#At least I know how to do it manually - I can do almost anything given enough time and passion >:3c

[sysig]

Alright, speed drawing time

[perplexingluciddreams]

A “brief” overview of my communication journey:

My verbal communication was always limited to echolalia and scripts (by scripts, I mean pieces of different echolalia that I stuck together to create a new phrase, or longer several-sentence delayed echolalia. But I didn’t learn to do this until I was at least 9 years old). I also had very limited control over what my mouth said - I would regularly hear my mouth say something I completely disagreed with, then had to watch in panic and confusion as the people around me reacted as if it was something I actually thought.

I used to request things that I didn't even want. "I want..." statements were banned in my house because they were "rude". “I want never gets!” I had stuck as a script for the longest time, even involuntarily saying it when other children said an “I want…” phrase.

I was given examples of how to request things by my parents. I used "I would like...", "Can I have... please", etc. But this didn't give me a reliable way to ask for what I wanted - I could only ask for things I had a script for. So I was limited to a handful of foods and objects that as I grew older, I had less and less interest in.

Saying "please" and "thank you" was drilled into me so much that I would often say it at the end of other unrelated scripts because it got "stuck" there by my mouth, without my permission. I got laughed at for this a lot.

I would say "yes" when I meant no, I couldn't reject things because I didn't have a script for saying "no". And I had been told to be polite so many times that it was a concrete rule in my mind - breaking a rule was worse than anything else. Saying "no" was rude, according to the adults around me - if another child said "no" to something, they were told off by a teacher or their parent. I didn't understand tone of voice so I thought it was the thing they were saying that was wrong.

As I got older, and became more aware that other people seemed to have more control over their voices and could say what they wanted (my general awareness of people and my surroundings definitely played into my struggles with communication, but I won’t elaborate on that here) I would sometimes sit in my bedroom and attempt to read aloud from a book, or write a sentence and read it aloud. To my confusion and upset, it would come out garbled with sounds mixed up, words missing, sometimes no sound coming out of my mouth at all. I couldn't make intelligible speech with my own words AT ALL.

I managed to teach myself to manually make some sounds, mostly vowel sounds, by moving my tongue around whilst making sounds with my vocal cords. But clearly this was not enough for using spontaneous speech as communication. Not to mention, any time I even considered trying to get my OWN words out (with speech, writing - even drawing pictures, signs), all words and scripts I knew just disappeared from my mind.

The only time I could even slightly get my emotions out was through movement - I used to throw myself backwards onto my bed repeatedly, bang my head with my hand, pull my hair, spin around in circles. I now know these would be called "stimming", but at the time I used it more for expressing myself. I also had other repetitive movements that I did almost constantly without even realising what I was doing, but I considered the expressive movement to be a different thing entirely at the time.

It took me years to get my own words out, and that was only once I managed to break down (spoken AND written, and both connected) language into individual words and learn the meanings, then learn to build it back up again. (And, this could only happen after I’d lost most of my out-of-control scripted speech. AAC with symbols helped me break down language in this way, because each word has a separate button and I was forced to learn to form sentences without an already-there structure to fall back on).

In order to do this, first I must take the long string of noises, and break it down into words. Then I must take those words and process the meaning of them individually. The biggest challenge, and the thing that takes the most time, is building the sentence back up.

Words often change meaning when they're strung together, and this is the part where that meaning tends to disintegrate into nothing, for me.

I have to build an abstract "picture" of what the words mean in my head. With very complex language, or a lot of language at once, this can take me hours, days, or even weeks.

Written language is a lot easier to process - firstly, the "string of noises" part is completely eliminated from the equation. Secondly, I see written words as entire shapes. Shapes, symbols or signs connect much more strongly to their meaning, in my head.

I learned to write by hand before I could type, because writing by hand is just copying the shape of a word. I hadn't yet learned to break down a word into it's individual characters and sequence them in the right order, not to mention finding the letters on the keyboard. My spelling has always been fantastic because of my tactile memory for words - and I say tactile instead of visual, because I don't "see" anything in my head, but the shapes of words are something solid that I feel I can touch, hold, grab on to.

But typing was a completely different thing, because even though I could recognise and read words in a typed print, it took longer for me to understand how to put letters together in the correct order to create words using a keyboard. The motor plan for typing was much more difficult for me to learn, but now I have that skill it's invaluable to me in terms of communication.

It took me a little while longer to realise that a keyboard gave me the opportunity to use my own words from my own mind, rather than whatever my mouth (or brain, when writing - I had different written scripts than verbal scripts, though, usually from books) happened to blurt out without my control.

I learned to read very early, but my understanding of language was actually quite poor - separately I could recognise the definition of one word, but when many words are put together I didn't understand the meaning of that sentence or paragraph.

The feeling of being able to put my own thoughts into written words like this, and read them back, is such a rush of power. I can have a concrete, physical impact on the world now that I can use a keyboard and get all the things in my head out there. It becomes real as soon as it's outside of me.

I remember that "comprehension" (answering questions on a written passage - we learned to answer the questions in a certain way, with a “blueprint”) in school really helped me with the breaking down of sentences and rephrasing them. Even though at the time, it just felt like it added to my out-of-control scripted speech, it gave me a skill that has been incredibly useful to me in the long term.

Getting to this point, where I can express myself fluently and eloquently through written language, took so much time and work, and still takes all my energy to write something as long as this. I am so grateful for the genuine communication I have now. It took many sessions, over months, to write this in its entirety. I wrote it in separate chunks, all trying to express similar things, then fitted them together and altered some sentences to make it flow better. (Of course with lots of editing to fix my grammar and my tendency to repeat the same sentence structure over and over - I still use my “blueprints” while writing, it’s the only way I can form complex long sentences like this one).

In order to communicate a memory or past experience in words, I had to have been actively translating (or attempting to translate) my abstract thoughts into language at the time.

If I wasn't or couldn't do this at the time it was happening, those experiences, thoughts, emotions, etc. are almost impossible to describe in language now.

And translating my brain takes so much energy and effort, and relies on me being able to understand what is happening and what I'm thinking and feeling. I more often than not don't comprehend my own mind - if this is the case, then of course I can't explain it to someone else.

It still takes so much time, effort and energy to get my thoughts out like this, and I’m very proud of the progress I’ve made. Even just learning to use Tumblr and posting on here as regularly as I can manage (plus reading other people’s words about similar experiences, or even very different experiences), has increased my ability to express myself and the vocabulary I’m able to access.

[amity206]

Random Elder Headcanons

Thinking about the Sky elders and what they would have been like when they were fully alive (I use he/him for Daleth and she/her for Teth based on things the devs have said when talking about them but given the elders canonically don’t have biological genders I just go with some of them decided to use gendered pronouns while others didn’t - everyone is free to their own interpretation of the lore)

Daleth / Isle Elder

Likes solving puzzles

Stargazes and knows the constellations by memory (as the guide / ferryman elder I imagine he would be skilled in navigating by stars)

Takes a really long time to make decisions but usually makes good ones

Very supportive (concept stuff compared him to a kindergarten teacher), knows how to talk to kids (though he can sometimes get overwhelmed by the noise he’s super good with children)

Actually very skilled in both combat and magic. In his old age he’s getting weaker but he can definitely still kick ass

History geek

Blames himself for the King’s corruption. He thinks he could have prevented it, that he didn’t do enough. He still loves the King like a grandchild and wants to make sure he’s okay.

Ayin / Prairie Elder

Really good at cooking, even though the Elders probably had staff to cook for them

Loves baby mantas (baby light creatures of all kinds really)

Likes to make miniature models of things. would really enjoy those several thousand piece Lego sets if spirits had legos

Vegetarian

super patient. Almost never mad. Absolutely terrifying when they do get mad

Listens to everyone’s opinions on things, very thoughtful

Gives the best hugs

Very hard worker, incredibly strong. The kind of person who does not procrastinate

its canon that they snore loudly

Very sad over how the light creatures were drained under their watch, filled with guilt about it. Wishes they could have found another way that didn’t involve trapping the King in Eden.

Teth / Forest Elder

Could be bossy or stern sometimes, but actually cares very much about the people around her

She will snap at you for annoyances like handing her a shipment of improperly prepared darkstone. Everyone around her deeply respects her though

Introvert at heart, secretly enjoys cheesy romance novels as well as like. Business / mining manuals

Originally called the shaman ancestor so probably had a deeper connection to Megabird, at least at first

Nothing scares her (at least, that’s what she says)

Inner turmoil about her role in the Fall - knowing she played an instrumental role in the Kingdom’s downfall, but also unwilling to place the blame on herself. Despises the former King

Samekh / Valley Elders

Very focused on maintaining their public image and being seen as great by the Kingdom

Sibling Banter™️ with constantly trying to out-perform each other. Despite this in the face of a threat they fight almost as if they were the same person… or used to be

Former bodyguards of the King, watched him become corrupted. As the youngest Elders they looked up to the King more and didn’t know what to do

Liked to throw massive parties/spectacles

Because of this and their playful/occasionally flirtatious streak, some regarded them as more shallow and less intelligent than the rest of the Elders. Sah and Mek were actually geniuses, though prone to making impulse decisions

they judge you by how well you perform in the races / other tests laid out by them. Very dismissive of those who don’t do well.

Because of the “maintaining public image” thing, even in a dead Kingdom they don’t want to let anything be known about the extent they had to do with the corruption

Tsadi / Wasteland Elder

Got seriously corrupted by darkstone like they did in concept art. Used to be super in control of their emotions, as the corruption took hold they became more short-tempered and angry

Long-term planner, very good at military strategy and also strategy games like the Sky version of chess. Has an amazing poker face. (Ignore that the spirits wear masks okay)

Really needs someone to talk to, finds it hard to open up but has a lot to get off their chest- loss, regret, pain, things they could have done better, people they could have saved. Before the Storm they used to talk to Ayin, but now they can’t anymore

Doesnt talk much. Enjoys the company of Teth because they’re both introverts and Teth also likes strategy games.

Wanted to be seen as a hero, not a monster. Thought they were fighting for the good of the Kingdom

Enjoys books on military history and strategy

Cares a lot about people, bad at expressing it

Feels like the King used them as a weapon, incredibly angry about that

Lamed / Vault Elder

The kind of person who will silently judge you instead of confronting you about something

Always uses inside voice

Knows so many things. Passion is searching for obscure and forgotten history

Doesnt get involved in other people’s drama, would serve as a mediator in debates between Elders. Has never needed to raise their voice because a stern look is enough to get everyone to shut up. No one wants to see them get mad.

Fluent in sign language and several ancient languages

Good friends with Daleth, they have tea and share stories

MASTER at strategy games, better in many of them than Tsadi. Sharp-witted too, good at the occasional pun and knows if you’re hiding something/lying

Feels bad for skykids. Doesn’t know how to tell them they were basically created to die, so does their best to prepare them for the storm instead

[knockyasocksoff2022]

☾🐈‍⬛Where Black & White Make Red🥀☽

☾The Deal☽

☾1,316 Words☽

"Did no one ever tell you, Jinko, that on certain moonlit nights in this city, black, white, and red become one and the same?"

☽☾

In the chaos the Armed Detectives Agency has almost forgotten the deal they made with Mori . . . almost. And just before they do, mori comes to collect his debt.

Who will be chosen to lead the rest of their life as a mafioso?

Everyone knew it was coming, looming like distant rain clouds on a sunny day. But, for now, at least, they'd put it all out of their minds.

Today, however, on a miserably stormy day, the president has an announcement.

"Ahem, may I have everyone's attention?"

Affirmations echo around the office. The detectives think it's sweet how despite having their utmost respect the President still asks kindly for their attention.

"I want you all to listen very carefully. You can most likely sense from my tone that the news I bear is not good. At noon today, Mori-dono will be paying us a visit to inform us of which one of you he's selected for a position in the mafia."

Each member reacts differently, but the underlying emotion is all the same: shock.

Everyone thinks some version of the same thought: "I thought we'd have a little more time!"

Kunikida steels himself, stepping a bit in front of Atsushi. Yosano pulls Ranpo closer. Kenji finds Kyouka's hand and grips it tightly. The Tanizaki's cower in the corner. Dazai stares off into space, eyes fixed on Yokohama's five tallest buildings visible from the window.

"Nobody's taking my Junichi away!" Naomi declares, crushing her brother in a suffocating hug.

"Ahh, Naomi . . . l-let me go . . . please!" Junichiroiu whimpers.

The president's face turns hard, determination in every wrinkle, like a lone tugboat readying to face a Typhoon. The old wooden boat that could, the years only having made its planks sturdier, ready to take the waves without so much as a grimace, an immovable object preparing to meet an unstoppable force. 

"Mori-dono has given me no indication of who he's going to pick. It may very well be Junichirou or any of us besides Yosano-san, so please prepare yourselves. Say anything you feel you need to. Once you've been selected, you will immediately pack up your things and head with him to the mafia headquarters. You are to waste no time with your departure." 

The President's face turns sad. Well, not exactly sad, it's more than that, deeper, mournful, longing. "Once picked by Mori-dono you will be an official member of the mafia." He says this as if he cannot bring himself to say 'You will cease to be a member of this agency.' "and as per the rules of this agency, we cannot have mafia members on the premises unless for a prearranged meeting of absolute necessity. So with that in mind, I suggest that all of you start clearing out your desks of any personal items you would wish to bring with you. There is no need to prolong the process. Haruno-san will hand out boxes."

Haruno obeys, passing out cardboard boxes, and with heavy hearts, every agency member save for Yosano gathers their trinkets and places them inside. Only Dazai, who has nothing but his precious suicide manual which he always carries on his person, stands at the window, still looking out at what could be any of their future workplaces.

— 30 Minutes Later —

None of the detectives have gotten much done. Most of them have either mumbled quietly to their deskmates or looked thoughtfully at their effects. 

With his small personal shrine, Kenji prays for Mori not to pick Kyouka or Atsushi. He isn't naive. He knows someone must go, but not someone who only recently found a home in the agency. He prays for whoever does get chosen to have an okay time.

Kunikida writes his thoughts silently down in his notebook.

Yosano lets Ranpo sit in her lap, twiddling a ramune marble, whilst she sorts the infirmary supplies. She feels almost sick in her safety with the boy who showed her the light on her lap. 

'As much as I never want to be in the clutches of that . . . man (if I can even call him human) . . . if he picked Ranpo . . . I . . . I might go then, just to ensure that Ranpo can always stay in the light.'

Kyouka polishes her katana and dagger.

The Tanizaki siblings are locked in an embrace.

Atsushi tries his best to ignore the growing panic, aimlessly twirling the rows and columns of a Rubik's cube.

And Dazai just stares.

-

Not a second late, Mori arrives, Elise his only company. There are no guards and the single sleek black sedan cuts through the foggy morning like a wraith, a clear sign of who has the advantage and it sends shivers down the spines of the detectives.

"Well, we ought to give our guests a proper welcome," Kenji says, trying to cheer his coworkers, but sounding more desolate than anyone has ever heard him. 

The president sighs, "We may as well, but I will be the one to do it." He walks silently out of the office and down the stairs to the front door, having agreed only because it felt wrong to let Mori just let himself inside. 

"Fukuzawa-dono."

"Mori-dono."

The two men bow to each other, nodding affirmatively but exchanging no more words as the president leads the mafia boss into the quaint office.

-

Mori seems to be a black hole when inside the walls of the brightly coloured agency building, his boots clicking across the floor with finality, the sound bouncing off the walls and bathing the silent office in mafia black. After a moment of his steps filling the space, the man comes to a stop at the head of the room, back to the President's office.

The detectives hold their breath.

Mori smiles. If they didn't know him, the expression would appear gentle, one of serenity.

Kenji holds Kyouka's hand, steadying her as she shakes at the sight of her former superior. She knows she shouldn't be afraid anymore, and yet here he is, once again holding power over her. She can't help but tremble. This time she has more than herself to think of. Yet she still can't help but pray as hard as she can that it's not her. It makes her sick to her stomach that she wishes this after someone else.

'I should volunteer, and sacrifice myself so that the agency can continue on with its most essential member, it's the least I can do after what I've done. This is what the relatives of the 35 people I killed would want . . . B-but I-I . . . I-I d-don't want to go back to that place and take more lives. I don't want to kill EVER AGAIN!!!'

Kunikida clutches his notebook so hard his knuckles turn white as if the words inside will bring a solution, but for once his pen remains intact.

Yosano glares as hard at the mafia's leader as she can, willing laser beams to shoot from her eyes and explode him, hands itching for her cleaver to hack away at his evil form.

Ranpo is silent, grimacing. He knows who's going to be picked, of course he does. Yet, for once he doesn't shout out the answer in fear that if he does it may suddenly change. He knows that the person picked will be able to survive. If Mori were to choose another, they may lose them for good.

Junichirou stands, ready to fight, in front of his sister who curls around him with an expression of mock fear. 

"Protect me, Junichi-sama," she whispers, sounding almost aroused at her brother's sudden possessiveness. "It's alright, I won't let them separate us. Wherever I go, you go. Don't worry. You can do it."

Atsushi fights the urge to hide behind Kunikida, instead standing in front of Kyouka and Kenji.

Dazai just stares and stares and stares, brown eyes appearing to have suddenly lost all colour as they stare through Mori's very soul.

Mori's smile grows, and twists until the pressure in the room is nearly unbearable, like the deepest depths of the sea. The water swells up around you and before you know it, you can't breathe.

"Thank you for allowing me to visit today, armed detective agency. The person I have selected to join the Port Mafia is . . . "

[triumphantfury]

Hi!!! Just dropping by because I was missing your fics so I reread them and now I have to tell you how much I love you. I love you a lot, by the way. Like literally every time I read a chapter of yours I love you more because GAH the writing is so damn good. Ahem anyways thank you so much for the update on Wrapped in Red and I still have to fan myself every time I look at Upside, but I've been thinking the most about "To Suffer a Witch." I don't mean to put any pressure on you or anything but may I inquire on the next chapter's status? Or perhaps just request a snippet? Also when you asked the readers whether or not they'd like an eventual lemon I'd like to vote yes to the lemon. Please. Possibly-Demon Hiccup is hot as hell and I'm greedy. 😅

Thank you so much for sharing your wonderful writing with us and I hope you have a wonderful day, week, and at least a virtual cabin in the woods where you can relax, read, and at least think on writing!

Oh boy….

It’s taken me forever to get around to answering this ask, but as the new chapter update is almost complete (after way, WAY too many rewrites), I feel like I can finally post this reply with some measure of confidence. Sorry it’s taken so long. I wish I had a good excuse, but my brain sometimes just shuts me out.

Anyway, after much anticipation, and likely a little cursing, here’s an excerpt from the soon to be posted next chapter of TSaW:

*The next couple days seemed to drag by for Astrid. She felt trapped between a longing to see Hiccup again just to prove she wasn’t mad, and a strong urge to just write it all off as a delusion. Perhaps one brought on by some bad grain or curdled milk. Countless times she’d been sure she heard hoofbeats outside, only to have them grow into a roll of thunder the next second. Or she’d catch a glimpse of a dark shadow approaching on the road, only to have it melt from her sight a moment later as if swept away by the driving rain.

Some small part of her was starting to worry she was actually going mad. Her mood darkening as she channeled her other feelings into straight anger so as to help herself deal with it better. It wasn’t as if she could really speak of it to anyone, anyway. She was still too confused about it herself.

Resigned to bear this burden alone, Astrid had kept to herself as much as possible while trapped inside. Waiting impatiently for a break in the weather when she could distract herself with repairs outside instead. The Lord knows there was always plenty of work to keep her busy. That, and manual labour was better than wasting time dwelling on… Whatever it was that had occurred here the other night.

Fortunately - or maybe unfortunately - she’d soon discovered that the storm hadn’t done anywhere near as much damage as she’d expected given its ferocity. The house, shed, and barn had all weathered fair enough at least. An old tree had toppled near the back of the pasture though. She’d gone out to repair the section of broken fencing yesterday. Her brothers helping her as much as she would allow them to - which mostly meant keeping the opportunistic goats from escaping through the hole while she worked.

It had been while she was winding the last of the rope around the newly set post that Ruffnut had approached her from across the field. Somehow always keyed in to the local to-dos, Tuffnut had heard from one of their other neighbours that some people had started to fall ill in town. The worst of which was little Argh — Mr. and Mrs. Ack’s youngest son, who was not yet a full year into this world.

“Gunnar thinks it’s because of those witches that Trader Johan was talking about the other day,” Ruff stage-whispered over the fence. Her thumb gesturing towards the home on the far side of Mildew’s plot as she glanced around, as if to make sure no one else was within earshot.

“I’d be rather foolish to agree,” Astrid huffed. “It’s likely just been brought on by the rain. We all know that a chill in the air today sets a chill in the bones tomorrow.” Looking away from her gossipy neighbour, she dressed the knot as her father had taught her before pulling it good and tight. Then she stood and gave her work a proud once over. Nodding, as if to show her approval to the craftsman.

“Maybe…” Ruffnut’s hesitant reply trailed off thoughtfully, and she was chewing on her lip when Astrid at last looked her way again. It was almost as if she had something she wanted to say, but wasn’t sure if she should speak it aloud.

“Go on,” Astrid grumbled. “Whatever it is, spit it out.”

“Well, Gunnar told Tuff that Trader Johan said the evil, or what ever it is, would arrive first in the form of a black shadow on horse back…”

“Trader Johan has always enjoyed adding plenty of dramatic nonsense about ghosties, ghoulies, and other such things to his tales,” Astrid felt the need to point out. “He seems to think it makes the stories more exciting.”

“I know,” Ruff agreed. “Thing is, Tuffnut swears he saw a stranger dressed in all black when he was out in the woods yesterday. A stranger riding atop a huge black horse. When he tried to get a better look, man and horse were already gone. Maybe the horse was just really fast, but… Tuff said it gave him the creeps.” Her eyes were shifting all around again as she leaned closer over the fence, and she looked unexpectedly nervous.

“Oh, that was probably just…” Astrid’s words died on the way to her mouth as she thought better of it.

Astrid knew how Tuff felt. The unease of not being sure exactly what you had just born witness too. This did not mean that she should necessarily encourage him to repeat his tale. Especially when she didn’t yet know what to think of the whole thing.

Would it truly be wise to mention it to someone else? The twins had never been known for their discretion, and Astrid’s words would simply confirm Tuff’s suspicions — which he would then feel required to share with every person he came across. At best, it could cause a slight scandal that a young man had spent the night in their home. At worst, the superstitious townsfolk may think the Hofferson clan had entertained something entirely inhuman, instead.

No, it was best to keep what she knew of Hiccup Haddock to herself for now. Surely the others would learn of him soon enough. “Just… because Tuff was busy snacking on unknown mushrooms in the forest again.” Astrid finished awkwardly. Covering her near slip-up with an eye roll, just to be safe, and hoping Ruffnut wouldn’t notice.*

If anyone wants to read it, here’s a link to the rest of the story. Or at least the beginning…lol

[system-of-a-feather]

Vent-ish, Advice Welcome

But man, being in a relationship with someone who has empathy (possibly hyperempathy) as someone who has almost as low affective empathy as you can get is fucking hard man. Even with good communication and awareness of how one another are in regards to empathy talk, theres just shit that comes with being hyperempathetic and no-empathy that just inherently are hard to match as the opposing polar

Cause when hes bad, he would really like someone who can have and understand that - at least - affective empathy mindset and approach and that is NOT a bad thing about him, nor is it an ableist thing or anything, its fair to want and feel the need for something like that as long as its not taken out or judged as an intentional trait. It's a compatibility and communication issues that, ideally, could be handled by asking exactly what he would like me to say and how he would rather I approach it and just general what he needs from me in those moments - but in practice, he just does not really have that self knowledge and awareness to tell me what he specifically means and needs when he mentions that and so its just left off with a "this is not what I need / want" without any actual productive or constructive criticism

Which I TOTALLY understand and I'm not mad about cause I get it, I get how it is, but much like its fair that he wishes I could provide that, it is fair that I am frustrated that I can't be given more instruction on how to help provide him with what he needs.

And honestly - if I'm being real - I'm getting really frustrated and tired from this at work, but being autistic in a not-autistic environment, being low-empathy in an empathetic world is just EXAUSTING cause there is jsut so much people EXPECT you to just, infer and know about how theyd like to be interacted with and what they 'actually mean' and tend to perceive it as an intentional and personal decision rather than them just not really making their communication clear to those that aren't to the neurotypical standard.

Its just ughhh can someone write a universal manual for the empathy-intact non-autistic mind that universally answers how to navigate every communication situation with them for autistic people (/hj) cause ughhhh I'd LOVE to meet you at your language and communication style and meet your requests for how you would like to be approached in situations but I can't do that without you knowing what you need ughhhhh

I've asked some of my empathy-intact non-autistic friends how to deal with stuff like this and there are thigns like "just listen" and "acknowledge the struggle without giving advice" and what not and sometimes that works and helps but a lot of the time its just like that too comes off as an incorrect dating sim selection and I'm just like ughhhhhh

Why do I keep getting this symbol above heads

Or even worse

[thelador-s-mclargehuge]

EPISODE 2

This one is probably the episode I’m gonna have the least amount to say about. I still hadn't really solidified anything yet. It was still super off the cuff, and still uber amateur hour. But I think it’s a little bit better than the first one. I sorta lock down the flow a lot better in this one. The first bit in particular is really good. And it was a thing that I came up with in, like, the 11th hour that improved the whole thing. I remember needing to pad this bit out a little, I didn’t want to start with him meeting with Cornifer. I wanted him to establish himself a little first. And also it’s kinda funny when quite a bit of the video is me talking to two characters who I also play. Saine locked down the Cornifer voice in this episode. I think this is the first one I directed him in. He gives a real great performance here! Still real proud of the “Yeah money can’t buy happiness, but it can bribe off unhappiness so, yeah it’d help.” line. The dynamic zooms I did here are a little to tiny. This is something I still screw up from time to time. Gotta zoom in quite a bit if there’s only gonna be two cuts! But I always underestimate how much of something I need. Do that shit when I cook too. Just don’t add enough spices sometimes. But I started putting still images over the characters when they’re not talking! Me from two years ago is making little steps forward to give the series a visual style that works!

That’s the thing about these youtube videos that are nice. I can kinda just be really amatureish, screw up a ton, and have people come for the stuff I already know how to do, and just, figure it out as I go along! One of the things I started out thinking was “Is it gonna be a pain in the ass to manually apply a sound filter to every track every time I take damage on screen?” And nowadays that’s the *least* pain in the ass, manual thing I have to do! I can do that shit in less than a minute!

Also all the audio channel stuff whenever hornet shows up before the confrontation, is just me playing around with the sound design of the scene. I will just take any opertunity to do that. I did a deadcells video where I replaced every single sound, with a SSBM sound effect manually, for a joke that lasted 12 seconds. It took like 3-4 hours I just love making the noises go! It makes my brain go brrrr!

Grub Father was the first voice role I ever gave to Flashgen. An absolute shame I haven’t given him more. The dude will come up to be like “So I was thinking about what voice to give the character and I was thinking something like this? Is this good?” And it’ll be the perfect voice and exactly what I’m looking for. Dude never disappoints.

So Zote is very much a “So here’s the obvious bit, how do I make it a little better” kinda character. The obvious bit for zote is the one he is! He’s an obnoxious jackass who’se actually a poor lil meow meow that’s incapable of walking three steps without getting shit on. But will bullshit about being the best and better than you.” What if, instead of bring an asshole, he was passively condescending. What if he *acted* like he was hot shit. And what if he gave convincing performance? That’d almost make him more insufferable. And what if *even still* everyone could see right through him.

So the hornet fight was the first one of these I did. And it’s where I figured a looot of the groundwork for these. Basically I had to be way more dynamic with the camera, hide cuts so I could go forward and back in time, I muted the music and fought her without that, muted the voice sounds (This was a helova first fight because hornet sure does announce her attacks) and I needed to only go in and mute when she said something so you could still hear the attack noises. Then I realized I’d need to manually put in some of those sounds myself because it’s super noticeable when she does an attack and the SFX isn’t there. Whoo boy did this one teach me how to do a looooot of that stuff. And ultimately I’m surprised it came out as good as it did. Especially ‘cus I was on a time crunch with this one. Some of the cuts are a little awkward but still. Like, so much of the fundamentals I do when editing a fight scene I brute forced learning here I’m surprised it has the same flow as the rest of the fight scenes in these videos. Shocking to come back to this one and see how much *did* work.

So, first bit of lore building here. Hornet was a character I already had plans for. She was gonna be the star of the Silksong series. So I already had her pretty characterized as essentially a dumb nerd who didn’t have any friends, spent most of her time alone, talking to herself, and was hyperfocused on combat and combat history. And, thing is, I don’t know all that much about combat history, but I do know about film history! So I just kinda simplified it, replace some names with bug names and was like “Yeah that’s good.” And so that began. I’ve got a very Yes And theory about writing. I’ve always been hugely influenced by The Venture Brothers. The way a lot of that show goes is “Hey we invented this character as a funny joke background character in season two, now it’s season five and their tragic backstory is integral to the plot.” Retcons are boring. Take the thing that was true and make it true in whatever situation. There’s Do not change a character to suit the tone, leave them as they are and have the struggle with the tone. And for gods sake don’t flanderize them. A character grows every second their on screen, and sometimes they outgrow their joke. But it’s okay if they outgrow their joke, the new joke that they’ve grown into is *much funnier because it required that growth*!

And the fighting history stuff I’ll talk more about on episode three because that was then I actually solidified what the story was gonna be.

Also I might get into the dreamers a little bit more there too. But their characters stuck out there. The joke I set up about The Pale King being garbage at sex but that Herrah loved to brag about getting him in the sack is one I planned out *from* this episode. Finally got to see it pay off! Also speaking of Herrah, that was the first time I got Ponk in here! Always does a great job! Unfortunately, she used her Discord Mic here. This one wasn’t a situation where she didn’t have a good mic. She just forgot to use the good one and I completely forgot she is also really into audio stuff too and would jump at the chance to use her fancy stuff. She has been since!

And that’s episode 2!

[mommalosthermind]

Get to know me tag game!

tagged by @hawkstincan and I just saw it so oops

Do you make your bed? Mostly, yes. Defensive bed sheets mean I am significantly less likely to have to deal with legos, pencils, crumbs or whatever other random shit The Youngest Monster had in hand while hiding in my room.

Favorite number? uhhh. I don’t really have one? I tend to pick either 13 or 14 for number things bc 13 made people mad as a kid and it was funny, and 14 is part of my birthday.

What’s your job? parent. Using the educational degree to be backup teacher for my three monsters.

if you could go back to school, would you? I mean. The funny thing about school is there’s a lot of shit I want to learn and very little of it is taught in a typical classroom. I still wish we’d lived in an area with a proper vocational school while I was in high school ngl. Anyway things like carpentry and sewing should still be in schools and i want to collect trades like Pokémon.

Can you parallel park? probably not? I have literally never bothered to try after getting the damn license.

Do you think aliens are real? I think it’s arrogant to assume humans are the only ‘intelligent’ anything, even on earth. But realistically, it’s entirely possible the universe is too young to have a lot of life floating around in it. Little green men that made the pyramids and steal cows, though? That’s… silly.

Can you drive a manual? No. I have been in exactly two cars with stick shift, and I would really like to be in none of them ever again. That’s mostly due to the driver being a twat, but like. No. I’m good.

What’s your guilty pleasure? Mmm that’s an interesting one since ‘guilty pleasure’ usually just means ‘this is something that I try to hide’ and I’ve spent a lot of time trying to uncouple my embarrassment with existing from y'know. Existing. So. Probably the thing I get a kick out of that makes me go “i should maybe not enjoy this so much” is listening in on gossip or drama that’s Not Mine ngl. Tell me aaaall about how your auntie X started a fight. If it’s not my family, it’s just story time.

tattoos? Four! I’ve got a mandala-inspired piece on the left arm, a tiger lily +dog tags on my right shoulder, a blue rose + witch’s claw on the left leg, and an anklet that looks like leather with a heart pendant on the right leg. If I had spending money I would have… so many more. So many. My partner thinks it’s funny that I accidentally split things up so the left half is in color and the right side is black and white.

Favorite color? Black, silver, blue, green….

Favorite type of music? The kind that doesn’t annoy me? I tend toward the rock spectrum, unless I’ve got instrumental on. The kids are all into nightcore so there’s a hilarious amount of that in my brain at any given time. They did not enjoy when I made them listen to Dune’s Can’t Stop Raving. Rude.

Do you like puzzles? Putting together a picture? I’m going to sort the pieces into inside vs outside and maybe even color and then get very bored very quickly and wander off. Riddles? I’m going to feel like an idiot and wander off. Numbers? I have spaced out before even completing the question.

Any phobias? Oh that’s a hell of a question. Spiders. I have worked very hard to get to a point where I am mostly nonchalant about it but. Haaa not a fan. I have woken up to Big Fucking Spider In The Bed or On The Window too many times.

Favorite childhood sport? I was forced into a couple different sports as a kid and I did not enjoy any of them really. I was, and remain, the person who’s got five books and even more notebooks in a bag and I am sitting under a tree and ignoring everyone else. I did not do well in any form of a team-setting. Literally ever. I think the one that bothered me the least was track, and that’s because it felt like I could turn off my entire brain and just move from point A to point B and then be done.

Do you talk to yourself? Constantly. It’s almost never complete thoughts though, it’s a bunch of disjointed outbursts that probably make me sound bonkers bc half of the conversation I’m having with myself is in my head. Complete with hand movements.

What movies do you adore? I don’t really watching things these days? So probably things I liked as a kid, like the labyrinth or the goonies or the dark crystal. There’s a theme there, don’t worry about it.

Coffee or tea? Tea. The only time I’ve managed coffee is when it’s vaguely coffee flavored milk and sugar lmao. Or chocolate coffee ice cream.

First thing you wanted to be growing up? you know, I feel like it shouldn’t be this hard to answer objectively innocent questions in a way that won’t make people uncomfortable? but I don’t have an answer to this. So. I wanted to be somewhere else. I wanted to be someone else. Things like dreaming about jobs and being an adult were not things I had the space to do.

I’m not going to tag anyone specifically today, but if you join in please feel free to and @ me so I can see! <3

[hopefulstarfire]

Have a lil drabble about Kat and Ryous friendship as requested by @kira-quartz

"Thank you for coming over to help with these."

Kat looked up from the figurine she was working on, offering up a smile to her best friend. "It's no problem, Ryou!" She assured him. "I'm happy to help, and, besides, this is actually a lot of fun anyways."

The first session of the newest campaign he was going to be DMing was coming in less than a week. They'd gotten their usual little crew back together for it and Ryou had wanted to go all put with this one. Rather than use base miniatures he kept tucked away, he'd ordered custom models to be based around the designs the others had given him of their characters.

Technically speaking now, she had a sneak peak at her own characters soon to be made party, but Ryou would not budge on giving her any details -- names, classes, who of their friends was playing them, etc -- as it would "spoil the element of surprise". He also refused to tell her which ones were actually npcs or party members as well.

She hummed, attention flickering back to the figurine in her hand. It was a fairy with a flowing dress and bands around her arms, butterfly wings and she was supposed to have opalescent eyes, pink hair and a Fae characteristic of having a glittering mist around her.

"It's fun figuring out who they might belong to," she said, bringing her brush back to the hair. Max had taught her the proper way to color and paint in the lines and give depth to shading; she did great with coloring books and the likes, but actually drawing was a talent not even he could bestow upon her. "Though, I think this one's obvious."

Ryou gave a wry grin, looking up from the gnoll he was currently doing the detailing on. "I don't know; it could very well be Tristans."

Kat snorted in laughter, holding it up a bit higher. "I need you to look me in the eye and tell me you've ever even heard Tristan use the word opalescent to describe anything."

He bristled a bit, but there still remained a small smile. "He would, given the right circumstance!"

"Oh, I'm not doubting the capability; I'm doubting the notion he'd say it to begin with," she teased. She re-situated the figure a bit better, finishing off the first coat of her hair. "Besides, getting glittering mist instead also seems more Mihos style. That gnoll you're holding looks more like Tristans speed."

Ryou gave a slight shrug, though he himself had the answers; she'd been right on the fairy, but the gnoll had actually belonged to Tomoya instead. Tristan had chosen a human with an Artificer class, with it being his second attempt at DND and his first time playing an actual campaign versus a one shot.

"I guess you'll just have to see," he mused, shifting his focus to the miniatures clothes. "I will say, though, your little Harengon is certainly going to be in an interesting group."

Kat shifted, nodding over to the painted figure of her little rabbit rogue. "I think she's gonna at least be fun to play." She was honestly more surprised he had yet to comment on the obvious inspirations from My Melody and Funny Bunny on the character. She had worked hard to put references galore in her new player character and she wondered how long it would take the rest of their friends to piece it together.

It took a little bit more time before she finished the fairy, setting it down to dry. Kat moved towards the rest of the unfinished minis, foot tapping as she weighed her decisions. She picked up what looked to be a guard of some sort to do, one that was set right next to a stack of books with the DMs manual resting on the very top.

"Maybe some time you can help me figure out how to be a DM?" She offered up, finger tracing the spine of the book. "Then you get a chance to play rather than have to oversee the whole story."

Ryou brightened, sitting up a bit straight, hands fumbling with the figure he almost dropped. He hadn't had much real experience being a player; most of the times, he was the master of the game, concocting the story and pushing players forward to the best of his ability. Perhaps it'd be nice to be on the other side. "I think I'd quite enjoy playing a campaign you got to create," he beamed. "Besides, it'll help me get a better understanding of what it's like on your guys side so I can better equip you in my own campaigns!"

Kat laughed, happily. "That would be really awesome to have, not gonna lie."

Before the white haired boy could further speak, the Ring around his neck began to glow, the points jutting out in different positions.

Landlord. I want in. I want to play a game hosted by my girlfriend. Immediately. Forget your campaign.

He bit his lip. The Spirit of his Ring had been working on being...nicer, to an extent. Kat usually kept him under control, made him apologize for some of his past behaviors, but, it hadn't been enough to wash away all the years of hurt fully.

Though, he had been making improvements; he wouldn't even steal to provide for her anymore, going to find ways to earn an "allowance" from Ryou, rather than consistently grabbing things he thought were pretty but usually, more often than not, belonged more in a museum than around her neck. And he hadn't caused any bodily harm since Battle City. Mostly out of threat from Kat.

His hand weaved around the Ring, and he gave an exasperated sigh. "Settle down; we're still doing mine first, you."

Kat cocked her head to the side, before her green eyes found the Item holding her boyfriend's soul and she moved closer, going to poke the eye on it. "We'll do a campaign later, you and me," she promised. "But, first, I want to play Ryous. And you have to keep from interfering. No pulling what you used to."

Now why would you all ever share those details to her? All I was doing was helping you and you paint me in a negative light. It's rude.

"Because you're a feral cat most of the time and we have to retrain you." Ryou told him with a tight lipped smile. His hand found the rope and he slid the Item off of him, setting it to the side. "Now, hush, I have other things to worry about."

Faintly, in the back of his mind, he could hear Bakura cursing him out bur for now he was more than happy to shift his focus back to where it was.

Kat picked her forgotten paint brush back up and refocused her own efforts. "It's just a thought, but, I have a slight idea for the campaign I want to run, but it's very magical girly."

"Now, that sounds like it'd be fun," Ryou beamed, moving to sit down next to his best friend. "And very you; the best campaign stories come from the most genuine places in its GMs heart, I think. It's why I always tackle mine from a place of what my own interests are."

She giggled. "Yeah, I kinda picked it up with all the occult references, the zombies, evil cultists--"

"All in good fun!"

"Yeah, and your idea of good fun is giving the rest of us the heebie jeebies!" Kat playfully shoved his arm, being sure to miss the spot where he'd been stabbed. He still had some nerve damage done there and she didn't want to risk anything.

Ryou laughed, good naturedly. "You're the only other person I've heard other than myself use that term, and you want to joke about Tristan not using opalescent?"

"Well, yeah, cause more people should use heebie jeebies," she mused, dipping the cleaned brush in a navy blue paint for the armor. "It's fun to say, it can be applied to a lot of more unnerving things--"

"It's very silly and very you. All along with your odd southern turn of phrases."

"Eh, I dunno, Ryou, I think the British ones are way weirder still."

He smiled, eyes closing as he tilted his head. "Mhm. I see. Well, whatever helps you sleep at night."

Kat hummed, glancing at her paint brush before getting a mischievous glint in her eyes. She turned, raising the brush and painted a navy stripe over his nose. "Rude."

He balked at her for a moment, before picking his brush back up and swiped a curved yellow line across her cheek. "Doubly rude on your end for that."

They stared at each other for a moment before the figurines were sat back down and their paint brushes were dipped back in the paint just as quickly before they went to use them to swipe at each other, laughing all the way through.

Kat never thought something like DND would bring people together; but, the moments that came with it were still some of her favorites with her best friend.

[sailingmakai]

(( I continue to think about Hojo finding Seakira. IT's such a fun scenario, I'm so sorry~

There are a lot of things he'd find interesting about the kid, and I wanna talk about 'em just a little bit~

REVIVAL FROM DEATH This one I can easily see becoming one of Hojo's major obsessions, if only because in Destiny 2, not even the Ghosts themselves have any idea how revival works, just that it Does. All they have is vague theory. It's entirely possible that Hojo's machinery would only ever be able to tell that Akira is dead, and then.... Not Dead. And that would fascinate him, I think (or just piss him off lmao). He might be able to catch the moment Akira comes back to life, and what happens in his body as that occurs, but the actual thing that kickstarts it? I can see that escaping him no matter what he does, especially since the people where Kenzo COMES FROM can't figure out what's going on there. The fact Revival would have literally nothing to do with Mako would be another thing that Hojo obsesses over, I think. That's probably something he'd look for, until he realizes Akira isn't interacting with Mako on any level, for the revival. Which would then only deepen the obsession... .

KENZO Kenzo would be a love/hate relationship, I think, due to the fact that Hojo is smart enough to realize Kenzo is vital to Akira's revival, and that messing with him would probably fuck up the revival in general - and if I know Hojo, he wouldn't want to potentially 'remove' the revival ability before he has it pinned down in full. Which is where the love/hate comes in, because he'd find Kenzo endlessly fascinating, and probably wants to tear the poor little guy open - but can't, on account of needing him in one piece to figure AKIRA out. That said - very possible he'd separate Akira and Kenzo somehow (it's possible to do, especially since Kenzo and Akira need to be seperate in order for revival to occur). Probably he'd THREATEN to take Kenzo apart in order to keep the pair under control. Hojo might know he can't touch Kenzo, but he has no reason to let THEM know that~ .

PERSONAS Another thing Hojo would OBSESS over. And definitely something he'd figure out how to fuck with, since that's something that's possible in the Persona world, too (Strega is a good example of this). I can easily imagine Hojo getting to and even PAST Kirijo experiment results, at least on some level. Kirijo induced awakenings, false as they probably were, but it seems to have mostly stopped there. Hojo may very well get to that point, but also to the point of figuring out how to REMOVE them, how to implant a Persona into somebody else. Hojo might never figure out how it works entirely though, since Akira wouldn't tell him anything - or at the very least, not everything, and never the full truth. Akira would desperately try to avoid revealing the Cognitive World to Hojo, for fear that this incredibly clever madman would achieve what Shido never could, and more. Not that it'd stop Hojo from catching on himself, in time, I'd imagine. .

AKIRAS VOIDSENT This is something that occurred to me only a little bit ago, honestly. Akira has a pact with a Voidsent from FF14 (the Reaper jobclass, effectively) and there would absolutely be a point where that Voidsent takes over or is given control and tries to escape, or kill Hojo - or both. And knowing Hojo, that would just make him all KINDS of giddy - two subjects for the price of one! I can see Hojo trying to figure out how to manually pull the Voidsent to the front, if he can Seperate them, if he can EXTRACT the Voidsent like a Persona, maybe combine the Voidsent and Akira together, almost, so they're both in control at once - all kinds of fun mental fuckery that would leave a huge scar on Akira's mind if left in Hojo's 'care' for long enough. Probably worse than Cloud, honestly. .

'LIGHT'/GUARDIAN POWERS Akira can't do much with his Light powers, so I can see this being a very low-priority thing for Hojo, but there'd definitely be some testing and seeing if he can't pinpoint what's going on when Akira summons elemental explosions (the grenade abilities, but poorly controlled), without having any Mako in his body or Materia even NEAR his person. Probably another experiment that would go nowhere since I'm not sure Gaia has the technological development necessary to quantify Light, much less detect how it works. That said, he'd probably be able to tell what Akira is DOING, what the energy is compose of in terms of Arc, Solar, and Void being fundamental creation elements, but nothing about the Light itself. Just the surface-level elemental info.

Other things I can see Hojo doing?

Mako Injections His usual fare, to see what happens and how it interacts with everything else inside Akira. Probably only occurs very late into Akira's capture, once Hojo is confidant he's got as much as he can from the 'untouched' version of the Subject. AKA; probably never happens since Akira's allies would bust him out before it got that far. AND

Jenova injections There's no way Hojo wouldn't experiment with these two together, Jenova and Reunion Theory is his prized experiment and there's not a chance he wouldn't wanna see what happens when he slaps Reunion into a fascinating 'entity' like Akira. I don't know what would happen myself, but I'm leaning towards nothing good. That said, Akira is used to voices in his head (Kenzo, Personas, his Voidsent...) so he'd probably hear her pretty clearly, AND be able to resist her with relative ease. ...This probably wouldn't help Hojo's obsession lets be honest. ))

[sanddusted-wisteria]

A Builder, a Researcher, and a Rooftop, Ch. 2: Polaris

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The builder frowned at the mess of stars above their head. They could barely make out any constellations that they recognized. Yeah, there was the Little Dipper on their left with the North Star, and the cross of Cygnus in the middle of the Milky Way, but what else?

The builder glanced over at Qi, silently staring up as always. He would know more, right? If he was looking for a telescope, he had to. Despite their burning curiosity, they hesitated. They agreed to be silent when they were up here. And Qi liked his quiet. Maybe he wouldn’t be as annoyed if they piped up with something relevant…?

“You know any interesting stars to see?” The words were out of their mouth before they could think it over more.

“Of course,” Qi replied, seemingly not bothered by the broken silence. “I charted out Sandrock’s star maps myself.”

“Wait, maps? You can make maps out of the sky??”

“Er, yes. Is that not common knowledge?”

“Uh, no. For you, maybe.”

Qi stared at them for a second. Then he stood up and headed towards the stairs. “Excuse me…”

Well. Alright. That stupid a question, huh? The builder huffed.

But just before they could get up and leave themself, they heard footsteps coming back up. Qi soon re-emerged, carrying a couple rolls of paper in his hands.

“So. Do you know how the stars appear to move through the sky in the span of a single night?”

“They move in a circle, right? Around the North Star.”

“Correct. The Earth’s axis of rotation happens to point almost directly towards Polaris, so as the planet rotates, the stars appear to move in a circle with Polaris at its center. At least, in our hemisphere.

“So, with a known fixed point in the sky, tracking and predicting the position of any other celestial body becomes trivial. And with the periodic nature of the Earth’s revolution around the Sun, we can extrapolate our charts to future years as well. Beautiful and orderly science.”

The builder nodded. Made sense so far…

“Hm… What time is it?”

“Dunno.”

“Perfect. Let me show you how to read these. Then you can tell the time even with no clock!” He unrolled one of the papers, revealing a diagram of sorts. A large circle encapsulated a massive cluster of dots and lines, marking stars and constellations. The builder scanned the page, recognizing a couple of the names: Polaris, Cygnus, Cassiopeia, Sirius…

Qi pointed at the center of the circle. “Different star maps are charted based on location and time. The stars will look different for every possible combination of the two, so we base and center them off the zenith.”

“Which is?”

“What’s directly above our heads.” The builder craned their neck to look straight upward. “Therefore, given the right map, you can find any visible celestial body using the point directly overhead as a guide. Simple, yes?”

“Lemme try…” Qi handed them the chart. They looked at the chart, then back at the sky. Then back at the chart. Then back at the sky. They couldn’t see anything that looked remotely like any of the formations on the chart… “I uh, can’t match this up.”

“Perhaps it’s the wrong time, then. This one is for 10 PM.” He unrolled another scroll. “This is 11 PM. See if it’s any closer.”

Once again, they tried reading the chart. Their neck was starting to hurt. The constellation “Hercules…” Guy with a club… The zenith was next to his shoulder, right? They couldn’t place it on the 10 PM one, but…

“I think this might be the right one. I think.”

Qi glanced over their shoulder. “You might be right. I’d estimate it’s about 5 to 10 minutes off, but I don’t have charts down to the minute.”

“Nice. Must be how the ancients told time. Lot of work, though.”

“Indeed. Ancient civilizations painstakingly developed their time systems based on astronomical observations across whole generations. Charting these out manually without any assistance gave me a heightened sense of appreciation for their efforts.”

“How many of these do you even have?” they said as they handed the chart back. “Don’t tell me you made one for every hour of every night.”

“Why would I not? A full log needs as many entries as possible. If I was physically capable, I would do one for every minute as well, but alas, I have to settle for every hour.”

The builder was gobsmacked. “And you just…stayed up all night, every night, drawing these out.”

“Of course,” said Qi. “Good science demanded it.” At the builder’s continued look of horror, he added, “If you’re concerned over my work schedule, I’m happy to report that you have nothing to worry about. I am both willing and capable of working incredibly late to get pertinent discoveries done faster. Despite Sandrock only having a single researcher, you can rest assured that the research center is making progress at a rate comparable to, if not exceeding, that of some of the other Free Cities.”

The builder blinked. “Wh–? No, no. You went an entire damn year without getting a single night of sleep?!”

“I adjusted my schedule to sleep in the daytime. Provided, of course, it did not excessively interfere with my daytime work.”

“And that was how many hours a day?”

“On average, about 3 to 4 hours. The amount didn’t change, I just moved it elsewhere.”

“Ah. Well,” the builder said as they took in his words, accompanied with the almost comically flat expression on his face. If it was anyone other than Qi, the builder fully would’ve expected him to burst out laughing and proclaim it all a joke. “That…does not sound healthy.”

Qi waved a hand dismissively. “It’s not what those in the medical field recommend, for certain, but it works. It maximizes my work output. I’ve run the numbers.”

“Okay…numbers are one thing, but you can probably try to sleep like, a normal amount sometimes, y’know? I work a lot faster whenever I get a full 8 hours.”

Qi shook his head. “A single anecdote is far from decent evidence to prove a claim. If you hypothesize that a regular 8-hour-a-night sleep schedule would increase my productivity, you would need to perform a proper controlled experiment to test that, run the appropriate statistical analysis, and produce a well-written report with literature review and a logical explanation of the implications of any statistical significance.”

“...Huh?”

“Exactly.”

The builder rolled their eyes and sighed. “Well, just keep what I said in mind, I guess.” Qi just hummed in vague acknowledgment.

The builder’s brow furrowed, their lips drawn in a firm line. An experiment, huh? Everything this guy did had to be about science. They shook their head in resignation and filed the thought away in the back of their head. It itched at them ever so slightly, even as they went home for the night, and into the light of the new day.

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[finsterhund]

Almost my birthday. And then almost the day I lost Cazza. Struggling unbelievably badly. I'm trying anything to hold it together. I have a healthy potato plant and I got a tiny little oak sapling and I have several little sprouts from apple seeds and I have my childhood willow tree cuttings starting to root. They are the only things keeping me alive at this point.

I keep thinking about how when my trees are bigger I can get nice big pots for them and I can top dress with those black and neon colored aquarium gravel I saw at the pet store. That's basically my only "able to think into the future" thing I've got.

I've been regressing. Really bad. In multiple different ways.

My body is also not doing too well. My jaw is so painfully tight and locking up from grinding/clenching/whatever and I have bites all over the inside of my mouth, immune system is practically useless and I'm both unable to sleep and unable to stop sleeping. No clue how to explain that but hopefully it comes across okay.

Somehow didn't shower for over a week. I finally did last night and I stayed in there for over five hours because I didn't want it to stop. My roommate forced me to have pizza. Not as in I didn't like pizza. I like pizza a lot. But as in I didn't feel able to eat it he had to manually steer my brain into getting pizza. I don't think I've had a proper meal other than the pizza in several days.

Otherwise I've been inside. Only inside. Except to walk Scott when nobody else is around. I'm trying to avoid interactions as much as possible because some of my more violent tendencies can get past my meds when I get this bad. I don't want to make somebody feel bad or upset or unsafe or some shit. It's harder to mask and hide how not okay I am and hide my developmental disorders and mental disabilities now. I realize I mask a whole fucking lot even though it's never enough.

Just been fucking crying and I suspect disassociating. The days are going by but I'm not conscious of things happening.

Sorry for no updates. Just want you to know I'm still here. In some capacity at least.

My first bean plant I think is dying. There's some sort of kink in the stem and even though I've given it a brace I don't know if it's going to pull through. At least in terms of growth beyond the spot. I'm really hoping it doesn't die around the same day Cazza did. I think I will actually fucking go postal.

I got a new to me daylight simulating reptile heat lamp for my plants and they seem to like it. More than the shitty pink grow light bulbs I had before from the dollar store. It's what my potato and apples exploded out under.

I want American chestnut saplings. I want my childhood cherry tree back. I managed to "unlock" an old memory of when people killed the tree I liked when I was very small. The one in the front yard with the scarf(?) tied to a lower branch. I have the image of the entire root they dug out being lifted out of the ground and the curling shape of that big ass taproot as they stole it from me.

I keep trying to Google to see if it's possible that if there's some level of roots of my cherry tree still left in the ground that they could potentially send up sprouts that I could maybe someday ask the new owner about. You know, like American chestnut stump sprouts? But all the internet has to say is how to kill those potential spouts. It's not helping me feel better that's for sure.

Fruit trees I know for a fact were killed from the front yard of the Spot house since I lived there too I remember also. I think there are still some there though.

My neighbor was bothered by me somehow a couple weeks ago but I have no clue what the fuck I did and they won't tell me. I try my fucking hardest to be palatable for people in real life and not be difficult or annoying and shit still fucking happens. I fucking ask and I'm not given an answer and it's just brushed off. It's probably my neurodivergentness being unsightly or some shit. They have irresponsibly soft views on dog husbandry and joke about me being no fun for not letting Scott run around off leash or not eating random shit off the ground on so maybe it's that??? But they did literally mention that they knew "something was wrong" with me when we first met. This isn't a new thing and I haven't seen them since I've gotten this bad right now but I still keep fucking thinking about it.

I don't belong anywhere. I don't have a home. I don't have a family. As real as things online are to me they aren't physically tangible and monkey brain want to feel and hold.

I'm aware right now at how I try to take up as little space as possible and it's still never enough. My roommate has stuff filling practically every area of our shared living space, stuff lining every wall, and he gets mad at me for having my computer chair in the living room or fixing something out on the floor. When he was having his mental health emergency I comforted him and let him lie on my bed and held him while he cried but as he got better the "getting short with me because I'm not immediately putting my tools and shit away" started up again. So now I'm keeping things I need to clean in a garbage bag in my room so it doesn't get grime on my stupid ass carpet I've been repeatedly vacuuming because if I put cups and pots and other shit I need to wash and soak on the kitchen counter by the sink he'll get after me and make me feel more upset.

There's a mold problem so I have to clean things more frequently. He says it might be in the plumbing. Knowing things I think this may be correct. I have no clue where the fuck that shit is coming from otherwise.

I like watching him play Zelda tears of the kingdom but I wish I could play. I've been unable to play games for idk how long. Same with reading, drawing, everything else. It looks like a good game at least. I like it. Reminds me of going over to my friend's house and play Ocarina of Time. Tulin feels a lot like Orion. Makes me wish I could actually accomplish something with my books. He's like if someone who wasn't a complete fuck up managed to make the character and put him in something that actually fucking got released.

I think once I've exhausted all the old vegetable seeds my neighbor gave me I'll stick to just my runner beans and trees from now on. A lot of them don't seem to be viable anymore so it's not gonna take too long but I feel bad. I hate having dirt I hate having dirt spill on the stupid fucking carpet. I want to just say fuck it and rip that shit out of my bedroom so fucking bad. I think at this point the only thing stopping me from doing that is how I'd have to take my furniture out to do it and my roommate getting mad at me. Theoretically due to how the landlords are a stupid corporation of brainless degenerate cunts if I kept the shit ass carpet all in one piece if I removed it when it was time to move out I could just nailgun the bitch back in and they'd be none the wiser. I'd probably do a better job than the stupid incompetent nepo baby they get to to maintenance in these cubicles regardless. Apparently they're under new management and fired that guy? Who fucking knows. I still don't trust whatever chud they send in to replace the shit plumbing job or rewire the faulty electrical. My roommate's light switch shocks him by the way. I'm sure that's totally normal. The hallway outlet started smoking years ago so we simply just don't use that. Probably just the wind.

I had to unclog the kitchen sink. It's gross. It's built in such a way that particles won't actually fully go down. As in they used the wrong shape pipe pieces. Simply stellar. I can't be assed to replace it yet though. The bathroom sink is slow draining too and roommate keeps reminding me to fix that as well but I don't fucking want to right now. Maybe I should because fixing things helps me feel better but I hate the yucky gross gross. I wish I could actually wear gloves but it is so damn hard to use my hands with gloves. My stupid fucking mental brain stupid and my stupid fucking impaired fine motor skills. Hands are basically just imprecise lumps of meat that twitch and shudder.

Somehow it's 4AM. Wow. Idk. How did this happen again.

I wish my seedlings would stop dampening off or whatever the fuck. It's probably the goddamn mold or some shit. I wish I understood how plants get nutrients with hydroponics because I'd do that but I'd be so fucking upset if they died.

Wish I had a parent who cared about me the way I care about my plants lol. Wish I had some level of security.

Also you know. Wish Cazza was back. It's gotten to the point where she feels like a theoretical supernatural entity now rather than my flesh and blood real life best friend who I used to be able to hold and touch and pet and smell and feel and hear and talk to and have close by always there for me.

Value village has been inexplicably closed for no reason for a month now and that was the one thing I could go and do and see new things. If it shuts down for good that will just be one more nail in the coffin.

Roommate says we can go to Home Depot for my birthday to get stuff for my plants but I'm scared I'm not going to want to or that I'm going to regret spending money. (Also very real possibility that he's going to get mad at me for spending money)

Maybe I should just buy an established tree. One that can with proper care thrive in a pot under grow lights. I wanted there to be a bond. Some sort of cosmic significance. Like the tree being related to one from my childhood or hand grown from seed by myself but I think I'd benefit from having someone that's already established enough that I don't have to worry too badly about pests and seedling conditions and shit. Something that doesn't feel too delicate for my stupid hands. I have to think how the hell I managed as a toddler but my tremors were probably much better. I don't remember having them until 12+ so it's probably the case. Maybe I'm also just not remembering my failures too. I don't know. I wish I wouldn't have planted my apple tree because mom would have kept it in its pot and someday I might have taken it back from her. But I have new baby apples and hopefully at least one will make it.

The Anakin quote about sand is so bitterly relatable to me now about just regular ass dirt. God fucking hate dirt. I need an adult who's respectable and wise and trustworthy to teach me about successfully growing healthy plants in soil-leas mediums. If there's horticulture or whatever the fuck school would I even be able to afford such a thing? Would it be accessible to my mental and physical shit?

Some pride though is that my mom told me I wouldn't be able to germinate store bought poppy seeds and I did. I fucking did. Take that. No clue if they'll grow past seedling stage with whatever the fuck is going on but I still fucking did it. No luck with pomegranates and mango seeds seem to be moldy before you even fucking eat the fruit but I specifically germinated the seeds I was told I couldn't.

Also fuck whoever told me that cuttings you're trying to root need darkness. You shitheels on the internet I swear to christ because I saw a guy on YouTube do an experiment and guess what!? Cuttings sprouted much better in a clear uncovered glass jar. Also despite algae they did better without water changing too.

I'm currently using hydrogen peroxide to fight the mold problems. It seems to be going away but I had to repot my green onions and cut them back significantly to hopefully save them.

One day I hope I have a house and some land. I want a solarium. I want a big glass room with lots of sunlight that's far away from other buildings or people or smoke or dust or other crap. There's a small orchard outside of the solarium that's surrounded by a windbreak of evergreens. So that it's only visible from the inside. When there's storms I can watch rain hit the glass and make a big waterfall across the roof and down the walls. You know, like the things in dairy queen dining rooms.

That's what's keeping me going. Eventually all the old super rich people will die and then disabled people (hell even a perfectly employable healthy guy in my generation at this point) will finally be able to own a house again.

Still hoping it'll be my grandparents farm though. I won't give up on that house even though everybody else has.

Nothing more to say that isn't repeating things or depraved rambling off into nothing so idk update over I guess.

[cdevroe]

How I'm using ChatGPT as an accelerator

Over the last few weeks I’ve begun using the recent crop of AI-powered services in my daily work and I’ve found them to be an enormous boost to my productivity and fun to play with. I do not know if these human-like chat services will end up causing great harm to the earth’s population or not — but as of today, I think they can be both useful and entertaining.

I’d like to start off this post by describing what I think AI is. Not because I think there is any confusion on the matter but because I want a definition I can point people to. A service that uses a bunch of learned prompts and responses to use various APIs to present you information in a human readable or audio format are not what I would consider AI. Think Siri. Siri, while it may very well have portions of it that are using AI-data sets, I do not consider AI. Siri feels much more to me like a gargantuan list of IF THEN statements.

IF you ask Siri for anything relating at all to the weather THEN it will pretend to be a human and answer in a human way. “Hey Sir, will it rain today?” “Yes, there is a 70% chance it will rain today.” is a good answer but far from being an intelligent one. If you ask “Hey Siri, what time will the rain start and stop today?” it will almost certainly fall on its face. In fact, Siri falls on its face more often than not.

IF you ask Google's assistant a similar question it does a far better job of trying to deliver you the answer you want. For instance, you can “OK Google” a fairly complex mathematics query and, in my experience, it does a good job. Where Siri is like a very young child trying to respond to adult questions, Google is somewhere in the teenager area. But a teenager that does not know how to use Google, read the first few links, and summarize an answer.

I’ve heard that Alexa is even better than Google but I have almost no experience using Alexa personally.

Siri, Google, and Alexa are not even close to what I would consider AI.

ChatGPT, which is the AI-powered chat service I’ve been using the most, is most definitely intelligent. And it is improving rapidly. My guess is that in a few years ChatGPT 3.5 and 4 will feel like Siri does today. Which is a little mind blowing to be honest.

I have a few ways in which I’m describing ChatGPT in conversation with those that do not understand large language models, data corpuses, neural nets, or RLHF. To be clear, I do not understand those things either. But I can at least navigate their broad concepts. I think. Maybe I should ask ChatGPT about that? Anyway, here are the analogies I’m currently using.

Imagine doing a Google search (or, Duck.com because you’re a sane person) and you read the first 1,000 links in totality. And then you distill what you’ve learned into a single paragraph. In 5 seconds.

Imagine you could ask someone with 25-years of experience in a given field (programming, music, etc.) a question or to do a task for you and they were able to complete it in a few seconds.

If computers are a bicycle for the mind, AI is an e-bike for the work you do on that computer. (I’m not settled on this metaphor. It’s a WIP.)

I’m using ChatGPT, DALL•E and their ilk for a variety of my daily tasks. It takes a little while to retrain my muscle memory to start at ChatGPT and go from there, rather than starting from scratch, but I’m slowly getting there.

I’d like to describe just one use case from this past week where I used ChatGPT alongside my manual process and the obvious benefits it would have on my work. This isn’t a use case you haven’t heard of as many, many others are doing the same. But I will say it impressed me nonetheless. I used ChatGPT to write some JavaScript and it did remarkably well.

At work we offer our customers something we call company stores. A company store is very much like an e-commerce store - only we have most or all of their inventory in our warehouse and we can deliver it to their locations the next day. Anyway, on many of these stores there is a large rotating banner area on the homepage. We wanted to hide this rotating banner on all other pages. Since the software we use wouldn’t allow us to do this on the server side, we are left with the choice of doing it client side. This means that I was going to write a simple bit of JavaScript to 1) determine whether or not the current page was the homepage, and 2) if it was not the homepage, hide the rotating banner.

This isn’t a difficult piece of code. Anyone with any amount of JavaScript experience could write this code in a few minutes. But that is just it. You can't copy and paste this specific code from a random result from a search engine. You need experience and then you need to write this code. I started this project from scratch and it took me about 15 minutes or so to write code that worked for our purposes. I would call the code OK not great.

I then asked ChatGPT to write the code for me. My prompt was “In Javascript hide a section element that has a data attribute of data-name if the URL is anything other than XXX” (where XXX is the URL of the homepage). The code it returned was better than my code. The way I would describe it is, if I had 2 hours to refine the code that I wrote in 15 minutes, I would have written the same code that ChatGPT wrote the first time in a matter of seconds. I did have to make one very small tweak to the code to run it on production - but it was a tweak there was no way ChatGPT would know to make.

It felt like writing code without using your hands. More often than not, the code I’m about to write is fully realized in my brain and I just need to type out the characters onto my computer. I may make a few mistakes along the way, or need to search for a specific syntax that I had forgotten about, but the rest of the code is menial work to type out. But if I start out with the idea of the code using a detailed prompt to ChatGPT I don’t need to use my hands to write the code. I save a huge amount of time.

This experience and many others (which lead to hours being saved not just minutes) leads me to believe that for many things that I do day-to-day; write, interpolate data, program, etc. I should be using ChatGPT as an accelerator.

My initial optimism for crypto, which has all but completely faded away (the entire industry feels like a squandered opportunity at this point), has me reticent to excitement about AI. And I do not know how to predict the next several years of “improvements” to this technology. But as of today, it certainly feels both useful and fun and I plan on continuing to use it to get work done faster.

[parkersbliss]

Diamonds | K. Brekker

pairing; kaz brekker x female!reader

warnings: cursing, I think that’s it

wc; 2.3K

synopsis: dirtyhands doesn’t need anyone, but he wants you, even if he can’t have you

prompts: 001: “why do you care?” 047: “please just let me in.”

a/n: this went in a very different direction then I planned but I love it??

Masterlist | Taglist | Prompt List

—

Kaz Brekker was a lot of things.

Emotionally unavailable was one of them.

But you never thought much of it. You didn’t think less of him because of that. Surviving the barrel meant being cold, ruthless, and cunning.

Everyone had to have some dark side to them. It was a given.

But Kaz’s dark side never turned off. He was always in a constant state of brooding, thinking about all the ways the plan could fail or coming up with a new heist.

His brain never shuts off.

You never considered that a bad thing, but everyone has to rest eventually.

But rest wasn’t a word in Kaz’s dictionary. For him, resting meant thinking about other things.

Things that he wanted to forget.

So he busied himself with work, numbers, and other things to push the other thoughts out of his mind. Sometimes they were about Jordie and the harbor, sometimes they were about Rollins or you.

Kaz never wanted to forget you, but he didn’t want to think about you either. About the way, your lips curved up into a smile every time Jesper threw his arm around you. Or the way you throw your head back every time Nina makes a joke, the way you sit patiently with Wylan when he tries to read, the way you train so gracefully with Inej, and the way you make fun of Matthias’ accent.

He wants to push it all out of his mind because he doesn’t understand it. He doesn’t get how he manages to notice every detail about you.

It would cost him eventually, which is why he didn’t think about it. It’s why he tried to busy himself with things that have nothing to do with you.

But sometimes, it doesn’t always work out that way.

It was moments like these where Kaz is in a constant state of don’t fuck up and don’t say anything.

Which never goes in his favor.

The plan was simple, break-in and walk-out. There were three separate sections to the museum, and the event kept everyone pretty busy.

All you had to do was get in, steal a few jewels and then blend in with the crowd for the rest of the night.

It should be easy enough.

You all dress in your best attire, at least, the best attire that wouldn’t slow you down if you have to run. Kaz’s breath hitches in his throat when he sees you. Silky fabric, exposed skin, and all your beauty.

He nods at you as you fall into step behind him.

“You look nice,” You said.

“Thank you. So do you.”

You all find yourself in an ally by the museum as Inej scales the roof for her way in. You know she’s successful when the back entrance pops open, and she leans against the door frame with a satisfied smile on her face; her green dress trails along the floor as you make your way inside.

Bright fluorescent lights illuminate the hallway, and the sound of heels and Kaz’s cane echo down it. Kaz pick locks the three doors with ease, signaling for the groups of you to go in.

Matthias and Nina are responsible for the smaller riches, Inej, Wylan, and Jesper take care of replacing them, and you and Kaz get the big stuff.

The room sparkles with diamonds, almost blinding you. To Kaz, it smells like money. For each piece stolen, the two of you replace it with a cheaper place holder.

By the time anyone noticed, you would be gone.

You grab a ring off a stand, slipping it on and examining it in the light.

Kaz coughs, and you turn to face him.

He holds the most expensive piece in his hand, a diamond necklace.

It’s worth more than a quarter of a million kruge.

“Woah,” you breathe out. The diamonds are arranged in such a way that it sits close to the neck, and looks like small interconnected leaves.

“Wear it,” Kaz said.

“Kaz-”

“You would look… pretty with it,” The last part is barely above a whisper.

“Okay,” You agree, taking the piece from his hands. Your fingers barely brush his gloved ones as you take the necklace, clasping it around your neck.

Then, Kaz steps back. “I think we got most of it.”

You can’t take all of the riches, but you can take enough to make some serious bank. You exit the room, Kaz locking it after, and meet back in the hallway with everyone else. Inej and Nina both drip in equal expenses and gasp when they see your necklace.

“I almost want to keep it,” You said, touching the diamonds.

“It does look stunning on you,” Nina said.

“I’m sure we have enough to keep that piece,” Inej said, gesturing to the jewelry between you all.

“I do not understand the need for stones to prove one’s worth,” Matthias said.

Nina pats his shoulder, “It’s like you Fjerdans and your fur coats.”

"Witch," Matthias mumbled under his breath.

Kaz takes the lead, directing you to the main room. You can hear the sounds of people chattering, classical music floating in the air. You all split into smaller groups, mostly pairs, to avoid detection.

You and Kaz stay towards the center of the room, observing everyone else and waiting till the event ends.

As Kaz’s eyes sweep the ballroom, yours sweep over his face, familiarizing yourself with his features.

He has sharp cheekbones, fair skin, and a pointed nose. His lips are drawn down into the softest frown, and there are bags under his dark eyes. His eyebrow twitches ever so slightly whenever he sees someone he doesn’t like, and he runs a gloved hand through his hair, slicking it back more if it’s possible.

He was beautiful.

After a few more moments of mingling, they prepare to bring the jewelry out on display. You and Kaz back towards the exit, just in case something goes wrong.

The fake one sparkles just the same, and a clear difference can’t be seen. It’s only glass that Wylan had managed to craft by himself.

The servant gulps, taking careful steps with the case in his hand. His hands shake, and as he takes the first step up the stairs, he stumbles.

It shatters.

The glass scatters across the floor, the fake necklace you planted aside does the same, the pieces landing everywhere.

You can practically feel Kaz tense next to you when the crowd gasps; actual diamonds wouldn’t break.

“Don’t move,” Kaz whispers. He makes a hand gesture to the rest of the Dregs around the room that means remain still. “Act just as surprised.”

On any other occasion, it would be easy, but when the original necklace is dangling from your neck, it’s like an open target for anyone with eyes. Murmurs flow through the crowd, but no one pays any mind to the Dregs because you all look like you belong here. They’re looking for the black sheep among the white.

But they all look just the same.

“We will be conducting manual searches,” The guards announce.

“Saints,” You whisper, hand instinctively grabbing the diamonds on your neck.

“Plan B,” Kaz said. He meets Jesper’s eyes across the room, nodding his head, and Jesper smirks. He grabs one of his revolvers, firing a single shot and tucking it away before anyone notices. The crowd screams, everyone rushing to the exits as more shots are fired from various parties (some from Jesper, some from guards, or others who just love chaos).

You all make a run for it, using the main exit where guards were desperately trying to keep everyone in.

You watch Inej slip through with ease, Nina and Mattias next. Jesper gets held up, but he managed to talk his way out of it as Wylan tugs on his sleeve.

You and Kaz are last, taking your time to avoid being pushed in by the crowd. You could run ahead, get out before Kaz, but you don’t.

You stay by his side and maintain the slow pace, even when there’s a quarter of a million kruge hanging from your neck.

As you approach the exit, you’re one foot out when someone grabs your arm.

“I got her!” The guard shouts. He starts dragging you back inside as you try to dig your heel into their foot.

Then, in the span of a second, a cane comes down on his arm, a clear snap ringing out.

You stumble from their grasp, unknowingly using Kaz’s shoulder to steady yourself. He hisses but says nothing more because as soon as you notice, you let go.

“Nina!” You scream as the guards come pouring out the entrance.

It was clear who the target was.

The heartrender holds up her hands, effectively dropping their beat, but you underestimate how many there are.

“Run!” Jesper shouts.

And you do as you’re told. The guards open fire, and you bunch your dress in your hands, running through the streets of Ketterdam. Kaz begins to fall behind, and you slow down your pace.

“Jes, throw me a revolver!”

“What?”

“Throw it!”

Wylan rolls his eyes, fishing the gun from his boyfriend’s pocket and tossing it at you.

“What are you doing?” Kaz said.

“Saving your ass!” You reply.

“I don’t need your saving!” Kaz retorts, glaring at you.

You roll your eyes, “Fine, I’m covering you.”

“I don’t need that either.”

“Kaz-”

“I don’t need you!”

You nod, turning away from him to hide the hurt on your face. “No, of course, you don't."

You fire a single shot at a guard, busying yourself in taking a few out, so Kaz doesn’t get hit. When he’s a good way ahead, you sprint after the rest of the Dregs. You see the tail of Jesper’s coat disappear down an alleyway.

You fire one last round of shots and duck behind it. You move past Kaz, catching up with Jesper and thanking him.

He smiles, bumping your shoulder. “Anything for the lady.”

The slat is in sight, and you sigh in relief, happy to rest and unload all the jewels everyone is dripping in.

You could only imagine the amount of kruge you’d come up with.

Jesper opens the door for the Dregs, and you all practically collapse on the couch. You Nina and Inej are all on one, kicking off your heels.

“I hate heels,” You said.

“You’re telling me,” Inej replied. “Never again.”

Nina shrugs, “Annoying as hell, but they do work in place of a knife every now and then.”

“I am never without my knives.”

“We know.”

Kaz walks past you all, limping a bit worse than usual and going up to his office.

You don’t bother following after him. Instead, you all dump the jewelry on the table.

“Oh, saints,” Inej gasped.

Jesper leans back in his seat, “I think we’re set.”

“You’ll gamble it all away before we even cash it in,” Matthias said as Jesper scoffed.

“It’ll take me at least a few months to lose that.”

“Months?” Wylan asked.

“Like six tops.”

Everyone begins to argue, and you tune them out. You forgot about the most expensive piece hanging from your neck, absentmindedly playing with it. When you remember, you figure the best thing to do with it is give it up to Kaz.

With a sigh, you stand up, the fabric of your dress falling back into place.

You don’t bother knocking on his door, you know you should, but you didn’t care all that much.

“Here’s your necklace,” You said bitterly, dropping it on his desk.

“(Y/N)-”

“A quarter of a million kruge, enough to set you for life. That’s all you need, isn’t it?”

“I didn’t mean that.”

“Sure felt like it,” You snap.

“I just-,” Kaz sighed, avoiding your gaze. “Keep the necklace.”

“I don’t want it.”

“You don’t?” Kaz asked, eyebrows raised. “I thought you liked it. You should have it if that’s the case.”

“Why do you care?”

“I don’t.”

You click your tongue, “Keep the fucking necklace, Kaz.”

Kaz curses himself, tugging at his hair. He was making the situation much worse. He didn’t know what to say that wouldn't piss you off. He thought the necklace would be like a peace offering, a sign of his thanks.

It backfired on him.

He’s bordering the line of being cold or grateful. When grateful didn’t work in his favor, he went for the other.

“I want you to have it.”

“I don’t want it.”

“Please, take it.”

“It’s worth money. That’s far more important to both of us.”

Kaz shuts his eyes, “(Y/N), please.”

And you know this isn't about the necklace anymore. It never really was.

You shake your head, crossing your arms over your chest. You were tired of pretending to brush off your feelings. It was killing you. Every time you tried to do something, Kaz pushed you back. You couldn't keep doing this to yourself.

“You either want this, or you don’t. Which one is it?”

“Please,” he said softly.

You sigh, blinking harshly. Your heart hammers in your chest. You take a breath, trying to calm yourself.

“Kaz, I need you,” You said softly, “Please just let me in.”

“I can’t,” He said, voice strained as he fights his demons. God, he wants to, but he's scared. He's scared of pushing you away or hurting either of you in the process. He couldn't go through that kind of loss again.

“I will wait,” You said. “I will wait as long as you need. I just need to know that you’re in this too.”

Kaz meets your eyes. His are glassy as he holds the necklace tightly in his hands, running his gloved fingers over the diamonds.

He could lose you.

And that is far worse than not having you at all.

He slowly peels his gloves off. His movements are slow and deliberate, taking his time. When they’re off, he grabs the necklace and stands up.

You hold your breath as he stands behind you, brushing your hair out of the way. His fingers just barely dance across your skin, but they’re there.

He clasps the necklace, and you turn around to face him.

“Kaz?” You question.

“I need you too, (Y/N).”

“I’m not leaving," You assure him.

“Good. We’re in this.”

“We’re in this.”

[readyplayerhobi]

La Douleur Exquise

; Horse Hybrid!Taehyung x Lovebird Hybrid!Reader

; Genre: Fluff, angst, smut

; Warnings: Penetrative sex, dirty talk, unprotected sex, creampie, impregnation kink, filmed sex

; Word Count: 14.9k

; Synopsis: Taehyung is in love with his best friend. The problem? He’s a stallion, a horse hybrid who’s basic instinct is to collect a herd of women to protect and procreate. His best friend is a lovebird hybrid and they mate for life. He knows it’s pretty much impossible to be together and that you’d end up hurt, but what happens when he finds out you love him just as much?

; A/N: So, my first fic in like...two months? I started this fic in early July and honestly...I just wanted it finished. If it seems a bit disjointed or something then it was very stop and start...I hope you all enjoy it anyway and that it doesn’t disappoint or anything! It’s taken a WHILE for me to get back into writing (honestly, I almost left lol). Please reblog if you enjoyed and leave me comments and asks!

-

“Oh...fuck. Fuck, you’re so big, mmm,” The girl on her hands and knees in front of Taehyung moaned, her ass wiggling in desperation as he thrust his hard cock into her soaked pussy. “Harder, please. Please, fuck me harder.”

He hissed as she clenched around him, his entire length disappearing with ease inside her as his hips moved rhythmically. Large hands groped at the globes of her ass, squeezing them and spreading them wide to give the best view possible. Grunting, he slapped at one cheek hard and smirked when she yelped, jerking slightly.

“Such a pretty girl, so pliant and willing, hmm?” Taehyung questioned, his voice low and brusque as he moved hard enough to cause the room to be filled with the sound of skin slapping on skin. “A greedy pussy, so eager for your stallion to get you in foal, aren’t you?” 

She moaned in response, her face unseen to him but her body reacted by squeezing around his cock once more. Running one hand along her spine, he hummed in delight before leaning forward and biting down on her shoulder. It was instinctual, something deep in his genes telling him to hold her steady while he filled her up and impregnated her.

His other hand moved down to her clit, the bundle of nerves still soft and silky with her excitement but also swollen hard with her impending orgasm. Years of experience let his fingertips find the exact spot he needed, swirling them in quick circles and making her cry out even louder, hips bucking beneath him.

“That’s a good mare,” He panted, trailing his nose along her neck slowly. “Come for me, come on, you can do it. Tighten that pussy around me and I’ll breed you as you want.” 

Her orgasm hit seconds later, body convulsing tightly around him and he grunted, hips jerking forward even more rapidly. She was whining, a babbling mess beneath him as he continued to stimulate her, the effects being just as pleasurable for him too until he too came.

Pressing into her hard, he felt the slight resistance of what must be her uterus against the tip of his cock but she didn’t complain of any pain. One of the benefits of being a fellow horse hybrid was that a mare was biologically compatible with the large cock stallions had. One hand held her hips steady, making sure she didn’t move away as his balls convulsed rhythmically, each time causing his cock to twitch as he continued to ejaculate inside her.

She was breathing hard now, her body covered in a fine layer of sweat that caught the light perfectly and he hummed in appreciation, finally feeling the end of his orgasm. Slowly, he pushed himself upright and licked at his lips as he gave a few, shallow thrusts to wring out his final moments of pleasure and also make sure she got all of his cum.

“You were a good girl for me. We’ll get a nice colt or filly from you.” He mutters, stroking along her back appreciatively. Her skin was darker in certain patches and lighter in others, a result of her American Paint Horse breeding. It was pretty and he let his fingers trail along with the colour distinction.

Finally, though, he pulled out. The noise as he did so was extremely wet, but that was nothing compared to the rush of thick, white cum that slipped out of her used pussy. Pursing his lips, he looked it over carefully before dragging his fingers through some of it and pushing it back inside her. It didn’t matter, stallions were renowned for the large amount of semen they produced and she was probably filled inside.

“And cut!” Called the director, his voice interrupting the silence of the set. Taehyung let out an immediate sigh of relief and sat back, his cock rapidly softening now that the scene was over. His co-star sat up with a groan, stretching to get out the kinks in her back from the position she’d been in for the last ten minutes.

As she did so, the trickle of cum once more became a torrent, slipping down her thighs to collect on the bed. She didn’t pay attention to it and he didn’t say anything, the two of them used to scenes like this by now. Wheein was a consummate professional and one of the best in the porn industry, just like Taehyung.

“That was a good scene,” She complimented him, smiling in gratitude to her assistant who brought a robe that she used to cover herself up with. “Even if the whole ‘dirty talk’ is a little overdone nowadays.”

Taehyung rolled his eyes in agreement, grinning as he accepted the cleaning wipes from his assistant. Without a care in the world, he began to wipe his cock clean as he continued on his discussion with Wheein. She was quickly wiping down her thighs and between her legs as well. They’d both clean up more properly when they went to their dressing rooms but he wouldn’t be seeing her again after this.

Not unless they worked on the same set again.

“Right? It’s so fucking cringe. I wish they’d hire someone who’s an equine if they’re going to write a script featuring two of us. Who even talks like that?” He muttered, tugging on his robe and tying it closed before slipping his feet into the sandals provided to him.

The laugh Wheein gives is sweet, making her entire face light up. She really is a beautiful woman and her body is equally divine, only made even better by her kind and bubbly personality. Not that she’d been able to show that during this scene of course.

It struck Taehyung that she’d probably make a good mare for his herd. Despite the fact they were lamenting how lame the script was that they’d been given, there were some truths to what they’d filmed. A stallion like Taehyung would actively seek out fertile mares from good stock for his herd to breed with.

The better quality the mare’s breeding, the better his foals would be. 

At least, that’s what horse hybrids were meant to do. Wheein would probably even agree to it if he asked. He knew that she wasn’t in a herd already and she’d made it pretty clear to him that she’d be open to something outside of their work if he wanted. His deeply-rooted instincts demanded that he take her home and breed her properly, but he just sighed deeply instead.

He may be a horse hybrid, with all the possessive and protective instincts that provided him as a stallion, but he had no actual interest in living his life like that. Which is why he makes a little more small talk with Wheein before leaving to go to his dressing room. The shower he takes is quick, making sure to rub viciously at his body as he tries his hardest to remove any scent of the mare he’d just fucked.

Hybrids were something that had been created long ago. So long ago, no one knew how they were made anymore. The knowledge had been lost in the Hybrid Revolution, three centuries ago when hybrids had refused to be slaves for their human masters anymore. Ever since they’d been treated as equals to everyone else in society.

That didn’t mean that they’d integrated fully of course. Hybrids of different species more often than not stayed with each other or mated with humans. It did happen though, but the differing instincts meant it often was better for a hybrid to simply stay within their species.

Something Taehyung had always found amusing though was the fact that even within their species, a lot of hybrids would only mate within their own ‘breed’. Wheein was a pure American Paint Horse, coming from a long line that could be traced back to when the humans had been breeding horse hybrids for manual labour, protection services and sports purposes.

Back then, the humans treated hybrids exactly like actual horses. They had a studbook and would breed stallions to certain mares to produce characteristics they wanted. Placid nature, easy to work with, intelligent, quick to learn and so forth. When they’d been released, the breeds had continued on the studbooks to this day.

There were plenty who didn’t follow that ideology, of course, Taehyung’s parents were not the same breed after all, but a lot seemed to put stock in being ‘purebred’. It was just another way to act superior in his opinion.

Besides, his parents may not be from the same breed but he was still technically a breed all of his own. His mother was an Arabian while his father a Thoroughbred, meaning he was a breed called an Anglo-Arab. That was considered a breed in its own right, though perhaps not as prestigious as either of his parents.

Whatever he didn’t care about all that. Taehyung had no real interest in following the cultural norms of his heritage. And the reason for that was waiting for him back at his apartment. The thought of that spurred him into cleaning up even faster, making sure he was squeaky clean before pulling on the clothes he’d removed earlier in the day.

Glancing in the mirror once finished, he sighed deeply and looked himself over. A quirk of his kind was that they looked distinctly hybrid in ways that didn’t match others.

A dog hybrid may have the ears of a spaniel while a cat could have the tail of a Persian. Horse hybrids didn’t have any of their animal counterpart’s physical characteristics though, no tails or ears or anything like that. But their animal genes had manifested uniquely in their skin and hair.

If someone was a bay then they would have brown skin in a range of shades while their lower arms, legs and the space around their mouths and nose would be even darker and their hair a luscious black. Taehyung blended a little better than most other horse hybrids, but for others like Wheein, it was more obvious. Her skin was covered in patches of alternating dark and light while her natural hair grew in white and dark brown.

He knew that certain breeds had distinct characteristics as well. An old high school friend was a Friesian with coal-black skin and the most luxuriously thick, wavy black hair. One of his Taehyung’s siblings, on the other hand, had a Lipizzaner mare in his herd; her skin and hair was snow white. It certainly made them easily identifiable.

Taehyung wasn’t quite so obvious. His palomino colouring was visible; pale white hair that was a little too long and softly tousled matched with rich golden skin. Broad shoulders tapered down into a slim waist, currently covered in a loose white button-up. His hair was still wet, dripping onto his shirt while his strong thighs and calves were contained within equally loose-fitting tan trousers. 

He didn’t look like someone who’d just filmed pornography, but then again, what did that look anyway? Just a person? Still, he felt a small sense of satisfaction at how well he was going to blend. The last thing he wanted was to go home and have it look obvious what he’d just been doing, even if it was his job.

Chewing on his lip, he grabs his leather cross shoulder bag and exits the dressing room. He promised to get takeout tonight, and he wasn’t going to renege on that deal.

-

“I have food!” Taehyung calls out, placing the bag of takeout he’d just picked up on the kitchen counter before shrugging off his jacket. By the time he gets back from hanging it up, you’ve already emerged from your bedroom and are pulling plates out of the cupboard while trying to see what he’d gotten.

“What did you get? Chinese?” Looking up at him with a raised brow, Taehyung’s heart stutters for a moment at just how pretty you are. There’s not a trace of makeup on your face right now, you didn’t bother when you were at home, and yet you were still the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.

Like him, you were also a hybrid. The two of you had met in the first class of freshman year in college and had quickly become best friends, despite the differences between you both. He’d also fallen deeply in love with you at some point, even though he knew nothing could happen.

Just as he was driven by the instinct to have sex with multiple women to form a herd, you were driven by your instincts. Only yours were dictated by your lovebird genetics, which meant that you were strictly monogamous. As in, once you entered a relationship and truly fell in love with them then you would never have another relationship.

The antithesis of a horse hybrid then. Taehyung had long known that it meant he would never be able to be with you the way he wanted. You craved monogamy and it simply wasn’t in his genes.

So he’d stayed your best friend, and for the last five years since finishing college, he’d also remained your roommate. The two of you shared a mid-sized apartment in the city centre, close to the university that you worked at as a music professor and within easy driving distance of his workplace.

“No, there’s a new Ethiopian place that’s opened close to work. Seokjin was telling me about it it’s a vegan restaurant and I thought it’d be cool to try it out. No idea what you’d like, or what I’d like, so I just got a bunch of things to try.” Smiling at you, he starts to pull out the carefully packaged food and chuckles as you ‘ooh’ at it all.

“Oooh, I’ve never had Ethiopian food before. I’m excited.” And then you turn that blinding smile onto him and he has to let out a deep breath as slowly as possible to stop himself from doing something silly. He’s long been used to his feelings yet you still make him feel like a teenager again.

Once everything’s out, the two of you take it over to the little table that’s set up between the kitchen and the living room and lay it all out. You quickly dart over to the fridge and grab some water for the two of you before settling down and humming in excitement as everything is unpackaged.

Like Taehyung, you didn’t have many physical attributes of your animal side. Which would have been exceptionally strange given the difference between humans and birds. What you did have though, were black irises to match your pupils and the most exquisitely beautifully coloured hair. The front was a blend of peach, yellow and red which slowly morphed into the familiar lovebird green.

It was all-natural and incredibly pretty, suiting your face and personality so well. The original purpose of lovebird hybrids had been as companions due to their loyalty to their partner alongside musical pursuits. Not everyone was great at music but more often than not, lovebird hybrids tended to excel at singing.

Taehyung loved to hear you sing. Or play the piano or any of the other instruments you’d learnt how to play over the years. You were practically a prodigy when it came to the musical arts and he would forever be in awe of just how talented you were.

Your singing was one of the reasons he’d fallen for you so quickly; your buoyant and always effervescent personality had made him determined to befriend the sweet lovebird hybrid in his class. But it was your singing that had truly captured his heart.

The sweet sound of your voice could be as light as a dandelion seed on a summer breeze or swell as loud and strong as a hurricane. He’d been immediately fascinated the moment he’d first heard you sing and it had never let him go. Taehyung genuinely couldn’t imagine his life anymore without hearing your singing around the apartment; from the quiet songs when you were concentrating to the ones you belted out when you were in a happy mood.

He loved it all. As cheesy as it would sound, he just knew that his life would be dull and quiet without his music-obsessed, colourful, chatty best friend. Which was why he couldn’t give up the small hope of something with you. It was a tiny chance, but as long as you remained unattached then it was there all the same and he would grab onto it tightly.

“Did your shoot go well today?” You distract him out of his wayward thoughts with your question and it takes a few seconds of it to truly penetrate his mind and for him to understand. Almost immediately though, it causes him to twist his lips as he begins to spoon out the food he wants from the containers onto his injera, Ethiopian flatbread, that covers his plate. He hated talking about his job to you. It was like a reminder of what he couldn’t have every time.

But he was a big boy, so he took in a deep breath before looking back at you and giving you his trademark boxy smile. 

“It went okay, nothing went wrong which is always a good thing. Wheein was nice and very pleasant to work with, good at her job. The script was just as bad as I originally thought.” Snorting at the memory, he takes a mouthful of food and chews thoughtfully as he takes in the new flavours.

“Let me guess...full of lots of over-the-top horse innuendos and dirty talk?” Chuckling to yourself, you take a drink of cold water before tilting to your head to look him over carefully. Taehyung pauses, unsure of himself for a second before quirking his brow at you.

“Yeah, something like that. I shouldn’t be complaining really...no one watches what I make for the dialogue.” He’s very aware that there’s a slight pout to his lips as he looks back down at his plate, missing the way your expression changes to one of sympathy and protectiveness.

“Well...true I guess, but you’re a great actor outside of that. And I’m not just saying that to you because you’re my best friend TaeTae. You’re genuinely good.” Now he does look at you, taking in the way you look at him with concern and he feels a flare of guilt rise in his stomach. Taehyung would never let you know that the only reason he’d started to work in the pornography industry during college was so that he could satiate his desires without dating multiple women or accidentally creating a herd.

The fact that he was still doing it, seven years after beginning, was because he still held out hope. He knew that he could’ve been something better, entered the world of television or film acting, maybe even theatre. But it would have meant having to flaunt an unending trail of women in front of you.

At least he had a valid and acceptable reason for fucking so many women as a pornstar. The fact that he had no emotional connection to the women who worked alongside him now was a bonus, allowing you to see that he was more than capable of leaving his work in the studio.

Giving you a tight smile, Taehyung nods his head in appreciation. “Thanks, chirp. I appreciate it. And I know, but I think it’s too late now. Too old, you know?” 

“Pfft, no way. There are loads of actors who didn’t start their careers until they were older! And no offence, but you’re a guy so you’ve got the kind of lifespan that most women aren’t allowed. You’re only twenty-nine!” The outraged response from you is almost immediate, the piece of injera almost flying out of your hand at your reaction.

Thankfully, you’d just eaten the vegetable wat that you’d scooped up already so there wasn’t any risk of the floor or wall being decorated with Ethiopian stew. That would just be a waste of some good food in Taehyung’s opinion.

But that was irrelevant. 

What was relevant was your vehement defence of Taehyung and his talents. The two of you had had this conversation many times over the years and yet it never failed to make him smile. You were adamant he could do better and he knew that he could too. But he didn’t want to. Despite how good his acting was, he had no real interest in actually taking it up as a career outside of porn.

He didn’t care for the lifestyle or travelling or fame. Porn worked well for him at the moment. It satisfied his instincts, it paid well enough and he had a manager that ensured Taehyung only received the best directors, co-stars and films.

What Taehyung would love to do, was to work in fashion design. He loved putting together interesting and unique looks while also thinking up ideas for clothes. His best friend, Jimin, had started a clothing brand of his own a few years ago thanks to the money his parents had loaned him. It was doing pretty well so far and Jimin was constantly sad that Taehyung wouldn’t join him.

The older man, he was only two months older but that meant everything to Park Jimin, had tried everything he could think of to lure his best friend into his company. From offering a creative director role to his sub-brand that would operate almost independently from the parent brand, Calico. And Taehyung had promised him that he’d accept one day.

He would as well. Just not yet. It wasn’t time yet. 

“Thanks. Anyway, how was your day? Didn’t you say you had some exams this morning or something?” His segue into another conversation works like a charm and you happily begin to complain about the exams that you’d given your freshman students today. It still boggled his mind that you’d willingly insert yourself into college life again, even if it was in a teaching role but you seemed to thrive in the social aspect of it all.

The two of you continue to talk until there’s no food left, every single piece happily was eaten. Admittedly, most of it was eaten by Taehyung as he had a far larger appetite than you did. It was even bigger today given the workout he’d done during his work hours but you’d been content to hand over what you didn’t want to eat anymore.

Or rather, you’d been content to feed him what you didn’t want. Something he’d had to get used to very early on in his friendship with you was that you retained the instinct to feed those you were close to. That’s what you’d told him anyway, though if he was to be entirely honest he hadn’t seen you feed anyone else before.

Then again, none of the friends you both shared in common was the kind of people who would accept being fed, no matter how much they liked you.

It’s a few hours later that you’re both ready to go to bed; eyes sleepy and movements slow after watching three episodes of The Chilling Adventures of Sabrina while curled up beneath the couch blanket as you both digest your food. Taehyung could have happily fallen asleep where he was, the warmth of you not close enough for him to feel but your scent strong enough to lull him into a peaceful slumber.

“I’m going to bed.” You say loudly, causing him to jerk awake quickly as you push the blanket off your body and stand up. It’s not as quick as you’d normally be but the stretch you give combined with the extraordinarily big yawn lets him know you’re pretty tired.

Not a surprise. It was after 11 pm now and you’d been up since 5:30 am to make sure you had everything set for your classes. A slight wobble as you lose your balance causes him to jump up, resting a hand on the small of your back gently to provide careful assistance while he reaches for the remote with his other to turn off the television.

“Careful, you’re gonna hurt yourself.” Taehyung chuckles, kicking away the blanket which had also become tangled around your feet. A quiet hum from you lets him know that you’re more tired than he’d initially thought.

Not saying anything more, he runs his free hand through the pale blonde strands of his hair as he directs you towards your bedroom. The door is closed to the outside world, unlike his, but the interior is familiar to him once you open it up.

One of the habits you had that came from your lovebird side was that you liked to nest. Which meant your bedroom had everything you loved arranged exactly how you wanted it. Your bed was a canopy style, completely cocooned away from the world except for the entrance. He’d been in once or twice to wake you up when you’d been late for something and he would admit to being fascinated by just how dark and...comfy it all looked.

Soft sheets, multiple fluffy pillows and more covered the top of your bed. He’d love to see what it was like to sleep in it one night because it looked like it could easily be one of the comfiest nights of sleep he’s ever had. A bonus would be if you slept next to him.

One of the more fortunate, or unfortunate depending on how you looked at it, aspects of his heritage was that Taehyung could sleep anywhere. He’d even been known to sleep standing up, which meant that he wasn’t that bothered about what his sleeping space looked like.

Taehyung knew it was something of an honour for him to be even allowed in your bedroom, to be honest, given how protective and territorial you got over your own space. It had been amusing for him to realise this at first, particularly given he wasn’t particularly bothered when it came to his own physical space but upon realising you wouldn’t let anyone else in, he’d used it as a badge of pride.

To himself, of course. No one else would care or even be surprised that your best friend and roommate was the only person allowed in.

Shaking his head, he wishes you goodnight before closing your door quietly and heading to the bathroom for his nightly ritual. The downside to being a porn actor was that he had to follow a proper skincare routine to make sure his skin looked the best. Because obviously, people were paying attention to his beautiful face instead of his massive dick.

Not.

Still, it helped to book more shoots. He had a ‘statuesque’ face that appealed to women or something. So he went along with it and had, admittedly, fantastic skin as a result.

The last thought before he finally fell asleep was that he was pretty sure the oversized black sweatpants you’d been wearing were his.

-

Taehyung doesn’t get to see a whole lot of you in the next few weeks. He’d ended up having to travel for a shoot that lasted a week and by the time he got back, you were on a much-needed vacation with your friends. As such, he was getting a little grumpy at the lack of interaction with you.

Which was entirely the reason that he’d almost jumped on top of you when you’d finally walked through the apartment door; three long weeks after seeing you last. You’d let him know that you’d be coming home today and he’d had to wait as patiently as he could on the couch, pouting at the fact you hadn’t accepted his offer of going to the airport to meet you.

But with everything in the apartment turned off, he’d used his superior hearing to the best of his abilities and had listened as hard as possible for your footsteps. After so many years, he knew exactly what you sounded like when you walked.

So when he finally heard that familiar beat, alongside the rolling of the wheels on your suitcase, he’d leapt up. There may even be a hole in the wall from how forcefully he’d yanked the door open, his excitement causing him to not pay attention to his strength for a moment before he’s giving you the biggest and brightest grin he possibly can.

“I missed youuuuuu!” Whining loudly, Taehyung wraps his arms around your waist and lifts. The squeal you let out soon dissolves into laughter when he spins you around, mentally marvelling once more at how light you were while his sense went haywire with you so close again. He could feel the softness of your hips as he lets you down, smell the soft peach of your shampoo along with the slight hint of sweat after so long travelling. 

It was perfect, and something deep within him relaxed.

You were home. You were safe.

“I missed you too, Tae! Can I please actually come in?” Your laughter is sweet, infectious as always and he stands to the side to let you enter the apartment. Without even asking, he gently takes the handle of your suitcase from you and lifts it with no complaints, heading over to your bedroom.

Given he’s not facing you anymore, he doesn’t see the way you practically swoon at the sight of him using his strength so casually. Or the way you almost drool at his broad shoulders in the plain white shirt he’d thrown on today, the muscles working in a way that made your hands twitch.

“Did you have a good time? Please tell me that Yeji doesn’t have some embarrassing story again this year,” While your yearly vacations with your friends were mostly for sunbathing and catching up, he knew that you all enjoyed re-enacting some college years and that copious amounts of alcohol were drunk. “And I’m not saying about you, I mean just embarrassing full stop. I’m still feeling secondary embarrassment over two years ago.”

“A story which will forever remain buried, thank you very much. But no, we were good this year. Or rather, we weren’t good but I think we’re starting to get a little too old to be drinking so heavily, you know? We can’t recuperate the same way and I get hangovers way too easily. I do not have the physiology to cope with their drinking levels!” There’s a slight whine to your voice, making him smile in amusement as he moves over to lean against the doorway of your room.

While he was fully welcome into your space, he knew that you liked it to be your own. Especially when you’d been away for a while.

“Well, I mean...you are a lovebird. I don’t think there are many alcohol-tolerant birds out there.” That gets him a subtle glare, your pretty lips puckered into a pout. It’s an innocent action, something that shouldn’t bother him in the slightest, and yet his heart stutters and his stomach twists on itself.

What he wouldn’t give to kiss you.

Shaking his head, he tries to force the thoughts out of his mind. Honestly, he was perfectly fine when he was away from you. But when you were around, it was like you were all he could think about. Still, it was hard not to when you looked at him so fondly.

“True. There’s no need to point that out though. Salt in the wound much? Anyway, it was fun. They kept trying to get me to swim in the sea but like...no thank you. Water is for drinking and washing, not for swimming around in.” You’re crouched down, unzipping your suitcase and pulling out the dirty clothes before separating them into the individual bins you have.

Unlike Taehyung, who simply separated his clothes when it came time to wash them, you were very tidy and had bought fancy clothes hamper with three sections. This was probably why Taehyung would accidentally end up with a shrunken shirt or pink underwear from time to time. You paid far more attention to that stuff.

“Swimming is fun though.” Is all he responds with, standing back when you carry the laundry hampers past him. Putting the colours into the washing machine, he watches quietly as you add everything before turning it on. It was fascinating how you’d only been home for less than ten minutes and yet you were already cleaning things up.

Not that he’d made the apartment untidy or anything. It’s just you had a different idea of what was clean to him.

“Okay but, you can say that because you’ve got those shoulders to cut through the water. Not to mention you’re strong anyway. Not so fun for the rest of us. And I don’t mind swimming in a pool. Where I can see the bottom and the size is posted. The ocean though? That’s huge. No thanks.” Smirking, he flops down onto the couch and sighs happily when you push him up before sitting down yourself, letting him rest his head on your thighs.

There was no convincing you though and Tae gave up on the argument pretty quickly, not that he was trying too hard. One thing he’d learnt long ago was that you were perhaps the most stubborn person he’d ever known. It was an endearing trait, most of the time.

“Did you audition for that role?” Your question is innocent, soft fingers trailing through his hair that would have him purring if he was a cat hybrid. Instead, it was just making him get the urge to groom you in turn, his fingers twitching with the need. Ignoring it, he forced himself to just enjoy the touch.

“Yeah. Not sure if I’ve got it though. I got the feeling they weren’t looking for someone like me in the role.” It wasn’t surprising really and he wasn’t offended by the producers of the film he’d gone for. Even porn wanted specific people for specific roles sometimes; it would be silly to think he could get every role he went for.

Not to mention exhausting.

“Well, they’re missing out then,” You say, scratching his scalp until he hums in delight. “Anyone who doesn’t want you is missing out.”

Your words make his heart jump, his breath stuttering as he inhales and wonders if there’s a double meaning to that. But you’re too busy watching the show that you’ve started on Netflix to notice Taehyung’s existential dilemma. Part of him is glad, but there’s another part that wishes he was brave enough to bring it up.

He chooses not to engage with it though, instead just sighing and letting himself relax into the cushions of the couch. It’s nice to be surrounded by your scent once more and to feel your warmth.

“I appreciate that, Chirp. But I’m not letting it get me down. Sometimes they just can’t handle all this.” Gesturing half-heartedly to his body, he’s pleased to hear you laugh at his joke. The sound is sweet, even if the two of you lapse into a comfortable silence after that. 

You’re too busy watching your show while he’s half dozing off, eyes closed and breath getting deeper as he starts to drift away. It’s comfortable on the couch, with the temperature just right and his body perfectly relaxed. Which means it’s unsurprising that he falls asleep pretty quickly, completely unaware of anything that’s happening around him as he sleeps.

-

Taehyung is more than a little disoriented when he finally awakens; the room dark and silent with the lights and television switched off. Frowning, he blinks rapidly before rubbing at his eyes with a hand while sitting up. Stretching his arms out above his head, the groan he lets out is one of relief as stiff muscles relax and a few bones crack.

Reaching out to the coffee table blindly, he grabs his phone and winces when the bright light almost blinds him. Unfortunately, he hadn’t been hugely blessed with the better night sight horses had. Well, he could see better than humans but nothing amazing. Didn’t make it any better when he was subjected to bright light suddenly though.

“Ah, fuck.” He curses, squinting until he can finally focus on the screen. It’s not too late, but it’s a good two hours or so since you’d finally gotten home. Frowning, he just sits there for a moment as his mind finally catches up with the fact he is awake.

Yawning loudly, he finally pulls himself up and decides he should probably go shower before collapsing into bed. Taehyung hadn’t even realised he was tired, but it could have been the comfort of knowing you were back and safe. It wasn’t like he was some over-protective asshole who needed to know your every movement - more that he just felt more content when he knew you were okay.

Walking to his room, he’s scratching at his exposed stomach lazily when he hears the sound of your voice. The door leading to your bedroom is firmly closed but there’s light at the gap on the bottom. His enhanced hearing means that he can easily hear everything you’re saying, which is nothing new.

Over the years though, he’s learnt to carefully block out anything you’re saying when you’re in your room. You deserved your privacy, even if he couldn’t help the fact that he could hear everything perfectly.

And that would have been exactly what he would have done right now. Just carried on through to his bedroom and continued with his plans. Only he can’t help but stop when he hears the familiar syllables of his name. Taehyung knows it’s wrong, but the way you said it is different than normal.

He can’t help but listen, expression curious and his head tilting without even realising it. Your conversation is one-sided but he pays careful attention, still in the middle of the hallway.

“-you know Taehyung, he’s always being attentive and sweet. It’s just his nature, he’s like that with everyone. Yuna...it’s just Tae. He hugs everyone, you’re looking too much into it,” There’s a longer pause now, presumably your best friend talking extensively to you. “Come on, isn’t that what you always tell me? We haven’t seen each other in a while, it’s not surprising he got all touchy.”

Taehyung frowns, lips twisting as he begins to understand a little. Or at least, he thinks he does. If he’s right, Yuna thinks that he likes you. His cheeks heat up as he realises how obvious he’d been with his feelings, even though you make a good argument against it. But you’re wrong and Yuna is very much right.

He does like you, and he’s not quite as touchy-feely with everyone else. Taehyung isn’t even sure how you got that opinion. The only other person he’s remotely as affectionate with is Jimin, and that’s only because he’s known the calico cat hybrid since they were babies. Tae’s mom had worked with Jimin’s mom for decades now, which meant they’d grown up with each other.

“Yuna,” Your whining now, voice going high pitched and your words getting longer. “I thought you were the one who was telling me that I need to get over Tae! And now you’re telling me he’s obviously into me? Make up your mind, woman! Do you want me to ignore my feelings for him or consider telling him? And no, you can’t backtrack in a week or so like you always do. This is serious. I’d be humiliating myself by telling him.”

It’s almost like the world has paused around Taehyung. For a second, he almost feels dizzy and has to rest a palm against the wall as he sways. Your feelings...for him? Did he hear that right? Was he twisting your words into what he hoped you were implying?

Before he can contemplate it anymore in his mind, you go on to say something that shatters the norm for Taehyung.

“It would be humiliating Yuna, you know that. You know what I am, we’ve talked about this. God, I can’t tell Taehyung I love him because then that’s it, I’ve sealed my fate and I won’t be able to get over him. It’s already hard just trying. Having him know? I can’t, not when he can’t give me what I want.” There’s a pain in your voice and his heart twists, stomach bubbling in a way that almost makes him want to vomit as his world changes.

You love him. You.  Love. Him.

“It’s not his fault Yuna, we’ve gone through this so many times. I have my instincts and he has his, I’m not going to get angry at something we can’t change. Please...can we just talk about something else? Something that’s not going to make me cry and spend all night thinking? We agreed that we’d try to get me over this, dammit.”

That’s the last thing Taehyung hears as he walks quickly back to his room, having decided that he’s heard far too much of a conversation he clearly shouldn’t have heard. Guilt roils in him, flooding his veins as he flops down onto his bed and stares at the white ceiling of his room. He feels dazed and confused, not sure what he’s meant to think about this sudden change in events.

Taehyung being in love with you was something he’d long ago accepted. But he’d also accepted that nothing would happen from it because of what you wanted in life. Finding out that you wanted him too was game-changing. It was also heartbreaking to know that the only reason you both weren’t together already was because of his instincts.

Suddenly, he sees his career in a whole new light. What was a coping mechanism for him to reduce his innate desires and allow him to give you all the best bits of himself, was probably pure pain for you. The knowledge that you loved him was both exciting and, surprisingly, horrifying.

He knew that love birds would only have one partner, and from what he’d read over the years it meant they only really truly loved one person. If you felt this strongly for Taehyung then did that mean he’d stolen any other choices from you? He’d been holding back to make sure you had a chance to be happy but had he just made it worse?

Swallowing thickly, Taehyung realises there are tears in his eyes as he wonders if he’s ruined everything. The logical part of his mind knows that it’s not his fault if you’ve fallen in love with him, just like it wasn’t your fault he’d fallen for you. But he certainly hadn’t done anything to truly push you away, to try and get you to find someone else to fall in love with and enjoy a happy life.

Had he been selfish? 

Rolling onto his stomach, he buries his head into his pillow and lets out a yell. It’s a good job your hearing is only on the level of a normal human because he was positive the extended noise he made would have brought you running otherwise. And he needed to think right now.

There’s probably a solid ten minutes of silence in his room as he lays there, unmoving while his mind races through all his options. If he admitted that he’d overheard you, then he would probably embarrass you. Taehyung would jump at the chance to finally date you, but he knew that you wouldn’t be able to cope with his career.

You were supportive of him now, but you weren’t in a romantic relationship with him. And he doubted you would be comfortable with the knowledge that he was coming home to kiss, cuddle and have sex with you after having done the same things with random women earlier in the day.

If he was honest with himself then Taehyung knew that he wouldn’t be happy with that too. Despite how he was raised, his mom had been one of many mares in the herd his father had kept over the years, he wanted to be the one for you. Which meant he wouldn’t be content to do things with other women that you only wanted to be done.

He wanted the traditional relationship that many horse hybrids would wrinkle their nose at.

So, he had to figure out how to navigate that.

Lifting himself, he grabs his phone and opens up Google. Taehyung didn’t know many horse hybrid’s who wanted to have a monogamous relationship, but he had met a few over the years. Racking his brain, he tries to remember what they had talked about when he’d queried how they could cope with only being with one partner for life.

Despite his interest in the topic, he’d been young at the time and had still very much enjoyed sleeping with as many women as he could. His feelings for you hadn’t quite become what they were today, so he hadn’t listened too intently. Taehyung regretted that now. Tapping his lips for a moment, he contemplates what to write before he begins to type his request into the search engine.

Horse hybrid hormone inhibitors.

-

It’s three weeks later when Taehyung finally feels comfortable and knowledgeable enough to make a move. He’d made an appointment with his doctor the very next day after overhearing your conversation. He specialised in hybrid care, in particular those for equine hybrids like Taehyung along with the rare donkey or zebra.

Which meant he wasn’t all that shocked at Taehyung’s unusual enquiry. He probably got the occasional query from an equine hybrid about how to be monogamous. It was rare but not unheard of after all. What had shocked him though, was the fact that it was Taehyung asking it.

Kim Taehyung, the infamous porn star who had built a living on his ability to fuck his way through multiple women on camera. Who had his damn fanbase based almost purely on his cock for god’s sake? It was embarrassing to think about, but he’d known what he was getting into when he’d signed the contract in the first place.

He wouldn’t lie and say he didn’t enjoy his job because he did. Taehyung hated that he did, but the sex with many women helped to alleviate all those deeply held instincts and urges within him. Still, now that he knew about you he had no intention of carrying on with his career. Not when he had a chance.

Which was why he’d admitted his feelings towards you to the doctor. Something he’d never thought he’d end up doing, but once everything was out in the open then his doctor was far more understanding of Taehyung’s request. Even encouraging of it. Taehyung was pretty sure that he found the whole story a little sweet and romantic.

Either way, they’d worked out a plan for him to make his life easier if you accepted him. Medications that he would need to take to reduce the overwhelming instincts that drive his hybrid nature and would allow him to engage in monogamy. The idea of that was unbelievably exciting and he’d begun to take his medication only days after the appointment.

After that, he’d gotten together with Jimin. Their weekly hangout usually occurred in a bar, a restaurant or sometimes just hanging around one of their apartments. His best friend had shrieked with delight when Taehyung had explained his predicament and what he was doing to go forward with.

Which had led him to finally asking Jimin if that job offer was still on the plate if everything went right. Taehyung wanted to finally pursue his dream of being a fashion designer and it was so tantalisingly close. He was on the verge of finally having the life he’d always wanted. Hopefully with you.

The first week of being on the medication, which reduced the high levels of testosterone he produced and helped to inhibit his base reactions, had been rough as hell. Taehyung had been on the verge of calling in sick for the first time to a shoot, his body struggling to cope with the change in his body. But he’d pushed through and two weeks later, here he was.

Nervous as fuck and waiting for you to finally come home. 

Everything all depended on if you’d accept his request to start a relationship. A serious, romantic relationship that was entirely monogamous. If you said yes, then he had a lawyer all set up to break his contract and a contract just waiting for him with Jimin.

Although really, he’d be quitting his job no matter what happened. He was tired of the porn scene, even if he’d met some wonderfully kind and talented people there. Taehyung had finally decided that he would be moving on with his life and accepting the job with Jimin.

It was up to you whether you wanted to be alongside him, and in what capacity.

The pizza he’d ordered for you both arrived at the same time you came home; a large box of vegetable pizza held in your hands and amusement in your pretty eyes. It makes him smile brightly to see you happy, knowing that you’re pleased he’d taken care of dinner tonight. Especially as it was from your favourite pizzeria; six different kinds of cheeses combined with peppers, onions, eggplant, tomatoes and spinach.

Your favourite kind of pizza, alongside a bottle of red wine that he’d already filled a glass with to let it breathe. The amusement soon turns to suspicion, your brow rising as you kick off your shoes and shrug off your coat.

“What’s all this about?” Gesturing at everything, you settle onto the couch next to him with your legs curled up beneath you. Taehyung bites his lip, sighing softly before reaching out and opening up the box. He doesn’t explain for a few minutes, just letting you both eat a slice of pizza while he watches his beer on the table.

He felt like a teenager, his stomach fizzing with a combination of excitement and nerves that almost makes him feel nauseous. Maybe he shouldn’t be eating right now, but he hasn’t been able to eat all day so far. There would be no use in making himself ill. It would be mortifying for him to throw up all over you.

By the time you’ve eaten two slices, Taehyung has only managed one. But he’s decided that he’s waited long enough. It’s time.

Taking in a deep breath, he lets it out slowly before clearing his throat. After so many years of being friends, he knows that he can talk to you about anything. There are many memories that he’d much rather forget that you’d seen of him, such as that awkward time when he’d had an upset stomach and hadn’t been able to get to the bathroom quick enough.

Not his finest moment and you’d gagged more than once but hey, it was all a bonding experience. Right? Or was that just his opinion on it? 

Still, Taehyung found himself pausing; his words sticking in his throat even as he mentally told himself to pull it together. You’d seen all his low points and his highpoints, he did not doubt that you would treat his question with the respect it deserves. But it was still a worry that you might turn him down.

Maybe you’d finally found someone else and wouldn’t want him anymore. The thought made his chest hurt, but he had to know. He had to get the answer to the question that had burned in his thoughts for years now. If you rejected him then he’d be hurt but he’d get over it, especially if it meant you found your happiness.

So why was it so hard to get the words out?

“Hey, are you okay?” Your shoulder bumps into his, pretty face dipping low to catch his eyes. He should have known that you would have realised there was something wrong, or that he wasn’t quite being himself. The way you look at him with such worry and concern makes his anxiety melt away, causing him to smile before he nods.

“I have something to ask you. I mean...you can say no. Please don’t worry about that, if you don’t want to then tell me no. I’ll accept it, I promise. You know I’d never try to force you, right?” He winces, realising that he’s messing this up already given the way your brow creases in confusion. “I mean, god I’m fucking this up. I’m sorry. I just...I have to be honest with you. I accidentally overheard your conversation the other month. I didn’t mean to, it was when you’d come home after your vacation and I’d fallen asleep so I was going back to my room and I overheard you.”

Taehyung is babbling, and he realises that when you gently press a finger to his lips. It would be nice to say that you didn’t look bothered, but there was fear on your face that made him feel sick.

“I believe you.”

Your words are so soft and he almost hums in delight as you run your fingers through his hair, grooming him without even realising. It makes him smile, both at your steadfast belief in him and how you always want to be touching and cleaning him in some way. His fingers itched with the desire to groom you in turn.

He restrained himself, fully aware that if he did then it’d just end up being one half an hour of you both trying to clean each other. The perils of two social hybrids who both have a culture and instinct for grooming. Not what he wanted right now.

The reassurance you give him, combined with the unwavering belief in your eyes, convinces him to just say it. To just get it out and lay his cards on the table. He was nervous, sure, but he’d been nervous many times in his life and he’d overcome all of those moments.

“I heard you say that you like me. In a romantic way. I was really surprised at hearing it, mainly because I didn’t think you’d ever looked at me that way before. Not when I’m the opposite of what you’d want in terms of a relationship. But I want you to know that hearing it made me the happiest I’ve been in a while. Because I like you too. And I have done for a while now. Years.” He says it all with a carefully neutral face, watching you carefully to see if he can gauge your reaction.

For a moment, your expression is a perfect picture in neutrality. The Switzerland of faces, giving nothing away and not letting him see anything that’s going on in your head. It’s frustrating for him when he’s probably feeling too much, but he doesn’t push. Just waits to see what you’ll say.

“What?”

Okay, so perhaps not the eloquent acceptance of his feelings that he’d expected. But it’s not an outright rejection. He can work with this, there’s potential here. 

Licking his lips, he takes a deep breath before carefully shifting until he’s facing you on the couch. Your eyes are so wide, shining in the light and making him think it looks like you hold the secrets of the universe deep within. He can’t help but smile at it, at how young and innocent you look.

Smile at the tentative hope he thinks he can spy.

“I like you, Chirp. Like, like you. Probably would use a stronger word if I wasn’t already afraid I’m scaring you away. I know that I’m not what you’d want in a partner, which is why I’ve never made a move over the years. But I’ve always hoped, which is why I never got a herd of my own,

“I love being around you, I love hearing you sing and laugh, I love talking to you, I love hearing you talk to others, I love how you’re so affectionate and always want to groom me along with chatting my ears off. I never said anything though, because most of all, I valued our friendship. And I knew that you wanted someone who could be your life-partner, something I wasn’t sure if I could be.” Taehyung pauses, twisting his lips before looking down at his hands.

“But then I heard you talking and I realised that there might be a possibility. A small one maybe, but I knew I had to at last try. Something I want you to know though is that everything I’m about to tell you that I’ve done has been done for myself because I finally realised that I have to move forward with my life. So, firstly, I talked to my doctor and I’ve started some medication that helps to inhibit my instincts when it comes to relationships and sex.” Pausing, he eyes you to gauge how you’re taking the news.

The head tilt you give is very birdlike, causing him to chuckle without even meaning to. He can’t help it though, not when you look so sweet right then with your bright hair and big eyes.

“I don’t have the urge to have sex with lots of women or make my herd anymore. We talked about it extensively and decided this would be my best course of action to allow me to have a healthy, monogamous relationship. Because of that, I’ve also quit my job and taken up the offer Jimin’s been giving me for years now.”

Despite the fact he’s mid-confession to you, the excitement in his stomach at that very moment is more to do with the fact he was going to finally have his dream career. That he was going to be doing a job which he’d been wanting to accept for years.

Understandably, his words cause you to suddenly gasp in delight before you’re clapping your hands eagerly. The excitement and happiness are purely for him finally taking proper control of his life, ridding himself of the pornography career that he’d enjoyed but hadn’t loved. Something you’d known for a while now.

“Oh my god? You’re going to work with Jimin?! You took the job! TaeTae, I’m so happy for you!” Even though he’d just admitted to you that he was near enough in love with you, your emotions were purely focused on the fact he’d taken the job. Feeling your approval and genuine joy at his life change, he can’t help but give you a wide, boxy grin even while the apples of his cheeks turn a soft rose.

“Thanks, I think Jimin was more excited than anyone to be honest. Pretty sure he’s already organising a design space for me in his building alongside an office. Makes me feel kind of bad for waiting so long to take him up on it but I feel like I’m finally at a place in my life that I’m truly ready for that career change.” That seems to remind you of what he’d told you earlier, about his medication.

Your elated expression slowly fades and he watches in trepidation as your brow creased, the mood dimming. Were you unhappy with his choice? Taking a deep breath, he holds it for a moment before letting it out slowly.

“I want you to know that there is no pressure on you. For anything. I’m going to continue taking this medication because I want to focus on my new career without having to worry about any urges taking over. The side benefit to it means that...well,” He pauses for a moment. “I can have a proper relationship. Or at least, the kind of relationship that you’d want. If you want that. With me.”

There’s complete silence in the room and Taehyung feels the sudden urge to grab another slice of pizza and start eating. Just for something to do with his hands and to distract himself.

He doesn’t push though, just lets you process what he’s told you. It was a lot, so he wasn’t even particularly expecting an answer tonight. If he were being honest, then he wouldn’t be surprised if you took yourself off to your room for the night. Or even went to one of your friends to talk it over with them.

But as usual, you surprise him. You may be small and dainty compared to him, light as a feather and full of cheer, but your personality has always been big and bold. Which is why you tackle the topic head-on.

“I didn’t mean for you to hear, you know that right?” Is your first question and Taehyung nods quickly, reaching out to encompass your much smaller hand with his own. There’s nothing too familiar about the gesture, just a squeeze of reassurance to let you know he understands and isn’t mad or anything.

“I know. It was entirely my fault. I should’ve carried on as soon as I heard that you were talking but I just heard my name and...well.” He trails off, giving an awkward smile that causes you to smile in return. The gentle pressure on his hand makes him realise that you’re now trying to assuage his fears that you were annoyed.

“Hey, it’s okay. You may not have too many physical features of your animal side but you’ve got plenty of their abilities. We both know that you can’t control the fact that you can hear much better, so I don’t blame you. Nor do I blame you for stopping to listen. Especially when you realised what I was talking about,” Now it’s your turn to look abashed, gaze skittering away from his and down to your still joined hands. “I’d have done the same thing if I heard you talking about me.”

Swallowing, Taehyung wonders how he’s meant to respond to that. He didn’t know what he’d say anyway as his stomach feels like it’s full of butterflies suddenly. Really big, horrible butterflies that are making him feel nauseous. 

“So yeah, I’m not angry or annoyed over that. Please don’t worry too much. If anything...I’m kind of glad. Because it means you’ve confronted this head-on and now we both know how we feel about each other. Which is that we like each other. A lot. In case it wasn’t clear, I like you too. Really like you. But I also thought it wouldn’t work because I know what I want and need from my partner in my life and I knew that your instincts clashed with that. Again, not your fault. You can’t deny nature and I tried to make sure that you never felt like I was.” There’s a hint of something in your voice but Taehyung can’t figure it out.

Pain? Embarrassment? Worry?

Whatever it is, he doesn’t get a chance to query it because you forge on. The sweet lovebird he’d known for years seems to be wavering between shyness at talking about your feelings and determination to have everything laid out.

He can understand the feeling.

“You know, I’ve fantasised about this for years, but now that it’s happening-”

“You don’t know how to communicate what you’re feeling and it’s all way more awkward and not nearly as romantic or sexy as you’d imagined?” Taehyung finishes for you, biting his lip as he grins broadly. You snort in amusement before nodding, playing with his fingers for a minute or so as you try to rationalise it all in your head.

“Did you go on whatever that medication is...for me? Like...because you wanted a relationship? With me? I know you’ve said it’s also because you wanted a career doing something you’ve always wanted but…” Trailing off, you can’t seem to look him in the eyes.

Carefully, he uses his free hand to lift your chin until he can see you. There’s a brief moment where you try to avoid his gaze before you give in, staring back just as deeply. Nerves, fear and hope are warring within him and he imagines that he can see it reflected in your own eyes.

“I’m not going to say no because overhearing your conversation was what spurred me to talk to my doctor. Finding out that you liked me back and that I might have a chance with you made me want to try to make sure you get the best of me. I knew that there are horse hybrids out there who have monogamous relationships and who are happy, but I didn’t think that would be a possibility for me. And given what I was doing for my career, I thought it was just better to carry on as I was,

“But then when I was talking to him about it all, I realised that it would help me in other aspects of my life too. Yes, I could finally offer you the kind of relationship that you want and that I want to have with you, but it would also let me leave behind the porn and start focusing on what I want to do. You know that I’ve never really been one of those stallions who wants a herd and the porn helped me to get rid of those urges without giving in to them properly. I looked into it for you, but I took it for me.” Licking his lips, Taehyung realises that he feels lighter.

Like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders and he realises it’s because of what he’d told you. He’d been convinced that he was doing this to have a chance with you in the way he’d always dreamed of, but it was startling to realise that it was having such a positive effect in the rest of his life. For once, he was no slave to his instincts and had full control over himself, his emotions and his desires.

Just the thought of never having to do another film filled him with joy and happiness.

“Good. I wouldn’t want you to have changed yourself for me. But given that you have...what does it mean? Tell me.” Those pretty eyes, so big and wide, watch him intently and he gives a small half-smile as he shrugs with one shoulder.

“I mean...it’s basically like an inhibitor I guess? Reduces the amount of testosterone I produce, makes me less reactive to the scent of mares in heat and all that. There’s a whole bunch of medical stuff that I don’t understand but I just know what the doctor told me. It’s safe, it’s been tested many times before, and if things don’t work out, then I can come off them and be back to my old self. It just means that I won’t have the desire to have a herd or to...well sleep with multiple women, you know? Let’s be monogamous, a one-woman man. Finally.” Chuckling to himself, he runs his fingers through his pale hair so it’s out of his eyes.

“So...we could be together? Like...in a relationship? Just me and you?” 

“Yeah. The doctor said that as long as I’m on the medication then I’ll be like any other human or hybrid who doesn’t have a poly instinct. Not that there’s anything wrong with that obviously, but it means we can be together. In the future, if you want to be in a relationship or something...then if we decide to have kids or to not have them, I can get gelded and that’ll get rid of the instincts permanently.” Now your eyes widen in horror, hand covering your mouth as you gasp loudly.

“Gelded? They’d castrate you?” There’s a glance down from his face to his groin from you and he can’t help but laugh at the thought. Even if it does make him want to cup his balls protectively.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay! It’s okay! It’s just a vasectomy. Because I’m a stallion, it’s called being gelded. After that, I’d be officially known as a gelding. No longer able to have babies and with no real instinct to make my herd anymore.” Thankfully you look relieved at that and he wants to tease you about being so worried about his testicles. But instead, he just feels happy that you don’t tease him in turn about talking about potential babies already.

That’s a good sign.

“Okay. Okay...so, let’s think about this logically. I mean, is that being too cold? You admit that you like me back and you’re on medication to allow us to be in a relationship and I’m saying we need to think logically?” Taehyung pauses you with a finger to your lips, a smile on his own before he carefully wraps his arms around your shoulders.

He makes sure to give you plenty of time to make sure that you can pull away if you want to if you’re not comfortable with this, but you don’t. Instead, you almost seem to relax into him and link your arms around his waist. You can probably feel his heart beating through his chest, the muscle working extra hard while he feels a little breathless.

It’s not the first time he’s held you, but it feels different this time. There’s something more intimate about it and he can’t help but take a deep breath in, enjoying your scent.

“It’s fine. I’m kind of glad because I’ve made a complete mess of explaining myself here. So at least one of us can think more logically about it.”

“You didn’t do a terrible job. I mean...I’m certainly not going to vote for you or anything but it wasn’t bad. My question to you then...are we dating now?” And just like that, Taehyung’s breath is taken away. To the point, he almost chokes on his spit and ends up having a coughing fit.

Directly into your face, ruining any hint of romance.

Yep, he’d truly fucked this confession up. Taehyung was just lucky that you’d known him for so long that it just made your nose wrinkle as you wiped at your face with your shirt, grumbling lightly before pushing his shoulder.

“Gross.”

“Sorry! I wasn’t expecting that though! I mean, you just straight up asked. I was expecting like...more talking and exchanging feelings. More awkwardness.” Leaning away from him, you give him a very droll stare that makes him wince. Well, at least it was awkward now.

“Sorry for not living up to those weird expectations I guess? I just figure that we’ve spent long enough dancing around each other, right? I don’t want to waste any more time or have any more miscommunication so if it’s too abrupt for you then I’m still not sorry. I like you, Kim Taehyung. And given what you’ve told me, and what you’ve done for me, I want to finally have that relationship I’ve been wanting for so many years.” The authoritative tone in your voice is more attractive than he’d expected, causing his brow to rise. 

Feisty.

“Okay. Yes. Yes, we’re dating. Together. We’re together. Boyfriend and girlfriend. I need to shut up.” Clamming up, he forces his mouth to shut and for his muscles to remain still. In reality, he wants to jump for joy and scream out that this was happening. Even if part of him is embarrassed that he’s incapable of talking now.

It’s all worth it though when you give him a huge smile, so big and bright and full of happiness.

“You’re cute, you know that?” Now he’s blushing; cheeks high and a delightful rose as he tries to contain his smile. He’s supposed to be cool, the epitome of an educated man who is extremely experienced around women. And yet here he is, acting like a teenager getting his first girlfriend.

“Not what I normally get called.” You’re the one who looks a little shy at that, your eyes darting away from his as you bite at your lip. There’s a hint of nerves to you now and something else, something he can’t quite figure out. The way you wiggle slightly in place has him frowning in confusion, wondering what’s made you suddenly so quiet. This was the behaviour he’d been expecting from you, so it felt a relief to finally get it but also strange given how confident you’d been.

“What’s wrong? Where’s my bold girlfriend gone?” Gently poking your waist, he tries to ignore the thrill that rises inside him when he calls you that. It was going to take some time to get used to it.

Thankfully, it also manages to breakthrough whatever shell you’d suddenly formed around yourself. Grasping his hand with your own, you let out a soft whine as he continues to prod at you and he quickly intertwines his fingers with your own. For a moment, he’s too busy staring down at your hand in amused awe to remember what he’d asked you.

“Your hand is tiny, you know that?”

“No, you just have huge hands. All of you is huge, just like all of me is small. The difference between a horse and a lovebird.” Now it’s your turn to push at his stomach, a small smile on your face. Taehyung grins at that, but he grins, even more, when he catches your eyes flicking down to his lap.

It all clicked into place in his head, from the way you got shy at him saying he’s not normally called cute to the way you call him huge. You’re not wrong; Taehyung is massive when compared to you. Denser bones add to it at all, allowing him to lift and move heavy weights with ease whereas you’d developed a lighter bone structure that was more reminiscent of birds.

Taehyung had never broken a bone before, whereas you had to be careful doing certain things. But the size difference between you both was made even more obvious when he thought about sex. He was bigger than most human and hybrid males down below, and he wondered if there was something wrong with him that the knowledge you knew that turned him on.

Not that you’d ever seen him naked or anything, but you weren’t stupid. He was infamous in the porn industry for a reason.

Which suddenly made him consider something, his head tilting slightly as he narrowed his eyes at you.

“Have you ever watched my stuff? Like my films or anything? I know for a fact that some of them are on those free porn sites.” Biting his lip, he watches closely for any positive sign. One of the benefits of being a horse hybrid was that he was highly attuned to microexpressions in others.

Originally meant to watch out for danger and keep himself safe, it was more useful for getting an idea of where a conversation was going. It also made Taehyung feel very stupid that he’d never noticed you were in love with him before.

He doesn’t need to have any extra abilities to read your face right now though, not with how you look almost like you wish the floor would swallow you whole. You can’t even meet his eyes and it delights him.

“You have!” 

“No! I wouldn’t do that, you’re my best friend. That’d be weird.” Taehyung can sense the distress in your voice and he forces himself to tone down. He had no issues with the idea of you watching his stuff; if anything it was a turn on. But this relationship was so new that it had barely been born and he didn’t want to push your boundaries just yet. 

Still, he felt like he had a right to know.

“Hey, listen to me, it wouldn’t bother me if you did. I actually would find it a turn on to know you’ve watched me. I hope you weren’t upset though, I only did all of that to satisfy my instincts so that I could enjoy my time with you. But I made those films and videos for people to enjoy. If you got off to some of them that I’d consider it a job well done. Don’t feel embarrassed if you did.” Using his free hand, he lets his fingers trail along your cheek. It’s warm beneath his touch, the blood rushing in response to your tumultuous emotions and he reassuringly runs his thumb across it.

“You’re...you’re not bothered by the idea of that?” 

Taehyung chuckles at your disbelief and shrugs genially, making sure to portray an aura of calm and serenity. The only thing that bothered him about the idea of you watching his videos was that he was already sporting a semi at the very thought of his supposed ‘innocent’ best friend watching him railing some mare.

Which should be a terrible thought, but it just meant that he was all the more experienced for you. There would be no doubt in his mind that he could show you a world of pleasure that you’d never even imagined; as pompous and egotistic as that sounded.

Sex was his area of expertise though.

“I mean...I knew it was a risk when I started. I make porn. Porn is available freely on the internet and I fully expected some of my friends to be at least a little curious. Plus, there’s the whole ‘horse hybrid’ thing going on. I don’t tend to get embarrassed easily around sex. If anything, it’s kinda exciting knowing that you’ve seen some.” You’re giving him a look of pure confusion and he can’t help but laugh heartily. 

Oh, he loves you. He loves how befuddled you are at his refusal to adhere to your expectations. Given how reserved you were normally about sex and relationships, it was delightful to shatter your illusions surrounding him and make your perusal of his work sound like a benefit rather than something to be ashamed of.

“So...what did you think? You’ve never given me a rating before, so I’m curious.” Once more, your eyes dart away from his and he has to stifle a snort at how you suddenly find the wall so interesting. The artwork on there was nice, he’d picked it out himself, but it wasn’t that nice.

He doesn’t push though. What he wants is for this relationship to start on trust and honesty. So if you want to trust him enough to be honest about your opinion then he’d accept that. If it was still too early for you; he’d accept that too.

“It was good. I mean, I haven’t watched much. It was years ago and only a few minutes before I felt weird. Like I was spying on you. That’s it though! I swear I haven’t seen anything else. It felt like I was...perving on you or something.” Grasping at his hands desperately, you give him such big eyes that try to get across your honesty.

It makes his lips quirk in amusement and he links your fingers together once more, squeezing lightly. For a few moments, he considers how to respond to you before deciding to just go for it. Which means he slowly leans forward to you, eyes flicking down to your lips and giving you plenty of chances to pull away and leave.

“Don’t worry about it. It’s a little bit of a relief, knowing you’ve seen at least something. But most importantly...can I kiss you?” Taehyung swears you deflate, your entire body seeming to relax with a deep breath you let out.

He’d be worried if it wasn’t for the huge grin that you have painted on your face now, the delight making your skin almost glow with health and happiness. It’s a beautiful look and he feels like he’s enraptured once more, falling in love with you all over again. At least now he has an outlet for these mushy feelings.

“Finally!” 

There’s only time for Taehyung’s eyes to widen in shock before you’re shaking your hands free of his own and grasping at his shirt. With a surprising amount of strength, you jerk him forwards and his lips crash against your own. That’s the only way to describe it, as it kinda hurts. His lips mashed against his teeth a little and his nose bumps against yours, causing him to whine.

You let him go almost immediately, looking intensely embarrassed as you rub at your mouth and nose. He does the same, making sure that there’s nothing wrong with his beloved nose while licking at his lips to soothe the dull ache. But then he can’t help but laugh, the sound bright and rumbling up from his chest as he contemplates what just happened.

Every time that he thought you would zig, you instead zagged. Over the years, he’d learnt to go with the flow with you in regards to this with his friendship but for some reason, he’d never quite realised that it would be much the same with a romantic relationship. You defied his expectations and made him feel like he was constantly on his toes.

He loved it, including when almost headbutted him with your first kiss.

“I am so sorry-” You start, your eyes wide and worry emanating from you. He shakes his head, trying to stifle his amusement before reaching out and cupping your face with a gentle touch.

“Okay, how about we try this again but...a little slower this time, yeah?” Keeping your face steady, he inches forward until he can feel your warm breath on his cheek. You’ve already closed your eyes in anticipation and he has to squash the desire to grin, instead fulfilling both of your wishes by pressing his lips against your own.

It’s a soft and gentle kiss at first, exploratory and uncertain. Neither of you knows how to kiss the other properly, or what the other likes, and so you both simply...take your time. Taehyung’s thumb strokes along with the softness of your cheek while your hands flatten against his chest, palms hot where they rest.

He’s kissed a lot of women in his life; some he’s proud of, some he’s not and some he doesn’t even care about. But this is the best kiss so far. Even as slow and unsure as it is, it’s still the best.

Because it’s you.

There’s more than a hint of inexperience in your kiss and it doesn’t surprise him. He knows that you’ve at least kissed a few people before, but you didn’t have a huge amount of experience in it. Instead, it’s just enough that he feels comfortable but not enough to have you take the lead.

So he does, instead. And given how bold you’d been earlier, he takes the initiative to be bold this time as well. 

With almost minimal strength required on his behalf, he slips his hands down to your hips and grips them tightly, lifting and depositing you onto his lap without breaking the kiss. He doesn’t even make a noise as he does so, your weight nothing to him.

His ancestors had been bred for heavy lifting and pulling, after all.

What he doesn’t anticipate though, is the way you moan into his mouth or how you wiggle slightly at his action. Pulling from you, one brow lifts as he looks you over inquisitively. His question is silent, but you understand it immediately. There’s nowhere for you to look now, not when you’re so close to him.

So you stare at his chin instead, carefully avoiding his eyes as your hands move to play with his soft hair. The blonde strands are almost golden instead of platinum in the soft light of the nearby lamp, just visible in his vision from where you stroke them.

“I forget how strong you are sometimes.” The words are muttered and he gets the impression that you’re hoping he doesn’t hear. And that he won’t query it further. But he does, of course, he does.

“Do you have a strength kink, Chirp?” 

“Wha-no! That’s, why would I-” Spluttering, you lean back a little and take a moment to shuffle until you’re more comfortable on his lap. Your legs are on either side of his now, comfortable in their almost kneeling position but most of your weight is on his legs. He takes the opportunity to wrap his arms around your waist and tug you closer, enjoying the warmth you give him.

“It’s cool if you do. I can fulfil that. Not yet though, if that’s okay. But I need you to know something right now. I don’t want us to have sex right now. Not yet. Since being a teenager, I’ve been obsessed with sex. An unfortunate side effect of being a stallion. For the first time in my adult life...I don’t feel an insatiable need for it. And it’s kinda nice. I don’t want us to start our relationship with sex. I want us to explore each other and our relationship first and then introduce sex. I need to learn that sex is something intimate and between only us now. I’ve spent too long viewing it as work.” He tries to make sure that his words are carefully said and that he’s not rushing them, but now he’s the one a little nervous.

You’d been far bolder than he’d ever expected and now he was worried that you might expect sex from him immediately. It was an easy, even acceptable, assumption to make given what he was and his career. But he didn’t want that. As he’d said, he wanted to start this relationship with love and trust.

Lust could come later.

There’s no answer from you for a moment and he sighs, letting his hands awkwardly stroke at your sides in an attempt to give them something to do.

“I’m sorry if that’s not what you were expecting. Or not what you wanted. I’m a little surprised you’ve been so forward with me and-” A soft fingertip presses against his lips, causing him to quieten instantly.

Smiling softly, you lean forward and kiss him. It’s just as chaste as the one previously, only you’ve controlled yourself a little more compared to your first attempt. He takes solace in it though and now his body is the one deflating. There’s a silent acceptance in that kiss.

When you finally pull away from him, he finds himself chasing after you. It’s an odd sensation for him to do that without any intention of going further but he finds that he likes it. There’s no doubt that you can feel what’s going on in his pants; he can’t control everything after all but just because his body is saying yes doesn’t mean his mind is.

And you accept that. He can tell instantly, from the reassuring smile you give him and how you embrace him so warmly and carefully. 

“It’s okay, Tae. I’ll admit to being a little disappointed but I can understand your reasoning behind it. And I’m not going to force you to do something you don’t want to. I know you’d do the same for me. I guess it’s just going to make it better when we finally do get to it, right?” Teasing him, you stick your tongue out and poke at his cheek.

Almost immediately, his nose wrinkles and your laugh lightly. For a moment, the sounds are almost like chirping and he can see your lovebird origins so clearly. That was to say nothing of the fact that you were now subconsciously grooming his hair, fingertips running through the platinum strands and getting rid of any unfortunate kinks or knots.

“Thank you.” He whispers, letting his hands wrap around your waist until he’s hugging you. It takes minimal effort to have you plastered against him, head resting on his shoulder as he embraces you so tightly. You smell heavenly, and he wonders what he did to be given the chance to be with you after so many years.

“Can we go on a date though? I mean...like now?” Tilting his head back, he frowns before looking at the table and the pizza boxes.

“What? Where? We’ve already eaten?”

“Okay, but I’m kinda horny and you’re kinda horny and I think we both need to talk a walk and cool down. So...how about we have our first date? I’ve been waiting a while for this, Kim Taehyung.” Your smile is so big and bright, dazzling him and making his stomach flutter.

He doesn’t even realise he’s nodding until you practically launch yourself from his lap, rushing over to the door and chattering away. If he was being honest, he had no idea what you were talking about as you quickly pulled your shoes on and sorted out your bag.

Taehyung didn’t even care, because he’d done it. He had the girl he’d been in love with for years, who he’d been certain he had no chance with. You could regale him with a thousand and one tales and he’d listen to them all with a content smile because he was yours, and you were his.

[greenninjagal-blog]

Deja Vu pt 9

Surprise! I bet you thought I forgot about this au! Nope I just had 33 pgs of writing to do. If you’re new around here you can find the first chapter [here] or if you just want a refresher you can find the previous chapter [here!]

Summary: Remus and Virgil meet, which only involves Remus vomiting up blood one time! Score!!

Word Count: 15307

TW: blood, vomiting, 

Read on Ao3 || Hero Worship Series || My General Writing Masterlist

R    e     m   u  s     c o me s   b ac k   to  co nsc iou sne ss  slow ly, pai nfully, achingly. He almost doesn’t realize he’s awake at all when it happens, because the pain in his head is louder than any of his other senses, shrieking and demanding to be heard over anything else and the idea that anything exists outside pain sounds extremely laughable. His body is heavy, filled to the brim with stones and cement and held together with just his flimsy paper skin that will tear if he so much as twitches and spill all those important bits into the emptiness around him.

Remus’s chest in particular hurts: each of his inhales taste like blood in the back of his throat, hints of copper that make his gag reflex strain to activate, each of his exhales are accompanied with a spiking white hot pain where his ribs shred all those organs they’re supposed to be protecting, each of his pauses between breaths causes a stutter in his thoughts where he has to remind himself how to restart the cycle manually. There’s an uneven buzzing sound in his ears, a rumbling, rasping from his poor, abused lungs that he’s beginning to think need a replacement because he definitely ruined this pair.

His neck is sore, too. There’s a knot where it’s been laid down and a cramp deep in his muscles that feels like some rabies-infested rat is sinking its teeth into his flesh and trying to tear him apart for the juicy bits of his insides. Remus almost wants to apologize to it; he’s got nothing but broken bits inside which are more trouble than it’s actually worth these days, and he’s one to know.

His eyes ache a bit, even with them closed tightly. He knows vaguely that he hasn’t opened them in a while; they feel like someone superglued them shut to block out the dismal light, and honestly, after everything that he’s seen in his life he doesn’t think that was all that much of a bad idea. He might actually thank the poor sap that did it.

But the darkness is a shitty place to be: Remus has been running from the shadows that haunt the world after his death since the moment that eight-year-old Roman had picked up that rubber ball just in time to get a face full of a silver sedan bumper. He’s been ignoring the whispers in his mind that tell him the blackness is the real unknown for him, the line he doesn’t cross, the part of the future that should scare him the most. He’s been dodging and evading and avoiding what happens after 3AM by the skin of his teeth.  

It takes him a moment, two, three to try and pry his eyelids open, even for just a peek through his eyelashes—it’s dark around him, dull, and uninviting, but there’s no emptiness that speaks of three minutes past, three minutes too late, three minutes and he’s dead and nothing matters anymore. He pushes a breath through his chest and nose that’s almost the same as trying to push a mountain out of his way, except the mountain doesn’t owe anything to Remus, whereas he vaguely remembers that his body is required to try to keep him alive at least a little.

He thinks. He wouldn’t blame it for having given up this time for real. 

He did this to himself, didn’t he? There’s a hazy focus to his thoughts, like a phone filter that makes everything look a little less real, a little less painful, a little less like Remus is insane and had just ruined everything with his inability to shut the hell up and not jump into the middle of a fight that was never supposed to happen.

And, oh. Yeah.

Roman. 

((Because everything comes back to Roman, doesn’t it?))

Remus kinda wants to laugh, kinda wants to cry, kinda wants to take a flying leap off a balcony again because he’s pretty sure actually dying can’t hurt as bad as this does. At least that type of pain is temporary.

What he feels now, underneath the bruises and the cuts and the broken whatever-is-in-his-body— it burns in a way that fire could never. It’s scathing, it’s boiling, it’s blistering and it’s coating his chest and his mind and Remus doesn’t think there’s actually a cure for something like this at all. There are knives digging through his soul shredding that one piece of him that no one was supposed to be able to touch, much less Roman and a handful of words. 

Roman did this to him. Roman—Roman—he—

It’s silly, Remus decides. It's ridiculous. It’s a joke cast down on them by those stupid gods in the sky and Remus is the butt of it.

Remus grew up right alongside Roman, practically back-to-back with him. They share a face, a Mother, a birthday. For seventeen whole years, he had stayed up at night worrying about futures where Roman died suddenly without any warning, he had changed and manipulated the world around them so that Roman would always be smiling, he had cried tears and screamed and begged and whatever it took to keep Roman alive. 

Roman had been everything. Remus had given up whatever he needed to for Roman. He’d given up himself for Roman.

And now he’s finding out that Roman not only never cared about him, never gave him a second thought, never believed him—now he’s finding out that Roman has a power, too?

Roman has a power and never told him? Roman has a power and he stood by while their mother shoved pills down Remus’s throat? 

Roman has a power and still actively refuses to believe that Remus had anything, could do anything, was anything, too?

Remus would have died for Roman and Roman hadn’t trusted him to say “oh hey by the way sometimes weird shit happens around me, hahaha!” Remus had thought he was alone in the world before he had met Dee, the only one with a power, the only one absolutely, terribly cursed. Remus had— he had—

And Roman just—

Why does it hurt so much? He knew that Roman didn’t care about him. In the back of his mind Remus had played out dozens of reunions with his brother and he knew exactly where the daydreams began and reality filtered out because sometimes his imaginary Roman looked happy to see him, relieved that Remus hadn’t died in some ditch out there as an unnamed John Doe, thankful that Remus had decided to come back home, come back to him, come back. 

Remus always knew those were the made up things; he blinked himself awake from dreams where imaginary-Roman hugged him because he knew that the real thing would always taste like copper over his tongue and salty tears soaking his shirt collar.

He knew this.

Why was he still feeling like Roman had ripped off a part of him? None of this was really new.

His heart beats in his chest, his lungs take in a breath, and Roman never cared about him. They were twins, Remus had loved him, and “Why am I never enough for you?” Roman had died, Remus had died, and “You’re sick.”

And Remus kinda doesn’t want to wake up anymore, kinda appreciates this darkness that holds him close and doesn’t tell him he’s crazy, kinda likes that it’s promising him he doesn’t have to feel the blistering pain anymore. He can just drift away and never have to wonder why words always meant less coming out of his mouth than from anyone else.

“-never change!” A voice yells and Remus lazily realizes that someone’s been shouting this whole time. How weird. He can barely make it out with the thousands of bees making a hive in his brain.

He blinks again, realizing that it’s not actually all that dark anymore now that his eyes seem to have found the radio station that reality is on and tuned back in. The fuzzy ceiling is not that high over him. It’s a pale cream color and perfectly flat—which is not like the stucco of the hotel rooms he’s used to, not like the motels he and Dee frequent, but also not like the hospitals either or jail or wherever he might have ended up. There’s a scent in the air that Remus can’t identify, it's sharp and bitter and it burns to breathe it in too quickly.

((Or maybe it just hurts to breathe at this point. From his loose memories he thinks Roman might have broken a rib or seven when he tackled Remus to the ground and tried to choke him to unconsciousness before Remus could shove that barrel of his gun in his face and pull the trigger and stop hearing those five words over and over and over again.))

He’s laying on something moderately lumpy: Remus can just barely make out the back of a navy blue couch that he filled with his whole limp, achy body. He closes his eyes the moment that the pattern in the fabric starts to make his vision swim all over again, fighting through the urge to fall asleep again. He’s wearing someone else’s clothes: fuzzy pajama bottoms that have a black and gray plaid pattern with a matching shirt that has a maroon snake-with-wings eating its own tail and also the Legend of Zelda Triforce in the middle—which doesn’t make sense but Remus isn’t sure anything makes sense these days.

((Why couldn’t Roman just believe him? Why was he so determined to make Remus regret not throwing that red rubber ball into the street when they were eight? Why was Remus twenty-one years old and still fighting to make Roman listen to him?))

“What are you looking for here?” Dee’s voice says, louder than the thoughts in his head and the hurt in his bones and, even though it comes out strained and angry and upset, Remus feels a bit of sick relief seep into his soul, grounding him back in this strange living room with a lumpy navy blue couch and too-flat ceiling.

Dee’s alright. He’s alive.

His tone is reminiscent of a day not too long ago, of a night on a balcony, of a free fall and windshield glass driving directly into the back of Remus’s head: it’s the tone that Dee had when he found Remus on the ground, soaked to the bone and he screamed like he cared. It makes Remus’s heart do a flip, a flop, a twist and a break.

He remembers arms around him, hugging him as Dee dragged him upwards into the air away from Roman and that rapier and a mistake. He remembers that voice in his ear, soft and desperate and not-angry even though Remus had really—Remus would have—

How could Dee not be angry right now? How could Dee not hate him the way that Roman hates him? How could Dee stand to still be in the same room as him when Remus had utterly wrecked everything he’d been trying to build?

How could Remus let himself feel relief at not being dropped like dead weight on some rooftop, when that would have been smarter, safer, and expected of Dee after everything that had happened?

“I don’t know!” the other voice yells in an answer so strong Remus wonders if they can hear his buzzing, twisting, spiraling thoughts. “An apology? Maybe? Aren’t I owed that at least?” 

There’s something familiar about them, their tone, their voice—Remus thinks he should remember it, but there are so many voices in his head, all screaming to be heard and remembered and listened too, and it’s easier to push the feeling to the side and let his head lull to the side where the fabric of the couch is cool against his headache and his neck stops whining at the twinges of pain. 

The air seems to ring, hollow and tense and empty of all the oxygen. It has the impression of memories, and Remus so very dearly doesn’t want to think about memories anymore. If he thinks of Roman’s stupid face one more time, the guilt might make him do something stupid. Namely get up and beg Dee not to leave him behind even though he has every right to after that bullshit shitshow Remus encouraged.

Remus should just be thankful that Dee didn’t let him die. It’s already more than he deserves.

“This was a mistake,” Dee says after a moment, after a year, after an eternity. He sounds exhausted, defeated, un-Dee-like. And Remus’s chest clinches at the idea that all of this is his fault, all this would have been avoidable if he just had an ounce of self control, all of this would have been fine if Remus had just fallen off that balcony for real and let everyone else go on with their lives without him messing them up.

Dee says, “I never should have come here—"

The other voice lets out a growl or a snarl or something that is equally inhuman and drenched in threatthreatthreat. The hairs on Remus’s arms prickle and he thinks that maybe he needs to throw himself between this person and Dee and maybe if he dies it would have been worth Dee having saved him.

“Sit your ass back down, Witchall!” they yell, “We are not—”

“I have not ever taken an order from you, Storm,” Dee sneers. “And I’m not about to start now.”

“Well maybe if you had you wouldn’t be—” the voice stops.

“Oh no, please,” Dee says so drily it chaffs Remus to hear it. His bruises itch under his skin, writhing like worms between his muscles. “Finish the statement. I want to know what good you think hiding my head in the sand would have done. Say it to my face, Virgil.”

Remus counts his ragged breaths, two, three, four, five. The other voice —Virgil, Virgil, Virgil, does Remus know a Virgil?—is silent or near enough that Remus can’t hear him at all. Then finally there’s the sound of someone walking: the click-clack of Dee’s favored oxfords on polished flooring that Remus would know anywhere, anywhen, no matter the situation.

“Just like I thought,” Dee says, effectively, brutally, dismally ending an argument that sounded like it had been going on for much longer than Remus had been unconscious. An argument that Remus kinda thinks he shouldn’t be a part of, an argument that Remus thinks he oughta never consider joining because the last time he joined an argument he nearly killed someone—

“Why did you bring this mess back into my life?” Virgil—whoever he is—snaps.

“I didn’t bring anything back into your life, Virgil,” Dee says back just as hotly, viciously, dangerously. “Believe it or not, I do things without considering you at all! We were in Portland because I was chasing down yet another one of her benefactors. And—get this!—I intended to get in and out of the state without ever bothering you in your fortress of denial that you have over here!”

“It’s not denial!”

“Please,” Dee scoffs.

“It’s safety!”

“Ah, yes, I can see just how safe it is in here. Lights that don’t work, neighbors who don’t know that someone actually lives here, a thankless job that wouldn’t miss you if you disappeared suddenly without explanation, and the anonymity of the internet to hide behind as you whine to your Tumblr followers about politics that 90% of them will scroll past because they can’t or won’t be able to do anything about it and admitting how powerless they are will just make them feel bad. One whole year and you haven’t changed a bit, Virgil. You’re still a coward, unwilling to leave your shadows to actually make a change.”

“Shut up! At least my face isn’t posted all over the TV as the world’s second most wanted man on the planet.”

“At least I’m doing something.”

"I have been doing something," Virgil says. "What you needed was to stop her knight! That’s what we agreed on a year ago. You think smear campaigns are easy to form and maintain?! The reason why you aren’t totally arrested right now is because I’ve made at least as many people hate The Prince as there are those that idolize him! All without physically fighting anyone!

“You want to argue, Janus? Fine! Let’s argue! You’re poking a bear! You think that I haven’t changed? What about you? You want to act like you’re so different, so above manipulation, such a changed man, and yet the shit you’re pulling is just another cry of “Mommy, Mommy! Look at Me!” And guess what? She’s paying just as much attention to you now as she did back then!”

Dee lets out a growl and there’s a slam of something big against a wall, once and then twice, followed by the frantic pounding of limbs kicking. Remus’s eyes fling back open, but he can’t actually see anything beyond the back of the sofa. He can hear, though, as someone gasps for air pathetically, and Remus suddenly wonders if he’d just heard the last words of a walking corpse. He’d never thought of Dee being capable of murder—at least, not since he proved that he wasn’t a serial killer who used him to rob that casino the first night just to kill him in a the dusty wasteland of Nevada afterwards.

Even after having seen the way that Dee used his ability like a weapon against that kid in the mall, against the armed guards on the stage, against Roman and his sidekick, Remus never thought he’d ever actually meant to do permanent harm. He’d been so adamant about not injuring anyone when they were planning: keep the crowd from rioting, keep The Prince alive, try not to fight at all if they can help it and don’t enter the fight, Remus—

“Say it again, Virgil,” Dee says, murderously.

“Bitch,” Virgil forces out, and most likely immediately regrets it from how he wheezes for air again. “You always… had a hatred for… the… truth.”

There’s a clatter and thud that sounds like a bag of wet sand hitting the ground. Virgil wheezes for air again, coughing, and there’s a strange sort of ringing in the room as he does. Remus gets distracted by the turning of the earth under them, the swirling, swaying, sifting feeling of the tectonic plates themselves moving on their molten magma layer. His eyes close trying to orientate himself as the dizziness drags his stomach acids up his throat a little bit at a time until his back molars are dissolving and his tongue itches.

“Knock that off,” Dee says, coldly.

“Maybe don’t throw… a tantrum,” Virgil hisses back, finally inhaling and holding a breath, and the tension in the air that makes Remus feel like he’s going to boil alive from the inside subsides. “Brat.”

“So creative.”

“Go fuck yourself.”

“What you don’t understand, Storm,” Dee says, “What you have never understood, is that this world idealizes celebrities, heroes, big names, and flashy actors. No one will stand behind your Radio Rebel silhouette. They need a concrete example to look up to, a face to trust, actions to repeat. The kid in Idaho, Flamesprite—”

“Flamestrike,” Virgil corrects under his breath, with hollow thumps against the wall that make it sound like he’s picking himself off the floor with only a mild amount of struggling. 

“His confidence and bravado came from imitating The Prince, not from his own powers. He saw society’s idolizing of heroes and he decided to copy those motions himself in chasing that high that comes from being paid attention to.”

“And now he’s in the hospital,” Virgil says.

“He needed a better mentor. A reality check.”

“You vibed checked a twelve-year-old because you don’t like society,” Virgil says. “How exactly is this gaining you the public's favor? I hope you get arrested.”

“You would like that, wouldn’t you,” Dee hums. “And when The Prince tracks down this apartment and saves you so graciously from his demented brother, you can get an autograph from him!”

Virgil hisses. There’s a clatter of something landing on the other side of the room that makes Remus flinch and all of his limbs scream in a silent pain. He swallows down the whimpers and misses several precious seconds of what happens next trying not to draw attention to himself in the middle of this… whatever this is.

He feels like he’s hearing too much. Learning too much. Things that Dee didn’t want him to know, and knowing that makes something thick and dark and bad slosh around in Remus’s stomach.

“Throwing things? How childish,” Dee says.

“You are jumping into situations without plans and you are getting through by luck,” Virgil says and Remus does not flinch again. He doesn’t, he doesn’t, he does not— “What are you going to do when... all of that runs out?”

“Aw, Virgil,” Dee says in a sort of condescending tone that Remus thinks only comes from being both a bastard and rich. “Am I confusing you? Is it too hard to follow for your tiny, little bat brain?”

“This is a reminder of whose apartment you’re currently hiding in, fucker.”

“This is a reminder to watch your language.”

“It’s English, Mom, but I can repeat it in Spanish if you want. Este es un—”

“It’s truly a wonder that you haven’t been murdered yet,” Dee says.

“It’s my cute face.”

There’s a moment of silence in the room, the type that hums just over Remus’s skin, brushing through all of his hairs and igniting his goosebumps. It makes him feel like his bones are going to try and rearrange themselves, like his organs are filling with helium and he’s going to float away, like he’s not meant to be here and certainly not meant to hear this and this isn’t how things are supposed to go— 

But honestly, when was the last time he didn’t feel that way?

If Remus thinks too hard he’ll remember middle school locker rooms and whispered rumors and sly looks and hushed laughter out of the corner of the other students’ mouths while he carved “Roman doesn’t know, Roman would tell them to stop, Roman wouldn’t be friends with them if he knew” into his brain because he was an idiot who liked to believe that bad things didn’t happen to good people and that if he kept trying to keep Roman alive, then one day the bad things would stop fucking happening to him.

Roman had known. Roman always had known. 

Roman had chosen to ignore the whispers and the rumors and the looks. Roman had chosen to let Remus face it himself, to let Remus drown in the not-right feelings, to let Remus die fifty billion ways in a fifty billion futures that never would have had to happened if his brother had just—

“No,” Dee says, suddenly breaking the glass atmosphere like a sledgehammer.

“What?”

“Let’s pretend like we learned from our mistakes, Virgil,” Dee snarls. “I’m not playing this game again. You turn tail and run the moment that there looks to be some sort of risk to you.”

Virgil makes a noise like he’s going to say something, but Dee’s oxfords tap, tap, tap right away from him. He slows by the couch that Remus is on, pausing ever so briefly in his step and Remus feels a hand drop down to his curls.

Soft, gentle fingers. Remus’s heart beats in his throat, still deciding if it wants to explode out of his mouth for everyone to see or crawl back down his esophagus and hide in shame. He’s afraid, all at once, that if he opens his eyes Dee will disappear, like a mirage, like an illusion, like a hallucination of the one good thing that ever happened to him.

Or maybe he might not be something made up by Remus’s stupid brain; maybe he might draw away once Remus’s opened his eyes, remembering how Remus acted, everything that he did, what he was going to do. Maybe he’ll tap into that anger and Remus will never see those blue-grey eyes look at him softly again.

Maybe he’ll be nice when he tells Remus he’s a fucking lunatic, and that he should have left several hundred lifetimes ago. Maybe it won’t hurt as much since it’s Dee and they’re Business Partners at best who never had a shot at being anything more because he’s still Remus Regis, twenty one years old, who should have jumped in front of that silver sedan thirteen years ago instead of Roman.

“That’s it then?” Virgil asks. “Just like that?”

“Why are you so shocked, Virgil?” Dee asks, running those fingers through Remus’s hair and pulling it out of his face with a gentle touch that has Remus wanting to cry, even though he’s convinced he’s made of rocks and sand and disappointment. “Don’t tell me you thought you were irreplaceable?”

Remus feels that one, sharp and pointed and barbed in all the ways that it could be. Remus forgot that Dee could turn anything into a weapon, including his own tongue, his gaze, his silence.

It was part of his charm. Part of the reason why the fact that he let Remus continue to follow him around like a flea ridden stray dog made him feel so special. Part of the reason why Remus thought that his attention, his smile, his replies were sacred and special and holy. 

Dee didn’t give the soft responses to just anyone. 

Remus wasn’t sure he’d ever get one again. He certainly didn’t deserve it.

“I’m going to go get food. I’m using your face,” Dee says with no room for discussion.

Virgil’s voice is quiet. Empty. “Okay.”

“Don’t get seen.”

“Yeah.”

“Take care of Remus while I’m gone,” Dee says.

“Whatever.”

Dee waits for another second, like he’s going to say something more and stops himself. He turns away dragging his fingers from Remus’s hair with slight reluctance and Remus feels something in his chest ache as he does. There’s the sound of the door opening, of the door closing, of everything and nothing.

Of Remus being left alone with this mysterious Virgil that he doesn’t know anything about.

There’s no noise in the room, and Remus has to wonder dizzyingly what sort of person Virgil is that Dee would let him around Remus like this. Or maybe… maybe he’s hoping that Virgil will finish him off the way that Roman couldn’t and that sniper hadn’t and Remus always should’ve and still never got the courage to actually do. 

Take care of Remus has so many meanings, doesn’t it? He kinda wishes he opened his eyes now, just to make it so that the last thing he saw was Dee, instead of the stupid flat ceiling.

Virgil inhales finally, and sighs it back out. His footsteps lead him away from Remus, heading towards somewhere else in the void that is their super secret hidden location and Remus’s future resting place.

There’s a squeak, the sound of running water, and a glubglubglub of something being filled up.

Remus doesn’t think he’s ever been drowned before. Even when he was running around finding new ways to die in motel bathtubs he had always gone with bleeding out through the wrists or dropping newly bought electronics in the water with him, because he read somewhere that in the middle of drowning his stupid brain was going to fight back, and Remus had never managed to figure out a way to hold himself underwater. 

He’d jumped off a bridge a few times, but the fall always killed him before the water did, or he was saved by some good samaritan who happened to be nearby, whose entire night would be ruined by Remus’s inability to not fuck things up.

But maybe the water was a distraction anyhow; It would be so poetic for Virgil to be in some type of kitchen right now grabbing a knife from a block to come over here and slit Remus’s throat and leave his body for Dee to find when he comes back.

If he comes back.

Why would he need to come back?

“You can quit pretending to be asleep now,” Virgil says, from right next to him.

Remus jerks, and his body screams. His eyes fly open and there’s half a howl dying on his lips when he tries to figure out what part of his body is combusting first: his chest? his neck? His stomach? Moving his arms leaves him seeing white stars across his already spotted vision and he’s making constellations on the back of his eyelids that look like Dee’s corpse hitting the ground.

“OH-kay!” Virgil says, maybe shrieks, fumbling away like he wasn’t expecting anything at all. “That—I did not mean for you to do that, dumbass!”

Remus gasps for air pretty pathetically, and he thinks the way only about three tears escape which is pretty fucking impressive for the way his atoms are all rebelling against him. He squints at where he thinks the voice is coming from, ignoring how it makes him a little nauseous, but it subsides seconds later and leaves him struggling to make out the humanoid shape in the darkness: long skinny legs in skin tight black jeans, and fashionable holes at the knees, a purple jacket, zipped all the way up to his chin, skin as pale a actual snow, and charcoal eyeshadow framing brilliantly brown eyes. His hands are curled around a cup of water, nails bitten unevenly. He looks startlingly unremarkable, except for the bright purple hair.

And the fangs.

Remus has to blink twice to make sure he isn’t seeing things (again). It’s the same guy from the...fight with his brother: the techie who had been curled up next to the news van recording everything he could see and then some. He had been wearing a face mask back then, but without the anime girl themed fabric covering, the tips of the white bone were peeking out from between his pale lips.

Remus’s heart beats very hard in his chest. Virgil’s nose scrunches.

“Not you, too,” he says tongue peeking delicately between those very real, very dangerous fangs. “Christ, both of you need a life.”

“What?” Remus croaks out, hissing in pain as the air ignites the back of his throat in a buzzing pain like a white hot poker jabbing into the inside of his throat to see what happens. 

“I’m not a vampire, I won’t roleplay, and I’m actually not into biting, don’t ask,” Virgil lists out on his blurry fingers in a very rehearsed fashion that leaves Remus feeling like he woke up on a stage in the middle of the worst play in the world, which is impressive because he doesn’t think Roman is anywhere around yet. “Blood actually makes me squeamish and do not even think about getting hard right now. I’m not listening to you jerk off and I’m certainly not going to help you with that problem.”

((There was a time when Remus walked his way down the side of highway for a few miles with nothing but his bag on his shoulder and the wind force from cars going over ninety miles per hour threatening to shred him to pieces. Back when he was seventeen and telling himself that his vision had been a one off thing he wouldn’t ever actually do but the taste of the gravel was the only thing keeping him from thinking that he’d made up the sound of Roman’s voice screaming, “I don’t need you!”

There was a time so long ago when that was normal, but Dee hates traveling by foot and he insists on getting around by car, and so Remus hasn’t felt that sort of brush with something insane since they started working together. 

But sitting before this Virgil character feels like that: Remus on the shoulder of the highway, tripping over the rumble strips, off balanced, and missing being run over by something large and dangerous and threatening by mere inches. He’s talking too fast, Remus is hilariously too close, and he’s found that if you tempt fate often enough, fate will answer with the force of an eighteen wheeler going 75mph just before dinner time on a Thursday.))

“W...what?” Remus repeats, swallowing sandpaper air as he does and fighting off the urge to throw up his lungs. 

Virgil shoves the glass of water in his hands and waves offhandedly to his ears, which are unfortunately normal and round like a humans and Remus’s brain struggles to keep up with the logic at the same time as keep his lungs working and keep himself upright and conscious and not dying.

“I can hear your heartbeat,” he says, tongue flicking between those fangsfangsfangs. “Actually I can hear pretty much everything going on in this building right now. Including the faucet dripping water two floors down, the vacuum that’s been running for three minutes down the hall, and the TV that the assholes upstairs left on while they went on vacation. I can’t stop hearing it, so I repeat: do not get hard right now. I will actually kill you over having to listen to you handle that.”

Remus blinks, and then blinks again. The cup in his hands feels heavy and weightless all at the same time and his brain feels like it's in a blender being chopped to pieces as he stares between the clear liquid and Virgil’s face.

“I’d tell you that Janus stepped out, but you already know because you were awake the whole time,” Virgil says. “Your breathing hitched when you woke up. You’ve been out for two days, Janus hasn’t left your side since then. I’m not a medical professional by any means so I hope to god that you don’t keel over and die right now. Jay and I managed to match your blood type so like…we got a bit of the blood you lost but you probably shouldn’t be standing up any time soon. Also, you got labeled a homegrown terrorist, and you are officially America’s most wanted villain right now. Congratulations, you’re fucked.”

Remus looks down at the water again. It’s shaking. Or maybe that’s just his hands. Either way his reflection appears to be drowning in the turbulent waves. 

“It’s not poisoned,” Virgil says. “At least, I don’t think it is? There was lead in the water a few years ago that the county governor tried to cover up, but they said it was clean by now and he’s in jail and I’ve been drinking out of the tap since I moved here and I haven’t died.” He squints at his hands. “Unless I did fucking die. That would explain why I’m stupid enough to let Janus back into my life again. Hey, while I’m thinking about it, can I get your autograph?” 

Forget side of highways— Remus swears for a whole second that he’s been thrown back in time, back to high school when he’d been forced to take Spanish in order to graduate and the teacher did nothing but throw words at them in a mixture of Spanish and English that left Remus feeling like he knew neither language at all. 

Roman had been effortlessly fluent, effortlessly perfect, effortlessly amazing at bewitching his audience in multiple languages.

Remus had started ditching Spanish class after he looked to the future and saw Roman got his seal of biliteracy. There hadn’t been a need for him to go to a class where the students and teacher had just whispered new and creative ways to insult him in a language he didn’t fucking understand, too quickly for him to even jot it down.

So he’s off balance, on the side of a highway, waiting for a truck to hit him and also the trucks are speaking Spanish at him and if there’s a hell, Remus is in it right now. He thinks about smashing the cup of water into his head until everything makes sense again, even if it means falling back into that blackness, that void, that everything and nothingness and never seeing Dee again.

“Take care of Remus,” Dee had said, and, well, Remus can take care of himself pretty decently. Why didn’t he just dump Remus in some alleyway and let him bleed out? Why didn’t Remus just let that eighteen wheeler hit him when he was seventeen?

“Hi,” he croaks rather pathetically, all things considered, and his throat shreds itself over even just that. The air tastes like stomach acids and blood and tear gas and he thinks if he gives in to the cough that’s building, he’s going to spit out an entire lung and Virgil will scream again and the neighbors will hear and call the cops and, and, and—. “‘m…Remus.”

Virgil’s tense shoulders freeze and the traitorously lower as he lets out a partial laugh, a partial scoff, like he can’t believe that an introduction was something that Remus bothered with. And yeah, Remus can’t believe it either; when was the last time someone cared about who he was? And Dee didn’t—couldn’t— count. 

At the very least, if Virgil isn’t trying to kill him, or even if he is going to eventually, Remus wants him to at least feel a little guilty about it. Like when they tell you not to name a stray animal, because that makes it so much harder to get rid of it in the end—Except Remus has a name, no matter how much everyone has tried to forget about him.

“Yeah, I know who you are, Remus Regis,” Virgil says, his dark brown eyes flashing brilliantly even in the dim light. There’s something about the way he says the name, Remus’s name, that sends sparks down his already aching spine. It’s warm, the way he says it. It’s sacred, nearly teasing; it's different and Remus doesn’t think anyone ever said Regis like that without “Roman” being in front.

“You’re the dumbass that nearly killed the world’s favorite Superhero on live TV,” Virgil says.

And Remus isn’t sure why something about that ticks him off. Maybe it’s the term “Superhero” that he’d spent far too long seeing Dee sneer at, maybe it’s the way that “world’s favorite” reminds Remus that he’s never been anyone’s first choice, maybe it’s because the one thing Dee had told him was bad was killing and Remus had disregarded that information in favor of attempting fratricide by any means possible and Dee had to be the one that stopped him and clean up his mess and apparently put his humpty-dumpty body back together. The words are mentos being dropped carelessly into Remus’s coke filled brain, reminding him that Roman has always been more loved than him and that Remus can’t ever do anything right—

Or at least they are until Virgil looks back at him with near literal stars sparkling in his earthquake eyes. His lips pull in a broad excited grin, showing off his fangs, and he leans forward like he’s just barely restraining himself from kissing Remus straight on the lips which, by the way, Remus isn’t sure if he’s for or against yet at this moment and his heart thuds painfully in his chest to remind him of that.

“It was the coolest moment of my life,” Virgil says, dreamily. “Now, drink the fucking water before I pour it down your throat myself.”

If Remus wasn’t sure it would actually kill him, he’d laugh. His head is buzzing, burning, breaking as he tries to decipher what sounds are coming from this guy’s mouth. He’s getting whiplash from proximity to them, feeling the wind knock into his body like a force of nature as yet another truck narrowly missed painting its underside with Remus’s blood.

((It's not the first time someone has threatened to put something down his throat. It’s not even the first time that he believed someone truly would if they got close enough to put things down his throat. If Remus closes his eyes for too long while those words are in the air, he’s almost convinced they’ll materialize his mother right in front of him.))

Remus’s arms are heavier than lead, but he tightens his fingers around the cup and drags it up to his mouth. The combination of opening up his mouth and swallowing is another thing entirely, and he thinks it's both a miracle that he doesn’t spill it all over himself and that Virgil doesn’t watch him do it.

The purple haired fanged techie stares off towards the door, tapping his foot rapidly on the ground, although it doesn’t make a single sound. Remus stares at the shoe, imagining what sort of noise it would make, and why it's not making any, and wondering if water was always supposed to make him feel this sick.

“You’re one of the coolest people I know,” Virgil says, suddenly. “When you kicked The Prince in the guts? I almost cried. It was glorious. Show stopping. I want that immortalized. Tattooed on my arm or something! How you effortlessly flipped over the hood of the trunk and charged at him even though he’s taken out guys twice your size? I thought that you were going to fucking die! And then you were just like “What the fuck bro?!”.” 

Virgil moves his hands in the air like he’s imagining punching Roman himself. “I swear the whole world stopped for the moment. The drama of it— okay, yeah, you probably weren’t thinking it was dramatic and I’m probably being insensitive right now towards the whole thing, oh god, I’m so sorry. Your brother is an asshole. Like seriously, I don’t hate a lot of people, but he’s managed to do it, running around like a fucking maniac and shit. You’re so much better than him in my book. I’ll even forgive your stupid ass gunshot that nearly deafened me becuase it meant that I got to see the way that you slammed him into the ground! That was so worth it. If my phone hadn’t been confiscated by the FBE directly after everything, I’d have that as a gif flooding the internet right now.”

None of it makes sense. The water tastes like cold liquid lead and none of the hydration and Remus is twenty one years old and losing his mind.

Remus usually likes chaos, but he doesn’t know what to do with the way that Virgil is grinning at him. It's not… that’s not how anyone ever looks at him. If he stares for too long he imagines that Dee is there, superimposed over Virgil, and they have the same light in their eyes, same quirky lips, same slight tilt of their heads as they look at him like he’s not falling apart.

“Did you…” He gives in to the cough, and it tastes like vinegar in his throat. It burns. Remus knows what being burned alive feels like, but this is somehow worse: his lungs wheeze for air as much as they try to get rid of it and his whole body reacts to the need to expel what little water is in him. The sofa under him sways and swirls and Remus squeezes his eyes closed trying to make it stop through force of will.

When he blinks his eyes open again, rasping and breathing through a strangled inhale. Virgil is in front of him, fangs biting into a lip as he looks at Remus’s with something as stupid as worry. 

What’s to be worried about? Remus’s fingers curl around his glass of water. Virgil is looking at him like Dee did in that hotel bathtub and its plucks and pulls at his skin in all the wrong ways. He needs him to stop. He needs Virgil to look away. He needs, needs, needs—

“Did you just… pronounce…. gif… like it’s spelled… with a “j”?” Remus forces out.

Virgil’s face screws up like he sucked on several lemons and he backs away and each inch helps Remus feel like he’s not going to explode immediately anymore. That’s how it's supposed to be. This is how it’s supposed to be.

"Okay, listen," Virgil says. "I did it first as a meme and now I can't stop."

"Have you tried… medical help?"

"Oh yeah, surrrrrrrre." Virgil rolls his eyes. "The guy who lost nearly four pints of blood and tried to kill a man on live TV is going to give me advice on seeing a medical professional. Have you tried medical help?"

Remus almost laughs at the unexpectedness of the comeback. The back of his throat tastes like powder, like fine dust, like pills that have never worked and won’t ever and that his mother kept shoving down his throat anyway. He thinks he can hear her voice too, pleading with him as she forces his head back and tips the orange bottle between his lips, “It will help you get better, Remus. Don’t you want to be fixed? Don’t you want to be like Roman?” His lungs wheeze and shred and burn and he just keeps smiling because he doesn’t know what else there is for him to do.

“Oh shit, really?” Virgil says without Remus saying anything at all. “Jesus Christ, I’m so sorry I didn’t mean, like, actually—”

“It’s... fine,” Remus waves him off, swallowing until the lump in his throat isn’t threatening to choke him anymore. He brings the glass up to his lips again and swallows and doesn’t think about blood on public phone dial keys. “Happened a while ago.”

“It’s not fine!” Virgil isn’t looking at him, but Remus suspects that if Virgil’s power was a little more eye-laser based, the nextdoor neighbors would be really surprised. The stranger settles himself on an armchair a little ways away with his legs kicked up over the armrest, and arms crossed like he’s angry for some reason that Remus can’t begin to figure out. It happened so long ago it feels like it both happened to him and happened to someone else entirely: Remus who was eight years old and stupid, not Remus is who twenty one and fucks everything up. Remus forces air into his lungs just to feel his ribs creak in protest and he watches how Virgil’s lips move around his fangs.

“Everyone knows that doctors are shit at handling these new powers now. Even with the psychological studies being done, which absolutely can’t be ethical with what the FBE has been trying to pull over on the public, there are people out there that don’t think abilities are a thing at all. I can’t imagine—”

There’s some type of buzzing in the back of his brain, like an unpleasant hum created by some invisible object, and the noise races over his body making his goosebumps come out with a feeling of something’s wrong, something’s off, where’s Dee? What happened to him? The ground is spinning and Remus is not moving but he thinks that he’s slowly dying anyway because his stomach is churning hard and that small bit of water is creeping back up his throat.

“—and shit, with your ability there’s nothing even physical about it, is there?! No proof of purchase, no refunds. They must have thought it was some kind of, like, mental disorder. Fucking hell! If there’s one thing this world is worse about than superpowers, it’s neurodivergence! I was so lucky that my parents were just paranoid. I can’t imagine what would have happened if they hadn’t believed me at all— and oh shit that’s what The Prince said, wasn’t it? He seriously doesn’t believe you, does he? Is that why The Prince—?”

Remus’s heart pounds. He can feel his blood circulating. He can taste each swallow. The sharp scent in the air carves through his senses like a blade. It’s all there, and Remus is aware of each unconscious action in his body. He blinks and he can count each of the 125 eyelashes on his upper lid as he does.

The glass of water drops from his hands to the ground and it doesn’t make a sound.

“Remus.”

His name booms in his brain, shattering over the buzzing noise. Almost immediately, the sound cuts off and the air settles. The prickling on his skin disappears like Dee’s last touch to his hair, and Remus isn’t sure if he hates the absence more than the presence. The world steadies out, but Remus doesn’t so much as twitch to test if that was a temporary deal or whatnot. His head pounds, drumming to a beat that Remus thinks might be an artistic rendition of beating the shit out of a metal garbage can for laughs.

Virgil’s jaw snaps shut and the expression on his face is swimming, even as Remus tries to count on the shades of brown in his eyes, to steady himself, to ground himself, to drag himself back to his body.

“Sorry,” the guy says, running his tongue over each of his fangs like a nervous habit. “It happens. When I get…”

He makes a motion but Remus doesn’t have a clue what it's supposed to mean. His stomach churns and he folds his arms around himself. There are stitches in his arm where Roman’s rapier had crisscrossed over Dee’s claw marks, and if Remus thinks too hard about it he thinks he might vomit.

“What happens?” he asks instead. 

Virgil wiggles his fingers in the air and Remus isn’t sure if the blurry result is his intention or not. “It’s uh…. What do you know about the human ear?” He takes in Remus’s impressively exhausted look and plows on. “In addition to hearing shit, I can generate or muffle sound, by accident most of the time, when I get… like fucking emotional or whatever. Human hearing caps out at about 20 kilohertz max and everything higher than that is considered ultrasound, which humans aren’t really equipped to hear. Short doses leave people with a trail mix of fun symptoms like nausea, dizziness, headaches, fatigue, and tinnitus. Longer doses are not fun. Ever wonder why Janus sometimes acts like he doesn’t hear something?”

Virgil laughs and then when he sees that Remus is just staring at him, he tilts his head and says, “It's a joke. Janus is just a bitch.”

"Janus," Remus repeats.

The name tastes wrong on his tongue, in the air, being spoken at all. It’s like finding a screw in his oatmeal right as he swallows and he can feel it going down his throat, tearing, carving, ripping apart his esophagus, before getting stuck and there’s nothing he can do— it’s not like he can take it back out and fix all the damage it just did. 

He knows what he should be asking next. The same way that he used to read off Roman’s acting scripts as they practiced lines so Roman didn’t flub them and make a fool of himself in front of the whole school and end up tossing himself off the roof. He can see it right there in front of him, the urge rolling in this stomach, bubbling and boiling and twisting and waiting for him to open his mouth again and say “Who is…?” 

But he doesn’t.

Following scripts had always been Roman’s thing really. And Remus is not anything like Roman. 

“Janus,” Remus repeats, and settles back against the sofa. 

He knows who Janus is. He’s not sure how he knows it, isn’t sure who told him first, but gets the feeling that he’s known it for a while; that screw didn’t appear in his oatmeal by magic. Someone had to have put it there.

((But Dee would have put cyanide in and covered the almond taste with soft kisses that would have left Remus begging for it even as he falls to the ground in the throes of a seizure he wouldn’t be getting up from.))

There must have been a future. A flash of a memory of something, a time where Remus had asked and Dee had told him and everything was the same but a little to the left and also it never actually happened. Probably the same future where Remus punched Dee in the face for daring to say he loved him. Probably the same future where instead of bending at the knee and jumping off a balcony at 3AM, Remus had gone across the hall and knocked on Dee’s door. Probably the same future where Roman got hit by a silver sedan when they were eight years old and Remus still ended up being their mother’s least favorite.

Remus had seen so many futures. Janus must have been in one of them, kissing the same way that Dee did, smirking the same way that Dee did, being perfect the same way that Dee did.

“Sorry,” Remus says, because the water soaked into the carpet and the cup was at his feet and if there was one thing he’d been good at it was apologizing. He wondered if Dee would still accept an apology after how many times Remus has had to say it to him. 

People always get sick of him apologizing eventually. 

Virgil’s staring at Remus, squinting really; listening to something Remus can’t hear, solving a puzzle that looks a bit like Remus but that doesn’t really have an answer. His tongue pricks the point of his fang again.

“It's just water,” Virgil says hesitantly, and very much not like the same person who three seconds ago was ranting about social injustices with the same passion that Dee would. “Do you actually know—”

“I don’t know shit,” Remus says, with as much of a bite as he can, considering he’s pretty sure Virgil could actually kill him in a second and Remus wouldn’t be able to do much more than look extremely pathetic as he does it. His fingers curl into a first to keep them from shaking too hard, but Virgil can probably hear the bones trembling under the muscles.

“He didn’t tell you anything,” Virgil says, maybe a question, maybe a realization, maybe confused, maybe angry, maybe, maybe, maybe. “He didn’t… Nothing at all? That’s bullshit! You deserve to know about—”

“Don’t.”

Virgil jerks like Remus slapped him. “Don’t?”

“If Dee wanted me to know he would have told me,” Remus says. If Dee wanted him to know who Janus was, he could have said it: when Remus was pressed up against that Casino wall recovering from seeing Dee’s first death over a box of money he was never going to get, when they were in the car smelling like smoke and ashes driving the opposite direction of the ambulances, when they were on that bed with the balcony five feet away and Remus was telling truths he never meant to be telling.

If Remus was supposed to know Dee would have told him. 

“Dee?” Virgil says like the name personally offended him and Remus remembers how Janus definitely choked him earlier. “You’re telling me he didn’t even tell you his actual fucking name?!”

“He doesn’t need to!” 

“The fuck he doesn’t! His name is fucking Janus Wi—”

“I said don’t!” Remus snaps, hard and sharp and painfully enough that it tears through his throat and leaves nothing but wheezing coughs in its wake. Don’t, Don’t, Don’t. He covers his ears, shaking the echo of his own voice and fighting back the brightness of the light. Dee would have told him, but Dee didn’t want him to know and he was already mad at Remus for the gun, for joining the fight, for trying to murder perfect Roman Regis in front of everyone. 

He doesn’t want to know. He doesn’t want Dee to be even more mad at him. He doesn’t, doesn’t, doesn’t.

Virgil is staring at him like there’s something wrong here. Virgil is staring at him like he’s some sort of strange new exhibit at a freak fair he paid a whole five dollars to walk through. Virgil is staring at him like he doesn’t understand, but hey, that’s not a new expression; no one ever understands and Remus is beginning to suspect that he himself doesn’t understand it either, but he’s losing his mind and Roman is a superhero and something deep in him screams about it every time he remembers that future where Roman pulled off his stupid mask and talked about trust.

“Janus,” Virgil says, slowly, as if he’s trying to explain something to a child, “is a dumbass who doesn’t know how to talk to people.”

“I don’t care!”

Virgil is quiet for a long time.

The room is not quiet with him. Remus’s skin is buzzing, his breathing hard and harsh and hurting. And yet he can’t seem to hear anything but the deafening of the silence that doesn’t make any sense, either. 

Virgil doesn’t move, and Remus doesn’t breathe, and the minutes pass by like it's 3AM and Remus is in the middle of falling again and again and again—

“I should have gotten you an Advil,” Virgil says, getting up again like he can’t stand being in the same room as him. There’s a jitter to his movements that give him a blur to Remus’s exhausted eyes. “You’re probably in a lot of pain right now.”

“Don’t bother,” Remus says, because he’s decently sure he’ll throw up anything that he tries to keep down. The taste of dry pills aches in his throat, and the glass is still by his feet, water squishing in the carpet in a way that’s going to cause problems if no one cleans it up. Remus’s limbs settle like stone when he stares down at it, so instead he looks anywhere fucking else. He sinks back into the sofa and rolls his neck just to prove to the pain in it that he’s not a wimp even though it sends white hot daggers to the back of his eyes. 

“What?” Virgil says. “No, wait, don’t answer that. I don’t care how tough you think you are; I didn’t spend two days practicing medical malpractice and entertaining Janus’s fuckery for you to say your body—”

“No, I mean….” Remus waves his hand in the air and then lets it drop back down pathetically. His stitches itch, his throat is dry, and his headache pounds apart each of his thoughts in the most frustrating way possible. “Painkillers just…. never worked for me. Nothing really has.”

Virgil blinks and then blinks some more. Remus swears that he can hear each neuron firing as he does his best to wrap his mind around what Remus was saying. “Nothing? What do you mean by ‘nothing’?”

“It’s wild what sort of drugs you can get your hands on when you’re seventeen, in New York, and desperate to stop seeing people die. I’ve tried them all. Anything I could get my hands on and nothing works from LSD to Tylenol.”

“That…. That doesn’t make any sense.”

Remus snorts, and then immediately winces as his lunges press against those fragile ribs and reminds him that he probably should have died long before he ever left the streets of New York, if not two days ago in the center of some street in Portland. 

“No seriously,” Virgil says. “What the hell are you made of?” 

“Tragedy, probably.”

“Okay, Edgelord. Christ, I can see what Janus likes about you.”

And Remus’s mouth is moving before he can think. “Is it my cute face?”

Virgil tenses. The uneasy atmosphere whirls through the room, laying thick and heavy on Remus’s trachea in a way that probably matches the bruises Roman gifted him with. He just barely resists the urge to reach up and poke at them, just to feel the pain sharpen.

“Ah….” Virgil says, “yeah. Right. You heard all that.”

He shifts uncomfortably, like he’s the one that’s about to be run over by Spanish speaking trucks on the highway. Like he’s the one that’s suddenly made of dirt and rocks, and paper skin. Like he’s desperately keeping himself from poking at his own bruises. 

“Look,” Virgil says. “We had a thing, once, okay? And then it ended. He left. That’s it.”

It doesn’t sound like that’s it actually, in Remus’s humble opinion. In fact, from what he heard between his exhausted, buzzy, pain ridden brain, it seems like Virgil and Dee have a very strong, very in depth past that Remus doesn’t need to know about at all. It seems like Dee and Virgil work very well together and that Virgil can follow orders much better than Remus can and that Dee could use someone like Virgil far more than someone like Remus.

It seems like with everything that’s going on and not going on, between all the futures that Remus chose and didn’t choose, somehow he still ended up screwing up.

Which is almost funny. How did he not see this one coming?

“I’m serious,” Virgil says when Remus doesn’t say anything and he sounds oddly insistent on this fact. “Janus and I are over. It’s never going to happen again. I won’t be in your way.”

Remus’s way is just perfecting swan dives in the rain. He doesn’t think that Virgil could be in his way if he tried. He stumbled on this obsessive devotion for Dee by accident and it hurts like hell because he knows Dee can’t love him back. 

Good things don’t last. And Dee is one of the best things there are in this world.

Virgil, too, Remus thinks after a moment. Virgil seems like a good person. At least, he hasn’t said that Remus is crazy and can’t see the future yet. With the bonus that he hasn’t tried to put a steak knife in Remus’s chest. Those are all the baseline signs Remus really needs that a person is good.

“Can I ask you something?” Virgil asks.

Remus glances at him out of the corner of his eyes. “Yes, my dick really is that big.”

“What?” Virgil yelps, turning his face pink under the layers of concealer. Remus counts that as a win, even if his throat burns from the mere idea of laughter in his throat and leaves him coughing more than smiling. “No! What the hell!”

He fumes for a few more seconds, squirming in his seat, fanning the blush away from his cheeks, before he lets out an explosive breath.

“Do you,” Virgil says to the suddenly empty air, “like seeing the future?”

Remus thinks the ceiling begins to swim in front of him. His lips remember that laughter from before, the quirky way that his inhales can turn to painful exhales with a smile, that party trick that he perfected four years ago in a gas station mirror when he couldn’t remember what happiness felt like. 

Remus rolls his head back to look at the other guy, and Virgil seems to be looking anywhere but at him.

--“When I was eight I saw my brother die,” Remus tells him, and it almost feels like someone else is speaking through his lungs.

“Oh,” Virgil says like he’s regretting asking it all.--

-- “My mother took me to a shrink because I kept talking about seeing my brother die, and they decided I was crazy and pumped me full of pills,” Remus says, and there’s blood on the back of his tongue. “Did Dee tell you I’m crazy?”

“Dude!” Virgil says staring in horror at Remus’s lips.--

-- “I killed my brother. I kept killing him. In every future. Feeling his pulse flutter to a stop, watching the light leave his eyes, slamming my foot into his limp body until I could feel the bones cracking. I’m a murderer, don’t you know? I could kill you too! Right now! Wouldn’t that be fun for Dee to come back to? A couple of corpses that—”--

-- “What the fuck makes you think I can actually see the future?”--

Remus blinks.

And then he’s doubled over, spitting blood out on a rough wooden floor, his ears ringing so hard that his vision is dancing with black spots. His chest is heaving, he’s gasping, everything is spinning and wrong and messed up and Remus should be dead.

There’s hands on him, frantic shaking hands that are the only thing keeping him from faceplanting in the puddle of saliva slick blood on the floor. Hands that aren’t his own, or Dee’s, but are soft and gentle and stern and so fucking warm. He’s burning apart underneath their touch, corroding and flaking apart as his ashes sprinkle across the lumpy blue sofa. 

He g-gasps, shuddering as the air comes back tasting like lead. His eyes are burning with tears and he can’t seem to keep his limbs under his own control. 

“What the fuck,” Virgil says, his voiced pitched and rolling and Remus wants to think that maybe he’s worried. Isn’t that funny? Virgil hoists him upright, shoving his back against the lumpy backrest, and places his hands on either side of Remus’s face tilting his head back so that their eyes meet. “What the fuck is wrong with you, dumbass?! You think this is some joke?! I just spent two days putting all that blood back into you and you’re just going to expel it for a few seconds of dialogue?!”

The world is spinning around him, but Virgil is steady and present and constant. Remus thinks he smiles, his mouth drips open for one of his spectacular responses, and blood pours out from between his lips.

“Oh Fuck, oh shit—” Virgil says. “I, uh— Fuck! Don’t spit it out— wait no you can’t swallow it— Fuck—!”

Remus swallows it anyway, only slightly sure that he’s going to regret it later and very sure that later-Remus is going to hate him for it. Virgil’s mere inches away from him, holding him so tight like he’s afraid if he lets go Remus’s soul will escape his body and go on one of those vacations that souls don’t come back from.

It’s nice. The way he seems to care, even if it’s not going to last because care like this never lasts for Remus. 

“Remus,” Virgil says, and he smells like vanilla. Remus latches onto the scent like it’s the only thing in the world.

It’s not overly sweet; just enough that Remus remembers what fall baking is, and the warmth leaves goosebumps trailing through his skin. There’s an ache somewhere in his soul that recalls something he can’t quite place, something that Virgil reminds him of, something that would fit just right next to Dee’s cardamom aftershave. Vanilla and cardamom.

“Sorry,” Remus croaks out.

Virgil stares at him with his earthquake eyes, searching for something where Remus doesn’t think he has anything to give. Remus is pretty sure that if he closes his eyes he’ll see Virgil’s corpse on the rug at his feet, those eyes empty and his chest not moving and blood on the bottom of his borrowed pajamas.

“It’s okay,” Virgil says softly, far softer than Remus thinks he should have been granted considering there’s a future where Remus murders him. “Are you okay?”

Remus tries to look down at the blood on the carpet, right over where he spilled the water, but Virgil holds him steady and secure. The heat swelters over him, leaving Remus wanting to cry without knowing exactly why.

“Remus,” he repeats, “are you okay? Don’t think about the carpet right now. Just answer me. Are you okay?”

It’s a straightforward question with a single one word answer option. Remus knows this: he can feel other hands on his shoulders, heavy and piercing, and whispering, “Just say Yes, Remus. She’s asking to be polite. You can’t see her dead body that will be on the floor in a few hours. You’re normal, Remus.” The word fits in his mouth the same way that his tongue does and it should be so easy to say it and move on because it doesn’t matter.

Everyone dies. He should know by now not to cry every time it happens.

He thinks of the riot, of being jostled around like a puppet on a string, of being tasered in the back until he couldn’t breathe, of being kicked and punched and stepped on, the taste of the tear gas on his tongue because no matter what he did he couldn’t get away. He thinks of the people he saw, the strangers whose names no one will ever care about, the person who controlled the winds so gracefully helping other people just to have that power stripped from them in a blink. He thinks of Roman’s brown eyes staring at him in recognition, the way that he stood there, the way that he threw Dee to the ground and didn’t care about how he hurt the only person who ever cared about Remus, the way that he said “You don’t have a power.” The way that Dee’s body falls from a stage, flinging red droplets into the air. The way that Remus screams himself hoarse in four different futures because he’d been too little, too late. 

He thinks of being twenty one and holding a gun, of being seventeen and standing on a staircase, of being eight and seeing Roman’s body crumble against a car bumper.

“I don’t…,” Remus says. “I don’t know.”

He thinks he’s not. That he hasn’t been okay for a while. That he’s never been okay. That everything hurts and it’s not fair and he never did anything to deserve this and he’s a good person. 

Virgil exhales gently. “Okay. That’s okay, man. You’re allowed to not know.”

That doesn’t sound right at all. 

But Virgil sounds so certain. Who is Remus to question him?

“Lay back down, Remus,” Virgil says. “You’re going to fucking pass out.”

Remus tries not to laugh, because Virgil might mistake it for a sob. Virgil’s hands gently guide him back to a reclining position. His brain swims with a not-quite-right feeling and his eyes close for just a second, he swears. 

When he opens them up again, Virgil is next to him on the ground and the air smells like vinegar and dish soap. His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, and he has a bucket with a red cloth and he’s dabbing the ground without even a vibration in the air. 

Remus’s so tired. He’s so cold. He’s so everything and nothing and—

“Sorry.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Virgil says, without looking up.

“You don’t like blood.”

“I don’t like a lot of things.” He huffs out a breath that sends his bangs fluttering in the air. “And this is hardly the first time I’ve cleaned your blood out of this room.”

Remus’s mouth opens and Virgil raises a gloved hand at him without looking up.

“If you apologize for how Janus broke into my house, put you on my sofa, and promptly began demanding to know all the medical knowledge I could possibly possess, I’ll shove this rag down your throat.” Virgil scrubs the carpet. “It’s not your fault, Remus.”

Isn’t it?

If he hadn’t saved eight year old Roman. If he hadn’t saved Dee in that casino. If he hadn’t caught that stupid casino chip and told Dee that his own power being fucking stupid wasn’t a problem—

If he hadn’t gotten involved. 

His head pounds and Remus closes his eyes with a groan. He feels like shit. Probably worse than he’s ever felt in his life or any of the futures he didn’t choose, including the ones where he died in increasingly more creative and awful ways. 

Virgil sighs heavily and throws his rag in his bucket and rolls to a crouch. He looks up at Remus for a moment, mouth opening to say something, but immediately looks away.

“You ever watch anime?”

Remus tries not to think too hard about whatever Virgil was originally going to say. “Do I look like a weeb?”

“So this is what they mean when they say don’t meet your heroes,” Virgil says, nodding sagely. “My heroes always disappoint.”

“I don’t disappoint in bed.” 

Virgil doesn’t make a sound, but Remus can make out the way that his cheeks heat up under his concealer. He shakes his head, pursing his lips to the point where his fangs pinch and then he mouths out a curse word over it. 

“I don’t disappoint in bed,” Virgil echoes in a perfect replica of Remus’s voice. “My name’s Remus and I’m a dumb shit--” 

“Sexy,” Remus says. “You forgot the sexy part. I’m a dumb, sexy shit.”

“Tell me that again when you can stand up without taking an express line directly to Hell’s doorstep.”

Remus grabs the side of the sofa and strains against the horrible awful ache in his limbs that speaks to two days of unconsciousness and how he should be dead and his mother should be trying to scramble to put together some pleasant funeral for the child she forgot existed. It hurts to think about that though so he shoves the impossibilities to the side and focuses on hauling himself back to a sitting position. Virgil makes a harsh noise in his throat, a partial growl, partial exasperation.

“Do not—” He says, then stops and sighs just like Remus’s mother used to always do. “You know what? Fuck it. If you knock yourself out, it's less I have to worry about you. If you expel any more blood, though, you’re cleaning it up, hot shot.”

“You think I’m hot?”

Virgil picks up his bucket and rag and heads towards the kitchen, without gracing Remus with an answer he’s not sure he wants. The world is fuzzy still, but Remus can make out a bit more of the apartment now: small kitchen with a single overhead light over the back of the sofa, a coffee table and a TV and a darkened hallway leading deeper into the apartment. There are piles of books, papers and magazines all around, pushed to the side to make room for forgotten mugs of what looks like tea or Monster energy drinks or napkins covered in crumbs of half eaten pastries.

Dee would hate this, Remus thinks after a second.

It’s small and cramped and messy. Even in their cars Dee liked to have an order and control: he knew where every object was and that’s how he liked it to be. Remus hadn’t necessarily been a messy person, but he had started to pick up on the way that Dee shied away from his messes and so he tried to be at least a little organized.

He went to the trouble to fold his socks once, just because he saw Dee do it. 

Their bags are on the floor just beside the sofa, out of the way. Remus can recognize the handful of pins from all the tourist traps he’s visited over the years still latched on the shoulder strap of his, waiting politely in a way that Remus has never once left his own shit. His jacket— his black leather jacket that Dee bought for him, that he’d been wearing since then, that he’d worn in the middle of the riot, that he never really told anyone how much he loved— his jacket is resting on top of it, folded neatly like someone took the time to wash the tear gas and the blood from it.

Remus’s heart twists at the sight of it.

The pajamas he’s wearing feel weird and thin all of a sudden. The cuts on his arm ache. Remus reaches over and picks it up, squeezing the fabric in his hands.

((Someone patched up the slice in the forearm with purple and gold thread.))

He flits through the pockets.

Vaguely he remembers that he left a twenty in the right breast, and the straw wrapper from his ice coffee that he got from the coffee shop what feels like eons ago before Roman ever stepped foot on that stage had been in the left pocket. He had a cheap set of lockpicks in the inner pocket along with a multipurpose tool that had seen far better days in his life—but really the only thing he cared about was the casino coin.

The barney he’d pilfered from the Basilisk Casino the night that he and Dee had agreed to work together. The coin that he had kept with himself the whole time as physical proof of… of something. It was important, okay? He couldn’t explain it, but he knows as he searches through every single empty pocket that his heart is beating harder in his chest and his lungs are starting to weep and he’s starting to think about how many times he got hit during that riot.

"What are you looking for?" Virgil asks, with enough of a touch of annoyance that Remus lets the jacket fall to his lap.

"Nothing," he says. Because it is nothing. Just a casino chip. A coin. A worthless momento that he should have let go of ages ago. 

It’s probably completely gone now; fallen from his pocket the first or fifth time he got shoved in the crowd, or when he fell to the tear gas, or when he threw himself at the crowd control officer who was trying to kill people instead of calm them. He’d lost it in the chaos, and Virgil said two days had passed so it was probably cleaned up and thrown away and he was never going to get it back.

How fitting.

Virgil stares at him for a moment wholly unconvinced, the same way his mother looked at him when he told her he slapped his brother because saw Roman die choking on gummy worms and panicked: utterly unimpressed, frustrated that he had to deal with it, and not believing him for a damn second. 

Then he moves across the room, gliding with his soundless walk. Remus tries to follow him with his eyes but a swell of nausea welds up when eyes roll around and he forces them closed so he can remember how to breathe. 

It’s in and out right? Why do his lungs feel like they have fist sized holes in them? 

"Here," Virgil says suddenly over him. Remus opens his eyes just in time for something to fall and hit him in the face. 

"You dropped it when you lunged for the gun," he says in lieu of explanation. "I grabbed it on impulse. Seemed important. I washed the chemicals off it and whatever." 

The purple coin shimmers in the lamp light, the decale of the snake on the one side almost looking alive as he holds it in his hand. Remus squeezes it in his fist and bites down on the lump that’s suddenly formed in his throat. His eyes ache, and his exhale shakes coming out of his lungs, far more than Remus should have let it; the pain spikes around his ribs. 

It’s just a coin.

There’s no way that Virgil can possibly know it means anything more than that, but he runs his tongue over a fang again and opens his mouth to say something—

Only to whip his head back to the front door of the apartment and scowl furiously.

“I do not sound like that,” he grumbles. “Asshole.” Then he frowns at Remus, “I don’t sound like that, right?”

“What?”

Virgil taps his fingers on the backside of the sofa in irritation, like he hadn’t said anything and Remus hadn’t responded, and Remus was now hearing things in addition to seeing them daily. Remus does not like that implication at all. Nope. Not one bit.

He rubs the rim of the coin between his fingers, pressing until he’s certain the imprint is etched into the pad of his thumb. 

Three seconds later the front door opens and Virgil steps through it, carrying a plastic bag full of something that wreaks of spices. He waves to someone behind him, and then kicks the door closed and the Virgil right next to Remus hisses.

“Your neighbors are delightful,” Dee says, without turning around, because even with someone else’s face, someone else’s clothes, someone else’s everything, Remus can’t help but see Dee in him. “I don’t know why you don’t talk to them more often. You’ve just been invited to a potluck!”

“Your ass is delightful when I kick it so hard you end up across the city in a jail cell,” Virgil counters.

“Kinky,” Remus says and immediately wishes he could take it back. 

“Remus!” Dee spins so fast he nearly falls over, shedding away the parts of him that were all emo and depressed, for his blue-grey honest eyes and the glistening scales. “Remus. Y-you’re awake!” 

He looks like he’s not sure if he’s allowed to come away from the door, standing with the plastic bag like a barrier between them in case Remus decides to attack. Remus swallows hard, tasting how his heart is beating in his throat in the slowest, most inefficient murder attempt ever.

Dee is staring at him, and Remus knows there’s a million things he needs to say, wants to say, should have already said two days ago before he passed out and forced Dee to deal with his dead weight. Dee is staring at him and Remus’s tongue is plastered to the top of his mouth. Dee is staring at him and Remus can’t say shit.  

Virgil taps his fingers on the sofa back again and the motion catches both their attentions easily.

“I see you’ve met Virgil Storm,” Dee says. “He’s a…friend. His bark is worse than his bite, as you probably figured out.”

“What did you pick up to eat,” Virgil asks, boredly.

"Thai," Dee says.

Virgil looks at Remus, "See! This is exactly what I mean! He doesn’t know how to talk to people! Fucking Thai food!" 

"You...Thai is your favorite," Dee says, apprehensively, almost defensively. "It's still your favorite, right?" 

"Yes, it’s my favorite," Virgil spits like it was supposed to be a profanity but his mouth and tongue didn’t get the memo. "And you chose Thai because it’s easier on your pride than saying sorry." 

“If you don’t want it, I’ll eat it for you.”

"Oh no, I want it," Virgil says, tapping the back of the sofa. "But first you're going to go sit on my couch and tell Remus everything. And I mean everything, Janus! Every fucking detail, from start to finish, about your mother and you and—" 

"You didn't tell him? I would have thought you would have loved a chance to jump ahead of the story and twist it to fit your means.”

"First of all, fuck you. Second of all, he didn’t want to hear it from me. I never thought I would meet someone more dedicated to ignoring me than you but here we are." 

Remus doesn’t know what’s worse: them talking about him like he’s not there— which, by the way, is so very reminiscent of hearing his parents argue in the waiting room of the shrink’s office over if getting him on pills at eight years old was a good idea without ever turning to acknowledge him— or the fact that his throat has clamped up and his brain has gone back to screaming because he’s pretty sure that Dee is going to end things here and tell Remus he fucked everything up and that Dee doesnt nees someone who cant follow a simple instruction and his heart is hammering in his chest so fast he can keep his hands from shaking—

"I didn't...'' Remus rasps out and it’s only after he’s blurted it out that Remus realizes the other two froze in the middle of their argument. "I didn't know it was him. Dee… I didn’t know it was Roman under the mask. You have to believe me, Dee. I didn't know. And then I saw him and I saw what he did to you and I couldn't...I couldn't..."

((Dee, tumbling from the stage, his brain matter splattering into the crowd.))

((Dee in the air just overhead and the stranger in the blue polo raising their hands, with white light and then Dee not in the air at all. ))

((Dee at the other end of Roman’s rapier because Remus couldn’t see what was going on and he wasn’t helping and everything was going wrong and there was fire in his veins with the sudden need to see a bullet in Roman’s forehead.))

“I know you said no killing and you said not to get involved, to stick to the side and not intervene and I’m sorry!” Remus said. “I’m really sorry. I can be better. Please.”

“I don’t need you,” Roman had said four years ago, and Remus doesn’t think there’s a person on this planet who needs him at all, but he wishes however stupidly, however pathetically, however desperately that Dee would keep him around anyway.

Partners. Acquaintances. Even as a fucking resource for whatever distant goal he’s trying to complete. 

Virgil is wide eyed and jaw dropped, like some type of anime protagonist character. “You’re sorry?” He echoes. “Sorry?” Then he whirls towards Dee. “Fix this!”

Dee looks like he’s in pain, and Remus remembers how easily his bones broke and he shape-shifted them back into place with expert precision and efficiency, and then looked back up like he’d never felt that pain before.

“Remus, you don’t have to be sorry,” Dee says slowly. “It was my fault. All of it.”

Remus’s hands are sweating, clammy. He’s clinging to the coin in his hand and he’s trying not to vomit. “I picked up the gun.”

Dee laughs, and it’s not a fun laugh, not the crystal clear laugh that had first drawn Remus in, and not the giddy excitement that had followed their first heist. “I jumped across the stage and started a riot!”

“I—”

Virgil interrupts both of them by stalking across the room and grabbing Dee by the arm and yanking him sharply towards the living area. “How about this! It's neither of your faults! Or it's both! I don’t fucking care! Janus, sit your ass down and tell him!” 

Dee does not sit. He stands right in front of Remus and looks very much like he’d rather be literally anywhere else. He twists the bag of Thai food in his hands, wringing the plastic handle and swallows so loudly that it echoes in the otherwise mute room. 

“I haven’t been… entirely honest,” Dee starts. And stops.

The room is still quiet. Virgil for all his glaring and thunderous anger is silent as he impresses his presence on the other side of Dee, sneering silently at the lackluster words. Dee doesn’t mind him at all. He’s too busy meeting Remus’s gaze, searching for something that Remus can’t pinpoint.

He thinks, maybe, Dee is looking for a response. Which is kinda funny. If Remus didn’t think he was on the verge of making his lungs explode, he might risk a laugh.

“Well, yeah.” Remus says, instead. “Duh.” 

Dee looks offended for a moment. “What do you mean, “duh”? Aren’t you mad? I’ve been lying to you! I’m a liar! I have lied and manipulated and taken advantage of you since we met for my own gain!”

Remus wonders if this is some type of trick question. The look on both Virgil and Dee’s faces suggests it's not, despite how utterly comical all of this is. 

“The bet was anything you wanted. ‘Nothing Personal,’” Remus quotes in his best impression of Dee’s posh tone. “‘Business partners at best.’”

“Jesus Christ,” Virgil says, “what is wrong with both of you?”

“I don’t understand,” Remus says because he doesn’t and his skin is starting to itch like he needs to pull it off, hang it up, and try on a different size. His borrowed clothes scrape along his limbs, pulling at pieces of his soul until it's stretched thin underneath and one simple phrase from Dee will untether him completely. 

Dee… looks suddenly sad, suddenly very much like Remus said the wrong thing at the wrong time, suddenly like he had a realization and didn’t like where it brought him.

“Remus,” He says carefully. “It's not that I don’t harbor any feelings for you—”

“No!” Remus says. “I mean I don’t understand why the two of you are fucking acting like this is some funeral or something. So what, you lied to me! My own brother doesn’t believe I have a fucking power; do you really think I would care if you told me your real name or not? And your “manipulation”? What part of me following you halfway across the country tells you that I’m not doing it willingly?”

Remus wonders when breathing got hard again, but he stares at them because he needs to say this. He needs them to hear this. He needs—

“I can see the fucking future, Dee. I know how everything can end. I know. I’m choosing it anyway. I’m choosing you anyway. And nothing you do or say is ever going to stop me! I love you!”

Dee exhales with his whole body, shaking and trembling and his hands fly up to his chest like he’s about to cut it open and check to make sure his heart is still beating the hard way. 

“Remus,” He whispers. Like Remus said something new. Something special. Something he didn’t already fucking know. 

Like Remus can’t possibly mean it. Like Remus hadn’t seen a billion futures where they died terrible painful awful deaths and wasn’t prepared to see a billion more if it just meant a chance to stay right by Dee’s side. 

Like he thought that between the two of them, Remus was the one not interested in him for some stupid reason.

“Unbelievable,” Virgil says. “Un-fucking-believable. Give me the fucking Thai food.” 

He doesn’t wait for Dee to comply actually. He reaches over and tears the plastic bag from Dee’s hands and huffs his way towards the kitchen with all the storminess of an actual thunderstorm.

Dee doesn’t even react to it at all. He’s staring at Remus with his grey-blue eyes, his real eyes, his shiny, wet, teary eyes and Remus thinks for a moment that oh shit, I made him cry, abort abort abort. Although he doesn’t know what exactly aborting would be like in this situation, because he’s not about to lie and say something like I take it back, hahaha, I’ve never had an emotion for you before in my life!

“My name is Janus Witchall,” he says.

“I love you,” Remus says because he does and he said it and this is not a future that he can take back and a part of him won’t stop screaming it in his brain. He’s breathless, equal parts terrified and excited for what might come next.

“I’m a shapeshifter. And I-I’ve spent most of my life being someone I’m not.”

“I love whoever you want to be.”

“My mother is the one trying to take over the world.”

“I want to climb your—,” Remus says, and then squints. “Wait, what?”

“My mother,” Janus— because that’s his name and he told Remus and Remus is going to use it— repeats with a hysterical edge, “Dragana Witchall, is the Secretary of Defense of America and she can do minor mind control and she did it to me for most of my childhood to turn me into the perfect living weapon for her to parade around and the truth is if it weren’t for Virgil, I would be where The Prince, your brother, Roman, is right now.”

[Chapter Ten]