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Maybe I'll become a writing memes Tumblr

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the cloak promotions gave me some good doctor vibes 👀

(+ a still image because tumblr destroys quality and i cant add a read more im sorry)

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me jumping between my WIPs without actually finishing any of them

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"Jackie is working too hard, and is never at home. Anti has no idea what to do with his energy until he finds Handcuffs in Jackies room. He is going to make Jackie suffer...." In other Words....I want porn with those two and some handcuffs xD

Nice 😏 short answer for now since I’m doing other stuff

“You must have known this was coming, Jackie. You’ve been ignoring me. Always out. Always on patrol...” Anti dragged just one hand up Jackie’s thigh, chuckling darkly at his responding shiver. “Did you do it to make me jealous? Did you do it because you wanted me to tie you down?”

Jackie shook his head. “Fuck, Anti, didn’t mean to!” 

“Oh Jackie...” Anti’s hand moved even higher with Jackie’s rapidly increasing heartbeat. “You’re a bad liar.”

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there’s symbolism in everything i make, but its the kind of symbolism that would take 8 hours to explain to anyone bc its so oddly specific to everything i’ve seen in my life ever

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when u create too many ocs and dont have the time to develop them all equally and ur brain just wants u to focus on one or two at a time but u keep making more and more and u feel like ur abandoning the ones u havent done anything with for a while

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Anti-Centric AU Ideas:

A mythical/gods au where Anti is a god of corruption and can corrupt the other gods if he wants

Ghost AU where Anti haunts another ego, or multiple egos who live together (optional tragic backstory reason)

YouTuber AU where Anti is a streamer or something like that and potentially ends up as a friend to Sean

Second Chance AU- Anti is back as a completely new person. Who is responsible, how, and why, is up to you

Stalker AU where Anti is obsessed with Sean and has taken on the character for him

That's all I have for now! Tag me if you do use any, I'd love to see them!

[a-roomba]

Shatter It

Summary: Your soulmate replaces your reflection. The good news is that you know what they look like. The bad news is that you can't see your own face until you meet them.

But how does one deal with not having a reflection?

Pairings: none...yet

Characters: Virgil

Warnings: does a broken mirror count?

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Since the day I first learned everyone could see their soulmates in the mirror, I've been waiting for mine. Every day, I sneak up to mirrors, especially the ones in my house, wondering who's gonna show up on the other side of the glass.

And every day, nothing happens.

I've never seen my face. I don't know what color my eyes are. Sometimes I ask what I look like, but it doesn't help. My classmates know. They know I'm just Virgil Thompson, the palest, unluckiest boy I've ever met.

No one stays with the unlucky ones for long.

Everyone pushes me away, sometimes literally, taunting me, telling me I'm doomed to be alone. But no. It can't be. I can't be.

Can I?

Time seems to soar past us, bringing us to something we're never truly prepared for: the world of adulthood. I get a place I can have all to myself at the cost of never being able to trust my own identification pictures.

It's time to move on from this broken dream.

Broken boy turning into a broken man.

Broken...mirror?

As I walk into my bathroom and rest my forehead against the cool, reflectionless glass, thoughts start to form. Bad thoughts.

I'm alone. Just like my classmates always said I'd be. Why would I go on like this? What's the point of it? There's no way my soulmate still exists, if they ever existed. They were supposed to by my 18th birthday, right? And they're not here, they can't be here, they're gone--

In just a few minutes, the trash can is full of fallen shards. I sigh and give them one last look before I throw them out for good. Big pieces, tiny pieces, any size in between, they all flash the same caramel at me.

Wait.

Caramel?

I look again just to make sure. It feels like this isn't real, like I've finally lost it. But as far as I know, I haven't. Nothing changes after all the blinking and rubbing my eyes, so I can only confirm this is no hallucination.

A pair of square glasses over wide green eyes. If I didn't know better, I'd say I startled their owner just as much as I startled myself. I wait a little while to find out what else I can see of them, but nothing happens. There's just black eyebrows and the caramel skin those little emeralds are embedded into.

Great. What am I gonna do now? After all these years, I still don't have a soulmate, just a piece of one that's practically useless on its own. Who has a piece of a soulmate? It doesn't make any sense.

Then again...no one said it had to.

I make a stupid move and lean up and in, resting my nose against what's left of the mirror. Of course, their hundreds of eyes get so much closer, and I swear they're even sparkling. It makes me wonder...

Who are they?

Where have they been all my life?

How far will I have to go when I look for them? Or will they come find me?

Will I have what it takes to put my soulmate back together?

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Damien’s Day In

Ah, a quiet house was such a rare, but pleasant surprise for Damien. Living with William was nice, but it could get...loud. And hectic. And bizarre. And-

Well, it was nice to have time to relax. Sat at the table with a pot of tea and a sketchbook, hearing the rain patter down, all while wrapped up in a cozy blanket. His usual suit had been left behind in favour of a loose cotton shirt and pants. For once he didn’t even bother to gel his hair, assuming he would have no visitors for the day.

As his pencil idly scratched at the page, Damien wondered if Celine had taken a day off lately. Not very likely. He could only convince her to sleep by reminding her how much more efficiently she could go about things with at least a power nap in the tank. Thankfully her marriage to Mark seemed to allow her more free time to relax, but if the rumors were to be believed, she did as much work as the butler did for half the reward.

To say nothing of the other rumors around the Iplier butler.

But honestly? So long as Celine was content (content as she ever could be as a trophy wife after her tastes of freedom back in the clubs) and Mark wasn't as paranoid as he used to be, Damien just wanted to believe, for one day, that things were as calm as they were going to get for a while. Calm like the lovely bluebird that had perched so agreeably outside his sitting room window.

His sitting room. They had something much grander for guests downstairs, but it had never felt like home. Damien had ended up converting an upstairs bedroom so it was his. Homey and cozy like something out of a delightful paperback novel, corners peeling apart with age and pages yellowed, but still the same quaint little story within that fit in his palms like it had always meant to be nestled there.

Since it was a day for indulgence, why not re-read it? It was his favourite story after all. A story set and meant for tiny villages with cozy cottages. Yet wrapped up in his worn blanket and shut up with only a few soft candles, Damien could pretend he was there. Perhaps he should go fetch it from his bedside drawer. Once he'd finished sketching the-

"Oh. You grew tired of modelling, little friend?" Damien smiled up at the bluebird from where it was now perched higher up, shaking itself off to be rid of water. "I know the feeling. We can't sit and be admired all our lives, yes?" When it chirped, he chuckled. "If I didn't know better, I'd swear we were talking, Mr.Bluebird." The rather cute name he'd seen in some other novel. Those stories were always his favourite sort. There was no beast to slay, like in something William or Mark might while away the hours with. The only animals in his stories were delightful songbirds. Leave the hunting to someone who knew their way around a gun.

"Well, Mr.Bluebird, I think I'll treat myself to some tea. I'd ask if you'd like a cup, but I don't think birds are very partial to tea. Another time, perhaps?" Again Damien chuckled softly, setting aside his sketchbook and charcoal. "At least you let me finish my outline. Just details left now."

A few staff members still roamed the halls, but Damien was very insistent that any day it was just him was a day to relax. He liked to brew his own tea these sorts of days. "Excuse me, friend." It almost made him sad to shut the door on his little room. At least he could be back soon with tea. A few records were kept in the kitchen too, so perhaps he could take one with him to play.

“Earl Grey or chamomile? Chamomile would be good for having a nap later, but Earl Grey is so lovely while reading…”

In the end, he made a mix of the two. It was disgusting, and didn’t drink more than a sip, but oh well. That didn’t make his book any less pleasant.

[a-roomba]

Petty Thief

Matt had been fairly productive that day. Something about parties made him like that. The beautiful people, the great conversation, there was this air of elegance not usually found in ‘middle of nowhere’ type resorts. Most days in a hotel lobby there would be a something a little oppressive hanging in the air; something about the knowledge that your holiday would end soon enough bothered people. But every so often, some snarky Wall Street wannabe would get bored of swimming in gold or feasting on swans, or whatever the insanely wealthy did, and then it came time to throw a party.

This one was supposedly an annual affair. Matt wouldn’t know himself, since this was his first visit. Perhaps he’d return if this trip proved profitable. Not too soon, though. He liked to be careful. A good trait in a thief. Regrettably, he would have to pass on next year, even if that lovely lady at the reception was true to her word and kept him a room aside. Coming back too often was likely to get him arrested, and that meant prison- especially once they connected the dots and found how much he had... ‘liberated' from bigshots over the years.

One of the newcomers running this was a fresh face for him. Spencer Baldwin, some douchebag who got rich buying shares in technology companies and would never have to worry about where his next yacht was coming from ever again. The one next to him on the flyer was worrying, though. Hayden Ross made a name for himself running a law firm for fellow rich douches to put guys like Matt in prison for a very long time, and Matt had made it a point to stay very much off his radar. If there was one thing that would probably get a case brought against him, it would be stealing from anyone Ross cared about- or rather, acknowledged the existence of. So if Ross got a new drinking buddy, they were safe...for the most part.

Big events were the exception. Since there were plenty of people around, he could grab some devices, maybe a wallet or two, and then bounce, with the excuse that he had indulged in a little too much free champagne. That would sort him for a while. Geek conferences were always easy money anyway. Nobody wanted to show up to one of these brandishing a Nokia, so the latest huge smartphones jutted out of every pocket. Come on. How was he supposed to resist? Granted, having thousands of pounds worth of hardware vanish from Ross’ conference might piss him off a little, but again, there were plenty of people around. Nobody could pin it on a guy who didn’t even have a ticket, right?

With that worry out of his mind, Matt grabbed a glass of champagne as he passed a waiter, then a tablet from the man next to him. Smashed screen, tut tut tut. That thing was easily worth $500 second hand, but his best bet now was to sell it for parts. Oh well. He slipped back into the crowd as the man snapped his head up to shout about his missing property.

Another phone had been left on a table with no-one in sight to supervise. That was just asking for it, right? While walking past, he slid it into his laptop bag. There was no actual laptop in there. Unfortunate, but the only people who had brought computers down to the conference room were working on them. The crowd was helpful for hiding, but it probably wouldn’t do much if he wandered up to someone and took something straight out of their hands.

He’d done that once, when he was much younger. Some television show or another had tried to warn people that they needed to mind their phones, to keep a vice grip on them while scrolling in public spaces. A clip had played of some shady figure in a hoodie snatching up a precious device and sprinting away. Matt had taken it as a suggestion, with only some cosmic coincidence letting him get away.

Thinking about it, he got away with a lot that he really shouldn’t have been able to. With all the impromptu chases he’d ended up in over the years, it was a miracle nobody had…caught him on tape or something.

“Excuse me, sir?” a slim finger poked him hard in the shoulder and it took all his willpower not to jump. Millions of possibilities flashed through his mind as he turned around. He really hoped this wasn’t security, coming to kick him out. How ironic. Much as he wanted to scoff at the idea of tempting fate, he was willing to suspend his disbelief for a moment in favor of trying to plan ahead. Then again, it might not even be them.

“Excuse me?”

Maybe it was an ex? That could get awkward fast. Matt had briefly skimmed through the guest list before coming, and none of the names rang a bell, so he assumed he was going to be safe. But then again, it wasn’t that hard to get in unnoticed. Might as well get it out of the way. Reluctantly, he turned around.

“You dropped this.”

Oh. Stood in front of him was a young woman with a dark fringe covering her eyes. The rest of her hair hung down to her knees like a silk curtain, wrapped around her back protectively. Quick glances told him everything he needed to know. Red uniform, sensible shoes, neutral stance. Hotel staff. Nothing about her said that she was missing anything valuable (at least, as far as she knew). She held out a crumpled drinks receipt.

Time for an intelligent response. “Huh?”

What could be seen of her face was unimpressed. “The receipt. It’s yours, isn’t it, sir?”

“Well then. Thanks for...bringing it back. Guess I’ll just...” Matt reached out to take the paper, unconsciously shielding his bag. His hand only got so far before it was locked in a vice grip.

Uh-oh.

“Speaking of returning property,” the woman began. Pulling at his arm got him nowhere. “How about you be a good boy and put back all the nice people’s things?”

What?

Matt realized, after half a second of blissful ignorance, that she knew something. His mind instantly entered panic mode. Was she following him around? Did he steal something from her? Had she called anyone else?

Regardless- not good, not good, not good! He went pale, before defaulting to the usual plan: play dumb. Still tugging as inconspicuously as possible, Matt answered: “Wh-What are you talking about? What things?”

Somehow, she managed to look even less impressed. Sighing, she continued in a voice you might use for a particularly slow child. “The things you stole. Put them back and we’ll have no further issues. Keep your voice down while you’re at it, too. Wouldn’t want to make a scene, after all.”

Matt froze. She didn’t just know something, she knew everything. He was, in a word, screwed. “Look, s-seriously! Let go! I don’t know what you’re talking about!” He stepped back a little, and she came with him, eyebrows raised. It felt like trying to tow a bus. Those uniforms must have been extremely flattering.

“Please don’t insult my intelligence. And as I said, keep. It. Down.” She practically growled the last word. Seemed like she was more worried about drawing attention to herself than he was. With that in mind, he re-assessed.

Playing dumb wasn’t working, clearly. Time for a change of tactics. He pulled one more time, just on the off chance she might have gotten bored of slowly breaking his wrist, and gave up on the idea of disappearing. Instead, he summoned up the power of every Karen, Janet and Linda who’d ever asked to speak to the manager.

“Look, I don’t know where you got these ridiculous accusations from, but if you don’t let go immediately, I will report you to your supervisor!”

With a slight sigh, she shook her head. “Feel free. I would have to have them check your suspiciously computer-free laptop bag, though.” Shit. She wasn’t buying it, was she? He got the distinct sense she was rolling her eyes behind the fringe. Maybe not the best idea, then. And now there were people beginning to notice their odd conversation. Occasional glances slid over to them before none-too-subtly slipping over to a very interesting section of carpet. “We can talk elsewhere if you really want to keep going with this.”

Suddenly, being in the dead center of a crowd was less appealing than it had been earlier.

“Actually, I’d kinda prefer it if you could just...let me go?”

“I’m afraid there’s very little chance of that, my sticky-fingered friend,” someone said right next to his ear. Matt let out a noise akin to what you might hear if you accidentally sat on a pet, or a small child. When he whipped around to look, he was greeted by a young man also in hotel uniform. At a glance, the two seemed almost identical. Unlike the girl, however, his mouth was tilted upwards in a grin- though his eyes were also covered by a thick fringe. “Apologies for Noel. She’s a little uptight when it comes to hotel security.”

He turned to her. “Surely it would have been faster to simply take the devices back?”

“Not if it means this little rat comes back to steal things from the paying clientele again. And if word gets out…”

“Then why not simply bar him? I can handle public relations. Especially as far as Misters Baldwin and Ross.”

Noel’s face flushed red. She didn’t answer, but finally let go. Something about it made Matt think of the bullying older sibling getting told off by Dad, and he snickered as he moved closer to the newcomer. Much as he wanted to, he didn’t pull a face at Noel. “Wasn’t so hard, was it? Now, you, follow me,” he gestured in Matt’s general direction and didn’t wait for a response before heading for the balcony.

[a-roomba]

Evening In

Henrik isn't sure why breathing is so hard. It seems like something that should be fairly easy, right? Practically automatic. The kind of thing that comes so naturally you never think about it, though him thinking all of this now rather boldly said no, and wasn't that just the story of his goddammn life? So much should have been easy, mindless almost, but for whatever reason it refused to work like that. He should have been world-renowned, dealing with rich people's cosmetic surgery, but instead he was stuck giving his soul out to save people, people who had nowhere else to go and really should have been seeing someone better because fuck it, he wasn't so prideful that he couldn't say there were people better than him. Somehow always falling further from grace. Spent hours trying to save that kid, desperate to have him pull through. Had all his best come together. Put all his efforts in.

Not that it fucking mattered anyway.

And really, those two should have known. As soon as he came out of the theatre, as soon as his bloody scrubs and trembling hands came into view, as soon as he started crying, not three feet away, and how pathetic was that? He didn't even know the kid. His parents, now they had every right to cry. They had every right to scream or sob or hit him or sue or something other than that fucking look, that disgustingly sympathetic look that made him want to shrivel up and die right there.

Then again, perhaps parents were understanding like that. Chase had two of his own, right? What would he do in their shoes? Some sick part of him really wanted to know. He'd never hurt them, god no, but the curiosity remained.

What kind of Doctor was he?

The title felt like a slap in the face. Henrik set his bottle down, a touch more agressively than he planned to. What was left of the whiskey sloshed about, foaming up and creating small bubbles. It was mesmerizing, in the way that anything half-interesting often is to people very much under the influence. Maybe he could've written a paper on it, if he hadn't made that stupid promise to Daniel, hadn't boldly sworn off academic papers once his dissertation was turned in. Not that he would have minded. Dead men are never too strict on keeping their word. But Henrik couldn't let it go. Whatever...noble version of himself that had once existed wouldn't let it go.

“Welp, here we are…” Chase stood outside the door, trying to open the door without letting go. Eventually, Henrik took over, fumbling with the doorknob a little. “Ta-da.”

Giggling, Chase led him in and set Henrik down on his bed before laying down himself. “Nightmare repellant Chase Brody, at your service. Go to sleep, dumb-dumb.” He didn’t even let Henrik protest, clearly in full dad mode. And the egos had learned, one by one, that Chase Brody was not to be messed with in dad mode. The doctor nodded weakly and lay down, letting himself be covered up and having to watch as his room was tidied around him, all traces of his work hidden away. Seemed like Chase knew him too well. If even a sign of his work remained, it would distract him. Bring memories back.

“Chase-”

“I know. I’m staying.”

Henrik smiled gratefully, wrapping himself up in the duvet, and couldn’t even tell if Chase kept his promise. But then again, he didn’t need to. He knew Chase would stay.

Honestly, if he had the option he'd go back to medical school in a heartbeat. The person he was then was a better man than he could ever hope to be now-

“Hen?”

He sat back in his seat and let his head drop. “Vhat are you doing here?”

Chase slid into the seat next to him, an unreadable look on his face. “I got worried. Drinking alone isn't a good idea.”

“Speaking from experience zhere?”

“And because I care.”

Henrik snorted, bitterness getting the better of him. “Vith all due respect, I vould prefer to be alone.”

“I know, but I just…” Chase cut himself off with a sigh. “I don't think you should be by yourself right now.”

Again Henrik snorted. “Vhat is zhis, an AA meeting? 'Drinking alone is zhe sign of a problem’- no shit?” He would have gone on, but the sight of Chase's hurt expression in the corner of his eye was too much.

“...I just worry about you.”

“I-I know. Zhat vas uncalled for. Sorry.”

That sent Chase's eyebrows up his face. “Huh. You're scary when you take a knee.”

Henrik actually burst into giggles, though they slowly progressed from genuine to bitter. “I can be scary as often as I vish. I choose not to. If nothing else, to keep you all happy.”

“Uh...right. You're kinda scaring me a little now, actually… But not like...being crazy and stuff. More, like...worried? How much have you had already?”

“Zhat is ze first bottle.”

Chase let out a relieved sigh. “Kay, let's get you to bed then. If you even think about arguing, I'll get Jackie to carry you.”

“...Fine.” Reluctantly, Henrik pushed himself up to stand, almost automatically grabbing onto Chase to steady himself.

“Hey, I gotcha. It's gonna be okay. We can talk in the morning, okay? C'mon, let's get you in bed…”

He continued reassuring Henrik all the way to the doctor's room, one arm around him and the other resting against his chest, basically hugging him as they slowly made their way along. Ever so often, Chase would crack a small joke, and Henrik would chuckle quietly, and it seemed like the bitter feelings had faded. They hadn't, but it still felt nice to put them aside for a while.

[a-roomba]

No Homo

As usual, when Felix and Sean were having an adventure, they could be heard from fifty miles away. Sean screeched as he wildly swung around his already battered iron sword, hoping that with enough flailing he might actually hit the enderman that was tormenting him. While Felix would love to help, after the accidental haircut he'd given the other while trying to help him with a zombie problem, they had both agreed that maybe they should hold off on too much co-operation. Speaking of which…

"Hey Sean? How were you actually gonna cut your hair? I swear, if you try and use the frickin’ stonecutter again-”

“I wasn’t actually gonna!” Sean yelped and scrambled back as a black arm swung towards him, barely getting out of the way. “I was joking! You think I’d chop off this majestic Gaelic Gladiator bun? That’s how you lose!”

Felix giggled into his gloved hand. “Is that why you kept getting blown up by creepers?”

Sean turned to give him a deadpan look, right as the enderman teleported between them, and Felix barely managed to leaned back before a sword was sweeping past his head. The enderman vanished in a puff of smoke with a cheer from Sean. His cheering continued for a while. At least until Felix quietly mentioned that it never actually dropped an ender pearl. “Oh, come on! I earned that! You saw! It was a battle for the ages!”

“Sure thing, dude. Come on, let’s just go sleep already.”

Despite the grumbling, they had a rather pleasant journey back home. As a bonus, Sean had tired himself out, and by the time they finally saw the familiar pyramid in the distance, he was leaning against his taller friend and barely mumbling his words, trying to nuzzle Felix with no regard for his huge iron helmet.

"Come on, you sleepy dork. At least get to bed first."

"Felix is comfy thoughhhhh…" Sean grumbled, trying to hug and walk at the same time. It wasn't working, but that never stopped him. In his mind, Felix meant comfy, and comfy meant good. Always comfy. There was that smell that he was always getting from his friend, earth and metal and sweat and whoa there Sean.

What. The fuck. Since when was he enjoying Felix’s smell? They shared a bed, built together every day, and Sean had never even noticed it. But the second it actually processed, the thought stuck in his head. It didn't exactly help that he was so close all of a sudden. If he pulled away now it would be obvious. Sean had never been shy about touching (who was going to judge, the zombies?), so suddenly pulling away would be weird.

“Let’s get you in bed. I know something’s wrong when you go quiet,” Felix joked. "If you keep this up, I might actually sleep tonight."

"Screw you, dude."

"You wish."

They broke out in giggles that lasted the rest of the journey home, and even as Sean wriggled out of his armour, Felix wolf-whistled in a way that had him snorting. "Quit doing that! The dogs are gonna freak out if you keep whistling." He shook his head and tossed the last boot over into the heap on his side of the bed before flopping down. "Goodnight Fe."

"Hey Jack?"

Confused blues turned to Felix as he lay down.

"No homo."

[a-roomba]

Highway

Jean stood on the side of the road at three in the morning for the third time that week, filling his lungs with acrid smoke. They weren't his cigarettes, he'd just taken them from Matt, and the mix of spices laced through each one burned horribly as he inhaled again. Fucking foreign cigarettes. Turkish, if he remembered correctly. Matt always complained if he had to smoke something else, something about the smell, so there were at least two boxes stashed in his car, full of individual cartons. He wouldn't miss one. Or two. Or five. The burn was just...so good.

It was no secret that Jean didn't mind a little pain. Just enough to be grounding. Enough to pull him back, stop him going on autopilot or forgetting to eat again, because despite the looks Matt always gave him when he said he wasn't hungry, or when he just kept eating snacks and refusing anything bigger, it was an honest mistake, for fuck's sake, and finding him on the floor that one time didn't prove anything, so he just wished the pair of them wouldn't look at him like that, wouldn't slide him food that they had already paid for because apparently he was a fucking child that needed their babysitting (if he was honest with himself, he didn't mind being looked after as much as he said he did, because sometimes he just had no idea what he was doing, and it was nice to have someone more or less tell him what to do).

Obviously he had...other ways to ground himself, but Matt was asleep in the front seat, snoring softly, and nobody else was around right now. So, cigarettes. Matt probably knew he was taking them; those things had a very distinct smell of cinnamon and sweet herbs that wasn't easily mistaken. It was a scent he loved, even looked for when it was briefly buried under a salty tang of sweat as the older man cursed and writhed under his hands or his mouth. It was a scent that at least told him he could make a thousand terrible references, and still get a genuine giggle. It was distinctly Matthew, somehow, refined and unique and a little out of his league. Okay, a lot. But Matt didn't seem to care, and for that, Jean was infinitely grateful. Because even when he was leaning a little on Matt, watching some dumb anime (Matt hated most of them, but he watched them anyway), and he had a gentle hand combing through his blond hair, it still felt like he didn't belong there. But Matt didn't seem to care. And when the thoughts seemed to mount up, he just squeezed Jean lightly until they vanished again.

He always seemed to know what was going on. There was always still that unspoken barrier though, a silent yet mutual agreement that things stayed as they were. Matt would continue to flirt with danger every time he left the damn house, Jean would continue to dance around the issue long after everyone else stopped caring. A fragile arrangement that they weren't going anywhere else. Refreshingly stagnant. Constant. And he didn't want it to be different, since despite the way his heart reacted to Matt's little gestures of kindness, he knew that it wasn't specifically Matthew that he loved. Maybe it was the idea of him? That was something people said. He liked the comfort and the direction and the reliability. Anyone who could give that to him became some kind of deity in his eyes.

Because somehow everything was always shifting and yet he was going fucking nowhere and it had been so long he really didn't know what else to do. Jean wasn't the one who led. He was the one who was shoved into a wall, or had people buying drinks for him, planning his whole life around that week's rota. What even came after...whatever the fuck he and Matt were? How was he supposed to work it? None of it made any sense. Maybe that was the kind of thing parents taught you, but his hadn't been too concerned about that kind of thing. One was off fucking anybody with an alluringly full wallet, the other was probably dead or on his way to it. If not, he better have a good excuse for fucking Jean over like that.

But thinking about that never got him anywhere. Ultimately, he ended up running in circles, looking for answers without actively wanting them. A tiny part of his head refused to let go of the idea that he didn't want them for a reason. That maybe he liked playing the victim, being the most pitiful human being in any given room, drinking in the furtive glances when people thought they were being subtle. People were shitty like that. Jean was shitty like that. But that wasn't something easily solved, because people were just like that, right? Everyone was some kind of shitty, on various levels, and the people who said they weren't were the worst.

Jean resolutely ignored the fact that he frequently said so himself. It doesn't count if you don't mean it.

Funnily enough, it was pain that briefly pulled him from his own head. The cigarette had burned down to his fingers, and he dropped it with a hiss of pain, jamming his burned fingers into his mouth before quickly spitting them back out. They tasted like smoke, all the toxic and disgusting with none of the spice. Like him. Ha ha...

He wanted to be angry. He really did. Sometimes he wanted nothing more than to have someone to scream at, even toyed with ideas of yelling at the people just trying to help him (for what? For not giving him enough? For not putting up with enough? They were totally within their rights to dump him and save themselves so much time, so much money, so much effort), but he could never find that flame, that anger, in himself. It had never been there. God knows he'd looked- started meaningless fights and mopped up ridiculous amounts of blood trying to find a tiny spark of rage. But it just wasn't there. Never had been.

He just felt...well, it wasn't exactly clear what he felt, but there was an awful lot of it, and it filled him so much that there was no room for anything else. Sometimes he felt like some of the derelict buildings he liked to paint on. Empty, out of place among projects and complete buildings that were all doing exactly what they were meant to, and just continuing to...exist, while nobody could bring themselves to admit that maybe things would be better if it was knocked down, since all it did was sit there and...exist while there could be interesting new things in its place, actually making something of themselves and being useful instead of just existing-

Shit, when had he started crying? Carefully, gently, Jean wiped them away with his sleeve. Pressing was tempting, but it would make his eyes red. And if someone did see him, he would honestly rather just be able to force out a laugh and say he'd poked himself in the eye. Even though just the thought of laughing made him throw up a little in his mouth. Or maybe that was the smoke.

Eventually, he had to look at himself, just turning on his phone camera rather than go back to the car, even though he knew there was a handheld mirror in there somewhere. Less walking was always good. Optimal for not being sick. God his head hurt. And he looked as wonderful as he felt. No one thing stood out, or seemed out of place, so it was almost as if the misery was shining through his face in barely visible tells that he picked out through the sickly flashlight glow. His eye always twitched a little after he cried. No helping it. Blame it on being tired.

So

fucking

tired.

Everything tired him out now, from getting up to just being around people. Not that he'd ever been a fan of crowds. Always with eyes on him. Realistically, he was one hundred percent aware that none of the people around him actually gave a shit if he bounced his leg too fast or bit his cuffs while thinking, but it didn't stop him whipping his head around as he did it, like a criminal about to be caught in the act. Which was almost funny, considering he could get busted for far worse than being annoying. Thinking like that tired him too. He could take that logic in circles for hours, reasonable ideas quickly drowned out by wave after wave of meaningless junk. Stupid shit that only his stupid brain could throw out. Waves that pushed him very close to an edge he really hated, one that he was terrified of falling from. He'd always hated heights.

And he didn't want to fall, didn't want to be this close to the line. Jean didn't know how long it had been drawing closer, didn't know what happened if he fell, but he knew the line was getting too close.

In truth, the line was many lines. Lines because he was unwanted and lines because he was useless and lines because he knew all of it, but never did anything and lines because he was too tall, he knew it freaked people out, and lines because he wanted everything to be over so badly but he was scared at the mere thought of it so what the fuck was he supposed to do, what did people want, why wouldn't anybody give him a straight answer, because he sure as shit couldn't figure it out!

But he wasn't there just yet. So he calmed himself down. Turned off his camera, then his flashlight. Went through everything in a slow process, like it was his life goal just to make himself function. Each step was an accomplishment. That was how he had to see it. That was how he got through. And it was how he put himself back together, piece by agonizing piece.

Until he could go back to the car. The cigarettes were empty anyway.

[a-roomba]

Addiction

All under the read more since this one may be triggering

“Felix, it hurts again…” Sean sniffled and held out one shaking hand, already anticipating the fistful of pills he would be handed just for saying those words. So many medicines. He needed Felix to administer them.

Sean hated being sick.

Hated relying so heavily on Felix. Already he’d had to ask his boyfriend to do so much for him, driving around with old prescriptions to find another pharmacy that would take them, paying out for more and more pills, taking another job to pay for everything while he lay in bed like dead weight. Either he was dead to the world with the sweet numbness brought by his pills, or he was whimpering and crying in pain without them. Stupid illness.

For all he knew, the next time Felix went on a medicine run, he might not come home. Since Sean had begged in a rare lucid moment to go unmentioned unless someone specifically asked, he wondered if he would be stuck in bed forever. Had he spoken to Mark recently? Probably not. The last three weeks had been something of a blur. Melting days, all mixing together.

“Sean, we don’t have any more.”

“What? No, no, no! No, Felix, please!”

“It’s not good for you anyway! The bottles say two a day, and you’re going through ten times that! I’m worried about you! You take that stuff, and- and it’s like you’re not even there! You just sit there like a dead body! I can’t even talk to you!”

“Felix just give me the fucking pills!”

“I don’t want you to die!”

A heavy silence settled over the pair of them, and Sean could feel the way it pressed down on his shoulders. He didn’t want to look up. Those shaky breaths were uncomfortably familiar to both of them, the sound of stifled sobs trying to break free. Sean knew that Felix went downstairs to cry. It was only on the bad days that Felix ended up crying in the upstairs ensuite bathroom, the days when Sean would writhe and scream until he could choke down sleeping meds, when he saw the way his boyfriend collapsed onto the carpet. Sometimes Felix was cleaned up before he woke up. Sometimes he could still hear harsh sobs through the door.

“...Felix, I can’t talk like this. Just give me the pills. Please.”

Felix looked like he wanted to scream in frustration. “When are we gonna talk?! You melt your fucking brain with this shit, so I can’t talk to you then! What, you gonna put me off forever? Or just until you start puking blood again, and you’ll change your fucking mind the second we get home? What if you don’t come out the hospital? What if I leave on a fight, and I get caught, and then I never get to talk to you again and I left you on a fight and then I can’t say sorry because you’re too sick or you’re in some kind of coma or-”

Sean weakly reached for his hand, smiling softly. “Please. Just give me the pills, Felix.”

[a-roomba]

24. "You were gone... I saw you disappear." ~

"H-How? You...you were gone...I saw you disappear. I saw you die!"

Wilford found himself crying, even before the entity had gotten close. Before Damien had gotten close. How...how was he here?

The memories flooding back weren't helping on the crying part. "Damien, answer me! You owe me an answer! How the hell are you here?" Anger was an easy way to cover his real feelings, or at least to feel a little less pathetic, breaking down in front of his old friend. A friend who still wasn't saying anything.

As Wilford's demands broke down into soft sobs, a pair of familiar arms wrapped gently around him. They were cold. But they were still Damien's, and that knowledge made him content to keep crying into his chest, resolutely ignoring the lack of a heartbeat.

[a-roomba]

4 👀👀👀👀👀👀👀

(I had to use your cat son~)

Prompt: "Who told you you weren't good enough?"

Marvin sniffled a little into his pillow, cards scattered on the floor along with various magic supplies, discarded when the magician had scurried into his room. That show was an absolute disaster. He just wanted to make his show the best it had ever been, and make that kid's birthday great! But nothing had worked out like that. For some reason, he was so dang nervous! None of the tricks went off right. He was so dang nervous that it even showed to the kids, those poor little things.

Easily the worst part was seeing all the parents afterwards. He'd offered the mother a refund, since he felt bad taking money for...that. Regardless, she insisted that he take some, and even insisted that he have some pizza and flat soda. It made him feel better and worse, in a way.

A soft knock came from the other side of his bedroom door. "Hey kid. You in there?"

Marvin sat up, frowning at the door. "Yeah?"

A head poked into the door frame. Chase's head, specifically. "You wanna come join us in the living room? We set up Harry Potter for ya."

A little giggle escaped Marvin as he slipped off the bed. Family time sounded great. "Depends. Have you got snacks?"

"Yeah. You seem down, so we got you stuff. Usually you feel good after shows. Who told you you weren't good enough...?"

Marvin slung his arm around Chase as they made their way to the others, sighing. "Let's not talk about that just yet."

[a-roomba]

Prompt from @pixelpolaroid

"Hey, don't pass out on me yet, okay?" Anti grabbed onto the shoulder of his currently unmoving brother, shaking him slightly while looking for a sign of life. "Stupid hero idiot...Get your ass up, now!"

Jackie gave a soft groan as his eyes fluttered open. "Whu…'nti?" The blood running down the side of his forehead was more than a little concerning. Some scum hadn't taken too kindly to the hero jumping into the middle of their attempted store break-in, and cracked him over the head with a pipe. At least, that was more or less how he'd put it over the phone, when he'd called the only person he thought could be awake. Anti.

Honestly, he was surprised the glitch hadn't just put the phone down when he didn't start talking right away. More surprising was the way Anti had immediately glitched to him. And now he was shaking him more...And saying something?

"Can't glitch you...Fuck. I'm gonna have to carry you, okay? You weigh a fuckin ton, so help me out." A breathy giggle escaped Jackie, but he did his best to stand up, leaning on Anti's shoulder for support.

"Great. Okay. Let's get home."