#brought to you by the guy who mostly consumes art made for teenagers....

[meat--grindr]

another trans man fixated on Martin here!! 💕

could i request some NSFW of an ftm S/O teasing Martin while hes on the phone trying to do another interview as The Count? not a lot of talking from the S/O while hes on the phone, mostly physical stuff & feeling him up thru his clothes. the rest is up to you >:)))

(def going to use as a drawing prompt im just so so embarrassed to request off anon 😔😔😔)

Alright, so, this prompt has been living in my head rent-free ever since I first read it and I am so freaking excited to finally get to it. I’m sorry it took so long. I will admit this was a bit of a challenge for me because I am notoriously bad at writing dialogue. But I feel like it was good practice. Sorry if it sounds a little stilted in spots, I’m still learning.

Please, please, please link me to that art if you ever get around to it! You knocked it out of the park with this prompt and I’d love to give the art some love if you’re comfortable with sharing!

The Count Didn’t Count on This – Martin Mathias (Trans-Masculine Reader) – NSFW.

·       It’s late, and for once, you’re exactly where you feel you should be at this late hour—not sprawled across a chair reading, or gazing out of the window, watching the cars pass and counting the neighbours’ lights as they flick on and off in lieu of stargazing. And for the first time in at least a week, you’re not trapped at your desk, frantically typing the final draft of a paper, hindered by the slow keys of a typewriter that does not care a whit about the deadline steadily hurtling toward you. No, thankfully, this night has brought with it far more comfortable circumstances—you find yourself in bed, tired bones sinking into the plush mattress, consciousness caught in the bleary space between sleep and not.

·       Even better, you aren’t alone.

·       Tonight, your bed is warmed by another body, long and thin, curled tightly against your own, as though it were some sort of crime to leave even an inch of space between you. A bony hip digs into your thigh and you’re sure the press of your head and shoulder against his chest must make breathing difficult for him. But he’s made no attempt to shrug you off or shift your weight to a more comfortable spot, so you likewise let it be. In all honesty, you’re simply too comfortable to bother and you feel it’s safe to assume the same is true for Martin too.

·       The slow, even beat of his heart pulses against your cheek, and his long fingers stroke absently over your bare shoulder. The rough texture of burgeoning callouses catches against your skin—the sensation, though not wholly unpleasant, makes you shudder. Sometimes, you forget Martin works with his hands. When you hold them, they seem so delicate—his long fingers better suited to playing the piano than tightening screws or hammering nails. But he’s good at repairs and more importantly, he seems to find enjoyment the work. It certainly keeps him busy enough on the few afternoons that Cuda isn’t running him ragged in the shop, much to your personal dismay. But his nights—the nights like this—belong to you and you alone.

·       Your eyelids flutter closed, and for the first time in what feels like weeks, maybe even longer, you feel like you can rest. Really rest. Dimly, you find yourself wondering if it had more to do with finished papers and diminished responsibilities, or the reintroduction of the physical intimacy you’ve been missing so dearly. Though you can’t say for certain, you have a sneaking suspicion it’s the latter.

·       The longer you know Martin, the more you’re convinced that there is a preternatural bubble of calm that hangs around him. You can feel it in the way even the grouchiest old women in the store seem to soften toward him—hiding small smiles behind their sleeves, sometimes even calling him ‘dear,’ or in the way Cuda’s volatile temper deflates when his cruel words slide off Martin’s back as though he’s heard it all before from people who frightened him far greater. You’ve seen it at work on the feral cats that roam the neighbourhood—while they hiss and swipe at the children who chase them through the dusty streets, they sit willingly at Martin’s feet, rubbing against his legs with a familiarity that borders on friendly. And it’s in the way he looks at you—looks into you with those dark eyes that seem far too old for that handsome, youthful face—intense and all-seeing, but never judgemental. He is a point of unflappable calm in a world which never seems to slow for even a second. That calm has settled into you now, seeping into your bones as you lay there, listening to his heart thumping in the darkness.

·       The low crackle of the radio hovers at the edge of your hearing, a burst of static cutting through the droning voices. You’d stopped listening properly ages ago—the third time the DJ had made an attempt to dismiss his latest caller. It was an old man who was seven shades of pissed about the ‘teen-age hooligans’ who were ‘tipping over his bins every night and eating his trash.’ Of course, everyone with half a brain, including the host himself, knows it’s an animal—probably a raccoon, or a family of raccoons, but this old geezer has somehow convinced himself it’s a gaggle of ‘Satan-worshipping teenagers who have been brainwashed by heavy metal music and Pepsi Cola.’

·       Okay. Sure.

·       It’s utterly ridiculous, and just the sort of thing you’ve come to expect from the people who live in Braddock. Or the ones who call in to a show like this anyhow.

·       In a way, you feel bad for the poor DJ. Sure, he welcomes strange callers of all kinds, from alien abductees and bigfoot hunters to bereaved parents who teenagers are ‘just growing up too fast,’ or ‘a little too interested in the works of William Shakespeare.’ He even encourages them at times, but you’ve got to draw the line somewhere, and in your mind, this, funny as it may be, is probably it. You’re sure whatever the station is paying the guy, it isn’t enough to suffer through being called a ‘brainless sack of human garbage’ by a crazy old man.

·       “And that’s about all the time we have,” Despite his cheery tone, the poor guy sounds exhausted. “Thank you for calling!”

·       Another burst of static drowns out the old man’s reply, but you’re sure that whatever he’d said, it was not ‘radio-friendly.’

·       “…our next caller. You are on the air, Sir!”

·       “Yeah, uh…hi, Barry.” The man sounds young—probably not much older than yourself—and very nervous. He must be a first-time caller. As he and the DJ share opening pleasantries—what’s your name, how old are you, where are you calling in from tonight, is that a cat I hear in the background? —your attention begins to drift again. You teeter for a moment on the edge of sleep, the clean scent of your linen sheets and Martin’s shampoo filling your nose.

·       “I was just wondering if you’ve heard from the Count again since last time?”

·       And just like that, you’re awake again, attention fully focused on your radio and the funny little show that whispers through it.

·       The caller is asking about Martin. A cold shiver rumbles through your body. People ask about Martin on the show all the time—of course, they don’t know that’s who they’re asking about, but you do. It’s so strange, to hear a stranger talk about someone you know so well—even worse when they speak about him like they know him too. Sometimes, they make you laugh with their outlandish theories, but sometimes they make you sick—sick with worry: when he’s threatened with violence or exposure, sick with fear: when they make guesses that hit a little too close to home, and sick with jealousy: when they claim to have had an ‘encounter’ with him, or worse, try to set one up on air.

·       You know about Martin, of course—that he is a vampire, or at least he thinks he’s a vampire. Whether or not you believe him is another question entirely. He certainly does not abide by the ‘vampire rules’ as you know them from stories and television—he doesn’t sleep in a coffin, filled with dirt from his homeland or otherwise, rather he sleeps in a bed (curled up beside you more often than not these days). He cuts a handsome figure in mirrors and the photographs that you have pinned up above your desk. He walks about in the sun most days without complaint despite his pale complexion, and though he may not be a sleek. Predatory creature that oozes confidence, grace, and sex appeal, he’s no slouch either—lithe and handsome in a boyish sort of way, all knees, elbows, and wide dark eyes.

·       In fact, the only requirement he seems to meet on the proverbial ‘vampire checklist’ is his fixation with blood—and the need to consume it. Maybe that means something, maybe it doesn’t. You’ve come to the conclusion that what you think really doesn’t matter in the end—your opinion isn’t going to sway him on the subject one way or another. This is a truth about himself he believes perhaps more deeply than anything else. Who were you to try and change that?

·       So, you do your best to take everything in stride, and when you can’t, you humour him. Still, every once in a while, something will trip you up—you still can’t quite decide if he’s joking about being over eighty years old or not. But you do your best. You had even let him feed on you once. Though only once. In the end, it was Martin who had decided the experience was not one he would like to repeat.

·       He had laid you out on your bed, “I don’t want you to get hurt if you faint.” Though you’d told him nearly a hundred times that you’d be just fine, that you’d had blood taken before at the hospital, he had insisted.

·       You had expected things to be different. For a start, you had expected him to climb into your lap, to press his lips against your neck, seeking your pulse the way it’s done in the movies. Instead, he’d taken out a little white kit from his bag. He had unzipped it and laid it out on the bed, revealing a little bottle of clear liquid, a row of sterile, hypodermic needles, and a pack of fresh razor blades.

·       His long fingers fell upon the needles, caressing them lovingly one by one. Much to your relief, he did not pick one up. As if he could sense your apprehension, he’d said, “Don’t worry, I won’t need these.” He’d glanced up at you, measuring your reaction, “I won’t need them because you’re not going to fight me. Are you?” It wasn’t really a question. You shook your head, and the corners of his lips quirked up into a smile, “Good. It’s so much easier when they don’t fight me.” Those words had made you shudder. He really had done this before, then. Part of you hadn’t believed him—he seemed so…harmless

·       He’d picked out a single blade from the package, meticulously removing the white paper wrapping, taking extra care not to tear it, or let the blade cut into it. When he was through, he folded the paper into a neat square and dropped it onto the comforter. He lay the blade flat on his palm for you to see. “I don’t have pointy teeth, you see.” He took your hand, opening his mouth and guiding your fingers along the edges of his flat, dull teeth. “They aren’t sharp, so they don’t cut deep enough. You understand?” You’d nodded and he had kissed your fingertips gently, one by one.

·       “I’ll be careful, I promise,” He’d said, “I’ll only take a little. Just enough to take the edge off.” Despite the hungry glint in his eyes, you’d known he was telling the truth. He didn’t need to reassure you of that. You trusted him. Besides, you had asked for this. At least, he’d stopped asking if he still had your permission every five minutes. Of course he did.

·       And yet. Your heartbeat had kicked up, jittering like a frightened bird when you’d seen the needles and the razor. It was as though actually seeing them had made the whole situation feel more real. There was no denying you were afraid, but you didn’t tell him to stop—you didn’t want to. You had made up your mind. You wanted this; wanted to help.

·       He’d held your hand in his own like it was a thing made of glass. His fingers gripped the razor with a practiced grace as he held it just above your palm. Watching him, you were struck for the second time by just how rehearsed this seemed. How many times had he done this, with or without permission?

·       “Take a deep breath for me, okay? There’s a good boy.” Did he talk to the others too? Even the ones who fought back? You could picture him, chattering softly against the skin of some poor soul, sprawled limp across the floor.

·       Limp or lifeless?

·       The thought unsettled you, but you did as you were told, filling your lungs nearly to capacity as the sharp edge of the blade bit into the meat of your palm just below your thumb. As promised, he had been quick, pressing only as hard as was necessary. Even so, the sting of it made your flinch, your hand jumping in his own. His fingers tensed around yours, the tightness of his grip reflected in the grimace that flashed across his face as he bent his head to seal his lips around the wound.

·       You had expected to feel him pulling the blood from you, but he simply let it flow into his mouth, the coppery taste heavy on his tongue. He exhaled through his nose, long and low—a pleased sound. Something about that set you more at ease. He hadn’t recoiled or wrinkled his nose at the taste of your blood. You hadn’t even realized you were worried about how you tasted until that moment.

·       You had started to feel dizzy beneath him—dizzy not from a loss of blood, but the wet heat of his mouth against your skin. Your heart had stuttered in your chest as his tongue probed gently around the edges of the wound, soothing your sparking nerves, even as the blood continued to drip down his throat.

·       When at last, he pulled away, his face was flushed, and his breath came hard; his chest heaving as though he’d just run a great distance. Immediately, his hand shot to his front pocket, fingers searching for the roll of gauze bandages he’s swiped from Cuda’s first-aid kit.

·       He’d wrapped the clean white fabric around your hand with such care it made your heart ache almost as much as the wound itself. When he was finished, he’d flipped your hand over and pressed a gentle kiss against your knuckles. Then, he spoke. His voice was small, barely more than a ragged whisper, “Thank you.”

·       “Was that…was it okay?” Your skin felt feverish, as though the heat of his mouth had seeped into your flesh and was burning you from the inside out. And the dizzy feeling had only grown worse, forcing you to squeeze your eyes shut for a long moment.

·       Martin was still struggling to get his breathing under control, “Yes. I-It was good…better than good, actually. But…”

·       “But?” Had you done something wrong? Had you tasted bad after all? You cracked open one eye, then the other. The spinning had mostly subsided, but you still felt unsteady. “What can I do better next time?”

·       He’d gone stiff all over then, and his reply had come sudden and sharp, “No!” He cringed, the force behind his words clearly surprising himself as well. When he spoke again, his voice was softer, “No ‘next time.’ I…I can’t stand hurting you like that. I won’t do it again.”

·       You’d gazed up at him, blinking in confusion for a second. Then you realized what he’d meant—you had flinched when he’d cut you. Oh.

·       You reached up, cupping his cheek, “Oh, Martin. You didn’t hurt me. Not really.” It wasn’t strictly true—it had hurt a little, but you had been prepared for it to. You brushed a stray droplet of blood from the corner of his mouth with a careful swipe of your thumb.

·       “Yes, I did. I saw it.” You had tried to protest further, but he’d cut you off, much to your surprise. Martin almost never talked back like this, though perhaps you’d simply never given him a reason before. “I saw you flinch. I won’t put you through this again.”

·       And he hadn’t. Though you’d brought the idea up more than once, he had dismissed it each time with the same stubborn shake of his head. If Martin was anything, he was true to his word.

·       “…and it’s been such a long time since we heard from the guy.”

·       The DJ hums in agreement, “It has indeed, my friend. Maybe we’ll hear from him later tonight. If you’re out there listening, Count, don’t be a stranger! Give us a call,” He begins rattling off the stations toll-free number. “We’re all dying to hear from you again!”

·       You feel Martin stiffen up against you. You knew about the interviews he had done; you’d even heard one of them, back when Martin was little more to you than a silent, sullen face behind the counter at Cuda’s shop. And even when he’d started talking to you, he sounded different over the radio—his voice was deeper, and he sounded so confidant, so sure of himself when he talked about his ‘sickness.’ He almost never sounded like that in day-to-day life. You weren’t embarrassed to admit you found it attractive.

·       Martin on the other hand, was mortified to know you had heard him. He had known that people were listened to him, obviously, but they were supposed to be strangers. You actually knew him, and he’d talked about sex. Of course, reminding him you’d done a lot more in your time together than simply listen to him talk about sex did little to lessen his horror.

·       Of course, you also knew he’d been doing fewer and fewer interviews now that he had you to talk to and share his life with. But on occasion, when the pleading from the DJ gets too desperate, or he was simply that bored, Martin could be coaxed back onto the other end of the phoneline once again.

·       You glance up at him, but in the darkness, his expression is unreadable, eyes cast down toward the end of the bed, long lashes throwing feathered shadows across his pale cheeks. From the very beginning, he’s been hard to read. As you’ve come to know him better, you’ve needed to get comfortable with the idea of asking when you want to know something you could easily intuit if speaking to anyone else. He’s very good at hiding his thoughts and feelings behind a neutral expression and placid silence, but he would tell you almost anything if you asked him directly; so long as he had the words to explain it to you.

·       Do you want to make a call, Martin?”

·       For a long moment, he’s silent, turning the idea over in his mind a few times. You had never actually been with him when he’d done an interview in the past. He’d usually wait until you were three days deep in an assignment with no quick end in sight, or out of town with family. Maybe he would be too embarrassed to do it with you here or maybe he’s just not in the mood tonight. But, after a minute, he tilts his head down toward you and says, “Why not?”

·       The radio crackles out a jaunty tune—a commercial for some small business or another. “I’ll call in a few minutes. He doesn’t seem busy tonight.” Martin sits up, bracing his back against the headboard of your bed, and dislodging you from your perch. You grumble a little, irritated by the loss of your comfy spot, but you crawl into his lap anyway.

·       You press soft kisses into his skin, beginning at his hairline, and trailing down over his forehead, the bridge of his nose, his cheeks—the right then the left—the very tip of his nose, and finally his lips. He smiles against your mouth, leaning into the kiss with his whole body.

·       When you pull away only a moment later, you can practically hear the pouty turn of his mouth. He whines softly, but you pay him no mind, trailing kisses down his chin. “Are you nervous, Martin?” The question comes out muffled by the soft curve of his jaw.

·       “Not really, no…” He trails off, eyes cast to the ceiling, “I like the attention, I s’pose.”

·       You pull back to look at him, barely stifling a snort of amusement, “Don’t I give you enough?”

·       His eyes slide from the ceiling, falling upon you dark and wide. For a moment, you think he’s taken you seriously, but the pouty turn of his mouth breaks into a blinding grin, “You give me lots, sure, but I’m a creature of the night, remember? We always want more.”

·       The two of you sit there for a moment, gazing into each other’s eyes, the silence stretching on into the night. Then, you collapse into each other in a fit of giggles. Martin buries his head into the crook of your neck, shaking with quiet laughter. Sure, when he’d said wasn’t untrue, but when he put it like that, it was hard not to laugh.

·       “Welcome back, everybody. It’s almost the top of the hour at 01:57! I’m your host Barry…”

·       You hadn’t even heard the ads end! Martin scrambles for the chunky landline phone that rests on the beside table, nimble fingers punching in the numbers at speed. Though his calls had become less and less frequent, he evidently kept the number somewhere in his memory.

·       Martin’s voice is hushed as he speaks to whoever manned the phones down at the radio station, muttering something about ‘the Count.’ As he speaks, he winds the coiled phone cord around a delicate finger. It’s a simple, distracted habit of Martin’s but it makes your heart flutter whenever you catch him doing it.

·       You stretch your arm as far as you can, reaching for the radio, unwilling to give up your perch in Martin’s lap for even a second. Your fingertips brush the cool metal—once, twice—then you manage to curl your fingers around it. Pulling it into your lap you turn the volume down low so only you can hear it.

·       “I’m just getting word that we have a special guest on the line,” the DJ sounds positively elated, “Folks, it looks like the Count is back in town. Hello, Count! Where have ya’ been?”

·       Martin hesitates for a moment, his jaw working as he searches for the words, “Around.”

·       There is a definite lag between the words in his mouth, and those same words coming through the radio. The dissonance confounds your ears and makes your head ache in a dizzy sort of way, but you want to hear both halves of this conversation, not just Martin’s.

·       “So, what trouble have you been getting into since we last spoke, Count? Murdered any pretty ladies recently?”

·       There’s a smile in Martin’s voice, “Not ladies, no.”

·       “Oh really? Any men then?”

Martin glances down at you, though he makes a non-committal noise. The DJ takes a breath, as though he’s going to say something, but Martin cuts him off, “I wouldn’t call what I do murder, anyhow.”

·       “No? But you still need to drink blood, right?”

·       “Oh, yes.”

·       “How have you been getting your food, then? Don’t vampires uh…kill with every strike?”

·       Martin laughs, a soft, breathy sound that sends a shudder through you. “I’ve been managing.” His tone is damn near conversational. You gaze down at him, marvelling at how easy this seems to be for him. The Martin you’ve come to know and love rarely (if ever) speaks to strangers, and when he has no other choice, he’s never this talkative. It’s strange, but by no means an unwelcome change. You nuzzle against him, letting his voice thrum through your skull as it vibrates around in his chest.

·       “Enough talk of blood and guts, Count. What about your other problems, huh? Tell me, are the streets of Braddock safe at last from the real terror stalking them? Have you…” He pauses conspiratorially, “Found yourself a girl yet?”

·       Those words drive an icy spike of hurt deep into your guts. No, he had not found himself a girl. Martin must have felt your jaw clenching, as his free hand begins to card through your hair—soothing and soft.

·       “I’ve found…someone.” The implications of that word settles you almost as much as his touch. ‘Someone.’ Not a woman, but someone of significance, nonetheless. He bends down to press a quick kiss into the crown of your head. “Someone special.”

·       The DJ gasps, sounding scandalized. “Someone special! Well, I never. Good for you, Count.” You can’t say you’re a fan of the man’s tone—pleasant enough, but with a sharp edge that borders on condescending. But there’s little you can do but grit your teeth and bear it. “How long until you suck this one dry and move on?”

·       Wow. Fuck this guy. On some level, you’d known he was an asshole—sure you felt bad for him when people were rude, but he could dish it out just as well as he could take it. Every once in a while, he’d push a caller too hard or make a snide comment the conversation could have done without. You didn’t like hearing it when strangers were involved, and now that you were the subject of such a comment, you like it even less. He makes it sound like you’re some random conquest, or worse, little more than a meal to Martin. How wrong he was.

·       Suck this one dry and move on? Fat chance, Buddy. Though, his wording did give you an idea…maybe you could make this night just a little more interesting for the both of you.

You sit back, uncurling your legs and dropping your knees to either side of Martin’s hips, straddling his lap properly. Settling your weight back into his lap, you pull a face, pointing to the radio in your lap and mouthing, ‘What a jaggoff!’

·       Martin’s lips press into a thin line as he tries to stifle his laughter. He nods sympathetically but doesn’t say anything about it to the DJ. He’s slow to anger, preferring to divert the conversation rather than cause a scene. You can’t help but admire him for that. You lean forward, stamping a kiss against his collarbone.

·       “I…uh…try not to eat the things I love.”

·       “Ooooh, so it’s love, huh?”

·       You roll your eyes at the DJ, though you can’t deny hearing Martin say he loves you sends a little thrill through you—it was the same thrill you’d felt the first time he had said it to you, and the same thrill you hoped to feel for years to come. You trail little, open-mouthed kisses up the column of Martin’s throat, your mouth feverishly warm against his skin. A shudder jolts through him like an electric shock as your teeth scape across his Adam’s apple. You grin against his flesh, sliding up to nip along the underside of his jaw. There is a sensitive spot at the very corner that you love to exploit, and now seems like the perfect opportunity to do so.

·       Your teeth graze over the spot and his body jitters beneath you. His voice catches in his throat, though if the DJ notices, he doesn’t comment. You nip gently at the spot, reddening the pale skin as you worry it with your teeth. You long to suck a bruise there—the purple-blue hue would doubtless look stunning against the pallor of his skin, but you knew Cuda would have a conniption if he saw it, and you didn’t want to put Martin through that again. Not after last time. The pair of you had agreed that perhaps in future, it would be better if any hickeys you left remained under your clothes.

·       Pressing one final kiss against that spot, you pull back to look at him. You can tell he’s getting flustered—there’s a flush beginning to creep up his neck from beneath the collar of his t-shirt, deep pink and blotchy. You know, given time, it will reach his cheeks, the colour blooming high on his cheekbones. When you get him worked up enough, you could make Martin blush to the very tips of his ears. It was adorable.

·       Your fingers dig into the fabric of his shirt as you drag your nails down his chest. His teeth catch his lower lip. You can almost hear the whine trapped behind those pearly teeth.

·       “Why don’t you tell us a little about this special someone, Count?”

·       Martin hesitates, “I don’t know about that.”

·       “Nonsense! You can tell your good ol’ pal Barry. Who am I gonna tell?”

·       Martin isn’t that stupid. He knows Barry doesn’t need to tell anyone anything—he’s live on air, he’d be telling them himself. His eyes flick down to yours, searching for something, be it permission or resistance. He pulls the phone away from his ear, resting it against his shoulder as he waits for you to make up your mind. You know he’d hang up in an instant if you asked him to—he’d likely do you one better and never call in again if the DJ was just going to ask questions about you all night long. But you trusted Martin not to give too much information away—he’d managed to stay hidden all this time, after all.

·       You nodded at him, smiling and thumbing gently over a nipple. Though your touch is light, and the sensation is dampened by the fabric of his shirt, Martin makes a sound as though he’s been punched in the stomach. He shifts beneath you, tucking the phone underneath his chin as he moves.

·       You grip the striped fabric of his shirt, working it in your hands. You lift it a little, fingers slipping just beneath it to splay against the flat plane of his stomach. His skin is warm and soft beneath your hands. You look down at him, arching a brow and asking for permission with only your eyes.

·       “Fine.” He says, and though the word is an answer for the DJ’s pleading, he’s talking to you, looking directly into your eyes—granting the permission you were so hoping for.

·       “Great! So, how long have you been together?”

·       You fall into him, hands pushing the soft cotton of his shirt up over his chest. Your lips are on his skin in a matter of seconds, trailing kisses across every inch of exposed skin—stomach, ribs, hips, and everything in between.

·       “It’s been ahh—” His words are cut short by a tight little moan as you bite down hard just below his left nipple. However, he manages a solid recovery as your tongue laves over the spot soothing the sting, playing the whole thing off as though he had needed time to stop and think about it, “—bout a year, maybe a little longer.”

·       Clever boy.

·       You drag your tongue a little higher, flicking over the sensitive skin of his nipple. He arches into your touch, hips canting up against yours, threatening to buck you from your perch. He tilts his head, trapping the phone between his cheek and his shoulder, reaching for you with both hands.

·       He takes your cheeks into his hands, pulling your head away from his chest. You grin up at him, taking in his expression—his pupils blown so wide with want they swallow all but the slimmest ring of brown iris, his lips parted and shining in the semi-darkness, flushed to the tips of his ears.

·       You surge up to kiss him, remembering only at the last moment, he needs to keep his mouth free to carry on the conversation. With a huff, you divert your course, and fix your lips back against the skin of Martin’s neck.

·       He swallows hard as you press your lips back against his pulse, pushing his hips back up into yours. You can’t keep the grin form your face as you feel him pressing up against you—the outline in his pants far more noticeable now.

·       His hands tremble slightly as they search for yours, dragging them down to the front of his jeans. You grin widens as you press down. Even through the thick denim, you can feel his cock throb under your palm. Someone’s excited.

·       You look down at him and he turns his head away, flushing a shade darker. He was so easy to wind up like this, it was almost unbelievable. A few kisses here, and gentle touch there, and he was a blushing, whining mess spread out on your sheets for you to enjoy however your pleased. You had chalked the over-sensitivity up to a lack of experience, and had expected it to fade after a few months, but it hadn’t. He was just that reactive, not that you were complaining.

·       With deft fingers, you pop the button of his jeans, quietly dragging the zipper down. He lifts his hips, wriggling helpfully as you drag his pants and underwear down over his thighs.

·       His cock bobs free, flushed and leaking already. You ghost the pads of your fingers over the soft skin of his shaft, and he shudders, his whole body tensing. His knuckles are white where he grips the phone, and his jaw is tight with the struggle of keeping quiet.

·       You wrap your hand around him, stroking gently from base to tip. His back arches off from the headboard, and he falls forward, burying his head in the crook of your neck. The phone receiver bumps against your collarbone, hard and hollow. The plastic is pleasantly cool against your feverish skin.

·       “Is it different being with a…uh…forgive the expression, normal person?”

·       “They’re a…” His laugh is breathy, almost a moan as he glances down at you, “a real handful.”

·       You barely stifle a laugh. You glare down at him in mock disapproval, and he sticks his tongue out at you. Cheeky little bastard. Though the colour still sits high on his cheeks, and his breathing comes through parted lips in short puffs, he seems to have adjusted well to your pace.

·       “Nothing you can’t handle though, I’m sure. Do they know about your…condition, shall we say?”

·       “They are aware, yes.”

·       The DJ laughs, “And how did that go? Can’t be an easy thing to hear—that your boyfriend might vamp out and eat you whole!”

·       Martin sighs, “I already told you, I don’t eat people…” His voice is much steadier now, even as your fingers brush along the sensitive spots on the underside of his cock. That means its time to switch things up. You can’t have him getting too comfortable. Where would the fun be in that? You tighten your grip—something that usually makes Martin thrash against the sheets and sob into your pillows—and begin to swipe your thumb gently over the tip of his cock with every upward stroke. He almost drops the phone as he yanks it away from his mouth. He covers the receiver with a shaking hand just in time, as a soft whine slips through his teeth, “Oh, fuck…”

·       You press a finger up against your lips, reminding him to be quiet. He presses up into your fist, his hips stuttering as your thumb traces a lazy circle around his head. His free hand flutters nervously about his mouth, as he tries desperately to keep quiet. His breath comes sharp and quick though his nose as he struggles to keep control. You shift your weight, pinning his hips back down with your thighs, and though he tries to buck back up against you, you hold him firmly in place. He whines high in his throat, shooting a pleading look up at you, but you just shake your head and point at the phone, ‘Keep going.’

·       Slowly, Martin brings the receiver back up to his ear. His tongue flickers out over his lips and he lets out a shaky breath, “S-Sorry, I didn’t catch that?”

·       “I said, ‘let’s circle back to what you said before,’ about not eating what you love. Why not? If you don’t need to kill to feed, why not feed on this special someone? Surely if they love you back, they’d be willing.”

·       You slow your hand, wanting to give Martin a fighting chance at answering. You were momentarily intrigued by the DJ’s line of questioning. You knew why Martin didn’t want to feed on you, but you were curious as to what sort of excuse he would give.

·       “W-Well…it’s come up mo-ore than once but…” Martin goes silent as you squeeze down on him, his posture going rigid, his head thrown back against the headboard.

·       The DJ lets the silence hang for a moment, but when Martin doesn’t finish his thought, he cuts in, “But…? You still there, Count?”

·       You let up, and Martin takes a big gulp of air, as though he had only just remembered he needed to breathe. “Y-Yeah, I’m here. It’s…it’s complicated.”

·       “Oh yeah? How?”

·       “Well, it’s not about whether they’ll let me or not…” He takes a shaky breath, his eyes fluttering closed for a moment as he steadies himself. When he speaks again, his voice is low, barely more than a whisper, “It’s that I want more.”

·       He tries in vain to buck up into your fist, his hips rolling in shallow, abortive little thrusts. His teeth are sunk into his lower lip, his eyes boring deep into your own.

·       ‘I want more.’ Those words were meant for you.

·       You blink down at him, momentarily dumb founded. Then a grin spreads across your face, sharp and hungry. If he wants more, you’ll give it to him—you’d give it to him until he was begging you to stop.

·       Sliding down his body, you know this is risky. Martin has never been good at keeping quiet, especially not when you’ve got your mouth on him. But the idea is simply too enticing to pass up on. When were you ever going to get the change to suck his cock live on air again? Besides, this might be good practice for him in the art of keeping his voice down—not that you didn’t love to hear him, it just might be nice to keep your…activities a secret from the whole neighbourhood for once.

·       You wriggle down onto your stomach, bringing your face level with Martin’s cock. Settling yourself into a comfortable position between his knees, you bend your head, pressing a gentle kiss against the tip of his cock.

·       He makes an involuntary choking sound in the back of his throat. You look up at him, resting your chin on the tops of his thighs. You want to give him the time he needs to make up his mind. If he tells you ‘no,’ or pushes you away, you’d gladly go back to stroking his cock and kissing his neck. You would get just as much pleasure from the shivers and whimpers you could wring out of him that way.

·       But he doesn’t tell you no, rather he pushes his hips up against you, pressing the tip hard against your lips. You flick your tongue out, ghosting for only a moment over his sensitive flesh, but it’s enough to make his eyes roll back, his long lashes fluttering against his cheeks. You do it again, and his mouth falls open. Though no sound escapes the look on his face is just as glorious.

·       This is going to be fun.

·       You crane your neck, opening your mouth and gently taking the head inside.  Martin’s free hand shoots to his mouth, and he bites down hard on the meat of his palm to stop himself from sobbing out loud. You press your tongue flat against him, dragging it slowly against his hot flesh. He thrashes beneath you, jostling the phone against his cheek.

·       Carefully, you sink further down on him, taking him in inch by inch. He lets out a long sigh around a mouthful of palm.

·       “What was that, Count?”

·       “Oohh…nothing,” Martin grinds out, “Just…closing a window.”

·       The lie was flimsy, but the DJ, despite his skeptical tone, didn’t seem interested in pressed him on it further, “…Right…so how is your control around this person, huh? Do you ever get the urge to just go to town on them?”

·       Martin’s laugh comes out as a low purr, and he bucks into your mouth once, “Mmm, sometimes.” Ever so slowly, as you’ve sunk down onto his cock, he’s been curling in on himself. His head now rests atop your own, and you can feel the heat of his cheek radiating against your scalp. If that heat is anything to go by, he must be positively scarlet.

·       “And what does that entail for you exactly?”

·       With a little jolt, his cock brushes up against the back of your throat. You swallow down a little choking noise, breathing steadily through your nose in an attempt to calm your gag reflex.

·       The warmth of Martin’s cheeks is suddenly gone as he straightens up again. His head hits the headboard with a thump. “I-I just wanna…” He swallows thickly, his breath coming hard, “Push into…p-push my teeth into their throat and just,” He bucks up into your throat, either unable, or simply unwilling to stay still any longer, “just take what I want.”

·       “Their…blood?”

·       You swallow around Martin and his back arches so far he practically lifts off the bed “Yes! Yes, everything they have to give!”

·       “Right…for a moment there it sounded a bit more, uh, sexually motivated than that.”

·       Again, your throat contracts around him, and a hiss of air escapes through his teeth, “No difference really…”

·       The DJ is silent for a moment, “Now that’s an interesting tidbit about you, Count. I’m sure all the ladies out there would love to hear more about that.”

·       Marin fucks up into your throat again with a soft groan, “I’m…I’m sure they would but,” His breath is coming harder now, “unfortunately, I’m taken.”

·       The DJ laughs, “Hear that, Count? That’s the sound of hundreds of hearts all over Braddock breaking. Sorry, folks but it looks like you’re out of luck.”

·       Oh. He’s taken alright. You can just imagine the anguished looks on their faces when you learn he gets taken almost every other night by another man.

·       Though you’d love to keep him in this position, you’re struck by the sudden, possessive urge to have him on his back. You tap his thigh thrice in quick succession and Martin withdraws almost immediately. He’s always so respectful of your wishes, even if he whines a little when his cock slips from the wet heat of your mouth. The sudden chill of the air on his wet cock sends a shiver through him.

·       You scoot back, grabbing Martin by the calves, and pulling him down into a more horizontal position. He fumbles with the phone, as it slips from his grasp, landing on the bed near his shoulder.

·       “What’s going on, Count?”

·       “S-Sorry, I just…I just dropped the phone is all. I’m…I’m feeling awful shaky these days.”

·       “Oh, yeah? How long has it been?”

·       Martin’s tone is distracted, “Ages.” He is far more focused on you, his dark eyes trained on yours as you loom over him.

·       The DJ asks another question, but you’re not listening as you slip Martin’s slick cock into your mouth, wasting no time in taking him back into your throat where he belongs.

·       Though you can’t make out his words so well over the rushing in your ears, Martin’s voice sounds strained, slightly higher than usual. He’s fighting the pleasure hard.

·       His free hand fists itself in your hair, pushing you down tighter against his cock. You swallow hard, trying desperately not to gag as he rolls is hips into your mouth. He’s come such a long way since the first time you asked him to fuck your mouth. He’d been so nervous that you did most of the work, bobbing your head faster and faster until he’d spilled deep into your mouth. He had apologized for almost an hour after, thinking the rasp in your voice was all his fault. Now? He’s practically asphyxiating you, and you hadn’t needed to say a word.

·       Martin is shaking—his thighs tremble on either side of your head, and the phone in his hands nearly slips from his grasp again with the force of the tremors passing through him.

·       You hollow your cheeks and he’s forced to cover the receiver again as a series of whimpers tear free from his lips. You press your tongue flat against the underside of his cock, and he sobs, his hips canting up off the bed.

·       “I-I’m close,” His frantic whisper comes tight through his teeth, an edge bordering on panic creeping into his voice. You grip his thigh and redouble your efforts, gaining a high whine in return.

·       “Hey, Count? Count there’s a lot of interference on your end…I can’t really hear you. I think this is where this conversation has to end, but call back another night, huh?” Martin doesn’t even respond, he simply slams the receiver back into the cradle, ending the call.

·       Almost as soon as the call has disconnected, he’s a whimpering mess. “Oh, fuck! Your mouth…I-I can’t! Is it okay? Is it okay if I…?”

·       He can’t bring himself to say it, but you know what he means and hum a soft affirmation around his cock. He cries out as the sound vibrates around his over-sensitive flesh.

·       With a whimper, he fucks up into your mouth, once, twice, then he shudders, his whole body going rigid as he cums. His knees clamp around your ears, squeezing your head as he shakes with the pleasure. His fingers pull at your hair, any tighter and you’re sure he’ll pull some out. But you press on, hollowing your cheeks, letting him ride the high for as long as he can.

·       The sound he makes as you swallow around him is nothing short of wrecked. His fingers claw the sheets as though he’s trying to drag himself away from you, from your mouth, but his body remains locked in place beneath you.

·       His cock twitches against your tongue as you slowly pull back, the wet drag of your tongue digging raw little whimpers from his throat, and a shudder passed through him when you pull of and his cock is again exposed to the chilly air of the room. His hips press forward, seeking the tight heat of your throat again. It would seem almost desperate if the motion wasn’t so sluggish, almost sleepy.  

·       He reaches for you then in the dark. His hands, hot and sweaty from exertion and gripping both the phone and the sheets for so long, grasp either side of your face as he pulls you up for a kiss.

·       The salty taste of his cum still coats your tongue, but he doesn’t seem to care as he presses his lips against yours with a desperation you rarely see in him.

·       Pulling back, you whisper against his lips, “Was that enough attention?”

·       He smiles, “For me? Yes.” He presses another soft kiss against your lips. “But now it’s your turn.”

[lovelivingmydreams]

A story by heroes and villains

Janus Anker: identity

To be a teenager is to learn more about yourself. But does it have to be all at once?

Please leave a comment on this one? I usually don't ask but I would really like feedback on this one.

Masterpost

Summer before freshmen year, Janus was a wreck.

He always kind of hated the way he looked. But lately there were days where he didn’t even like to look at the normal half of his body. When nothing in his closet felt comfortable. The first day of summer, he went over to the neighbor’s house to hang out with Virgil. He was having a bad day and needed his friend. “Janus. Good to see you my boy,” Virgil’s dad greeted as he opened the door. Janus forced a smile. “Hi uncle Lo. Is Virgil up yet?” he asked. “He’s in his room. You know the way,” uncle Logan told him kindly. Janus nodded and rushed up the stairs. He opened the door to Virgil’s bedroom and froze. Virgil was standing in front of his mirror a pen in his hand and his hoodie and t-shirt on the bed. He looked up and smiled at him. Why was his hair purple? And since when did he do his eyeshadow so immaculate? Did he paint his nails purple too? Was that lipstick? And why was there an intricate pattern running up his arm, over his shoulder and fading out at his chest? “What do you think? Looks pretty sick right?” he asked as he showed off his work. Janus wasn’t sure which part of Virgil’s drastically changed appearance he meant. But it looked very… very… God he could not be having a gay panic right now. Not with Virgil. He’d never had a crush before! He never cared for any of the girls in class. Not in the way Virgil sometimes expressed interest in them. Like Anna from their class. Virgil had had a small crush on her at the start of last year. Out of curiosity Janus had asked what it was like. To see if maybe he was crushing on someone without realizing it. Sadly Virgil’s explanation hadn’t brought an epiphany. Which made this even more confusing. If he was simply gay and crushing on Virgil this whole time, then he should have realized it then right? He’d known him all his life! He didn’t feel like this last week though. He forced himself to drop that train of thought. He wasn’t here for any of this. “Yeah. Looks good. Though I doubt uncle Lo will let you actually get a tattoo. Ever,” he said, trying to play it cool. Virgil chuckled and nodded as he tossed the pen on his desk and put on his shirt and hoodie. The latter was new. Black with purple patches. It looked hand made. In a good way. Janus couldn’t focus on it though. He was still reeling from the unexpected rush of feelings that had just been dumped on him.

Maybe it was just because Virgil had looked so different? Some sort of shock? That must be it. Right? Anyway it was mostly over now and he was back to feeling wrong in his own skin. “I know, but I wanted to try it out anyway. I’ll wash it off later. After I take a picture.” Virgil then studied Janus’ face. “One of those days?” he guessed. Janus nodded. He’d never been able to express to Virgil how it felt exactly. But his friend managed to make him feel better anyway. He’d help him relax by messing around with his hair or helping him pick something nice to wear. Or some general self-care stuff. “I’ve got just the thing. Sit down I’ll be right back.” Janus proceeded to throw himself face first on Virgil’s bed, doing his best not to think back to the fake tattoo he had drawn. Or not the part where it made him feel things anyway. Virgil was good at art. Good enough to make others envious, or make people try and get something from him. Janus felt his stomach twist in knots at the mere thought of it. Virgil was too kind to deny anyone if they’d ask. It would be very hard to keep him safe in high school though, when they weren’t guaranteed to be together for every class. Janus had been thinking a lot about ways he could protect them from bullies and fake friends. The best he could come up with was seem scarier and stick together. The coward was going to scare off the bullies. Janus was very aware of how ridiculous that sounded. He was going to try though. And then there was still the matter of Roman Castile. That pompous brat never stopped trying to get Virgil to trust him and steal him away. Janus still couldn’t figure out why he went through so much effort. Was it because he didn’t get told ‘no’ often? Was Virgil a challenge? Roman couldn’t possibly really know or appreciate the kind of person Virgil was. So what was the plan? “Get up. I can’t work my magic if you hide away like that,” Virgil instructed as he entered the room once again dropping something on the bed. Janus sighed and sat up. “Give me your hand. We’re doing make overs,” Virgil instructed as he got on the bed with him. Janus was about to protest, but Virgil had that look. There was no arguing. “Fine,” he sighed. Virgil took his hand and started doing his nails with a golden polish. “I bought this one for detailing,” he explained. Janus looked at Virgil’s hand and saw there were little stars in the purple polish. He couldn’t help a smile. It looked pretty. Virgil had started using make up the last few months. Just some dark smudges under his eyes and black polish on his nails to look extra edgy. Maybe the new look held the same intention? A high school upgrade? With a little detail to hint at a softer nature for those who looked close. “You’re in the mood for makeovers today,” he observed. Virgil chuckled. “I suppose,” he nodded as he blew over Janus’ nails, finishing of his right hand. “Next,” he instructed. Janus gave him his left hand, holding his right up so nothing could mess up the still wet paint. “What’s with all the shades of purple anyway?” he asked. “Just felt right,” Virgil muttered casually as he finished off Janus’ other hand. “There,” he stated satisfied as he let go. Janus shook both hands for a bit trying to get them dry. “We’ll find the look that feels right for you too. Just you wait,” Virgil assured him as he dug through the bag Janus had heard him put down earlier. “What are you planning?” he asked. “Relax, I’m not going to make you go home with a face full of make-up. We’re just trying something different okay?” Virgil assured him. Janus let out a sigh and nodded. He trusted him. “I wouldn’t go for a dark lipstick for you. It looks cool but it’s… Not something even I would want for an everyday look. And the goal is making you feel good not shock you,” he joked. Janus’ eyes fell to Virgil’s lips as he mentioned lipstick. The dark color made every movement stand out even more. They looked very kissable. And that brought Janus mind to a screeching halt. The image of kissing his best friend made him feel all sorts of ways. But not quite the way Virgil once described. He felt nervous and excited, and flustered. But not… Not love. He didn’t think of sweet nothings and dates and holding hands. Or he did, because part of him wanted to run those down to figure out if this was a crush. But none of that fit how he felt about Virgil. The thought of it was just weird to him. Virgil was movie nights and stupid jokes and teasing. But also kissing. Apparently. Suddenly he was yanked out of his thoughts by Virgil carefully taking hold of his face. For a second he thought Virgil’s mind had gone to the same place his had. But when his eyes shot up to V’s they were just amused. “Relax. And stop biting your lip. I haven’t even done anything and you’re already trying to ruin my masterpiece.” “Sorry,” Janus muttered. Relieved that Virgil had no clue what just happened. What was wrong with him? “It’s fine,” Virgil assured him as he started applying whatever color he’d decided on to Janus’ lips. It did not help with his crisis. And it was just a stellar crisis to have when the object of your attraction was literally holding your face and had his lips a breath away from yours. “There. Now, I’m going to need you to trust me for a sec here,” Virgil warned ominously. Clearly having fun. Janus couldn’t help a chuckle. Now that Virgil wasn’t so close anymore the attraction subsided to a not all consuming level and he could kind of enjoy the fact that Virgil was trying to make him feel like a movie star or whatever he was going for here. “Do I have a choice in the matter?” he asked dryly. Virgil chuckled. Janus thought back to how Virgil had said that Anna’s laugh made his heart skip, back when he liked her. But while the sound made Janus feel comfortable and happy, his heart did nothing special. He was just happy and relaxed because the sound was familiar and safe. “You have a point,” Virgil agreed. “Close your eyes for me.” Janus did as he was told. Virgil’s hand was on his face once more and he could feel his breath drift over him. The fact that he couldn’t see a thing as a brush drifted over his eyelids only intensified the new feelings. “Did you know the principle of our high school is childhood friends with uncle Thomas?” ‘Uncle’ Thomas was an old school friend of Uncle Logan. Janus had met him a few times over the years. He was a nice guy. If a bit high energy. “Really?” he asked a little surprised. “Yeah. Joan Stokes. They use they/them pronouns. According to uncle Thomas.” Janus couldn’t help the confused frown. “What do you mean?” he asked. “They’re non binary. They don’t identify as a man or a woman. Like they were born in a male body, but their gender is not male or female.” “People can do that?” Janus asked. “Just decide they aren’t what they are?” “That’s not it. Uncle Thomas says that Mx. Stokes… Mx. Is the neutral version of Mr. or Mrs. by the way… Anyway he said that they are their authentic selves. They were always non binary. They just didn’t know it until they were in their teens or something. I looked it up. There are people who are born in a male body but discover they are female later in life. Like. It’s proven that their brains even work more like that of a female. And the other way around can happen too. So why wouldn’t there be people who are in between?” Janus tried to wrap his head around it. Being a man but not being a man… or a woman. “So is… are they…? Did I say that right?” It felt kind of weird. He’d never heard of this until now. “That was exactly right.” Janus could swear he heard some pride in Virgil’s voice. “Okay, so are they both or neither?” he asked. Virgil’s hand stilled. “You know… I didn’t ask. Hm… I suppose… Maybe it depends on your perspective?” he mused as he continued working. “Look up for a bit please,” Virgil muttered. Janus opened his eyes and felt Virgil start applying some eye liner. “I don’t have mascara, so I’m almost done,” he told him. Janus felt relieved. He was enjoying this, truly. And he was curious to find out how he looked. But he also needed some distance between himself and Virgil. And maybe some time to try to look up what all of these feelings were about. Because he wanted to know what this thing was that threatened his friendship with Virgil. Was this a crush? If it was, then why didn’t he feel any of the stuff he was supposed to feel. Except for a very dumb and dangerous wish to kiss his best friend. “And done! Turn around I’m going to fix your hair a bit.” Janus sighed and turned to face the window. He’d let his hair grow the past few years. It came past his shoulders now and he liked the way it looked. He usually wore it up to the side. But Virgil liked to play around with it sometimes. And Janus secretly liked it when he did. “Okay so I’m not going too wild here. I’m keeping it simple,” Virgil assured him as he started brushing Janus’ hair. Janus hummed in acknowledgement, already lost in the feeling of the brush. This was relaxing. And over much too soon. “Done!” Virgil announced as he hopped off the bed. Suddenly Janus was dragged in front of the mirror. “Well, you look hot, if I do say so myself.” Janus was so shocked that he barely registered the complement. He looked… The person in the mirror was… That was him… If he forgot about his clothes for a minute and just looked at his face. The feeling of wrongness was gone. In it’s place was a strange sort of euphoria. “Is this a good speechless or a bad speechless?” Virgil wondered. Janus was pulled away from marveling at how Virgil had managed to go for a natural look in spite of his birthmarks making it harder to pick a color that looked good on both sides. He wanted to hug him. Thank him for making him look beautiful. He'd never appreciated the shape of his eyes until Virgil made them stand out. His lips looked elegant and full. And now it was down, Jan's hair framed his face so nicely. Virgil was amazing. But when he looked at him, the euphoria subsided. Slowly replaced by dread. He looked like a girl. He realized. If he switched out his clothes a little, he could easily be mistaken for a girl… and he liked looking like this. This was too much. Did Virgil know that this would happen? Was that the point of bringing up pronouns? Was this a test? He couldn’t let him know. He wasn’t ready. He didn’t even know what there was to know. He needed time. “You are getting way to good at this. I almost didn't realize it was me,” he said while he was trying to find an excuse to get the make-up of and go home. Virgil smiled. “I'll take that as a complement. It looks good on you. Thanks for letting me try it out,” he offered as he went back to his bag. “I’ve got some sponges to clean up. Dad wouldn't care, but I get it if you don't feel like explaining that we're just messing around.” Janus relaxed a little at that. Virgil didn’t know. Good. He accepted the sponge and with a heavy heart went to the bathroom to clean up. He left his hair down though, finding a little comfort in that. He also left his nails as they were. When he got back Virgil was sitting cross legged on the bed sketching. He looked up and smiled. Janus smiled back and let himself drop in his usual spot. He probably should go. But if he hurried home now, it would be even more suspicious. And as long as they didn’t get too close again, he could ignore at least half of his crisis. “Hey, I’m probably not going to use the lipstick or most of the eyeshadow anymore. You think your mom can use it?” Virgil wondered absentmindedly after a few minutes of comfortable silence. Janus shrugged. “I'll ask her. You sure? Isn't make-up very expensive?” “It’s all either sale or stuff Uncle Thomas gave to me. One of his friends is a make-up artist who gets stuff like that all the time for free. and I wanted to experiment,” Virgil explained casually. “But like I said I’m not a lipstick kind of emo and other than black, purple and maybe blue I don't think I’ll use any of the eyeshadow.” Janus nodded. “Sure.” He didn’t mention that he might make his own selection first. To test out if it was just novelty that made him feel good, or if he was really… a she. Virgil put the sketchbook aside and got out of bed digging through the bag. He put a bunch of stuff on his desk before coming back and handing the bag over. “I’ll need the bag back though. Have her select what she likes and do with the rest whatever you want.” Janus nodded as he accepted the bag. They listened to music for a while, Virgil sketching absentmindedly. “Is being with a man who’s actually a woman gay?” Janus wondered out loud all of a sudden. Virgil looked up. “Does it matter?” he asked. “I mean… A little?” Janus didn’t know how to explain where the question came from. He knew. But he couldn’t say without giving himself away… herself? No. He was not ready to try out the pronoun. Not even in his mind. “Well… I don’t know… Do you mean someone who’s born male but identifies as female?” Janus nodded. “And we’re talking about us as guys right?” Janus nodded again. “Then. If they identify as female, it’s not gay I suppose. They’re a woman. At least that’s what I got from what I looked up. I didn’t do a whole indebt study.” Janus hummed absentmindedly. “I don’t know if I could make out with someone who’s like that,” he admitted. He didn’t mean to sound insensitive. He might be ‘someone like that’ himself. It just felt all so complicated and confusing right now. He didn’t know what to think. He wouldn’t know for sure until he was put in that position. He thought back to the past few years and his failed attempts at trying to feel interested in girls the way Virgil was. He thought he was just picky. That he needed to be really into someone to even consider putting his mouth on theirs. And the argument could be made that this was true for Virgil too. But he only liked him as a friend. Not as someone he wanted to start a family with. Though he could imagine them jokingly making a pact to settle with each other if they were still single when they turned 30 or something like that. Could people just want to kiss someone without being in love? They did that right? One night stands and all that stuff happened all the time. If they could not be a guy or a girl, or be the opposite of what they were born as. Or seemed to be born as at first glance. His head was spinning. He had too much to think about. “Well, I don’t think I’d care. If I like them, and they’re cute. Then I’d be down I think…” Once again Janus hummed vaguely. It was a bit of a relief. One less thing to worry about for him. They sat in silence after that, listening to music. Virgil sketching, Janus trying to compile a plan. When Virgil was called in for lunch Janus left for his house. He had made a decision. He had lunch with his dad, his mom was at work and his dad had to go present a project. Which meant that by some miracle, Janus would have the house to himself. A rare occurrence. Normally he’d invite Virgil over. But this time, he needed some time for himself. He took the make-up bag up and then dug through his mother’s closet. He took out a skirt and a shirt that sat loose so he wouldn’t ruin them. He wasn’t going to take risks with her shoes. He’d have to make due. Once in his room he searched the bag for the right colors. They’d been shades of yellow and brown, he recalled. He saw that Virgil had kept the eyeliner, which made sense. Virgil wore it almost daily. It was fine. This was just an experiment anyway. He wasn’t as good as Virgil. He figured out that he had used slightly different shades, or blended or something on either eye to make up for the different skin tones. He didn’t get it exactly right but close enough. He’d borrowed his mother’s mascara and prayed he was putting it on right. He put on a shade of lipstick that looked close enough to the one Virgil used, wishing he’d paid more attention to what he said rather than panic about how much he wanted to kiss him in that moment. In any case he was done with his make-up. It wasn’t until he was about to put on his mother’s shirt that he realized he probably should have started with the clothes and ended with the hair and make-up. Live and learn. Very carefully, he put on the shirt and then the skirt. He closed his eyes as he stepped in front of the full length mirror glued to his closet door. He took a deep breath. “Okay. Let’s just… try,” he whispered to himself. He opened his eyes… She looked great. Virgil had done a better job, but still. The outfit was… It helped. Janus felt a giddy laugh escape. She played with her hair and held out her hand as if she was greeting someone. “Hi,” she said, making her voice higher. “I’m… Janice. Nice to meet you.” Janice. Familiar but more fitting. Her heart was racing, her stomach in knots. Now this was closer to what Virgil described as falling in love. She was just so happy to meet herself. The pronoun felt much less scary in the privacy of her own room. She was going to have to do more research. Why was she only starting to feel this way now? What was that thing with Virgil earlier? Why did she only feel bad about her body on some days and others she was completely fine with being Janus. Was that normal? But for this moment she let herself be happy. Everything else could wait just a bit longer. The rest of summer, Janus did every chore they could. Their parents and uncle Lo had implemented a system that allowed Virgil and Janus to raise their allowance if they did chores. It was meant to teach them that a good work ethic got rewarded or something along those lines, Janus was sure. But all they cared about was that they’d be able to buy themself some make up and an outfit to wear when they needed it. They were still a mess. The good news was, they now knew why. They were gay. That much was clear. Or well they were exclusively into men. But after talking in some online chat groups, they’d figured out that they weren’t a trans woman, as they’d initially thought. They were, in fact, gender fluid. Some days, he was just Janus. Other days she was more comfortable as Janice. They were okay with they/them on any given day. That is, they’d figured that out in their head. But they weren’t out to anyone yet. They were terrified of telling any adult in their life. Even if they were fairly sure that Uncle Lo, at the very least, was fine with the whole gender thing. But still. They wanted to tell Virgil so badly. But… There was one more thing they’d figured out  that they weren’t ready to share. They were aromantic. Or at least on that spectrum. So… They did and didn’t have a crush on Virgil. There was definitely, attraction they felt for the boy now sitting next to them in the car, singing loudly with them to the songs of one of their favorite bands as they were headed off for a weekend in New York for a P!ATD concert. They were having fun. It was a Janus day, so they felt okay when Uncle Lo and Virgil used male pronouns and stuff like that. Virgil grinned at him. “You better be prepared, I’m going to make you fit in with the crowd tomorrow,” he promised. Janus rolled their eyes and laughed. Setting in the next song with him. About an hour later they got to their hotel. “We have two adjacent rooms. I trust you boys can be responsible enough to be left to your own devices after dinner?” Uncle Lo asked sternly. Virgil and Janus exchanged a glance. “You can trust that we won’t do anything that could make you decide to go back home tomorrow. Making us miss the concert.” Janus assured his honorary uncle, who chuckled. “Well, I suppose that is very sound reasoning. I’ll let you two unpack. We’ll have dinner in the hotel restaurant in an hour,” he reminded them. “Okay, dad,” Virgil grinned as he opened the door to their room and they brought in their luggage. Virgil dropped his as soon as he closed the door. He took a running start and flopped on the bed. Or beds. It was a two bed room, but the beds were pushed together. “This bed is awesome! You have to try this Jan!” Virgil’s tendency to shorten Janus’ name was actually a blessing on their feminine days. Janus smirked and dropped his bags too and dove onto the bed next to Virgil. Oh, they were soft and comfortable. “It’s going to be a pain pushing them apart,” they muttered. “Eh, worries for later,” Virgil said dismissively as he folded his arms behind his head and looked up at the ceiling. “I’m glad we get to do this. It feels like forever since we’ve just hung out you know?” Janus felt a little bad. They’d been very tense lately, which had put a damper on every time they’d visited Virgil or invited him over. They hoped things would get better soon. Once they got over their attraction, they could tell him everything. And then they could get back to normal. They just… Most of the time they were fine. But there were moments when Janus had a gay panic around Virgil and his instinctive reaction was to push away. Which obviously confused Virgil. And rightfully so. Rationally they knew that if they explained themselves, Virgil would understand he didn’t do anything wrong here and everything would be fine again. But they were afraid he’d be weirded out by it. He might be okay with their pronouns bouncing around the way they did. He might be okay with him being attracted to guys. And maybe even with him being aromatic… But him being attracted to him might be too much. “Yeah… Sorry. I’m just…” Janus tried to figure out how to explain some of what he’s going through. Virgil was his best friend. He should tell him. “Hey, I get it. High School has me pretty stressed out too. But even if we don’t have all classes together, there’s lunch, and we’ll see each other outside of school hours to. I mean, we live next to each other. There’s no getting rid of me.” He turned his head and smirked at Janus at the last part. Janus smiled a little. Feeling a little better knowing that Virgil had no intentions of leaving him behind. He never had turned away from him just because some other kids told him he could hang out with them. People had even stopped trying to separate them. With one annoying exception. But he wasn’t going to give that guy the satisfaction of taking up space in their summer. They stared at the ceiling for a while, just talking no sign of any awkwardness. They made it through a fun dinner and when they got back to the room they played a game of truth or dare. It was harmless stuff. Just acting silly and nothing too challenging. Until… “Janus, truth or dare?” Virgil chuckled as he sat down after dancing to ‘barbie girl’. “Dare,” Janus replied carelessly. “Okay… I dare you to…” Virgil bit his lip and played with his sleeve as he thought about a good challenge. Janus knew that these were nervous habits of his but they couldn’t dwell on it very much as suddenly Virgil smirked and leaned in. “I dare you to kiss me.” It was a joke. Very clearly he only meant to take Janus by surprise and tease them about their reaction. But Janus was tempted. He could do it. Kiss him like he’d wanted to and Virgil couldn’t be mad because he’d literally told him to do it. It was the only rule they had for this game. Don’t dare anyone to do something if you are not prepared for them to actually follow through. Because they could be competitive enough to do very dumb stuff just to prove a point. So… If he kissed him now, he could maybe finally get the thought out of their head. And try to gage Virgil’s reaction to see if he was ready for them to come out. They’d hesitated too long though. Virgil was falling back and chuckling. “Relax I was just joking. Besides I never specified where you had to kiss me or anything. No need to stress out about it. Though…” Virgil looked up at him with a thoughtful expression. “You’re pretty cute. I wouldn’t hate kissing you I suppose,” he smirked, making heat flood Janus’ body. He wouldn’t? “You know, if I had to,” he added as he stuck out his tongue. Janus felt his embarrassment turn into annoyance. Virgil had gotten into the habit of complementing him like that. Wrapped up in casual teasing. He couldn’t know that it got Janus’ hopes up and Janus knew that getting upset at him would only hurt them both. But he often found himself powerless to stop it. He tossed Virgil a pillow. “You’re impossible,” he huffed. Hoping Virgil wouldn’t spot the frustration in his tone. Which of course he did. “J?” he asked gently as he got up. Laying a comforting hand on his shoulder. Janus just curled in on himself, too embarrassed to face him. “Hey, I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable. I didn’t mean anything with it okay?” Virgil assured him. “It’s just… I know you are kind of hung up on your skin sometimes… And you know I am terrible at expressing myself… All I wanted to do was like… Let you know I think you look cool and stuff. I know that it probably means nothing coming from me…” God, they were a terrible person. Virgil was trying his best to help them, to lighten the mood that plagued them even though they never let him in on what they were thinking. “You’re wrong,” they muttered into their knees. “It means a lot. It really does… I’m just being an ass hat,” they admitted. Virgil chuckled, their reply enough to let him relax it seemed. “Yeah, but I love ya anyway,” he assured them. There was a pause. “It’s getting late we should split the beds and get some sleep. Big day tomorrow,” Virgil noted. Janus uncurled themselves and nodded. They got up and each pulled one of the beds to the side. They dug through their suitcases for their PJs and Janus worried about whether it would be weird to go to the bathroom to get changed. In the past they just got dressed in front of one another when they stayed over. But that was all before… Before Janus could even finish their thoughts Virgil was heading to the bathroom. They relaxed, not even stopping to wonder why Virgil was suddenly shy about getting dressed in the same room as them. They just got dressed and in bed. They looked up when Virgil got back in the room. “Night J,” he bid as he turned off the lights. “Night V,” Janus replied. It took them a while to get to sleep. Try as they might they couldn’t keep themselves from imagining what it could’ve been like if they hadn’t hesitated. Those thoughts quickly turned to despair though. Virgil had never once expressed attraction to one of their male classmates. Not to mention that despite his whole broody aesthetic, their friend definitely wanted a romantic relationship. Their dreams were plagued with the fear of being found out and rejected. When they woke up Virgil was grinning down at them. Dressed and ready for the day. “Get up sleepy head. Time to get dressed. Breakfast is in one hour,” he informed them as he tossed them color shampoo. Right. They were going to be turned into a real emo kid for the concert today. Janus groaned and got up. Since when was Virgil a morning person? He was usually the last to fully wake up. He must be really looking forward to today. When they got into the bathroom they finally woke up enough to realize that not sleeping well wasn’t the only thing that had them feeling like crap. It was a Janice day. They let out a sigh and were grateful that they packed something they were comfortable in no matter how they felt for the concert. After their shower, they wrapped their hair up in a towel and pulled on the skinny jeans and the baggy band shirt Virgil gave them when he told them they were going to the concert. Apparently it being a few sizes to large added to the look. To Janice, it kind of felt as close as they dared to get to wearing a dress in public. “J? You done yet? Come on! I want to make you pretty!” Virgil’s teasing voice came through the door. Janice wished they could let their friend know how much they appreciated his make overs. “Yeah, I’m ready,” they replied, trying to sound slightly reluctant. Virgil got in with a grin, dragging a chair from the room along with him. He sat Janice down and dashed out of the room to get his make-up bag. When he returned his grin had not faded even a little. He immediately got to work. “You want to wear your hair down or up today?” he asked as he took out a hairdryer and started drying their hair for them. “Down,” Janice replied. Always down on Janice days. Virgil nodded. “Okay. I’m going to pull it out of the way for a bit though,” he informed them as he turned off the hairdryer and tied their hair together on the top of their head. “Close your eyes. It’s going to be a surprise,” he told them. Janice took a deep breath and relaxed as they closed their eyes. They felt Virgil apply something to their face with a sponge. Then a soft brush applied something powdery. Then he made quick work of their eyes and lips. “Okay. It should be warmed up now,” they heard Virgil murmur as he let down their hair again. Before they could ask they felt Virgil start to brush their hair. Pulling up locks and holding something warm against their scalp, moving upwards slowly. Wait was he… Straightening their hair? “Okay…” Virgil mused as he readjusted their shirt. “You can look.” Janice could hear the pride in Virgil’s voice. Clearly he was satisfied with the result. They opened their eyes and felt their mouth drop in awe. “Tragically beautiful I’d say,” Virgil smirked. Their birthmarks… They were gone. Or hidden at least. “What do you think?” Virgil pressed, sounding a little nervous. “It looks great,” they agreed. The waves were out of their hair and the black color actually looked pretty good. Their eyes and lips were accented with dark make-up. They looked good. A little sad but… Also cute? Virgil had rearranged their shirt. Janice had tried to center it, but Virgil had made it so that one of their shoulders was bare. They had never felt this good about how they looked on a Janice day while there were others around. “Awesome. Give me a minute to fix myself and then we’ll head to breakfast,” Virgil told them, clearly relieved that they liked their look. Uncle Lo was okay with Janice’s make over as soon as Virgil assured him that the color wouldn’t stick. And even that was probably only because he didn’t want Janice’s parents to get upset about it. They spent the day sightseeing. Janice got addressed as ‘miss’ at a few stores and while he and Virgil chuckled about it, in secret Janice was very happy with those instances. The concert itself was amazing. For a little bit they could pretend that they didn’t have massive secrets and that things would be okay.

everything to lose

@moonlightshow00​ @naturallyunstablegamer​ @alias290​ @meowthefluffy​ @frida0043​ @angelic-cali​ @selenechris​ @theblackveilinreverse​ @cirishere​ @hestianerd1​

[codyfernmorelikedaddyfern]

Medicine - Jim x fem!reader // Part One

I’m doing this guys.

Multi part fanfiction on Jim losely inspired by multiple songs on my playlist. The whole thing is following Medicine by The 1975 but each chapters will have a different theme within it besides this one because it’s mainly exposition.

Description: In a desperate attempt to “make things work” in a marriage already shattered a decade ago, (Y/N)’s parents move in Palos Verde where she meets Medina, a newfound hermit like her.

Warnings: mention of dysfunctional/toxic relationships, alcohol and drug abuse.

Word counts: 1.6k+

She hated being the new kid in town. She hated the attention it brought to her as she wandered the confusing halls of her new school. She hated the eyes glued to her as she sat alone at her table at lunch. She hated having to introduce herself over and over again to her classmates. She hated the spotlight and the stares.

Her gentle footsteps carried her to the lockers, looking down at the 93 scribbled on her palm, scanning the metal doors and looking for the number she had been assigned to in the ocean of students pacing up and down the hall.

 “Hey, you’re (Y/N), the new girl, right, a gentle voice spoke behind your as you snapped out of your search.

- Oh, yeah, hi! She turned to the girl, probably around her age, standing next to her. We have classes together, don’t we?

- I think so, yes, I’m Medina.”

 With a friendly handshake and her best smile, the blonde girl helped (Y/N) locate her locker and settle. The next couple of classes where spent in hushed whispers and sassy comments about diverse people walking past them or throwing glances in their direction.

 The outcast had found another hermit with who she could moan about others with and it made their afternoon slightly more tolerable.

As the bell rang the end of the day, the two young women took their own paths home, Medina jumping on her bicycle and riding down the road aside a tall brunette. She had never mentioned a boyfriend but she didn’t know the blonde to take any sense of betrayal in her blood.

 Kicking up a stone or two on her way to the house she had barely got the chance to settle in, she was lost in her thoughts, trying to remember the information that had been unfurled in front of her throughout the day. The voice of her father welcomed her in the house. All she could see was the blinking colours spewing out of the TV and the back of the elderly man’s head on the couch as she climbed up the flight of stairs carrying her to her bedroom.

The door gently swayed closed as she sat at the brand new corner desk begging to be used. Unpacking her bag’s content on the desk, (Y/N) quickly worked on her tasks for the night after putting her favourite playlist on for motivation.

 Her gentle features bobbed to the beat of the music while she could hear the ocean’s harsh waves crashing on the rocks a hundred feet away from her window.

Her mother must have opened it during the day during her daily compulsive cleaning sessions. What a strange woman she was, the young one thought. After her father had caught his spouse in bed with another man, she had spun their world around and condemned herself to a life of a full time housewife, losing her mind in cleaning products and a pair of rubber cloves, the chemicals becoming some twisted medicine to her unfaithfulness.

 What a strange man her father was, accepting the multitude of apologies her mother webbed over the years. She had given up her work to tie herself to his will. As a child, her parents were the only idea of love she could base herself on which is mostly the reason of her own relationships failing. Her shifted idea of what a man and woman should act as when together was shattered when the time for her to have her first boyfriend came.

 And before she could remember the night said boyfriend broke her poor little heart, the creaking of her door pulled her out of her daydreaming, her mother standing in the frame. Her voice, raspy from decades of smoking, invited her to join them for dinner.

That’s one thing she hated too. The questioning. Yes, her day had been fine. Yes, she was making friend. Yes, her homework were finished. No, she hadn’t developed a crush on the neighbour yet. Her eyes rolled so far she fear it might disappear at the back of her skull.

 “We have been invited to a little gathering after dinner, would you care to join, the voice of her father pushed the clouded thoughts of her day out of the way.

- Sure, where is it?

- Down a few blocks, there will be a bonfire and you could bring your doodling stuff, the mother carried on.

- Yeah okay, I guess I could walk home if the adult talk become too boring, the teenager concluded as she pushed her last broccoli in her mouth, chewing on it for longer that she should.

- Great, we’ll be heading there when you are ready, sweetie”.

 The urge to roll her eyes once more was intense but she held back. The family dynamic had been broken all those years ago when the cat had gone out of the bag about her poor mother. Or poor father? (Y/N) didn’t know which one to pity the most. Their empty drive to “make it work” had smothered their daughter.

She found a way out in art. She would try her hands at any mediums. Sculpting was her favourite and she lavished herself in bringing bodies and forms to life from her nimble fingers, calloused and blistered by the hot clay. But what she was the best at was with a pencil.

 Many a sketchbook had been filled with grotesque cartoons and semi realistic portraits and stills. The comfort that sketching a frame of her vision on the blank pages somewhat made up for the lack of a mother or father figure, the two of them too busy trying to work on each other.

After shoving the dirty cutlery and plates in the dish washer, she jumped up the stairs and gathered her supplies before kicking her shoes on and following her parents to the car. There was no need for conversation as the vehicle sped down the empty streets and there was also no need for a car ride altogether.

 The smell of burning wood hit (Y/N)’s nose, offering a pleasant change from the brine and seaweed. Stepping out of the car, an unknown voice welcomed you to join the group of mingling adults at the back. A series of new introduction took place as her father shook hands with multiple strangers.

“You must be (Y/N), ‘the new girl’ Medina talked about. I’m Phil” his large hand reached forward for hers, which she shook while noticing that glint in his eyes.

The same sad glint she had seen in her father’s eyes. With the same palm, he quickly pointed to the large bonfire 200 ft forward on the beach. “She’s over there if you look for her” he mentioned causing her to whisper a quick thank you and darting towards the large dancing flames surrounded by a handful of teenagers.

 Once the sand pooled too much in her shoes and she cursed herself for wearing them, she quickly pulled them out, gingerly walking towards the only figure she recognised. Medina’s 6th sense must have been tingling because she turned around to the hesitant silhouette approaching, inviting her to sit by her side.

 “I didn’t think my dad meant it when he said you were invited tonight” the blonde suddenly blushed as the spot next to her got filled with her new acquaintance. Enquiring about the content of her Y/N, sparked a lengthy conversation about art and drawings, learning that the other outcast’s outlet was to surf with her sibling.

As if mentioning her twin was a magical incantation, his hazy body walked into view. The boy she had mistakenly assumed was the boyfriend your new friend was only his brother. He slumped next to her, his words slurred and somewhat jumbled while carrying the lingering smell of weed and booze.

 “Y-You’re not going to introduce me, he nearly choked, his head slumping forward in a playful wave.

- That’s (Y/N), she’s new here, she looked at her brother then turned to her friend, that’s my brother Jim, he’s… not new here.

- Very nice to meet you, his hand reached forward, sawing wildly.”

 Hesitantly shaking his hand, (Y/N) shared a somewhat worried look with Medina. His broad shoulders fell backwards in the sand while he gazed at the stars but her eyes were set on the display of the waves.

The blonde excused herself for a second, muttering she needed the bathroom, before her figure disappeared up the sandy slope to the house. The awkward tension thickened as the young woman felt Jim’s gaze read her features.

 She was not the conventional type of pretty. But damn did she look gorgeous as the amber lights of the flames licked her skin somehow highlighting her flaw in an array of beauty. It was probably the alcohol clouding his mind or most likely the drugs fogging his eyes. Fishing out her notepad, she started to stain the pages of her notebook with the beauty of the ocean she was witnessing as the moon was coasting on top of the waves.

The gentle footfalls of Medina brushed against her ear while (Y/N) consumed the night, her nose stuffed in her pencils and charcoals, the conversation between the twins losing itself in the blur of her focused gaze darting between the water and the her paper.

 How could he focus on the words leaving his lips when this otherworldly apparition was so deeply enthralled in her mind? Her fingers greyed and stained by the lead she was smearing on the pages. And he noticed it. That broken glimmer in her eyes. Because she was broken too, maybe more than he was himself but in her own beautiful way. And maybe he could fix her. For a split second where her eyes fell deep within his, the haze of his inebriated mind, he sobered up.

_________________________________________________

Taglist anyone?

[svubloods]

Imagine being the Youngest Reagan: There’s something about Mary-Margaret

Imagine being the Youngest Reagan: There’s something about Mary-Margaret

Staten Island, New York City, New York 1991

“I’m so sorry, honey,” Mary-Margaret apologised quickly to her sixteen-year-old daughter Erin, before bursting into a fit a giggle so fierce she doubled over slightly in her seat, “Your brother is making faces behind you at me,” She finally made out, still giggling profusely.

Erin spun around quickly and glared at her older brother, “Danny I swear to…”

“Daniel,” Your Father Frank, quickly interjected, his tone stern enough to silence both Erin and eighteen years old, Danny.

“All right, sorry,” He apologised, putting his hands up defensively before flopping down on the couch behind Erin beside his youngest brother eleven-year-old Jamie, “I’ll try not to distract Mom anymore but I can’t help being naturally funny,”

“Pretty sure she was laughing at you and not with you,” Erin commented bitterly, making her younger two brothers who were sitting on the couch but leaning over back watching the whole ordeal unfold, laugh.

“How about we get back to it?” Your Dad suggested, flashing an Erin a comforting smile and his wife a telling look.

“Right,” Your Mother agreed, straining her face into its neutral expression in an attempt to combat the broad grin brought on by Danny sticking his tongue out at her behind Erin’s back, “I’m sorry Erin for getting distracted,”

Erin smirked at her mother behind refocusing on her canvas.

“It looks really great so far,” Fourteen-year-old Joe, complimented, genuinely.

“Thanks, but I want it to perfect,” Erin exclaimed, breathing heavily as she quickly corrected something.

“It’s just an art project,” Danny reasoned.

“Worth over 50% of my final grade,” Erin stated.

“But you’re good at it. The painting looks good, they always are, so why are you worried?” Danny seemingly though out loud, his words surprising everyone in the room, “Plus any painting with Mom in it, is going to be good, I mean have you seen Mom?”

“You think I’m good?” Erin questioned, spinning back around to look at him directly.

“Aww, Danny that’s so sweet,” Your Mother breathed bashfully simultaneously at her oldest words before narrowing her features at him, “What have you done?”

“Nothing,” Danny quickly said defensively, “I’m just saying none of us can say honestly at least that Mom isn’t pretty. I mean I’ve spent my whole life with my friends telling me how hot they think my mom is,”

“Gross,” Jamie shuddered.

“Mine too,” Joe agreed.

“Same,” Erin nodded.

“Well, I have to agree with all of them,” Your Dad chuckled, looking at his wife, who was sitting by his side, fondly, squeezing her hand which he was already holding, “Your mom is definitely the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met,”

Your Mother smiled helplessly at your Dad before sticking her tongue at him cheekily, making him laugh and lean over to press a kiss into her cheek. Causing a series of ‘ewws’ from their children, which just made the pair laugh even more. Your mom flashed them a devilish grin before grabbing your Dads face and pulling him into a proper kiss.

“Please stop,” Danny pleaded.

“Only because you asked so nicely,” Your mom winked her arm still around your Dad’s neck, pressing her cheek into hers.

“Thank you,” Erin muttered before instructing strongly, “Can you get back into position,”

They straightened up back into their seats and looked forward once again.

“How long do you think this going to take?” Your Dad asked, grasping your mom's hand and resting it on his knee.

“Maybe like an hour,” Erin offered, not paying attention as she focused intently on her canvas.

“The things we do, huh?” Your Mom teased.

They managed to chat widely for a few minutes as Erin continued to paint their portrait. Erin’s art assignment required her to paint a lifelike portrait of someone you admire so Erin being Erin decided to do two people to challenge herself and picked the two people she admired most, though she would never admit it, her parents. It wasn’t easy organising them both to be at home at the same time with no other commitments but to sit as models in the hallway by the living room for three hours as she painted them. But she did it, it was after dinner on a Monday night and Joe had managed to get three year old you asleep early enough that they were free. Plus Erin had made everyone do all their homework before dinner so there would be no interruptions. She hadn’t planned on her brothers being so interested however, all three them were perched on the couch directly behind her, leaning over the back so they could see what she doing directly and their parents posing for her project.

And even both your parents were tired from their own long days, it was Monday after all. They had agreed. Your Mom agreed because she would happily do anything that could possibly help any of your guy's education. Your Dad agreed for the same reason but also because it means that all of you would spend some time together for a couple hours and that was all that ever mattered to him. Being with you guys.

“What do you guys think?” Erin asked her brother surprisingly, turning to look at them directly, “I don’t know if I’ve got mom’s eye colour right,”

“Well, it’s not like you teacher will know,” Danny commented.

“Erin you have Mom’s eyes, so just draw your own,” Joe recommends.

“I have Mom’s eye colour but Dad’s eye shape,” She corrected.

“But you look just like Mom,” Jamie interrupted.

“Y/N looks exactly like mom,”

“But she has Dad’s eyes colour,”

“But she’s mostly Mom,” Erin sighed.

“Just like you then,” Joe added.

“But you two look like Mom too,” Erin pointed out to Joe and Jamie, “Well mostly, with a little bit of Dad thrown in,”

“Everyone says we look like twins,” Joe agreed, with Jamie giving an affirmative nod, “But we have the same colour eyes as Grandpa,”

“What about me?” Danny questioned.

An awkward silence fell over the group before they looked towards their parents for saving.

“You’re a combination of both our best features,” Your mom insisted, looking at your Dad before settling on Dad, “You’re my gorgeous firstborn,”

“Yeah, but you have to say that,” Danny brushed off but he couldn't help but smile.

“Would you prefer her to tell you the truth?” Erin muttered under her breath, raising her eyebrows.

“Erin,” Your Mother warned, before adding “All have you know Danny actually looks like your Dad when we first met,”

“Really?”

“Well, if all three of you boys both were combined then, yeah,” She offered, “Just like your Dad,”

“How did you guys meet?” Joe inquired, gently, looking between his parents.

“Hah,” Erin let out stifling her giggles with her hand, soon Danny joined in with her laughter and their parents shared amused looks, “Do you seriously not know?”

“No,” Joe confirmed, “Why are you guys laughing,”

“They’re laughing at me, my love not you,” Your Mom reassured, reaching out for Joe before remembering she had to stay in her seat.

“Why, what happened?” Jamie intervened, pressing the matter.

“You boys know how stubborn, your mother can be, right?” Your Dad asked.

They both nodded immediately much to your Mom’s annoyance as she rolled her eyes to empathise that fact.

“So let’s just say she’s been like that since the day we met,” He chuckled.

Manhattan, New York City, New York, 1973

“Can I help you miss?”

“No,” Your Mom stated simply, not even giving the owner of the voice a second glance as she circled her car quickly.

“Are you sure?” He asked again, watching her intently as she seemingly tossed tools from one hand to the other.

“Listen, I don’t recall asking for your…” Your Mom began exasperatedly, she had been stuck on the side of the road for thirty minutes and this was the third man who had taken it upon themselves to come and try and rescue her, as she spoke she looked up from her crouched position to see your Dad smiling down at her, meeting his gaze for the first time ever she paused momentarily consumed by light hazel, “…Officer…” she managed to get out confidently enough before looking away.

“Oh, I know. I just thought you looked you were in a bit of trouble, you know?” He offered, with a dazzling friendly smile.

“What made you think that?” Your Mom demanded, “Because I’m a girl”

“Because you’re trying to use the jack before loosening the lug nuts,” He responded politely, expertly concealing his grin. “And you saw that from all the way over there?” Your Mom accused, gesturing to the other side of the road where he had parked his police cruiser.

“You’re hard to miss,” He grinned.

Your mom smirked, rolling her eyes before standing up and leaning against the back of the car to look at your Dad.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I mean you don’t see a lot of bright cars round here,” He elaborated.

“You don’t?”

“It’s New York, most New York teenagers don’t even know how to drive a car ” He chuckled.

“Well, I’m not a New York teenager,” Your Mom sighed.

“Let me guess,” He outwardly pondered before saying, “California?”

“How’d ya know?” She inquired.

“You can tell,” He said, “So do you still not want a hand with that flat?”

“Nope,” She insisted, “But you can tell me how you know I’m from Cali,”

“You really want to know?” He entertained, as she settled back down on the ground and he circled the car so he was standing beside her, watching her in amusement.

“I wouldn't ask if I didn’t,” She informed.

“You can just tell, the accent for one if you want specifics,” He shrugged, “…and the bright red dress helped though. Bit bright for the city,”

“I have a couple of roommates that would disagree,” Your Mom commented, securing the jack and lifting the car up.

“So you moved here for school?” He deducted.

“NYU,” She confirmed, “Moved here a couple of months ago,”  

“By yourself?”

“Like most people when they leave for college,”

“Yeah, I guess,”

“Let me guess, born and bred New Yorker?” She asked.

“Yeah, never lived anywhere but the city,”

“I can tell,” She chuckled.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He accused, jokingly.

“Nothing,” She brushed off, playfully, giving him a suggestive wink.

“Sure,”

They both laughed before silence fell over them as your mom unscrewed the lug nuts.

“Well, Officer if you’re going to stand there, do you mind grabbing my spare tire from the back?” You asked, looking up at him with her bright eyes.

He gulped over intensity before giving her a stern nod. Taking a deep breath while he was out of eyesight to control his nerves. Your Dad rarely got nervous but your mom, in that dress, in particular, was making him nervous if not weak in the knees. It’s why he had to lean against the car.

“So what’s it like leaving your family and moving so far away?” He asked casually, “I couldn't imagine not going to see my Ma every day for Sunday dinner.”

“You go have dinner with your parents every Sunday?”

“And my Grandparents right after Church,”

“That’s sweet,” She smiled, “My Dad and I used to do something like that every Wednesday,” She looked away before remembering, “It’s not too bad, my Dad comes up all the time. He’s even thinking of getting an apartment here plus I’ve made tons of friends but it’s not too bad. But then again I don’t really miss San Fransisco very much. I like it here…a lot,”

“Well, I hope my city keeps treating you well,” He grinned.

“It keeps getting better,” She chuckled, looking up tellingly at him.

“So it just you and your Dad?”

“Yep, just the two of us,” She nodded.

“What about your…” He immediately went to ask before stopping himself short, “Sorry, sometimes curiosity gets the best of me,”

“Probably a good quality for a cop,” She complimented, “And my Mom died during Childbirth,”

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” He comforted, placing his hand on her shoulder.

“It’s fine,” She teased, patting his hand and giving him a sad smile.

She then suddenly slipped and struggled with the wrench while distracted and your Dad immediately swopped in and helped.

“Sorry,” He apologised, “But I wasn’t raised to leave someone who needs help,”  

“Is that why you are still here in case I need you, Officer…” Your Mom questioned, their faces only a few inches apart.

“Reagan, Officer Francis Reagan, but everyone called me Frank,” He stuttered, gulping loudly due to their sudden proximity.

“Nice to meet you, Frank,” She beamed confidently, putting her hand out for him to shake it, “I’m Mary-Margaret Norgaard, but everyone calls me Em,”

“Why?”

“Because both my names start with the letter M,” She shrugged.

“Right,” He nodded, looking away, flustered.

“Are you nervous, Frank?” She whispered into his ear.

“Well, you’re funny…and really pretty,” He confessed, grinning as he started to blush.

“You’re…not too bad…yourself,” She replied, suddenly equally as nervous as he was, taking his hand as he helped back up as they finished up.

She quickly grabbed all her tools and put them in her trunk before looking back at your Dad who was loitering around still. Hands in his pockets with a bashful expression.

“You know Frank,” Your Mom began to announced, “I don’t actually dress like this all the time,”

“No?” He asked, teasingly.

“I’m actually going to a block party, you know? And I was wondering if you aren’t working if you wanted to come with,” She continued.

“With you?”

“Yes, with me,” She chuckled.

“Yes,” He agreed automatically.

“Great,”

“Let me just take the car back and clock off,” He grinned, “I’ll be back in five, just wait here,”

“Is their police station around here?”

“It’s just down the block,”

Staten Island, New York City, New York 1991

“And so we went to the party together and we danced all night and then we spent the next month spending literally every day together. After work or after class but we saw each other every day and have ever since,” Your Mom continued, looking at your Dad fondly as she wrapped up the story and he held her hands in his, pressing a kiss into them.

“I have a question,” Jamie piped up, even raising his hand a little.

“What is it, Babe?” Your Mom asked.

“Why didn’t you just let him help you with the car if you didn’t know how to do it?”

“Because your Grandpa Chris showed me five times how to change a tire because he didn’t want me to depend on anyone,” She explained, “But I like to think it was fate that I didn't listen because if I had I wouldn’t have met your Father,”

“And she’s just stubborn,” Danny added.

“I think she just wanted to keep talking to Dad,” Erin teased.

“Shouldn’t you be painting?” Your Mom accused.

“Guess I struck a nerve,” She muttered under her breath.

“I’ll just say if I didn’t love your Dad as much as I do, we probably wouldn't have made it,” Your Mom admitted.

“What why?” Joe questioned.

“We had to deal with a lot of stuff to be together, to get married, to have you guys.” Your Dad filled in, “But we got through it,”

“Yeah, we did,” Your Mom agreed, enthusiastically.

“Who had a problem with you two?” Danny inquired.

“Let’s just say your Grandpa Chris wasn’t too happy that I dropped out of school to marry and have a baby with a cop,” You Mom breathed, “But that’s a story for another time,”

“But he likes Dad now, right?”

“He absolutely loves you guys,” Your Dad reassured.

“And he likes your Dad, enough,” Your Mom interjected, “Anyway Erin, how long do you think this going to take now?”

“Almost done,”

“I mean anyone who spends more than ten minutes around you two know that you guys are perfect for each other,” Danny stated aloud once again, not to anyone in particular.

“Is that the second compliment he’s given us tonight?” Your Dad asked your Mom teasingly.

“I think so,” Your Mom responded, in an exaggerated whisper.

“And it will be the last time,” Danny added, annoyed.

“But you guys argue all the time though,” Joe reminded.

“We bicker, but we don’t really argue,”

“Okay, you bicker all the time,”

“But isn’t that a good thing?” Your Mom posed to them all, “It would be boring if we agreed about everything,”

“You guys never agree,” Erin added.

“That’s because we are very different people with different upbringings with different opinions but we do pretty well consider, we have been together for almost twenty years,” Your Dad reasoned.

“And it’s all because I got pregnant with Danny,” Your Mom joked which earned her a disapproving look, “I’m kidding, it’s because your Dad is the greatest thing that I’ve ever had,”

“Nice save,” He acknowledged, leaning into her playfully.

“So what was the worst argument you guys ever had?” Erin inquired, peering over the top of her canvas.

“Probably two years ago when we moved to this house,” Your Dad thought out-loud.

“I was this close to divorcing him,”

“No, she was not,” Your Dad reassured, as a flash of panic appeared on all four faces looking at them.

“That was bad,” Danny agreed, “Can’t blame you though, the whole day sucked,”

“You didn’t make any effort to make it better though,” Your Dad pointed out.

“I apologised,” He defended, “Eventually,”

“What happened?” Jamie asked.

“Your Dad and I got into a big argument the day we moved in here because we were trying to unpack and get settled in all while trying to control five kids including a new-born,”

Staten Island, New York City, New York 1989

“And what do you want me to do about it?” Frank questioned, his voice raised ever so slightly higher than usual and his tone…frustrated, his breathing laboured as he felt himself get angrier.

Not that he would show it. As he stared down into his wife’s blazing eyes. He couldn't be angry when looking at her no matter the situation. Mary, couldn't say the same, however…

“Something!” Mary shouted back at him, they were only inches away from each other but she couldn't help herself from doing it, throwing her hands up and looking around the empty kitchen, littered with moving boxes yet to be unpacked for every room seemingly but the kitchen, “I just can’t…do this…right now!”

“What do you mean?” He probed.

“What do I mean? What do I mean,” She repeated bitterly, before exploding, “What I mean is Erin and Danny aren’t talking to anyone because they're so upset, the boys are fighting and Y/N hasn’t stopped screaming since we arrived because I can give her any of my time because I’m dealing with everyone else all while unpacking so we can get settled into this godforsaken house. And the only reason it’s happening is because of…”

“You think this is my fault?” He demanded, taken aback.

“Well it isn’t mine,” She snapped, “I wanted to stay in…”

We discussed this,” He sighed, reaching for her arm to comfort her, “We didn’t have enough space for everyone. This was the best thing to do for us, for everyone. It was the only way we could afford a place big enough.”

“But we were happy there, even if it was small,” She insisted, interrupting quietly, creating a silence, “We were happy there but I don’t know…I don’t know if I…we can be happy here,”

“You haven’t even given it a chance,” He reminded, pained particularly after she shrugged his hand off her in annoyance.

“I don’t need to give it a chance. It isn’t working,” She stated, indigently.

“You just need to calm down a little,”

“Stop it, Frank. Just stop trying to make this work,”

“I don’t think this is about the house,”

“Stop trying to change the subject,” She cut off.

Your Dad’s tone was calm and collected, “Is this about the ba…”

“Shut up,” Your Mom screamed, “Just shut up,” Breathing heavily and walking across the room, “I just can’t do this right now,”

And with that, she walked out of the room and right by your siblings had crowed outside the closed door. You were only four months old at that point and Erin was holding you. As your Mom walked by she took you from Erin with the best smile she could muster.

“Mom, are you okay?”

“I’m just fine, my love,” She smiled, “I’ll be back in a bit, okay?”

And with that, with you in her arms, she walked out of the house with just you, her wallet and her keys in her hands. She didn't come back till later that night. So much later that everyone had gone to bed when she got back. Except, your Dad, who had stayed up.

The look of relief on his face when she walked through the door with you sleeping in her arms, was one utter and pure. He’d been so worried. She went upstairs to put you down before coming back down to face your Dad.

“I’m sorry I didn’t call,” She said, being the first to break the silence.

“It’s okay,” He reassured.

“No, it’s not. You were worried.” She argued softly, “Your eyes are as red as mine,”

“I’m just glad you’re both back home,” He breathed.

“Because you missed us or because you think I…” She went to say before stopping herself as more tears rolled down her face.

“Both,” He said, as he drew her into his arms.

“I think you might be right,” She sobbed, “I think there is something wrong with me. I just feel wrong. I love her so much but it isn't the same. I get so worried about her all the time. I need to be with her all the time,”

“We’re going to get through this,”

“How do you know?”

“Because it’s us.”

“And that’s enough?”

“It’s been enough so far,”

Your mom cried into your Dad’s chest for a couple minutes as they stood in the middle of the empty kitchen.

“There’s something about Mary Margaret,” Your Dad started to whisper into her ear.

“What are you doing?”  She questioned, knowing exactly the origin of these words.

“I don’t think I will be able to describe what it is but there is something about her,” Your Dad continued without missing a beat, “ when we first met everyone told me the same. ‘There is just something about Mary-Margaret,’ And they were right. There was just something about her. Mary is special and magnetic but also fierce and apologetic. She makes me feel loved unconditionally every single day. She speaks her mind even if it gets her in trouble sometimes. She lives like her herself every day no matter what anyone says or thinks. The bond we share is based on understanding, respect and what I believe to be pure true love. I have no doubt in my mind that I was made for you. I am the luckiest man on earth because I have had the privilege of falling in love with you and spending my life with you. I love you.”

“I love you too,”

Staten Island, New York City, New York 1991

“And that’s why whenever we have a real argument we say our vows from our wedding day to each other,”

“It just puts things in perspective,” Your Dad concurred.

“Mom, I had no idea you were feeling like that,” Erin sympathised.

“That’s because I didn’t want you guys to know. I didn’t want you guys to ever think I didn’t want or love you. Because no matter what I had to give up. All six of you are the best thing to happen to me,”

“Oh Mom,” Jamie let out before running over and hugging her tightly, quickly followed by Joe.

“My boys,” Your Mom chuckled, before going silent, “And look your sisters up,”

“How do you know?”

“You can hear it,” She said as you appeared sleepily on the top of the staircase.

Joe quickly swept you up and brought three years old you down before quickly passing you to your mother.

“How’s my beautiful baby,” Your mom cooed as your Dad leaned over to play with you too.

“And done!” Erin announced.

Your parents with you in your arms quickly went over to finally see their portrait.

“Hey,” Your Mom protested, “That isn't the pose we were doing,”

“I know but I was so inspired that I did this instead,”

“It’s wonderful,” Your Dad complimented, kissing Erin on the cheek.

Your mom looked on in amazement at the portrait as you babbled in her arms. The pose they had been doing was just both of them holding hands, looking right at Erin. But the portrait consisted of them both laughing heartily, holding hands and looking into each other's eyes as if they were the only two people in the whole world.

It was what they looked like every day.

[writingamongtheroses-archive]

Showtime, Chapter 5

@andiwriteunderthemoon, @the-starlight-chills, @ieppiq, and @fishymom-art​

Pass the Tests

They waited for Ted.

Out in the hall, Liza could hear the animatronics eagerly talking among themselves. It was clear the trio was friends. She probably could’ve rolled her chair over to eavesdrop and see if she could make out some kind of pecking order or personalities or anything that could help her, besides Rex stealing her hat for no reason. Instead, she sat frozen in her chair, the back of her chair between her and the door. The ghost girl (Doll?) was seated on top of the cabinet, watching Liza and the present box. Together, they listened as the heavy footsteps drew closer.

Then Ted Bear himself was in the doorway and Liza stifled a scream.

He was the one who was in the best condition. Of course, he is, her mind whispered. He’s the brand face. Her scars started to ache as her fingers clenched the back of the chair. Her eyes lingered too long on the cruel brown ones aimed at her before golden eyes lowered in submission. They moved to her current protector, the Puppet in the box. Ted growled.

The others respectfully moved back so he was the only one in the doorway. They hung back as silent support behind him.

And all Liza had was a ghost girl and a tiny puppet in a cardboard box.

Dios mios, she was so screwed.

Ted took a step forward, jabbing a short paw-like finger. “You.” Liza squeaked. “I’ve been sick and tired of your idiocy, sweetheart,” The pet name was spat out like poison. “Been sick of you giving us trouble since the first night. I’m not made for running,” As he talked, she noticed there was a slight up and down motion to his fake fur, like he was panting. There was a winded note to his voice, she noticed in the way all trapped people did. It also looked like he couldn’t raise his left arm correctly. Liza was no genius. But she had been raised by the man who created these animatronics and she had done some mechanical tampering through the years. 

Up close, she could also see the cosmetic damage on Ted.

She had to wonder if it hurt.

Ted’s rant was broken by a soft “Ted.” from Kitty. The bear spared a glance over his shoulder, much kinder and warmer than his glare at the night guard. “Look.” She pointed to the present on the desk. The bear followed her point.

Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. There was no twinkling music from the music box and the bow didn’t so much as give a shudder. There didn’t seem to be a need for it. Ted stared at it. The anger slid from shock back to greater anger and a bit of hurt. “Her?! Out of everyone, her!?”

“Excuse me?!”

Ted gritted his teeth. Liza wisely closed her mouth. She resisted the childish urge to squeeze her eyes in hopes that the nightmare would go away.

“What do we do?” Rex whispered. He was peeking out from behind Bun, who was staring at Liza. It looked like the pirate was examining her, especially focused on her scarf. Liza risked a quick look back. Doll had moved to be behind her, watching the proceedings with curious eyes.

“What can we do?” The captain said when it seemed like Ted wasn’t going to speak. “There’s no other choice. We’ve tried to reason with the Black Devil, but it’s not having any of it. Haven’t seen it like this in ages, since...you know. The other one.” All eyes turned to Bun and Liza felt what little remained of her patience snap.

“Reasoning?! You tried- no you did not!” All eyes returned to her, but the tidal wave of anger consuming her helped her ignore that as she scrambled off the chair. “You were going to kill me anyway until the puppet-guy-thing whatever,” She jabbed a finger at the box. “Stopped you! That’s not reasoning! You were going to ignore it!”

“She even understands us now…!” Rex groaned like the situation was an unfortunate burden the animatronics had to deal with. Or they were the victims of some great tragedy. Whatever it was, it stoked the flames of her anger.

“Watch your mouth, swabbie.” Bun hissed at Liza, eye plates downwards to give her a glare.

“N-No!” God, where was this coming from?

“Liza.” Doll said gently. When she glanced back, she had a mask of calm on. “Calm down.”

“I said NO!” She stomped her foot, feeling like a toddler having a tantrum. The animatronics could still kill her- Puppet was only three feet to their hulking masses. Liza grabbed the present box and hugged it to her chest. If this was her only shield, she had the right to hold it! Everyone went silent, staring at the box like they expected the Puppet to rise out and deal with her itself.

It did not.

Liza breathed in and out, trying to gain control of her temper and her heart rate. “I-I have ev-every right to t-talk! You guys, for two nights, have been trying to stuff me in a suit! I’m not an endoskeleton, which should be obvious to you if your AI is this advanced!” Crap, she felt tears prick at her eyes. “I’m not even metal!” Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry! “I mean, what kind of Hell is this place?!”

Rex cackled. “Be it ever so humble, home is home.” The others were less amused.

“We don’t appreciate that kind of language, Miss…” Ted paused, clearly not sure of her name.

“Dorado. Liza Dorado.”

Ted paused. There was a moment of silence where he just stared at her. It almost felt like he was stunned. Liza shifted awkwardly but before she could talk, he continued. “Dorado. We are a family-friendly establishment.”

“Yeah, ye better keep your language squeaky clean or ye face the jar!” Bun said with a wave of a hook.

“The jar?” A moment passed before realization struck. Liza blinked. “You...have a swear jar.”

“It’s mostly for the summer workers.” Kitty huffed, crossing her arms. “Those teenagers have such an attitude sometimes!”

She nodded faintly, still gaping at the new knowledge. “Okay...makes sense.” It was kinda charming, in an Addams Family way.

“And if you don’t have money for the jar,” Rex continued, malicious grin returning. “Ted’ll chase you down and wash your mouth out with soap!”

“Geez, either getting my mouth washed out with soap for some salty language or being brutally maimed for existing, I wonder which one’s worse?” Behind her, Liza could hear Doll stifle laughter. The sound gave her a little bit of confidence.

Bun snarled, and it disappeared. “Don’t be mistaking our tone, swabbie. There’s still a black mark on you. You could still be strung up and stuffed if you fail the tests.”

“Wha- Tests?! But I already got the job! I already got the job!” She aimed the last one at the box. Maybe when the bots left, she could try and wheedle information out of the Puppet. ‘Tests’ made it sound like it was holding something out on her.

“You’re not out of the woods yet, Dorado.” Ted snarled. He turned and stomped out of the room, the others making a path for him. Liza stared at his retreat before realizing that the others were staring too.

“I’ve never seen him like this before,” Kitty whispered. “Do you think he’ll be okay? I mean, this has happened before, but-”

“Aw, don’t worry sis!” Rex patted the cat on the shoulder. “Ted’ll come around. It’s not like we don’t know what to do if Liza here fails.” Despite the cheerful tone, the dog still snarled at the human. Liza frowned, grabbing the remote to press the down button for the door. “Wha- Hey!”

“It’s Elizabeth. Liza’s a nickname.” she shot as the door went down slowly. “And I want my hat back-!” Before the door finally settled, the hat smacked her in the face. “Gracias.” She waited at the door, listening as the group whispered amongst themselves before hearing their footsteps walk away.

She let out a gasp of air, collapsing in her chair and dropping her hat. Her world still hadn’t righted itself, but it was getting easier to swallow. Questions chased themselves around and around as she set the box on the desk and grabbed the tablet. Doll seized her chance and sat in her lap. Liza absently stroked her hair, staring at the box. How much trouble was she or the Puppet in because of its inaction?

The lid moved back, revealing the Puppet. It rose until it and her face were level. “That went...well.” The whisper came from between her ears. It was an odd feeling, but Liza held back her shudders. There was no need for her protector to think she was frightened by it.

“I’d hate to see what poorly is,” Liza said, shifting to get comfortable. Doll had no weight, but the cold feeling she brought sent pin and needles through her legs. When she looked up, Puppet was shaking its head.

“Do not take their retreat so lightly. They are upset by my decision- I do not blame them.” It gave a hum of thought. “Give them time. It’ll change.” The porcelain face moved, taking in the cramped security room with what looked like interest. “Things always change with time, Night Guard.”

“You keep calling me that,” Liza noted. “I...have a name, you know.”

A blank stare met her words. “No. This is your job.” The Puppet leaned forward, eerily close. It was close enough that she could’ve heard the bot’s inner workings.

There was nothing but silence.

“I will call you as you are. You will remain this way until you die, or otherwise.”

“Otherwise?”

“Each night guard was similarly considered. All of them were flawed. I allowed the animatronics to...dispose...of them.” The Puppet leaned back in its box. “It was kind to them.”

Logically, it was best to stay on the good side of the thing keeping her from a suit. But Liza was not known for logic unless it involved machines. Rafael said it was one of her most charming qualities, combined with her bravery. But she didn’t feel very brave.

She felt like she was going to throw up.

“Wha-What do you mean- you let the others dispose of them? How- they were humans!” Distantly, she noticed Doll turn more see-through like she was paling.

“No. They were adults.” The Puppet spoke like she was a very small child, making her bristle. There was a frantic whisper in her head to stop arguing with whatever this thing was. It reeked of power. Every action it did carried weight.

But she ignored the voice.

“Yeah, and that meant they were kids once too! I mean, what chévere man?! Where were you the first night? Why am I the golden girl all of a sudden?!” The anger that consumed her while talking to the bots came back, full of righteous fury for herself and the others before her. “What about the phone guy?! It sounded like he loved this place much more than I did!”

“This is not about love, Night Guard.” The Puppet’s voice was low, sending her spine through ice. “This is about justice.”

“Justice? On what?”

Her question was waved away with a careless flip of a hand. “Do not concern yourself with the details yet. Right now, it should be on creating and maintaining a positive working relationship with the others. Their aid will be invaluable if you can sway them.”

Liza sputtered. “Wa- You mean, play nice?! No way!” Despite her fear, she flipped the tablet closed without checking and shoved it on the desk. She crossed her arms.

“Alright. But know that my protection will be revoked and you will be disposed of.”

She stared.

“Better to just agree.” Doll whispered.

“...This is blackmail.”

“This is business.”

This time, she shuddered. What did she have to lose? A lot, apparently. For now, to stay alive, she had to make undesirable choices. She sighed. “Alright.” She held her hand out. For a moment, the two stared at each other. “Um...dude?”

“Yes, that is your hand.”

“No, um...I figured that we would shake on it? You know, like making a deal. You keep me from a suit, I’ll play nice?”

“Shake...on it?”

Liza resisted the urge to grin. “People do it when they’re making a deal or a promise. You give me your hand and we’ll make a promise. Like, I promise I’ll play nice with the killer bots and you promise that you’ll keep me from being murdered.” After a long moment, the Puppet mimicked Liza. They shook hands.

The Puppet seemed lost in thought when they finished, withdrawing into the box without another word. Though it did give Liza a strange, completive look before the lid closed and the music box started to play. It played twinkling notes softly for a few seconds before finally stopping.

“That was...weird,” Liza said finally.

Doll shrugged. “It’s old.” She said this like it was some type of explanation.

Even if it was old, who didn’t know how to shake hands?

That was such a little kid thing.

She waited in the office, making an absent note to start taking notes. Any bit of information could be useful to keep her arse from a suit. When six AM finally came, she walked slowly out. In the main dining hall, she couldn’t resist giving the bots on-stage the finger.

“See you tonight,” she grumbled out.

[captainolive23]

Fun Facts about Lawrence, Kansas

(So this is mostly just for people who want their fics to be accurate. I'm not saying you have to use these things in fics but if you want to, here ya go.) Ok so as someone from Lawrence I have trouble reading supernatural high school au fics that take place in Lawrence because of all the inaccuracies. Which is the sucky part of having the main characters from your favorite show be from your home town. Ok so first off if your fic takes place before 1997(1996?) then there was only one high school in town (Lawrence High) but if you're making it take place in modern day then there are 2. The newer one is the one I went to so I'm gonna give you some facts about Free State cuz I don't know shit about Lawrence High. -Free State was designed by a prison designer. -they were going to name it "Quantill High" but if you know anything about Lawrence history you know that Quantrill was a dude from Missouri, who during the civil war came over to Lawrence and burnt the town to the ground and killed a shit ton of people. -when you first walk into free state you see the main common area which is also the lunch room. There's two main doors leading into this area. One is on the side that faces the main road and the other is on the side that faces the student parking lot. The entrance to the office is on the side with the parking lot. -up until my senior year anyone could pretty much walk in the doors any time of day. Then in my junior year there was a remodel and the office got moved so they started locking the doors during the day and if a parent needed to come in or if a student got in late you had to get buzzed in through the office. -one security guard is total dick and will get after anyone for anything. Like wearing hats for example. While wearing a hat was against the dress code, none of the teachers gave a shit. The principal didn't give a shit either. Hell the other security guard really didn't give a shit. But one time it was snowing and it was cold as fuck and I was wearing my hat. The second I walked in the door this guy was yelling at me for wearing a hat. -so the average school day goes from either 0 hour to 6th hour or 1st hour to 7th hour. Most people go 1-7 but one of my friends went 0-6 since she had to be at school super early every day anyway. 0 hour starts at 7 am. 1st hour starts at 8. I wanna say that 6th hour ends at 2:20ish but I could be wrong. 7th hour ends at 3:10. -there are 3 lunch periods taking place throughout 5th hour. 1st lunch was preferred by most people but second lunch was nice to cuz it cut 5th hour in half and made it feel waaayy shorter. -we also had open lunch where we could leave to go to one of the restaurants or stores that surrounded the school. There was taco bell, burger king, McDonald's, starbucks, Jimmy johns, arbys, little ceasars (which tastes like the schools pizza so we avoided going there), dominoes, Chipotle and orange leaf(frozen yogurt place) and there was a Wal-Mart, CVS, a dillons (krogers grocery store), hyvee (another grocery store) and sprouts (organic food grocery store). If you had a car you could probably go other places too but lunch was only 30 minutes long so most people didn't. -wednesday and Thursday are short days. Until my senior year (so last year) Wednesday schedule was 0,1,3,5,7 starting at 7 and ending at 2:30. Thursday was 2,4,6 and was late arrival so school didn't start until 9 and went until 2. That switched my senior year so now Wednesday is the super short day. -they also started holding classes at the new career and college center during my senior year. Basically juniors and seniors can take one 3 hour long class at this place and get college credit. The class I took was forensic science but there was also a nursing class and a robotics class. There were others to but I don't remember them. You could either take the class in the morning or in the afternoon (which is what I did) and it only lasted one semester but if you took the science class that gave you a whole science credit instead of half a credit like a normal science class. -you only needed 3 science and 3 math credits to graduate but it you wanted to go to college you needed 4 of each. You had to have 4 English credits to graduate. -senior consumer math taught you how to do taxes and shit. -as long as you're not an overachiever senior English classes are fucking easy as hell. My first semester class was myth, fantasy, and folklore and we barely had to to any writing and my teacher read to us cuz it was the first class of the day and Mr. Wolak was about to have his first kid so he was practicing his character voices. And the second semester class was a little harder cuz it was mostly writing but Ms. Elliot was super laid back (someone brought pot brownies to her class once and she ate one even tho she knew there was pot in it. Seriously there's a reason she was everyone's favorite teacher) -the dress code was not heavily enforced. The only person who really cared was the security guard I was talking about earlier. -juniors and seniors could be office aids or teacher aids. Becoming a teacher aid was a little harder cuz you had to get a note from the teacher and permission from your counselor but becoming an office aid was pretty easy as long as there was an opening. -you only had to have half a P.E. credit (one semester) to graduate. Most people took more since it was an easy a. -you also had to have half a foreign language credit. So now we're going to get into actual stuff about Lawrence. -LAWRENCE IS NOT A SMALL TOWN. In the 80s and early 90s it kind of was but it's not anymore so if you're writing a fic that takes place in the 80s or 90s then it's fine to write it as a smallish town. But if you're basing it in modern day Lawrence it's not small. The high schools are getting so overcrowded they're thinking of building a third one. -there are 14 elementary schools. 4 middle schools(which were junior high (7-9th grade) until my 8th grade year when it switched to middle school(6-8th) in 2011). There are 2 high schools. There's also a bunch of private schools but idk how many since they're not on the district website. -downtown Lawrence has a bunch of really cool old houses and all 3rd graders in the town get to take a tour of downtown Lawrence and see all the historic spots (like the giant boulder in the park and the oldest cemetery in town) -the sorority and frat houses are in downtown Lawrence. -there's this really creepy mansion between the frat houses that I always thought looked like a castle and I'm pretty sure a dentist lives there or at least did when I was little. -the guy who invented basketball lived here. -a couple years ago they blew up one of the dorm buildings cuz they built a new one and it was this huge thing that anyone who didn't have to work that day went to watch. I still have the video on my laptop. It was awesome. -the one place almost every teenager in town goes to hang out is java break. Its been here since my mom was a kid. They make milkshakes and smoothies and you can add cereal to them. There's a room in the back that's basically the graffiti room. You can draw on any surface you can find in there. There's some really cool art work in there and every once in a while they go in and paint over it. Most people just draw dicks tho. -the last day that the outdoor pool is open every summer they have a dog day where people bring their dogs to go swimming. I've never been since my dog hates water and other dogs but it always looks like fun. -on the 4th of July they have a firework show by the river which is next to downtown. I usually go to the hospital parking lot to watch it. -there's this one homeless dude who lives near the river who has chickens and the cops just sort of leave him alone cuz he's far enough away from any residential areas that he's not bothering anyone. -Lawrence is the most liberal town in Kansas mostly because Its a college town. We are an island of blue in a sea of red. -there are still racist homophobic douchebags here but not nearly as many as you would expect. There are a couple assholes that like to hang confederate flags on their trucks. Unfortunately said douchebags went to my school. They didn't have many friends tho. -the the Campbell's own pretty much everything in town. Every time they start another housing community they named it after one of their kids. From what I've heard most of their kids are pretty nice but I knew one of them and he was a total dick. He was the stereotypical rich white guy. -the other super rich family in town is the Compton's. They own peacocks, zebras and a camel. -both families live in these super huge mansions near free state high school. The Compton's oldest son dropped out of college to become a rapper and from what I heard he sucks at it. -for a long ass time there was only one place in town you could get fried chicken (kfc) but in the past 2 years we've gotten about 10 different fried chicken places. All of them within about a 3 block radius of each other. -for a long time (about 20 years) there was a bridge to no where next to the movie theater because they started building a road but then had to stop cuz they didn't have permission to build through the marshlands. They recently finished it. -the movie theater got remodeled in the last couple of years and it used to be super gross but now it has reclining seats that are super comfortable and it's a lot cleaner than it used to be -south park is downtown and it has a gazebo. -every year the humane society hosts a zombie walk downtown and it starts at south park. Its a really big thing. People decorate their jeeps with zombie parts and fake blood and have "zombie hunter" stickers. People dress up as either zombies or zombie hunters and walk through downtown. Some of the zombie costumes are fucking amazing. And there's always this one guy that goes with his daughter and they run up to random people and scream in their faces. My best friend got her picture in the paper one year cuz her zombie costume was that good. Anyway that's all I can think of for now. If anyone wants a part 2 or has any questions just ask and I'll do my best to help.