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rivangel · 3 years

Text

Kinktober: Day 2

Day 2: Levi // body worship + praise + foot fetish // virgin!Levi and virgin!afab!reader // college!AU // thigh riding

warnings: light self-depreciation | foot fetish

wc: 3.7k

a/n: only a million years late. im too damn ambitious, clearly.

-lev☔︎

Listened to while writing:

Night classes can go to hell.

It isn't the innate feeling of your creativity draining (who isn't creative at night, anyway?), and it isn't the class itself. It's the fact that College Writing ends at 8PM, and your university isn't situated in the best part of the city. Lots of frat boys raising hell at 8PM, and it's Friday night at that.

Enter: your saving grace.

"Thanks for picking me up," you say, and heave a breath. Even minutes past, your body acts like some raging, malfunctioning machine. Your mother would call you a loon.

Levi nods, and spares you his third glance of the last minute or so. He gently squeezes your thigh where your hands are laced together. "It's not a problem, but you don't need to thank me for something I already meant to do."

Ugh, he's such a sweetheart.

Why do you feel guilty, then? It's quite selfish, you know. Making Levi's favor to you all about yourself. Why can't you just be thankful?

Meekly, you speak: "Hey. Do you think we can stay in tonight, instead of going to the Center? I'm sorry, I know you really wanted to go."

Specifically, Levi was interested in the new frozen yogurt place. Not that there's any difference between frozen yogurt and soft serve (in your humble opinion) but he really likes vanilla, and lemon. He really wanted to go.

Levi frowns then, but you know him well enough to just know it's not about ice cream, or even going out. Not really. "...Bad mental health day?"

A sweetheart who can read me like a book.

"Yeah."

Levi squeezes your thigh once more, gently.

A short guide to lifetime happiness: Avoid all social media, at times including but not limited to, Friday nights. Said consumption is the root of all insecurities and inferiority complexes.

You close your phone and toss it on Levi's nightstand, cringing as it tumbles to the floor. Levi's floor is hardwood, because he's adamant that hardwood is much easier to clean and keep clean. He's right of course, but these things always seem to come back and bite you in the ass.

Levi makes an unhappy noise from behind you, and squeezes your waist. He's curled around you like a spider monkey, but he always prefers to say cat. "Tell me, have you ever in your life taken care of any of your belongings?"

You snort, because you haven't. Self-deprecating humor is your lifestyle, but so is teasing Levi; your lip quirks up instead. "Yeah. You."

And it's true, you think. In the eight months you and Levi have been dating, you've never argued once, not really. That's how far maturity and good communication skills get you, as well as him. God knows you learned from your high school flings. Besides, you take care of each other.

It's a gorgeous amalgamation of a grunt and a short laugh; Levi's lips brush the nape of your neck. Goosebumps, naturally. "Good job so far, sweetheart."

More goosebumps, naturally. The gravel in Levi's voice pushes his words beyond, aw, my boyfriend complimented me. How sweet.

You don't bother suppressing your shiver from Levi, because he would see through you even if he wasn't spider-monkeying you right now. This compels him to grunt-laugh again. He presses his lips against your neck properly, and drift to the curve of it. Levi stays there, gently massaging your skin with his teeth.

You sigh, and your eyes fall shut in bliss. You're overcome with the desire to kiss him—that, or pull him on top of you—but you opt to reach and tug him closer instead, by his hair.

Levi's body immediately goes rigid with the attention paid there, then he shivers. He always does.

"Don't stop," you whisper, suddenly feeling convicted, to which Levi promptly stops to look at you, as if he hadn't heard you right. But he did, and you tell him so. You want to keep going if he does, a feeling that's as obvious to you as the blush blooming across Levi's face. "Do you want to, this time?"

Levi's eyes flitter away, a habit of his that almost always exposes his nerves rather than guilt. He's not generally a guilty person, but nervous, occasionally. When it comes to pleasing you, always.

"...Yeah," he eventually replies, Adam's apple bobbing, and something in your chest leaps, then congeals. "Would you like me to keep complimenting you, then?"

"You don't have to–"

"No. I want to. I want..." Levi then speaks very quickly, as if the words are tumbling out: "I'd rather that than please you the wrong way–your pleasure is important to me."

Your mouth falls open and shuts like a dumb, blubbering fish before pushing yourself up against Levi's plush pillows and pulling the man himself on top of you. You're both rather clumsy; Levi, less so, of course. Your hands are balled in the fabric of his button-down so harshly that you're irrationally worried you'll tear the fabric. You forget this the moment your lips begin to move together.

Levi's shirt is opened—always so formal—before yours can be pulled over your head. He's faster with the buttons than you are, but now it hangs open like a curtain with your hands running up his waist and pecs. You simply can't stop yourself from babbling about how beautiful he is, even between sloppy kisses and fleeting touches.

You stream your fingers between soft strands of Levi's hair as he vehemently disagrees, murmuring, "–so fucking wrong. You, you're irresistible–"

Your mouths collide again, but not without a brief clashing of teeth and another embarrassing wave of warmth pooling between your thighs. It's instinctual to rub them together, only to stifle a moan at the feeling. You'd be mortified if Levi didn't immediately shudder in your arms and haphazardly grind against your thigh in return.

He mewls like a kitten, and then the hand he cradled your waist with a moment ago shoves your oppressive top up and over your belly, just shy of your breasts. You gasp, equal parts because of the cool air and the enthusiasm with which he did it at all.

Levi's lips are visibly swelled when he pulls away, regarding you with need. He breathes your name, and the word ignites a spark. It's useless to stop it, not when heat ripples at the sound of Levi saying your name with such desperation. It nullifies the intimidating hardness at your thigh, and enthralls you instead. You could whimper at the reality of the turn this evening has taken—he got hard so quickly.

You swipe your tongue over your lips then, as if cataloguing the taste of him before you nudge your thigh further between Levi's inner thighs. As if flipping a switch, his jaw falls slack and his eyes fall shut. Now, Levi's palm shadows the top of your ribcage, just below what your tee still covers and where you would prefer his hands be (despite your nerves).

"Keep going," you encourage, and bite the bullet by cupping Levi's backside. Jeans make it so much harder. "You sound so pretty when you fuck my thigh."

Levi doesn't respond with words at first; rather, he gasps—an airy, "hah," leaving his lips—and grapples at your midsection for support, then your shoulders when your hand snakes up the wide expanse of his chest. It's an experimental touch—part of you didn't expect how firm his nipples would feel between your fingertips—but Levi shivers anyway.

His expression contorts with pleasure as he rocks forward, gently at first then again, with more intent, again and again. The word desperate or needy comes to mind quickly.

You can't help but whimper with him, as you hadn't considered how intimate it'd be: Levi's full weight rocking against your body, like Venus slamming into Earth. Like the heat between your bodies passionately scorching you both to ash.

As if remembering his intentions, Levi pulls away from the shallow of your neck and murmurs against the shell of your ear, "you feel so good—if this is what your thigh feels like, I can't wait to taste you–"

You gasp as your cheeks rapidly bloom with heat. Levi has such a fervent effect on you and he knows it. He knows it. His knee slithers between your thighs, and your head falls back with a tiny mewl.

"–lick you, suck your clit and show you just how gorgeous you are–"

Levi cuts himself off with a low moan, and you don't pick up on the shifting of clothing, only his strained voice ringing through heaven to ask your consent for him to undress. To undress and fuck your thigh properly, if only you'd do the same and shed the cotton barrier between your bodies.

It's only a thread of insecurity that now tears your heart. It's not the nudity, not even your imperfections, really. Neither of you are strangers to each other's bodies, but it's the sheer fact that you're about to have sex, now, that conjures the thread. How normal that is, yet seemingly so contrived.

Levi is beautiful. His body is sultry, borne of toned muscle and skin like an oven. Every bit of him is defined and sculpted, even his now-messed hair with bangs that fall over his forehead like a curtain when he goes to admire your own flesh.

"You're beautiful," he says, and tells you again when your sigh stutters. He surges over top of you willingly when you yank him in, but he kisses down the expanse of your collar to pause briefly at the soft roundness of your heaving chest.

He presses a kiss, experimentally, to your pebbled nipple while he cups and gently kneads the flesh of the other. It's a natural question—"Does this feel good?"—yet so obvious.

Yes, it does.

With your praise, Levi takes your flesh into his velvety mouth, only for you to squirm and sink your hand into his scalp—as if there's a chance at all that he's going anywhere. Levi moans with this, graceful yet needy. Alternatively, the friction from his calloused thumb and forefinger working your tender nipple leaves you whimpering.

Neither of you have the patience to stay here for long. Levi goes on: You're so soft, you sound so pretty for him, and he mumbles these between kisses before lingering at the gentle plumpness at your waistline. You have excess weight, so unlike Levi, and yet, you're like, "–every one of my dreams come alive."

Your previous plans have seemingly been forgotten, but you can hardly bring yourself to care. This is so far back in your mind, the forefront being replaced instead by calloused hands at your inner thighs—even there, your skin is slick with arousal—and Levi's warm tongue tracing patterns into the stretchmarks there.

"Y-You're so good," you babble, like the lovestruck virgin you are. Your core aches and spasms for touch. "Please."

Hands—yours, which tremble gently with a million emotions—pet at Levi's own to bring between your legs. To dip inside your slit for the sake of his nimble fingers fondling your puffy clit, to simply no avail. Levi at once seems to have something in mind, and, as always, adrenaline shoots when you catch sight of his small smirk. Such a thing is rare, but means something exciting, always.

He gives nothing away, but you don't have to wait long. There's a blunt surge of excitement giving way to desire when Levi shifts back and bends your knees—legs spread wide apart—so he has utmost access to your feet. They're an erogenous zone for you, so much so that mere massages down the arch of one can easily steal your breath and dampen your briefs.

And that's exactly how he begins. A firm, yet gentle hand working up the arches of each with Levi's soft lips trailing up from your heel, over the smoothness of your instep, before his tongue glides over your sole. All the while, deft hands work at stubborn, tight muscles, inducing choked, little sighs from your lips. Your mouth falls open then at Levi's velvety tongue curling around your big toe.

It's heavenly.

"Levi," you mewl, as you have been for moments past. It's as if you've almost been struck dumb. Your lust is so insatiably you have no idea what to beg for. "Mm, angel... Please."

It's hard to meet his gaze somehow, even while he exudes so much devotion to you and such obvious longing.

He wants me, he wants me...

Levi hums keenly, knowing, and his eyes fall shut. From where he'd been obediently suckling your toe, he kisses each pad of the others, then smooths a small line up from the instep of your opposite foot to the calloused sole with his tongue. Your head falls back by instinct as your thighs open wider.

"Levi..."

It's the little things: Levi's hands now granting support to suspend your ankles (even while it isn't needed), the way his hands fall to white-knuckle the seams of your shorts once he's crawled back up your body, and the burning glint in his irises once you push the offending fabric off his shoulders. It plummets—right over where his mouth just was—in a heap.

"I'm sorry," he murmurs, so close your lips brush when he says it. You're both struggling for breath, majority-part from kissing so deeply, thirsting for each other. "I want to wait, but I don't think I can anymore. I need you–" your sharp intake of breath, "–I need anything you'll give me, just please, touch me."

You'd seldom heard Levi request something so outright before, let alone beg for it. Yet here he is, and here you are, and you haul his denim down and off his waist, taking the spandex with it.

Heart pounding, you dare to retract your legs so you can do the same while Levi tugs the rest of his clothing off. Cool air hits your soaked sex and exposes the thick scent of your soaked mound, to which Levi's chest heaves and he moves faster. He casts his clothing aside like dirty rags while you brashly pull him in with all the desperation of a brat.

You take your time admiring him, however. Levi's girth is formidable and hung, colored a strangled pink with a vivacious craving for touch, anything, please, while his tip practically weeps with his cream. Between his thighs, his balls are full and heavy, and you wistfully imagine using your mouth on them. He's so hard that his erection is ramrod straight, heavy and weeping.

"Fuck," you murmur, at around the same time that Levi takes rest between your inner thighs. He kneads and sweeps inward to spread your lips apart, groaning faintly at the amount of sweet slick that gushes forth. "S-Sorry, but this is your fault, you know."

"Good," is Levi's only reply to this before propping your thighs up around his waist, to which (your chest soars, and–) you cross your legs behind his solid back. Your lips meet for the nth time as his shaft nudges, then burrows between your warm folds. You both moan in tandem, muffled by bruised and spit-soaked lips.

For several, far-too-long moments, Levi elects to tease, sheathing his length in your cum and giving your clit some much-needed, savory friction. It feels like whatever heaven is meant to feel like, and it feels like your cunt is empty, for now while your hips pivot up and Levi drives his own forward, again and again.

It's like a revolving door, a brief moment at the precipice, before Levi finally prods at your entrance. You're so tight that extra effort is needed to bury his cock inside you, which he promptly—between starved puffs of air and trembling fingertips—informs you of before he does so.

It's painful, at first. Despite your soaked mound, so wound up and so needy. It aches as if you're being split open, and throbs with a dull sort of pain. You groan softly and absentmindedly tug Levi in by his shoulders, if simply for comfort.

Levi's lip is pulled between his teeth to smother himself meanwhile, as if he won't allow himself to vocalize his pleasure, not until you're satisfied as well. His cheeks are visibly stained red, and he huffs for breath. Just as well, he seems to struggle not to allow his eyes to fall shut, as you are, now.

"I hate hurting you," he says then, as if genuinely pained in the midst of his cock being practically sucked in by your warmth, to which your hips jolt, and you grapple for one of his hands. You give him a simple command–"touch me,"–to which Levi's eyes light up and he eagerly does.

At your soaked pussy lips, Levi thumbs your hood back and briefly circles your clit before flicking, then stroking. It's hard to keep your train of thought to direct him, not that Levi needed the help after the first time you grind your hips into his hand. You at times must pause to gasp softly or whimper before a moan stumbles past your gaping mouth. Mindlessly, you don't let go of Levi's forearm. You wouldn't be able to quit clamping down around his length—as little that's pushed into you so far—even if you tried, even if you wanted to.

Once he's certain you're much more comfortable, Levi allows himself to relax and groan languidly at your ear, into the damp, hot flesh of your throat. It occurs to you vaguely that your earring is pressing against and chilling Levi's cheek, but the thought is whisked away as soon as it comes.

Feverishly, by your ear, "you're so tight, it can hardly fit, sweetheart–"

You jerk—you think your whole body does—before Levi's pelvis finally kisses yours with a strangled moan. His toying with your clit doesn't yield, though, not the circular strokes of his thumb gliding over and over and rubbing–

A cry, and it is guaranteed that your fingernails will leave crescent-shaped marks in Levi's skin tomorrow. "I'm close, I'm so close—baby, if you don't stop–"

"Cum for me."

You manage to open your eyes. He's already begun to drive into you, yet so brutally slowly—as Levi nuzzles your cheek and ecstasy seizes you. It seizes you and you go rigid, no mind left to care for volume at which you near-shout, then cry Levi's name, over and over again.

It's his masterful hand at your clit, alternating sweet motion that carries you through it besides him relentlessly plowing you into his own mattress. With each wave, his mouth molds with your throat; each stuttered or sultry moan of Levi's swells with volume, then pitch.

Despite his getting closer and your coming down, your tight muscles are singed with sensitivity. You'd be thrashing, even, if Levi wasn't there to hold you down. His hips slam against yours with unforgiving lust. The slapping of skin and slick flesh is vulgar, sinful, and so fucking thrilling.

With all the agency you can manage, you grab a fistful of Levi's undercut just to kiss him, just to hear him cry out, and just to beg him to fuck you harder because, "gonna–"

Levi's expression—a moment before pulled tight with pleasure turns predatory before his free arm cages your head in, and he does just as you command with a frantic, "yes, please."

So soon post-orgasm, you remain throbbing around Levi's cock. You're simply too sensitive to relent or calm thanks to the angelic man both above you and sheathed so deeply inside you. With each plunge of Levi's hips, you writhe and claw at his back—close, close. The pain of your nails seems to drive him harder.

Levi's voice is garbled by an impassioned use of your name, then a curse, but he moans how close he is just as your body tenses hard for one, urgent moment, and orgasm seizes you once more. Clutching Levi and squeezing the fuck out of his waist with your thighs is the one action that keeps you there for long enough to bear lovely witness to his own orgasm.

Every inch of tension leaves Levi's features as his jaw drops open with a blissful moan of your name. His cock pushes harshly into you the final time before you feel his warm cum spill inside you. You moan, a pathetic sound as a flood of both your cream and Levi's oozes past what little space remains between your hole and his length. Completely and utterly fucked-out.

Levi slows, and finally, your leaden legs sag back onto the mattress. You can hardly maintain your arms around his dampened neck, let alone holding your head up. The pillow behind you suddenly feels as if it's been fluffed with the softest plush known to man.

Fucked-out, undoubtedly.

Naturally, Levi isn't so much left a sack of lead than he is sapped of energy.

"Fuck," he grunts, nearly collapsed on top of your own sweat-soaked body, and you echo the sentiment wholeheartedly. He's warm—everywhere is now so unbearably warm—stinking with a sultry scent of sex and sweat.

Your eyelids already feel like half-ton weights, but you close the inch of space between your faces to briefly press your lips together regardless. Naturally, Levi returns the gesture wholeheartedly, but neither of you have the strength to deepen it as he progressively softens inside you. A satisfying mix of slick and Levi's seed begins to seep out of you with earnest.

Levi pulls away, and you hope that you look half as good as he does right now, sweaty and wrecked and tired. And blissful, too. Beyond the seventh heaven, or whatever it is people say after having thrilling sex for the first time.

He murmurs as his hand, pruned by your cum, cradles your hip with all intention to pull out, "are you alright?"

You titter, "gosh... And you call me an idiot for asking stupid questions all the time."

It may be that Levi scoffs, grunts, or laughs at that. You've never known him to, but you think he laughs, despite the exhaustion.

"Are you?" You continue, and even smiling feels heavy. "And don't complain about feeling filthy... I wanna cuddle."

Levi purses his lips; clearly, you stole the words right out of his mouth, but he can hardly refuse a request like that—not from you. Never from you.

| Kinktober 2021 masterpost | levi masterlist | main masterlist |

#aotfanfic #levi x reader #g.scribe #fic #aot oneshot #kinktober 2021 #aot smut #afab reader #reader insert #Spotify #Levi x Reader #loss of virginity #aot fanfic #college au

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titilationexpress · 3 years

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StarscreamxReader-Sweet Dreams are made of Screams Ch.1

First ever lemon. Please give your input. Reposting from my Ao3.

You haven’t been able to sleep properly for weeks now. And frankly, you’re wondering if you ever will again in your lifetime.

Yet what caused you to have such a problem with something that once came to you so easily? Ok, maybe not easily. No, scratch that. It was never easy. You had to take some sleeping pills every night to even get a few hours in. Still, how did it happen?

Well, the trouble had started back not long ago. In fact, from what you could recall, it hadn’t even been a full month before your ‘problem’ started. See, you were a fairly average individual. You had your quirks, your habits, the little things that make each person an individual. One particular interest you had though was quite specific, and even more, came from a decade long before you were born.

Transformers.

Oh yes, your beginnings were humble when you first started with the franchise, and you looked with wide, awe-filled eyes. Your starting place was where you first discovered it, the one show that will remain in your heart forever. From that, you got into the characters, the story, the lore of what started as a toyline for young boys (though it was clear now that both sexes had a love for it), all of it. And from there, you went on to past and future generations from your starting point, and now, you were a certified Transformers fan! Hell, one of your favorite sites ever is TFWiki.

With this entrance into the fandom, you took to devouring everything that you could: the cartoons and animes, the books, the movies, fanfiction, fanart, fan comics, doujinshi, anything and everything that you could get your hands on, you did. And not long after, you began contributing yourself, drawing, writing, whatever you could to make your stand and have your place in the community. At first, it worked well enough, you weren’t exactly prolific, yet you were doing well enough. You managed to get a few requests for certain things to be drawn/written, believe it or not, but still, you weren’t overly big.

And then came your discovery of the Reader genre.

What is the Reader genre? Why, as far as you were concerned, only one of the greatest genres ever to be conceived! Well, to be more accurate, the form of writing wasn’t anything new, remembering the ‘Choose Your Adventure’ books. It seemed said genre now spread everywhere, you being very aware of the numerous games and dating sims that ranged from well done and engaging to outright ridiculous and stupid (but those were fun in their unique way). And since you didn’t have any knowledge or time to do that, you settled for writing them yourself. Your first piece was a simple Optimus x Reader with the standard plot and standard outcome, which was a declaration of love and a resulting kiss with the Autobot Leader. You were NOT expecting the overflow of response that it had gotten. You were quite shocked, but at the same time, overjoyed. Soon, you decided to try your luck with another one, this one being of Bumblebee, the scenario being mostly the same, albeit with a bit more cutesy fluff, as in your mind, Bumblebee was always the little guy. This one was just as successful, and you beamed, having finally found your calling.

Since then, you were getting requests left and right for more and more choices, all spanning different universes. From the animated cartoons to the comics, different universes, everything that spanned from the most well-known incarnations to the more obscure. It was through these that you managed to get even more into the Transformers multiverse as a whole and even discovered some truly overlooked gems. You opened yourself up to the people and declared that you would write whatever they requested, but you had some taboos that you wouldn’t touch. But any scenario, character, and universe, all of that was fair game.

You had originally begun working on more mundane, typical stories with expected outcomes (but sweet ones nonetheless), yet over time, the requests and your imagination began getting more creative and crazy. Soon, you were delving into several different areas that you had never touched. Elves, goblins, mermaids, vampires, forbidden love, love triangles, all of these were laid at your feet. And while it took a bit to find your rhythm, all of this having come on you so fast, you eventually got it and soon, you had a wide collection of X Reader stories, ranging from G1 to Prime and IDW’s run.

You mainly did Autobots, for you had to admit that writing for them, while they were still complex characters, came somewhat easier for you. True, each of them had their faults and quirks (both from canon and headcanons people had come up with), yet they were still the good guys, and even those with more questionable morality still came out as heroes in the end. But then one day came where you were asked to write about a Decepticon. This threw you for a loop, as, while the thought had intrigued you, you had been writing for good guys for some time, so a total shift in direction was somewhat off-putting and scary. Possibilities of it being too saccharine or sweet, or getting the characters wrong or out of character scared you a bit, yet still, you wanted to test the waters and see if you could do it. And if you could, this would open up so much more for you.

And judging from the input, you had just struck gold yet again.

Soon, not only were you flooded with requests for Autobots, but now their foes were also available, and, as you found out, people had just as much an attraction for the darkness as they did for the light. Again, the same scenarios were implemented, yet now, they had something of a darker edge to them, which allowed you to explore some subjects you couldn’t touch with the Autobots without toning it back somewhat. In a way, the Decepticons provided you with more freedom. Ironic, seeing as Megatron’s motto was “Peace through Tyranny.”

That said, you went through the list of available characters throughout the generations, and so far, those had been garnering quite a following as well, your Autobot and Decepticon stories neck and neck in popularity. Everything seemed to be going well for you.

Then that one question came.

‘Hey, where’s Starscream?’

Then another.

‘Could you write one about Starscream?’’

Then another.

‘Hey, hate to bother you, yet I think that Starscream could use some love here.’

More and more questions and requests for the particular Decepticon filled your messages, and frankly, you were at a loss on what to do. Truth be told, you and Starscream had something of a complicated history. When you had gotten into Transformers, you had heard of the character, yet at first, you never saw why he had gained such a large fanbase. True, he wasn’t a bad character, yet he wasn’t your favorite. But over time, as you wrote more and more for the Decepticons, as well as read X Reader stories from other people, you slowly began to, as one would say, gain an interest in the winged robot. And soon, you found yourself enamored by the smug jerk as well.

But this only made you reluctant to write for him.

True, when you started writing for the Decepticons, you were allowed to experiment with some more intimate and extreme situations, yet with Starscream...it was different. It was hard to explain, yet whenever you got a request to write for him, your brain seemed to seize up. Thoughts came to your head that you had tried to banish, thoughts that came every time you saw the Seeker’s name. You had no idea what was going on or why this was so difficult, yet it seemed the Silver Snake had taken to making your fingers not touch the keyboard.

You had no idea at all. Or at least, that’s what you told yourself.

And since you had gotten the slew of requests, your sleep problems began. The moment you shut your eyes, the scenario began all over again.

…

You needed no introduction to where you were or what you were seeing, it all quite familiar to you now. Around you were towering walls of a silvery mauve color, the only available light from above sparse and leaving several areas coated in darkness. This place was all too familiar, for you had seen it many times in your watching and reading of Transformers.

You were in Decepticon headquarters.

Your dreams had been filled with the base of the enemy faction of the Autobots, and at first, it had shocked you as to why you were here at all. But over time, night after night, you came here, and soon, you grew accustomed to the sight of it. You took on the form of your Transformers persona/OC or remained in your regular, human form, whatever pleased you as if you had some control over this environment. Yet as you grew more familiar (you were never sure if you’d be comfortable), you began to explore the place, finding that, to your surprise, there was no one here. No signs of any sort of life aboard the ship, and while it took a good while, you traveled everywhere you could think of, and still, nothing. No Megatron, no other Decepticons, no one but you had been aboard.

At least, that was what you believed when you first had this dream. Then, you heard it. The voice. His voice.

“Oooh, I’m the Boogie Man,”

Singing, serenading, just loud enough for you to hear, yet low enough for you to know it was far away. It always started this way.

“The terrible, horrible Boogie Man,”

Your ears/audio receptors registered the voice as it echoed throughout the ship. When the dreams had begun, you knew immediately who was singing, and then you were more surprised at how it sounded. Sure, it had its infamous high pitch, yet it wasn’t bad to listen to. Daresay, it was rather enjoyable in its own way.

“I come in the middle of the night and frighten bad little girls like you.”

The first few times you had this dream, it would almost always startle you, yet it led you to look down the other balls and corridors of the ship. The results were always the same though: no one was aboard. No one but you...and him.

“Beware, better have a care,”

The song changed each and every time you entered the dream, tonight being a track you heard on a video game you played not too long ago (Bioshock 2 you believed). Yet the songs always had the same effect on you.

“I’m going to follow you everywhere.”

Despite your trepidation, you wanted...needed to follow it.

“I crawl through the ceiling and the wall and call on bad little girls like you.”

Walking, then running, you traversed the winding path before you, taking several left and right turns, having no sense of direction but that voice. A voice that, despite its infamous sound, held power to it, a siren’s song in a way. Ironic, you thought. Still, you followed, for you had reached your limit. You knew what would happen if you didn’t find him.

“I’ll torture you and hunt you,”

And never leave.

I’ve got you where I want you,”

And never let you escape this dream.

“A victim of my dark and dirty plot.”

And he knew it too. He knew he had power over you. And you hated it.

“And at the slightest whim, I’ll tear you limb from limb,”

Or…

“In other words, I’ll put you on the spot.”

Did you?

“Oooh, I’m the Boogie Man,”

You were close. So dangerously close.

“The terrible, horrible Boogie Man.”

Just a turn around the corner.

“I come in the middle of the night and frighten…”

He paused, you stopping in your tracks at what you saw. There he was. Situated behind violet bars of energy in a cell, the Decepticon stood there with his arms folded and looking upon you with satisfied, hungry red eyes.

“...bad little girls like you.”

It was him.

Starscream.

Your favorite incarnation of Starscream, those ruby orbs boring into your own eyes/optics. You stepped back from the cell, eyes/optics wide at what was before you. Sure, if you were to go by dream logic, some part of you always knew that it was ‘him’ that awaited you at the end of this journey, but still, to actually see him, standing there so casually when it looked like he was locked up, it chilled you. As if he had absolutely nothing to worry about.

“My, my, so you finally found me,” he said, his voice perfectly matching the incarnation that stood before you. “Or rather, I found you. Whichever way it goes, it doesn’t matter,” he smirked. “For I already know the outcome.”

You blinked a few times, still trying to see if who was before you had truly been there. “St…” you began nervously. “Starscream?”

The Decepticon chuckled and stepped out of the shadows, allowing you to fully see him. “In the mesh,” he said. “And I see that introductions won’t need to be made either, will they, Y/N?” your eyes/optics went wide. “That’s right, pet, I know everything. This IS your mind after all.”

“Wh-What?” you stammered. “I don’t understand.”

Starscream’s grin only grew wider. “You will soon. You will understand EVERYTHING.”

Just what was he talking about? From the looks of it, he seemed to be enjoying your tension and trepidation, very amused. Your mind went into fan mode, recalling every fact you had known of Starscream and his various incarnations, which then led to you going on the defensive. “You…” albeit, it took you a try or two. “You’re the one that’s been doing this to me. Giving me these...these weird dreams.” the Decepticon didn’t answer, yet it was clear that he already knew that the secret was out (even if it wasn’t much of one). “You’re also the one that’s not letting me have one decent night’s sleep without being trapped here!”

“Or me serenading you?” he added in. “How do you like it? I don’t do it often, yet if I wish, I can stretch out my vocal components if I want.”

Your cheeks grew hot. Damn, this bastard was already making you too wound up, and you had only gotten a few words in! “Well...I’m here now,” you said, trying to sound confident, and, ironically enough, trying to channel Megatron’s dominating aura. “So, what do you want?”

This didn’t phase him in the slightest. Despite him being the one locked up, you were the one who felt like his prisoner. “I think you already know that dear Y/N,” he said. “But to put it simply, I’m feeling left out.”

You were confused. “Left out?” You asked. “Left out of…” you paused. Indeed, you knew well what he was talking about. “My...my reader inserts.”

Starscream nodded. “Quite an extensive library you’ve built up over time.” He told you. “Though your choices could be much better.” he scoffed. “Of course goody-good Prime would be on the list, along with the rest of the Auto-dolts.” Then he grimaced. “Yet there are those that actually want to FRAG Megatron? Ugh! No taste at all!” He then looked back at you. “You’ve written for everyone, from either faction, of every series,” he then pouted. “But none for me. Truly, Y/N, I’m hurt.”

You felt quite awkward. True, while you were known online for your stories, it was your username and persona they were seeing. They weren’t someone that was right around the corner that could walk in and see you writing these things. While you loved doing it, the thought of your family or friends discovering you wrote in this genre was a thought you dared not entertain, as you swore that you’d die from embarrassment. Thus, you were very careful whenever you did it, your room completely locked tight so you could focus without fear of someone barging in. The only times you left during your writing periods were for bathroom breaks and/or to eat/drink something. It was a big secret...and thinking about it now, it was a secret no more to the most infamous backstabber in all of Transformers. You had been found out.

“Well...so what? Are you going to keep haunting me until I do?” you asked. “You can’t do that!”

Starscream didn’t seem phased by this at all. That damned smirk of his both frustrated and made you excited, a combination that left you very unsure. “Can’t I?” he asked.

You didn’t like his tone. “What do you mean?”

“Well, let’s consider for a moment, Y/N,” he said. “You believe that I’m merely a figment of your imagination, yes? A stubborn thought that is lodged in your subconscious. Am I right?” you shifted a bit, knowing well what he was saying would lead to something else. Something that probably would flip everything on its head. “Well...who’s to say that I am?”

“I...I don’t understand.”

“Of course you don’t. But what I say might just jog your memory.” he then went on. “In your last X Reader, you spoke of multiple versions of the characters, such as Prime and...yes, even Megatron,” Starscream scoffed. “And how it would’ve been peculiar if they met. Then, one of your readers linked you to a page on the TFWiki.” Starscream then chuckled. “Quite an array of knowledge, I must say. Especially for a primitive species such as yourselves. Anyway, said page spoke of what is labeled as the Transformers Multiverse, which, if I may say, is an excuse for you all to toy with and shape us into what YOU want. But back on track, you did a small amount of research on that, then went on about your business.”

“...and what does this have to do with why you’re here?”

Starscream smirked. “Then, after some time, you went and read the entries of me from various series and incarnations. To get a better feel for what you were thinking of writing. What you wanted to write. Only, you never did.” You were about to speak again, but the seeker spoke again before you could. “There was one detail from my earliest incarnation that spoke of a ‘ghost’, an immortal spark that couldn’t be snuffed out. One that could travel through space and time.” He drew closer to the bars. “And then discovered a way to travel through dimensions. Wherein, I found out all about how so many humans have seen my reality behind a television screen.”

What was he talking about? What did any of what he said mean? It was then that it all clicked for you. Sparks were essentially the ‘soul’ of a Transformer, which Starscream’s was indestructible. You read that he made an appearance in Beast Wars, and had made cameos elsewhere. What was before you right now...mere feet away…” Are you.. “ you stammered. “Are you really…”

The Decepticon nodded. “Yes. Yes, I am, Y/N.”

You were left speechless. No. No, this...this was impossible. It...it couldn’t be him! It couldn’t be the REAL Starscream! He was a cartoon, no, a toy! A damn toy! A toy from the eighties that were made to be marketable to young boys (and the girls that were secretly into it) among several other toys that were made be marketable to young boys (and again, the girls that were secretly into it)! There was NO way he was in your mind right now! He wasn’t real! He wasn’t real! He wasn’t-

“You step out into the chilled air, wrapping your arms around yourself as you do.” the Decepticon suddenly began. “He’s there to pick you up. He’s there to pick you up. You’re both terrified and exhilarated, eager to start the night, but also to make it fly by just enough so nothing embarrassing would happen between the two of you.” your jaw dropped when you heard him say that. How did he- “Know that you recently read over your very first entry? The one that started it all?” he then ‘rolled’ his eyes. “The one that clearly displayed that you had little taste at first?”

Of course, you did! That was from your very first X Reader story! It told of Optimus Prime and you, a human, in a relationship. Odd start, you knew, especially given that Transformer x Human relations was sort of controversial, yet overall, it wasn’t a bad one. Still, the fact he knew that…” No.” you said aloud. “It can’t be.”

He smiled. “I am.”

You stepped back until you hit a wall. “S-Starscream.” you stuttered. “You’re him. You’re the...the real one.” he was quite satisfied with your reaction, you clearly flustered yet cautious at the same time. The sensation drove you mad. But then you remember, this was just a dream! You were just making up all this stuff! You were relieved by this revelation...yet at the same time, you were...curious. Just where would this go if you continued? “Well...well, what are you doing here? What do you want?”

“Exactly as I said before, I feel left out,” Starscream told you. “And considering my popularity in this universe, I’d think me being here should tell you something.”

You knew what he wanted. “You want me to write about you.” it was obvious. “I-I know. I mean, I’ve been wanting to. Really, I have. But...but I...I just…” you sighed. If you knew Starscream (and you had at least a decent enough faith you did), you knew that this could potentially earn you his anger. Yet, to your surprise, he didn’t try to order you around. Instead, he seemed like he already knew you were going to say that.

“You can’t,” he said for you. “Understand, I’m the one in YOUR mind. Thus, you could say, I know everything about you. A perk of being something that, in this universe, started out as a drawing on a piece of paper.” you were confused, this seemed to humor Starscream even more. “Oh, come now. Surely you know that concept art exists, right?”

All of this was so insane for you, yet it was then that you felt the urge to speak up and say something for yourself for once. “Well, if you’re here from the...well, YOUR universe, what are you doing here in the first place?”

“Why, this is one of the few places I win!” Starscream exclaimed. “Of course, when I first came here, I was quite perplexed about how I and many others were known as products from a company called ‘Hasbro’. But overtime, I discovered your version of the internet, and, well, as you flesh bags say, the rest is history.” he then continued, not giving you a chance to speak. “And bring that I am an idea in this universe, I can go freely as I wish, peering into minds,” his red eyes looked upon you. “Become one’s permanent muse or vice versa.”

God, you felt weird. You felt so confused and conflicted. You wanted to sink into the wall to get away, but you also wanted to know more about this. You had to know more. You needed to know more. “So…?”

“So, I’ve come to you, as you’re truly in need of some inspiration,” Starscream said. “As well as some changes in your thinking.”

“Like what? Worshiping the ground you walk on?” you ask, feeling a little bolder.

“Oh, you already do.” he said. “If you didn’t desire me, I wouldn’t be here.” he grinned at your shocked expression. “That’s right, Y/N, I know what truly holds you back from writing about me. Your fears, your anxieties, your loves and lusts.” you had no words. “You fear that you may get me wrong if you will. That I won’t be in character. Or you fear that you won’t be able to satisfy the wants of your readers, as I AM so highly anticipated. Or…” he leaned closer to the bars, the only barrier separating you two. “You fear exploring those more intimate pleasures with me. You’re intimidated and unsure. After all, writing for Autobots is easy, yet us Decepticons are more difficult. But it HAS awakened things in you that you wish to explore on either side. Things that you are dying to let out.”

You had no words, he was completely right. Damn him! The smug bastard knew he had you in the palm of his hand...and yet also probably knew that’s what made you so hot and bothered right now! “So...what? Are you here to force me to write those things with you in them?”

“Dear Y/N, I can’t technically make you do anything,” Starscream told you. “Oh yes, I can stay and torment you night after night until either I pass onto another universe or I grow bored of you, but my reason being here is for both our benefits.”

“How?”

“It’s quite simple,” he said. “We shall go through those scenarios in your head.” his ruby red optics bore into yours/your eyes. “Together.” he then reached out from in between the bars and traced a digit around your jawline. “Believe it or not, I want to help you, Y/N.” his voice was smooth and sultry, something you never expected from a voice like his. “But only you can allow me to do so.” he then stepped back from the bars. “This prison of mine is something you’ve constructed from your fears and insecurities. Allow yourself to embrace what you fear…” he then extended his hand again, yet stepped back as well, sinking into the darkness. “Only then, will you truly be free.”

You were at a standstill. You knew what he wanted, and, to your horror, you were wanting to give it to him. Deny it all you want, this was something that had been in your mind ever since you got the first request for the Seeker. You approached the bars, trying to get some sign that he was still there. Surely he hadn’t left you, had he? No, he hadn’t. He was still there, you could feel him. Watching, waiting, and perhaps, knowing what you would do before you did.

Yet would you do it? Would you bite into that forbidden fruit?

Some while after pondering this question, you looked at the cell, the energy bars vanishing. Why fight it when you could already taste the sweet tartness of said fruit in the back of your throat?

#starscream g1 #starscream #tfp #transformers bayverse #transformers animated #transformers cyberverse #transformers x reader #lemon #set up #fanfic #reader #self insert #first part

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caffeinated-cryptid · 4 years

Text

you got an ego so big (it'll eat you alive).

roman-centric hurt/comfort (w/ remus, patton and virgil).

11.7k words | AO3 link | warnings: self-hatred, semi-intentional self-destruction, various injuries, arguing, remus-typical jokes and topics.

“At the best of times, Roman’s job was a tightrope act between maintaining a healthy amount of self-confidence and the ability to adapt and take criticism. Throughout his life he walks this line many times, always with the expectation that if he were to fall one way or the other, no one would be there to catch him.

But sometimes when you’re up miles high, it can become difficult to see the safety net on the ground below you.

(aka an expansion on the premise that a bruised ego causes literal injuries and the issues this could cause when you're an insecure prince with a need to please and the weight of the world on your shoulders).”

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To be overly aware of your own self is often associated with negative traits, such as narcissism, self-consciousness or a sensitivity to mistakes. Although to some with a proclivity towards the spotlight, it can become an inadvertent consequence of over-analyzing yourself in order to achieve those flawless performances. Naturally, gaining any sort of notoriety and attempting to retain that positive image means becoming intimately aware of your faults and staying open to change, taking criticism to heart all the while keeping relatably humble. On the other hand, it may also mean letting that same criticism become your one sole focus, tearing you down instead of becoming a rung in the ladder that's supposed to take you to higher places.

Roman often found that navigating these gray areas was a momentous task. To be proud of his work, but not be too unbearably egotistical to the point that it blinded him. To accept criticism but not allow the pursuit of perfection to destroy him.

His role was truly a balance; a thin tightrope he constantly had to traverse.

And on occasion, he would end up slipping.

------------------

I - bonds that tie us.

Roman first learned of his job as the ego when Thomas was young. With Remus at the helm of most of the subconscious and instinctual stuff as his id, perhaps he should've assumed that he would have a similar mirrored purpose beyond simply confidence, however it hadn't ever really come into play until one afternoon when the two of them were busy playing in The Imagination.

They had just concluded a close duel against each other and were putting their weapons away (cardboard ones, since Feelings didn't want them running around with real weapons once he found out they were using them to fight, and because Fear and Lies often fretted about them doing something stupid and getting hurt). Usually neither of them held the lead for long during their matches since they were so well-matched, but today Remus had won easily, which Roman chalked up to him feeling off ("Yeah right. Don't be such a sore loser." "It's true!"). Either way, Remus would be bragging about the victory until the next time they got the opportunity to duel, and that meant he was already rubbing it in as they prepared to leave.

On their way to the exit, Remus had taken the lead at some point and was throwing out ideas about they should do later when Roman unexpectedly paused and doubled over, clutching his head. Remus didn't notice that he'd stopped until he heard a groan and turned around.

"What's wrong? Didn't hit you too hard, did I?" He asked with a grin as if he assumed that Roman was still playing- perhaps trying to make up an excuse for his terrible loss.

"I- Dunno. My head hurts…" Roman cringed, eyes screwed shut.

Remus' smile faltered when he realized it might not be a joke and he walked back, peeling Romans hands away from his forehead. Underneath was a large red patch of irritated skin which looked set to bruise. His frown deepened because he definitely didn't cause that, nor did he witness any incidents during the day which would be the cause. "How'd that happen?

"Dunno!" He repeated, eyes going blank for a moment while he caught up with what was happening outside. The two of them were usually much too distracted when they were in The Imagination to pay attention to everything that transpired in the real world, especially on weekdays like this when Thomas would be in school and Creativity wasn't exactly needed during most classes. "...Thomas was told off for slacking in front of the entire class and he got some bad grades on his report card… He's feeling embarrassed, I think.

Remus was confused by how this was relevant until he pieced together that the two events were linked to what was happening to his brother. His eyes widened in realization before they settled into determination. "Then I'll fight him until he stops feeling bad."

That startled a laugh out of Roman, until his head started pounding and he cut himself off with a grimace. "...’Can't do that."

He laughed too, in hopes that it would lift Roman's spirits again. "Can too! I'll figure it out, then he'll be too busy worrying about his broken bones to care about what some dumb teacher said. Maybe then he'll get to skip school for a while and do something funner like-"

"Remus." Roman hissed over him, overcome with a sudden dizzy spell. His hand found Remus’ shoulder for purchase, which stopped his twin in his rant.

Remus stared at him in alarm. This seemed serious, and he didn't do too well with handling serious things. "Do... Do you want me to get Feelings? Or Learning? Or Lies?"

"No. None of them. I just wanna go home." He whined, leaning more and more against Remus for support.

' Home' in their case was what they called their shared room. It was where they always returned to at the end of a long day, and no matter what had happened, they could always feel their troubles wash away as they sat in their own little world once more. Roman longed for that feeling, to escape the too-bright sun of The Imagination which now felt like it was blinding him and just lay down for a while.

Remus nodded hesitantly, the plans he had spun of pulling a prank on Fear and Lies forgotten. Normally the two Creativities preferred to find the door of The Imagination manually (they claimed it made the experience more immersive when they were out on an adventure), but instead he reached towards the exit and the world twisted around them, ejecting them out together. They came out the other side back in their room, next to their bunk bed. Instead of climbing up to his bed on the top, Roman just about threw himself onto Remus' sheets. Somehow he managed to ignore the weird smell of the fabric that he always complained about, which spoke greatly about his current well-being.

Remus hovered behind him, unsure of what to do, when Roman let out another pained noise and curled up tighter. "What now?!"

"Thomas...parents.

Since that didn't really explain anything, Remus decided to check up on what was happening outside himself. Thomas' parents had asked to see his report card and they were giving him the 'not mad but disappointed talk', while Thomas was shrunk into himself in shame. Yikes, Learning mustn't be feeling too hot about this either. But right now his focus was on his brother, who the sight of in such a sorry state filled him with rage.

"Now I want to fight them too." Remus muttered darkly. "Take the knife from the kitchen that dad uses to cut up turkeys and make them stop talking forever. Then we won't have to deal with this again and you won't-"

Oh right, Roman was still injured. Focus, Remus. Concern. Right, he was concerned for his brother, who was hurting like he had never seen, even after their fights. What could he do about this? He was always so much better at destroying things than fixing them, so having to deal with a situation like this without any sort of guidance made him nervous.

"You can't hurt them." Roman protested weakly.

"Maybe if I want to enough I could!"

Remus walked around the bunk bed and settled down on the side Roman was facing towards. From this angle he could see new bruises spattered along his brother's arms. In a grotesque way, the different shades came together like a watercolour painting. Except instead of a canvas, they were on a body- Remus shook his head. Focus! He could draw sickly yellow and purple-inspired pictures later, when Roman would be in the mood to be more good-humored about it.

"You shouldn't, then. It's bad."

"...Alright then. What should I do Ro-bro?"

Roman cracked open one eye and looked at him. "Stay? Until Thomas feels better?"

Considering he was just grounded for the weekend, Remus wasn't sure how long it would take for this hit to Thomas' self esteem to blow over, but despite knowing this he nodded anyway.

"Okay."

He laid down next to Roman, not commenting when he hid his face against the covers and started sniffling, or when he eventually fell asleep, curled against his side like how they would sleep when they were newly-split. When Learning knocked in their door to tell them that dinner was ready, he made a weak excuse that they were busy and would eat later.

Without even asking he knew Roman would want this to be kept between them, despite how the others would undoubtedly fuss and nurse him back to health. And perhaps that was the reason why. His brother always wanted to appear infallible to the others and did so replicating the heroes from the stories they read, which often meant refusing to admit when he needed help and trying to do everything himself. If you asked Remus, he was trying way too hard to be like the Creativity that came before them, which was silly because they were different now and as they were, they needed each other.

Remus closed his eyes and tried to get some sleep too. This seemed like a big deal, so Roman's pride would have to pass eventually for him to seek help. Right?

------------------

II - even without dying you're dead to me.

In retrospect, Remus had underestimated Roman’s ability to keep a secret (maybe because he was so quick these days to run over to Feelings, now Morality, whenever Remus did something to upset him. Tattle-tale).

Now that they were older and their roles were more defined, their once shared-room had separated into two to adjust to this change. Even though it had been long enough that he should be used to the feeling of being alone, there were still times where Remus had to try to not let it bother him when he looked up at night, expecting to see the familiar underside of a top bunk and instead only finding the ceiling he had painted an underwater-themed mural on.

On nights like this, far too sentimental to enter a peaceful rest, they would go sleep in each other's rooms, saying nothing as they tried to pretend they were as close as they once were. Remus groaned into his pillow, fighting that annoying urge to seek comfort. He was a teenager now, he didn't want to be so attached at the hip to a side who had started looking at him with disgust and fear instead of the fondness they used to share. Sometimes he couldn't help it though, clinging to the days when everything felt simple and the biggest thing they had to worry about was finding time to create the things they enjoyed. At the very least he was glad that Roman didn't mock him for his occasional bouts of uncharacteristic sentiment; that would solidify for him that there were no remnants of the relationship they once had left.

With that depressing thought, he rolled out of bed. He couldn't sleep tonight so he was going to make that Roman's problem; that always cheered him up. Perhaps if he hadn't made such a disturbed face when Remus had talked about the brazen bull he had made earlier that day, he would feel a bit more sympathy for waking his brother up in the middle of the night. Buuut he didn't and he was feeling petty, so without a second thought he sunk out and into Romans room.

"WAKEY WAKEY~!" Remus clashed two cymbals together like one of those nightmare-inducing wind-up monkeys, only to belatedly realize the bed he was facing was empty.

He blinked, both in confusion and to adjust his eyes to the unexpected light of the room. Both of them may be night owls, but Roman would usually be asleep by 2am at least, and it was way past that hour. Looking around the room, his eyes latched onto the vanity where his brother was sitting, looking incredibly startled from the deafening crash of metal against metal.

"Get out!" He yelled once his shock faded into indignation, glaring at Remus.

Remus didn’t respond, staring at the medical supplies spread across the surface. Roman was in the middle of wrapping a compression bandage around his thigh, which he abandoned as soon as Remus had entered.

"Did you get something stuck in your ear again? I'm not in the mood to deal with you tonight, Remus. Leave ."

"What happened?" He blurted out before he could even think about the question.

"Doesn't matter. In case you've forgotten, the door's right there. Feel free to use it at any point."

Instead of complying (because when had Remus ever done that for anyone? No no, it was always more exciting to do the opposite of what people ask and see what happens), he crossed the room, ignoring how Roman increasingly looked like he wanted to punch him the longer he lingered.

"Bitch, it obviously does matter, otherwise you wouldn't be looking like you got trampled by a cracked-out horse."

"Lovely imagery." Roman gritted out.

"Lovely avoidance." Remus retorted sarcastically. "Aren't you best friends with Morality and Logic now? Why aren't they here sucking your d-"

"If you don't go back to your own room I'll run you through with my sword." Roman warned with an air of finality.

Remus snorted.

It was hard to be intimidated by the same side who had once cried when he had accidentally smashed an imaginary caterpillar cocoon with his morning star. In his defense he had forgotten to make the handle weighted when he first made it, so he was still getting used to the uneven distribution of the weapon...not like that stopped Roman from getting upset with him. Supposedly he had spent the last week trying to raise butterflies and wanted to show them off to Logic after they had learned about chrysalis in class, but Remus found that somewhat laughable considering he could just create a fully-formed butterfly if he wanted to. So he did laugh, calling him dumb for getting upset over nothing, and through tears Roman pushed him to the ground and told him he hated him for the first time. (After that, he may have spent the next week killing any butterflies that crossed his path, but that was neither here nor there. The point of this tangent provided a lá Remus Sander's brain was was that Roman could be a big baby and therefore he couldn't take anything he said too seriously.)

"Sounds like a good time! Save that idea for later though, because if you don't tell me I'll summon them over here to ask them myself."

"Don't. They don't know about this, alright? For once in your life can you just let it go?"

Huh. Remus tilted his head. It had been years since they first found out about the fun little quirk Roman had, and he just...never told? He figured at the very least it would be a good way to milk even more attention from the others; something Creativity had been seeking more often after Fear turned into Anxiety during middle school and gained a much larger role in Thomas' life. "Why?"

Roman huffed in frustration. "They don't need to. I can handle it myself."

"...Wow! Careful not to summon Lies, because you're full of shit and you know it." Remus fired back. He didn't even know why he was getting so mad. Minutes ago he was cursing his brother's guts for how their relationship had soured, and now all of a sudden it was if all of that dislike had faded into the background for something else. Concern? He hadn't felt concern for anything in years. Roman always made it seem like he could take care of himself, so that's what Remus had believed at first too, though perhaps stumbling across this situation was evidence of the opposite. Reasonable self-care didn't exactly look like 'patching yourself up at 4 in the morning'. At least, that sounded like something Lies would say which probably meant it was accurate.

"Ugh- Shut up. I've been doing just fine so far, without you or them, so you can take your fake pity and shove it up your you-know-where."

Remus didn't rise to the opportunity to poke fun at that statement, his mind going blank (and what a strange and unusual feeling that was). The idea that anything could have been hidden from him seemed unthinkable given how they used to tell each other everything. He hadn't even considered that that habit had become one-sided, given how it had never stopped being true for him. "...Roman, what does that mean? Has this been happening a lot?"

"..."

"Why did you never tell me?! This isn't something you can just keep a secret! If you won't say anything I will-

Remus' mouth snapped shut as Roman ejected him from his room. He landed back on his own bed and when he scrambled onto his feet to tried to rise up again, he found that his efforts were blocked. Roman had kicked him out and locked the door behind him. He never did that, no matter how much they fought or annoyed each other. It was the one thing they did that showed they still cared.

Remus trembled with adrenaline and shock. Taking his pillow, he summoned a knife and stabbed it and stabbed it and stabbed it until all of his pent up feelings were gone and there all that was left was the fluff covering his floor.

------------------

III - interlude.

As it turns out, he'd never get the opportunity to tell, because shortly after that, the newly appointed 'dark sides' were pushed away into their own corner of the mindscape after an explosive argument between the sides (during which Remus tried to ignore how closely Roman stood at Morality's side, sword brandished towards him. He didn't want to think his twin had a hand in their separation, even though it made so much sense).

When he argued about going back with Lies, now Deceit after being appointed the new leader of the unwanted and unloved, he was told through clenched teeth and pained eyes that he shouldn't. Not until Thomas was ready for him. For all of them.

------------------

IV - to the death of me, i'm just fulfillin' my destiny.

After that, Roman adjusted, and did so alone. Teenage years came with many challenges, ones he didn’t always escape unscathed. Despite the occasional rejection here, an unfortunate setback there, he felt as if he had grown a thicker skin for the trials they faced. Into adulthood he wore his ego like a suit of armor; Thomas was outgoing and likable, so of course it became easier to brush aside random negative experiences as minor blips, things that didn’t represent their worth.

This was challenged somewhat as he began pursuing creative outlets more seriously. This meant more work for Roman in general (Woo! Suck it Logan), but it also came with more opportunities to feel ashamed of a messed-up performance, embarrassed by a note sung wrong, hurt by an ill-intentioned piece of feedback.

So he tried to compensate at times. Sue him. Between the nights he spent nursing his wounds and wondering how to do better next time, perhaps he deserved to be a little self-congratulatory about the shining achievements he won for them. There was a certain safety in placing himself up on that pedestal, so high above that it felt like nobody could ever reach him; that he was above it all. But the reality was that this pedestal, gold-plated as it may be, was founded on an interior of paper mache, one wrong move from away from collapsing and sending him tumbling back down to earth.

It was a good thing that pretending came naturally to Roman. So natural that the fear of falling sometimes didn’t register with him at all.

------------------

V - the calamitous corollary of being considered.

Except, it may have been too much to expect nobody to ever realize there was something up with him. The fact that the sides had to work closely together alone meant that the excuse of being busy after every troubling experience could only work for so long.

The first one to find out was Patton, because of course it was. Sometimes Roman felt as if Patton wasn’t given enough credit for his intelligence. Even though he could be a tad slow on the uptake on other things, his ability to detect the slightest change in mood and discern how people were feeling could be uncanny at times. Emotions just happened to be Patton's strong suit, and while that was very much appreciated when it came to sharing excitement or talking through a heated problem, it was not so grand when you were trying to get away with hiding something.

The first time he let something slip was a few days after Thomas had been flat-out rejected when asking someone out on a date. It wasn't that big of a blow, considering they had barely known the guy for more than a month, but Roman had been insistent that they throw caution into the wind and give it a shot, sure that he had been receiving signals that proved that this guy felt a similar interest. Turns out, he didn't, and was very-much straight. At least the rejection had been somewhat carried out gently and he didn't seem too put-off about staying friends afterwards. Nonetheless the wound was still fresh, and Thomas kept internally cringing whenever he thought about it, which didn't help matters. Whatever. Roman dealt with the bruises that arose from the incident and dabbed a little foundation on the ones he couldn't hide with clothing. They'd get over it in a matter of weeks.

It was after the awkward feelings had finally begun to settle when it happened. Roman and Patton had been in the kitchen preparing dinner when Thomas received a message on his phone, and when he went to check it, he face-planted on the couch in mortification.

'Hey man, I just remembered that my cousin is coming to town this weekend. He's gay too so I thought you two could go on a blind date if you're still looking. :) Lmk your thoughts.'

Patton frowned upon sensing the sudden wave of embarrassment, pausing to check what had happened. "Well...That's thoughtful of him!" He chuckled, tone trying and failing to be positive. Roman couldn't share the same sentiment.

"Thoughtless is more like it! He wants to set us up with the first gay person he knows? Who's not even in the city? Does he think Thomas has no standards at all?! How dare-" Roman's indignant protests cut off as he felt the skin around his collar grow tender and swell slightly. He let out a slight whimper when he pressed his fingers into the bruise to double check its location. Why now and in such a visible place?! He's going to get Thomas to drop that guy if it's the last thing he does-

"Ro! Are you okay?"

Right. Patton was still here. Don't panic.

"Y-yeah! I just remembered an injury I sustained earlier. But not to worry, 'tis but a flesh wound!" He joked.

"A flesh wound?!" Patton cried, reference flying over his head. "Let me see."

Gently, Patton moved his head upwards to get a better look at the bruise. It mustn't look good, because Patton, squeamish as he was, grimaced on sight.

"How on earth did that happen? I don't remember that being there just now."

"Uh." Come on Creative skills, work your magic. "A stray whomping willow in The Imagination? You know how they can be. I suppose it merely took a while to develop, bruises can be funny like that."

Luckily it seemed to work, because Patton sighed. "I thought you got rid of them all after that time one almost threw Logan into a lake. Did Remus make more?"

Heh. Good times. That was a slight lie on his behalf when he had told the others he had gotten rid of the trees; he had kept a few of them around because they were once a gift from Remus to quote 'spice up his boring forests'. Not for any sentimental reasons, of course, but because he thought it was funny and it kept him on his toes. "I guess."

Patton made a small 'tsk' noise, mouth still drawn in a frown but he didn't comment further. "Come on, I'll help you treat that. Does it hurt?"

"Of course not." He smiled. "Do you really think I could be bested by a mere tree?"

"Never! I do wish you were more careful when you go on your little adventures, though. It makes me awfully sad to think about you in 'pine'."

Roman knew it had been a flimsy excuse and even though Patton seemed to accept it, there was a hesitation in his eye which spoke of hidden disbelief. After some first aid and many more tree-related puns later, they went back to cooking, finishing up 30 minutes later. When Logan came down to dinner, immediately questioning the bandages around Roman's neck, he repeated the fake story, distracting him with a request not to go into The Imagination with the whomping willow around and packaging the thinly-veiled jab at the way Logan had once freaked out when he was swung around by the semi-sentient tree as a warning. Logan's concern quickly faded and he shot back a sharp retaliation that Roman didn't care to remember. He just laughed, feeling as light as a kite with the crisis averted.

The next time didn't go over as gracefully.

Thomas had found a different partner eventually, one that wasn't some friend's cousin. They dated for months, and just when he had been thinking about inviting his boyfriend to move in so he could be closer to his workplace, he'd been broken up with. On Valentines Day of all days. There was no better way of putting it; they had planned to go out to dinner, managing to book a table at a fairly classy restaurant, exchanged gifts, and near the end of the night his boyfriend had leaned across the table with a sad smile, thanking him for the evening before admitting he didn't see them working out anymore. He said it quietly, as to not cause a scene among the other diners, but that didn't stop Thomas from immediately bursting into tears. The scene had caused his (now ex) boyfriend to leave early after paying his half of the bill. At least the waitress had taken pity on him and brought over more complimentary bread rolls (which he took because he was not a complete fool, heartbroken as he may be), though even that didn't stop the confusion and embarrassment of it all.

As expected, the whole incident caused nothing but chaos; the right-brain sides were devastated, Anxiety was in a state of panic, and Logic had been metaphorically thrown out the window. As Thomas made his way home, they were at a complete loss for what to do. They had started the day, hoping to take a step forward in their relationship, and ended up with nothing at all. What worse is that they didn't even have a clear idea why (admittedly, that could have been due to, as mentioned before, the inconsolable crying).

It seemed like the most sensible thing to do at the moment was to throw the Valentines gifts away and gorge on the ice-cream that had been sitting in the back of the freezer for who-knows how long while watching a comfort show and trying to forget the whole evening. So that's what they did. As Logan tried to sort through what happened and rationalize what to do next, Patton wallowed in his misery as he dealt with the giant mix of feelings Thomas was going through.

After a few hours working through the brunt of it, enough to where his mind began wandering elsewhere, Patton realized with a start that he hadn't seen Roman since the start of the evening. He must have been so devastated too! Patton recalled how excited he was about the day ahead of them, how he spun fantasies of Thomas' boyfriend accepting the proposal to move in and then the future proposals that could come after that-

Patton mournfully sobbed. He needed to stop thinking about this, or else Thomas could start spiraling again. The best thing to do right now was distract himself, and to do that he should go check on Roman. Perhaps they could talk and have a mutual catharsis over the whole thing. Or better yet, he could put his energy towards someone else and he won't have to fall back into the thoughts that had been clouding his mind ever since they had left that stupid restaurant.

Splashing some water on his face to clear up some of the blotchy-ness, he left his room and crossed the hallway towards Roman's. He couldn't hear any noise coming from inside, so he tentatively knocked. "Kiddo?"

For a few moments there was silence, and Patton almost turned away, assuming that Roman might be blowing off some steam in The Imagination, until a voice cleared inside the room and answered. "Pat? What do you want?"

Patton was taken aback for a second, not expecting such a straight-forward answer. It almost sounded like Roman wasn't upset at all, but Patton sincerely doubted that to be true. His tone was almost too normal, and for anybody else he wouldn't have questioned it, but the lack of dramatics or flowery language was always a clear red flag for the Creative side. "I wanted to check on you since um- You-Know-Who took 'dine and dash' a tad too seriously." He chuckled humorlessly. "...Can I come in?"

There was some shuffling and muffled curses. "Why? I'm fine. Worry about yourself."

"'Why?'" He repeated, eyeing the door warily. "I'm concerned! I haven't seen you in hours and I- I know you must be upset about this too. Can we please talk?"

"I'm not exactly my most princely presentable self right now. Anyway, it's late. Surely this can wait until tomorrow?"

Patton looked down at himself. Instead of his usual garb, he had thrown on some more comfortable clothes hours ago, and they were currently crumpled from laying in bed, sobbing his eyes out. "I'm hardly my best-self either right now, Kiddo-" Before he could go on a spiel about how it was best to not bottle up emotions when they're fresh (and ignoring the hypocrisy of that sentiment), he heard a thump on the other side of the door followed by a quiet hiss of pain. Patton began to panic, and his hand flew to the handle. "I'm coming in!"

Before the other side could even consider protesting, Patton flung the fortunately unlocked door open and stepped into the room, gasping at the sight he was met with. Roman was on the floor, wincing as he clutched his leg. Although he was still dressed in his usual outfit, there were enough injuries on his visible skin that Patton could only wonder how far they went. He covered his mouth and stared in horror as Roman turned to look at him nervously.

"What- How did this happen?!"

Roman licked his dry lips, eyes darting away as he searched for an excuse. "I- The Imagination- This is from earlier-"

"You told me this morning you were going to spend the day helping Thomas write a love letter." Patton said, voice strained with panic and disbelief. "Tell me the truth, please."

Shoot, he had announced his plans earlier that day, hadn't he? He internally cursed his inability to keep his mouth shut, before lowering his head in defeat. "Can you keep a secret, Pat?"

Said side shifted uncomfortably, but his tone was resolute when he nodded. "If it means you'll let me help with whatever this is."

"Okay..." Roman inhaled. "Okay."

And then he explained. Or rather, gave a shortened version of the truth which was less likely to give Patton a complete heart-attack: that bruised egos were something he experienced, but it was never this bad (true) or all that common (also true), and that they weren't something to worry about because he could usually take care of them himself (technically true). By the time he had finished, Patton still looked concerned, but had become less frantic with the information.

"You'll let me help in the future if you need it, right?" He asked, so close to shedding tears that Roman had trouble keeping eye-contact without becoming choked up with guilt.

"If I need it." He agreed.

Finally, Patton smiled, and went to fetch the first-aid kit hastily. As he helped patch him up for the second time that year, the look in Patton's eyes was so pained that Roman vowed to let him see this side of him as little as possible.

For a while, he kept true to this promise to himself, and on the occasions when Patton would drop by to check if everything was alright, if Roman had encountered any bruised egos since, he relished in the relief on his face whenever he would lie and said he hadn't. Distantly he wondered sometimes if this was how heroes were supposed to feel; protecting people by letting them live in blissful ignorance and bearing the burden of the ugly truth alone.

(It was thoughts like that that kept him going.)

------------------

VI - high highs and low lows.

And then came the videos. Youtube had been an excellent ego-boost for Roman. Similar to how life-changing Vine was, the instant gratification of likes and feedback and people liking what they made was enough to send him over the moon, and oftentimes it was able to ward away the downsides that came with it too; the stress of staying relevant, the occasional hate comment, the portion of dislikes that didn't explain what about the video was dislike-worthy-

Overall it seemed like a great idea, especially when the sides became involved. It gave them all the chance to gain their own spotlights, which most of them appreciated. Sometimes this wasn't always so good though. With the videos came more introspection than usual, which meant deeply examining each problem to try to find some kind of moral. And right now, Roman didn't want to do any sort of thinking exercise about how badly he messed up. At this point in their career, a simple audition should have been a cake walk, instead it was an ache walk...Okay, admittedly he wasn't on his best game right now. The point was, he had potentially thrown the whole audition by forgetting something so simple as the lyrics, and now the casting director would definitely only remember Thomas by the way he froze under pressure, which wasn't exactly an appealing trait in somebody looking to go up on stage where the pressure was set to 100.

After everything was said and done, Roman had no choice but to approach Patton for help. In his current state, he was much too dizzy on his feet to even contemplate showing up and trying to play it off cool, which would've been an laughable endeavor anyhow considering how outwardly embarrassed Thomas was. Betrayal from his own-- well. It was a bit too harsh to blame his current predicament on Thomas, after all the fact of the matter was that it was Roman’s fault for not being better prepared.

Anyway, that's how he ended up in his current position, being swaddled in a too-warm bed, injuries patched up and having soup spoon-fed into his mouth. The whole thing felt...strange. Usually during times like this he would be grinning and bearing it, the inner satisfaction he got from fooling everyone with his performance pushing him through the day, but he supposed this was unavoidable. It was better that only one side had to see part of the problem rather than exposing it to everyone, and out of all of them, at least it was Patton. It still didn't sit well that his secret was now out in the open, a throwaway joke to be used before moving along, but hopefully that would play to his favor and they'd view it as his usual dramatics. Not like he preferred to be seen as too incompetent to care for himself, even if it fit with his persona. He supposed it just went without saying that princes are supposed to have someone at their every beck and call, they're supposed to be indulgent and spoiled and ridiculous. But princes were also supposed to be leaders, someone who was caring and brave and ready to face any challenge.

Roman sighed, a wave of self-loathing washing over him. He didn't feel very princely at all right now.

“Kiddo, are you doing okay? Does something hurt? Is the soup too hot?” Patton asked, eyebrows drawing together in concern. He was such an open book when it came to the other sides, which meant that Roman knew exactly when he had worried or panicked the fatherly figure. Honestly, it only made him feel worse. Being doted over seemed like a good idea until it meant being the subject of pity and other people’s hurt.

“No no, I’m fine Padre. It’s fine. I was just taking a trip into thought city for a second there.” He cracked a smile, trying to ignore how the bruise at the corner of his mouth pulled at the motion. If only he could think of a more original nickname, perhaps that would be more convincing. He was simply drawing blanks today it seemed. “What do you think the others are up to right now? I’d bet 5 bucks Logan is losing his mind having to deal with Anxiety alone.”

Patton didn’t look entirely convinced, but the sudden change of subject encouraged him to stop any further questioning.

In the end they talked until the others had finished filming. Whatever happened during the discussion must have helped Thomas grow past his feelings, because one-by-one the injuries on Roman's body grew smaller until they had faded entirely. Seeing this, Patton noticeably livened up again, and he cheerily declared that he would take the empty bowl back to the kitchen and check in with the others.

As soon as he was gone, Roman’s face dropped, tired from all the smiling he had been doing, and he slid down further into the sheets. Perhaps he should consider himself fortunate that the others had helped out, but all he could think about was how they now knew about his biggest weakness and how embarrassing that was. Logan and Anxiety were the last two sides he wanted finding out about this, if not for their often-tumultuous relationships, but because they'd never fully understand. Neither of them were as dependent on validation as much as he was. Despite what others thought about them, they would just keep on going, meanwhile Roman couldn't truly thrive without some kind of feedback; he was too shackled to expectations and the need to please for that sort of self-indulgence, it was practically written in his existence. It simply wasn't enough for him to be great, he needed to be great and be appreciated. Without that, he felt as if he would burn out, like a candle who's supply of oxygen had been cut off, leaving only smoke and the charred wick behind as a reminder of the fire that was once there. And sometimes that made him feel pathetic, that so much of his esteem depended on what people thought of him. Other times it just made him envy the others who had no one to please but Thomas himself and what he deemed important.

...He was tired, but he needed to keep going. The least he could do was keep up the image of egotism so that those horrid thoughts of being lesser weren't picked up by the others. If they started thinking of him the way he thought about himself (if they didn't already), he wouldn't know what he'd do. He wouldn't stand to be pitied or mocked or anything that validated what he already knew about himself. He just wouldn't.

Rolling out of bed, he practiced his smile in the mirror, fixed his clothes, and sunk out to make his grand appearance.

He couldn’t let this happen again at all costs.

------------------

VII - an agreeable sort of self-destruction.

More and more often, Roman was glad that he and Remus didn't share a room anymore. From the nights he hunched over scraps of ideas and worked without distraction until the sun was on the horizon, to the days he woke up with tears clinging to his lashes and breath coming out in labored pants, until he realizes the dream about him messing up so badly that he's split apart a second time was merely a cruel trick of his mind.

Currently, there was no greater time to be grateful for their separation than the moment he hastily returned back to safety after Remus' debut to Thomas. If only his brother could see the way he paced back and forth and tugged at his hair, he was sure his other half would merely gloat and poke away at his wounds instead of doing anything to help. Or worse, use it as ammunition in front of the other sides as some sort of proof of his imperfection.

Speaking of, the video was disastrous. He had been out-cold the entire time so he had no idea what was said and had no way of directing the conversation at all, which was possibly the most aggravating part of the whole situation. Beyond that, there was so much that Remus could have told the others without his knowledge. Once upon a time, the two of them were two peas in a pod, and that meant they knew an unnameable amount of secrets about each other. (Like how Remus always used to sleep with this crudely-knitted octopus Roman had made for him when he discovered crochet. Remus claimed to have set fire to it when they were teenagers, but Roman had seen it tucked away on a shelf the last time he had been in his room, before the Great Divide). The room swam a little when Roman thought about it too much. Perhaps he was being paranoid, but it wasn't as if he'd done much to earn Remus' loyalty. Why would he take the higher road and keep all of that to himself now, when he had the prime opportunity right in front of him to make himself seem like the better twin?

Hold on... He was thinking about this all wrong. Remus didn't care about good and bad the same way he did. Sure he was adamant that his version of being creative was more interesting, but he never tried to convince any of the other sides that he was inherently better or more worthy of attention than Roman, at least not to the same extent he did. The realization hit Roman like a train on it's way to a damsel tied to railway tracks (for lack of a less Remus-y simile): had he been wrong to push his brother away when he was just trying to help? All this time he had expected nothing but the worst from him, all because he was loud and unapologetic and had gone about his concern in a way that frightened him. Though just because Roman had been scared, surely that didn't warrant the dark sides being pushed aside in such a manner, and clearly the repression wasn't any benefit to Thomas...And was that partially his fault? He had been the one who encouraged Patton to divide the sides up. He had come up with the name for them: light and dark.

When he really thought about it, there wasn't much 'light' about him, not when he had been the source of so many problems.

Making Virgil feel unwelcome and continuing to trample on his boundaries.

His insults toward Logan and attempts to diminish his importance.

Leading Thomas and Patton astray in his pursuits for romance.

Being too quick to side with Janus when he should’ve known that the deceitful side only stood for selfishness and not the fair-played ambition Thomas valued.

And now: his treatment of Remus for most of their lives. Pushing him away, pretending he didn't exist, trying to erase their memories together.

How could he have the gall to claim that he saw Remus as an awful reflection of everything he didn’t want to be, when the whole point of looking into a mirror means facing you and you alone?

Even his metaphors were hypocritical.

It was a shock that nobody saw through that statement or called him out on how he had wronged just about everybody. How truly unfortunate it was that he had been declared the hero when he had done very little to live up to that title. Heroes weren't mean. They didn't make people feel bad about themselves for merely existing. They're supposed to defeat the bad guys, yes, but every time he had thought he was accomplishing that, it turned out that he was always off the mark. At least this time he had it right with Deceit, but still, that didn't erase the history he had with misjudging what was acceptable. He couldn't help but wonder what sort of reflection that must have on Thomas' content. If his creativity, which was supposed to be a force of pure good, had made a countless number of errors, what did that say about the things they were proud of? How many things had they put into the world that were imperfect? That had a misleading message? That was problematic and hurt people?

The realization had his throat tightening in panic. How could he ever have confidence in his work when he had such a flawed system of right and wrong? How-

...Wait.

Roman's spiraling thoughts were fortunately put on pause as he passed by his vanity, being pulled back to reality in an instant and finally noticing the splash of colours that had made themselves welcome on his skin once more. He gaped at his own reflection. It wasn’t as if he was unused to the sight per say, but he hadn’t realized anything had happened today that would affect Thomas’ ego. Remus’ appearance perhaps? He had the feeling that if there was any discussion to be had in light of that it would be on the goodness of his character, which could be a worthy-enough explanation. But if anything wouldn’t that what the large gash on the back of his head (fittingly) represented? So where had the others come from? Unless…

Was it him?

His own self-criticism had never left a dent on his pride before. Usually his injuries tended to be the result of outside sources; the kind of things that come out of nowhere and hit at you harder than you could ever expect. Did this mean that his own words were on par with Thomas’ harshest critics?

Roman shakily sat down. This... was a good thing, right? Perhaps he was finally gaining some self-awareness. He had been trying to make amends for where he had fallen short in the past, so this could be the sign he was making progress.

Yes. This was good. And if it wasn't, then perhaps this was just apart of his repentance. At this point he was sure everyone would agree.

------------------

VIII - the art of learning to let go.

The thing about tightropes is quite interesting. Like most other skills, it is something that needs to be honed. At first you try on a smaller scale and fall off more times you can count, but it's alright because that's why you practice in a safe environment. And then you progress to something more risky, and this time you have other tools to help keep you steady. Before you know it, you're up doing the actual thing; a rope suspended tens of feet in the air and thousands of eyes watching your every move, each one wondering if you really will make it across, or if they're about to watch a great tragedy take place before them. When you misjudge your own abilities and are thrust upon that rope when you're unprepared, however, all of the practice you gained can feel as if it has slipped away. As soon as you take your first step, the rope wobbles and you know somewhere deep down that your fall will be inevitable. But with so many expectant eyes baring into you, what else are you to do but continue forward? Continue until you're halfway across and your balance is so shaky that all you can do is watch as the rope swings backwards and forwards beneath your feet until you give up on trying to steady yourself entirely and-

Roman let go of the rope he had been clinging onto.

There was no grace in the way that he fell. It wasn't even a matter of choosing a side; ego or change. At first he fell so gradually that he didn't feel it at all, placing all of his thoughts and opinions into a neat little box and shoving them aside. Trying so hard to adapt, trying to be feel comfortable clinging to reasoning that contradicted his role, his meaning, his existence- and before he knew it, he was plummeting towards the ground because even then, that little piece of purpose he was forcing himself to mold his worth around did nothing but feed into the self-righteousness that must've always been there, hiding away under the surface.

Roman could only describe the feeling as air-sickness when he sunk out, his very being thrown into weightless uncertainty. Once he appeared back at his safe place, the place he wanted to be most, he felt his body connect with the ground once more as he collapsed onto the floor, body shaking with sobs and wounds he already knew were appearing.

He had been so stupid. Every step he took was littered with mistakes. Just when he thought he had learned, to try to be more accepting, to know when to give up, to listen to others instead of forging his own path, another thing came along and knocked him back to where he started and he was thrown back into the cycle of trying to atone for his actions. A cycle that never seemed to end.

His arm fractured and started to swell.

For once he thought he finally had it figured out. If he just followed the person who should've known what was best for Thomas, even if it meant going back on his own desires, surely then he would be on the right side for once. But all of a sudden that was wrong and now it was all his fault that so many bad outcomes had come about as a consequence of his lack of assertion. He may not have loaded the gun, but he had pulled the trigger, and that made him more culpable than anyone else.

His nose ached as if hit by an unseen force and began dripping blood.

Even his attempts at keeping his ego in check were all for nothing because the moment he felt threatened he lashed out towards Janus, the side who now all of a sudden deserved a seat at the table because he had gained Patton's favor (nevermind that he had agreed with him first. Oh no, that was just Roman being naive and easy to sway if only you stroke his ego a little. What importance could his opinions possibly have?). But that was the thing, wasn’t it? In the end he just couldn’t win, no matter what he did. When he tried to silence his voice it was too obvious and attention-seeking, and when he chose to project his thoughts it was too loud and abrasive. When he spoke out he was punching down, but when others did the same they were punching up up up. It left him wondering how much more he had to fall before it was no longer deemed okay to kick him while he was down. Was it his fault for choosing to sit atop his golden pedestal, making himself seem forever untouchable and unable to be hurt? And would things be different if he was sensitive like Patton? Complicated like Virgil? Respectable like Logan? Had he been making a mistake all along by pretending to be stronger than he was? But how was he ever supposed to let go of the walls he had built, knowing that the second they crumbled, all the things he had been trying to protect himself from would pass through and destroy everything he had worked so hard for? Maybe it was time to accept that this was all he could be; that there was no way for him to change, no way to soften his edges or stick firm to his beliefs that wouldn’t end with him in a losing position.

His ribs ached, bending unnaturally until he felt a snap in his chest.

Perhaps Janus was right by calling him evil. He had proven it time and time again that he was no good for Thomas. In fact, it wouldn’t be unreasonable to say that he was worse than Remus. At least he couldn't help the way he was, didn't have control over the problems he caused unlike Roman. He was supposed to be the half with all the bad parts removed. The 2.0 version, new and improved. He had no excuse for being as flawed as he was, not really. All this time spent thinking he was the good twin, and it was nothing more than an act of self-delusion. The grandeur of a side with nothing to show for it beyond his words.

His eyelid puffed up and mottled with colour.

...He was bad. Unneeded. Evil.

The capillaries across his knuckles burst and stained them a violent red.

Everything would be so much better if he just-

"Broman?" Oh shit.

Romans eyes flew open. And he realized belatedly that he wasn't looking at his floor; his floor had intricate Persian rugs and a soft fluffy carpet. This one had various stains and burns and felt scratchy against his fingers.

"What the fuck. Princey? You good?"

1) He wasn't in his room. 2) Wherever he was, Remus and Virgil were here too.

"M-my mistake! I must have accidentally sunk out to the wrong place. If you'll excuse me-" He tried, but his voice was hoarse and clearly not okay. Of all times for his acting skills to have failed him.

"Oh no you don't."

Before he could sink out through the floor, two arms latched under his armpits and hoisted him upright. He choked back a gasp at the sudden movement, senses flashing white as his injuries were jostled. He barely heard the shocked exclamation in front of him before the two voices discussed something hastily and he was deposited onto a soft surface. The ringing in his ears faded, just in time to hear Virgil speak.

"What happened? " He asked, voice layered with anxiety and sounding on the verge of a panic attack. Roman would have tried to reassure him if he didn't feel like his entire body was on fire.

"It just happens sometimes, when Thomas’ ego gets bruised." Remus answered bitterly when it became clear his brother wasn't in a position to explain. He then muttered under his breath: "Though this time is different, huh?"

"What? I thought- I didn’t know it got this bad.” Virgil whispers, horrified.

"Sorry you have to see this, Finding Emo." Roman croaked once he began slowly coming back to his senses. He would regret not being more composed later, but right now he couldn't really bring himself to care about anything. “I’ll be as good as Gucci soon.”

"No. Shut the fuck up, you don't get to say that." Remus said angrily. Why did he sound so mad? Roman tried to crack open his eyes to check, but the world was still spinning too much for him to really recognize what was he was seeing. On top of that it seemed one of his eyes was swollen shut. Joy. That'll make it more difficult to patch himself up later.

"'Told you before, I can handle myself." He finally managed.

"Yeah? Was that you 'handling yourself' when you dropped in and started bleeding all over my floor? Or when you stopped talking to me and kicked us 'dark sides' to the curb because your sense of superiority was more important? Or when you started acting like a royal prick to everyone just so they wouldn't know you spend your nights licking your wounds?"

"Stop." Roman pleaded, shamefully curling into himself as much as his body allowed in its current state. Remus paused in his tirade before continuing, more quietly.

"If you're uncomfortable just from that, you should try watching your brother slowly self-destruct for years and not being able to do anything about it. That's fucking uncomfortable." Roman heard a sniffle, and his body went cold. He hadn't heard Remus get upset since they were kids. Sometimes he forgot that there was more to his brother than his disgusting unpredictable persona, and the thought that he could've been hurting Remus all this time was something that had never even crossed his mind.

"I'm..." Sorry? Was he sorry? Apologizing was practically second nature at this point, but he couldn't even tell if the words would be genuine if he said them. Was he sorry for his actions or for hurting Remus, or was it the fact that he had been caught at all? If he had it his way, none of this would be happening, so perhaps he wasn't as apologetic as he thought. He really was the worst, wasn't he?

Remus seemed to pick up on what he was thinking about saying, because he laughed; not in his usual cartoon-ish way, but resigned and hurt. The sound pulled at Roman's heart. "Save it. Here's what's going to happen you Walmart Prince Eric knockoff. You’re going to accept our help whether you like it or not, and if you try to pull any self-sacrificing BS at any point, I’m going to eat your entire makeup collection.”

“...You wouldn’t. You don’t like the way glitter sticks to your teeth.” Roman argued weakly, just for the sake of being contrary.

“Try me.”

Roman sighed. He really didn’t doubt that Remus would be petty enough to go through with his threats, especially since he knew it how much it would bother Roman to summon a new set. In any case, he wasn’t in a position to do much of anything at the moment, and now that it was too late to pretend like this never happened, he figured he might as well roll with it. Future him could deal with the consequences later.

“Okay.” He said after a moments pause, looking to the Virgil-shaped figure, as much as the crick in his neck would allow. “...Just don’t tell Patton about this. Not yet.”

The figure shuffled, out of what was probably awkwardness after having watching the twins argue. “No worries dude. We’re not exactly on- uh. Y’know what, nevermind, I’ll just go get the medical kit.”

During the moments that Virgil had shuffled off, there was an empty silence. Roman spent it trying to blink his uninjured eye back into focus, until he was finally able to spot Remus standing across from him, an uncharacteristically glum look on his face. "You look like you're going to a funeral."

"Don't even joke about that. I don't need more thoughts about-"

"Death? I thought that was pretty par for the course."

Remus smiled wryly at him, sarcastic and mocking. "You dying, dummy. D'you think I never imagined it? Something happening and you disappearing because you never let anyone help you- and me not even knowing it happened? Finding out much too late? Being alone?"

Roman didn't know what to say to that. "Sorry." He blurted out, and this time he felt like he meant it. "If it means anything in retrospect, I wouldn't have ever let it go that far. I think."

"'You think.'" Remus repeated. "God, you need some self-care. It's a shame you and Jan-jan weren't friends before. It's supposed to be his job to make sure this kind of thing doesn't happen, you know."

Roman felt himself flinch at the mention of Janus' name before he could control it. If Remus noticed, he didn't get the chance to comment on it, because at that moment Virgil came bustling back with a first aid kit.

"I didn't know what else you needed, so I got some water, balms, bandages, frozen peas, and creams. Just in case." He spoke, noticeably out of breath.

"Water?" Roman asked as a glass was held towards him. He pushed himself upright with some effort and accepted it.

"For painkillers." Virgil replied, handing him some pills once he had set the other items down. "Also your throat sounded kinda rough, and when you cry a lot you can get dehydrated, so..."

Surreptitiously, Roman wiped at his face and tried to not feel too embarrassed that the two of them had heard him wail like a toddler who'd had their favourite toy taken away. Before he knew it, he had taken the pills and downed half of the glass while the other two sides unpacked the medical supplies. Virgil really had thought of everything he might have needed.

Roman blinked as he watched them, stunned that he would go to so much effort. "This is very thoughtful of you, Medic Parade."

Virgil paused as he pieced together the nickname, and then scowled. "Mayday doesn't even sound anything like medic- and it's not. I just didn't want to- y'know- get the wrong things and make it worse."

Remus elbowed Virgil in the side, perhaps in an attempt to cheer him up. "Hey, you can't do any worse than what we did the first time Ro got a booboo."

"...And what was that?" Virgil's hesitant tone indicated he wasn't sure if he want to know.

"Nothing!" Remus grinned.

"I'm pretty sure that was just a concussion." Roman stated before Virgil got the wrong idea and thought they were totally stupid, looking upward as he tried to recall the incident Remus was talking about. It felt like forever ago now. "Not like anything could be done, to be fair."

"'Just'-" Virgil made a strange choked sound. "Is this what my life's gonna be now? Having a worry-induced heart attack every 5 minutes?"

"Welcome to the club!" Remus cheered, offering a fist bump which Virgil ignored in favour of burying his head in his hands.

"Goddammit. Alright- let's get this show on the road I guess. Roman, take your shirt off." When Remus' eyebrows started waggling, clearly about to make an inappropriate comment, Virgil waved his hands wildly to stop him. "So we can look at the damage! Shut your mouth Remus!"

"I didn't say anything." He intoned, looking overly smug before turning to Roman expectantly.

Said man frowned, placing the glass of water on the bedside table next to him. Before he made any move, he glanced at Virgil who was looking red either out of Remus-induced embarrassment or frustration. Mood. "You don't have to stick around for this part if you don't want to. It can be a bit much, so I wouldn't blame you."

"I'm not a baby, Roman." Virgil retorted, crossing his arms. "Making sure you don't die or something is way more important than my comfort. I can't promise you'll be safe from me calling you an idiot until you're better, though."

Roman looked away again. Was that condescending of him to ask? He opened his mouth to apologize, before closing it in resignation. No need to make this into an issue; he'll ask Virgil whether he felt belittled later. "...Okay. That's fair."

Instead of going through the pain of trying to remove a shirt with a possibly broken rib, he snapped and it disappeared. He heard a sharp inhale, but in response to what, he didn't know. Roman looked downwards to check. Among the remnants of previous attempts at self-healing (some messier than others), the area around his right rib was inflamed and a large portion of his stomach was splotched with purple. Noticeably, his left arm was also burning red, but luckily it seemed like the fracture there was non-displaced, which hopefully meant it would heal quicker. Other than that, there weren't any major injuries besides his black eye and bloody nose that needed attention. Could be worse, considering how god-awful he felt!

Remus whistled. "You look like someone took a dalmatian and made it the colours of the bi-flag."

"Yeah. That's- weirdly accurate." Virgil winced. "What hurts most?"

"Uh- My arm and my ribs I suppose. They're a little... on the broken side."

"That's what I thought." Virgil muttered under his breath, grabbing the items to make a split. "I'll deal with those first, Remus you help with his nose and the bruising. And if you want to make yourself useful, hold these peas to your eye, dumbass."

"Your bedside manners are impeccable." Roman said sarcastically, taking the bag of peas and exhaling as he adjusted to the cold feeling pressed against his face. "...Here I thought there would be a grace period before you started calling me names."

"Just calling it like I see it." Virgil hummed. With deft fingers, he held the splint under Roman's forearm and began winding the bandages around it. "You should probably make an actual brace later when you're up to it, but hopefully this should keep it in place and remind you to not use it for now."

"But that sides my dominant arm-" Roman whined, about to complain about how he was supposed to get work done until Remus pinched the bridge of his nose none too gently, and he yelped. "Ow! Remus."

"Think of that as payback for the last 15 years." Remus replied lightly. "Tilt your head back."

Begrudgingly, Roman complied, resting his head against the headboard. He stared at the ceiling as his brother and best friend silently worked their way around his injuries, applying topical ointment to his bruises and applying band-aids to small cuts. He didn't even realize they had finished until Remus bonked him on the head.

"All done! Shame it's not Halloween. You could go as a mummy again."

"Ha ha. What a comedian you are." Roman replied in a deadpan, but fought to keep a smile away anyway. The irony of how much he resembled that costume right now definitely wasn't lost on him.

"...I'm sorry for ruining that, by the way." Virgil spoke up suddenly from where he had been packing everything away, breaking the thoughtful silence he'd been in for the past few minutes. "Your costume during the Christmas video, I mean. And saying all of that harsh stuff to make a point."

Roman only stared, taken aback. "All of that happened half a year ago. I'm not upset about that."

"I know, I know. It's just... I've been thinking about it recently, all the times I haven't acted very...good." He bit his lip, averting his eyes. "Especially now, knowing that kind of thing literally hurts you."

"Virgil." Roman sighed softly, taking his hand. Virgil startled but didn't pull away. "You don't need to be 'good' all the time. Wasn't that the point you were trying to get across back then? All of us have made mistakes in our pasts, some more than others, but if you can forgive us for that, then you deserve the same acceptance for your less-than-stellar moments."

"Oh." He said, eyes glassy. His hand tightened around Roman's. "I'm still sorry, if I've ever made things worse for you or if I haven't been supportive enough."

"I- You have-" Roman spluttered worriedly, sitting up.

"It's alright, I already know that we kinda work against each other at times. Part of the job." Roman's mouth closed with a grimace. "Still, it's unfair on you. You shouldn't be expected to perfect, especially not with an asshole like me there to tear into your work. So just...know that it's okay to tell us when you're struggling, okay?"

"Right..." Roman bit his cheek. Virgil seemed well-meaning, but showing that sort of weakness was a concept he still found difficult to accept, even if he had given in this time and allowed himself to be completely seen. Virgil noticed his lackluster agreement and patted him with his free hand.

"Hey. In almost any case we'd embrace you."

"...No one hates you." Roman finished a beat later with a small smile. Virgil's face lit up and moved closer to his side. Upon seeing this, Remus unceremoniously squished himself between the two of them, careful not to bump against Roman too much (although Virgil definitely got the brunt of Remus crawling over him, to his dismay).

"Look at you two, my favourite dorks, bonding over feeling insecure!" He declared, throwing an arm around both of them. "Couldn't be me, but I still love you."

Roman poked Remus' side. "So that wasn't you admitting to being worried earlier?"

"Nope! New phone who dis?"

"You're insufferable." Virgil rolled his eyes fondly. "...I love you guys."

And Roman sighed contently, feeling safe and cared for. Things weren't perfect right now; he still needed time to heal and Remus and Virgil would undoubtedly want him to open up about what happened sooner or later, but for now he was was able to hear that he was loved and believe it to be true, and that was enough.

"I love you both too. Thank you."

#sanders sides #roman sanders #roman angst #creativitwins #platonic prinxiety #platonic royality #my writing #that's a tag now ig #....i've stared at this for so long idk if it's good anymore #bruised but not broken

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shinsorokiri · 4 years

Text

UA Idol | Chapter Seventeen

Hitoshi Shinsou x Reader

Word Count: 2,225

Warnings: Language, mentions of hangover, banter, big nerves

A/N: Ah and we are BACK. Sorry for the long ass and excessive break, school got to be a little bit too much and mentally I was ~struggling~ quite a bit, but here I am now. Finals week is soon and I’ll be on break and my brain has been pumping out the creativity again which is great!! I have gotten so many ideas for what I want to happen, so stay tuned! Also, if anyone has any song suggestions or anything like that let me know! I might put them in for someone! Okay, that’s all! Thank you for dealing with my inconsistency, and I hope you enjoy loves! 🖤

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Luckily, you both woke up without Denki and Mina coming back to the room. You also were feeling so much better than before. And maybe it was because after the two of you woke up, Shinsou just refused to let you leave his arms. For like a half an hour. “Okay, Shin, I really think we should get up. It’s literally one in the afternoon and Mina and Denki probably think we’re like, dead, or something,” you say, wiggling out of his grasp. He frowns and sighs overdramatically, causing you to giggle before going to your suitcase. Maybe you’d go out to a coffee shop or something and figure out what you were going to sing there? That could be very beneficial to you right now. Or maybe you should just stay in and mess around with your guitar? Browse through your playlists? Sweatpants, or shorts? “(Y/n).”

Shinsou’s voice pulls you out of your thoughts and causes you to look over at him. He’s sitting up now, his hair is still a mess, but he pulls it off and just looks… well, hot. Not to mention that little smirk he has on his face and the way his hand is running through his hair. “Hmm?”

“You were just staring at your clothes without doing anything else. Are you still hungover? Because if so, I think you should come back to bed and let me hold you for a few more minutes.” You roll your eyes at his cheeky ass. “No, Shin, I need to prepare for sound check in two days and so do you, so no more of that. Even if I really want to,” you mumble the last part, but Shinsou still hears it and boy oh BOY does it make his heart swell. “You make some fair points, do you have any ideas yet?” he asks, reluctantly getting out of bed. You shake your head no, reaching down to grab some things. “No, I was going to try to figure it all out all day today but we’re getting… a late start now… aren’t we?”

“Well, how about we go grab some coffee or something and talk about it together? I’ve noticed we do our best work with each other, and I don’t mean to sound like, the word that ends in friend and starts with b, but I would like to spend some not hungover time with you,” he walks over to you, wrapping his arms around you. You feel your cheeks burn and you would be lying if you said you didn’t smile because godDAMN he’s a cutie. “Fine, fine. You’re right, we do do our best work together… so I guess I can get behind it…”

“Mhm, that’s the only reason why,” he teases, and you roll your eyes wiggling your way out of his grip. You make your way to the bathroom to change and freshen up considering you just felt like you were dying for the past multiple hours. Somehow you managed to make yourself look presentable again, and honestly you felt so much better afterwards. You may have also been in a good mood because halfway through you getting ready, Shinsou began strumming away on your guitar and singing some songs he probably came up with on the spot. You’d be lying if you said his voice couldn’t instantly put you in a better mood. You walk out of the bathroom, and when Shinsou looks up to see you all smiley and happy his heart skips a beat. This is crazy to him. This little agreement y’all made was about to be a challenge. How could he not fall in love with someone like you? Well, he can’t mess this up, so he’s not going to. No matter how hard it might be. “Someone’s in a good mood.”

“Yeah, well actually cleaning yourself up after feeling and looking like death personified does things to you. You should try it.”

“Woah now, hold on. Are you saying I look like death right now?”

“Well, you don’t look alive. But that doesn’t mean you don’t look good. And that is unfair and makes me upset so because of that, you must change and freshen up,” you say and he scoffs. “Oh please. You could literally draw all over your face with sharpie and super glue and you would still be the most beautiful person in the room, miss me with that shit.” You roll your eyes, but the smile on your face betrays the façade you’re trying to put up. “Shut up and go get dressed, loser,” you say and he grins. “Well, considering you’re all ready to go, come on up to mine and Denki’s room. Then we can just head out.”

“Sounds like a plan.” You grab your bag and make sure you have your phone, room key, laptop, and some money before the two of you make your way out of your room. This is honestly crazy to you. Not only are you literally on television and you’re going to be watched on television as well, but you met Shinsou through this. Of course, you probably would have met him regardless because Denki and Mina were bound to catch up again at some point, but it’s still crazy to you that you met this man. He was actually amazing, and not only are you in his presence, but you’ve kissed him. A lot!!! At this point you don’t think it would be too crazy to say that you, in fact, are the main character. “Here we are. Hopefully Denki and Mina aren’t passed out in there.”

“Wouldn’t matter if Mina is, she could genuinely sleep through anything,” you inform him, and he opens the door. “Looks like we lucked out,” he says, holding open the heavy ass hotel door for you. You walk in and can immediately tell which bed is Denki’s and which one is Shinsou’s. Denki is chaotic, even in his living spaces. “This shouldn’t take long. Question, though.”

“Answer.”

“Should I deal with this heat and wear long sleeves or actually wear something appropriate?”

“Appropriate. It’s fucking hot here dude. Besides, save your good outfits for the stage,” you say, and he gives you finger guns. “You’re absolutely correct. I’ll change and then we can head out.” You nod, and he goes into the bathroom leaving you alone to look at Shinsou’s things he brought with him. And that’s not weird. You two are… kissing friends? Huh. Maybe you should work out whatever you guys are while still not putting a label on it- no you know what, you two are just friends. Friends. Friends who platonically sleep together and are extremely attracted to each other. That’s all. You shake your head, trying your best to stop thinking about this situation. You sit on his bed, picking up his guitar just like he did with yours in your room. You start absentmindedly stumming, probably playing some song you learned years ago. But you weren’t singing because you’re too busy thinking of a song to sing for an audience. It has to be written by someone already which sucks for you because you hate doing that, but it’s necessary. And it needs to be well known so everyone else can enjoy it as well. Oh God this is harder than it should be. “That’s pretty.”

You jump slightly at Shinsou’s voice, and you expect him to laugh but instead he just sits next to you and looks genuinely concerned. “Hey, are you okay? You’ve been spacing out a lot…” You can tell he’s very worried, and he reaches out and grabs your hand causing you to feel actually a lot better about this decision weighing on your mind. “I’m just stressed about this next performance. It’s in front of people and it has to be a song already written which means I need to put my own flair on it and like that should be easy, but it also won’t be because the audience needs to also recognize it and-”

“Slow down, (Y/n). You’re going to be fine, believe me. Remember, the judges are still the ones sending us through right now and they adore you.”

“Anything could happen though! And I just don’t know if I’ll even be able to do well in front of an actual crowd of people, like Mina has natural stage presence and so does Denki and Kirishima and somehow even Bakugou has a way with a crowd and don’t even get me started on you, I mean seriously Shinsou everyone lo-”

“Hitoshi.”

“Huh?”

“Call me Hitoshi. Or Toshi. Whichever you prefer, but you’re a little too close to me to not call me by my first name now.” You just stare at him for a moment, giving him the chance to continue on. “And relax, (Y/n). You’re literally amazing. And I know you’re humble but trust me, you have one hell of a presence onstage and you’re more talented than the majority of the people here. I’ll help you pick a song; all songs are up for grabs. And luckily UA Idol doesn’t care if you use explicit songs because explicit songs are some of the best ones and I know a few that I think you would fuck with. Calm down, kitten. It’s gonna be okay.”

Jesus. Christ. This man. This man will be the death of you. “Okay?” he asks, placing his hand not holding yours on your shoulder, forcing you to look in his eyes. You just gulp and nod. “Okay… Toshi,” you say, his name felt great coming out of your mouth. He finally grins. “Let’s go, coffee is on me.”

“Wait what? No, it is not.”

“Yes, it is.”

The two of you actually bicker over that the entire way to the coffee shop, and sadly for you, he makes sure he’s the one who pays. You throw some choice words at him before the two of you sit down at a table outside. “Alright, so let’s brainstorm some songs.”

“Alright, well, I think best bet would be popular songs, something a lot of people know and something catchy enough that people can vibe with even if they don’t know it.”

“Mmm, yeah. Good call. Tragic call, but good call,” he says, pulling out his laptop as you pull out his. The two of you pull up your playlists, starting to compare and contrast songs until you both have a list. “Right, so I could sing That’s What You Get by Paramore-”

“Not pop.”

“No, but it is well known. And I could play guitar with it if you really think about it…”

“Tempting. Others?”

“Undrunk by Fletcher, vulgar but a good option.”

“Both true statements.”

“And then there’s My Consequence or Clean by Hey Violet, it’s catchy, but not a lot of people… know… about Hey Violet.”

“That’s true. Their biggest song is technically Guys My Age, so those two are not as well known. These are all really good options though.”

“Thanks. What about you?”

“Well, there’s Riptide by Vance Joy, a classic and I’d get to shred on my ukulele skills.”

“Nice, nice, others?”

“Oh. No, I’m doing Riptide. Safest bet, really. Everyone knows it, I can put my own spin on it, catch me playing a uke. All good things, so let’s decide yours, kitten.”

You roll your eyes at him, shooting back the last of your coffee and looking at your list. Would you prefer to do something like Clean or My Consequence because they tend to be your songwriting vibe? Yes. You would. But not enough people know about it and if you want the crowd to interact with you, you need to pull out the big guns. “I think it’s down to That’s What You Get or Undrunk,” you say, rubbing your chin. Why was this so hard?”

“Okay, so instrument playing or dancing. Because I know you and I know if you do Undrunk you will have a dance routine that goes with your whole performance, so everyone knows you mean business.”

“You’re right. But… I honestly, I don’t know.”

He frowns. He knows this decision is literally eating you alive, and he wants to help. He knows you don’t necessarily want to sing either of the songs you’re choosing between, so he makes the decision for you right then and there. “You’re doing My Consequence.”

“What? I can’t, it’s not known enough.”

“So what? You want a real challenge? Sing a song not everyone knows. You can also definitely put your own spin on that song, play some instruments, come up with an original (Y/n) arrangement, use Mina and me and Denki and literally anyone you need to do the back-up vocals. You can do that. Easy,” he has full confidence in everything he’s saying, and you definitely already thought about doing all of that and had ideas for it in your brain before he even said it. You pause for a moment to consider what he said before glancing up at him. “You really think that’ll work?”

“I don’t think. I know it will.”

You smile at him. He’s right, why were you even trying to talk yourself out of this anyways? “Thanks, Toshi.”

“Any time, kitten. Now what do you say we head back to the hotel and get to work?”

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x--daughters-of-darkness--x · 3 years

Text

Amy Lee Of Evanescence On Women In Rock, The Freedom Of Artistry & Finally Being Able To Say What She Wants To Say

Music Feeds: Amy, thanks for taking the time to talk to Music Feeds. We’re particularly excited to talk to you at the moment because you have a brand new album out. How is existence treating you?

Amy Lee: Awesome. Thank you for taking the time to talk to me too. We are all just SO happy to finally have it out there! It feels really good.

MF: It’s quite a sonic adventure, this record. It presents all of the elements that people are accustomed to hearing from Evanescence and blends them with a whole bunch of new elements, was this a fun and rewarding record to write for you?

AL: It’s hard to sum it up in a word like fun because it is, it is so deep. There was definitely pain involved and challenge and all those things that lead to making something great, you know? It takes a little bit of struggle and we went through a lot to get to the place where we could write this album. I think the word that sums it up is satisfying. It feels really good to get a lot of this off of my chest. For me, this is partially due to having things to say that had been building for a while and having a new perspective to write from, but also musically, with the band, it shows how far we have come as a band and displays what it is that these guys and lady, that I work with now bring to the sound and that connection deserves to be documented. I really wanted a chance to show what we’ve grown into and it feels really good to listen to that back.

I think everybody’s feeling excited for the eventual day that we get to go play this stuff live again because for so long, our live show has been about making a great collection of our big back catalogue of music, but it’s all old, you know? It’s been a while since we’ve been able to really go, okay, “this is who we are now”. So having this now it’s going to be hard to play anything, but the new songs.

MF: I’d imagine it would be, especially given how much of yourself that you’ve put into the record. Now I know that you all went through a lot of challenges, both personally and as a band in the writing process, with some personal tragedies, the pandemic and even having one member stuck indefinitely in Germany, do you feel like those challenges added to the emotional intensity of the record?

AL: Yeah, I think that’s a good way to put it. It made everything more important. The music has been like this life-giving thing for us all to grab onto and to connect us to each other. As people, we’ve been so isolated, so expressing yourself and being able to share in that with somebody far away, makes it feel like we’re not so far away, on an internal, on a soul level, you know, we are connected. It has been so healthy for all of us to be able to pull together and have something to work for, something to fight for and build a world that we can control.

That’s something we all want so bad in a time when it just has felt like so much is out of control. So I think for us, to have this thing to care about and to focus on, has just been such a gift. I don’t know what I would’ve done without it quite honestly, I think it would have really gone insane.

MF: All of these situations also made you have to be pretty innovative in order to complete the record, finishing songs and sessions for the album remotely and thinking your way around how to be a band, without ever really being in the same room. In a strange way did that challenge make the writing and recording process feel like a fresher and more interesting experience? Do you feel that adaptiveness and creativity added something extra to the record?

AL: Absolutely, I really do. I’m a believer in that. I really, really, really liked breaking rules, especially when it comes to creativity. I like making music, making art; to feel like making art, it needs to feel creative and inspired and excited. When we were making our first music, when I was writing Fallen, I didn’t know what I was doing. I didn’t have anything to live up to, or I didn’t have a method that I could rely on. It was just creating a way for the first time. The more that I think you can tap into that, where it feels like you’re just, a soul scratching at something trying to make it come to life, the better the art will be.

You can be surprised by how many different ways that can happen. I was pushing us in a little bit of that direction with Synthesis, making the band kind of find a new way to play their instruments, where it would fit into an orchestral setting without heavy guitars and big drums or anything that sounded like those acoustic instruments, pushing them to find a new way. Jen learned how to play the theremin a little bit and made that a part of her thing. I learned to play the harp a little over ten years ago, I’m a piano player and they’re related, I mean, a harp is the guts of a piano, but it’s being plucked. So there are similarities, it’s sort of like French to Latin or something but different, it makes you play differently, and I wrote songs during that time on the harp a little bit, because it forced me to play differently. It made me write differently also and because of that, we got songs that weren’t like the way they would be, if wrote them with a piano as my route, like I typically do.

I think it’s really good to work outside your comfort zone and outside the box and to be challenged, it makes it exciting too. I don’t want it to feel like a job. I want it to feel like the fun thing. I want it to feel like the secret project because that’s how it should be. Right? Like your job is your job, that’s the cubicle that’s filling out paperwork and doing your taxes to be a musician. To be a creator, to be an artist, that should be the thing that feels like your freedom, your release, the thing you’ll stay up all night for, not the thing that you’re supposed to do.

MF: That’s a very empowering message and an inspiring message to give people too and I feel like you can hear that fresh inspiration on the record.

AL: Good! You know, having to, having to think around the problems, this time a lot of it’s been about the promo. We did get to get back together and be in the studio, all of us, except Jen, last fall and do things in a fairly typical way, which was amazing, but it was more humble like we were eating ramen and stuff so that we wouldn’t have to do takeout a lot of the time. Everything was a little bit more like early days, which felt good. It made it feel like we’re doing this because we love this, not just because it’s a cushy job. Having to think about making our own music videos or even this right now, like setting up the stuff where I have to film myself, that’s a new experience.

We even did Jimmy Kimmel recently, and they essentially said, “do it yourself, figure it out and send it in, and we’ll put it on the air.” It’s like, Oh my God, well, we’re all over the world, but we don’t want to pass up this opportunity. So you just have to find a new way and it’s amazing, the feeling that you can get at the end of that after you do it, the empowering feeling that really does give you like, “Hey, I did it, I did it!”. It means something to know that I cared about it enough that I tried and I made it happen and in the process, I’ve learned a new skill.

MF: You learned a lot of new skills in the process, especially when you’re talking about the videos, the fact that you shot two video clips on your iPhones… did you ever think that would be possible? And was it hard to get into the performative headspace to make that look as organic and as awesome as it does?

AL: It was really fun! It’s hard to explain it, but it really reminds me of being in high school and having a dream and doing whatever I could with what I had to make it happen. Once we got the idea we realised that it’s not like we’re going to be able to do production, so let’s make it about the soul, let’s make it about the point and the heart of the message and see if we can get that across and let that be the leading thing. That’s been sort of the guiding mantra about this whole time through last year and in the process too, has been: let the meanings lead, not the tempo, not the style. Whether it is deciding which songs come first, or what’s going to be a single, all those things really have come about this time by answering the question of “What’s the message we want to convey? What are the words we want to speak into the world right now?” Because this music, as much as it is for us, it’s more than ever feeling like it’s for everybody. So what, where are we now? And what, what could the world, you know, relate to or need?

MF: The messages on the record, are particularly strong. The obvious one is ‘Use My Voice’ but overall it seems like a record with quite a lot to say, and I feel like that might differentiate it from what people might have come to expect when it comes to lyrical content from Evanescence. Is your focus as a musician and as a strong voice in the community to just say what you mean now? Was there ever a point in your career when you felt prevented from doing that?

AL: I think the biggest preventer of things like that is my own self. The music for me has truly, always been the one place where I tell the truth, not that I’m a liar in real life, but the music is the one place where I’m not holding back from saying what I really mean. The one place where I’m not just keeping my mouth shut because I don’t want to deal with the fallout. So whether or not that’s always come across clearly, because I have been vaguer in the past with the lyrics, I’m not sure. But if you knew my situation and you knew who I was talking about at the time, it would have been a lot more clear.

It’s funny because we’re on a level now, where it’s not just me and my family and my friends who know me, it is about something bigger on some of these tracks and ‘Use My Voice’ is definitely the biggest one that is that way. That’s coming from me, pushing myself. I have been really pushing myself over the years on every album and challenging myself to be more specific and to say what I really mean because it feels good. The more that I can really let off, the more of a release it is for me to let some of those things go. It felt good and felt like, there was a higher purpose with ‘Use My Voice’ because we knew that we were going to be able to use it, to empower other people, and make positive change in our country and in the world, in the fight for democracy. It’s so important. It’s huge. If rock can’t be the voice for power to the people, then I don’t know what we have to do that? That’s our job!

MF: That is awesome. It’s also good to hear to an extent that you feel like it was always you that has been holding yourself back, and that you’ve grown through that, rather than it being a case of industry folk, holding those elements back. Because I think there’s a bit of a belief in the music industry that particularly at the start circa Fallen, that people wanted you to be something that you’re not. Those people around you were trying to force you into becoming Linkin Park or something?

AL: That’s actually true, that part, but I still wrote about all of that, I still wrote those lyrics. So I guess that was the start of me pushing myself.

MF: It seems that you were a bit of a trailblazer in the modern heavy scene, in many ways. When Fallen blew up it inspired a generation of new performers and it seemed to also open industry eyes to what female and femme-identifying acts could bring to that space. With this in mind, it would be remiss of me not to ask how you feel about the state of the industry at the moment in terms of its attitude towards the female and femme-identifying artists in the heavy scene?

AL: That’s the question, isn’t it? It’s not about women not being allowed to be musicians. They always have been. It’s about how we see the summary. So often rock these days is not in the mainstream. It’s boiled down to a teeny, teeny, tiny piece of the pie, and there’s only room for one face, and it’s a picture of a dude. Because that’s how people that are not rock fans see the genre. People that are rock fans know that rock music has never gone away, that it has legions of fans and thousands of fresh acts and perspectives, but whether or not these big mainstream gatekeepers are going to let that through, and show that as reality, is a different thing altogether. I think to an extent that people who don’t know a lot about modern rock music, still see it as a picture of something ancient, like an artefact of when they were kids. They still see it like Bruce Springsteen, or The Beatles, or these other depictions of old rock bands, when the truth as you know is that it has changed so much since then.

I do think that they’re making an effort now, I’m seeing an effort being made. I mean this last Grammys was all women in the rock category, In This Moment was up for the metal award, and I know that it’s not just about the Grammys, but it’s good to see that happening. I think that the world, our society is aware that this is a moment for different perspectives to have a chance to show their face and to shine and to say, “Hey, here’s, here’s something from my perspective”. I think that’s really, really important that we all are able to kind of see things through more perspectives than just our own. I think that is really the road to helping a lot of the issues in our world, in our society. Not thinking only from your little perspective of you and your hometown and what you’ve seen, and there’s a lot more out there and it doesn’t need to be scary. We just need to be exposed to all kinds of differences. It’s happening. Rock is definitely a place for all things, all people, you know. But it’s just gonna take time, you know, for that picture to change, when all it boils down to a summary, they need to stop summarizing so much. I will say as well, rock music is huge. There’s so much of it. We need a little more air time, please!

MF: Yes, yes, yes, definitely. Definitely more time, more perspectives, more diversity, more respect, more rock! I’m actually a rock singer myself. So I’m just sitting here nodding thinking that it would be lovely to be considered a worthwhile genre again, in a mainstream sense. Now, I do want to know something about you as a person, Amy. The band has a very distinctive, visual aesthetic and I’ve always wanted to know if that’s something that’s inspired by your tastes, the other things in life that you enjoy, or if it is just something that fits the music?

AL: That’s an interesting question. I feel like it’s both. I’ve always had a huge interest in the visual. It is essentially important to me and I always have ideas like when the songs are happening, when I’m making music when we’re in our world of creating, I’m constantly just seeing things in my head and thinking about ideas about how to bring the song to life with visuals. I’ll sit there thinking “ooh if we do a video, I need to see this happening” you know? Or, for example, with the clothing you see me in, I designed my own clothes. So a lot of the time what I wear either on stage or in music videos, I’ve made specifically for that purpose. It’s about being able to create a whole world and have a visual representation of who you are from the production too, on stage, it’s so important, it makes all the difference. It’s honestly, you understanding and accepting and putting out there a further dimension of what you are for people to tap into and to get and to relate to and perceive.

It’s hugely important to me, but it has to do with the music. You can currently see toys against a white wall, on a couch, in my house, so you can tell that my house is not entirely full of like black wallpaper and chains, if that’s what anyone was expecting. But I wouldn’t say that Evanescence aesthetic is straight-up metal either. It’s more complex than that. So it’s the side of me that is that trying to summarize the music in a way, in a visual mode, where it’s kind of like got some Victorian elements that represent the classical for me, and it’s got weird atmospheric things that kind of represent the electronic world, and of course it’s got the distressed elements and the darkness and the heavy feeling of the band. The more layers you can use to express yourself, the better.

MF: That makes a whole lot of sense. I honestly hadn’t connected the Victorian imagery and the classical music background before, but it absolutely makes sense to me now. Speaking of visual arts, you’re doing a very cool thing within that spectrum on this record, by releasing a graphic novel anthology that’s inspired by Evanescence music. How did that come about? And as a lover of the medium, that must be the most awesome thing ever, right?

AL: It’s so awesome. It’s so awesome! I have all these really grand ideas that would take way too much time and energy to actually do, while also doing my music career and being a mum and everything else that goes on in life, but this is something that I’m able to do because it’s coming from heavy metal. They came to me and were like, “Hey, we’d like to do this with you”, so instead of me having to find artists and put all this stuff together and create this world, they’re like, “Hey, we got it, we have the coolest, the best graphic design artists in our works in our sphere and the best story writers and stuff, and we want to do something based on your music”. So they came to me about a year ago and it sounded like one of those ideas that are too good to be true, where I was saying, “I’m in, now let’s see if this is just a bunch of meetings or it’s really going to happen” and it’s really happening!

The first two songs are in the works right now, it’s just so cool. I want to make this clear to our fans, it’s not my idea and my inspiration of the meanings behind the songs, presented as a visual. This is different artists and different writers for each song, getting an idea and being inspired while listening to the song and turning that inspiration into a beautiful graphic novel, based on their individual interpretation of the song. It’s so cool because it lets the music just take on more forms, have more lives, more alternate realities. I love it!

MF: I look forward to looking at every single one of these! Have you seen any of the graphic novels yet?

AL: I have, I’ve seen some of the stuff already and it looks really cool and I’m very excited. I have a little hand in it, giving opinions like do this, don’t do that, but for the most part, this is other creatives, just taking it to another place. It feels really good to see that happen.

MF: That’s so awesome. I’ve got to let you go, so thank you for talking to Music Feeds. I must confess that as a heavy music-obsessed teenager when Fallen dropped, I was all about it, so it’s great to see and hear you and Evanescence in such a great place as you’re putting The Bitter Truth out into the world.

AL: Thank you, that’s lovely to hear. It’s good to be back! It’s been nice talking to you, thanks for taking the time.

#Amy Lee #Evanescence #2021 interviews

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dweetwise · 4 years

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yes hello i am back on my bullshit again, presenting you yet another felix x ace! (also i’m taking the creative liberty to call the ship riconti because it sounds like a cheese or something and i found it funny) anyways, this one is just me thirsting over the oktoberfest skin through ace, ft. some suggestive language but no nsfw!

word count: 2781

Felix X Ace: Clothes make the man

The whole thing starts as an offhand comment.

"—I mean, it's clearly tailored. He pulls it off,” Ace is telling Meg, who has been complaining about Felix's stuffy suit and even stuffier attitude for five minutes straight. “But it's so impractical!” the girl argues. “Wasn't he on some kind of field trip when he was taken? What kind of guy wears a suit to that?” “I don't know, but I'm not going to complain about free eye candy,” Ace smirks, and Meg rolls her eyes. “Oh yeah, I forgot rich snobs are your thing. Sucks you can't scam him for his money in here,” Meg snarks. “Excuse me for having taste,” Ace shoots back. “I wish I had a suit like that. Do you think it's Gucci?” “Burberry,” an increasingly familiar voice answers from behind him and Meg whips her head around to look at its owner, eyes wide in shock at having been caught gossiping. Meanwhile Ace, liking to think he has more self-control, schools his face into a pleasant smile and slowly turns around to face Felix. “Would have been my next guess,” Ace says, trying not to let it show that he's mentally slapping himself for essentially thirsting over Felix when the other was within earshot. “I like the cut. You've got good taste.”

He’s feebly trying to save some of his wounded ego, but probably ends up laying it on too thick. Felix fidgets a little, maybe not used to getting compliments, before he seems to catch himself. He meets Ace's eyes and the hint of a smirk tugs on his lip.

“Wish I could say the same,” Felix says, pointedly looking at Ace's flamingo sweater, before turning around and walking away and leaving Ace to gape at the unexpected sass from the normally serious man. “I take it back, I like him!” Meg snickers beside him.

The Entity seems to share Ace's enthusiasm for Felix's fashion sense, and only a few trials in Felix is already in a different suit, this one a grey plaid.

“Hmm…” Ace pretends to mull over when they're working on a generator together. “Did you see something?” Felix asks, hurriedly glancing over the top of the machine to try, in vain, to spot the killer. “I think the navy blue suits you better,” Ace smirks at his own pun. “Though the plaid certainly makes a statement. Shame that statement is ‘I'm a grandpa at thirty years old’.” “You know, in my job, gold is really only used for trims. Any more than that is just tacky," Felix deadpans, not even sparing a glance at Ace's obnoxiously golden silk outfit. “And it's thirty-eight.”

Ace doesn't bother suppressing his grin over the fact that Felix seems happy to go along with his silly banter.

It becomes sort of an inside joke between them, and when Felix shows up to the campfire in a porn stache and driving gloves, Ace chokes on a laugh.

“I’m sorry, is this an 80's theme party?” Ace jokes. “Careful you don't end up on a propaganda poster with a stache like that.” “Why are you wearing an eye patch?” Felix immediately shoots back. “Is this the 16th century? Should we break out the rum and set sail?”

Ace hears Quentin snort beside him.

“It's a pilot outfit,” Ace argues, pulling his jacket with the pin-up print tighter against himself defensively. “No, mine is a pilot outfit,” Felix deadpans, and Ace can't really argue, not when the other is wearing a bomber jacket and pilot glasses and leather gloves. “Yours is a blind truck driver.”

Bill coughs out something akin to a laugh on the other side of camp and Ace bites his lip to stop himself from doing the same.

“Can I borrow the shades some time?” Ace forfeits the argument, and Felix smiles just the tiniest bit. “Sure.”

And Felix actually follows through with the promise, switching sunglasses with him when Ace later complains his own don’t go with his outfit. It’s a pretty cute gesture, like they were close friends or even a couple, and when Felix snorts and tells him he looks ridiculous it just serves to make Ace smile brighter.

It’s not like the exchange or the ones before it mean anything, it’s just harmless joking with the occasional flirt. Ace still thinks Felix is attractive, but he doesn’t have any illusions that the man would be into him like that, with what having a girlfriend and unborn baby back home, not to mention Ace having a good ten years on him in age. Still, he appreciates that Felix goes along with his cheeky comments, at least not grossed out by or taking offense to Ace’s flirting.

He only gets to keep the shades for one trial, because the Entity has blessed Felix with another outfit for Ace to offer his unsolicited opinion on.

“Oh my god,” Ace comments when he spots the horrendous, grease-streaked mop in place of Felix’s normally expertly styled hair. “Are you a closet hipster? Is an avocado smoothie going to fall out of the hat?” he quips, eyeing the fedora that is, in Ace’s humble opinion, vastly inferior to all of his own hats. “I needed a disguise to lay low for a while, and what better way to hide in plain sight in a big city?” Felix defends his unkempt hair and dirty t-shirt. “What’s your excuse?” he shoots back.

Ace glances down at his generously open shirt—gold again, just to annoy Felix—and tacky sequin pants.

“Vegas, baby,” Ace grins. “If you’d ever been, you’d know.” “I’ve never been happier to say I haven’t,” Felix chuckles. “I don’t think I could handle more of… whatever this is,” he says, gesturing to Ace’s outfit. “When we get out of here, I’m definitely taking you,” Ace quips. “I just want to see you cry over all the flashy satin and fake gold.”

Felix doesn’t roll his eyes or make a sarcastic comment like Ace expects. Instead, he stares blankly in confusion for a few seconds, before his expression settles into a smile Ace can’t quite place.

“Alright,” Felix simply says, and combined with the soft smile it’s enough to make Ace nervously look around camp for a distraction. “Hey, Kate!” he hollers, spotting the songstress braiding Meg’s hair. “You got a hairband for our friend and his questionable hair style over there?”

He ends up regretting the question as soon as Kate insists on braiding Felix’s hair and the normally standoffish man, somehow, goes along with it. He can’t believe he’s jealous for someone getting to touch the grimy, unkempt strands, and it sure as hell doesn’t help that Felix seems to like it. Kate looks thrilled to get to spend some quality time with the man, chatting about this and that and taking way longer than necessary to make the hairstyle, and Ace ends up walking away and pestering Dwight to play some cards with him so he can at least win at something.

His win streak over the poor boy is interrupted when Felix later sits down with them, gesturing for Ace to deal him in, and Ace can’t quite hide his pleased grin that Felix would rather spend time with him than the beautiful girl who just played with his hair for half an hour.

“Better?” Felix asks him, turning his head to display the most pathetic French braid Ace has ever seen, ending in a ponytail that’s barely an inch in length. “Much better,” Ace says, definitely referring to the company and not the state of his hair, and even the normally diplomatic Dwight gives him a weird glance over his cards after taking in Kate’s handiwork.

Only a few trials after the incident, Ace has the pleasure of spawning together with Felix in one of the Yamaoka maps. When he sees a horrendous checkered pattern from the corner of his eye, he knows he’s in for a treat.

He quickly turns to face the man, nearly tripping over some shrubbery as the Entity decided to place him in some inconvenient bamboo. He meets Felix's eye, opening his mouth to start a snarky comment, when his thoughts come to a complete halt upon seeing the entirety of the outfit.

“Well? Get it over with,” Felix demands, crossing his arms self-consciously and—lord have mercy—blushing a little.

Ace's brain is reduced to white noise in the equivalent of ‘hhhHhhHHhh’ while he just stands there, feet still in the stupid bamboo, and stares.

Felix's hair is now an impeccable undercut, a few loose strands framing his features beautifully, and the perfectly trimmed stubble adds a rugged charm to his handsome face. The vest is stylish, a navy blue similar to the suit Ace likes, and the checkered shirt shouldn't work with it but it does, and there's even a matching handkerchief in his breast pocket. Ace's horny brain immediately goes to hanky code and shut up brain it's in the wrong pocket—

Ace mentally shakes his head and looks at Felix's pants instead. And that was a bad idea, because he’s wearing fucking. Leather. Pants.

Again, it should look ridiculous, but Ace feels himself start salivating at the idea of them hugging Felix's ass—ugh, focus!

The pants have small ribbons on the sides and the entire ensemble is so goddamn adorable and sexy that he can't even deal. And Ace has seen a lot of handsome men during his life, mostly in the mirror, but right now, Felix takes the cake.

Felix's attitude shifts from embarrassed to curious when Ace isn't immediately opening his big mouth like usual.

“If this is how all Germans dress, it’s a tragedy I’ve never been,” Ace flirts, his dick having taken over his brain and his mouth running on autopilot.

Instead of insulting Ace's panama hat and favorite pink shirt, Felix clears his throat and averts his eyes.

“You don't look too bad yourself,” Felix mutters, cheeks heating up again as he twiddles with the cuff of his shirt.

Ace idly wonders if the bamboo bush is big enough for them to make out in without being spotted—brain, focus! The guy is just being polite, no need to jump his bones!

They've got the usual back-and-forth out of the way, but Felix still isn't moving to start the trial, regarding Ace warily and fidgeting, and he's just so fucking hot—ugh, he needs to say something, doesn't he?

“God, the things I'd let you do to me," Ace thinks while he says ‘We should find a generator’ because he's not going to creep Felix out any further—

Felix chokes on nothing and his face flushes bright red, and Ace belatedly realizes his brain got its wires crossed and he definitely said the first bit out loud. Shit, that was definitely out of line, and if Felix hasn’t been offended before he sure as hell should be now.

There’s a screech from his left and Ace has never been so glad to take a bonesaw to the shoulder as when the Nurse teleports next to him and interrupts their awkward conversation, Ace finally running out of the goddamn shrubbery while clutching his injured shoulder. Strangely enough, the Nurse doesn’t follow him as he runs up to the temple, and soon after he hears Felix yelp instead, the killer chasing him around the shack.

Damn, now he somehow needs to make it up to Felix both to apologize for his foot-in-mouth syndrome and for him taking the Nurse off Ace’s back.

Unfortunately for them, the Nurse isn't playing around this match, and when she returns to tunnel Felix right off the hook, Ace barely even gets the chance to yell out a “Move!” and throw himself in the way of the attack, much less talk to him about what happened earlier.

Soon Ace is walking back into camp, the second to last to have been sacrificed, only Claudette remaining in the trial and trying to find the hatch. He's already prepared an apology, and hopefully he'll be able to joke it off and Felix won't be weirded out by him. Well, at least not more than usual.

But then he spots Felix talking to Dwight by the edge of the camp, and Dwight freezes mid-conversation upon seeing Ace, before his face twists into a—smirk? Since when has Dwight smirked?—and he says something to Felix before taking off, walking over to where Steve and Ash look to be engaged in a game of tic-tac-toe.

Ace doesn't even have time to ponder why Dwight suddenly seems like he knows way too much, because Felix is approaching him and he knows this is a make or break it situation.

“Dwight seemed awfully smug, huh?” Ace jokes to buy himself some time after his carefully crafted apology flies out the window when he sees Felix’s serious expression. “We need to talk,” Felix says, looking and sounding every bit the stern businessman Meg thinks he is. “Yeah, alright,” Ace agrees and tries not to deflate too much upon essentially being shut down before he can even try to make things right.

As he follows Felix out into the woods away from prying eyes, he considers whether it's even worth apologizing if their friendship is done with anyway. He just hopes this won't cause unnecessary drama within the group, the others sure as hell don’t need to get involved.

His train of thought is interrupted when he's suddenly pushed against a tree, letting out a startled yelp that he’ll later vehemently deny. Shit, is Felix going to beat him up?

An arm wrapping around his hip is finally enough to pull Ace out of his racing thoughts, and when he looks up at the man he finally realizes that Felix is definitely not upset with him, and his eyebrows shoot up into his hairline upon seeing the clear bedroom eyes thrown his way.

“Is this not okay?” Felix asks, his dark gaze faltering from insecurity. “Naw, baby, just took me by surprise,” Ace practically purrs, a lazy grin spreading over his face as the familiar confidence returns, his hands running over Felix's shoulders appreciatively. “I thought you were upset with me from before, not that you'd take me up on the offer.” “Well, I—” Felix starts, clearing his throat self-consciously. “I've wanted this for quite some time, and Dwight said you probably wouldn't be opposed, so…”

That's what they were talking about? And Dwight convinced Felix that Ace is down to fuck? Shit, he needs to get the kid a fruit basket or something to thank him.

“He's definitely not wrong,” Ace says, trying for a seductive look but probably ends up leering stupidly from the anticipation instead. But apparently it gets the job done, because Felix pulls him tighter against him and leans in for a kiss.

And okay, wow, apparently he wasn't lying about really wanting this, because there's an urgency in the way he practically devours Ace's mouth, letting out an appreciative groan when Ace parts his lips and encourages him to deepen the kiss.

So maybe he should be worried about Felix's girlfriend or his sudden interest in men or whether he's looking for more than a casual fuck. But Ace has never been good at thinking certain things through and he's not about to start now, not when he has a breathless and flushed Felix pulling away from the kiss and looking at him with lust-blown eyes.

“I've wanted to do that for a long time,” Felix breathes, the corner of his mouth quirking up into a half-smile. “You really should have just asked,” Ace smirks, a little amazed that he managed to miss all the signs, because there’s nothing subtle about the way Felix looks at him now. “I was working up to it,” Felix argues. “But then you started practically eye fucking me—” “I was looking respectfully,” Ace corrects, causing Felix to snort. “You stood in a bush and drooled, and then propositioned me,” Felix points out. “Yeah, and you liked it so much you blushed like a virgin and started flirting and took the killer off of me—which, thanks for that, by the way—” Ace starts. “You're welcome.” “—and… why did I think you were mad at me again?” Ace realizes. “No idea. I thought it was pretty obvious why I dragged you here to ‘talk’,” Felix emphasizes, gaze roaming appreciatively over his body. “Well, what are you waiting for?” Ace encourages, flashing his signature smirk in challenge.

And Ace learns that no matter how much he likes Felix's outfit, getting to help Felix out of it is even better.

#dbd fanfic #felix richter #ace visconti #felix x ace #riconti #dbd #dead by daylight #dweetwrites

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angryinternetduck · 4 years

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fireworks

a little under 2.5k on fireworks and wine. Harry Styles x reader. warnings: none I can think of? lol this was supposed to be in a fic writing challenge, but... I didn't take the prompt (fireworks) soon enough. So. Uh. Whoopsidaisies oh AND it's a reader insert ('cause of the challenge lol) so uh hope I didn't botch that. I've never done one of these before... enjoy :)

You met Harry Styles at a New Year’s Eve party.

Your boyfriend at the time had had some sort of connection, and you’d gotten into the party, but you were borderline regretting the whole idea because now you were bored. You were drinking some sort of punch, lurking behind your boyfriend as he somehow kept engrossed in one of the most boring conversations you’d ever eavesdropped on.

It was after you tapped your boyfriend on the shoulder to tell him you were getting more punch, after he waved you off and dove back into the conversation, and when you’d made it to the punch table that he’d approached you.

He’d startled you, coming up behind you and saying, “Good punch, hm?” just a little softer than normal, and you gasped. “Sorry,” he said, smiling a bit, and you couldn’t help but smile back, because who could refuse those gorgeous dimples?

“‘s okay,” you replied, and he said, “Enjoying the party?”

“Yup,” you lied, leaning against the punch table.

“You’re terribly unconvincing, uh…” He looked at you expectantly, and you shifted your cup to your left hand to hold out your other for a handshake. You told him your name, and he shook your hand as he said, “Harry.”

“Nice to meet you, Harry,” you said, and he nodded. “Ditto. What’s wrong with the party, then?” You smiled, shaking your head, and told him, “It’s not that bad. I’m just a little tired, but, uh… you can’t exactly leave a New Year’s party before midnight, huh?”

“You’re right,” Harry said, “that would be scandalous.”

“Absolutely,” you agreed. There was a beat of silence, and then he asked, “So, er - how’s the punch? Reckon I should get some?” You smiled a bit. “I reckon you should.” He raised a brow. “Are you mocking me?” he said, pouring some punch into a cup.

“Handsome and quick,” you said, and he grinned. “Funny, too,” he said, “and proper humble. ‘m quite the catch.” You nodded, looking over at where your boyfriend was, and replied, “Me too.” Harry grinned. “See we share the humble trait, hm?”

You bit back a laugh despite yourself and, not quite unreluctantly, went on, “Only, uh… I’m already caught. That’s my boyfriend, over there, and I should probably get back…” Harry followed your line of sight, and then nodded. “Right,” he said. “Erm - nice meeting you.”

“Yeah,” you said back, giving him a smile. “Ditto.”

*****

The ball dropped, and you kissed your boyfriend.

The fireworks started, and you held his hand.

Everybody was cheering, and you were scanning the crowd.

The fireworks died down, and you found who you were looking for.

Your boyfriend kissed your cheek, but you were smiling at Harry.

*****

You and your boyfriend didn’t work out, but it wasn’t a messy breakup; you stayed friends. So when some manager asked for your number from him because he was looking for an in in your industry, he gave it over, because he was your friend.

In fact, you stayed such good friends that, when Harry Styles texted you and admitted he wasn’t looking for an in in your industry but rather a date, you told your ex and thanked him for handing over the number.

*****

The date went well.

But not well enough.

He didn’t kiss you at the end of the night.

And you didn’t kiss him at the end of the second night.

And neither of you kissed the other at the end of the third night.

So lovers? No.

But friends? Absolutely!

*****

“You,” you declared, already holding a glass of wine, “look like shit.”

“And you,” Harry replied, “started without me.”

“Sue me,” you muttered. “You were twenty minutes late.”

Harry raised an eyebrow, lifting a half empty bottle of wine. “Started this twenty minutes ago, did you?” You pursed your lips, grabbing it from him and filling up your already over half way filled glass. “‘s your fault for being late. You’ve got to wash your glass, by the way.”

Harry scoffed, grabbing it from the coffee table. “I left this here last week.”

“Exactly,” you said. “Shoulda washed it.”

“Wasn’t in the room, love. Out of mind, out of sight.”

You giggled. “You started without me too.”

“Sod off,” Harry mumbled, not bothering to rinse his glass before filling it.

“Had a date?”

“‘f you can even call it that,” Harry said.

“Ooh, that bad, huh?”

“Worse. Her name was Gertrude. She took me to Spasso’s.”

“Yikes,” you breathed.

“And,” Harry went on, gesturing for you to follow him as he walked into the kitchen, “she was going on and on about rom coms, yeah? Like classics and shit. And then - and then” - he turned around, catching your eye for drama - “she goes I think my favorite is To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before.”

You rolled your eyes. “You’re too haughty. It’s really not that bad.”

Harry huffed, ducking his head into the refrigerator. “Oh, please. ‘s a tragedy. And it wouldn’t have been that bad, but after she said classics, that rubbish is just -” He paused, and reappeared, and said, “Darling, I’m not seeing any wine.”

“Must be blind, then,” you said, nudging him aside. But then you looked, and your fridge was basically empty, and there were no bottles of wine patiently waiting for you. “It was - I had two…” You faded off, turning to look at him sheepishly. “Uh… Yeah, so I may have just finished the last bottle?” Harry groaned, rolling his head back dramatically.

“Christ, woman, I come here once a week for an escape, and you can’t even manage to have a bottle of wine for me?” he asked in a whine. “The only time I drink sophisticatedly, the only time I can really talk, the only -”

“Shush,” you said, putting a finger over his lips. “Shush shush shush. I’ve got whiskey.”

Harry’s brows jumped. “Ooh.”

You nodded at the cupboard. “Grab glasses.”

Harry grinned, leaning in. “Love it when you tell me what to do.”

You rolled your eyes, pushing him off you, and muttered, “You’re hammered already and here I am giving you more alcohol. Ridiculous.” Harry scoffed. “Am not!” You raised an eyebrow, pouring him a glass. “Whatever you say, Styles,” you said.

“Right then, Miss Sober, tell me about your week, hm?” Harry asked, and you sighed, collapsing on the couch. Harry sat next to you, sliding an arm around your shoulders. You sighed, again, and swirled your whiskey around in its glass. “Well… I had another date with Kyle…”

Harry snickered. “Kyle the cardigan guy?”

You rolled your eyes. “He wore it once.”

“It was olive, love,” Harry said. “Olive.”

“It was a poor fashion choice, Styles, shut your mouth,” you said back. “Happens to all of us. Want to reminisce your outfit at my birthday party?” Harry groaned, tipping back the last of his whiskey. “I was pissed, darling,” he insisted. “The lights were off. Can Mr. Cardigan say the same?”

“He’s a nice guy, Styles.”

“He likes Nickelback.”

You scoffed. “You like Nickelback!”

“Not anymore!”

“You’re impossible,” you sighed, reaching to refill your glass.

“Impossibly wonderful, darling.”

“Conceited ass,” you said under your breath. “Ask me about my week, and then nitpick every little thing I say.” Harry rolled his eyes. “So dramatic, you are. Tell me something good and I’ll react appropriately!”

“Ooh,” you giggled, “big words from the drunk.”

“Takes one to know one, love.”

“Love,” you echoed dreamily. “Ever been in love, Styles?”

“F*ck’s sake, now you’re really pissed,” Harry laughed.

“Took you this long to figure that out, huh?”

“Pardon if ‘m a bit slow, ‘m a bit tipsy from the lack of wine ‘round here.”

You scoffed. “Lack of wine, he says, as if it’s my fault.”

“Oh, but it is, love - you started without me.”

“There it is again!” you said. “Love. You’re too good at this dodging questions thing.”

Harry smirked at you over his glass. “What dodging questions thing?”

“Oh, shush. Have you? Have you ever been in love?”

A beat of silence, and you were almost convinced he’d answer seriously, and then he smiled at you and said, “My mummy.” You rolled your eyes. “No, Styles,” you said exasperatedly, “I mean romantic love. Butterflies in your tummy romantic love. Every second thought about them love. Warm and fuzzy feelings love.” You giggled. “Kissy love.”

He paused for a second, and you looked up. “Take your time,” you giggled, and then Harry flushed, shaking his head. “Just thinking ‘bout your vocab, hm? Tummy, kissy - didn’t know I was drinking with a four year old.”

“I hate you,” you sighed contentedly.

“Hate you too, love.”

“Can’t call me love if you won’t answer the question.”

“Oh, my darling dear, my honey pot, my precious rose petal, my -”

You groaned. “I’ll put on To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before, Styles, swear to God.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” Harry seethed.

“You’re full of yourself.”

“Said that already, love.”

“Different wording,” you giggled. “I can be creative.”

“Creative, my ass,” Harry murmured.

You whined, slapping him on the chest. “You’re rude.”

“Got any other adjectives?” Harry asked. “Prove your creativity, hm?”

“Rude, jackass, bastard,” you said, and then took a sip of your whiskey as you mumbled nonsense. Harry grinned. “Nice try, love,” he said, and you pouted. “I’m drunk,” you insisted, draining your glass.

“Clearly.”

There was a beat of comfortable silence, and you leaned forward to pour more whiskey into your glass. “Whoopsidaisies,” you murmured as your hand slipped and some sloshed onto the table. You leaned back, and took a sip, and then realized Harry was staring at you.

“What?”

“Did - did you just say whoopsidaisies?”

You giggled. “Maybe.”

“You did not just say whoopsidaisies.”

You cleared your throat, lowering your voice a bit. “I don't - I don’t think so,” you replied in a British accent. “No one says whoopsidaisies do they? Unless they're…” Harry grinned, catching on. “There is no unless,” he said, taking up a slightly higher pitched American accent. “No one has said whoopsidaisies for fifty years and even then it was only little girls with blonde ringlets.”

You laughed, shaking your head and leaning into him. “What if I want to be a little girl with blonde ringlets, huh?” Harry tsked, twirling a piece of your hair around his fingers. “You’re going off script.”

“Can you imagine Hugh Grant with blond ringlets?” you giggled.

“They’d go well with his blue eyes.”

You sighed. “Anything goes well with Hugh Grant’s blue eyes.”

“What about my blue eyes?”

“They go wonderfully with your blond hair and freckles.”

“Why, thank you. I always thought the blue stripe in my hair was a bit much.”

“No, no, it matches your eyes.” You paused, looking up at him, and said, “Should do it.”

“Should do what?”

“Dye your hair.”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “Blue?”

You grinned. “Pink.”

“Can you imagine,” Harry murmured.

A beat of silence, and then you sat up and exclaimed, “Dick!”

Harry’s brows jumped. “‘ve got one, yes,” he said, and you shook your head, pressing a finger against his chest in an accusatory way. “No,” you said, “that’s another adjective. To describe you.” You grinned. “You are a dick.”

“Very clever,” Harry told you.

Another second of silence. A car honked outside, and then a dog barked, and then Harry looked at his watch. “Erm - darling, I know we said we weren’t going to say anything about your birthday, but -”

“Oh, no,” you muttered, downing your glass.

“I might have a little surprise for you?”

“H, I thought we agreed -”

Harry grinned, leaning forward and taking your hands. “I know, I know we agreed, but I couldn’t help it, because this lad I know from secondary school -” He cut himself off, shaking his head. “Not important. The point is, the opportunity was too good to pass. Don’t be mad.”

You huff. “Just get on with it.”

“Wicked,” Harry said, and he stood up, pulling you towards the balcony.

“Where are we -”

“Shush,” Harry interrupted. You’d arrived on your balcony, and Harry was positively buzzing with excitement. “What am I looking at, again?” you asked, and Harry shushed you again, checking his watch. “Any minute, now…”

He settled next to you, and you felt his hands on your shoulders, and then -

Fireworks exploded across the sky. Sparks of color filled the city skyline, popping and fizzing out before another set went off. They seemed to last for ages, each burst more dazzling than the last, until the last one sputtered out with a cheerful pop, leaving you in breathless awe.

Vaguely, you realized the pleasant weight of Harry’s hands on your shoulders had disappeared, and you turned around to see him lowering his fingers from his ears. He was grinning, though, looking absolutely ecstatic.

“You hate fireworks,” you breathed.

Harry laughed, shaking his head and pulling you into a hug. “Happy birthday, love.”

“Oh, H,” you mumbled into his shoulder. “Thank you.”

You pulled away first, keeping him close, and for the first time in your four years’ worth of friendship, you had the urge to kiss him. And, from the way his gaze kept slipping to your lips, you guessed you weren’t the only one feeling that urge.

“Harry?” you whispered, feeling yourself lean in.

“Hm.”

“Can I -?”

“Please,” he murmured, and he closed the distance, and you were kissing Harry Styles.

He was warm, and soft, and tasted slightly of vanilla, but mostly of whiskey, and just a hint of mint. He was smiling, just a bit, against your lips, and you couldn’t help but revel and smile back at how perfectly you fit together. Your lips fit like puzzle pieces, your hands feeling perfectly natural on his chest, his hand warm on your cheek.

He pulled away much too soon, and despite the desperate need for air, you felt yourself tipping forward to just get a little more, just a few more seconds, just a few moments more of that happy bliss he’d given you.

“He’s a moron,” Harry said, and you blinked, almost in a haze, before realizing that fireworks were going off again, and you giggled, leaning against his chest. “It was supposed to be one burst,” he told you, and you grinned, looking up at him. “They’re beautiful.”

“I know,” he murmured, and he kissed you.

*****

Two years later, neither Kyle the Cardigan guy nor Gertrude the Spasso’s girl was invited to the wedding.

You didn’t think they’d mind.

The wedding was on the first day of summer, on the summer solstice.

It was a beautiful day, and a beautiful wedding.

Harry still didn’t like fireworks.

He got them anyway, and as they exploded, he kissed his bride.

*****

hope you liked it!!! if you did, a reblog and some feedback would be v much appreciated 💜 thanks for reading!!!!

masterlist | ask

#fireworks #harry styles #fanfic #hs fanfic #harry styles drabble #harry styles blurb #idk man #styles #reader insert #harry styles x reader #second person #irdk my dude #stg i don't hate tatbilb #to all the boys i've loved before #notting hill #whoopsidaisies #hugh grant #fics

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demonicputto · 4 years

Text

The Star

This is an excerpt from a much longer series, but it’s a Christmasy flashback and it stands on its own, so I thought I’d post it on tumblr for the holiday season. It’s based on Neil Gaiman’s musings on possible Christmas Special plots.

Aziraphale paced his rented room in Bethlehem, wringing his hands and sighing heavily. He was accomplishing nothing and in front of him sat a stark reminder of what he ought to be doing. Gabriel had visited all of three days ago, looking, somehow, more smugly handsome than usual.

Aziraphale had been set up in Rome at the time, trying his best to exert some positive influence and also enjoying the wine. He’d known, with some vague detail, that Very Important Things were happening in Judaea but he had not been roped into any of that. This was an honor well above his current rank. No less than Gabriel himself had been charged with annunciating the child’s birth to his mother. When Aziraphale tried to picture it, he only ended up pitying the poor woman.

But no one much cared what he thought, and so he was surprised when he found Gabriel at his front door with a list of tasks and orders to pack up for Bethlehem.

“We’ll be back when the child is born of course,” Gabriel had explained. “The whole host is getting ready, but until then there’s a few things you need to get done. There’s just the rooms for the family, some general blessings to ease their passage, some announcing to shepherds, oh, and we’re going to send up a special star as kind of a message. Got the supplies right here, so you can get on that.”

So here he was, job only partially complete, and too much left to do. The child would be born two days hence and he hadn’t even gotten the chance to stop by Jerusalem and pay his taxes yet. A knock on the door set his teeth on edge. This was the last thing he needed just now.

“I beg your pardon but I’m quite busy at the moment, if you could come back some other time, I would…” He trailed off in shock when he saw who was before him. “Crawly!”

When had he seen him last? It had been centuries certainly, but Crawly looked very much the same as he had the last time they’d met. Long red hair curling down to frame his face. He grinned, probably pleased to have caught Aziraphale off guard, and slithered his way into the room.

“Thought I sensed you, angel. What are you doing in this backwater anyway? It’s not very interesting.” He peered around the house with interest, but his slitted eyes soon found their way back to Aziraphale.

“What is this? Some kind of spy mission, I’m sure.” Aziraphale folded his arms firmly. “Come to find out about our plans concerning the holy child, I suppose.”

“There’s a holy child?”

His wily face went briefly guileless and Aziraphale cursed himself. “Did you really not know? Oh, now I’ve done it. I just can’t do anything right, these days.”

“Woah, hey, angel. This wasn’t a spy mission, honest. Just curiosity, plain and simple. I won’t go tattling, probably just create extra work for me anyway.”

Aziraphale exhaled. “Well, I suppose that’s one thing not gone belly up then.”

“What’s got you so down on yourself?”

“Management has given me more responsibility than I’ve had since… well, since the bit with the sword if you must know. I’m supposed to be making sure the birth goes smoothly, easing the journey here for his mother and making sure they’ve got a place to stay. I already made a mess of that first bit. I tried to get her and her husband a pair of magnificent steeds, but there was this whole kerfuffle and somehow it’s just one donkey now.”

Crawly sucked air in through his teeth. “I can see the problem there”

“And there’re so many people trying to get to Jerusalem to pay their taxes that the rooms in every inn keep filling up. I’ve been stopping by every inn each day and buying up the rooms that are available for the next week, but they won’t give them to me until the current inhabitants move on. Still, there should be more than enough space for the child and whatever followers arrive to rest in comfort. I’m so worried something else will go wrong.”

“What else is there?”

With a wavering hand, Aziraphale pointed to an unassuming box that sat in the middle of his unneeded bed. Crawly stepped forward, reaching out, before Aziraphale grabbed his wrist. “I’m not sure you ought to touch that. Gabriel gave them to me. It’s supplies for star making. There’s supposed to be a glorious one to announce the child’s arrival. But I’m a guardian; I was never part of any creative department. It’s going to be a disaster.”

Crawly kept staring at the box, looking for all the world like a snake in a charmer’s basket. Despite Aziraphale’s warning he touched it, movements oddly tender, and opened it to peer inside. The contents shone out, hitting the planes of his face and the ringlets of his hair in such a way that Aziraphale became suddenly aware of just how beautiful he was. Then Crawly snapped the box shut and was silent. Feeling, somehow, that it would be shameful to interrupt whatever he was thinking at the moment, Aziraphale stayed quiet as well.

Then he finally spoke, “You know, I could make it for you.”

Aziraphale spluttered, this had to be some sort of trap. “I’m in enough trouble already without you playing tricks.”

“I’m serious, angel. I… I used to do stars. It’s not exactly difficult. Could be… could be fun to give it a go again. See if I still got it. It’s not like I’m ever gonna get the chance some other way.”

Against his better judgement Aziraphale agreed. He told himself later that it was because the stress had gotten to him, but it had more to do with the look on Crawly’s face.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The child had been born. The earth received her king. Men their songs had employed. The fields and floods, rocks, hill and plains had repeated the sounding joy. Aziraphale had heralded it all to the shepherds. His heart had been full, so briefly with pride, but now he sat, curled up beneath the sky outside Bethlehem’s walls cursing himself.

A pair of black sandals came into view and then Crawly settled down beside him. “What’s got you so down? Things must’ve gone well. It’s so holy out tonight I can hardly breathe. ‘Slike when there’s too much humidity.”

“It went well in general, I suppose, but it didn’t go well for me. Oh, Gabriel is going to be furious! I’m certain to be demoted again.” Fiddling with the hem of his robe did not provide much relief from his anxieties.

“What’s happened then?”

“I muddled up the inns! I left before they arrived, you see. I wanted to be ready for heralding with the shepherds. I neglected to tell a single innkeeper what I’d rented all the rooms for! So of course there wasn’t any place left for them to stay. The Holy Child was born in a barn, Crawly! Because of me!” Aziraphale looked at him, pleading. “Could you just leave? I don’t need anyone gloating.”

“You see me gloating? I’m not gloating. You know what your problem is, angel? You haven’t learned how to handle management, that’s what. So the kid was born in a barn, don’t tell them it was an accident. Tell them it was a plan.”

Aziraphale glared at him. “And what good would that do? That’d be even worse!”

“No, you just got to spin it. Say that, er…” He paused, brow crinkled as he thought. His eyes darted back and forth, though he was only looking at the sand two feet in front of them. Then he grinned. “Got it. Tell them it’s symbolic. Tell them that since this kid is supposed to be born for the good of the world, or whatever, that he had to come from humble beginnings. That he’ll better represent the everyday people instead of just kings or shit like that.”

Aziraphale gazed at him in wonder. He really shouldn’t be thinking about how brilliant the demon was. “You know, that could actually work!”

“See. It doesn’t always matter what you do, just how you explain it to the boss.”

“Thank you,” Aziraphale said, feeling altogether too fond of the creature beside him. “And thank you for dropping off the star yesterday. It’s a shame they didn’t end up using it.”

“What do you mean they didn’t?”

He sounded offended, and Aziraphale tried to be gentle as he pointed to the light above them. “When Gabriel came to pick it up yesterday, he told me a few other angels had made stars of their own and that the Almighty would be choosing among them.”

“Did you look inside the box before you gave it over?”

“Well no, but-”

“Then why don’t you think that one’s mine?”

Aziraphale looked up. The star that hung above them, now thousands of times the size it had first been, was the most gorgeous he had ever seen. It was like a diamond with a million sides, each casting out lights of silver and gold woven together with light. Spots of refracted color could be seen, but only when you looked at it just right. He’d assumed it had been made by a master crafter, not a demon picking up a hobby again for the first time in four million years.

“Is it yours?”

“Yeah,” Crawly said huffily. “So don’t act surprised when your boss comes around praising you for it.”

“Oh, Crawly. I’d no idea you were so talented. It’s simply breath taking!”

The demon stood abruptly and kicked at the sand. “Yeah well. I should get going anyway. The air here is too thick with holiness. I’ll be seeing you around, angel. I always do.”

Aziraphale watched him go. They’d tricked Gabriel, that was obvious, but he could not imagine that they’d fooled the Lord. She’d handled the star. She’d placed it in the heavens. Had she not been able to sense the truth of its creator? And if she had, why had she chosen it anyway?

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Link to the original fic, if you’re interested: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24166843/chapters/59699671

#good omens #good omens fanfiction #good omens fanfic #ineffable husbands #good omens christmas #christmas

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ulfahalifah13 · 4 years

Text

How to Overcome Creative Block?

The creative block has become a problem for many people in various professions. It is a condition where a person becomes creatively slow and cannot make a new work. People who suffer from this condition feel that they cannot write or think of something from their minds, whether it is about original ideas. It has been often stated that creative block might have a prolonged effect that lasts for days or even years. This uncomfortable state of mind might cause an emotional instability that will negatively impact work productivity even further.

There have been recounts and documents about how creative block affected famous people and professionals throughout history, even though the term is known in later eras. Each profession usually has its way of addressing creative block, and one of the most common is “writer’s block” for writers or “blank canvas syndrome” among artists and designers.

Before we go into the solutions for this condition, it is also essential to know the creative block’s cause. It is because not all creative blocks are started from the same problem. We can adequately think and choose the possible solution to our specific creative block type in this manner.

Mental barrier

In this case, the person usually makes assumptions and the possibility of a goal limiting our options. Let us say we want to write down several paragraphs that explain our own fictional character’s personality. Suddenly, at different times. We focus on designing the world first merely because we think it is more fundamentally important than a mere character description. It will repeat until we are too confused about which one is the priority. We are overly critical with our minds.

Emotional barrier

One word that resonates well with this type of problem is probably fear. Whether it is writing, painting, singing, or dancing, we enter into a territory that we are not familiar with. It brings anxiety and fear within us, especially if we try to show what we do to others. Did you feel so nervous before you even began your first public speech? That might be one of these types of cases. We are too concerned with “what will happen,” and we form a self-resistance known as fear.

Personal adversities

How do we even start working correctly if we have things in our real life that take our attention much more than our goal? The death of a relative, dealing with abusive partners, or even health problems takes a toll on our minds, and we are in no position to work effectively with those circumstances around. The worst possibility is that these problems could come simultaneously and how unfortunate that would be.

Ineffective work attitude

When someone puts up a routine, it does not mean we will also be able to do it to the same extent. The creative process might not be suitable for us, yet we are still trying to do it, exhausting ourselves in a deceiving self-belief that it is all a matter of adjustments. Or perhaps, you have other daily routines that intersect with your profession. You sleep too late only to wake up so late that you barely have the time to begin your regular activities before doing your work. This habit will create a sense of suffocation and rush, limiting the brain’s ability to do creative thinking.

Overwhelming projects

There is a song entitled “Too Much is Never Enough” by Florence + The Machine, but we all know that too much is not right. We put ourselves in a situation where many demands and information surround us. In other words, we work too hard. It is increasingly difficult to focus on your particular work if you are all over the place and too tired to continue after finishing only one where the rest awaits.

After looking at several examples above, we can try to look at some solutions that we can do to counter these causes that lead to creative block. There could be many other exceptional cases beyond the scope I have given to you. Below are the possible ways you can do to overcome creative block:

Find new inspiration and perspective

We are fed up with assumptions while getting stuck in an endless cycle of limiting ourselves. Then, it is time for us to start fresh and renew our view. Go outside, read a new book, or watch a movie that can trigger an idea that pops out an “oh hey…” to you. If it is also possible, find someone with who you can have a discussion and ask for feedback without them merely keeping agreeing to your point of view all the time. It will also become a form of self-evaluation to identify your weakness and utilize your superior attribute.

Learn to deal with fears

We learn this one the hard way. There might be many things that can help you with it as well, such as motivation counsel from others or personal training, but in the end, we will end up facing the very fear itself. Stop being paralyzed with the “what if…” questions and do something to see its end. When that already happens, you can start talking to yourself through it and reward yourself with clarity of the work you have finally done. The emotional barrier in the creative block is one of the most common ones to be found in society, yet it has a simple solution to find. Of all things, you might also want to remember again why you start doing your creative work in the first place.

Learn about time management

If we get used to less important matters, then we must learn to make priorities. Identify which one that we must do first and which one can come later. We then arrange them as a recurring schedule. Of course, we are in charge of balancing the time for our responsibilities and our needs. Don’t overwork ourselves to spare a few times in a day to take a break. Even if you do have accidental events, it would be much easier to manage your schedule and fit them incorrectly if needed when you have neat time management.

Find the time to deal with personal problems

Among many issues in creative thinking, we only have few solutions for this particular one. You take a break from your work and focus on your adversities that you need to deal with. Do whatever you can in your power to solve things calmly, and if you cannot, find help from family, friends, or professionals. It seems possible to fix personal problems during creative thinking by coping with the pain until you finish your work. The former, of course, is much more favorable even though it might cost you your time. Either way, you do things for your good. Make a count of the choice you make when you commit to that option.

Know when to say no to requests

If this your leading problem, we need to selectively choose the demands and the ones we matter to the most. Our hands are full, but other requests keep coming at you? Say no. Do not be fooled with your facade of reliability. We are not a computer, and we limit the sheer amount of work that we can take. If we know how to refuse others’ demands politely, we will show them that we have a degree of self-worthiness and privilege. It also gives us enough space to recollect our thoughts about our creative work. Be honest with your clients about it, and you will do much better.

Learn to improve your social networking skills

This solution relates to creative workings where we work with a partner or in a team of multiple participants. No matter how we look at it, we need to learn communication skills for this situation. Introvert or extrovert is not a reason to shut ourselves from the world if we strive to succeed. There will also be a benefit where you can influence others with your perspective showing that you have an idea worth mentioning without fear of rejection. Even if they do reject it, be open to criticism and humble yourself. Take a look at where the disagreement takes place and solve it together.

Train yourself with new skills to refresh

Improving the skills that stand out to refresh your mind are a great way to bolster your resume, especially when taking the initiative to develop yourself. You can surf anything on the internet these days. Many other websites are given to teaching specific skill-sets like Coursera, Udemy, or edX. Learning how to be a PowerPoint designer in creating presentation templates can add your experience to your portfolios. You'll demonstrate versatility and creativity.

Conclusions

All points mentioned above are general notions that we often encounter in the actual process of creative working, whether it is writing or others. Once again, the creative block appears depending on one’s own issue with it, and the solution is also unique to each and sometimes related to one another. Something that we think worth mentioning is that creative block is common and quite normal among us. In the end, what matters is how we overcome it, and we hope this article provides you a bit of help to deal with your creative block.

See my PowerPoint project’s portfolios: https://rrslide.com/freebiestemplates

#self-improvement #creativeblock #digitalmarketing #contentwriter #designers #copywriter #graphicdesign

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sidespromptblog · 5 years

Text

Apologies

Summary: Roman has something that he wants to tell Logan, and ordinarily, it could wait until morning... until they were all well-rested. But he knew that should he turn away now... he'd never tell Logan, and he'd spend the rest of the night calling himself a coward.

Word Count: 2900

AO3 LINK

Its already well past midnight when Roman walks to Logan’s room, and its already well past midnight when he just stands there pondering on whether he should even knock or just walk right back to his own room and go to bed. Or… in the very least try to go to bed, and just lay awake staring at the ceiling with his own internal thoughts running him in circles until the morning sun were to rise. He very well could do that, Logan would never know that he was there, and he could go on acting as if nothing were wrong. He was an actor after all… such a skilled actor to keep on acting and acting like nothing was wrong.

It would be easy, so very easy to do so. At least had it not been for…

“Shut up nerdy wolverine!” The very same lines that his own brother had spoken to Logan, it really was just the latest slap in the face that he was no better than his brother. Sure he didn’t quip about sex jokes, and he didn’t throw ninja stars at people’s head, but… he had hurt them in other ways. Much more personal ways in the way that his brother too was very adept at doing as well, he had hurt… oh, he had hurt.

“Hush sub-astute teacher!”

“Stupid!”

“Book germ.”

“You’re alone!”

His fingers itched and itched the longer that he stood there, and the longer that he stood there the more he was coming to regret just being there in the first place. Who was to say that Logan would even be awake at this time? With such a stickler Logan was about getting to bed on time, surely he’d be asleep and he’d be even more upset at Roman for interrupting his much-needed rest. He could already imagine the lecture now, Logan with his crossed arms and his pursed lips forming a frown. Especially with what had happened after today, after being wounded multiple times by Remus and being put through the wringer he’d need that rest and-

A shadow moved under the doorway.

He was awake, after midnight no less.

He could still leave and…

“No,” Roman roughly shook himself, was he a prince or wasn’t he? “No running, you came here to do something, so do it gosh dang it!” He scolded himself, feeling almost ashamed to how close he had come to just dropping everything and running like a coward. There would be no running today from this, not now and most certainly not ever in his opinion.

Not about this.

But that didn’t necessarily make it any easier on him, that was for damn sure.

Swallowing thickly as he raised his clenched fist to the door, Roman took in a deep breath before his short terse knocks connected to the door undoubtedly alerting Logan that someone was there. And just like that, with that one little realization that soon enough… Logan would answer the door and he’d have t deal with the awkwardness of asking to come in, that set Roman’s nerves ablaze. So without so much as giving it a second thought, he seized the doorknob and stiffly jerked the door open as if his wrist had been attached to a marionette string and not his actual body.

And upon opening the door, slammed it right into Logan’s face.

Almost immediately a hundred apologies spilled from his lips as he scuttled into the room slamming the door behind him in order to check and make sure that he hadn’t irreparably hurt the logical side.

“I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to! I should have waited for you to open the door, like a normal person would have. I didn’t do this on purpose, are you alright? Can you still see? Can you think? Can you count? How many fingers?!” Despite this… despite everything that he had come here to do tonight… he had still managed to hurt Logan with something as simple as opening a fucking door. Even Remus could open a door without managing to kill someone, even Remus could apologize in his own ways when he managed to upset Deceit.

Even Remus… was better than him.

His fingers gingerly ran over the red mark on Logan’s face, as if his touch alone could take such a mark away as if it had never existed in the first place. “I’m sorry,” He whispered, guilt and grief coloring his tone, “I’m so very sorry… for everything Lo. I… I’ve been a bad friend.”

Logan impassively stared back at him, his hooded eyes layered with a look of thick exhaustion that Roman’s words clearly weren’t getting through. He really looked… dead tired, with the dark circles seemingly etched under his eyes and his tie discarded on his bed and the first few buttons of his shirt haphazardously undone. His clothes were wrinkled in the tell-tale sign of someone who had tried to fall asleep, but had ultimately failed to do so and was now just staying up until morning. Honestly… Roman had never seen Logan look so tired, true he usually only ever saw Logan after he’d had some coffee and was out of his pajamas, but this…

He’d never seen this before.

“I said,” He began softly, just in case that Logan truly didn’t hear him. “I-”

Before he could so much as finish his sentence, Logan almost ruthlessly interrupted him. “I heard you the first time,” He blandly replied, sleep depravation stealing all of his tact and poise. “And I am choosing to believe that this is a hallucination due to my lack of sleep. Because even on a good day, there is no way that you would come to my room and be humble enough to apologize to me for anything.” Logan straightened his shirt a little bit, “So clearly following all logical explanations, you are either a hallucination… in which I should probably get some sleep. Or you are Deceit, in which case… go fuck yourself right off into Remus’ dicks and die for even thinking to try this on me.”

Roman could only wince, as it turned out Logan with little to no sleep had less care and composure than Virgil did in those very same circumstances. Patton would turn as white as a ghost if he knew that Logan spouted off the profanity that he just had. However, all of that in its entirety paled in comparison to the fact that… despite everything, Logan thought that he knew for certain that this very occurrence happening right here and now was impossible.

He thought the sheer idea of Roman coming to apologize could only be the works of dreams or manipulations… not the creative side himself.

“Logan…” He softly uttered as he took a step forward, “I am sorry Logan,” Roman hated the break in his voice as he softly repeated the other’s name, but clutching their dear logical side’s hands even tighter he forced his words past it as he stared into those hooded exhausted eyes of his friend. “I said that I was going to be better after Virgil, and that I was going to try harder not to push anyone else away with my actions and words. But I’ve been doing that to you, and I’m so so sorry. It won’t be happening again Lo, I pro-”

“Don’t.”

Came the single soft word as Logan’s hands easily slipped out of Roman’s grasp, leaving the creative side startled more than anything as he gaped openly back at the logical side. There was an unreadable expression on Logan’s face, and while he might not have known what such a look meant just the fire scorching the insides of Logan’s eyes made Roman’s stomach twist and turn the longer that he dared to look back. He’d only ever seen that fire once in Logan’s eyes, and he could remember that day as clearly as any of the others. It hadn’t been his fault, or really Patton’s or Virgil’s… but that fire that looked as if it could burn down forests had been there for a reason.

“What?” He softly asked, only daring to take the smallest of steps forward only offering to reach out yet again. To offer the physical comfort to whatever had created that turmoil inside of Logan. “Why?”

A rough snort answered him before he even had a chance to recoil, “Roman,” Logan bared his teeth in a mockery of a smile, a hurt smile but a smile nonetheless. “I said it once… and I’ll say it again. You can’t make fun of Virgil anymore so you moved to me, so logically speaking if you don’t make fun of me who are going to go to next? I can take it. I can take all of it. But Patton can’t, Deceit and Remus won’t take it. And Virgil… Virgil won’t be able to handle it if you just go back to tormenting him like before, and that will make Patton angry at you. So…” Logan roughly rested his cheek against his clenched fist, this time not even bothering to look back at Roman as his eyes stared blankly ahead as if he was no more than a ghost and was seeing right through the creative side. “I can handle it… I did before and I can do it now. I can take it...”

Roman wanted to be sick.

His stomach twisted and turned inside of him, to the point that Logan’s desk-side wastebasket overflowing with crumpled up notes was looking like the only place he could properly throw up in. What had he done? How on earth had he allowed this to get this bad? His nicknames were meant as jokes, especially towards Logan… but that didn’t negate the fact that.. that Logan had this outlook towards something like this. He wanted to hit himself, to stand in front of his brother and take whatever the other half of creativity could throw at him. What had he done? This was…

Bad.

“You shouldn’t have to.” His words came out as no more than a whisper, and yet Logan’s head snapped up as Roman had just slapped him. Gingerly reaching forward, his hand shook and trembled until he cradled the curve of Logan’s cheek, his thumb slowly brushing over it as if wiping away imaginary tears. The words twisted and turned on his tongue, he needed to say this right… he needed to say this in a way that Logan would actually understand. “Logan… you shouldn’t have to deal with it, this isn’t a healthy mindset for you to have Lo… I don’t want to just keep hurting and hurting because I don’t have a filter. And you are hurting, you are… and there’s no shame in admitting that to anyone. I just…” Warmth burned at his eyes, and Roman internally cursed himself. “I want to help. I want to do better.”

Just then in the slightest way possible, Logan’s bottom lip trembled as glassy eyes stared back at him.

Without even thinking about it, Roman seized the other side, pulling him into his chest and wrapping his arms so tightly around him that Logan would undoubtedly be able to feel his heart slamming against his ribcage. He cradled the back of Logan’s head as the other’s fingers dug into the fabric of his shirt, and as… as the wetness seeped into his shoulder.

Logan.. Logan didn’t cry like anyone else he had come across, he had never really thought about it before but... He didn’t loudly weep like Patton did when watching a sad movie or being overcome by negative emotions, he didn’t shake and shiver as Virgil did in the throes of an anxiety attack, and he didn’t curl in on himself like Roman did when he tried to make himself as small as possible. He just stood absolutely still, the only evidence of his actions being the tears that were staining the creative side’s shirt and nothing more. His actions were so quiet… so precise, that it was impossible to be anything other than practiced.

Roman hated that, more than anything he had ever hated in his entire life. The mere image that it conjured, of Logan weeping to himself in the middle of the night trying to stay as quiet and emotionless as possible so that nobody could hear him. That he had practiced it, or even learned how to do it after being insulted one too many times…

It tore at his insides unlike anything else.

“I keep waiting for the shoe to drop,” At the sound of Logan’s hoarse voice Roman’s ears perked up a little bit, “Please just tell me, tell me when you’re going to be mean again. I don’t think that I can stand the waiting, so just… please.”

Roman’s heart felt like it was tearing itself to shreds over the use of that one tiny little plea that escaped Logan’s lips, it hurt in ways that even the most worst battle on the feild could never compare to. He wanted to hold the other side tighter, to hold him so tight that Logan would never even question the fact whether Roman hated him or loved him, he wanted to wipe away those desperate pleas until there was nothing left but understanding, he… wished that he had never acted the way he did in the first place. But he had, he had hurt Virgil with his black and white views, he had hurt Patton by always assuming that he had nothing to offer but sunshine and fluff, and… he had hurt Logan by verbally throwing barbs at him even when it was obvious that Logan had long since grown tired of their little games. He wished that he had never hurt them in the ways that he did, but… he did, and there was no going back in time to fix that.

He had hurt, and now he needed to mend.

“Logan,” He whispered the other’s given name as if it were a promise, “I can’t promise that there will never be another insult. I’m not the best at changing, but… call me out when I do. I want to change and I am going to change, I will try my hardest to ensure that shoe never ever drops, I can’t promise that it will never happen. I will slip up, and wh.. if I do… Tell me. Don’t ever think that you just have to deal with it to save the others from being hurt, because… Because, I love you, Lo. I don’t want you being hurt either, it doesn’t matter what it is that I’ve done. If it’s hurt you… tell me, and we can figure something out. I promise, I swear it to you.”

In response to his words, Logan only clung to him that much tighter, not saying a single word as he held onto the creative side like they were the last two people left alive in a desolate world. But Roman was alright with that, Logan didn’t need to say a single word to get his feelings across right now, because there was always the morning and there was always a later time they could discuss this.

He wasn’t in a hurry, and yet…

“Can…” Once again he perked up at the sound of Logan’s scratchy voice, “Can you stay here? Just.. just so I can be sure in the morning that this wasn’t some hallucination or dream? I really don’t want this to be a dream.” And his heart, as well as all of his insides, turned to mush at the simple and yet so very delicate request coming from the logical side. He would have conqured mountains for anyone of his friends, and yet Logan’s only request was… that he stay and not leave. In compared to anything he could ever do for Logan… this was almost too simple.

“Of course,” He merely whispered.

Leading the exhausted side over to the bed, he didn’t hesitate for a single second before crawling under the sheets with him. Curling his arms around Logan he felt the other side curl up tightly, resting his head against the creative side’s chest where his heart was once again firmly thumping against his ribs. In that moment he felt all too warm as Logan’s breath tickled his skin, but he didn’t say a word about it as he rested his cheek atop the logical side’s messy pile of hair listening to steady rise and fall of the other’s chest. He listened for as long as he could, resisting the heaviness of his own eyelids as well as his own exhaustion that tugged firmly at his mind. But eventually after being awake for as long he was, he was unable to keep up with the battle being waged. As his eyes slipped shut one last time finally allowing him to slip off into a well-deserved slumber.

“Sleep,” He tiredly mumbled into Logan’s hair, pressing a tired kiss against those messy curly locks of his. Only offering a ghost of a smile at the faint snore coming from the dear logical side. “I’ll be here, for as long as you need me. I promise.”

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