#fantastic for headaches too. and panic attacks

[beaversatemygrandma]

It's a healing experience to put a warmie in the freezer before work, then after being exposed to the gross and humid 90F heat for however long, getting home, pulling that out, and cuddling with it.

[hedjblogr]

so i gotta make a full ass post about my last reblog because i would be doing the situation a disservice if i posted it only in the tags.

puts my grubby little pizza hands together and takes a deep breath

so.

around 2019-2020, so pre-pandemic, i was working for a small startup business. this was through a scheme that my local council was paying for, to get people into employment and to help local small businesses. great stuff on paper! fantastic stuff even!

this business was uh. well. the guy running it was maybe not the best personality match for me when it comes to a boss, but that's something better demonstrated than plainly stated. i don't wanna say he was a bad guy because that'd be unfair, but i was not the only person who struggled with dealing with him. i won't go too much into his personality either because this isn't about making a smear piece, this is about processing my struggles with illness in the workplace.

so, yeah. i'm a chronic migraine sufferer. it varies from headache and dizziness severity to "i'm having spots in my vision, i feel like throwing up and i literally can't do anything but sit with my head in my hands and my eyes closed tight and make pathetic noises". i'm still not entirely sure what my triggers are for it, but right now i'm thinking it's linked to drastic weather changes, hydration, stress and poor sleep.

i also have moderate to severe depression and anxiety. this ebbs and flows, it always impacts me at a certain baseline but a lot of the time it's background noise. my anxiety tends to flare up more than my depression, admittedly, but hoo boy do they both hit me bad when they hit me.

these were going unmedicated at the time for various reasons.

so, by the very nature of a startup business with less than 10 employees, a lot of us had to do a lot of different kinds of work. that's fine, i'm multiskilled, i don't mind doing a variety of things. but i was definitely more of dog's body than whatever the hell i originally signed up to be, which was more of an administerial/clerical position. aight, fine, i've worked in retail, i can do sales. i'm a computer nerd, i can do social media marketing and graphics. you want me to train people? uhhh sure i guess. and learn UX? fine okay. wait you want me to learn to code as well??? i'm not getting paid enough for this.

so it was a very stressful job. very anxiety-inducing job too. i was told both that i had a lot of responsibility and i was NEEDED, and that the company would simply keep going without me and it didn't matter if i quit or was let go.

oh! fun fact by the way. remember i mentioned my local council was paying for me to be on this scheme? they were paying him. he was getting my work for free, technically. granted, i was getting paid a wage, but he was not the one paying it. yeah. it's great on paper until you consider the way things went in practice.

on one instance i recall that i had my entire evening monopolised, because unbeknownst to me i had apparently agreed to run a live training with someone who was using our product and using it during the evening hours. and i was apparently required to field phone calls from them all evening. i didn't sign up for this, i didn't get paid for these extra hours.

on another instance, i recall we got locked in the building we worked in because we stayed too long (as it was not a privately owned building, we were renting space in a public college), and i was literally in tears with panic about getting out. graciously i was given the next day off work to decompress, but i should never have been put in that situation to begin with. this was due to a bad call on my boss' part.

i'm getting a little distracted here, my apologies, but this thing happens when i start digging up old grievances and trauma that i remember tangential things and it just kind of goes from there.

but yeah. i actually discovered through this job that i suffered anxiety attacks and what they felt like, and that my anxiety was a liability, and i began to suspect through this job as well that my frequent headaches that often led to me feeling like throwing up were not in fact just regular ass headaches.

i didn't feel like i could get sick notes in this situation. i felt like my employer would turn them down or simply fire me.

oh, but you know the time i HAVE used sick notes?

universal credit. good ol' department for work and pensions. rule britannia and all that.

fuck off with that shit actually, they refused my last sick note even though it was ongoing because it listed my depression and anxiety, and they decided that i was actually entirely fine even though they told me i could work on reduced hours to still be eligible for benefits because of my health conditions, and the job search has - to no one's surprise - been making my health conditions WORSE.

(edit: i should clarify, they DID accept sick notes for a time, but eventually i needed to undergo a work capability assessment, and this is when they decided that i still had capacity for work - which i do agree with, there are things i can do! - and then proceeded to ignore the part about it being for reduced hours.)

guess who's been crying themselves to sleep more nights than not, and struggling to sleep, and having erratic schedule, due to scraping to even get an interview only to be NOT EVEN TOLD that i didn't get the job! and that's if i even get a reply back from the first application!

yeah. there's a lot of shit wrong with healthcare and a lot of shit wrong with employment right now. and as it turns out there's a lot of shit wrong with me.

i'm probably gonna delete this post after a while because i always feel bad dumping shit like this on main, especially when it feels like it's old news and i just haven't processed it because i know i'll never get closure. but sometimes i just have to let myself write, and maybe if i post it someone else will come to a realisation and it'll help them. i dunno.

[dontdowhatisayandnobodygetshurt]

god fucking damn hypoglycemia, I don’t eat that much for one (1) day bc of nausea via bad headache and I lose weight :))))))

[talizorahs]

✨ a "how the batch deals with their enhancements on bad day" list ✨

hunter

would get the most horrific migraines and sensory overloads known to man. i mean, feeling everything all at once, all the time? he is a talented tracker and combatant, but there would be days where he can't turn it off, or days where he feels too much.

the training to control his enhancement and use it to fight in combat would have been brutal, as he'd need to compartmentalise everything in order to focus. he'd push himself in training though, often far beyond his limits, because he wants to be in control of his enhancement, and himself, in order to lead.

noise cancelling headphones, a weighted blanket, complete darkness, and aspirin are his 4 best friends.

tech is hunter's 5th best friend, who provides the appropriate amounts of aspirin for hunter's medication sensitivities and allergies.

tech

probably another migraine sufferer. his brain would refuse to be quiet at the best of times, and it would be loud when sometimes, he just wants quiet.

being understimulated is a death sentence. his hands must do something always, or his mouth must be moving in to info dump, or both.

have you seen that man's posture? too many thoughts in his smart head make him slouch. probably has a sore neck & back to complement his near-constant headaches, so he ends up curled up in a bunk similar to hunter, playing recorded sounds or listening to audio books to give his brain something to focus on while he rests.

strikes me as grumpy when someone disturbs him in the middle of a migraine, or a nap to combat the !!!! feeling when he's understimulated or overstimulated.

wrecker

muscle aches for days, especially when he was growing as a cadet. he'd have so many growing pains, and ongoing joint pain. probably early onset arthritis from how quickly and how big he grew, particularly in his knees and ankles.

is that man's heart okay? did kamino monitor his heart health? i really hope so, given his size. maybe he has a weak heart, or even a fake heart (borrowed from a friend's headcanons there!) to compensate for his size and the requirement to pump that much blood around the body.

ice packs, heat packs and physical therapy are wrecker's best friends (and like hunter, tech is also wrecker's 4th best friend for managing the ongoing PT).

separate but also similar, the phantom pain from his ear and eye could bother him at times, particularly if the prosthetic eye needs to be removed for cleaning and/or maintenance. maybe he'd wear an eyepatch to help with the pain.

crosshair

eye strain. just. eye strain, forever and a day. crosshair could be extremely farsighted, so maybe he even wears reading glasses for use when off duty.

yet another fellow headacher sufferer.

cool compresses for his eyes, and complete darkness, are crosshair's 2 best friends (and we can't forget tech, who is cooling the compresses to crosshair's perfect desired temperature to help soothe his eyes).

echo

i have so much i could write here, but i believe the batch would have been good at dealing with echo's ptsd and prosthetics. tech would be fantastic at maintaining and managing each different prosthetic, while giving echo full control over any modifications. hunter would be able to preempt echo's panic attacks and keep him safe. wrecker can give those good, deep pressure hugs. crosshair always has the right thing to say when they talk about echo's time as a prisoner of war.

again, headaches, with that neural interface and adjusting to it while scomping in.

a lot of the time, echo just needs time and the knowledge he has support around him. he also has rex a stone's throw away.

[everafterkeiji]

Mmm i am not sure if its okay for you to write about this topic but maybe Mikey and draken with a fem s/o who has a a hear lose on one ear ? She had a major acsident early in life and so one ear isn't functioning at all. The other ear is kind of bad? when the environment is noisy or crowded she would have difficulty in hearing and most of the time sensitive to load voices but other than that is all good + she speaks well too. But people take advantages to that. Like when they talk bad and she confront them, they will say like "oh you didnt liaten very well. We didnt talk/say anything about you". So she always deals with people talking shit even on her face 🥺 sorry too long. I maybe wanted to rant more than to request. Sorry for that.

oh please never be sorry for something you want to talk about, im here for anything ur comfortable with! i can tell these boys would be so caring and thoughtful of their s/o but still, rant all u want—like i said im happy to be here for u ( >‿< ) to those who experience the same, you are absolutely loved and flawless. my inbox is open for you always! thank you so much requesting and i hope u have a fantastic day ♡♡♡

𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐎 𝐒/𝐎 𝐖𝐇𝐎 𝐇𝐀𝐒 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐋𝐎𝐒𝐒

PAIRINGS: Mikey x fem!reader, Draken x fem!reader

INCLUDES: bullying, mentions of implied panic attacks

♡ 𝐌𝐈𝐊𝐄𝐘 doesn't need to be reminded of how much he loves you even if the some parts of the class seem to protest against something that was out of your reach.

- Your lover had noticed this even before you've grown to be comfortable in telling him. It was the painted expressions of yours that would worry him whenever the classroom would rage into havoc or when you pass by the endless nonsense that spills from those who knew nothing of what you had to go through.

- Mikey couldn't be held back from watching you leave with the downpour evident in your eyes as you walk pass by the group of people that were interested in nothing more than to care about a life that were never theirs.

- The second you were alone, he approached you with a timid smile, letting his name be known as well as a brief introduction of who he was. His mission was to be by your side—a side for you to lean on just because they could never understand what it's like to be in your place and Mikey was set on making sure you never feel an ounce of disrespect from them.

- He was the best to be around with. The conversations that he'd put you through were enough to fill your head high with questions on how he manages to be the head of a delinquent gang yet he showed no signs of what the rumors spoke of him. He was Mikey—the boy who smiled whenever you'd rant on in your own topics, enjoying the difference in your features from where he first saw you.

- When he could sense how they'd spare you a glance that you hated, he has your hand held in his with little to no hesitation of letting them know their place, pining them down for how their words were destructive and unnecessary. Even if you could've done it yourself, there was no chance that he'd ever let this torment continue on.

- When you came to a point where everything had been set when your trust had been fully given to him and the conversations between you and him were filled with laughter, you finally told the tale of how it came to be.

- As you look back on the incident, Mikey has his hand on top of yours caressing it gently, eyes and ears attentive on every word you say. Once he can tell you'd struggle to continue with how it tainted your memories, he'd be stop you from telling more, insisting you that he was more than thankful that you were this comfortable with him.

- After you told him, it appears as if he's been more diligent. When the screams of your immature classmates resonate through the room, he's one step ahead to hush them quick for you to avoid a headache. Manjiro never fails to keep his promise, reminding you everyday that you had him with you and how he'd never hesitate to catch you at times you'd fall. He'd stay on his bed with his thoughts racing, filled with questions on how to make things better even if you've been the happiest when you were with him.

- You could tell in his actions how he pulls through with the things you liked and what you didn't. He was always the one to prioritize you first. You could remember the first time you'd got the chance to ride with him in his motorcycle as he kept asking if everything was okay on your side.

- Months has passed and your heart just stares at him in awe once he slowly learned sign language for you. There were little mistakes but they didn't matter to you because everything that Mikey did to love you with what he's got was the most special thing you could ever have.

- During those days where vulnerability had taken over, his embrace was a gesture that carried everything he wanted to say.

"None of it is your fault, okay? You're.. beautiful, someone so important to me so don't listen to them—listen to me instead, Y/N..and let me tell you how much I'm happy to have you here with me always." He whispers, as a smile tugs on your lips which was a sight that he'd never stop to love while you lean on to his touch.

- The memory that lingers in your head even as you finally get to call him yours was the day when you were just laid out in your room, music in your ear as well as Mikeys' while you scroll through your phone to pick the next song. Unbeknownst to you, there was a loving stare that came from the blonde beside you as his hand falls to your cheek while you stared at him stunned. You were about to reach for your ear to remove the earphone placed in it but your lover smiles, never needing his voice to show just how he can express what he needs you to know so his lips plant a dainty kiss to your forehead before his hands began to sign something that you'd never be able to forget.

"You're flawless, Y/N."

♡ 𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐊𝐄𝐍 can't help but be bothered at the constant murmuring of the people across from him darted to the seat behind him where you were sat.

- As the next project strolls in with him being your partner, he doesn't ignore the way your eyes didn't meet his due to your doubts that he'd been influenced by those who were against you. He slowly shifts his body to take one more look to the group as they stared back at him as if they were laughing at him as well. He notices the way they showed repetitive signs pointing to their ear and the realization settles within him, the rage causing him to stand up with his stance intimidating as ever with threatening eyes towards them, not caring of the protests of his professor to calm down.

"You're allowing shitheads to study in this school when you said that your students were the ones that matter the most yet look at these assholes." He spat, a finger pointed to them in disgrace as you tugged on his arm.

He sighs before taking your wrist with his in a gentle manner as you both walked away from the class, right at the time where the bell had rung, diminishing you off your consequences.

- When he's got to reach a place where it'd only be the two of you, the demeanor that he previously had on slowly fades as he looks at you with genuine eyes.

"Are you okay, Y/N?" He asks, while you stood confused because he seemed to remember your name even when he's been absent majority of the year but the way he cared had caught your eye.

-Since then, Draken swore that whoever was to treat you like that ever again, then they'd have him to face and they'd never stand a chance against the vice president of Toman. - He's seen it firsthand, how you'd rise from your seat clearly annoyed at the pettiness of their group but your expressions would soften due to their manipulation on you while he steps in the scene taking you by surprise again but you were rather thankful that someone clearly heard what they just said.

- Even if he noticed how tense you were at first, he still made sure that no one would be able to look at you so differently. The minute you started working on your project together, the more he got used to the way you stay in an environment and how you adjust to it. He also got to notice the details he'd seem to miss from the first time, taking mental notes just to ensure that you don't feel like he was one of them.

- Once he's able to make you laugh, the sound of your voice would then bring a smile to his own lips. He liked the way you grew close to him now that you were a lot more carefree in whatever you wanted to talk about. He wasn't one to deny the way he'd stare at you a little longer than he planned.

- What he payed extra attention on was your habits. He'd notice the continous tapping of your finger to the desk when it gets too irritating caused by their ruckus or the way you'd run your hands to your hair followed by a deep breath just to calm yourself from being overwhelmed by the noise. The second he sees you struggling to maintain your calmness, his hand would land on top of yours as he bids you a smile. "I'm right here, y'know? If you want out of this place then you don't need to tell me twice."

- After a few more instances to your habits and how you react to certain situations, he was sure he'd be able to comfort you a whole lot better now whether that'd be silencing the class or sharing another frightening glare to those who look down on you. Even after the project had ended, you spent more time with him getting to know your saviour as well.

- But when things get out of hand and your hands were trembling accompanied by unsteady breaths, Draken doesn't think twice to pull you outside the room to bring you to a place way better. Caught in his sudden embrace as he soothes your worries, endlessly whispering comfort to your ear, assuring you of how he's got you and how you were allowed to crumble every now and then.

- You didn't need to enter the remaining classes since you and him were at the top floor of the school, sat on the ground with your shoulder to his head as you opened up about your accident. Noticing the way you'd take pauses with a slight crack to your voice, he slings his arm over your shoulder to bring you closer, rubbing circles to your arm when it got difficult for you to continue. "You don't have to keep going, why don't you rest for a while?"

- What he prioritizes after a meltdown was to make you smile since he loved to see the way your eyes shined with glee. If you had to go back to your classroom, he'd throw you some notes with random messages on it or doodles that you adored and when he's heard your laugh, it surely ends his day quite perfectly.

- And it didn't take long to realize how in love you were with the boy who stood beside you, regardless of what you thought would be heavy weight on his shoulders which he effortlessly carried. Alike you, he too got butterflies, maybe even competing with you to tell you he loves you more.

"Thank you so much for everything." You said, arms around his neck when you pulled away from your embrace while he smiles.

"You're thanking me because I love you?" His question was quite a shock to you since he's never said it out loud before but it makes your heart flutter ever so in love as he places a kiss on your temple.

"Loving you is easy, Y/N. Someone as beautiful and perfect, loving you will always be easy."

[inkjackets]

Shattered Sunshine

This piece was written for the @mlwriterzine

I was so grateful to be part of such a fantastic zine with so many amazing writers! (Do check out the works by everyone else, they’re all so good!!) Also big thanks to the mods for all their hard work in making honestly such a beautiful zine.

AO3

Paris glistened under the glorious summer sun; the skies shimmered blue overhead. Yet Marinette felt only ice swirl in her gut as she and Alya reached the top of the mountain.

She placed her basket down with a thump and inhaled the summer air, attempting to alleviate her anxiety. But it was hot and stifling and burned through her lungs, only succeeding in magnifying her emotions.

She brushed her fringe back. “I hate summer,” she muttered, glancing at her friend. With her short-shorts, loose buttoned shirt, and hair swept into a high ponytail, Alya Césaire looked the epitome of cool.

“No, you don’t,” Alya said, not unkindly, as she unravelled the picnic blanket. “You’re just nervous.” Marinette bit her lip and took the sides, helping her friend lie it flat. “Though I don’t know why,” Alya continued as they both crawled onto the rug, “I thought you’d be excited to see our ray of sunshine again.”

Marinette averted her gaze. Sunshine, sunshine, Paris’s perfect ray of sunshine. Yet the thought of him made her turn cold.

She grabbed the basket and unloaded the food while Alya laid the drinks on the blanket, but she tensed when she opened the box of Dupain-Cheng pastries, full of croissants and cookies …

And passionfruit macarons.

“It’s been five years, Alya,” Marinette said quietly. “What if everything’s changed?”

Alya cocked her head to the side. “Don’t you hope it has?”

Marinette clenched the box tight. Apprehension curled in her stomach and fear clawed its way through her as she gazed over Paris sprawled out far beneath them: iron rooftops gleaming; the Seine glittering; Sacré-Cœur shining like a beacon on the horizon; and backdrop to it all, the brilliant sun. Sweat trickled slowly down her back.

Nino’s distinct voice hit her ears followed by Adrien’s unmistakable laugh. Sickness and trepidation surged within her. She looked at Alya with panic, but her friend had already jumped up to greet the boys. Marinette scrambled to her feet and stared wide-eyed at Adrien—currently enveloping Alya in a hug. They broke apart. He turned to her. Her heart pounded.

For, in his white shirt, with that smile, and his eyes golden-green, Adrien Agreste was breathtaking.

“Hey,” he said, giving a small smile and a wave.

Marinette went to wave back, but she realised she was still holding the box of pastries. She frowned at herself. Why was it still in her hands?

“H-hey,” she then managed to get out.

They both stared at each other, unsure of how to proceed. He looked down at the box she was holding.

“Are those passionfruit macarons?” Adrien asked, wide-eyed.

“Uh, yeah,” she thrust the box forward. “Want one?”

His eyes lit up. Marinette’s heart warmed, and then it sank. She didn’t want to feel for him.

Adrien took a macaron, bit into it, and moaned. “God, I’ve missed your bakery.”

Marinette internally scowled at the heat that rose in her cheeks.

“Dudes!” Nino leapt in and wrapped his arms around them both, pulling them in so close they almost banged heads.

“Smile!” Alya grinned, readying her phone for a group selfie.

Adrien laughed, and he and Nino both pulled a stupid face. Marinette forced herself to smile. Alya snapped the picture.

“It’s been too long since the four of us have been together,” Alya said, grinning up at them all as Nino released her and Adrien.

Marinette felt Adrien’s eyes on her. She swallowed and glanced at him, not wanting those green eyes to make her heart flutter as it did. He gave a hesitant smile. She stared back. She didn’t smile.

“Dude! Are those Dupain-Cheng pastries?” Nino cried, ripping the box from her hands.

Marinette tore her eyes from Adrien and grinned. “Baked fresh this morning!”

Nino sat down and shoved a croissant into his mouth. “Ermagoh, oh goo!” he exclaimed, mouth overflowing with pastry. They all laughed and settled around him.

But while the other’s dove into the picnic and conversation, Marinette barely ate a thing and simply let the conversation wash over her.

She plucked blades of grass as the blazing sun burned her neck, and the start of a headache began pounding behind her eyes. And every time Adrien spoke, the chill in her stomach spread, worming its snaky tendrils right through her.

Yet, she couldn’t help but stare at him.

For he looked good—healthy even—relaxed and at ease. His smile was wide, and laugh loud, and hair more rugged than it used to be, lying somewhere between how he’d worn it at school, and how it’d been styled as his alter-ego, Chat Noir. A smile rose on her face; it suited him. However, with each flicker of his eyes and each smile that stretched just a little too wide, she could see his facade was cracking.

Because something was off.

Of course it was.

A part of her was desperate to comfort him and tell him everything was all right. But instead, she grabbed a can of Sprite and rolled it in her hands, squashing that part of her down. For there was a wall between her and Adrien. A wall she didn’t know how to—no. A wall she didn’t know she even wanted to break.

She spun the can faster.

“So what have you been up to, Marinette?”

Marinette tensed as those green eyes turned to her.

“I went to fashion school,” she said, simple and quiet.

“I always knew you would,” Adrien said, and Marinette’s heart fluttered at his soft smile. “How was it?”

She clenched the can of Sprite, desperate to hide her shaking hands.

“It was really good! I learnt so much.” She forced herself to smile.

Adrien’s smile faltered.

And Marinette wanted to laugh at the bitterness thrumming through her. Even after all these years, he could see right through her.

“Hey, did Alya tell you she’s got an internship with Le Monde ?” she then said quickly.

Pain flashed behind Adrien’s eyes, so quick she barely saw it. “No?” He turned to Alya, incredulous. “That’s amazing!”

Marinette scowled at the Sprite can and flipped it in her hands, pointedly ignoring Alya and Nino’s questioning glances. Unease gnawed at her insides; tears burned the back of her eyes. She couldn’t do this.

Seeing him again had been a mistake.

With a burst of anger, she ripped the can open, intending to take a huge gulp to drown the bitter taste in her mouth. However, froth exploded from the top, fizzing everywhere. She yelped, threw the can in her panic, and splashed it all over Alya.

There was a moment of stunned silence as Alya took in what had happened, gazing down at her sticky, sodden clothes. She looked up; Marinette squeaked.

“I’m so sorry!” she exclaimed, hands at her mouth, “I didn’t realise it was shaken and it took me by surprise andIdidn’tmeantothrowitonyouohmygosh! I’m so sor—” She froze when her friend’s lip curled.

“Nino!” Alya said, a mischievous glint in her eye.

“Got you, babe.”

Marinette squealed and tried to scrabble out the way as Nino went to tip an entire bottle of water over her head. But she was whisked away at the last second and thrown to the side.

Marinette laughed, amazed she was still dry. But when she turned, she saw Nino, empty bottle in his hand, staring wide-eyed at a soaking wet Adrien.

“Ah, shit,” Nino swore under his breath.

For a moment, the only sound was the soft pat-pat of drips running off Adrien onto the blanket. Then he slowly raised his head with a jagged grin on his face.

Nino yelped and ran, but Adrien dove on top of him and forced water down his shirt. However, he’d only emptied half the bottle when Alya, with mock outrage, pulled him off her boyfriend. He laughed and tipped the rest of the bottle over her, quickly regretting it when she splashed him back in the face.

Marinette watched them from the sidelines, smiling at their fun, until suddenly all three rounded on her.

She shrieked with laughter as they showered her in water. But then, spying an opening, she dove and swiped a nearby bottle before spinning and aiming it threateningly at her attackers. Their smiles instantly dropped. Screaming and laughing, they scattered in all directions as Marinette enacted her revenge.

Once the last bottle had been emptied, they all flopped to the ground, chests heaving and scattered laughter ringing out.

Warmth and happiness thrummed through Marinette as she wrung out her dress and then leant back to gaze at the sky, smiling at the fluffy clouds that had decided to drift over. Her only regret was not drinking some water before it’d gotten weaponised; her headache was still there, and her throat was getting dry.

Adrien, too, leant back, placing his hands so close to hers they almost touched. He then rolled his head back and gazed at her with his soft, lazy smile.

Her heart clenched. Then, ever so slowly, she relaxed her shoulders and returned his smile with a soft one of her own. Adrien sucked in his breath; his eyes shone with hope. And Marinette’s breath caught in her throat as the tension began to evaporate between them, disappearing up into the clouds like the water.

“I’ve missed this,” Nino said. “Just the four of us, like old times.”

Adrien froze. Marinette stiffened. The tension came crashing back. She pulled her hand away from his and curled in on herself, cold seeping under her skin despite the heat.

Alya flopped onto her back. “You know what I miss?” she said, reaching for the sky, “Ladybug and Chat Noir.” Marinette tensed. “Like after Gabriel got put away—which I’m so sorry about, Adrien—they just vanished. Poof! Right into thin air.” Her fingers trailed the sky. “Like what happened to them? Where are they now? What are they doing?” Marinette felt Adrien’s gaze on her, but when she looked at him, he was staring with glazed eyes at the grass. Alya’s hand flopped to the ground. “I hope they’re okay.”

Regret simmered within Marinette as Adrien slowly raised his eyes to meet her’s, pain shining so clear it pierced her heart.

“I hope so too,” he said quietly.

Marinette clenched her jaw. She turned away. She closed her eyes and tried not to grimace, fighting the tears that stung her eyelids.

For she wanted to be okay. She wanted them both to be okay. She opened her eyes and slowly exhaled. But they weren’t.

“Ice-cream!” Alya suddenly exclaimed making Marinette jump. “I want ice-cream! Nino, come with!” She leapt to her feet and tugged her yelping boyfriend.

Panic flared in Marinette’s gut. “Wait, Alya, no!” She didn’t want to be left with Adrien.

Alya swooped in. “You need to fix whatever this is,” she hissed in her ear, glancing at Adrien, before pulling back and running off with Nino in tow.

“W-wait!” Marinette spluttered. “No, Alya!”

Alya gave a wave of her hand as Nino glanced back and shrugged helplessly.

“They didn’t even take our order,” Adrien noted, eyes glittering with amusement as he watched their friends disappear before turning to her. Marinette stared. His grin widened. And that image of Chat Noir slammed into her mind; of that smile he used to give her, high up on the Eiffel tower …

She scrambled to her feet and clutched her middle; confusion and nausea swirled within her.

“Marinette?”

She gritted her teeth and turned away as Adrien got up and stepped towards her.

“M’Lady?” he asked softly, reaching out.

“Don’t call me that!” she hissed. Adrien flinched and snatched his hand back. “You lost that privilege the day you left.”

She wrapped her arms around herself as Adrien tightened his jaw.

“We were seventeen, Marinette. I had no choice as to whether I could stay or not.”

Rage blossomed within her. “You could have told me!” she yelled, whipping around, hair flying. “You could’ve at least said goodbye! Instead, I got told by Nino, by Nino , that you’d gone and moved to London!”

Adrien drew in on himself and averted his eyes.

“You abandoned Paris,” she continued, a lump rising in her throat. “You abandoned me .” Her voice cracked. She took a shuddering breath to quell her emotions, but the air was so hot that it stirred them instead.

Adrien swallowed and shook his head as pain rose on his face. “It was all too much,” he whispered, voice hoarse with memories. “You were Ladybug. And Dad was—” he blanched, “and then Mum …”

Guilt stabbed Marinette in the gut as Adrien’s eyes glazed over; she didn’t want to send him back to those days.

“I thought of you every day,” Adrien said quietly.

“Then why didn’t you call?”

“I—” Adrien choked, “I didn’t know what to say.”

Marinette’s blood boiled, her headache pounded between her eyes. “Anything!” she yelled, her throat raw and burning. “Anything would have been better than five years of silence!”

“I know! I KNOW!” Adrien cried with frustration. “Okay, I KNOW , but I couldn’t .”

“What the hell does that mean?” Her hands shook and vision blurred.

He grabbed his hair in distress. “I just couldn’t , alright!”

“No!” she screamed, “ I don’t understa —”

“HE WAS HAWK MOTH !” Adrien roared, stunning her into silence. “MY FATHER WAS A TERRORIST WHO TRIED TO BRING BACK MY MOTHER AND DESTROYED ALL OF PARIS TO DO SO!”

Adrien’s chest heaved, tears shimmered in his eyes. And Marinette stared, her own chest growing tight.

“I know,” she whispered, voice hoarse and aching, “That’s why I—”

“I lived with him, Marinette!” His words glimmered with pain. “I lived with him my whole life, and I had no idea. I should’ve known!” Hysteria rose within him. “I should’ve known !”

“No, that’s not …” She tried to speak, but her tongue was heavy in her mouth. “You can’t—” Her breathing quickened.

“He hurt you!” Adrien continued, voice cracking with pain, “He hurt everyone. I hurt everyone.” He shook his head and covered his mouth, tears spilling down his cheeks as those dark days returned with a vengeance. “How could you love me after that?”

Marinette blinked back the blinding sun; her vision started swimming. “Adrien, you’re—” she faltered, “you were my partner.” Tears burned her eyes, but they wouldn’t spill over. “My best friend!” She felt faint and lightheaded. “You know I—” She shook her head. “I—” She tried to take a step forward, but the world spun around her.

Adrien lowered his hands, eyes wide with panic. “Marinette?” His voice sounded distant.

She clutched her head as her headache exploded. Adrien’s mouth moved, but no sound hit her ears.

She staggered. The world tilted.

Everything went black.

~~~

Marinette groaned. She opened her eyes, squinting at the sunshine before focusing on the two pairs of golden-brown eyes above her.

“Oh, thank God. You okay, girl?”

Marinette grimaced and pushed herself to a sitting position, leaning back against the tree she was under.

“What happened?” she said, voice dry and raspy.

“You fainted, dude,” Nino said, “But you were out for like a minute, max.”

“We got back just in time to see Adrien catch you. Then he carried you here, to the shade.” Alya gave her a small smile.

Marinette looked around as Nino and Alya’s words sank in, eyeing the four ice-creams lying face down in the dirt. She then looked back at the brown eyes in front of her and realised what was missing.

“Where’s Adrien?” she cried, panic flaring within her. She tried to get to her feet, pushing back against the hands that were stopping her.

“Chill, Mari! He’s gone to get water. We used all ours in the—” Alya cut off as Adrien appeared behind her. Wide-eyed and flushed with a bottle of water in each hand, he’d clearly run as fast he could.

His face broke with relief when he saw she was awake. He swiftly knelt, uncapped a bottle, and handed it to her.

Marinette sipped, and then gulped down the water, sighing as her headache immediately lessened and energy flooded through her.

“How are you feeling?” Adrien asked softly as she finished the bottle.

“Much better. Thank you,” she replied, just as quiet, and looked up.

The moment hung between them, unresolved emotions bled into the tension, but those green eyes remained ever constant.

In the corner of her vision, she saw Alya tug Nino’s hand—“Come on, let’s give them space.”—and lead him away.

But Marinette just stared into those eyes.

A breeze ruffled Adrien’s shirt. Hairs tickled the back of her neck. Then suddenly the tears fell, thick and fast, down her cheeks; her emotions were finally able to spill over.

Sobs wracked her body. Her breath hitched in her throat. And when Adrien wrapped his arms around her, she wailed into his chest. His own tears dripped onto her shoulders.

“I’m so sorry,” Adrien whispered into her hair, and it was like a shot to the chest.

She pulled back, hands still on his chest. “Don’t say that.” Her voice was deathly quiet. “You don’t—you can’t—” She swallowed the guilt clawing her throat. “A-After Nino told me …” she trailed off, filling with regret, “I-I should have called you too.” Adrien sucked in his breath. “I’m sorry.” Her voice cracked.

Adrien shook his head as fresh tears streamed down his face.

She reached out her hand and gently placed it on his cheek. He leant into her and closed his eyes, and her heart warmed as she gently wiped away his tears with her thumb.

Adrien took her hand in his own and held it in his lap; tingles shot up her spine at his soft, ginger touch.

“What do you say we start again?” he said, his voice quiet. His eyes pierced hers and a small smile tugged at his lips.

Marinette stopped breathing. Tears spilled down her cheeks. She shifted her hand in his grip so her fingers entwined his.

“I’d like that,” she whispered.

[mxvladdy]

More than just a flirt

John Hancock X OC

Hi hi! My smut hand be rusty but nothing like completely self indulgent OC smut to bring me back :)

So I’m still new to tagging and the like but my Fallout 4 OC is GN but I do insinuate female genitals. Soooo ye *finger guns* 

If ya read it I hope a like it! 

John was a flirt; that’s all he ever could be. He was charming. He was witty. He was an adventure covered in an oversized trench coat. What bed partners he had came for one thing. The experience. The ability to boast loudly about fuckin’ a ghoul. Like it was a damn badge of honor. His whole life had been a stream of one night stands, and cold beds. That's all he ever could be. That’s all he ever would be.

So then why did he wake up so warm?

Cracking an eye open John reached behind him searching blindly for what was heating his back. His burned fingers were a complete contrast to the soft flesh that greeted him. Slowly, he traces down it, following the flow of the dark muscular till he is holding on to an arm wrapped around his middle.

“Morin’.” His bed partner huffs in his ear. Chestnut curls tickle his cheek as they hug him closer. Whiskey and melon sweet breath bringing back memories of their lips against his. Last night clicks in place. Ophelia. John rose quickly as if burned. This was wrong, they are a friend. A good friend, a trustworthy hardworking leader. They deserved better than-than…

“John?” Ophelia rose uncaring of how the blankets slipped from their arms. Old fabric pooling around their bare waist. They rub at their eyes wearily. “You ok?”

He froze at the edge of the mattress. Long fingers reaching for his pants on a very recognizable floor. He was in Ophelia’s room; or rather this was their hotel room. Damn. He couldn't remember a thing from last night. What did he take? Fuck. He could kick himself. Of all the one-nighters, he wanted to at least remember this one. “Ye doll, sorry...just didn't wanna wake ya.” He smiles, covering his momentary panic.

Ophelia frowned, sleepy hazel eyes narrowing into a familiar piercing glaze. They size him up. Reading him better than anyone ever had before. John couldn’t help but squirm. They looked at him just like when they had first met. Strong jaw tense and their chin high, silently calling out his bullshit.

“I'm fine, honest. Didn't expect to see you is all.” Hancock tried again tugging on his pants.

“In my own room?” His friend snorts, rising to go open the curtains. “Where else would I be?”

John is silent. “I don’t know. Not here-with me.” He keeps his back turned. It was stupid to linger. The warm tingling of their soft body seeps down into the floorboards leaving him aching and cold. Staring at his irradiated hands he could almost cry. Almost- his tear ducts had been scarred shut years ago.  

“John?” Ophelia comes within arms reach. He could sense their hand hovering close to his own boney shoulder. They drop it moments later. “You sure you’re ok? You coming down from a bad trip or somethin’?” John chuckles humorlessly. Was he that predictable? Stepping away from them he finishes dressing.  

“Ye sunshine. Don’t worry about it. Ain’t my first time and sure as hell won’t be my last.” He tosses out over his shoulder. “I’ll give ya a minute ta get ready and meet you out front.”

If Ophelia had anything to say after that they kept between their pretty little lips.

“I think we should head for shelter.” Ophelia says, looking up from the fallen mutant. Their arms filled with loot. John follows their gaze. His black eyes reflect the eerie shade of green growing in the sky. Rad storm. Looked like a big one too. He lights a cigarette and sticks it between his grimy teeth before helping collect a few more useful items.

“Closest place is probably that supermarket couple o’ klicks back.” He jabs a thumb over his shoulder. If they hoof it they could probably get there and pick off any ferals before the worst of the storm hit. Ophelia sighs, John knew how much they hated backtracking. The decision was made for them when their pip-boy starts clicking in warning.

“Well-” They frown, throwing a glance back at the ghoul. “You alright with taking two steps forward and ten steps back?” John laughs, tipping his tricorn up to flash them a quick wink.

“Shit doll- You just summed up my life in a sentence.” Offering a hand he helps the sharpshooter over some loose rubble. “You keep an eye out K? I know you’re low on ammo so I’ll take point.” Ophelia nods. Their sniper rifle slung uselessly across their back. Readying his shotgun John follows behind.

The storm hit just when he had expected. Dropping rain and hunks of debris on the two as they struggle to close the supermarket doors against the high winds. Thanks to their combined dumb luck the place was empty. The sentry bots long since destroyed and even a few tins of food were still scattered about the aisle. Ophelia left him to collect some and scout out any hidden lock boxes, leaving him to set up the sleeping bags and start a small fire. Cracking open a room-temperature beer he stares idly into the flicking flames. It grew steadily as he fed it bits of cardboard and kindling. The yellow glow touches his skin and starts to dry his drenched clothes. John contemplates his predicament while he waits for Ophelia to return. The memories of last night slowly start to come back to him in the silence. The tastes, and smells of washed sheets and sweating skin permeate his senses. Ophelia’s sweet mewls and gasps echo around in between his ears. Who gave them the right to make his name sound so sweet?

Shit-He knew he shouldn’t dwell on it. First rule of one-nighters is to live in the moment then walk away clean. But damn if he wasn’t the worst at following rules.

He relives it all the best he can, parts still blurring and blocked, like a scratch in a holotape. But he’ll take it. He’ll take the phantom feel of strong, sure fingers mapping his body. The ghost of a tongue slipping against his. Washing away the taste of mentats and cheap drinks. He can’t remember the last time he had felt so warm and wanted. Made the sudden distance he put between them hurt even more. Fuck him for getting greedy.

John flicks the butt of his cigarette into the roaring flames and searches for another. He grumbles in irritation as each pocket bears no fruit. “Here. I got some.” A familiar red and white box appears in his peripheral. Ophelia’s chipped yellow nail polish clashing with the old carton.

“Thanks, sunshine.” He rasps, taking the box. He can’t bear looking up for the crumbled container. The thought of making eye contact with them while his blood and brains were living in his trousers seemed unholy. Pulling out the least damaged cigarette of the lot he lights it with a practiced flick of his wrist. “Found anything good?”

They shrug, putting a few cans of beans and corn in the growing amount of embers around the fire pit to heat. “Some ammo and super glue. Also-” They grin, forcing him to look up. “Got you a present.” They pull a bottle out from behind their back to brandish it at him triumphantly. He stares. Not at the bottle, but at the way that little pull of muscle brightens up their whole face. That signature gapped tooth smile warming him better than the beer and firelight combined. He reaches numbly for the bottle. A Nuka-Cola Quantum, the chill of the bottle a welcomed surprise.

He and the rest of the crew had learned over the years not to reject a gift, no matter how valuable. MacCready nearly had a heart attack when he was gifted with a shiny new sniper rifle. That pretty little custom piece came with all the bells and whistles. Not to mention a few boxes of specialized ammo. John had zoned out when the other man started rambling rapid-fire over specs clutching the gun to him like a newborn. Each of the core companions got some good shit from time to time. He had some absolutely sinful blades and an old bottle of pre war bourbon tucked away in his office. Valentine had gotten some fantastic upgrades to his hardware and repairs to his offices. Hell- Curie got a whole bloody body.

Can’t beat these job perks.  

“What’s the occasion?” He pops the cap off with the blunt end of his pocket knife, taking a pull from the bottle. The rush of sugar and god knows what else damping his headache.

Ophelia shrugs from across the pit. Pulling off their worn boots to warm their feet by the fire. “I remember you said they perk you up after a particularly bad crash.” They pause, face closing down for a moment, before looking up in horror. “I would have thought- I mean. I- you-I hope I didn’t do anything last night that upset you. I know you were a bit buzzed and I was way past tipsy. But, if I stepped out of line you would tell me right ?” John looks at them beyond confused.

"What?" He asks dumbly.

" Is," Ophelia waves vaguely at the distance between them. Normally when they camped together they were thick as thieves. Joking and nudging at each other's shoulders. Others used to joke about them getting a room. Now it felt like a great chasm had opened between them. "all of this about last night."

"Oh. Nah. Don't gotta worry none doll." John shrugs. Best to rip the bandage off now then later. "It's in the past, best leave it there. " He lies. It burns his throat worse than jet, but he has to. If only to protect his crumbling pride. One day he'll believe his own words. Hopefully.

"Well I am worried. How 'bout we start over. What’s wrong?" Ophelia jabs.

John feels heat rise under his thick skin. Just pokin’ a fresh cut tonight huh..."Kinda hard to start over after having someone's dick down your throat." He tosses it out carelessly. A shit attempt to derail the coming train wreck. Ophelia doesn't even flinch.

"Well, it's a damn good thing we both know how flexible I am then.” They rebuttal smoothly. “So, I'll ask again. What’s. Wrong?" The ghoul shrinks under their heated look. He was never keen on being hit with these eyes. Meant another kinda storm was brewing.

John throws his hands up in frustration. Had they never heard the phrase 'read the room'. "What, ya never had a one nighter before?" He regrets it the second the words leave his lips. He'd never seen someone flinch from words before. "Look, doll, I ain't one for making things awkward. I know the rules so let's just forget it and move on."

Ophelia deflates. Their signature look that could pin a super mutant in fight extinguished just like that. John watches them mouth over his words slowly. Clearly hating the taste of them as much as he did. "Is- was that what you wanted out of it?" Ophelia sighs. They dig a hand through sweat tangled locks. The tight coils of their hair protesting the drag of their fingers. His own fingers itch watching them, remembering the feel of their hair wrapped around his hand as he pulled them in for a kiss.

"What did you want out of it?" He asks, feeling dumber than a radroach.

Ophelia mimics him, throwing their hands up with a short laugh. "John, I thought it was clear. I don't go sleeping around with my friends and colleagues for shits and giggles. Who do I always ask to join me on travels?"

“Dogmeat?” John jokes, the knot in his stomach loosening with hope. It's unimaginable really- and yet. Were they serious? The past couple of times out they had always come to him. Even when they would be at a strategic disadvantage for whatever crazy scheme they had brewing. Only time he wasn’t Ophelia’s top pick was when some Minutemen tasks needed to be done. Even then He could always expect them at his front door the moment their feet landed on safe ground. A bottle of liquor in hand and an unbelievable story to tell.

“Not funny.” They chastised him scooting until they were seated next to him, knees brushing. "My idea for this morning was to maybe get breakfast and a semi decent cup of coffee. But I guess this is fine." They scrunch their nose in distaste at the cans warming in the fire pit.

“Shit doll,” John reaches out, wrapping a wiry arm around their waist. “Can I make it up to you? For being such an ass?” They hum in jest covering his hand with their own. The kiss that follows was unlike anything that he expected. It was slow and sweet. So different from the fast pecks he would get with others he slept with. He deepens it greedily, not ready to part just yet.

“You’re lucky I find you attractive.” Ophelia whispers into his mouth tossing his tricorn to the side and straddling his narrow hips. “We are going to have a talk about all this. Just-later-much, much later. I need a repeat performance of last night now that we are both sober.”

John groans letting them push him down. “Damn-you got it. You got whatever you want if you mean it.” Ophelia scoffs, ridding themselves of their baggy jacket. John can’t help but marvel at how beautiful they were backlit by the roaring flames. The orange glow of the light wrapping around their dark skin much like he craved to do. The flicking of it lapping at their smooth skin. Flashes of last night coming back to him of his tongue traveling down the same areas. He would have to remap them.

“As if I could ever lie to your smart ass.” They scoff grinding down on the growing bulge hidden in his rough pants. “But you have been lying to me and yourself it seems.”

He grunts in acknowledgment eyeing the way their ass moves. “You are absolutely right.Fuck- how can I make it up to you?”

Ophelia smirks cupping his cheeks. Their eyes meet. Rich hazel meeting cold black. The moment digs dip under his tough hide. The raw emotions in their stare makes his throat dry. “Put that mouth to good use- hmm? I know it’s good for more than some self-depreciation.”  

Spurred by Ophelia’s words he flips their positions, placing the sniper down on his bedroll. John sinks lower, kissing and nipping at their hip bone. Mapping out all the sensitive parts of their body. His tongue tracing the silver little streaks on their belly. Ophelia’s stomach twitches at the feel of his warm breath on their stretch marks, cursing quietly as he finds their slick core. Their nails score his scalp, dragging a hiss of pleasure from his lips. He licks with gusto, taking full advantage of their isolated positions to make them scream.  

“John-” They mew clawing at his shoulders to pull him back up to their kiss swollen lips. He goes leaving a trail of kisses in his wake before giving them a surprisingly chaste kiss on their lips.

“You sure ‘bout this doll?” He didn’t know what would happen after this, but it felt so different compared to his other recurring bed partners. He did want to see them again. He wanted this relationship to bleed into every aspect of his life. If he could relive that morning wrapped in their arms till his brain was splattered out on some dusty alleyway then he would. Without question.

Ophelia nods, reading in between the lines of his multilayered question. If there was one power figure in this wasteland they trusted, it was him. Wrapping a strong leg around his strong waist they shimmy off their tactical pants. Their eyes lock onto his pants as if the ratty briefs offended them.  John chuckles and casually loosens the draw strings keeping his pants up. Ophelia takes it from there scooting the rough material down his legs. They pur, grasping his erection and stroking it. Their dexterous fingers play with his head drawing out a healthy bit of pre.

John sighs and rests his forehead on Ophelia’s brow breathing in their naturally clean scent. It reminded him of the rare times he could get freshly washed laundry mixed with the springtime. Shen the wild plants strong enough to brave this cruel world sprouted. He kisses them, nipping at their chin and collarbone while they drive him wild. “Doll, please.” He gasps, back arching into their touch. “You’re killin’ me ya know.” Ophelia chuckles returning a deep kiss.

“Good, consider it penance for thinking I couldn’t love you.”

John heaves, lost for breath as their words hit him. He pulls back floundering.  “You mean that?” He sees the rapid fire thoughts racing through their wide eyes. Shock that they let slip that dirty little secret, fear of what he would do, then a stark resolution.

“Of course.” Ophelia nods through their embarrassment. Their sharp cheeks beginning to warm under his gaze. They say it like it’s an obvious statement. Like he should have just known. In a way he did. He just couldn’t believe it.

John takes the initiative now.  Dragging Ophelia down to his scarred lips preening when he feels them sigh into it. Their tongue teasing his telling him point blank what they wanted. Grabbing onto their plush hips John grinds down on them, rubbing his stiff erection through the seam of their thighs and wet entrance. The moans that elicited from them made his radioactive blood boil with need. He had to have them again, last night was a dud. He would savoir this time.

Positioning themselves over John’s cock Ophelia shoots him a sultry wink before sinking down onto him slowly. “Oh fuck me.” He groans, dropping his head to his pillow. Their body was feverish around his, soft, pliant and so willing.

“That was my intention.” They grab onto his shoulders for support. Eyelids fluttering heavily. “If I’m not getting that across now, perhaps I should quit while I’m behind?” They joke as they ride him. Their hips move in slow tight circles. It’s enough to drive him wild.

John digs his fingers into the supple flesh of Ophelia’s hips. With any luck he’ll leave bruises. Excellent. Ophelia couldn’t stop John as he flipped their position. He pinned them roughly down on his sleeping bag. “Don’t worry Doll. You got your point across very well. Don’t need to go putting yourself out like that.”

“You’re one to ta-” John thrusts into them cutting off their snark. Taking  devilish delight in flustering them. Setting a fast pace he drives in deep revealing in their cries of pleasure. God damn- this was almost enough to make him wanna go sober. How did he ever think one night would be enough?

“Fuck! I don’t deserve you.” His hisses cutting through the wet slaps of skin on skin. Ophelia does nothing but groan. Neither of them last long. Much to John’s chagrin. He finishes with a choked shout, hips and stomach twitching as he spills himself on their thigh. Ophelia doesn’t fare much better. They bite hard at the rough skin of his neck, nails scoring his back with a perfect mixture of pleasure and pain while they came undone beneath him.

“Do you mean it?” He asks, cupping the back of Ophelia’s skull. They wrap an arm around his neck nuzzling close, draping their body across his.

“Ye- but if you talk down about yourself again I’ll have to feed you to a deathclaw.” John chuckles feeling his eyelids getting heavy. He wouldn’t put it past them.

[delimeful]

you will see a better day

donation drive commission for @starrykid with the prompt: Remus dealing with intrusive thoughts and the others helping him through it.

warnings: canon setting, intrusive thoughts (a fair amount), gore mentions, implications of thoughts of self harm, Remus Going Thru It

-

Before, whenever he had a Bad Day, it was just more fuel on the trash fire that was his brain. 

It was routine: Remus would wake up with a litany of grotesque images on the back of his eyelids, present every time he blinked or squeezed his eyes shut in frustration. These thoughts weren’t the fun kind of gross, the type that was fascinating or funny. They weren’t fun because he didn’t choose them, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t get rid of them if he didn’t like them. 

Guess that was how everyone else felt about you. Remus mashed a pillow over his own face as though it would muffle his own mind. What a stupid thought. He was a luxury few could afford, thank-you-very-much!

Back then, as soon as possible, he would find someone else in the Mindscape to bother, because if he had to deal with the awful thoughts carving and chipping away at the inside of his skull, it was only fair to share. 

That was before, when things had been black and white and he could be a monster all he pleased because it wasn’t like anyone else thought differently. It wasn’t like Thomas thought differently. 

Until he did.

And now they were all in one muddled up Mindscape and the others were trying, making an effort to clot their own bad habits and setting a place for him at the table. It was slow-going, like shoving a square peg into a circular hole, but it was also the most he’d ever had. Until something splintered, he was going to soak in every minute of it. 

Or at least, that was his plan, up until he hit another Bad Day like a semi truck hit thrice-dead roadkill. 

Same thoughts, same pounding (heh) headache. The difference was, now he couldn’t go word-vomit all over the nearest Side until he felt a little less like he was drowning. He was working to keep the delicate peace in his own way, and that meant not bothering the others with his… himself-ness on days like these. 

He couldn’t stay in his room all day, though. For one it was boring, and for two, ever since they’d all agreed to try and cohabitate, Patton and Janus in particular were insistent on checking in if anyone acted strange. Cooping up in his room and not being his usual fantastically sickening and outrageous self would definitely pop up on their radar. If that happened, there was no way he could fool Janus outright. He preferred his own brand of frank honesty anyways, so clearly the only solution was to behave normally enough that nobody looked twice. 

His version of normal, anyhow. 

He groaned loudly and then dragged in a breath, manifesting a pair of slippers that looked uncannily like dead fish onto his feet. He would just have to put his excellent acting skills to use. 

—- 

Remus’s willpower was put to the test as soon as he reached the kitchen. A new record of his ability to destroy plans, this must be why Janus never told him anything. 

Patton was spinning himself in circles on one of the round stools by the bar counter, humming a cartoon theme brightly to himself. At the stovetop, Virgil was sedately flipping pancakes, an easy set to his shoulders that meant he had probably recently taken a long-overdue nap in Logan’s room.

Normally, Remus would already be halfway into teasing the hell out of him, but now his brain felt scrambled with panic. Virgil was particularly susceptible to getting dragged into the cycle of intrusive thoughts on days like these, which meant the anxious Side was the last one he wanted to run into at the moment. 

Two birds with one brick, his stupid hell brain suggested slyly. Send Virgil into a spiral and then it’ll be him who gets nagged, his fault for ruining the friendly atmosphere. 

Stop it. Remus’s face twitched into a self-directed snarl for a moment, and he forced the thought away as Patton finally slowed his rotation to smile dizzily at him. 

“Remus! Good morning!” 

Virgil glanced over his shoulder, sending Remus’s heart rate briefly into the triple digits. Be normal be normal be normal. “Hey, Re. Morning.”

He didn’t even notice. So much for being your friend. If you’re subtle enough, you could sidle up behind him and smash his face into the hot burner—

“WHAT’S UP, FUCKERS!” Remus shouted, teeth spread in a too-wide grin. He bounced into the kitchen, depositing an assorted handful of teeth (his preferred currency) into the swear jar before Patton could say anything, and planted himself on the middle bar stool. 

Patton scooted one stool closer to be next to him, because of course he did. Remus resisted the urge to start prying out handfuls of hair, his own or— no. Toned down, he was keeping it toned down. Buttcheek on a stick, this was difficult.

“Want to spin with me?” Patton asked, shifting antsily from side to side with barely contained energy. 

“Whoever pukes first wins?” Remus replied automatically, and felt a bright burst of giddy joy when Patton giggle-snorted instead of recoiling. 

“I think upchuck is actually supposed to mean you lose your lunch and the spinning contest, kiddo.” 

Of course it did. You were designed to be the loser, even if you try to change the rules. 

Remus knew that this time Patton had spotted the way his lips twitched down into a grimace, but before the fatherly side could say anything, there was the clink of ceramic plates on the counter in front of them. 

“No spinning and/or vomiting if you want to eat my pancakes,” Virgil demanded, wielding a spatula threateningly at them as he clicked the stovetop off. “We’ll never hear the end of it from Princey if he has to reconjure all the furniture.” 

Irrational, heated anger burned through him. Like Virgil could do anything to stop you. Social interaction was enough to give the guy a panic attack, he couldn’t tell Remus to do or not do anything— 

“You good, Re?” Virgil asked, and he jerked, avoiding the other Side’s gaze as though eye contact would expose his thoughts. After a beat too long, his mind finally caught up with the plate in front of him. 

His pancake was covered in a truly disgusting amount of cheese and ketchup, the way he always requested it back when they’d all been Dark Sides. Despite the fact that he always made a face back then, Virgil had made a point to remember, had done it without asking. 

Like ravenous wolves, his thoughts instantly turned against him. 

Pathetic. How could you think things like that about people who trust you? You shouldn’t even be here, pretending to be a person. You deserve everything coming to you. 

His hand made it halfway to the fork sitting innocently next to his plate before he remembered himself. Virgil was still looking at him, clearly having caught the motion, and Remus lowered his hand, white-knuckled. 

“Me, good? That’s a funny one, V-mo!” he tried to joke, but the odd edge to his voice made it fall flat. Virgil was outright frowning now, and out of the corner of his vision Patton’s eyebrows were drawing together.

“What’s wrong?” Virgil asked, his frame tight with tension and his gaze drilling into Remus. “Are you hurt?” 

“I could be!” Remus blurted, trying to keep his tone saucy but ending up with something closer to desperate. “You ever think maybe bashing my skull in would be better than having to deal with its contents?”

The two of them winced, and he knew he’d given himself away completely. Shit.

Virgil reached out, and then stopped himself before he could make contact. Can you blame him? Jumping into an electrified tank of leeches would be more comfortable than willingly exposing himself to you. 

Something of his internal diatribe must have shown on Remus’s face, because Virgil’s hesitant expression flickered into regret.

“Shit,” he swore, and this time Patton didn’t chide him. “I can’t-- I don’t want to send you into a spiral, Re. If I touch you, we’re just going to be stuck in a feedback loop of bad thoughts.” 

“Like how you’re perpetually stuck in 2009?” Remus offered, instead of listing all the ways he could feasibly remove Virgil’s eyes from their sockets. It would almost be fun, if it wasn’t his friend’s eyes he was contemplating prying out with a spoon handle. 

Virgil’s lips pulled up slightly. “Yeah, just like that. I’m gonna go get the others. They’ll be able to help you for real.” 

He sunk out, and Remus’s head started to ache more severely as terrible and often gory predictions for the future began to crowd his mind. He shoved his hands into the roots of his hair and tugged ferociously. 

“Hey, buddy, you shouldn’t pull on your hair like that,” a concerned voice chimed in. Remus had almost forgotten Patton was still there, sitting only a seat away. 

He pulled harder on his hair, both out of spite and to distract himself from the urge to summon a weapon and see if Patton would still look at you with so much pity if you shanked his ass and tied his intestines into little bows. 

“Hey, what do you call a seasick croc?” Patton asked, abruptly enough that Remus managed to shake his train of thought. He glanced up to look at the Heart, who offered him a tremulous mischievous smile. “A crocobile.” 

Remus snorted, and Patton’s smile seemed to firm up. 

“How about, why do ducks have tail feathers?” the moral Side asked in that same leading tone. 

Remus thought for a minute. “‘Cause otherwise they’d lose their balance in flight and go splat against the nearest window?” 

“I mean, maybe, but also!” Patton held up a finger for emphasis. “They have tail feathers to cover their… butt-quacks.”

There was a beat of anticipation where they both stared at each other, and then Remus threw his head back and outright cackled. Patton fist pumped in delight. 

“I thought you might like that one, kiddo,” he said, beaming. Before Remus could reply, possibly with an atrocious pun of his own, Roman strode into the room. 

There was a brief, awkward pause as the two of them made eye contact. Patton looked rapidly between them with concern, and Remus couldn’t blame him. Even now, their one-on-one interactions tended to end with vicious spats. They were too good, too practiced at pressing each other's buttons to settle into the newfound peace easily. 

“... Bad one?” he finally asked, as though he could spot the wrong-evil-awful all over Remus from a mile away. Remus felt his expression drop into an irritable glower worthy of Anxiety, but before he could retort, Roman was seating himself primly on the communal couch.   

He ran his hand through the hair at the nape of his neck in a nervous habit Remus constantly teased him about, and then straightened his shoulders and patted the cushion next to him. “I’ll… like when we were kids. If you want.” 

Despite Patton’s confused head tilt, Remus got it immediately, and ignored the screaming violence in his head in favor of bodily throwing himself over the couch, jostling the hell out of his brother and eliciting a Grade-A Bitchface from him in the process. Remus grinned maliciously in return.

“Do the one that looks like a snake,” he demanded, running a hand through his hair and lengthening it. Of course, in addition, thick clumps of hair ended up falling out entirely, leaving weird-feeling bald patches that might have been interesting if he’d actually intended to create them. 

“On purpose or don’t want it?” Roman asked, echoing a familiar question from their childhood. It had been a royal decree, before they grew so divided, that one had to ask before ‘fixing’ anything the other did, just in case it was on purpose. 

“How are you supposed to braid what isn’t there?” Remus grumbled, gnawing on the inside of his cheek as he unwillingly imagined restapling his hair to his skull. “Don’t want it.” 

Roman dragged his fingers through Remus’s hair, lengthening it until it was long enough to do all sorts of stupid-complicated braids. He also made the new hair unforgivably glossy and apple-scented, but Remus could get him back for that later, when he was sure it wouldn’t be (nails through nasal cavities, a cloud of suffocating darkness, decaying hands pulling you down into freshly turned soil and burying you alive) disproportionate retribution. 

Two braids later, Logan appeared, rising up in the mindscape with his tie perfectly aligned but lab goggle imprints around his eyes. He only took a moment to absorb the scene, as though it was normal that everyone was crowding around Remus attentively. “Virgil informed me that you could use some assistance?” 

Remus snorted. “Maybe you can perform some impromptu brain surgery to stop me thinking? Hey, if you don’t use anesthetic, I promise not to squirm too much, doc.”

“I don’t believe that man’s ever been to medical school,” Roman quoted absently, still caught up in combining three braids together into one. 

Logan rolled his eyes. “Regardless of my unfortunately lacking PhD status, I believe brain surgery to ‘stop one thinking’ is also colloquially referred to as an induced coma.” 

“Perfect!” Remus cheered, and then yelped when Roman tugged on his hair harshly in retribution. Patton was making that half-pitiful, half-furious face that he always made whenever the emo talked bad about himself, strangely enough.

“There are plenty of adjectives I could use to describe such a solution, but none of them would be ‘perfect’, Remus,” Logan continued. “A more effective and patient-friendly answer would be addressing your irritating or harmful thoughts through the use of various mental health tactics.” 

Easy for him to say. “That might work for Tommy-boy, but I am the harmful or irritating thoughts, remember?” 

“Falsehood.” Logan declared, proving that no matter what aspect of Thomas they were, the Sides were all dramatic theater kid bastards at heart. “It has become increasingly clear that while we all formed to handle certain tasks or aspects, we are all increasingly complex at heart. None of us can be diminished to simply one trait. In the same way that Virgil is much more than the experience of anxiety, there is no logical reason to reduce yourself to the thoughts that you struggle with.” 

Remus shook his head, though he wasn’t sure what part of the assertion he was resisting. Logan folded himself into a sitting position and reached over for Remus’s hand, his touch grounding. 

“You’ve gotten through days like this before. You’ll continue to do so after,” Logan told him. 

“I got through Bad Days by making everyone’s day bad,” Remus retorted. “I’m not you, but I’m not stupid. Nobody wants me making it into a communal event.” 

“That’s what family’s for though,” Patton said, shifting closer from his own spot on the rug. “Listening. Helping. Having each other’s backs when things get tough!” 

Logan’s grip didn’t falter. Roman’s presence was solid at his back. Remus was beginning to wonder if he’d snorted something hallucinogenic recently.

“The sentiment is admirable, if a bit hypocritical,” a familiar voice chimed in, and Remus looked up to see Janus leaning elegantly against the kitchen archway. Virgil elbowed his way past, ruining the dramatic pose and flopping down on the couch next to Remus. He bumped his shoe against Remus’s leg in quiet camaraderie.

“Hypocritical?” Logan echoed, raising an eyebrow. 

“Unless you’d like to tell me that everyone here has no problems whatsoever asking for help or expressing vulnerability on their bad days,” Janus proposed, smugly. 

Logan inclined his head slightly. “Point.” 

“Regardless, that doesn’t make Logic or Morality incorrect.” Janus looked at Remus intently. “None of us are allowed to simply suffer in silence, anymore.”

“I didn’t exactly suffer in silence before,” he pointed out, sounding uncannily sensible. Probably from the nerd’s proximity. 

“Then you shouldn’t have a problem now, hmm?” Janus replied. 

Logan sighed at them all, collectively, in general. “Look at it from this angle, Remus. Your previous coping mechanism was generally detrimental due to your lack of options and isolation. Now, you have neither of those holding you back. With knowledge and assistance, you can only improve from here on out.” 

Now, that was doubtful. “And what if I don’t, huh? What if I just get worse?” 

“Then we’ll still be here.” Logan squeezed his hand, and Janus confirmed his words with a nod, and even though his mind was cluttered and overwhelming, they were all still there at his side without complaint. 

Maybe it wasn’t too much to ask, after all.

“Well, what are we trying first?”

[re-diesirae]

Chapter 3

3. LEON

It was fortunate that Leon had experience tracking a target amidst the chaos. The attacks had unleashed panic in the population. People were running and screaming from side to side, and Leon thought he saw several members of TerraSave moving from side to side.

He was glad that, at least, there were no signs of other B.O.W.s besides the one that had attacked them at the main street. That was good news.

Leon looked around, searching for any traces of the men in black suits, suddenly his phone rang, and Leon quickly answered.

"Hunnigan."

"Leon," the woman greeted him, "How are things over there?"

"Not as good as I'd like," Leon answered, "Did you find anything useful?"

"Not good news, I am afraid," Hunnigan sighed, "the terrorist group responsible for this attack and Ms. Redfield's kidnapping call themselves Arcana. It's a small terrorist group that works under Neo-umbrella."

"I expected Neo-umbrella to be no more. I can't believe they're still providing them with monsters."

"Yes, after the incident in China, we thought the organization had died away with Simmons and Radames, but it seems we were wrong. I've sent the report to the higher-ups."

"Yeah, good to know. I'll worry about Neo-umbrella later. They aren't our top problem now," Leon said, "Claire getting kidnapped is. Any idea of why they would target her?"

There was a short pause as Leon dodged a group of panicked citizens that ran in the opposite direction.

"Unfortunately, no, but I'll let you know if something comes up."

"Well, thanks."

"Sounds like a mess over there."

"Nothing I haven't seen before," Lin said, "not that many hostiles yet."

"I've got reports of hostiles incoming, but compared to other cases, it seems rather calm."

That was odd, Leon thought. Terrorist groups didn't shine for their consideration of innocent citizens, and he had to admit that comparing the current situation to what he'd lived other times before, it wasn't as bad as it could get.

"Leon, I found your target. They are heading to a building located north of your current position. It's an office building."

"Yeah, I think I just saw them," Leon said, watching the black-suited men walk into a large building across him.

"Good luck, Leon, and be careful."

"Yeah, thanks."

Leon pushed his phone back into his pocket and made his way to the building. The first thing he heard upon entering the lobby was a wave of gunfire, screaming, and grunting. The sounds were familiar, and they were enough for Leon to have an idea of what to expect later.

The zombies were the same kind he had faced in Tall Oaks: violent, nasty, and annoying, but not too hard to dispatch. The problem was that they were fast spreaders, which turned them into an infinite annoyance.

"Shit, " Leon groaned, shooting several zombies as he chased the group, "I hope Claire is ok."

Leon looked around the destruction and the pile of dead monsters he was leaving behind him.

"Claire is surely going to love this when she sees it," Leon said bitterly.

Claire would be furious. He could almost picture her indignation look in his thoughts, and he unavoidably smirked.

"Leon, do you copy?"

"Yeah, I am here."

"I identified an aircraft moving steadily to your position."

"An aircraft?" Leon grunted, "so they're extracting Claire from here."

"Yes, the air is most likely their escape route."

"Huh, then, they will head to the highest extraction point, the rooftop. Thanks, Hunnigan."

Leon shot his upcoming enemies without issues and made his way to the roof. He caught up with the kidnappers on the fifth floor. Four men from the original group were still alive, and he had to give them their credit. They weren't the usual bunch of amateur fighters.

Claire was still unconscious and, in addition to the way the men were carrying her like a sack of potatoes, the fact that she'd not woken up yet bothered Leon.

"Stop there," Leon shouted once they reached the roof.

"What the fuck?" the man holding Claire groaned.

"Isn't that one of the guys from earlier?"

"He caught up with us?"

"Shut up, you two!" the one holding Claire shouted. He pulled out his gun and aimed at Leon.

Leon smirked and jumped aside, taking cover. The fire exchange was intense. The agent had to be cautious where he aimed. Claire was in a vulnerable position, and the last thing he wanted was shooting her by mistake.

The kidnappers were losing focus. The anxiety and the stress, caused by the screams and roars that came from below, were making them uneasy.

Suddenly, one of the men let out a screech. Claire had woken up, and she had managed to kick him, making him drop her.

"That's my Claire," Leon smirked to himself.

He saw Claire roll away from the men and tried to get up. She seemed a little unbalanced, but Leon attributed it to having just woken up. The men looked thrown by her sudden awakening, and Leon used that opportunity to get out from his hiding spot and reach for the woman as he shot the men.

He pulled a, still confused Claire, behind a concrete block and took cover with her.

"L-Leon?" Claire groaned with surprise.

"Hey, again. Are you ok?"

"Y-yeah," she answered, rubbing her head, "What's going on?"

"Long story," Leon told her, punching the man that tried to catch her again.

The woman looked around her, confused, almost as if she wasn't processing the events. That was odd since Claire was usually fast to catch on to things. Leon was going to ask Claire if she was alright once more, but he never got to voice the question.

Suddenly, Leon heard a thunderous noise. The agent looked up and saw in horror as a helicopter got attacked by several flying B.O.W.s. The chopper lost stability and began to move erratically in the air, trying to get rid of the monsters that had trapped it.

One of the creatures destroyed the blades of the helicopter, and it began to fall towards them.

"Shit."

Leon turned to Claire, who was rubbing her head again. The agent picked her up, much to Claire's shock, and rushed away as fast as he could, but unfortunately, there was not much that he could do to run away from a burnt, falling chopper.

The crash was strong enough to make the whole building shake violently; debris burst flying around them, and Leon automatically shielded Claire from the damage.

Amid the chaos, they both rolled on the ground from the impact. Leon looked at his friend, letting out a painful groan. Claire was struggling, and he tried to reach out for her, but before he could, he felt a hard hit behind him, and everything went black.

Her head hurt like hell. That was the first thought that crossed Claire's mind as she regained her senses. Her surroundings were dark, and she felt the unfamiliar rocky ground under her hand.

"Great," Claire sighed, grabbing her head and feeling a little dizzy, "Why do I always end up in these places?"

The auburn headed looked around, ignoring the dizziness and the need to throw up that she was feeling. It was dark, damp, and for what she could tell, it looked like she was in some cave or tunnel. Claire sat up, resting her back against a near wall. It took her some minutes to put her thoughts back in order. Her memories were chaotic. She remembered fighting with some unknown men in the Command Room, and then, she had a blackout. Her last memories were of Leon, fire, pain, and a lot of noise. Wait, Leon?

"Leon?" she asked, trying to stand up.

There was no answer, and Claire looked around, concerned. She was sure she'd seen Leon. He had been with her before, and his current absence made Claire worry.

She tried to stand up so that she could search the area for her friend, but a wave of dizziness staggered her. The bastards had probably hit her head, and she'd not be surprised if she had a concussion. She needed to recover a little before she could think of moving.

"Leon? Are you there?" she called into the darkness, but no answer again.

He is an agent. He is going to be alright.

Claire took a deep breath, letting the oxygen fill her lungs and reach her head. The headache was annoying, but she could handle it. The pain wasn't enough to hinder her. She took some minutes to calm down and clear her head as much as she could.

"Fantastic," Claire sighed, "knowing my luck, I am probably in another experimental facility. I'll need a weapon if that's the case."

It took her some more minutes to be able to see. Her vision was still slightly blurry, but it was enough for her to move without issues.

Claire navigated herself through the darkness, using the wall as a guide. The terrain wasn't friendly to navigate, especially in the dark. Claire stumbled several times on the uneven ground; the last thing she needed now was to fall and damage her head even more.

It was too quiet for her taste, silent as death, and in her experience, dead things rarely stayed like that in these circumstances.

I am technically useless right now.

Claire wasn't in the best of shapes. Her vision was unreliable, her movements were slow and clumsy due to her headache, even her balance was giving her problems, and to top all that, she was weaponless. Her only hope was that there wouldn't be any enemies on her way out of the tunnel. She tried calling for Leon a couple of times, but the lack of replies made her assume that the agent was not anywhere around.

She knew Leon. If he were there, he'd find his way and meet her, eventually.

"Well, at least I'll get some friendly company," she sighed, "but first things first. I need to get out of here."

Claire's sight was getting used to the dark, but her dizziness was complicating things in many ways. Suddenly, Claire heard a loud howl in the distance, and a chill ran down her spine. She hated it when she was right; her hopes of having an easy way out crumbled in seconds. There was something in there, most likely a mutant monster, ready to tear her into pieces at any possible chance. A fight was unavoidable, but if she had to fight, she hoped to have at least a chance to defend herself, and to do that, she needed a weapon.

Claire rushed her pace, hoping that she was on the right track. After some stressing moments of silences and darkness, the tunnel finally opened up, and she caught the smell of grass and damp soil. She had made it outside. The fresh air and the view of the sky sparkled with stars made her feel better both physically and mentally.

"Right, this isn't time to feel relieved," Claire admonished herself. "I am still unarmed, lost, and most likely surrounded by vicious foes. I need to move."

Claire looked around here. At least, the light from the stars and moon allowed her a better look at her surroundings. Judging by the appearance of the sky, Claire could tell she had to be somewhere very far from the city. The sky looked beautiful, and that could only mean that the light pollution in the place was minimal.

After scanning around her for a bit, she noticed some lights in the distance. There were insignificant, and Claire guessed that it had to be a village or a small town. If her situation were like her previous misadventures, the place would probably be crawling with undead things, and god knew what other mutants. In other words, heading to a human settlement in her current situation screamed "bad idea" in capital letters. However, just like the place was the best place to find nasty creatures, it was also a place where she would most likely find weapons and other useful things.

It was a dangerous bet for all she cared, she had little to lose, and besides, it wasn't the first time she'd found herself in a place infested by zombie-mutant creatures.

The young woman found a trail that, she guessed, would lead to the settlement and followed it cautiously. She walked for some minutes, and she, surprisingly, didn't encounter any foes. However, she wasn't entirely sure of whether that was good or bad.

"No monsters," Claire said, frowning with distrust, "Now, I call that suspicious."

Claire had dealt with enough zombie outbreaks already to know that zombies were never quiet. A town hit by a virus meant lots of infected people, and lots of infected people meant lots of hostiles.

"Why is it so empty?" Claire asked softly.

Looks can be deceiving.

Claire made her way into town cautiously. Just because there were no monsters in sight didn't mean they weren't nearby. She reached town after some minutes of walking through the vegetation. Her walk gave her a chance to do some recognizance of her surroundings.

Claire entered town cautiously, and as soon as she had set a step there, a stinging pain pierced through her skull, causing her to hive. The ache brought a series of disjointed and blurred visions that Claire quickly associated with her nightmares.

"Ag," she groaned, "why am I getting flashbacks from that damn place right now?"

The village was different from the one Sushestvivanie, so she wasn't sure what had triggered the memories.

Claire looked around her. Unlike the Russian town, which had looked like no one had lived in it for ages, this village still looked lived in despite the lack of population.

"Right, the question now is what happened to the people," Claire muttered, "Ok, Claire. Pull yourself together. We need to get weapons."

Claire walked around carefully, peeking inside the house through the windows. The place seemed frozen in time. It was a typical scenario that Claire had gotten used to finding. People must have gotten suddenly infected, and amid the chaos, everyone had abandoned what they were doing without looking back.

Claire sighed with sadness as she searched for supplies amid the chaos inside the houses. The bloodstains she found on several confirmed her fears regarding the locals. Most likely, there were no healthy people left in the place.

Claire found an old hunting rifle in one of the houses, and after searching a little more, she found ammo, a knife, and a sturdy chain. She had no idea if the chain could be useful, but hell, she would take it anyway.

Claire noticed a slight movement from the corner of her eye. It'd been fast, a white blur that she wasn't able to discern.

"Hello?" she said cautiously, "anyone there?"

No answer. Claire's grip on the old rifle tightened. She looked around, almost holding her breath. The complete silence around her made her extremely uneasy. There were no birds, no insects, nothing, which in nature's language only meant one thing. There was a predator nearby.

ROOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAAAAAAR

Claire started to regret her complaints about the lack of noise. That roar was something she wished she had not heard. It sounded distant, so at least Claire might have a chance to avoid the confrontation. She didn't know what waited for her out there and her supplies were not infinite.

"Time to play stealthy," she said, moving out of the house carefully.

Claire reached the street, and to her annoyance, she found her path blocked by unfriendly looking villagers. She made a quick diagnosis on their appearance and quickly concluded that they were not T-virus infected, but they had to have something.

"Alright, not sure I should be happy about that," she said, aiming her rifle at the hostiles and shooting them with perfect aim.

"Purplish-gray skin; dilated, bloodshot eyes and inhuman vocalization," Claire listed, shooting the approaching enemies, "Reasoning still intact."

The hostiles weren't moving randomly. Even though their actions didn't move under intellectual reasoning, there was some thought behind them.

"They still hold some reason," Claire realized."That cuts down the list of possible pathogens..."

She alternated her attacks between gunshots and using the knives. She still wanted to save ammo as much as she could. Surprisingly, handling these guys was being a lot easier than she expected, and that was starting to worry her. For the third time in the day, she hated when she was right.

A howl cut through the air, making Claire shiver. To her horror, she saw how a deformed creature appeared out of nowhere and launched in her direction. She reacted mechanically and jumped out of the street, taking cover behind a pile of wooden boxes.

Claire had never seen any creature like that, but she guessed that this was one of Neo-Umbrella's new toys. The monster was humanoid, but its body was elongated and ghoulish thin. The skin was pale, and part of the tissue was decaying and falling in pieces. Claire noted that aside from an unnatural big mouth, there were no other features on the creature's face.

The creature grabbed a bunch of the villagers with its elongated arms and brought them to its mouth.

Is it eating them? That's new.

The BOWs created from variations of the progenitor virus needed fresh DNA to stabilize. That was the reason why they would attack people and eat them. Usually, the monsters would not feed on fellow creatures. Then again, this guy probably did not mind about freshness, and his only interest was dinner. She'd have to hurry, or she'd end up as dessert.

Taking advantage of the chaos, she dodged the villagers and ran off. Confronting this thing now would only bring her into an early death, and wise people knew when to retreat.

Unfortunately, her escape would not be easy, and she cursed as she sliced the throats of a couple of villagers as she ran past them. Her head was starting to hurt again, and she could tell that the dizziness was coming back.

Her run came to an abrupt stop when another deformed creature appeared in front of her. Once more, it seemed to be a new one monster, but unlike the other one she'd seen, it was smaller and more human-like.

"Oh, come on. Give me a break."

Claire shot the monster a couple of times only to find that, to her dismay, it did nothing. Its decaying skin was sturdier than it looked. Suddenly, a loud growl made her look back, and she groaned. The bigger guy had caught up with her, too, which meant that they had cornered her. Cursing her luck, Claire looked around, trying to come up with a plan. She ran into what seemed to be a storage shack. If she was lucky enough, maybe she could find something useful.

"Fuel tanks," Claire said, looking around her, "Ok, I am not going to ask why they keep this here. Well, this will come in handy, now, how do I use them without killing myself in the process?"

Claire was trying to formulate a plan when the shriek and the sound of wood breaking startled her. The smallest monster had managed to enter the cellar. The creature shook its head as if trying to track its prey.

Shit.

Claire looked around her in a panic. She saw a window nearby, and she made a run to it. The monster chased after her, howling horribly. Claire jumped through the glass, spinning at the last second, and shot her rifle into the closest tank. The result was instantaneous. The barrel exploded, creating a chain reaction of fire and destruction. The wave of the explosion hit Claire directly, and the woman flew a couple of meters into the woods that surrounded the town. She rolled down the hill, hitting her head, face, and limbs against rocks and wood before falling into a ditch filled with plants. The pain in her head had become so strong that she barely had time to realize what had happened before she lost consciousness.

[alchemist-shizun]

Anagnorisis

(AU belongs to @pistachiolan​. Check the notes for more info!)

ἁναγνώρισις: Sudden and unexpected recognizing of the identity of a character in tragedies or other written works, which often determines the turning point in a story. (Latin: Agnitio)

Merry super extra late Christmas aaand at this point this can count as a happy new year gift? I've been literally working on this since last decade, this is some dedication. I hope you like it Lan!! Lov u

Read on Ao3!

Word Count: 3,812

Characters: Roman, Virgil (Patton and Logan are mentioned), Thomas

Pairing(s): pre-Prinxiety

Warning(s): Migraine (and its symptoms), implied mind control, self-harm, crying, implied panic attack, some metaphors might be a bit graphic, please tell me if I missed anything!

Summary: Roman couldn't remember exactly when all of that had started. What he was sure of was that as soon as it begun, all the happenings before became … hazy. He would start to forget specks of time, details, people. And then came the headaches.

Song used: Once Upon A Dream from Sleeping Beauty

A/N: I now have Once Upon a Dream stuck in my head. I like to call this "let me just take all the creative liberties I can get and distort everything about the plot". Okay I have no clue if this is at all the idea you had in mind so I improvised thanks to the lyrics, I hope this isn't too far off? Either way, enjoy the angst and these two pining boys cause I sure as hell had a good time. To all my regular readers: you have no idea what’s coming. (Don’t forget to check out @pistachiolan’s profile for their fantastically marvellous au which you can find in their blog under the #TsCultAu tag) The poem Roman recites is a rough translation I did of Catullus's 48th carmen (had a book of his poems and ended up using my fav ofc). The narrated parts in cursive are either thoughts or past events, the parts in cursive and bold are the song lyrics.

✾

❝I'm in love with a fairytale, even though it hurts.

Cause I don't care if I lose my mind,

I'm already cursed ❞

I know you!

A hand flew to Roman's face, which was contorting with unwelcome pain he hadn't seen coming, before he could even register it was his own.

His fingers pressed on a spot between his eyes and the bridge of his nose, his skin wrinkled around them and he had to steady himself against the rocky wall that led to the dungeons.

The dungeons.

Roman attempted to take a look at the stairs he was on: he was met with a flash, or maybe they were multiple flashes, attacking his vision like sharp blades diving into your skin numerous times, one right after the other.

He was blinded.

Eyes closed again, a whimper came out of his mouth; his free hand found its way to his forehead, getting warmer by the second along with his face, then it slid through his hair, barely able to feel its texture.

Too much of a recurring sensation.

Roman couldn't remember exactly when all of that had started. What he was sure of was that as soon as it begun, all the happenings before became … hazy. He would start to forget specks of time, details, people.

And then came the headaches. When he forced himself to remember or clear the discordance in his memories, pain would come.

Oh, come on Roman, his head would reprimand, didn't you learn by now you shouldn't do that?

Headaches turned into fully-fledged migraines.

And hallucinations.

At least that was what he called them. He would be certain of events that had never taken place.

For instance, dungeons.

Roman had been walking down the path leading to them when his mind started to drift away: it happened the same way you look at an object and a memory hits you before its meaning.

For some reason, he remembered being there with Virgil in the past, they had conversations about carvings in the back of the furthest cell, which became the symbol of a legend kids told to scare each other.

It was insane.

Insane his mind could ever fathom the possibility of interacting with Virgil.

Sure, his distress towards Virgil had diminished the more he'd been around without causing any trouble or suspicion, but a memory was a memory. They had yet to have a serious conversation that wasn't necessary, a memory meant they had already spent time alone together as if they had been childhood friends.

Doubt came in, but there had never been solid proof of Virgil himself being up to something, so he had decided to drop that theory.

Roman fell down, but didn't rise up like he usually did in conflicts.

The pulsing in his head made him nauseous; everything was spinning, even the void he was met with once his eyes were closed.

His arms went over his head, trying to shield it from any other malevolent deity that had decided to plague him.

It just all felt so real.

As if he had known Virgil all along.

I walked with you once upon a dream.

Months, months and still no sign of defeat.

Now, who the hell was thinking that messing up with Roman's brain was a fun activity to spend time with?

Even his subconscious had to shove him further down the hole confusion had created: his dreams often displayed all too familiar situations, all too familiar events he knew he had been in, but with that one particular difference in them.

Virgil was present in every single one of them.

It made him lose his mind, so much that he was barely able to bear his sight anymore. He'd feel somewhat embarrassment, he'd turn away after a single glance, as if he had gotten burnt by it.

And then he'd never tear his gaze off of him because, gods of the Empyrean, that boy had to be up to something or else he had no idea where to begin to look for clues.

What a terrible mistake.

Instead, he ended up with the image of Virgil constantly occupying his mind, everywhere he went to, there wouldn't be a moment where his thoughts wouldn't drift away from his task and focus on him.

Daydreaming and migraines became one, distinguished only by the type of pain they caused. Emotional and physical.

Overthinking was his main daily pastime.

And what if his mind was actually trying to tell him something? Dreams often had meanings, so what was his subconscious up to exactly?

That was Roman's train of thought upon waking up from one of those fated dreams, the pounding in his head a visitor who had now become a close friend.

Only thing he was sure of, was that what he had to concentrate on was the fact that it involved Virgil. He tried to recall all of his past hallucinations, all the fake memories, trying to connect the dots between them.

If only he had Logan's skills, he would've had cleared it up in a second. Of course, this one thought was something he was never going to admit and that he would have willingly taken to his grave.

Going into detail was a mess, all the events that had displayed in his mind or in front of his eyes had no correlation whatsoever; so he started looking at the big picture, put labels onto what he remembered.

Those memories. They were all … happy. Carefree little quotidian life bites.

And he felt serene, something that had to be ruined by the massive physical pain. His thoughts told him to stay in those memories, to hold onto them the longest he could, to endure the constant aching so he could stay that additional moment.

It was another him, another Roman who was desperately trying to catch his past and bring it back to himself.

Present Roman wouldn't have been able to perceive that conclusion.

Actually, present Roman was currently losing his mind.

Because just what if what he hadn't realized by then was exactly what he had been focusing on all along?

Feelings. Feelings for someone who had been infesting his thoughts ever since he had arrived.

I know you!

Roman was a knight walking around the village in a busy afternoon at the marketplace. One turn towards a figure in front of a stand, a few feet away, and he switched to distressed knight mode.

« You've got to be kidding me. »

Virgil kept himself from jumping in surprise and faced the owner of the voice right behind him. A single infuriating eyebrow was raised in confusion.

« Pardon me if I dare to show up and get Patton the stuff he needs. » everything was accompanied by a whispered “geez” and an eye-roll.

Again, infuriating.

« That's not- ugh, you're always putting words in my mouth! » Roman watched as Virgil started to walk away.

But he didn't sense the bitterness left in the boy's chest, the one he felt every single time their conversations resulted into senseless bickering.

Then, it happened again.

Virgil stood next to the fountain and Roman's head started spinning.

The way the sun rays hit the water, glimmering in delight, the sparkles that reflected onto Virgil's clothes, the sound it made when he quickly passed a hand through the small cascade.

Dumbfounded, the knight approached him again, searching the scene with his eyes for even the smallest clue to prove him either right or wrong, he simply wanted to get it over with.

Of course, the other noticed his staring. « Like what you see? » Virgil jokingly asked, a hint of sarcasm never leaving his voice.

Yeah, I'm trying to figure that out. Roman stayed silent for another second.

« Are you going to walk back? »

« I don't have a carriage, I apologize. »

He sighed and wondered if he really was considering having feelings for such a … a-

Virgil chuckled right after, ducking his head toward his hand, which shielded his smile.

Gosh, he was gorgeous.

Roman fought a peculiar instinct to pull the hand away and let the whole world be blessed by such a sight. And maybe it was the first time he had smiled like that in his presence, maybe it was the first time after so long of not being able to do that.

Maybe it wasn't the first time at all and Virgil was simply a master at hiding it when Roman wasn't looking. When he didn't want him to realize the truth that could've hurt both of them in brutal ways.

« Well, » Roman snapped back to reality, trying to ignore the headache at best. « It just so happens that I have a horse. » he gestured to the beginning of the plaza.

« No, you don't. » a cryptic expression crossed Virgil's face.

« Wha- » Roman turned just that much to notice that, yes, his horse had definitely freed himself and was now on the loose around the village. « Oh my gods. Oh- Oh my gods. » his hands flew to his hair. « Nope. No. Absolutely unreal. This isn't happening. »

« Dramatic much? » Virgil approached the broken ladder still tied to a fence and started examining it.

« What are you doing? »

« Helping you. »

Roman was getting drunk by all the deja vus he had been getting that day.

Virgil showed him the direction in which the horse had run away, judging by what was left of the ladder. « He might be in his favourite spot. »

« Favourite spot? » his words felt almost slurred, like he had cotton in his mouth.

The other pretended he didn't notice how odd his behaviour had been for the past week. « You don't remember your horse's own routine? »

Roman didn't even know he had one.

After some sighs and an incredulous conversation, they reached a clearing in the woods, where the horse was promptly considering whether or not to swiftly jump and reach one of the fruits on the trees.

« Samson! Really, running off like that on me? »

The animal happily trotted towards them, resting his face against Roman's hand before facing Virgil and surprisingly nuzzling his cheek. For some reason, Samson had always taken a liking into Virgil, which had made it really difficult to interact with the boy in the past.

It was as if Virgil had been his best friend before he was Roman's.

Like he had known him for as long as they did too.

The headache hit his forehead once more.

The gleam in your eyes is so familiar a gleam.

Relax time, Patton had called it.

Stressful weeks had been pestering Roman, Virgil and Logan, all for different reasons, yet there never seemed to be time to catch some breath.

Patton had insisted some untroubled hours at night, sat around a little welcoming fire, would have helped their constant stiffness.

So there they were, watching flames try to reach the sky and fail with every attempt.

Oddly enough, their conversations were … simple. Nothing too heavy, no bickering or sarcasm, some jokes but not an overbearing amount.

Roman had his eyes fixated on the fire.

The voices started to drift away from his hearing and everything became muffled as he zoned out, leaving space for the familiar buzzing of nightly insects.

« Earth to Roman, did the gods finally take you away? »

Of course he was sitting next to Virgil.

Of course his whispering would bring his attention back despite having ignored any other louder noise.

He turned his head slightly, his head was resting in his crossed arms on his knees.

« I wish. » he let it out before he could stop himself.

Virgil simply chuckled. « Same, but I don't think Pat would be too happy with that. » And some others, too.

He faced the fire and let its light reflect in his eyes.

Roman believed he could see the stars. « Mhm. »

Virgil seemed to ponder something, reflect on a decision; he could have stayed silent, he could have simply not indulged in a certain matter any further, because that would have costed his life. But he needed proof.

And so he spoke.

« You'll be fine, princey. None hates you here. »

There it was again. Virgil made his best not to immediately check his reaction, but he could see from the corner of his eye how Roman was already raising a hand to his head.

Okay, he thought, something is up.

He bit his lip and ignored the anguished feelings rising in his chest.

Yet I know it's true the visions are seldom all they seem.

Where did that even come from? Why did he call him that, why did it feel so normal as if he'd been used to it his entire life?

What was happening?

Why was his heart beating so fast as he replayed the scene in his head? With Virgil's eyes glimmering against the sky and that smile hidden in the dark.

Who dared to send him so deep in the admiration zone to forget about the continuous pain he was subjecting himself to while being around Virgil so much?

When exactly did he sign the “I will dedicate my existence to destroy myself in order to be around such a human” contract?

To think that months prior he would have called him monster.

Then again, what a peculiar word it was. A mixture or positive and negative meanings, it was the extraordinary, a prodigy, a miracle. That incredible thing that also presented itself as a heinous atrocity.

And it had devoured his mind.

Here he was, now, countless migraines after, finally accepting his feelings because he was at the last stop before having that nightmare finally end.

Except it didn't.

Except non-existent memories of him and Virgil in a past he had never experienced came back to him at once and stronger than before. He couldn't almost breathe and he had no idea where he was going.

But he needed to find Thomas.

Last resort, as they say. A literal deity would have solved the problem in the blink of an eye.

Right.

Thomas had a weird twinkle in his eyes when Roman explained how often he had been getting the headaches and what was the recurrent situation the dreams displayed.

He made him sit down somewhere … he was too clouded by the pain to understand where he was exactly.

« I perfectly know what's going on. » Thomas had reassured him. « Trust in me, everything will be alright soon. »

Yet, when he placed his hands above Roman's head and he closed his eyes not to be blinded by an all too familiar glow, “alright” would have been the last thing he would have felt.

Or it wouldn't have been a word at all, because with the persistent twisting and turning and deleting and reforming of his thoughts and memories in his mind, there was no way he believed there could have existed anything else but pain in the world.

Roman didn't even have the strength to scream anymore.

And it was agonizing. Dangerously agonizing, as he fell to his knees and couldn't even feel the touch of his own hands vehemently pressing on his eyes, strong enough to push them far back into his eye sockets.

Maybe he was actually shrieking so loud his hearing had failed him long before.

His fingers dug onto the sides of his face and fell down on his cheeks, the nails traced red paths down both of them, white bits of dead skin left by them crossed paths with bitter tears that were somehow able to escape the limit his palms put.

« Everything will be alright. » Thomas had repeated while he nonchalantly destroyed the poor boy's mind. « You don't need him. »

That was the downfall of his discernment.

« I'll fix it for you. »

But if I know you,

When the blinding light ceased to hit his face, Roman's entire body plunged into the pavement for a split second, before immediately scrambling back to his feet.

His vision was back, the headache was gone.

But the confusion …

The thoughts that were now forming into his mind. Those were the doleful sting of skin thrown carelessly into flames: just as the skin burned and turned into an ashen damaged substance, so Roman's memories were filled with blank gaps and eroded by the flames of Thomas's power.

« I need- » he stormed out of the room without ever completing the line.

What he needed was actual reassurance.

If before his memories only conflicted with each other, now Roman felt like his whole life he had lived an illusion.

Gods, what was even true at that point?

So, he needed.

He needed answers, confirmations, he needed to feel authenticity.

Roman knocked on a door.

When Virgil opened it, he was met with the sight of a dishevelled and devastated boy, with red on his cheeks and in his eyes. This boy suppressed a sob, barely able to keep his lips from trembling.

« Are you even real? »

It was the exact same feeling as having a crowbar hitting his teeth: insanely painful and impossible to bear.

Followed by colossal quantities of resentment.

Virgil moved carefully, he let Roman in before closing the door behind them and let him sit on a chair in his room. In a second, he was already at the knight's side with a glass of water placed on the desk next to them. Eyes wide with concern, trying to fight the angered shaking of his hands.

He knew it all. That was just the confirmation. Yet, he couldn't talk, only help. Which was the first priority at the moment: care for Roman.

« What happened? » nothing. « Are you hurt anywhere? » still nothing.

His lips contorted with concern; Virgil watched the other try to steady his breath, looking around the room to see if he could still distinguish whether or not he was hallucinating.

Roman raised his arms and pulled Virgil close to him. It felt real. He buried his face in his chest, and still felt real. The tears wetting Virgil's shirt were real.

Real, real, real.

You're real, Roman. He's real. Your feelings are real.

He held him closer.

I know what you'll do.

How long Virgil had denied everything in favour of his safety.

And anyway, as soon as he was back, Roman had instantly hated him, who could even blame him for suppressing the truth?

Then things changed. He had noticed the alterations in Roman's demeanour, the loss in his focus, how disoriented he had started to become.

Townspeople constantly told him to pray to the gods, go visit Thomas for some “blessings”.

Yeah, right.

Virgil's heavy knot contorted in his stomach at the sole thought.

Instead of burdening himself even more, he passed a hand through Roman's hair, maybe embracing him with his other arm a little too tightly.

His feelings blossomed at once again, so much harder than before, as if he had bottled them up for so much time that they exploded simultaneously at the first display of affection he received.

Too long he had waited for something as simple as a hug. And there was only one to blame.

Roman wasn't even able to talk, he didn't want to move and face his issues, there was no way he would have wished to speak up about anything that had happened.

He felt damaged. He barely knew his identity at all and Virgil's presence was so grounding that he would have stayed in his arms forever.

Which Virgil would have gladly accepted.

« Can you tell me a place? » Virgil lowered at his level so he could look him in the eyes. « Somewhere safe, a comforting space? »

Roman sniffed one last time before being finally able to respond.

« The Black Lake. »

You'll love me at once.

Seeing someone calm down on the spot, with the breathing evening out nicely, was a rather cathartic experience, Virgil's own tight chest could finally be released from the grip of anxiety.

The two were sitting by the limit of the Lake, which was enlightened by the moonbeams.

« Follow me now. » Virgil called for Roman's attention. « Focus on the water. »

Roman did as instructed.

« What's your name? »

Grounding exercises.

« Roman Kingsley. »

« How old are you? »

« 22. »

Virgil waited for Roman to take a deep breath.

« What's your title? »

« I'm a knight. »

What is the name of your brothe- « Tell me the name of one of your friends. »

« You. Virgil. »

How can you even exist?

Virgil tried to hide a wide smile at best, while his heart jumped happily.

« Where do you live? »

« In this village. »

« Where are you now? »

« At the lake in the forest. » Roman took more breaths with his eyes closed. « You're with me. You're a friend, I think? I don't know it's all so confusing- »

« It's okay, let's talk about something else. » Virgil let the silence sink in purposefully, so the other could regain his focus.

He watched as Roman moved closer to the water and immersed his hand in it, pushing the water away in vain.

« Can you tell me something you learnt by heart? »

Roman didn't take his eyes off of the water.

He seemed to think about it for a second. « If someone, Juventius, would let me kiss your honey-like eyes to the bitter end, » the steady movement of his hand was almost hypnotizing. « I'd kiss them three hundred thousand times; never will I feel like I'm satisfied, » he raised his hand and stared at the drops falling back into the lake, creating the chaos that mirrored the one in his head. « Not even if the harvest of our kissing were to be thicker than the dried ears of corn. »

Virgil snapped back to reality when he felt Roman's head rest on his shoulder, his eyes closed again, but this time they weren't squeezed shut with pain.

« Thank you. » he whispered.

And, for once, nothing was wrong.

✾

« Want to know why this is my favorite place? »

In another memory, in another past, Virgil had turned to Roman with a small but expectant smile. « Why? »

« No matter how many times I come here, » Roman had returned the smile, holding so many more things he was never going to be able to tell him. « You're always here with me. »

The way you did once upon a dream.

[themosleyreview]

The Mosley Review: Uncut Gems

In my life, I don't think I've ever had a moment where I've experienced an anxiety or panic attack. There were definitely moments where I was truly stressed and suffered a serious headache that caused me to leave a room. Well if anything I just said has triggered you or brought up some form of PTSD in any way, I'm sorry. This film was a combination of everything I just described because of its truly relentless and stressful story. There are many films out there about a business man that's constantly getting themselves into trouble or even making trouble for others. You want the main character to change their ways, but it’s the last job or bet that you want them to win and go about their way. Sometimes life doesn't end the way you want it too and that was a clear message across this magnificent film. The story pulled no punches, felt authentic, chaotic and you have to just go along with the portrayal of this man's struggle to pay a debt.

Adam Sandler has always shined in his comedic roles, but he has done fantastic work lately as a more dramatic actor. As Howard Ratner, he delivers on his charismatic charm and at the same time, shows the horrific and destructive nature of a gambling addict. He gives a heartbreaking, uncompromising, anxiety driven performance that is truly a highlight of his career. You want him to succeed, but at same time you want him to focus on the ones he's hurting and you see the toxicity of his addiction. Lakeith Stanfield plays his right hand man Demany and I thought he was fantastic. The way those two work together was a intense, quick and assertive. Idina Menzel was excellent as Howard's wife Dinah and you can see the tension, pain and unbelievable amount disdain she feels toward Howard. Kevin Garnett played himself and yet he was good for the material and I liked his scenes with Sandler the most. Julia Fox was great as Julia and at times she was a standout and other times you wanted to pull your hair out when Howard dealt with her. Eric Bogosian was excellent as Howard's brother-in-law and the antagonist of the story. He shows you why you don't do business inside of the family. Judd Hirsch is always a treat to see on screen and he was that once again as Gooey.

The score by Daniel Lopatin was great and put you inside the chaotic mind and world of Howard. This truly was a fantastic film that I wouldn't recommend to everyone. It is an intense thriller that takes a dark look into the jewelry business, but I can't state enough how stress inducing the film is. If you're not familiar with the fantastic work that writers and directors Josh Safdie and Benny Safdie have done, then I suggest checking out Good Time before seeing this film. It'll set the pallet of what you're about to experience. In the end, I thought this was one of the best performances Adam Sandler has ever done and one of the best thrillers I've seen in a while.

[sleepyfan-blog]

Dreamswap is by @onebizarrekai​

This is set in the same AU as this and this.

Characters and pairing: DS Dream, DS Dreammare

warnings: cursing, dark thoughts, self-loathing, vomiting, panic

word count: 3,393

Summary: Dream wakes up with a pounding headache and deep confusion. As certain realizations hit him, he freaks out.

tagslist: @anxiety-is-married-to-depression @angelofthehalfmoon @trainwreck-of-skeletons @hisame-amadashi​ @therandomskelekey @capisnotonfire

Dream groaned softly as he turned on his eye lights, rubbing his temples with a couple of finger tips in the vain hope of being able to banish the massive headache he'd suddenly acquired. He frowned a little in utter confusion as he realized that he was in a ten by ten foot room with three walls made out of stone, the other wall made of stone and sporting a massive and beautiful stained-glass window. He'd apparently been sitting on a high backed chair at a huge wooden desk. There were papers everywhere and he'd realized that he'd dropped a quill pen when he'd rubbed his temples, the nib of the light brown feather stained black, but the ink was dry.

He stoppered the half-full bottle of ink, standing up as he reached out with his magic, trying to figure out where Nightmare was - who likely wouldn't be far. Unless he'd gone down to the village in order to prank some of the mortals who lived there for the slights and cruelties that they had visited upon him. Dream was fairly sure that things might improve if the other knocked that off - but he knew that Nightmare wasn't going to allow the villagers to walk all over him... Dream had tried to talk to them about their treatment of Nightmare, but it was a circular argument, as they protested that they only treated his other half that way because of his antisocial nature coupled with his (at times) cruel pranks... Which Nightmare said he only did in retaliation due to their insults and attempts to hurt him.

There was a distinct absence of his other half's magic. And not just that the other was trying to hide his signature from him, or had wandered far in their timeline. Dream couldn't sense Nightmare anywhere within the timeline. Panic clawed through his soul as he teleported to the tree, freezing in shock as in it's place was a massive stump, cut down and leveled. His trembling finger tips grazed against the outer bark, trying to process just what the hell he'd seen. The last thing he remembered was... Was -

Dream let out a quiet cry of pain as his knees buckled, clutching his head as decades worth of memories rushed through his mind all at once.

"I must do this in order to bring peace and justice to everyone, Nightmare. You'll understand soon." Dream called out as he pulled the first Positive Apple off of the tree, consuming it before his other half could do more than stare.

"Dream, what the fuck are you doing? We're supposed to protect the tree and the apples, not eat them!" Nightmare had sputtered in response, charging towards him and trying to drag him away.

He had shoved the other aside, quickly scrambling up the tree as he consumed apple after apple, He needed them all - in order to have the power necessary in order to protect everyone. To s a v e everyone.

That was the last clear memory he had. The too-sweet flesh of the golden fruit on his tongue, even as Nightmare begged him to stop, frozen in place as he watched him go against everything that the two of them had created for. But how had he somehow changed all of the negative apples to positive ones? It didn't make sense. Another memory hit him, causing Dream to whimper softly.

Power flowed through him, as fury filled his soul at the fact that Nightmare had dared to eat one of the turned-positive fruits. All of them were supposed to be his! For that betrayal - along with the fact that this dark creature created and caused Negativity wherever It went, it needed to d i e. He summoned his weapon - a huge, gleaming claymore "You create misery and cause suffering... For that you will die."

Shock, horror and hurt crash through Nightmare's aura and across his face "D-Dream... P-Please you don't... You d-don't need to do that..." The other's voice was a quivering whisper as tears streamed down the other's face. "I-I don't... I'm not..." Nightmare yelped and dodged as Dream swung the long and heavy sword at the other, the blow too slow due to the change in weight in his hands. Nightmare teleported away before Dream could try to attack the other a second time.

A snarl left Dream's lips a he slashed at the air where Nightmare had been moments before. He'd hunt the other down after he practiced with the new weapon he had in his possession. That and he suspected that his body would be changing as it fully absorbed the powers of the 198 apples that he had consumed. Two of them were missing. One dark apple was in that idiot chicken of Nightmare's, the other (it had been changed to a positive apple) his miserable traitor of a mate had stolen for himself. No matter, the other's power gain would be paltry in comparison to Dream's own.

Fantastic. While he had thought and wondered about what might happen if he consumed the positive apples - the information he'd been reading speculating that one would gain a great deal of magical power and insight into how other beings worked... Dream hadn't realized that he'd given into that particular impulse.

Worse yet, his very first act while drunk on the power of far too many positive apples than were ever meant to truly exist was to attack his other half while accusing Nightmare of something that was blatantly untrue. Dream could sense mortals approaching his location and cursed lowly, spinning around and nearly falling over, realizing that one of the things that had changed (in addition to the glowing magical wings he now possessed) was that he'd gained at least a foot in height - completely throwing off his center of balance.

How long has it been, since Dream had been in full command of himself? What the hell had he been doing in that time? Given... Given the fact that he had very firm memories of an entire stars-damned fortress being built on his orders... That would have taken at least two decades at minimum? Dream teleported back to the room he'd first found himself in, frantically rifling through the seemingly endless piles of paperwork, trying to piece together what the hell was going on, along with the foggy memories that hurt whenever he recognized the name of one of the mortals he'd recruited to do something, knees buckling as his world was repeatedly shattered at it's foundations.

Dream paused for a moment when he found the file on Nightmare. There were reports on what timelines the other had been in - blurry photographs and a supposed list of crimes that his other half had been accused of. On a list of mass-murderers and vile villains who had killed, maimed and tortured dozens if not hundreds of beings... Nightmare was number one. And the only reason that Dream could come up with why his other half was on that list was because he was hunting the other. He wanted to find Nightmare in order to... To... According to the report he was planning on having his scientists experiment on their soul bond, as well as to attempt to study the nature of the other's negative spirit...

Either in an attempt to figure out how to split the fate-bond that was entirely unique in the multiverse known to them all... Or to forcibly change Nightmare from a negative spirit into a positive one... Horror floods through Dream's soul and aura at the clinical notes that have already been taken on both of these potential ideas... From what he can tell, it's from studies done on Dream's own side of their bond and what makes up a positive spirit... But he can't tell for sure.

At this moment, at least, Nightmare isn't captured by Justice Reigns (which is the name of the organization that he leads, apparently. Because that doesn't scream dictatorial high-handedness at all). "Thank all the stars in the sky..." Dream whispers to himself at that, body shaking a little at the thought of Nightmare undergoing such torturous tests and knowing that it was by Dream's own command... One of the main reasons why he'd been tempted to eat the apples in the first place, was to make sure that the villagers would stop tormenting Nightmare.

Dream has to stop going through the file on Nightmare, his hands shaking, as the disgust, fear and pain in his soul is too much for him to bear. Thankfully, there is a smaller room off of this one, with a bed in it. The positive guardian activates the sound-proofing spells in this bedroom before he grabs one of the pillows and screamed into it until his voice gave out on him, noting absently that he'd also soaked the pillow in his tears of horror and self-revulsion at what he had done to Nightmare... What he had planned for his other half, who didn't deserve any of that.

He has no idea where in the multiverse his other half is... But he really hopes that Nightmare is safe and at least content, if not happy. Dream continues to sort through the files, re-learning a great deal of information. He freezes when he realizes that the favored method of dealing with criminals... What he personally decided and decreed to his loyal followers... Was that those who created negativity and suffering were to die. Executed publicly. Another shudder of horror runs through him and Dream is struck by a cold realization at what these notes imply. He turns off his eye lights, taking in and slowly letting out a couple of deep, calming breaths before he Checks himself.

{L̼o̴̳̥͔̝͈̯̖r̗̭̳d͉̯̣͚͈͢ Dream ͓̙̝̤̤̬V͙̗͝o̱̝̰͟n̷ ̜͎̤̺̲̪L̼̦̻̣͞i͇̝͎̠̪͉ͅc҉ẖ̵̮t̜̲͞, Guardian of positivity, C͚̜̠̦̥͖E̘̟͎̫̯̯̭͡O̼̻͙ ̯͍͚̘̘o͙̱͈͙̭̠͢f̬̺̪͍̘̣ ͈͍͕̱J̧u͔͎̦͈ͅs̼̗t̬̹͎͟i̦̩̝͔̬̥͢c̳̻͕̪̯̹̮e̱̜̯̬ ̞͝R̞̼̝͈̦̦̮͜e̩̝̥̟i̠͚͎͕̜̫̥g҉̣̰̙͈ͅn͓̪̤̠̬̭s̪͙͙̘͡.

ATK ??? DEF ???

*Confused and terrified of yourself

*What have I done?

LV: 1̢͎0͎?̼̣ͅ?̬͙̳́

*Filthy, hypocritical murderer}

Ten. He has an LV of ten. How many monsters and humans has he killed in order to even get an LV that high? How much blood and dust is on his hands? More horror and revulsion fills him and Dream rushes to the trash can, just barely managing to pull it close to him before he heaved up the contents of his stomach. Dream continued to heave long after there was nothing left, shuddering and gasping a little as he tried to wrap his head around the fact that he had killed dozens of people in order to get the LV he was currently at... From what he had read of the records of Justice Reigns, they had a no-tolerance policy when it came to certain kinds of criminals... Murderers being one such type. He did catch that there were some beings who had been rehabilitated somehow... Although Dream was, quite frankly, terrified at the thought of what constituted as rehabilitation by the draconian and ruthless organization that he lead. Not just lead, but had built from the ground up.

Dream suspected that some of the more stable murderers hadn't been killed... But recruited on the sly and either brainwashed or straight up offered a deal - service or death. Which was nauseating and he wondered how many of the people under his command were aware of this. The positive guardian genuinely couldn't guess and... He'd have to continue to go through personnel and intelligence files in his room, to gain some sort of insight as to just what sort of organization he was truly running - as well as have a guess as to just who might be aware of everything, and...  And what the hell he was going to do now.

If he could do whatever he wanted, Dream would immediately run after Nightmare, to desperately try to find the other and apologize for all of the shit he'd put the other through... The soul-deep betrayal that he had committed against his beloved and promise that he'd never hurt the other in such an awful way ever again. The positive spirit wanted to order an edict or proclaim or whatever the hell it was that he did when he wanted to inform his people to stop chasing down Nightmare... That they weren't going to immediately kill all criminals who did certain things but...

Such a deep and sudden reversal of policies would be seen as suspicious, and he suspected, wouldn't be taken well by the populace that he had a great deal of influence over... Or rather, that Justice Reigns had influence over. The people who reported directly and immediately to him might suspect that he had been blackmailed- or perhaps replaced entirely. Which wasn't true. But for the first time in...

For fuck's sake he'd been... He'd been out of his mind and drunk on power for... For over thirty years. How the hell had no one tried to stand up against him? Dream grimaced a little as flashes of memories of those foolish enough to oppose him crashed through his mind.

A stubborn-looking Toriel, her hands alight with fire as she attacked him with all that she had. The poor boss-monster had no idea how truly out-classed she was. Her dust stained his claymore three turns later. A regrettable loss, but as she had been the leader of her people, her falling to his blade was the tipping point.

A Sans who had snapped, slaughtering every monster who he could find in his timeline, in the desperate attempt to get strong enough to kill the human who had been destroying them over and over again, through countless timelines. The human's battered and black-stained red soul fluttered between the two of them weakly as Dream fought and dodged the mortal. He put up a good fight, but the other's soul cracked and crumbled in the positive spirit's fist six turns later.

A dozen royal guards-monsters from an Underfell timeline attack Dream and his team en-mass. The positive guardian stops and sends a pulse of pure magic their way, causing the startled and positivity-deprived monsters to collapse in the snow, shaking at the onslaught of false emotions. Their deaths were swift, a mercy that those guards would not have seen fit to give Dream or his people.

He whispered to himself, hiding his face in his hands, voice rough from the screaming earlier "What... What sort of demon of light have I become? And what should I do now?" He struggled with the despair and disgust that welled up in his soul at what he'd done - what he'd ordered others to do. Yes, there was a great deal of good that Justice Reigns was doing... But it was built on the blood and dust of dozens if not hundreds of sentient beings. That needed to change... But such a dramatic change needed to be gradual, and Dream would need to figure out who would stay loyal through this change, and who he would need to actually rehabilitate and put into therapy (including himself, quite frankly... As well as who might need more drastic measures.

Dream desperately wished that he had Nightmare at his side. He could only imagine what the other's reaction to how much work and effort this was going to take... His mate might roll on the floor laughing at the mess he'd gotten himself into... If it wasn't for the awful betrayal he'd committed against the other. No, best not to try to pursue Nightmare just yet - especially as he had no idea if he would be able to continue to keep his mind, or if... If whatever had taken hold of his mind might try to do so again.

Not that he was going to surrender to that sort of madness again. Not ever again, if he could at all help it. Small steps at first, and the first thing that he needed to do was to figure out what "he" had been planning to do for the day - whether or not anyone was going to be expecting him in any meetings, and if so where that might be (and perhaps in which timelines, as JR's reach apparently extended to quite a few timelines, from the information he was able to gather, along with what his scattered memories were telling him).

Dream shifted through the piles of paperwork - as he was pretty sure that he'd seen some sort of daily planner of sorts. At least his alternate ego or whatever the hell had been piloting his body and using his magic had been organized - as otherwise it would make this a lot harder, given the way that the paperwork and the files had been neatly arranged. If he wasn't so horrified by what he'd done, Dream would appreciate the meticulous way that all of this had been done.

He'd just found the damn thing, trying to figure out what day it might be, when there was a light knock on the door - and Dream could sense someone behind it. Shit. From what he could tell, his... He hadn't been too different from who he really was... Just considerably more ruthless than he truly was. He took a sip of water and used a bit of healing magic on his throat so that he could call out without his voice sounding hoarse or strained "Yes? Come in please."

A tall dog-monster walked in, nodding respectfully. The other was wearing a collar with a circular gold pin with the letters JR in the middle of the circle. His name was... C... Cha... Champion? A good and loyal supporter of his. Willing to fight, but not bloodthirsty. "You asked me to come and get you when the backers from timelines US-22 through USF 99 arrived? They've all arrived and have settled into the guest quarters."

Come on, Dream. Think! He thought to himself What was the plan for the day? Outwardly he nodded, standing up and stating calmly "Thank you for informing me of this, Champion. They traveled rather far, so I think I shall let them have a brief respite before speaking to them." That sounded reasonable... Right?

Champion didn't react outwardly, though there was a small twinge of surprise in the other's emotional aura. He nodded obediently "Yes sir, I'll inform them of that. The USF delegations in particular will be grateful for your generosity. If there's nothing else, I'll take my leave?"

Dream nodded, sending the other a small smile "That is all. Thank you."

"Yes boss." Champion acknowledged, the dog-monster's tail wagged a little, and his emotional aura perked up at the praise (which was adorable in the positive spirit's opinion), the other's ears pricking attentively towards him. The other was almost out of his office before he paused, and turned to look over one shoulder at him "How long should I tell them they have to rest before you'll meet with them, Lord Dream?"

That last moniker sent a spike of pain driving straight through the center of Dream's skull. he was very grateful that the other didn't seem to notice his ever so slight flinch. He hummed for a moment "Oh... Three hours? Tell me if they seem truly exhausted. I wouldn't wish to push them if they need more rest."

"Yes sir, understood." With that the dog monster left, not in the least bit suspicious that Dream had changed at all, if the other's emotional aura was anything to go off of.

Spectacular. He had just bought himself at least three hours to figure out what the hell that upcoming meeting was supposed to be about. Dream really hoped that he'd have enough of a clue not to tip off everyone around him that something had changed... They may not feel it is a good one and try to change him back.

And like hell was he going to let those torturous experiments happen to Nightmare - or for them to continue if his beloved ever really had been captured by his addled self.

No. He couldn't cry more. Not at the pain and misery he suspected he had put the love of his eternal life through. Not for the dozens of beings whose dust and blood permanently stained his hands and soul. All Dream could do was look to the future and try to make sure that Justice Reigns was a true source of positive change and true stability in the multiverse.

[changingchances]

Crossing Senses Ben Hardy!Roger Taylor Part Seven

A/N: 2806 words. HELLLLLOOOOO LOVELIES! I’m sorry it’s taken a hot minute for me to post! Now that classes have started, I have a lot less time to write in between studying. I have around 18 credit hours this semester, so I apologize if updates are scarce or a little scattered right now. Thank you so much for your support and your feedback! Please feel free to message me with any questions, suggestions, comments, etc! I hope you enjoy this next bit! Much love! 

P.S. If I missed anyone in the taglist, please let me know and I’ll add you to the next post!!

Warnings: Swearing

Roe is greeted with a headache that she can feel in her teeth before she even opens her eyes. She’s nauseous. Her throat hurts. She can feel her heartbeat in her face. To try and relieve whatever discomfort she can, she rolls over in bed and lays face down into her pillow, breathing deeply. Her eyes pop open, though, when she realizes that her pillow doesn’t smell like her laundry detergent. Sitting up on her elbows, she looks around in a daze, trying to ignore the pounding in her head when her eyes move too quickly.

This is not her room. The walls are white rather than the strange off cream paint in her apartment. There is a television on the wall across from the bed as opposed to her rickety desk and old bookshelf. The bed is far larger than her own, with white sheets and blankets instead of grey. She turns over onto her back and sits up straight, one of her hands moving to press against the side of her head. It takes a long moment to figure out where the hell she is, but once it comes to her, everything else about last night comes crashing down as well.

Roe’s soulmate was at the party, so she got drunk. Matt was at the party, and he got into a fight with Brian. Roe had a panic attack- the worst one she’s had in years. Roger was taking her upstairs to a room, so she could calm down, be alone, but… she saw colors dance across his face. She’s painted those colors before. She knows them far too well after all of these months of listening to the same song again and again. Even if Roe were the type of person to believe in coincidences, this would be too much of one. She has no doubt in her mind that she is Roger’s soulmate. Her heart plummets and lands in the soles of her feet.

Roe rests her face in her hands, knees to her chest. She isn’t sure why this doesn’t feel like good news. She should be elated, right? But Roger Taylor has a reputation. He is known for taking what he wants from the women who throw themselves at him, and then moving right along to the next most interesting thing to cross his path. He’s a cocky musician basking in the beginnings of fame. He has tendencies to drink, to get incredibly angry, to start fights at gigs. Roe’s not certain what she had been expecting in a soulmate, but those characteristics hadn’t made the list. And she’s willing to bet that she isn’t what Roger was hoping to find at the beginnings of forever, either.

But he wants so badly to find her. It troubles him a great deal that he has no clue about her. He isn’t avoiding the rest of his life like Roe is, he is actively searching for her. And here she is, harboring what may be one of the most important discoveries to him as though it were a tragic diagnosis.

God, I have to tell him, don’t I? Roe blows out a heavy sigh and lifts her head. The poor guy deserves to know the truth, if she didn’t make it obvious already in the elevator last night. She hopes she maintained some level of composure. She can’t imagine anybody would want to realize who their soulmate is through the likes of her reaction. She runs a hand over her eyes, deciding that she desperately needs a shower before she can function in any capacity. She needs to think. Showers are good for thinking.

Once out of bed, she pads over to the huge bathroom. She doesn’t even want to think about how much this place must have cost Freddie. It’s when she catches her reflection in the mirror that she realizes she isn’t in the dress she had on last night. The thought hadn’t even crossed her mind before now. She’s wearing nothing but her underwear and a white button-down shirt, just long enough to reach the top of her thighs. She draws in a shaky breath. It has to be Roger’s shirt. She doesn’t remember getting undressed last night- she went straight to the bed once Roger unlocked to room and must have passed out in moments.

She stares at her reflection, stares so hard she imagines the glass may crack beneath the weight of her gaze. Roe has never considered herself to be beautiful. She’s rather pretty, not plain, but not traditionally attractive. She doesn’t have long locks of silky hair. She’d chopped her curls off, nearly shaved her head, when she was fifteen to piss off some wanker she was dating at the time. She feels short hair is simply easier to manage and suits her far more than the tangled mess that were once her long ringlets. She isn’t blonde, nor a fiery redhead. Her hair is simply brown, so dark it almost looks black. Her ears, not covered by any curls, stick out in a rather average way, minus her variety of piercings. Her grandmother nearly had an aneurism at the sight of the hoops and studs several years back- told her that pretty young ladies shouldn’t have chunks of metal sticking out of their skin. Roe rolls her eyes at the memory.

She continues to study herself, unconsciously comparing her appearance to that of the variety of young women she’s seen Roger with in the past month alone. Roe’s face is narrow, jaw a little square, cheekbones a little higher than average. Her eyes aren’t particularly slanted, nor particularly wide, merely almond shaped and framed by bushes of God-given lashes and naturally thick, messy brows. Her irises look brown. Everyone tells her they are a nice shade of brown. But Freddie, who’s known her for over a decade, and Brian, who’s been close enough to her face in the past month, have pointed out the green and amber flecks scattered within the wooded hues, commented on how they are in fact hazel rather than brown, told her they are beautiful. She can’t help but wonder if Roger would notice the forest greens and touches of sunlight in her eyes. She wonders if he’d think they’re beautiful, too.

Roe sighs, long and heavy, before scanning down her body. She is on the thin side, but with no assets of the small-waisted, supermodel quality women on billboards, on commercials, on Roger Taylor’s arm. She used to hate not having large breasts, not possessing hips “fit for child-bearing”, as her aunt once put it. She’s gotten better, though, at really loving her body for what it is. She is flat-chested, small-boned, not particularly curvy, not tall in any sense of the word. But she’s got the look of a dancer, long lines and defined muscles. Her head is always held high, her feet a little turned out at all times, shoulders back and down, ribcage closed and posture taut. Roe is certainly not unattractive, but she does not fit the standards of Roger’s most preferred type. She chews her lower lip, worrying it between her teeth.

You’re thinking too hard, Roe. She turns away from the mirror and glances down at the white button-down shirt she’s wearing.

She really tries not to dwell to long on the fact that Roger must have gotten her out of the dress and into the shirt while she was asleep. She imagines his intentions were nothing but good, but all things considered, she doesn’t know whether she’s grateful or uncomfortable. The thought of him seeing her naked makes her throat tighten, and she sheds the clothing, gets into the shower, and cranks on the water before she can think too hard about it. But she does think about it. She thinks about how she hated the man until his apology last night. She thinks about how she probably wouldn’t have given a shit had he seen her undressed before she her revelation.

She thinks about how everyone talks about feeling elated, relieved, so very in love when they find their soulmates, and here she is, standing at the edge of another panic attack.

Deep breaths. Roe reminds herself, ducking her head under the scalding hot water and reaching for the shampoo. As she washes her hair, she tries to take inventory of her thoughts to ground herself, an attempt to make sense of the array of emptions she’s bombarded with. She feels some sense of dread. In all honesty, that isn’t unusual. Anytime the topic of her soulmate has come up for the past couple of years, she feels overwhelmed, tries to avoid the conversation at all costs. So, it’s possible, and very likely, that she is nervous about Roger being her soulmate, but not merely because her soulmate is Roger. Soulmate scenarios scare the hell out of her on their own.

Now, about his shirt. She recognizes that it was a kind thing to do. She recognizes that he did not do anything inappropriate or malicious to her. She understands that she typically has no problem getting naked in front of any men. So, what about this is so bothersome?

Roe pauses in rinsing her hair to glance down at her body. While she’s in fantastic shape, she recognizes that her body is not the type of fit most men fantasize about (because who’s is?), but that hasn’t deterred her for several years. She figures that if a man doesn’t like her body, it’s his problem and not hers, as she is incredibly healthy and feels she looks pretty damn good. But the idea of Roger, her soulmate, seeing her undressed, possibly comparing her body to the bodies of countless other women…. Maybe she doesn’t feel good enough. Roger has been with so many beautiful women. This insecurity where the drummer is concerned likely stems from the fact that she fears rejection from her soulmate above most things.

“Great,” Roe mutters to herself, scrubbing at her sudsy hair. “I’ve become the stereotypical psychoanalysis.”

There’s a knock on the door.

“Roe? Is that you in there?” Roger Taylor’s voice is muffled from outside of the bathroom. Roe’s fingers freeze in her hair. Her stomach drops, the reality of her situation hitting her once again. She clears her throat and forces herself to reach for the soap.

“Yeah, who else?” She calls, praying that the quip sounds realistic. “I’ll be out in a minute.”

There is no answer. She stands there for a few more moments, huddled under the hot water. She’s not sure what comes after this, once she steps out of the shower and rejoins the world outside of her head. Is she going to have to face Roger right now? Or will she have to wait until she goes downstairs? Until the next band rehearsal? Until the next gig? Roe can’t decide which would be worse- coming clean now or harboring her epiphany indefinitely. Surely, it would be better in the long run to just get it out in the open, get it over with, to have an answer now. A jolt pulses in her stomach, uncomfortable and anxious in its presence. What the fuck would she even say to him? Hey, man, it’s me, Roe, your soulmate, Miss Forever. Should she make some grand gesture? Roe shudders at the thought, her face heating up with humiliation at just the idea of it. No, she needs to do this privately, and if Roger is here now, then this is the most appropriate moment. And God knows when a moment like this may make itself available again.

She doesn’t move from beneath the water.

Just get it over with. That nearly electric feeling in her gut hits again. She takes a deep, deep breath and wills her hand to shut off the water. Stepping out of the shower, she grabs a hotel towel and dries off slowly, buying time, putting off the inevitable. Another deep breath. She opens the door, quietly calling the drummer’s name. When she goes to step out of the bathroom, she comes face to face with a yawning woman. Roe pauses, expression carefully blank.

“Excuse me,” the woman smiles and squeezes past into the bathroom, shutting the door behind her. Roe stands for a short moment, face expressionless, but mind racing. Her headache had eased some in the shower, but her temples are pounding again. it feels like someone’s stuck an ice pick behind each eye. And then she’s moving to the bed, searching for her dress, for anything to put on so she can get the hell out of this room. But the dress is nowhere to be seen. Her shoes are nowhere to be seen. At this point, Roe is more than half tempted to simply march out wrapped in nothing but her towel.

“Looking for these?” Roe turns so quickly at Brian’s voice that she swears she gives herself whiplash. He’s stood in the doorway, still in the clothes he wore last night, though this shirt is mostly unbuttoned. When her eyes meet his, her stomach drops for the millionth time this morning. His nose has blood crusted beneath it. Both his under eyes are swollen and purpling. His lip is split, and there are bruises smattering the skin exposed by his undone shirt. Roe approaches him, one hand clutching at her towel, the other immediately reaching for his face. When she’s directly in front of him, she hesitates, her hand hovering at his cheek, but he leans into the touch, his eyes fluttering closed for a moment. They stand that way, silent, and then Roe is choking on the tightness in her throat, trying to blink away the burning in her eyes. When she takes a breath, it’s a little too sharp to go unnoticed, and Brian opens his eyes, brows furrowing in concern.

“Roe, it’s alright, love.” He reassures, covering her hand, still resting on his cheek, with his own. Roe shakes her head though, lips pursing as the tears well up. Brian, who’s been holding a bag in his other hand, drops it to the floor and wraps her up in his arms, burying his face in her neck and practically lifting her off of the ground in the embrace. Roe can’t keep the tears from falling, but she doesn’t let them overwhelm her. Brian’s already witnessed the beginnings of a break down. The only thing a full out sob session will do is worsen her headache.

But, hell, she feels like her thoughts are tidal waves crashing against the walls of her mind. She’d seen Matt for the first time in over a year, and the guy fought with Brian, who she’s been sleeping with casually for over a month. She had that damned panic attack in front of the whole band. She met her fucking soulmate, but he doesn’t know that he’s her soulmate, and she woke up this morning in his shirt even though he obviously slept with the long-legged beauty that Roe met outside of the bathroom, a woman he likely picked up after dropping Roe, his soulmate, off in the hotel room. Is she missing anything?

Roe abruptly pulls away from Brian, her hand moving to pinch the bridge of her nose. She can hide the tears pretty well, but they’ve been replaced with a swell of ire, sheer resentment for the whole situation she’s found herself in, and she doesn’t do as well at concealing it.

“Roe, it’s really alright-“

“No, Brian, it isn’t.” She exhales, still facing away from him. Her voice shakes the smallest amount, only serving to feed her irritation even further. “This whole thing is so fucked up,” she murmurs, mostly to herself.

“Do you want to talk about it?” The smallness of his voice, typically so eloquent and certain, causes Roe to turn her head, glancing back at him. She doesn’t want to talk about it. She wants to get the hell out of this hotel and as far away from Roger Taylor as humanly possible. But the look on Brian’s face keeps her from saying anything along those lines.

She sighs again. “No, not really,” there’s a pause where neither of them say anything. Taking in a deep breath, Roe continues. “It would probably do me some good, though.”

Brian smiles a little at that, small and concerned. He nods and picks up the bag he’d left on the floor, holding it out towards here.

“These are your clothes from last night. I imagine you’d rather have these than be stuck in that towel all day,” He smirks a little. “Though, I can’t say I’d mind you choosing neither of them.”

Roe snorts, rolls her eyes as the takes the bag from him.

“I think I’ll stick with the clothes.”

Taglist

@voidfanfiction

@raveng1rl

@itsgrassy

@d-r-e-a-m-catchme

@legendsaresooftenwarnings

@armadaextra

@radioblahblahh

[crimes-and-gelato]

Only Half a Blue Sky (Chapter 6)

Pairing: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark/Bucky Barnes

A/N: If you're still here, thank you for staying. And I'm sorry for adding another chapter, because I wanted to write a long one to tie everything up, only for my real life drama to hinder my writing. So, I'm sorry for cutting y'all short with this chapter. But at least we still have another one next week. Yayyy???This one is unbeta-ed because I wrote it sooo late, I couldn't find the heart to burden someone with my unchecked grammar. So, if there are any spelling mistakes or grammar error, please look at it with kindness and tell me in a soft voice, yeah? Thanks.Chapter title is from Maroon 5's Daylight, because that song is about leaving. Or well, that's how I perceive it.Also just T/W: there is detailed (but not really because I can't write) torture in this chapter, and assumption that Tony is dead. If that's not for you, I'll see you next week where it'll be more fluff. This whole chapter is just angst. Okay, now on you go. Enjoy.

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if the hurt comes so will happiness. -be patient || rupi kaur 

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Cold is the first thing that registers into his mind as he slowly gains consciousness. The pain follows like an inevitable addition to the discomfort. Why is JARVIS not doing anything about the temperature? He should be at least warm even when he’s in pain.

He’s about to ask his AI to turn the heat up; only that, he opens his eyes to an unfamiliar surrounding. The words die in his tongue.

Where is he? What is this cold, semi-dark place that smells of rust and decay? He tries to rummage his hazy brain for clues. And the only thing that answers him back is more pain. God, his head feels like he’s been hammered by Thor himself. It takes him back to those mornings with a hangover. Only worse.

Shit! His head is pounding so bad it makes him nauseous just opening his eyes and looking around for clues as to where the fuck he is.

Oh, and he’s tied up to a metal chair. Great! Why didn’t he notice that before? Right, because his brain was having a hard time processing everything with how painful it is to even blink.

And gosh, lucky him, he’s got burns littered all over his arms and legs. A few lacerations too on places he can’t specify, because every inch of him hurts that it’s hard to figure out which part of him is not aching. Just fucking fantastic!

At least his not bleeding out… yet. No, he’s only being held hostage on an ugly looking chair. Fucking fantastic indeed. And of course, very classic: kidnappers and chairs. When will villains get creative? Tony can think of other ways to hold people hostage. Not that he’s ever going to share them with the bad guys.

So, how did he end up here?

He scans his memory for clues again because his heart rate is starting to quicken, and the arc reactor in his chest suddenly feels too heavy, that it’s making it difficult for his lungs to distribute the correct amount of oxygen in his body. And he’s not looking forward to the worst case scenario when he’s still in a middle of another worst case scenario.

He needs to keep calm and think of solutions, because if he looks closely into his current predicament it’ll only spiral him into thoughts that’ll push him into a panic attack. He can’t have that right now.

He can’t.

He can’t. Not even when everything about this reminds him of Afghanistan. The cold, the rusty smell of decaying metal, the foul scent of an unkempt room. Somewhere he can hear a faint water droplet that makes his stomach churn at the thought of dirty water and lack of oxygen.

Tony shakes his head to control his rogue thoughts. He’s not going down that rabbit hole. It’s not going to help him get out.

‘I see that you’re awake, Mr. Stark.’ A man appears from the only opening in the room. His English is accented with Russian that completely matches his hard military feature. He fits the perfect role of a HYDRA agent.

‘We’ll it’s hard to stay asleep when your place lacks warmth and cosiness,’ he replies and tries to ignore the uncomfortable dryness in his throat. ‘Also,’ he gestures to his handcuffs, ‘we need to work on consents and safewords for this kind of thing, don’t you think?’

The evil man smiles, showing off chunky yellowish teeth. ‘It’s amazing how you still have humour after all that injury.’ He moves closer, right in front of Tony’s chair. ‘Guess that’s a good thing.’

‘Is it?’

‘Yes, Mr. Stark.’ He takes a stool from the side and occupies it. ‘You see, we need you alive at least.’ He studies Tony’s face, and his eyes gleam of something sadistic. He smiles again and it makes the genius shiver because he doesn’t like this man’s wicked eyes that promises pain. ‘Things apparently didn’t go as planned.’

‘It doesn’t always,’ Tony agrees just to humour this villain. ‘Word of advice? Accept it and move on.’

Another wicked smile as he scratches one of his eyebrow with his pinky. ‘Thanks, but no thanks.’ He pulls out a short knife from his back. His adept fingers plays with it, tosses the blade from one hand to the other. ‘We’ve figured something out.’

‘Who is this we?’ He’s trying not to look intimidated by the sight of the knife. ‘HYDRA?’

‘Can’t tell you… because then, I have to kill you.’

Tony’s not sure if the stranger is humouring him as well, or he’s being honest. But he did say that they — whoever they is — needs him alive. So, they’re not going to kill him. That doesn’t mean that this bad guy won’t make him suffer though. Sadistic bastard!

‘The thing is…’ The man throws the knife in the air and snatches it swiftly, just to plunge it on Tony’s thigh.

The groan escapes his lips as the pain spreads into his body. And here he’s thinking that he’s numb to feel any pain with how much every nerve ending is burning from his injury from the explosion.

Yes, there was an explosion when they were trying to infiltrate a lab that the officials said to be of HYDRA. The officials wanted it to seem like they’re doing government check-ups on private organisation. But it seems like there was a mole on Bruce’s alliance team.

‘We really need a safeword,’ he jokes through gritted teeth.

‘It won’t be necessary as long as you tell your friends to give us back the sceptre,’ the man whispers into Tony’s ear, hand gripping on the knife handle and twisting it slightly, earning him another muffled groan from the engineer. ‘And they could send back the soldier as well,’ he adds. ‘Tell them to obey… or else they’ll have your body, back in a bag.’

‘Is that why you need me?’ The blade sinks further. ‘As leverage?’ He chuckles darkly and the man leans back away, looking at Tony like the genius has lost his mind. ‘That’s a very stupid plan.’

‘Oh please… They’ll bargain for you,’ the man spits, putting on his sadistic mask again. ‘You’re their precious teammate. An important person in society.’ He produces another knife. ‘Surely, they’ll come for you and exchange you for the Winter Soldier.’

‘Not really.’ Tony shakes his head and has the greatest urge to tell this idiot of the truth. How, firstly, there is no way in seven hells Captain America will ever let James near these assholes. Neither will Tony, over his dead body. And secondly, there’s no room for argument that his life can be use as a bargaining chip in exchange for the life of those who will be affected if HYDRA gets their hands on the sceptre. Because duh… he’s not worth it.

Back on his first reason. Has these idiots forgotten that Steve is bonded to James, and would probably sacrifice anyone — much less Tony Stark — to keep his soulmate safe? Seriously, bad guys should study the laws of soul bonding too because they are just clueless as to how far people would go for those they love.

‘I’m being honest with you, buddy,’ he says. ‘They won’t exchange Winter and the sceptre for the likes of me.’ He shrugs. ‘So, unless you have another plan, it’s better if you change route right now.’

The man doesn’t believe him. ‘I’ll come back for you when you’re ready to talk, Mr. Stark.’ The second knife vanishes, but thank goodness not under Tony’s flesh. But the bloke did twist the knife that’s still attached to Tony’s thigh before he leaves the room. Probably going to report to his masters.

Tony’s not sure why he’s trying to convince his tormentor that he’s team cares so little for him. He blames it on the lack of common sense and sanity when all he can register is the pain. The last time it hurt like this it’s because he was betrayed. And he was betrayed because he deserved it — he deserves to be alone since he’s never going to be good enough.

His burns, the old wounds, and the new one eats away his logic. Maybe it’s true that the team won’t come for him, especially not Steve who won’t even risk James’ safety. And he agrees with that.

Maybe Rhodey will come for him. But his platypus is busy fighting more important battles that’ll save myriad of people who deserves to live. Not like Tony.

And Pepper — his dear lovely Pepper — who manages his company better than he did, making sure that every single employee is taken care of. Pepper will also not come for him, it’s protocol that SI will never pay ransom money for him.

No one will come for him. No one. So, he should probably stop staring at the door like someone’s going to come busting in and rescue him.

He doesn’t know how long he stares at the door. But he sees the man returning with renewed hope and sadism in his posture.

‘Have you still not changed your mind, Mr. Stark?’ The evil minion occupies his stool once again.

‘Now that I think about it… I never got your name,’ he says. ‘So, what is your name? Or does HYDRA do the whole Hunchman One, Hunchman Two, etcetera thing?’

‘Well,’ the man sits comfortably like he’s simply lounging around with Tony, ‘if it’s all the same to you,’ the punch completely catches Tony off guard, so did the pain, ‘I’d rather not get us both acquainted.’

There’s a new addition to his collection of pain with that blow. There’s a fresh batch of headache that follows the other one that had just ebbed from the explosion. Ah, just his luck.

Tony spits blood on the floor and glares at his oppressor.

‘Beg your Avengers, Mr. Stark,’ he orders. ‘Beg for them.’ Another blow to the other side of his face. ‘Or else, I’ll have too much fun breaking you.’

**

**

It’s cold. It’s always cold, Tony notices. And he’s not sure where he is. He’s sure the bastards that have kidnapped him had stripped him of all his tracking device. Maybe it’s time to install one deep within his flesh like JARVIS had suggested.

And his suit, no one has mentioned about his suit. They must have abandoned it somewhere. Smart of them, because the suit has a tracking device, a good one too.

He needs to escape. He’s not going to be leverage for these assholes. They’re not going to be able to use him, no matter the amount of colourful addition on his face, not to mention the twin knives that’s sunk on both his thighs.

Everything hurts. Everything.

There’s that annoying sound of a slow water drip from inside the room as well. It’s damn irritating, especially that it seems to echo the blood that drips from both of his twinning thigh wounds. Fuck, everything hurts, but at the same time he’s slowly losing feeling on his legs.

Few more hours and he’s going to to bleed out. And this could be it for him.

He lost count of the time Mike — that’s what he calls his instigator, the man didn’t appreciate it (rude much) and lands a rather heavy blow on Tony’s left lung — had come into the room to wreck him into submission. Tony is very close to his breaking point. He can feel his sanity slipping away with each punch that lands his face and body, with each twist of the knife, and the amount of pooling blood beneath him.

His tormentor has promised a much better means next time he sees him; something wet he said, that had Tony’s breath hitching with fear at the vague indication. He’s still have nightmares about dirty water and gasping for air. And that might just be the last straw that breaks the camels back.

But he can’t give up now. He can’t break now. Stark men are made of iron, his own subconscious repeats over and over again. He hates it because his own subconscious sounds like his father’s voice.

And just like he had done before, Tony draws strength to the one thing that grounds him and gives him peace of mind when everything falls apart.

‘Steve,’ he whispers in reverence as if on prayer. ‘Steve.’ He smiles a little, the name tastes safe in his mouth, easing some of his discomfort. His soulmate to Steve Rogers — Captain America, the guy who lost everything and still managed to survive, the guy who Tony wants to become, the man he wants to be with. Brave and wonderful Steve Rogers: Tony’s soulmate. ‘I think… I might miss you, Steve.’

The tears that pool his eyes finally run down his cheeks as he closes his eyes in the hope to never wake up to more suffering. Death doesn’t seem so bad, right? Everyone he loves is safe. His team have recovered Loki’s sceptre — based on Mike’s tantrum — and they’ll be able to end HYDRA once and for all.

And that’s his last thought before darkness finally takes him.

**

**

Everything is in chaos: Tony Stark is missing. And Bucky’s not ready to face the worst case scenario that it completely breaks him; that’s how Steve finds him when the rest of the Avengers returned back home after being unsuccessful in locating Tony in Europe. They have all decided to recoup and plan.

Steve had to fix him back together after his melt down, and he feels bad for stealing Steve’s own rights to mourn for his missing teammate — and probably, the man Steve loves that he doesn’t know yet. It’s embarrassing to need Steve like that because it had always been the other way around, with him taking care of Stevie. But times can change.

It wasn’t his best moment as well, he gets clingy and panicky when he’s not in the same room as Steve, or when he doesn’t see the man. And the weight of Tony’s loss still brands his chest like an empty crater. It’s the sort of ache that won’t go away. It’s the sort of ache that squeezes your heart time and time again just to remind you that it’s there.

Twenty-four hours later, they received a message from the low class HYDRA franchise in Sokovia that had held Tony hostage. They are trying to hold the genius ransom for Loki’s magical sceptre (which Thor and Loki had successfully retrieved). And for him, the Winter Soldier.

Bucky wanted to say yes… to both. He doesn’t give a fuck what happens to him or to that blasted sceptre. All he wants is for Tony to be safe, to come home. But of course, that decision isn’t up to him, and he knows that if they all follow his thinking it’d be a disaster, because honestly, he’s not even logical.

Well, they can’t blame him, he’s not very sane to begin with. Your soulmate being threatened and in the face of danger doesn’t make the most rational human being either. So, he waits, instead of voicing out his idiotic ideas.

But it’s hard to ignore his questionable ideas when a cryptic video arrives eight hours after the offer has been announced. And that video alone makes what’s left of his sane brain cells perish, because the video is awful. Painful to watch.

There’s this bald Russian guy that tortures Tony to beg the Avengers to rescue him in exchange for the sceptre and Bucky. The methods are simple: a few punches and a few stabbing. Nothing worse than Bucky had gone under HYDRA’s hands. But then, Bucky’s a super soldier, who heals easily; Tony on the other hand is a non-powered human, looking all bruised and battered with his injuries from the explosion and now the current tormenting.

It’s wreaking to watch. They were all angry, he can tell. Even Bruce who is usually relax looks a little green. Natasha is physically an embodiment of chaos and destruction at the sight of the second knife digging into Tony’s thigh.

‘JARVIS, I hope you’re tracking the source of this video.’ There’s a hardness in Steve’s voice that he’s never heard before. Steve is usually gentle when speaking to people, especially towards JARVIS or the bots.

‘On it, Captain,’ JARVIS replies severely.

The video only last five minutes, but it feels longer. It plays on a loop, with them cursing every second of it. But they have to study it, in case it clues them to where Tony’s being hold up.

Every quiet groan and tormented scream rams into Bucky’s soul like ton of brick. Mutely, he promises terrible pain to those who’ve caused Tony’s painful screeches. Morality be damned. There is blood and suffering to be paid in full.

**

**

It takes two more days for the next video to arrive. It contains the same stomach churning gore of Tony’s torture. They can all see how the genius slowly withering, despite how he still has his sass intact.

‘Can’t that alien god help locate him?’ Bucky demands, watching the newest set of video for too many times that he knows isn’t healthy. His therapist would disapprove. ‘What use is his magic?’

Steve looks just as weary as Bucky is. They all do, but he thinks him and Steve has it worse. His other soulmate is being maimed, and somehow he thinks Steve can feel the negative and dark energy within him. It might has something to do with how they are soul bond.

So, Captain America has to shoulder Bucky’s hidden anxiety, and he has to worry for his friend. Hence, Steve looking worse for wear.

‘It’s not that easy, Buck.’ Steve runs a hand over his tired face. ‘We’ll find him.’ The blond reaches out a hand to comfort, but Bucky moves away from it. Hurt and confusion mixes in Steve’s face.

‘But when, Stevie?’ he shouts. ‘When he’s dea—’

‘Don’t say that,’ Steve cuts him off sharply. ‘Tony’s one of the strongest people I know.’ He squares his jaw as if daring Bucky to challenge the unquestionable faith in his voice. ‘And we’re doing our best to find him… And we will.’

Being pessimistic probably doesn’t help anyone. And really, he’s only hurting himself by thinking of the worst. Yes, the worst could happen. But not now, not when he’s got Steve to tell him that it won’t. He’ll believe Steve, he always will. Steve could believe for the both of them.

Because god, if the worst do happen, Bucky’s not sure how he will survive. He probably won’t, right? He doesn’t think he’s that strong to survive this heartbreak. He can deal with HYDRA and all their torture, but not the loss of a soulmate. That feels too impossible. Even now, just looking at Tony suffering is killing Bucky, too.

‘We’ll find him, Buck.’ Steve pulls him in a hug, which he accepts because he knows the blond needs it, too. ‘We’ll find him.’

It’s almost a miracle Steve doesn’t ask him about his rather passionate feelings towards Tony Stark. But maybe Steve doesn’t notice it as well, too lost in his own worry for the genius.

**

**

The next video comes sixteen hours after the last one, Steve and Bucky were the one standing vigil for any news. The team had developed a schedule to have someone — usually a pair — wait up for important updates. Not that any of them get any sleep longer than two hours when they are not on duty. Ever since Tony was gone, sleep has been a scarce commodity in the tower.

The video holds the usual disgusting torture of the engineer. But this time Tony looks like he’s at his breaking point. The pool of blood on the floor is also concerning. There’s a haunting paleness in Tony’s face that makes Bucky’s chest twist painfully.

Tony looks weak and fragile and broken. And it’s heart-wrenching to see that he deflates the ball he’s been playing with the bots. There’s far no greater pain than watching his soulmate slowly ebb to death.

‘Steve,’ comes Tony’s weak voice from the video.

Bucky has long accepted that Tony had feelings for Steve, just as Steve has feelings for Tony. But witnessing it so bluntly is something else. He waits for the pain or jealousy to come. Surely, it’s inevitable for him to feel any of the two or both, given that his soulmate uttered someone else’s name when all hope is lost in Tony’s eyes and Steve’s name sounded like a saving grace.

The pain or jealousy didn’t arrive. Yes, there is pain, but it’s the same one he’s been nursing since Tony had gone missing and was tortured.

Bucky aches for his imprisoned soulmate. And he’s about to tell Steve that they really need to fasten shit up and rescue the genius, because he can’t stand these awful videos anymore.

‘Wha—’ Steve’s motionless as he stares into the monitor, horror and confusion sits on his face.

‘Stevie?’ He reaches for his soulmate in concern. A hand on the blond’s shoulder for support. Did the videos finally break Steve as well?

Steve’s tortured expression turns to Bucky, his lips are agape, but no words passes them. ‘Buck,’ he says like he’s remembering Bucky’s there. He holds on to Bucky’s outstretch arm like it’s the only thing that’s keeping him upright. ‘Tony… h-he’s… he’s…’

It’s a good thing that Bucky’s a super soldier because Steve is heavy with how he’s relying all of his weight on Bucky’s arm. He’s never seen his soulmate so startled and terrified.

‘Oh god,’ Steve mumbles quietly with disbelief and fright as he looks everywhere but Bucky’s own worried face.

Steve’s action is scaring Bucky, and he’s about to ask the blond man what’s wrong when —

‘Steve,’ Tony mutters again.

Steve whips his head back to the screen in a flash that Bucky’s amaze he didn’t break his neck in the process. Steve’s sudden alertness to Tony’s call is an embodiment of a siren calling to a sailor; like a sunflower following the sun in the sky.

But god is it clear to Bucky what’s happening. It’s written all over Steve’s face with how his eyes looks like he’s seeing Tony for the first time.

One single word.

One single name.

Bucky knows by experience what it feels like to have Tony say your name for the first time and be envelop by a phantom sense of safety and happiness. It’s like finding meaning to life all over again, and being lulled in euphoria. But he can’t imagine what it’s like for Steve when there’s also that dreadful emotion of fear for the life of a soulmate which had sat painfully on Bucky’s chest for days now. A few days that felt like years.

‘I think… I might miss you, Steve,’ Tony says as he closes his eyes.

They both stare at the screen in silence. Waiting for the genius to say something more.

But nothing.

Tony remains still. So still that Steve’s hand grips on Bucky’s so tightly it hurts.

Damn it, Tony! Open your eyes! Bucky yells mentally in anger and desperation. Please… Please. He watches and waits for any sign of motion.

The seconds tick by, but Tony continues to be static.

Open your eyes, doll! His own hand digs into Steve’s shoulder as they both try to support each other. Open your eyes.

‘No,’ Steve says in defeat and heartbreak. ‘Tony.’ His voice is wet and bleak and aching.

And Bucky mutely asks for some miracle, staring at Tony’s motionless body on the screen. It doesn’t fit Tony to be this still when he’s always full of energy and life.

God no, Bucky thinks as the tears cascade his cheek.

**

[nuka-nuke]

| Edsel Euler |

Name: Edsel Jack Lincoln Euler

Nickname:  Red

Age: 20

Birthday: December 13th, 2082

Height: 5’10

Weight: 173lbs

Specials: Str  3 - Per 10 - End 8  - Cha 1  - Int  8 - Agi  12 - Luck - 3

Eyes: Hazel gray

Hair: Vibrant ginger, always kept a little long (like his father), and sometimes pulled up into a ponytail.

Body type: He likes to run and climb a lot, so he has toned legs and arms. Over all not particularly strong, kind of scrawny compared to his brother. Still says he is stronger than Elijah. Actually isn’t.

References: Here

Status Pre-War: Not born yet.

Status Currently: Causing chaos and explosions in Appalachia and giving his brother a life long headache.

Relationship Status: Taken

Spouse(s)/Partners: Lena Riggs

Sexuality: Heterosexual

Gender: Male

Ethnicity: Greek/American

Family: Red’s father is Ford Euler, who is the brother of Jack Euler. Ford is mostly ghoulified,  quiet, mild tempered and has severe anxiety. He barely ever leaves their home and if he does, Red’s Aunt Jolene has to come with him. Ford used to be slightly more adventurous before the war, but after the “loss" of his best friend and brother, Jack, and the death of his wife Alyce, his disability became crippling and he can’t do much without falling into a panic.

Red’s mother, Alcyoneus, was a psychiatrist before the war who became a Responder afterwards. She came upon the Euler homestead while searching for survivors and for some reason was immediately smitten with Ford (who was so shy he could barely formulate a sentence when around her). She ended up staying and eventually married him, but died from complications of child birth shortly after having the twins.

His Aunt Jolene and her wife Emma also live with them, along with her daughter Lorna May. Lorna May is Red’s best friend and partner in crime since he was born. They both get into a lot of reckless mischief together and Red has been trying to beat her in a fight for as long as he was able to swing a punch. Lorna May has always won (and broken his nose a couple times), but he still tries.

His twin brother is Elijah Euler. Elijah is Red’s complete opposite. Where Red is full of emotions that are all on the surface, Elijah keeps his locked up deep inside and very rarely shows them. He comes off harsh and aggressive, but Red loves him excessively and smothers him in affection (much to Eli’s chagrin). Despite that, Eli is extremely protective of both Red and Lorna May and even knocked out Lorna May’s vaultie boyfriend for enthusiastically telling Red that he was named after the ugliest car ever manufactured. He also completely destroys anyone who dares to mess with Ford, but he is the only one in their family who doesn’t baby him for his disabilities.

Languages: English

Disabilities/Illnesses/Injuries: Red has scars on his face which are the beginnings of ghoulification. He has panic attacks about it which are completely paralyzing, similar to his father’s brand of anxiety.

Allergies: None.

Scars: Losing the skin across his right cheek up to his ear. Other much smaller spots showing the signs of ghoulification along his chest, right leg, and hips. Tons of scars on his legs and elbows from being extremely clumsy and hurting himself all the time. Burn scar on the front and side of his left shoulder… from playing with explosives.

Physical traits: Red has very large eyes with long dark eyelashes. He has freckles which are somewhat hidden because of the rosacea on his cheeks, his beard, and the scars, and otherwise looks almost exactly like his mother; with a huge mouth and overbite that always looks vaguely like he’s grinning, a very long pointed nose, an unpronounced forehead, and big ears. His twin, looking more like Ford, looks almost nothing like him.

Voice: He always sounds very upbeat and happy, his voice is not very deep and sometimes he talks so fast that his words blend together. He does not have the country accent that Lorna May has, and likes to poke fun at her when she accidentally lets it slip too much (and you better believe he gets punched).

Clothing: More often than anything, Red wears dresses. Eli questions his fashion choices all the time, and there is really no reason, he just likes them. He usually wears a cowboy hat and either the scarf his mother made for Ford covering the lower half of his face, a surgical mask, or an old faded red bandana Lena gave him because he is self conscious about his scars. When it is too cold to wear a dress, he has black military boots he wears with jeans and either just a sweater as a shirt or a ragged fur-lined vest with any variety of shirt under.

Fashion Style/Lifestye: Cowboy in a pretty dress…

Weapon of Choice:  Bolt action hunting rifle (with a silencer) and a clunky old pump action shotgun.

Skills: Red is very good with a rifle and always enjoys hunting. He is extremely stealthy (when he wants to be, otherwise he can be just as reckless as his cousin), even choosing to mostly wear soft-soled sneakers to assist in his preferred combat method. He’s also able to run for pretty much forever and rarely gets tired, much like Lorna May. Very good with explosives, after many failed and painful trials. And he’s a fantastic cook, as long as what you’re hoping to eat is mostly meat.

Weaknesses: Way too emotional a lot of the time, easily gets his feelings hurt, relies on his brother too much. Also has bouts of anxiety like his dad.

Poor skills: Poor depth perception, super clumsy, easily distracted: he falls off of cliffs a lot. Good thing there are stimpaks, otherwise he’d pretty much have broken bones all the time. He’s also not very strong and therefore isn’t too great at hand to hand combat (though he would tell you otherwise). For some reason always thinks leaping off a tall building/mountain is the best way down instead of, y'know… stairs?

Affiliations: Vault 76 dwellers

Former Affiliations: None.

Enemies: None.

Neutral Affiliations: Responders.

Religion: Agnostic

Likes: His family, his brother especially, hunting, cooking, cars (for exploding), setting things on fire, playing banjo (though he isn’t that great), battling Lorna May,  climbing up the tallest things he can find and just admiring the view. And then jumping off.

Dislikes: Jolene and Ford have had their orchard since before the war, and Red’s very least favorite chore is always going out and picking the peaches. He would much rather go out with a pistol and shoot mole rats while Eli does the picking. He also isn’t a fan of snow. He was born in a nuclear winter, he’d be happy to never see snow again (it’s slightly better when Lena is around to enjoy it with).

Hates: His scars.

Friends: Lorna May Euler, Elijah Euler, Jimmy, Lena Riggs, Gilroy O’Niell, Ava (who he also used to have a crush on but… don’t tell Lena, she’s scary when she’s jealous), Daisy Wilson

Acquaintances: Other Vault dwellers he has come upon in his travels

Former friends: After the death of Alyce, Jolene became even more fiercely protective of her family. Elijah and Red were very rarely allowed to associate with outsiders until they were much older, unlike Lorna May,  so they didn’t meet many other humans before the Vault opened.

Enemies: Eli’s pet squirrel. He hates that thing. Plus Eli gives it more affection than he gives him…

Also Chester Sullivan, because he is terrifying.

Pets: None.

Personality: Red is energetic and mostly always happy, but he definitely wears his heart on his sleeve. Despite his very low charisma, he is not really that shy and has a hard time containing his feelings, and he will blurt things out without actually meaning to. He also is definitely an instigator and can pester people about things if he thinks it’s funny to. Despite growing up in complete solitude from other humans, he is very empathetic and always tries to help people even if it is definitely not a good idea to do so.

He is very expressive, loving and completely loyal to those he cares for. Because of his lack of previous socialization, however, he has absolutely no idea how to handle it when he has a crush on someone, and also becomes smitten nearly immediately after meeting them. Where ordinarily he is extremely affectionate to everyone, if he likes someone romantically he’s more of the awkward high-five/thumbs up instead of kiss kind of guy and would take a very long time before getting to anything more than that.

Favorite color: Though everyone assumes it is red because of his nickname, it’s actually pink and purple.

Favorite foods:  He makes some excellent opossum bacon. Also his Aunt Jolene’s pumpkin pie.

Favorite drinks: Mutfruit juice, Nuka Cola Quantum, coffee (not that he needs it), moonshine (which he makes himself).

Favorite Sweets: Blackberry cobbler, peach cobbler, pumpkin pie, just about any baked sweets and pastries.

_____________________________________

Other info: He later has three kids with Lena; their son, Landon Gabriel Adam Euler, and twin daughters, Lindsay Lee Alyce Euler and Winnebago “Winnie” Edsel Angela Euler.

By the time of Fallout 4, Red is still alive and completely ghoulified along with Ford.

Thanks as always @madddraws for the profile layout!

[taramatsu-san]

Writevember Day 1: Taking a Break

Prompt List | Read on Ao3

Today, Karamatsu is taking a break.

An ordinary day.

The window was open, a breeze flowing through that was slightly chilly, yet not cold enough to get Karamatsu to move to close it. Instead he just looked out it idly as he rubbed the back of his stiff and sore neck. Besides, he hated the stuffy feeling that came when the house was all closed up. Being able to look outside and admire the view was nice as well.

Not that there was much to look at. The sky was blue with only a few clouds drifting by to break up the color. In the distance there were tall buildings rising up, the familiar ones he always saw. Nothing ever really seemed to change around here. It was always the same and Karamatsu was bored. Bored of the view? Bored of his monotonous life? One of those things.

Not bored enough to do anything about it though. Sure he could hop on a train and get out of the city for a day. That would be an exciting adventure! Perhaps he could bring his guitar and serenade people who he would never see again. Yet he would live on in their memories, of that he was sure. That was an interesting concept. For a brief moment coming into someone's life, leaving behind only a faint memory and haunting melody. Well, like he said prior, he wasn't really up to such a task today. In fact, he honestly didn't want to do anything of substance today.

Today, he was taking a break.

It wasn't as if his normal lifestyle was hectic. He didn't work or go to school. Most days were days that normal people would consider breaks. Sure he helped out with chores from time to time (sometimes more than he would like) and he also had his own projects to work on, but none of that was really productive. At least not in the eyes of society.

Yet here he was, taking a break despite all that. Instead of washing the dishes or writing a new song or gazing intently into his mirror for any flaws, he was sitting here, slack jawed, looking out the window. Not even paying attention to the world outside. He wasn't paying attention to anything, really. Even his inner thoughts were meandering and meaningless. This was just another ordinary day with nothing to do.

His brothers all had plans for today though. Even if those were the same things they always seemed to do. Osomatsu had gone to play pachinko, which was pretty much what he did most days. He was being rather irresponsible with his money lately, which is why Karamatsu has declined to go with him. Someone had to set a good example of an elder brother.

Choromatsu had gone off to some store looking for Nyaa-chan merchandise. That was probably better than him having a panic attack over a job interview or similar. Choromatsu had been stressed out about many things lately. Karamatsu hoped that he was taking a break as well today. Constant anxiety over getting a job was just making him more anxious. An ouroboros of anxiety. Or some other apt metaphor, his brain was too foggy with pain at the moment to think up something more clever.

Ichimatsu and Jyushimatsu had gone to play baseball, although that usually entailed very little actual playing. Mostly Jyushimatsu swung his bat around an absurd amount of times. With Ichimatsu tied to it. That felt far too hectic for Karamatsu at the moment, although he did enjoy Jyushimatsu’s enthusiasm, today the thought of hearing his younger brother shouting sent waves of nausea to his stomach.

Todomatsu had gone out with his friends, his friends that upset him occasionally, bringing his youngest brother to tears over a tweet or text. Things Karamatsu didn't have a full comprehension of, but it left a bad taste in his mouth knowing that despite the hurt feelings, Todomatsu went to hang out with them again. Well, he wasn't sure if he wanted to understand his brother’s actions. If being fake and having your so called friends hurt you was what it took to move up in society, he was content down at the bottom.

In any case, his head really hurt today, so it was easier to do nothing.

Karamatsu leaned back onto the floor, covering his eyes with his arm. Like this it was a bit more easy to ignore the pain throbbing in his head. Getting headaches was nothing new, he got them on occasion from drinking or stress, but this one was more intense. The tylenol he took didn't touch the pain. Oh well. Like most things, he was sure it would pass.

It was growing colder.

Autumn, his most favorite time of the year, felt like it had passed by in the blink of an eye. It was summer and warm just days before; now it was cold and much more bleak. The trees appeared to have changed colors overnight and dropped those leaves just as quickly. That's how fast autumn had arrived and left. He wished it would come back, he hadn't been able to appreciate it to the fullest extent. It was like a song that he wanted to hear but he wasn't listening closely enough so he had to restart it. You can't restart a season though. Once it was gone, it was gone.

Maybe he should stop lazing around and get up now. Do something. His sunglasses did need polishing. Osomatsu had borrowed them, citing them to be so very “cool”. That was a nice compliment, and at least he had broken them, but he had left smudges all over the lenses. But he really didn't feel like that at the moment.

Or maybe he should work on modifying his latest pair of jeans. He had picked them up at the thrift store for cheap, but they needed a lot if work to have that Karamatsu flair! He was thinking of adjusting them like a pair he saw in one of his fashion magazines, a few tears here and there, the back pockets lined with gemstones, it would be fantastic! Potential suitors would rush to his side, unable to resist his charms! But he wasn't really up for that at the moment either.

His guitar needed tuning as well. He wasn't done writing his latest smash hit! A song that would mark the hearts of those who heard it. A song that stuck in their heads and refused to leave. It would be a masterpiece! But at the moment noise might aggravate his already aching head. So he didn't feel like doing that either.

Perhaps he just needed a nap. His head hurting so much was making him nauseous. It was like a hangover, except without the fun part of drinking. He had been completely sober for days anyway. If only he had something to blame the pain on. Not that knowing would cure it any faster.

A nap wouldn't hurt anyway. He really had nothing important to do! It would be alright to be lazy just this once.

Not bothering to get up and grab a blanket or a pillow, his arm still covering his closed eyes, Karamatsu let his consciousness fade into the warm darkness of sleep.