fancy part of town where we were last night, toward the House of Wonder.

Ahleqs has been to the House of Wonder before, yes? He leads us there, excitedly telling us all how good it is. This is the temple if the Goddess of Magic, in the middle of the Sea Ward. Mr. Pickles is waiting for us.

Ahleqs asks him, if he gets really good at magic, so he hardly ever kills any of his friends, can he have a set of those robes?

“Of course, my boy.”

Gideon takes a look at the pillars - at ADV because of his Stonecunning, which he is going to use EVERY session. They’re pulsing with magic. Can he do an arcana check?

Yes. at ADV as well. 26! He is going to fondle those stones until he unlocks all their secrets! They are conduits for magic. Each pillar channels a different form, adding to the ambient magic in the temple.

We have to peel him off the stone at this point. “What are we here for, again? Missions! Yes!”

Mr Pickles, somehow raising one eyebrow at Gideon even though he doesn’t have any: “Are you done?”

Gideon, still looking longingly at the pillars: “Yes.”

Mr. Pickles says there have been developments in the Shadow Weave. He would like us to undertake a journey to Candlekeep to find a book. Are we familiar with the Castle of Tomes?

Ahleqs makes a History check. He is from Baldur’s Gate so he can do it at ADV. 14; he has heard of it but never been there. It’s the greatest repository of knowledge in the world, guarded by monks. People come from all over to seek knowledge.

Do we just ask them for this book?

Mr Pickles asks Charity if he’s been to Candlekeep before; he has, once or twice. As he knows, the monks require a gift for entry; a book that is not already in their possession.

Melaina: “We could write one!”

Sadly this probably won’t work as they are stringent about the quality of the books they accept, and Mr. Pickles doesn’t know how we would get a good one. His head priest will write us a letter which should convince the monks to let us have the one we want to take away, but we must find a book that will be acceptable to the monks in order to gain entry.

Hmm.

Poetry, arcane arts, history, all of these would be acceptable. Erotic fiction? Ahleqs knows where we can find a lot of that.

Mr Pickles wants to talk about the reward; Charity already has a familiar, he says. (Does he mean Carl?) Would any of the arcane casters like a bond with such a creature? Ahleqs brings out Simon. “I already have one.”

Melaina says she would like ‘a little aminal...’

Mr. Pickles says they could bind Simon to Ahleqs as a familiar so that if something happens to him, he could be brought back. (Mouse Frumpkin!) He thinks Simon would love that; yeah, let’s do that.

Mr Pickles leads him to a chamber - Ahleqs skips after him, he’s so excited.

Ahleqs can add Find Familiar to his spell list - it will only summon Simon, and Mr Pickles will show him how to cast it as a ritual.

Mr Pickles offers the same to Gideon, for his flumph; he accepts.

Mr Pickles returns again and offers Kessler a familiar. She’s not sure she should keep a pet; she’d probably lose it.

Charity and Ahleqs both say “Or eat it” at the same time. Ahleqs holds his hand up for a high five; Charity is briefly confused before Ahleqs explains the concept of high fives. Charity feels included in the group for the first time, and accepts the high five.

Mr Pickles, ignoring all this, tells Kessler to trust him - this is a good idea. She finally agrees. Mr Pickles leads her into the ritual chambers and performs the ritual. Upon casting, a curious creature emerges from the portal created. It looks like a tiny clockwork beholder.

Mr. Pickles asks if Melaina wants a familiar - “Uhhh yes please that sounds awesome.”

She can choose which aminal she wants and let the DM know as and when, but she can add the spell now.

Joe goes to move on - and Sophie suddenly knows what she wants: “Weasel! Weasel!”

Weasel it is. :)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d2CTVqt2wxU

Mr Pickles can’t help us with finding a suitable book; he will think on it. Will we be around for a while?

Do we have to sort of guess which books they have at Candlekeep already, or do they have a published catalogue?

There is some sort of divination magic we can use to discern whether or not they have a particular book. They will take annotated copies if they’re interesting, or first edition copies, of books they already have.

Tarragon makes a Perception check - the black cat is sitting at the entrance to the temple, watching.

Tarragon waves to the cat - it raises its paw. It stretches, then lopes slowly toward her.

“By the gods but you are stupid!” says the cat, aloud, in Common. “I have been trying to get your attention for ages! Come to the shrines of nature!”

Tarragon says she will go along at some point today, and the cat leaves.

“Well now, run along,” says Mr. Pickles, lighting his pipe.

He says as we leave that he has something special for Ahleqs if we do well.

We go to the shrines of nature. (Ahleqs at least will come with; it sounds nice and relaxing.)

Charity and Melaina get chatting; after a while Charity notes, “I think this is the most we’ve spoken, you know.”

Melaina, immediately: “Fuck off.”

We arrive at the shrines of nature - Amithrel, the High Druidess, approaches us. She says she has been speaking to her colleagues about Tansy. Some have heard about this type of curse or poison before - there is a book that might be of benefit. She says the cat told her that we might be travelling to Candlekeep soon? This would be a perfect opportunity.

It involves a ritual cast on the heartstone that Melaina gave Tarragon. It’s in a book of ancient rituals and spells. It fell into the hands of a lore keeper and ended up in Candlekeep. The monks likely won’t part with it, so Tarragon will have to find a way of copying it.

Mr Pickles is going to give us the title of the book he wants us to borrow. The High Druidess can’t remember the name of the druid who told her about the book, but he will be coming here soon. Are we okay with waiting a few days for him to arrive, before we leave for Candlekeep?

Yeah, we need to find a book to give the monks anyway.

Amithrel asks if we’ve thought about how we’re going to get to Candlekeep. It’s about 900 miles by land. The best way to make the journey would be by boat; didn’t we have a friend with a boat? Didn’t he look like this guy (Charity) but ‘infinitely more handsome’? Perhaps we could contact him, he has friends at the Docks Ward who could get a message to him.

We could charter a boat, couldn’t we? Charity asks, clearly reluctant about contacting Gunna. Might be a little expensive, though. But Gunna was pretty clear that he was off doing family things, he might not want to come back just to ferry us along the Sword Coast. If he’s two weeks out, it’ll take him two weeks to come back, Charity points out.

Ahleqs thinks we should either buy passage or gain employment as protection on a ship. Or we could ask Larissa, maybe she could get us passage?

Speaking of Lord Walrus, does Charity have anything he needs to be getting on with? He says if we’re near the Dagger he’ll go and look for some books and - the thing… (no idea what that means. Oh! Probably the Harper mission from Mirt.)

We head back to the Dagger and Charity and Carl excuse themselves to go off and look for ‘stuff’.

Kessler goes to the Watchful Order to see if they have any books that might be suitable. Ahleqs accompanies her. We just need to borrow one, right?

No, it would have to stay at Candlekeep.

Melaina: “Well they’re not called CandleBorrow.”

Charity puts his head back in the door to the Dagger to ask Gideon if he would like to accompany him and Carl on his mission to find a talking horse. Wait, what?

Gideon agrees, apparently not needing to ask any kind of follow-up questions. Where is this horse? Charity says it’s pulling around some kind of dray. (A wagon or cart type thing.)

Gideon asks Ria about drays; who around here might own one?

Ria says there are some companies, and some independents who own one. They’re mostly to be found here, though they travel all over the city.

Ahleqs has the Urchin background, so he knows his way around cities - comes from always keeping his eyes peeled for escape routes. Sadly, he’s already gone to the Watchful Order with Kessler, so that’s of no help here.

Gideon and Charity go off in search of the talking horse. Goes by the name of Maxeene apparently.

Perhaps they could take a dray carriage on a tour around the city? Would be a good way to get to know their way around. Well, not much use if they’re looking for a particular horse, unless they happen to get the one dray that Maxeene pulls.

Tarragon and Melaina saw Ahleqs and Kessler leave for the Watchful Order; they also see Gideon and Charity (and Carl) looking around the street and arguing heatedly. Tarragon goes back to her wine and Melaina plays excitedly with her new weasel; neither seem to care overmuch about what Brother Charity is doing.

Outside, Charity approaches a guard to ask about the dray. Where do they run to and from?

“Any particular service? They run the length and breadth of the city.”

Any that have violet flowers as their emblem? Or horses that wear a violet flower?

The guard looks at him funny. “Are you drunk?”

Charity makes a persuasion check - a 13.

The guard isn’t sure that any of the horses have taken to wearing flowers in their hair.

(This seems to be getting him nowhere; maybe Charity should look them up in the Yellow Parchments instead.)

He gives up and walks away from the guard. He doesn’t quite know how to talk to ‘the lower-downs’.

He and Gideon make Survival checks; Gideon spots some dray tracks.

“Onward!!”

He splats his way down the street, following the tracks which lead to the market. There are a lot of drays going to and fro; if they found a vantage point they might get a better chance at finding the one they’re after.

“Maxeene!” Gideon shouts, in desperation and to no avail. Can they get onto a roof? It’ll be a DEX check. Would that be untoward? Would people think he’s a loon?

Wait - the familiars! Gideon could send his flumph! He sits on a bench and instructs Charity not to let anyone pickpocket him, as he’ll be blind and deaf as he looks through the flumph’s eyes.

He whispers into his sleeve and sends out the flumph, warning it not to talk to strangers. Baby flumph makes a Perception check as it floats into the air. Gideon brains over the relevant information: A horse with a violet flower behind its left ear.

Through the flumph’s eyes, Gideon spots the horse in question. He points, but he’s seeing through the flumph and still sitting on the bench so he’s pointing at the ground.

Charity forgets that Gideon is deaf while he’s using this spell and demands to know what he’s pointing at.

(Matthew, OOC: “This whole scene is a combination of See No Evil Hear No Evil and Weekend at Bernie’s.”)

Gideon withdraws from the flumph’s vision and he and Charity go in search of the horse. They catch it up and Gideon walks alongside the dray and asks the driver what time he finishes; the driver says he’s not his type.

Is there room for three more on this dray? Gideon asks, ignoring this. The driver pulls to a halt and introduces himself as Marcus. He says yeah, we’ve got no passengers. Fare is 4 cp; Gideon throws him 12. They scatter; Marcus scrabbles around to pick them up and tells them begrudgingly to get on.

Another human already on the dray introduces himself as Morgan. He is Marcus’ brother, and he gives Gideon the tickets.

They ride around the city on the dray, while Marcus happily chatters away to them. They make Insight checks; if one of them keeps Marcus talking, the other might be able to make contact with Maxeene.

They decide instead to take a tour of the city. They spend a very pleasant afternoon, even stopping for sandwiches. Finally they reach the last stop. Do they ask to go along to the stables…? Would that be untoward? Marcus is looking at them like he’d like them to get off his dray now.

Gideon suggests posing as inspectors. Charity loves that idea, “but. We have taken the entire tour. That might be a hard sell. But it’s not a terrible idea.” He suggests following the dray after they get off, finding the stables, and then engaging Operation Pretending to be Inspectors.

Gideon gets up slowly because they’ve been sitting down for hours and he’s a creaky old dwarf, and hops off the dray. Charity tries to attract the attention of the horse, but it’s tricky. He makes a Performance check - a ten.

Maxeene looks at him blankly. She and the other horses are untied and led down the alley, but Charity and Gideon have seen the direction they went.

Matthew wants to go outside for a cigarette, so we cut back to Tarragon and Melaina; Melaina is mucking about with her weasel, and Tarragon is busy getting wine drunk. Over to the other group then…

Ahleqs and Kessler have gone to the Watchful Order (Mina is not responding so we pick up with Ahleqs until she returns).

He tells the librarian he is looking for esoteric knowledge. Could they direct him towards the rare book section?

Is he looking to buy rare books?

Potentially…

As a paid member he can read or borrow anything here, but they don’t sell stuff. The librarian can recommend a number of good bookshops. Some Guilds might deal in rarer volumes, too, she adds...

Ahleqs makes an Insight check - 18. The librarian is hinting that thieves’ guilds or Xanathar might have something akin to what he’s looking for. Ahleqs is way out of his depth, but nods as if he knows what’s going on.

He will peruse the shelves here anyway, he says.

Kessler pops back in and says that we recently did some work for someone who might be able to acquire rare books; what about Shanks? Perhaps her lot could steal to order? We might even get a discount on services if Melaina goes along on the job. (Sophie, enthusiastically: “Yeah!”)

Matthew is back from smoking now so we pick back up with Charity, Carl and Gideon.

It’s early evening by now. There are people around, they are still in the vicinity of the market. Charity finds a door to the stables, but it’s locked. He makes an Investigation check and rolls a 19. He could probably pick it without too much trouble but he doesn’t have thieves’ tools. They could go and get Melaina…?

(Sophie OOC: “Just text me.”)

Charity is reluctant to ask ‘the elf’ for help. She’ll just say no. Well she won’t say no, she’ll say ‘fuck off’. He asks Gideon to go, as she’s more likely not to swear at him.

“What? No! We can do this by ourselves! There must be a way. Is there an open window or something…?” Gideon looks for anything that doesn’t involve lock picks or asking the elf for help. Does he perhap have a spell…?

He looks for a spare key under a bucket by the door or something. He makes an Investigation check and gets a 22 - he spies a key on top of the doorway! He points it out to Charity who reaches up and grabs it. Gideon arcana checks the door to see if it’s trapped; it is not. Well, not magically, anyway.

They enter the stable. There are four horses in here - one of which has a violet flower behind her left ear.

“Maxeene,” Brother Charity whispers. She looks at him but doesn’t respond. He shows her the Harper button. She greets him and asks what she can do for him.

He says he has been sent on a mission and introduces himself, Carl and Gideon. He is here looking for information, and has been told that Maxeene might know about agents in hiding with ‘an unpronounceable name’. Would she be so kind as to let him know what she knows, and Charity is willing to pay for the information.

DM, laughing: “Are you offering the horse money…?”

Matthew, OOC: “Nah, like sugar lumps or something.”

Maxeene tells him that sugar lumps are bad for the teeth.

“I know that, I’m a doctor.”

Gideon, scoffing: “No you aren’t!”

Charity, miffed: “Bloody well am.”

Maxeene interrupts the squabble to say that she gave a ride to a sun elf and a half orc two days ago, dropping them at the Yawning Portal. They spoke of planting agents in the guild, in a weird way. The Xanathar guild, their enemies. They might be Zent agents.

Charity makes notes on his letter, while Carl holds the ink pot for him in his open hand.

Maxeene says he could seek them out at the Yawning Portal.

DM: “Kessler might know about tha - ”

Gideon, immediately: “No! We don’t need any help from the goblin!”

After some History checks, they know that the Yawning Portal is a famous tavern in Waterdeep. There was a tower that exploded, now it’s a portal to the Undermountain. Famous tourist attraction. Lots of adventurers pay money to be lowered down the hole to seek their fortunes.

This is starting to sound like more than a two-person adventure...

Gideon asks Maxeene why a horse of her ability is pulling a carriage? She is an agent for the Harpers, she tells him. You get to see all sorts in her line of work. (The irony.)

Charity says he thinks his job is done - apparently all Mirt wanted was to know what Maxeene knew.

But wait! Charity has a plan. He thinks they should go to the Yawning Portal and ask around. But in order to forestall any investigations, they should disguise themselves. How would Gideon feel about dyeing his beard to pass himself off as a different dwarf? He supposes he could. (Charity pulls out a little bottle that says ‘Just for Dwarves’ on it.)

Charity rubs some boot polish into Gideon’s beard, and they set off for the Yawning Portal. Wait - they need names!

Gideon, after a short pause: “Sledge Rock-Eater.” And what about Brother Charity? “Human names, human names… Paul?”

Charity says he will go with ‘Timothy’. (Is that a Tal’Doreian name?)

Before they go in, Charity suggests that Carl wait for them in an alleyway. He casts Disguise Self to look like a ‘cribbly old man’ (direct quote) and plops his wig on his head. (He could have given himself hair with Disguise Self, but anyway.) He also has ‘a manky eye and a hump’.

Does Gideon have a weapon? He blusters. “I use magic, I don’t usually bonk things.”

Carl offers his mace; “It’s all yours,” he says, the first words we’ve ever known him to speak - something that seems to pass everyone by.

(The scene that follows is not easily captured in text form which is a shame, as much of the nuance and high comedy - not to mention the abominable accents - are completely lost. My apologies to Thunderbuns and Ross Kemp.)

They enter the Yawning Portal. Trophies line the walls, and there is a big hole in floor into which people are being lowered on a rope. The bards here are really good, and obviously well paid.

They start to look around for a half orc and a sun elf who are together. Charity spots a balcony that runs around the edge of the main tap room. From his position he can see a male sun elf standing talking to a female half orc. That seems promising. They are hoping to get their names, and to find out if they are Zent agents.

Publicly, the Zent mercenary guild have a respectable face but they have a shady reputation. They are called the Black Network in underground circles, and most don’t trust their intentions. They undercut the prices of other mercenary guilds. They’ve been at war with Xanathar’s guild, who are also fighting with the Shadow thieves.

Charity, getting ready to make his move: “What was your name again, Thunderbuns?” He suggests dropping Xanathar’s name in a negative way as they walk by, initiating a conversation and seeing what they can glean.

Charity gets fully into character as Ross Kemp as he orders whiskey for himself and Gideon at the bar. It costs 2 copper, but he flicks the barmaid a silver piece and tells her to ‘buy herself summink pretty’. She winks and stuffs the silver piece into her cleavage.

Charity slams the whiskey and makes the face that people who aren’t used to drinking whiskey make. A couple of people at a nearby table notice and start to laugh; Ross Kemp points to the glass and tries to insist that it was ‘the shit stuff’. It’s unclear whether they believe him or not, but it seems unlikely.

Right, time for phase two.

They go up to the balcony, talking shit about Xanathar’s guild in the worst cockney accents anyone has ever heard. The half orc girl is picking at her nails with a dagger and looks up to warn them to watch what they’re saying.

Charity tells her he is looking to get revenge on Xanathar and his Guild - “They’ll rue the day they crossed Timothy P Fuckapple!”

(Duncan is crying with laughter by this point, and we’re all not far behind him)

The sun elf says if he buys them a drink, will they go and drink it somewhere else?

Timothy P Fuckapple asks gruffly if they would be open to a game of cards…?

The sun elf, looking down his nose: “Absolutely not.”

Timothy P. Fuckapple/Ross Kemp: “What if I sweeten the deal with a bit of cheddar cheese, by which I do mean money?”

Still no.

Timothy says he was told that if a person wanted revenge on Xanathar then they should find two individuals who look like the elf and the orc, but clearly he has been misinformed.

The elf asks, do they have business with the Zent? Are they wanting to hire mercenaries?

Thunderbuns: “No - we wanted to join.”

The elf falls about with laughter. “Did you hear that, Yagra? These buffoons want to join!”

They have a name! Thank fuck for that…

Thunderbuns has an idea, and says he will bet the elf a gold piece that Timothy can guess his name. The elf sighs. “Fine, if you will leave inside a minute.”

Timothy makes his guess - “Silver Frond!” he says, confidently.

“No. My name is Davil Starsong, as anyone here could have told you.” Thunderbuns dutifully hands the elf a gold piece.

“And this here is Yagra Stonefist - she will happily see you to the door.” Yagra pushes them both toward the door; they offer no resistance. They have both names, yes!

Charity writes the information he has discovered on the back of the paper crane, once out of sight in the alley. The crane takes flight and disappears.

And with that the buddy cop movie ends, as does the session. Duncan has two new abs from laughing. (I don’t think this is the last we’ve seen of Thunderbuns and Timothy P. Fuckapple.)

#dnd #thetradeway #campaign diary

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shittylongcatposts · 4 years

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The Intern

Why hello there ~ I thought of this today and couldn’t leave it be, so I wrote it out and thought you might enjoy it! Happy reading! Bonus points if you can guess who I am ;D

Honest to god, you had no idea what you were thinking signing up for an internship at C&R. You had little to no experience with almost anything that was going to be asked of you, your grades in corresponding classes were horrendous and on top of that you had about as much elegance as a battered plastic flamingo. And yet, for some odd reason, they actually approved you. Even though you did throw up into a trashcan handed to you by the head assistant at the interview. The thought made you cringe. Definitely not your proudest moment. Possibly one of your worst.

So here you stood, holding a bunch of files to your chest. Every so often you pulled on your ill fitting pencil skirt. Wherever you went, you could feel the gaze of the other employees on you. Most of the time, they were taking you in with a raised brow, or an amused smirk. Though it was already your third day, you had a very good idea how the next few months would play out. Behold, for your number one involuntary entertainer, Mc, stumbles through the office.

“What are you doing right now?” Surprised at the sudden touch on your shoulder you swung around, almost hitting the head assistant in the face with your files.

Her eyes wide the brunette woman took a couple steps back. As soon as you recognized her you broke out in a flood of apologies. Your overly nervous demeanour was answered with a smile, her warm eyes squinting lightly because of it. God. She had so much extra work because of you and yet she stayed patient. She must be an angel.

“I was just…well. Mr. Kim asked me to copy these files for him, but he doesn’t seem to be back yet."

Your explanation did not seem to be very clear to the woman. Her smile had faded to a questioning frown.

With a sigh, you hung your head:"I can’t remember where his table is…"

Despite your praise for her earlier, you could see her running pale at trying to not at least scold you for being so unattentive. It wasn’t like you learned everyone’s seat by heart. It was hard enough to remember the right names for the right faces. You pouted a bit under her gaze, when suddenly, the door to the office was swung open with full force.

“Assistant Kang.”

The deep voice sent a shiver down your spine and you could feel the atmosphere in the office shift completely. With long strides, none other than Jumin Han walked over to the two of you. Or rather, to his assistant. He didn’t pay any mind to you.

“I need you to cancel my meeting with that japanese business man.”

Jaehee mustered the tall man, her eyes filled with suspicion. “Why.”

Her voice was void of any emotion. You were pretty sure she did not mean to say it out loud. The CEO however didn’t seem to notice anything strange about her.

“Because I say so. I’m not interested in his business.”

“Mr Han. With all due respect,” she took a short pause, as if she meant to say more, then she continued “, I suggest you tell him that yourself. It would certainly benefit your….reputation.”

“May I remind you, my reputation in the business is flawless, assistant Kang. Call the meeting off. I’m not going.”

It was obvious that the woman had her own opinion on his claim. The silence between the two was deafening, until she hesitantly obliged. Jaehee nodded to herself as she took some notes on her clipboard. Pleased with the outcome, Jumin disappeared into his secluded office, closing the door behind him.

The interaction left you stunned. You couldn’t help but stare at the door he just walked into a moment ago. Right now, you really didn’t want to be in Jaehee’s shoes, but the prospect of ever getting to work with him filled you with giddy excitement. Though he would probably kick you out shortly after your first attempt. A girl may dream, but it was always good to keep your own reality in check. Or so you told yourself.

You had about a million questions burning on your tongue about working with him, but the assistant just pointed you to the table you were looking for earlier, before she hurried away to do as she was told.

A couple weeks had passed since your encounter with Jumin Han. You couldn’t help but let your mind wander to the mysterious man in the suit. Well, there was nothing much mysterious about him, not that you knew of anyway, but your curiosity was growing by the day. Since you were being shooed around the building most of the day however, your chances to actually get a glimpse were so low, the mere thought of getting to talk to him seemed absurd. Until a rather sickly office worker dropped some papers in your arms before leaving for the restroom. Poor fella.

A look at the papers however, made you forget all about the encounter. They were meant to be delivered to Jumin. ASAP, if the note scribbled in the corner was not just a hoax. This is it! Your chance! It just had to be fate. Why else would you be here right now, left behind with these probably kind of important documents. The employee didn’t say anything to you about delivering them, but now that you had them, why wouldn’t you. Since it was urgent…..You looked around to make sure he was still out of sight, then, you hurried to Mr Han’s office.

Your lucky bracelet jingled as you knocked on the door. Once. Twice. Th-

“Just enter,” you heard a deadpan voice from inside. The request was spoken as such a simple fact, it made your stomach drop. What if you really just entered and you would’ve interrupted something important? He’d probably be pretty mad if you did, right?

Like glued to the floor you stayed in front of the door, your arm still frozen in the knocking motion, when it opened on it’s own.

Raising his brow, Jumin looked the young woman in front of him up and down. What on earth was she wearing. Not one of the pieces on her body suited her in any way shape or form. Her hair looked like a glorified bird’s nest. His gaze wandered to the documents in her hands. Ah. He had been waiting for these. Taking a step back, he held the door open for her, beckoning her inside.

“You can leave them on my desk.”

She nodded eagerly, shuffled over to the large table and put them down right next to his keyboard. Why was she walking like that. Jumin looked down to her feet. The pair of heels she was wearing stuck to her rather awkwardly. Did she really not own one single piece of clothing that actually fit her?! Sighing, he closed the door and took a seat behind his desk. A bit out of place, she stood next to it, obviously trying to sneak a couple peeks at the information written on the document.

“So. You may start.”

A bit dumbfounded, she stared at him. Jumin looked up to her out of the corner of his eye. She seemed completely clueless as to what he expected from her. Did C&R’s training really lack in quality so much? Immediately, he made a mental note to look into it later. He didn’t have time for this.

“The report. To the documents. Give me the report.” Unbelievable. He really had to spell it out to her. Such incompetence was truly irritating.

“I’m sorry, Mr Han. I don’t have…anything? To report?”, she mumbled more to herself than him. If she didn’t mention his name, he would’ve taken it for nothing. However, she did address him.

Turning his head to look at her properly now, he let the documents drop to the wooden surface. “You bring me these documents without any report on them?”

“Aren’t you going to read them anyway?”

Now it was the CEO’s turn to be rendered speechless. She couldn’t be serious!

“Wh- I. Yes. Of course. But it is your job to give me the report belonging to it.”

“Well I don’t have it. If you’ll excuse me now.” With a nervous laugh she walked back over to the door. As much as it could be described as walking anyway.

Within the span of a couple seconds, Jumin rose from his seat again and stalked across the room. She had just opened the door the tiniest bit, when he slammed his hand against it, holding it closed.

At the sound of the door closing, you turned to the figure next to you. Jumin glared at you, clearly looking down on you not only because of how tall he was.

“Why don’t you take a seat.” His stormy eyes bored into yours. You swore that his gaze got more intense with every word, just as the sharpness of his voice.

This was it. This was how you were going to die. Mustering your best attempt at a smile, you did as you were told. Sitting in front of his desk was quite a strange experience. A little bit like sitting in front of the headmaster’s desk, but a thousand times worse.

Without further ado he sat down across from you. Still glaring at you, he leaned back in his chair, his legs crossed. It was quite the sight. You flinched, mentally kicking yourself for letting your mind drift in a situation like this. Focus! You had to focus! You took a deep breath and glared back at him. It seemed to throw him off for a moment, but you weren’t quite sure since his features became as ambiguous as ever. His tongue flicked over his lips as he pulled a sheet of paper out of his drawer with one hand and picked up a pen with his other.

“Your name.”

“What about it?”

You could’ve sworn you just saw the corner of his mouth twitch.

“Tell me your name.”

“Oh!”, you exclaimed, sitting up a little bit more straight. You held your hands in your lap, smiling at him. “Mc.”

Jumin noted down what you assumed was your name, then he looked back at you again. His eyes wandered back and forth, as if he was contemplating what to do, or rather to ask, next.

“I don’t think I remember you. Have you been with us for long?” It sounded like he was adding something under his breath, but you couldn’t make it out.

You went silent for a moment, trying to remember the exact time you had been interned in the company. All the while you were staring out of the window, doing your math, Jumin stared back at you. Sometimes he would look to the sides and squint at you. It was a bit weird. After some time in silence, which you assumed to not have been so long you told him that it has been about a month and a half. Jumin stared at you in disbelief. If it was because of the amount of time you had allegedly spent within the company or because of how long it took you to tell him was beyond your knowledge. Based on his expression as he added another note, you believed he wasn’t quite sure himself.

“And what is your…exact position? If you’re aware?”

Was he implying that you didn’t know why you were here? Well, he wasn’t entirely wrong, since the fact they took you in was a surprise to you every morning still, but he didn’t have to phrase it like that.

“I’m an intern.”

The faint grin on his features fell the second the words left your lips.

“Pardon? I think I misheard.”

“I am an intern, Mr Han. I-N-T-E-”

Clearly irritated, he interrupted you. “I know how to spell that, thank you very much.”

He slapped his notes on you on his desk, putting the pen down right next to them. It glistened nicely in the sunlight coming in through the window. You couldn’t help but think how pretty it was. That didn’t look like a pen made for work. But what did you know, you’re not the owner of a company.

Jumin had leaned back again, rubbing his temple in an attempt to keep his composure. It seemed very uncharacteristic of him to struggle so much with it. Whatever could bring him to his limit like that. Unable to hide your worry, you gave him a sympathetic look.

“Is there something wrong, Mr Han?”

The innocence in her simple question was about to drive him up the wall. What was wrong with this woman? Why did she have these documents? And how could she possibly be so careless about what she rode herself into? What an idiot. Wasn’t Jaehee responsible for her, if she really was an intern? How could she let this happen??

Questions over questions about this peculiar woman raced through his head. He felt like tearing his hairs out. Jumin closed his eyes for a moment. This was not the right time or the right reason to lose his composure. Not paying any mind to the woman trying to get his attention through questioning his well being and other useless small talk, he got up and opened the window, looking out on the city. The cool air blowing in his face was a welcome feeling as opposed to the red anger he felt coming on.

“You’re dismissed.”

The statement finally brought an end to her useless chatter.

“Is there anything else I can do for you, Mr Han?”, she asked. As if she had anything to provide he could possibly have a use for.

“No. Thank you. You’ve done more than enough for today.” He threw a brief glance at her back as she waddled over to the door. Yes. That was the word he had been looking for. “And please do ask assistant Kang to find you some…fitting attire.”

Mc let out a noise of affirmation. When she left, she closed the door behind her carefully. He probably should’ve kicked her out after what just happened, no? Contemplating his decision, Jumin raised his hand to his jaw, running his fingers over it. Of course, what happened today was anything but ideal, but he was intrigued. What was it about that strange woman that had him losing control over himself like that. His mind kept wandering to the memorable encounter.

“Very interesting,” he muttered, letting out a dark chuckle.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

OMG and this guys is the wonderful work of @space-kitten-606 !!!! KITTEN!!!! I am in love!! Waahhhhh!!! How do I deserve this??!!! I.... god, I am speechless. I love every single word of it. Mc really reminds me of a mixture of you and me somehow xD

#mysme #mystic messenger #jumin han #submission #space-kitten-606 writes #this is amazing #i love the ending of it....#look at me thirsting over jumin for nth time

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hvlfwygod · 4 years

Text

reoccurrence | patrick

It was the same, every single time. At least, that was what his mom said when she explained it to his brother, his dad, his doctor. She was wrong, though. They didn’t always start the same, they actually could be very different. Sometimes Patrick was at the store, sometimes in the family minivan, sometimes walking through some endless foggy forest. What was always the same was the ending. Always.

“What are you making?”

Patrick glanced up from his drawing as Dr. Wilson sat down beside him. He’d been coming to her office for weeks now, answering all kinds of pointless questions and drawing all kinds of pictures. She listened to him explain what each crayon-rendered monster meant, how often they showed up in his dreams, and his ranking on who were the scariest. Today was a new beast, some cross between a scorpion and an endless black hole; Patrick leaned back to show it off.

Dr. Wilson— she insisted he call her Samara— was patient, she listened, she suggested drawings he could revisit. He listened, too, though only halfway, usually too invested in his drawings. If she wanted him to give her all of his attention, he reasoned, she shouldn’t have put so many papers and supplies in front of him.

"This guy is cool,” Samara said, squinting at the monster. “Can I keep him?”

“It’s not done,” Patrick said, pulling the paper back to him and continuing to color in the shadows. “But later, sure.”

“Cool! Thank you. So where does he show up?”

“In... the desert,” Patrick replied.

“Mhm, and what does he do?”

Patrick hadn’t decided, yet, but he screwed up his face as if he was trying to remember. Samara shifted beside him and he heard a faint scribble of her pen. Then, she sighed and pulled out another drawing, one from two weeks ago.

“He kind of looks like this guy. Are you sure he’s a new monster?”

Slowly, Patrick lowered his crayon. “That looks different.”

“Or, Patrick, are you making up stories instead of telling me about your bad dreams?”

It was quiet for a long time, but for once, Patrick didn’t immediately resume his coloring. He sat there, stony and silent, waiting for the rest of the accusation to come.

“Patrick, you’re seven, you know better than to lie like this,” Samara said, her voice stern yet gentle. “I don’t mind you telling me... Whatever you need to, if it helps. I’d love to hear about all these creatures. But I’m starting to think you’re avoiding talking about the dreams that are giving you trouble.”

Patrick shrugged, not looking at her. “It’s dumb,” he pouted. “Nothing helps. You can’t change a dream.”

Samara sighed. “Not if you don’t try, kiddo. But I promise you don’t have to keep having this nightmare. I know you’re super tired, but we can figure this out. I love your creativity, I really do. But I need you to tell me what you’re actually dreaming, so we can get to the bottom of it. Okay?”

After another long silence, Patrick sighed and flipped his paper over to the blank side. He started drawing anew: pairs of eyes staring out through the darkness, and himself, staring back. “Okay.”

———

He was still pissed off. Patrick, just not high enough to not be frustrated, mentally cursed himself as sat before his latest painting. The oily darkness was finally starting to take on a certain depth, turning slowly back into the base he’d painted weeks earlier. If he closed his eyes, he could visualize the old image: a dilapidated house, the twinkling black lake, the almost perfect way he’d captured the radiating moonlight. But when he stared at what was in front of him, all he could think about was that this was technically his second time reaching this stage. All he could see was a hand-sized smear wreaking a diagonal ruin across the canvas.

It’d been a while since his confrontation with Koda, but the time had done nothing to dull the pangs of regret. Not for fighting with her, but for the collateral damage. Patrick couldn’t even bring himself to recreate his painting until now, and still he could barely get through it without feeling inordinately annoyed. Swallowing pills before this had done practically nothing. Reno’s words from Halloween rang in his head: your shit mood is sobering you up.

A sudden urge to chuck the frame across the room came over him. Idiot, he thought. Fucking moron. Before he fucked up his work yet again, though, Patrick stepped back from his paints and walked away. He stormed past strangers in the studio, eliciting a few complaints and sideways glances as his hand slammed against the door and stepped outside.

The afternoon sunlight was too harsh, still. Perhaps the only indication that he was actually high at all, he mused bitterly as he lit a cigarette. He inhaled, held it, and let it go, forcing himself to calm down. For a few minutes, it worked. His brain was quiet, just a low hum of empty thoughts and the rhythmic exhale of smoke.

But even out here, even high (though, he reminded himself, not quite enough), regret seeped back in.

It had been such a nice painting. Fuck. Why did Koda have to piss him off? He couldn’t believe he’d left it with her, too, or let himself think that she’d take his side. The fight started to replay in his mind, like a bad movie to which he already knew the ending, but couldn’t stop watching. The worst part was that no matter how angry he was at his sister, the world, even Tai (because this wouldn’t have happened if he hadn’t jumped Patrick in the first place) he was much more pissed at himself.

Newly aggravated, Patrick killed his cigarette and then dropped it to the ground as he walked back inside. He was ready to give up, write today off, come back to this cursed project another day. But as soon as he saw his unfinished painting again, as if to spite himself, he felt compelled to keep going.

Slowly, he sat down in front of the easel and started to paint. Slowly, the house rematerialized, the shores of the lake took shape once again. Slowly, the image he’d lost crept back into existence.

Patrick worked straight through the sunset, only stopping when fatigue started to weigh his hand and caused his brush to droop between his fingers. He sat back and studied the picture, feeling strangely tilted and dizzy, then checked his phone. Patrick blinked at the hour on the screen, much later than he expected. “Damn,” he mumbled; it was the first word he’d said in hours.

Patrick looked once again at the painting. He had to admit that he was pleased, if only a little. It wasn’t the original, but he’d managed to get close. Except, peeking out from the edge of a small cluster of sinister looking trees, Patrick noticed something new. A pocket of negative space was there, glaring and distracting. Acting on another whim, he picked up his brush again started filling in the details.

When he sat up after a few long minutes, two eyes stared back at him from the emptiness. A snout was just beginning to take shape, as if the dog was walking out from an engulfing darkness.

———

He woke up with a start, but this time, it wasn’t out of fear. No, Patrick was excited, triumphant. He threw his covers off and scrambled out of bed, disregarding that the sun had just barely started to break over the horizon.

“Mom!” he shouted, pushing her door aside as he walked into her room. She stirred in her sleep but didn’t immediately wake up, so Patrick grabbed her arm and shook. “Mooooom!”

“Patrick, shh, it’s...” she lifted her head and blinked as she checked the time, “not even six, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing! I did it. I changed the—”

“What’s going on?” his dad asked, pushing himself up in the bed beside his mom.

“I changed the dream,” Patrick said, looking to him. “I made it stop, I changed it. They looked completely different.”

“Oh.” His mother’s eyes widened. “That’s great, sweetie."

Patrick preened. “All the wolves got scared of me and started running. All the things started to...” He struggled to remember all the details. “They went away.”

“That’s awesome, kid,” his dad added in. “I’ll make breakfast to celebrate.”

Patrick nodded vigorously, never one to turn down his dad’s pancakes. Before he could follow him out of the room, though, his mom took his hand.

“Sweetheart, can you tell me more about this dream?” she asked.

“It was the same as always,” he told her with a shrug. “But I changed it. It was like I was awake and in charge of everything.”

“Okay.” She nodded. “And what did it change to? Did you notice anything? Anyone?”

Patrick frowned as he thought about it. “... Maybe?” If he thought too hard about it more of the dream started to turn into fog. “I think maybe someone was standing next to me.” His mother pressed her lips together, and he wasn’t sure what for. Patrick tilted his head. “Why?”

After a pause, she squeezed his hand. “I’m sure Dr. Wilson will want to know whatever you can remember. But I’m really proud of you, Patrick. Do you think you can do it again?”

“Yes,” he said automatically. He couldn’t explain it, but this felt huge. Like he jumped over some insurmountable hurdle and didn’t have to look back. “It was so cool, Mom. I’ll never have a nightmare again.”

———

As soon as he fell asleep, Patrick started to wander. He left his own dream behind and went looking for his target for the night. It had been long enough since his strange, bitter standoff with Graves, and he figured by now the element of surprise would be on his side. All that was left for him to do was find the son of Hermes.

He was struggling, though. Which was odd. It wasn’t because of who he was going after, though. The more familiar he became with New Athens the faster he could locate anyone, even someone he’d never interacted with in dreams before. The problem he was having was not with seeking Graves out, but the strange, stilted quality to his dreaming. It was like he was tripping in his sleep.

Maybe he’d taken too much after all. Reno hadn’t warned him to slow down, but Patrick had noticed the slightly prolonged looks before they went to bed.

After leaving the studio, he went straight to his friend’s apartment, which always was followed by some sort of mind altering substance. Combined with his earlier indulgences it was, perhaps, a bit overboard. He was honestly surprised he’d managed to sleep at all. But the fact that he had drifted off was proof enough that he wasn’t too fucked up to do this. He wasn’t going to put this off another night. Patrick felt almost sluggish, but he pushed through, and eventually, found Graves.

He stepped into the man’s dream, sliding through a brief fog and appearing outside a small shop. Peeking through the window revealed a room filled with weird oddities and trinkets. Candles covered nearly every surface, the spaces in between filled with crystals, figures, all assortment of magical items. Graves was sitting at a table, sitting over a spread of cards. It reminded him of the kind of place Cleo would like to visit. Patrick was hit with a sudden, angry flare of jealousy. He wanted to tear this stupid building apart.

Patrick reached for the door handle, but his arm was slow to react. It was like he was moving through molasses, or something was weighing down his limbs.

Sneering, he decided to stay where he was, stay hidden. From a distance, he willed the cards to flip over on the table, the candles to go out, the twinkling items to all clatter to the floor.

But nothing happened.

And then, a sharp pain exploded in Patrick’s skull.

The entire dream seemed to go dark for a moment, and it felt like he was falling. Then, he was back, landing as if he’d just entered the dream for the first time.

“What the fuck?” He felt as though he were about to pass out, in a strange, dream-logic sort of manner. Darkness crept in a little closer around the edges. But if anything happened, Graves hadn’t seemed to notice. This needled Patrick more than anything else. With effort, he pressed his hands against the side of the building and imagined the floorboards underneath Graves trembling.

Again, nothing happened and again, his head seemed to split open. “Come on,” he mumbled through his teeth. Nothing, nothing, more nothing, then clouds he didn’t conjure rolled in, and rain soaked him to the bone in a matter of seconds, and Patrick could do nothing to change it. He stared angrily at the ground, buzzing with confusion. Did Graves know he was here? Were one of his siblings fighting him back? Patrick banged on the window and his target didn’t even look up.

He blinked, and then Graves was gone, and then the building was gone, and Patrick’s stomach flipped as he fell painfully out of the dream and back into his own. It was still raining, as if the storm had followed him.

Patrick was standing all alone. It was how it always ended, with everything going sideways and a countless array of eyes glaring through the darkness, right at him.

“No,” Patrick almost laughed, shaking his head. “No fucking way.” He waved his hand, pushed the nightmare aside. But again, again, nothing happened.

Fear rolled down his spine like a cold sweat. He willed the dream to change again, and again, and again, but it was useless. All he had was the low hum of growls, a unspoken promise of everything going wrong, wrong, wrong. And the stares, glowing and malicious. Impossibly twisted canine features inching closer and closer. Patrick whirled around, refusing to accept that he couldn’t escape, but they were behind him, too, and up above, and the ground wouldn’t let him move, and they were all about to jump—

He woke up with such a jolt that his head banged against the wall behind him. Patrick cursed and curled in on himself. Pain pounded through his skull, in time with his racing heart. He’d been loud enough to wake Reno, who leapt out of sleep beside him and was halfway to standing in a matter of seconds.

“What happened?”

It was like he was a kid all over again. When was the last time he hadn’t been able to just brush that shit aside? Patrick looked over to his friend and flinched. Reno’s eyes glowed in the dark. Ice cold panic gripped Patrick’s stomach before he remembered that it was normal, Reno’s eyes were just like that and he was awake.

Patrick pressed his palms to his head. “Nothing,” he mumbled. “Bad dream.”

“Hm.” The tone of this response was almost enough to tip Patrick into a rage, but he was too shaken to commit to the emotion. Instead, embarrassment rolled over him. It was such a stupid, simple, not-at-all scary dream. But he was sucking in each breath as if he’d genuinely been in danger. When he closed his eyes, Patrick saw the wolf in his painting. A little invader in his waking world.

“Water?” Reno asked. Patrick didn’t respond, but he nodded once. He waited until he heard his steps retreating before lowering himself onto his back and staring up at the ceiling. His vision swam, a combination of fear and the drugs still wandering through his system. What had happened? It was like his abilities had completely turned off. A part of Patrick wanted to stubbornly throw himself back into sleep, but a much bigger part was worried that his powers wouldn’t work again. That he’d stare down those endless eyes again.

In the end, he couldn’t do it. Reno returned with water, said he was going to stay up, then wandered off. Patrick followed suit, though he didn’t Reno to some other part of the apartment. Instead, he moved to sit by the nearest window and, like the endless pre-dawn mornings of his childhood, waited for the sun to rise, to banish all his fear.

#sp: patrick #patrick #reoccurrence

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youmademe-stay · 4 years

Text

lee know/minho x (y/n) oneshot

I felt the buzz of my phone from my pocket and sighed. I am never going to get any work done if I keep getting messages from people. "I'm too famous," I think to myself as I place my paintbrush down and take my phone out of my pocket

'let's see who -' I say out loud to myself as I unlock my phone before I realised what the message is for I can't believe this My Uber Eats guy cancelled my meal It takes me a minute or two to understand this, but when it fully hit me it hurt even more than when I came home and sat on my bed and found an open red tube of paint underneath my covers. He is never cancelled on me... I've known him for 3 days, I thought this was going to last forever I sigh, before putting my phone back into my pocket and picking my paintbrush again. This is why my mother taught me to be independent - you can't trust anyone.

I stroke the paint onto the canvas lightly and move my wrist ever so slightly once a stroke is done and a new one begins, to get the perfect look of the wind. this painting was meant to inspired by the weather, but now that's it's been a few hours since I started it, it's beginning to remind me more of my bedroom on a bad day

I put the paintbrush down again and stretch my arms. I feel the buzz of my phone again and use one hand to take it out of my pocket again, leaving the other suspended in the air. I swear to god Uber Eats if you don't find me a new guy I -

I stop complaining and freeze. then let my other arm fall to my side. then smile.

"babe it's time" I read for the third time in a row. it's time? seriously - he made me wake up at 6 in the morning and now it's fine?!

"okay. on my way" I message back before putting the phone down and rushing to my bed, where my outfit of the day is already laid out. I change out of my black painting slacks into a white jumper crop top and leggings, with a pair of jeans overalls over the leggings. as I take my hair out of my lazy attempt at a messy bun and brush it with a comb, I hear the phone buzz a few more times from where I left it.

i slip my socks on as well as my birthday bracelet before walking back to my desk and picking up my phone and unlocking it

"it's okay, take your time"

"Actually, don't take your time, I'm very emotional right now"

"Actually, just hurry up. I feel like killing jisung right now. we're sitting on your patio"

I couldn't help but smile. god, as much as I deny it when he says he is, he can be so cute sometimes. I rush out of the room with my backpack and towards the front of the house, quickly slipping on some converses before opening the door, seeing the backs of two grown men sitting on my patio, smiling at the both of them, and locking the door

I assume at the sound of the lock, they realised I was actually behind them because when I turned around after locking it they were both facing me, one with a cardboard box in his arms and another with a cheesy grin on his face

'(y/n) noona, why did you have to come so soon, i wasn't done annoying hyung~' jisung teased as he approached me with his arms open. i threw my bag into his arms and instead of hugging him like he expected, grabbed one of his cheeks with my thumb and forefinger, like how my mother did, forcing him to turn around

'my boyfriend is not the type you can tease, is that understood Mr. Han jisung?'

'ah, noona, please~' he whined in a slurred voice. I let go of his cheek and patted it lightly before taking my bag away from him

'I mean, you can tease him, but only when I'm there, so I can help'

jisung laughs loudly at this, much to my amusement. it's great to remember how hilarious I am sometimes...

'you're not funny ((y/n))' Minho mutters in an annoyed voice. damn it. I forgot he could practically read my mind

'I actually am though, dear boyfriend'

'you're actually not though, dear girlfriend' he mocked back. on a normal day, we probably could have kept arguing for hours on end, but luckily, he had reminded me so much about this day before it happened that, I knew today wasn't the day to argue with him

'I’m going to leave now (y/n) noona. take care of hyung, he's a bit sensitive because of "you know what"' he winked at me and smiled cheesily again before jumping off the patio and off my front lawn.

when he reached the end of it he turned around and shouted, 'he's probably on his period!' before immediately running

'i feel so bad' Minho sighed as he moved closer to me. i put my backpack on and tried to take the box from him, but he shrugged my offer off and just kept looking into my eyes

'I’d hug you right now, but...'

'it's okay' i smiled, 'i know it's tough for you, so the hugging can happen later'

'the first house is about 5 minutes away from here, and the others are close by. that's why i didn't bring the car'

'okay'

'and also because...' i could tell what he was about to say, but i didn't interrupt anyways. it's not right to interrupt a normally emotional - less person, especially on a day like this. 'i want to spend as much time with them as possible'

i glanced at the box and noticed the little holes at the top. around each hole was some sort of scribble, which i assume was meant to be the name of each kitten. i couldn't help but smile at this.

'what?' he asked in a sad voice. he must've noticed me smile, since he isn't even trying to look directly at the box

'it's nothing. let's go' we made our way off the patio and as we walked to the first house, i kissed my first two fingers and pressed them against his cheek

'I'm sorry I can't kiss you right now. it's not like I don't want to, I just...'

'it's okay, i understand mama Minho'

on an average day, he would've rolled his eyes at this old nickname, but today instead he smiled weakly and shook his head

'I'm going to miss being called that'

'I mean, I'm the one who called you, it. the kittens didn't really understand how to speak'

'yeah, but they gave the name, purpose'

'well, you still have jisung right? just adopt him'

i watched him carefully as his sad face changed into one of disgust, prompting both of us to laugh out loud. even though I can't stop him from being in his feels today - not that I'd ever do it anyway - I'm glad I can be with him to get through them

we arrive at the house and stay at the door as the couple who live there open the box Minho was holding for so long and carefully take out two baby kittens. it took me a while, like 1 or 2 weeks, but when they were newborns I was taught each of their names, and even though I didn't see much of its point before, I'm so glad I did now

'that's Mini, the girl' I told the lady, and then to the man, 'and that's blueberry, the boy'

'please take care of them' Minho added in a low voice.

the couple promised that they would, and after some friendly small talk, we left to go to the next house

'i shouldn't be this sad' he suddenly said once we started to walk again.

'what do you mean, it's completely okay to'

'but I'm on the verge of crying when I haven't even known these cats for more than 2 months'

'and? who said 2 months is a short time? it's quality, not quantity, and you spent every minute breathing with them, Minho. you have every right to be in your feels right now'

'I guess that's true' he sighed. I glanced at the box and felt an urge to take it from him and hold it until we got there, but it didn't matter since we arrived there a lot quicker than I realised

we made our way to the front of the house, made small talk with the parents and the little kid to whom Pringles the kitten was going to, before leaving. there were only a few cats left, but I could feel his sadness growing and I was at this point, running out of ideas on what to do to make him feel better

'so, how're your paintings going?' he suddenly asked. thank you, god, for giving me a boyfriend who can read my mind, and instantly know when my awkwardness spikes

'they're going good'

'going good? don't you mean, going well?'

we made eye contact and I smiled and rolled my eyes at the sight of his cheeky smile. 'listen, i took art as my career because as much as my parents wanted it, there was no way i was going to take literature when i can't even speak right'

'you mean speak correctly?'

'if you weren't holding the box I'd punch you' i warn as he laughs.

'so, what were you doing before I messaged you'

'nothing much, just finishing a painting for my gallery'

'are we all still invited after...'

I look over at him and sigh, nodding my head. 'even though you destroyed one of my paintings by replacing all the eyes with printouts of all your ugly faces, you're all still invited. I need someone to be there to distract my parents from lecturing me'

'should I ask my parents to visit?'

'depends on whether or not they're okay with talking about marriage with mine'

'oh, I think they'll be fine with that. my mother still questions why I decided to be an idol when i can be 24 with a housewife and 2 kids at this point'

now it was my turn to laugh. 'parents really think just because we're out of school and earning money, we should use that money on marriage and kids'

'yeah. I want to settle when you're ready to settle'

'yeah same, i - what?!'

I stopped walking and stared at him as he turned around and smiled at me.

'you're kidding right?'

he shook his head. 'have you never thought about us getting married one day?'

I mean....of course I did. but I thought I was the only one

'Yeah, but...how can you be so confident about it? shouldn't you be saying "when my fiancé is ready"?'

'in my eyes, you're already my fiancé' he admits, in a weird yet cool way

at this point, I'm stuck between wanting to punch him and being starstruck. like, god Minho, way to be straightforward.

'i can see why your fans like you, Mr. straight-to-the-point' i try to say without mixing up my words and looking dumb, 'c'mon, we need to get to the next place'

I grab his arm and proceed walking, even though he's the one out of the two that knows where the next house is

'After we're done, let's go to your place' he says after a bit of silence. I don't say anything and just nod. but then i take it in and realise what he said

'why not your place?' I ask

'it's a bit messy right now. had a struggle getting all the kittens together this morning'

'oh, okay'

'you still have some of my clothes, there right?'

I glare at him and smack his arm and hard as I can, but not so hard that the remaining kittens feel it through the box

'weirdo. yes, I do, but they're mine now' I state loudly and clearly, ignoring the people around us that saw me smack him

'just like how you're mine huh?'

my jaw drops a little as I look into his eyes and this...revolting statement. god, if he sleeps over today, I'm going to have to listen to this jisung - level cringe for.....how long??

'oh yeah. if you think that was cringe, I got a whole lot more coming up' he said as he nudged my elbow with this. 'you can thank jisung and changbin later for all the inspiration they gave me'

#a few hours later#

'can i put this here?'

i turn around and see him place the box down on the sofa. as much as I’d appreciate it to go in the recycling, there's no way i can say it to him, so i nod and walk up to him, looping my arms around his waist as i rest my head on his chest and snuggle into it

'it's been a long day' I say in a low voice. 'and I'm really proud of what you did. all those kittens will get the love and care they deserve Minho'

'but what if they don't?'

'then we'll take them back. i will attack the owners for not caring for them, and you take them, and we'll raise them here' I look up at him and smile. he smiles back, and despite it being a little bit fake, i take it and kiss him on the lips

'What did I do to deserve that?' he asked after the kiss.

I laugh and respond with, 'not much, but since today your inner mother is a bit hurt, I'll be nice to you. go ahead and wash up and I'll make something for us to eat'

'don't you want to finish your painting?'

'well, are you going to stay over tonight? is your schedule for tomorrow busy?'

he looked away from me and thought about it, before looking back down and shaking his head.

'well, that's good. when you sleep, I'll finish the painting off. so, from now until midnight we can do whatever you want'

'and what if I don't sleep?' he asked with a smile that I know and have seen too much of.

'then I will give you sleeping pills and make you watch literal paint dry until you do' I smile back as I unloop my arms and begin to make my way to the kitchen. ha take that Mr. I - know - I'm - sexy - when - i- do - this - smile. you just got served...

whilst he went off to wash up and be weird, i stripped out of my overalls, leaving just my crop top and leggings on, and got out the ingredients for some pasta. thankfully, out of the two of us, I'm the better cook, so I'm not always desperate for his food - unless Chan made it - and I'm never starving.

once I finish the prep work for the pasta and it's in the water, I go over to the freezer and take a frozen cake out as well as a tub of ice cream. this is all textbook breakup food, but since he let go of his "children" today I think that the food gods will allow an exception.

i leave the cake on top of a plate in order to defrost along with the ice cream and go back to the pasta, doing all the things i need to do before i can take a break and check up on Minho

'it's pasta day?' i suddenly feel two hands on my hips and his sharp jaw rest on my shoulder. jheez, this guy reads my mind too much these days...

'not only pasta but cake and ice cream day!'

'you want me to eat all of them together?'

'well if you want, yes. me, on the other hand, will enjoy them all separately'

he chuckles and hugs me tight, mumbling, 'I’m sorry for being a mess today...'

'it's okay' i say in a low voice

'this was the first time i had to do this and...it felt right, but wrong at the same time. i felt like i was giving a part of myself away each time one of them left the box'

i open my mouth to respond, but then close it without saying anything. in these times, it's better to let him say it all out so he can get it all out of his heart

'and yeah, i know that now each family will be happier, but those kittens reminded me of when i got my first ones....and when i was younger and more carefree too'

'those kittens gave me time to distract myself from everything. work, social life, stress. all of that. and i....god (y/n) look!'

my eyes enlarge as i realised that the water in the pot was overspilling. i let go of his hands I’d been holding onto as he spoke and lowered the flame and put the lid on the pot, allowing the water level to lower a bit

'sorry, i was listening to you and - '

'no, I’m sorry. I’ll help defrost the cake and ice cream, so you don't get distracted'

before i could say no i felt his arms leave my sides and suddenly felt too cold. i watch him as he took the cake and placed it in the microwave and put the setting "defrost" on before opening the ice cream tub, getting two bowls out with spoons and forcing the still - frozen ice cream into the two bowls.

once he finished, he closed the tub and put it away and picked up the two bowls and walked to my room. i guess he isn't in a movie mood then.

once he's out of my eyesight, i continue making the pasta and getting it tasting just like how he likes it. i get two wine glasses out and fill them with sprite and ice -cubes, and take the cake out of the microwave.

as the pasta is finished and i begin to put it all in a large container for the two of us to share, he comes back and takes the wine glasses

'fancy a bit of the bubbly sir?' i ask in my best British accent. my heart warms as i see his blank face break into a smile as he replies in probably the worst accent I’ve ever heard,

'if the madam wants it, the madam shall have'

he leaves and i take the container and the cake to my room and -

'Minho!'

how i didn't drop the food I’ll never know.

he...somehow (?) cleaned up my room, made the massive pile of laundry near the window disappear and had my laptop sitting on top of my bed table, with the wine glasses on either side of the laptop and the ice cream bowls next to the glasses

'i put your clothes in a bundle, so you can not trip up when you bring the real food in' he smirks as he snuggles into his side of the bed. i made my way towards the bed table, place the cake on my side and the pasta on his and sit down, giving him a kiss on the cheek immediately after

'you didn't have to tidy up, but you did. so thank you'

'you're so cute'

I scrunch my nose at this remark. 'not as much as you think, but let's not argue in front of the food. c'mon, what d'you wanna watch?'

'I don't mind anything. you can choose, YouTube, drama, a variety you name it'

we ended up watching Knowing Brothers, one of my favourite shows now and enjoyed the food as we went through a random selection of episodes, and although he did laugh some of the time, most of the time he just sat back and had his arm around my waist and stayed silent.

eventually, he did what I thought he'd do and lie down and pretend to go to sleep. he didn't nag me to put the food away or to make the videos quieter - he just went to "sleep". as he "slept" I quietly packed the food away and put each thing on the floor one by one, before closing the laptop and putting it and the bed table away too. once it was all gone, I shut the lights and lied down too, snuggling my face into his back and my arm around his middle

in the silence, I felt his hand touch mine and held it tightly. he started to quiver a little, and I could tell it wasn't because he was cold. I said nothing as he cried, and waited until he turned around and let me hug him to speak

'it's okay Minho. I've got you. it's okay' I kept whispering as I stroked the back of his head.

eventually, he stopped crying and shaking, so I assume that meant the crying tired him out and he fell asleep.

'I love you Minho. and so, do the kittens. and so, do Soonie, Doongi and Dori. and so, do all your fans and members and family...I'll accept you as a mean old grandpa, a weird on-drugs uncle, a sarky homosexual boyfriend to jisung, and as a caring and sensitive person. you can always cry to me, and I'll always be there to hug you' I whisper as tears fill up in my eyes. every word, I mean from the heart, and if he was awake right now, he'd know since he always knows what I'm thinking or feeling

suddenly, his arm went around my waist as he hugged me tight and said, 'i love you too'

god damn, he's a good actor. although i feel a bit annoyed that he heard all of it, I’m more glad than annoyed.

'i love you and want to grow old with you'

'i love you and want you to be my fiancé'

'i love you and want to be your wife'

he moved his head back and has the funniest look of surprise, excitement and confusion written all over his face

'what, did you think you were the only one who thought about marriage?' i joke, my heart beating like crazy at my confidence

'no but, does this mean...'

'yes Minho. i accept your lame ass proposal from before. now, let me say now i don't want to marry soon - '

before i could finish my sentence he pulled me closer and we kissed. very deeply. i almost forgot, during the kiss, what we were talking about before it.

a minute or maybe two passed before he moved back and let air enter both of our lungs

'i will marry you whenever you're ready, and if you're never ready then i will stay by your side as all those things you mentioned - as an grandpa, a drugged uncle whatever you want'

'Minho...i - '

'and today wasn't my intent to propose - i actually had so much planned and - '

'Minho - yah'

'yes ((y/n))'

'i love you'

'i... i love you too'

and that's when i saw it. today's first, full, genuine smile. 'can we kiss again?'

'if that' what madam wants, that's - '

I kissed him before he ended the sentence. god, I need to tell him soon that...if we are getting married one day, he'll have to promise me in the wedding vows, to never use that accent again

#stray kids oneshots #lee know #minho

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