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averykedavra · 4 years

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Treat Me Like Just Another Stranger

Why do I always end up posting fics at this exact time? Anyway, have some Anxceit post-FWSA because I’m still not done overanalyzing the repercussions of this episode. I also decided to combine this with a Whumptober prompt--I know, I know, it’s mid-October. Better late than never? I’m doing a different AU for each day, so you might see a few more of these prompts in the future!

(Title is from Ignorance by Paramore! You can find this fic on Ao3 here.)

Whumptober Day 12: I think I’ve broken something. (Broken Trust)

Word count: 5719

Pairing: platonic Anxceit

Warnings: self-deprecation, arguing, mentions of manipulation, slightly unreliable narrator, hurt no comfort

Janus liked to play chess.

Of course, the problem was that he had no one to play it with. Patton didn’t know the difference between a king and a bishop. Roman would hardly deign to stoop so low and associate with a villain like him. Logan, despite being skilled, never had enough time for a lengthy game. Remus tried to eat the chess pieces. And Virgil, of course, wanted nothing to do with him.

So Janus played against himself. He pulled out two extra hands, set them across the table from him, and tried to outwit himself. It was always strange, because he could see exactly what he would do next, and had to nonetheless back himself into a corner.

All the other sides were such terrible liars, though, that he’d be able to see their next move regardless. Chess was no fun when the opponent didn’t bother to hide anything.

However, there was something refreshing about playing against himself. No cheats, no tricks, no layered teases to twist the truth into something unrecognizable. It was relaxing and dull and the perfect distraction on long, hot afternoons when Deceit was, once again, shunted to the sidelines.

Janus enjoyed it. Or perhaps he just told himself that, to avoid the sting of playing chess against himself, perfecting strategies he could never use.

It was hard to tell, sometimes, when he was being honest with himself.

On this particular afternoon, Janus had been enjoying feeding Thomas small lies, sweet and tantalizing like dewdrop fruits, leading him astray just a bit so Roman and Virgil could get angry. It was entertaining to mess with them. There was no real harm he could do, no real reason for the lies that edged on desperate--but Janus enjoyed stretching his muscles from time to time. A snake stirring in the depths of Thomas’ mind, lithe and slow and languid, knocking over his own queen.

It did sting, a bit, at how vehement Virgil and Roman were. Janus was only trying to help! What, was Thomas supposed to be honest? “Oh, yes, I was simply monologuing my mental breakdown with the assistance of two invisible aspects of my personality.” Janus was looking out for Thomas, and he had to admit, he was just a bit tired of them shutting down every singular white lie.

Not that he hadn’t expected it. But still.

Janus sighed and captured his own castle.

Eventually, he’d pulled back. He wasn’t going to muscle for a tiny slot in Thomas’ day, and there were smarter ways to get people to do what you wanted, anyway.

Thomas was honest.

Thomas got the guy--yay, good for him, congratulations. Patton was probably throwing a party. Frankly, Janus wished Thomas had gone for someone a little more endorsed in the pecuniary department--or perhaps someone that could forward Thomas’ career. Still, this Nico was cute enough, and Thomas deserved a boy toy after everything he’d been through. Janus didn’t deny him that.

Except he could already see the path ahead of him. The moves every other Side would make, crossing the board and lining up in defense. Roman had said it himself--how could it be true love if the relationship wasn’t based on truth?

Very easily, Janus had almost popped up to tell him. Hadn’t he seen Aladdin? Or Beauty and the Beast? People lied to each other all the time. It was useless getting in a twist about it.

Of course, he hadn’t said that. He didn’t want to ruin Thomas’ moment by getting in yet another fight with his ego. He’d just stewed in silence, staring pointedly at his chessboard and flipping a middle finger in the general direction of Roman’s room.

Unfortunately Roman had summed up the general consensus. If Thomas wanted success in this relationship, he’d have to be honest and up-front about everything. Which, sure, whatever, communication was important or something. But not lying at all? This was some new boyfriend to drool over, not an excuse for Thomas to go cold turkey on lying!

It’d be just the excuse everyone needed, though, to shove Janus back into the dark depths of the Dark Side.

Ugh. Acceptance, like he’d feared, had been a token gesture. He’d given away his allegiance, his position, his name--and it had all been for nothing. He should have known.

Janus took his own bishop, palming it in one gloved hand and resting it on the edge of the mahogany table. The captured pieces were lined up neatly in shades of black and white marble, biggest to smallest. He’d already wiped through half of the board, partly because he kept purposely slipping up to make it more interesting.

He sighed again, for no reason in particular, other than he felt he deserved to throw even a miniscule tantrum about the whole thing. Maybe he was being pessimistic--maybe Thomas would listen to him more, after all. Thomas had lied several times without even thinking. The words had bubbled up, easier than breathing, sweet and sour and slipping from his lips. Janus had never felt as much power as he had these last few weeks. Little lies kept him going, powered him up for the bigger ones. And Thomas was indulging himself.

A beautiful thing, and yet, Janus knew better than to hope.

He was about to corner his own king. If he wanted this game to keep going, he should send the pawn out to front and sacrifice it.

Janus inched his king to the left instead.

Move, move, move.

Checkmate.

He fell back into his armchair with a sigh and tipped over the king. It hit the board with a thud and lay there in defeat. Game finished. And there was no glory in winning, because he’d lost as well, and the whole thing was nothing more than a performance.

Janus swept the rest of the pieces off the board, making a small pile in one corner. Then he set them back up again. He still had a few hours until dinner, and what else did he have to do--he was too itchy and energized for reading, and too stuck in his own head to socialize and argue with the other Sides.

Janus glanced at the plate of wrapped cookies on the nearby table. Patton’s handwriting peeked out at the top. He always wrote Janus with a little flourish on the s, like a snake. And a loop in the J, which made it look almost childish, glowing in blue and inviting him to have a taste.

Janus turned away from the cookies and pushed a pawn two spaces forward.

He missed playing with Virgil.

Something in Janus’ stomach curdled at the blatant truth, but he didn’t shy away from it--who would he be if he did that, if he allowed his own knowledge to become twisted like his words? Instead, he let the thought sit in the corner of his dim room, flickering under the lamps and humming in the silence. Maybe he should turn on the radio. Maybe he should water his plants. Maybe he should take a mid-day nap.

Janus left one of his pawns out for the taking, just so he could swipe it off with his bishop and get a fleeting spike of satisfaction.

Virgil was a terrible player. Virgil barely knew the moves, and he second-guessed himself so much he often undid a move on his next turn. And that made him the best to play against, because try as he might, Janus could never tell what Virgil would do next. If Virgil didn’t know what he was doing, neither did Janus.

Janus always won in the end, of course, but Virgil put up a fight every time.

Something creaked in the corner of his room. Maybe the furniture settling into position. Maybe not.

Janus allowed himself a little smile. Speak of the devil.

He waited for another creak. Instead, there was a shuffle, and a squeak of a door handle. Janus always left his door just a crack open, and that crack had drifted wide, showing a dim hallway and balls of shadows trembling in the cracks.

Janus pushed a piece forward before abandoning the game entirely with a swish of his hand. The pieces tumbled into their spot on the shelf. Janus leaned back. No more creaks, just silence--unnatural silence, the silence of someone trying too hard to be quiet.

“You know,” Janus said idly to nobody in particular, “you’ve always been terrible at sneaking around.”

A moment of silence echoed off the walls, and the door creaked the rest of the way open. Virgil was glaring at him, hands plunged deep in his hoodie, eyeshadow stark black against his cheeks.

“Deceit,” Virgil ground out, not taking a single step into the room.

“Anxiety,” Janus said in a lilting tone. “What brings you to my humble home?”

Virgil shifted in the doorway.

“Did I do something?” Janus batted his eyelashes in faux-innocence. “Why, I never! I do hope I haven’t been accused of anything criminal, dear Virgil.”

“You know exactly what you did,” Virgil said. Each word was biting and snapped-off at the end, like broken pieces of dark chocolate. The bitter kind. The kind nobody ate unless they had to.

Janus loved dark chocolate.

“I’m afraid you’ll have to enlighten me.” Janus folded his hands in his lap and nodded to an empty, overstuffed velvet chair. “Chat? I can get you some tea.”

“You actually think I’m gonna--” Virgil eyed the chair as if it had spikes growing out of the seat.

“Sit,” Janus said firmly, summoning a teapot with delicate daffodils etched on the side. He poured two cups of tea and dropped some sugar in Virgil’s, because Virgil hated sugar and Janus certainly wasn’t going to make this easy on him.

Virgil held out for a second longer before huffing and stomping over to the chair. He flopped in it with such force that Janus feared for the springs. He managed to slouch even further as Janus held out the teacup, taking it in one hand and sniffing curiously.

“It’s poisoned,” Janus said idly, taking a sip of his own. “You’ll be dead in three seconds if you drink it.”

Virgil groaned and slammed the cup onto the side table with such force that tea leaked out and stained the carpet. Janus gave the carpet a betrayed look and it fluffed itself up and became stainless.

“So,” Janus said after another few seconds of Virgil’s glaring, “care to tell me why you’re in such a tizzy? You look terrible, with those bags under your eyes--did you get enough sleep?”

“It’s eyeshadow,” Virgil growled. “You know that.”

“Hmm, I’m afraid not.” Janus took another sip of tea. “From my recollection, your eyeshadow was purple--”

“Yeah, unless I’m on edge.” Virgil’s mouth twisted in a smile. “Sorry I’m not at ease in your freaking evil lair.”

“You can leave,” Janus offered. “We don’t need to talk, I was busy--”

“Yeah, playing chess with yourself like a weirdo.” Virgil folded his arms. “And actually, yeah. We do need to talk.”

Janus raised one eyebrow. “Are you ever going to get to the point?”

“Nico.”

“Nico,” Janus repeated after a few seconds. “Is that your entire statement?”

“You know what happened today,” Virgil continued. “We had everything under control, and you almost ruined it.”

“Ruined it?” Janus pressed a gloved hand to his chest. “On the contrary, Virgil. Who was the one who got us out of trouble multiple times?”

“Me!”

“Oh, yes, you were being so helpful, dragging Thomas around and shoving him back and forth like you were playing pinball.”

“Ugh, can you--” Virgil clenched and unclenched his fists. “I was trying to stop you from messing everything up!”

Janus took a sip of tea and affected a blank expression. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Yeah, sure.” Virgil waved a hand angrily. “You were making Thomas lie! Like, every other second! That whole mall trip was chock-full of lying and hiding and pretending and I’m sick of it! We had to talk Thomas out of starting a relationship under false pretenses!”

“So what if he did?” Janus asked, a bit of resentment boiling up in his stomach. “Unlike what our darling Prince says, a bit of deception isn’t the end of the world.”

“Of course you’d think that.” Virgil growled. “Nico’s wonderful. He’s cute and smart and amazing and if you ruin this--”

“Why would I?” Janus asked. “He seems a reasonable fellow, if average.”

“Because that’s what you do!” Virgil burst out. “You ruin everything! And I’m--I’m not gonna let you ruin this!”

Janus quickly smoothed his expression to hide the twist in his gut. “Ah, yes, my only goal--destroying Thomas utterly.”

“You might not mean to,” Virgil allowed, his expression sour and saying the exact opposite, “but you’re gonna. If you keep this up--all the excuses and the pretending--it’s not gonna last!”

“What a shame that would be,” Janus said. He poured himself more tea and stirred some honey into it. “It’s not like we’ve only known him for a day.”

“Yeah, point taken,” Virgil admitted. “I’m not saying he’s the love of Thomas’ life or anything. But--Roman thinks he is.”

There was a long, frozen silence that coiled in the corners of the room and made Janus’ heart squeeze uncomfortably. He stirred more honey into his tea and let Virgil’s words echo around, once, twice, three times.

Virgil’s words could echo more, if he wished. He could cut to the chase and make Janus leave Thomas alone. Virgil was powerful. How had he forgotten that? How had he contented himself to watering down his own contributions, wearing a new outfit and a new look and a new life, as if patches on his sleeve could patch over his identity? Virgil was powerful, and he’d given that up, for what?

Janus would never understand him. He never had.

Once upon a time, though, that hadn’t mattered. They didn’t need to understand each other, they just needed to be there.

There was no one else to be with, after all.

And now Virgil was here, settling for yet another argument instead of taking control. He was sabotaging himself. He was making the game last longer. They both knew each other’s finishing moves, so it was only fair to meet in the middle.

Fair. Life wasn’t fair, and Janus wasn’t fair, and Virgil wasn’t fair, despite his complexion. Patton hated that. Roman hated that. Thomas hated that. But there was no denying that sometimes, you lost a game. Sometimes, you lost more than that.

Sometimes, there was no way out of a conversation, and you just had to make the most of it.

“Roman,” Janus repeated, because why not? Why not speed to the heart of the matter? Get all the cards on the table, everything out in the open. Janus would know what to hide when he knew what was there.

“Roman,” Virgil echoed, his voice softening. “He’s--he’s so excited, Deceit. He finally gets...something. To prove he’s not--”

Virgil didn’t finish the sentence, but Janus could deduce the end well enough.

Not the evil twin.

It had been a low blow, even for Janus, the kind of move he never used. In the end, he didn’t want to win like that, at the expense of a good opponent. There was no fun in a game when the other person forfeited. There was no kindness in that kind of jab.

And he’d done it anyway, of course, because Janus couldn’t stop himself. He always had to win. He’d play against himself, again and again, and he’d win every time.

Lose every time, too, because that was just how it went.

“Don’t ruin this,” Virgil pleaded. “Don’t ruin it, or I swear, I’ll--I’ll--”

“What will you do?” Janus asked, curious for the answer despite himself.

“I’ll--” Virgil’s fist closed. “If I wanted, I could make Patton stay away from you.”

Something went sour in Janus’ mouth. The sweetness of the honey was suddenly cloying. He set his teacup down and pushed it away.

“A low blow,” Janus said idly, folding his hands in his lap. “Not very noble of you. In fact, dare I say it, that’s almost something I would do.”

“It’s for his own safety,” Virgil snapped back, haunches raising. “He doesn’t know who--what you are. You’re gonna hurt him, and he’s just falling for it.”

“Hmm, not giving your friend too much credit.” Janus smirked. “He’s allowed to make his own decisions.”

“Not when you’re around.” Virgil’s glare deepened. “I can’t trust anyone to do anything around you. You’ve got your fangs stuck in everyone, and they might not see it, but I do.”

“Oh, yes, you’re so smart, Virgil.” Janus clapped his hands. “Clearly when you’re the only one who distrusts me, you must be the only person in the right.”

“I’m not!” Virgil said, his voice pitching up. “Roman’s on my side, and Logan--and Thomas, kind of--”

“Sides, hmm?” Janus huffed. “So it’s black and white again. I shouldn’t have expected anything less.”

“You’re on your own side,” Virgil argued, and Janus heard his own words in that, what he’d told Virgil long ago. “Always have been. And I’m on mine. We picked sides, Deceit. There isn’t--there isn’t any turning back.”

“But you’re all about evolution, aren’t you?” Janus lolled his head to the side and smirked again. “Change and growth. Are you saying that--gasp--they’re meaningless?”

“It’s different,” Virgil protested.

“How so?”

“At least I’m not--” Virgil waved his hands angrily. “You hurt Roman, were a jerk to Patton, practically kidnapped Logan, and tried to sabotage Thomas’ chance at a boyfriend! At least I’m trying!”

“You’re definitely trying,” Janus agreed, rolling his eyes. “That’s why you came in here to rant on my behalf and haven’t listened to a single thing I’ve said.”

“I can’t trust you to tell the truth.”

“Then let me say something,” Janus said, an edge growing in his voice. “You aren’t the only one who has opinions, and you certainly aren’t the only one who’s allowed to have a voice.”

Virgil’s lip curled in something that was almost a sneer. “I’m done listening to you.”

“Too bad.” Janus raised a hand. “I could force you to listen to me, or you could do this the easy way and let me talk.”

Virgil held out for a second, before groaning and sinking further into the chair. “Fine.”

Janus nodded and gathered his thoughts. It wasn’t easy. They twisted through his mind and shuddered in the shadows and slipped through his fingers. Lie or truth or lie or half-truth or lie or lie or lie--

He could lose himself, if he chose, in this choice. He could think two moves ahead, three, four, cross and double-cross and double back and stall. Janus always had the option to play it safe, play it fair, play it by ear. And when he knew the world so well, kenw every tilt of the chessboard, it was easy to get swallowed up by every possible choice.

He could placate Virgil with kind words, and perhaps Virgil would listen, or perhaps he would get offended. He could force Virgil to leave, and perhaps Virgil would, and perhaps Virgil would shun him afterwards. He could apologize with all the sincerity necessary, and perhaps Virgil would smile, and perhaps his expression would shutter closed.

He could be honest.

And what did that mean?

How could he say anything more? What did he want from this? What did he expect, for Virgil to back down? There was too much bad blood, dripping from the teacups, staining the floor. Janus couldn’t erase history. He couldn’t scrub out the strongest of facts, the deepest of truths, that ran through his veins like fire, impossible to ignore.

Truth. Virgil was angry.

Truth. Virgil wanted him to leave Thomas alone.

Truth. Janus didn’t want to leave Thomas alone.

Truth. Thomas wanted Janus to leave Thomas alone.

No. Truth? Lie? Something in-between?

Not a full truth, or Janus would already be hidden in the depths of his mind. On some level, Thomas wanted Janus’ help. Maybe he didn’t want to want to. Maybe it was complicated.

Everything was complicated these days.

Yet another thing that Virgil and Roman failed to comprehend. Good and evil were meaningless in the end. None of it mattered. Everyone’s little squabbles would coil into nothingness and alliances would rise and fall. Nothing was perfect, nothing was constant, and nothing was permanent. There was no use throwing a snit about it.

Janus had told himself that ever since the day Virgil left.

And now Virgil was here again, and the truth was that Janus wanted to beg him to return.

Of course, here, he had to be selfless.

“I think you’re overreacting,” Janus said bluntly, and Virgil flinched. “This isn’t the end of the world. You know as well as I do that lying doesn’t mean you’re a bad person. If it did, well, you’d be--oh, is that what you’re saying?”

He expected Virgil to bristle. And Virgil did, for just a second, before his shoulders wilted.

“Yeah, kind of,” Virgil said, his mouth twisting in a bitter smirk and his hands fidgeting with the cuffs of his hoodie. “Kind of. Not...not really, huh?”

Janus raised an eyebrow. “Hmm?’

Virgil sunk another few inches into the chair. “You said it yourself, didn’t you? I’m not--everything I try to be.”

Janus swallowed. Something about seeing Virgil so beaten-down made his stomach turn.

“Of course you’re not,” he said, and his voice came out far too sincere. “No one is. There’s always something better we could be, right?”

Virgil chuckled. “Is that supposed to be reassuring?”

“No,” Janus reassured him.

“Great.” Virgil chewed on his lip. “Any more words of wisdom? Are you gonna, like, defend yourself?”

“No,” Janus admitted, letting out a long breath. “I won’t waste time groveling. I just wanted to say that--you’re going to hurt more people than yourself if you try to stop Thomas from lying.”

“More people than you, you mean?”

“I meant what I said.” Janus pulled at his gloves. “If you recall, such a black-and-white view of selflessness and selfishness always ends well.”

“So we can just...bend the truth whenever we see fit?” Virgil scoffed. “Dude, no. Even you don’t want that.”

“Who says I don’t?”

Virgil paused. “You don’t. That’d be boring, right?”

“Hmm.” Janus allowed himself a smirk. “You have a point.”

“And...you don’t like being in control all the way,” Virgil added, his voice dipping. “I remember. It’s only fun if the opponent has their own agenda.”

Janus’ smirk fell off his face despite himself.

“I...told Thomas it wouldn’t be fair to you,” Virgil almost whispered, his fingers twisted in his hoodie, “to do that. To make you the answer to all his problems. You like being in the shadows, you like having stuff be interested--you wouldn’t want to be the only guy between him and despair.”

“Wouldn’t I?” Janus snapped. He couldn’t help it. Things were drifting into unknown territory and his defenses were rising. Shields up, eyes cold, make his move without hesitation. “Or is it you we’re talking about?”

Virgil flinched, and his eyes hardened. “Not everything’s about me. Or--me and you.”

“I disagree,” Janus said, leaning forward. “It’s always been about us--you’re the one who always makes it about us.”

“Uh, what?” Virgil yelled. “Who was the one who was all I just meant your name earlier? Not me!”

“Because you refused to listen to me,” Janus fired back. “Forgive me for taking drastic steps to keep Thomas safe.”

“Ugh!” Virgil threw up his hands. “It’s always about Thomas with you!”

“You just said the opposite!”

“Look, I don’t know!” Virgil groaned. “I don’t know, okay? You win. I have no idea what’s true anymore and life is a lie, you happy?”

Janus gave Virgil a searching look. “If not everything is about us, and not everything’s about Thomas, what are things about?”

“I don’t know,” Virgil said.

“You’re lying.”

“It--” Virgil took a deep breath. “It’s about us, isn’t it?”

Janus bit back a smile. “Finally. Progress.”

“It’s about us, it’s--” Virgil swallowed. “Deceit.”

“Anxiety.”

“Don’t--” Virgil caught himself, seeming to realize how much of a hypocrite he was being. “It’s about us. We--we have to pick sides.”

“Do we?”

“No.” Virgil sighed. “We have to pick what the sides mean now.”

“Do go on,” Janus said, leaning back. “I’m listening.”

“Ugh, it’s like--” Virgil rubbed at the back of his neck. “It’s like everything’s changing. And you know I hate change. But like, it’s not gonna stop, and to undo the change means more change. I have to roll with it. Which is--weird. And really scary. But...maybe not bad, entirely? Maybe.”

“Don’t sound too optimistic,” Janus teased.

“Shut up,” Virgil complained. “I’m trying, okay? Appreciate it!”

“You’re trying very hard,” Janus agreed. Virgil could figure out whether that was sarcastic or not, because Janus didn’t know. “Things certainly are shifting around here.”

“I’m sure you’re thrilled,” Virgil said.

“Hardly,” Janus said. “It’s so much fun being accepted and simultaneously rejected. Not a perilous position at all.”

Something flashed over Virgil’s face. “Patton likes you, and if Patton likes you--”

“Then Patton likes me,” Janus said, waving a hand. “You said it yourself. He’s a big player, but not the only one. Even a pawn can take down a queen.”

“Chess metaphors,” Virgil muttered. “Nerd.”

“Punk,” Janus fired back, and Virgil almost smiled.

“Anyway, I can dream that Roman will see the light eventually,” Janus said lightly. “You, however, may be too much to hope for.”

“Roman doesn’t trust you,” Virgil said sharply. “Not after all the stunts you pulled. And neither does Logan--heck, I’ve barely seen him since the wedding.”

Janus shifted uncomfortably. He hadn’t expected that much of a reaction from Logan, to be perfectly honest.

“Patton trusts me,” he said, not sure if it was a lie. Virgil’s gaze skittered over to the cookies on the table.

“Patton wants to,” Virgil amended. “So does Thomas.”

Janus steeled himself. “Do you?”

Virgil blew out a breath. “I don’t trust you.”

“Of course you don’t,” Janus said, pretending his voice hadn’t dulled.

“How could I?” Virgil asked, and Janus didn’t have an answer. Virgil was smart. Virgil was whip-smart and fierce and fiery. Virgil knew better than to trust Janus.

“Do you want to trust me?” Janus asked, holding out hope.

“I don’t trust you!” Virgil snapped. “You--you broke that trust, you can’t just--you broke it! You can’t just go sweeping all the broken pieces under the rug!”

“That’s my job, Virgil.”

“That’s a jerk move, Deceit.”

Janus took a deep, slow breath. Virgil sunk back into the chair. He slouched into it so naturally. He’d been it in a million times before.

“Do you...” Virgil looked like he was considering his words. He stared a hole in his jeans. “Do you trust me?”

Janus swallowed back a too-sweet lie and a sour truth. “Of course not,” he settled on. “It’s not exactly my job description.”

“Did you ever?” Virgil asked, barely above a whisper. “Or was that all a lie?”

“Yes,” Janus said.

Virgil could figure out if that was truth. Janus couldn’t tell.

Maybe that was why they didn’t last--Virgil couldn’t do all the work of decoding. Janus had to pick sides sometimes. He had to stand for something if he wanted people to stand for him.

Janus would never be everything Virgil needed him to be.

It was for the best that Virgil had left.

“You never answered my question,” Janus said, when the silence shivered for too long. “Do you want to trust me?”

“No,” Virgil said, abrupt and icy and hurtfully true. “No, I don’t. I don’t want that for me. Or you.”

“We’re better off without each other?”

“Yeah,” Virgil said, lifting his chin. “At least, that’s what you said, right?”

Virgil had said so, too. And worse. But Janus, for once, decided to keep that jab to himself.

“We can’t exactly avoid each other,” Janus pointed out, examining his fingernails to hide the sting in his eyes. “We are sides of Thomas, and given recent developments, we may be forced to cooperate.”

“Operative word being forced.” Virgil sighed. “But yeah.”

“No avoiding the truth, is there?”

“Nope.”

Another long, thin silence, carrying a million words that Janus could never dare to say aloud.

“Deceit?” Virgil finally asked.

“Yes, Virgil?”

“Will you promise not to hurt him?”

Janus blinked. “Him who?”

“Thomas.” Virgil took a deep breath. “Roman and Logan and Patton, too, but Thomas comes first. So...do you promise not to hurt Thomas?”

“I--” Janus hated the way he hesitated. “Sometimes you have to hurt in order to heal. Life is cruel.”

“No.” Virgil shook his head. “It might be, but you don’t have to be. You never had to be.”

“I could say the same for you,” Janus said, as if accusing Virgil of the same crime meant Virgil’s words stung less.

Virgil, to his credit, shook off the jab almost instantly. “Promise me you won’t hurt Thomas. That you’ll help with this relationship. That you’ll--give us all a real chance to trust you.”

Janus swallowed. “I don’t make promises.”

“Changes, right?” Virgil’s eyes flickered up to Janus, his eyes achingly hopeful. “C’mon. I’ll--I’ll try to work with you, okay? But only if you try to work with me.”

And it scared Janus, how fast he opened his mouth to promise.

To apologize. To change. To become what everyone wanted.

To build Virgil’s trust again.

But he’d been here. He’d been here a million times, when Virgil tearfully apologized after a fight and Janus did the same. Every time, they promised to be better. Every time, they lied.

Thomas lied. Thomas tried to be a better person, then a more selfish person, but in the end he was who he was. Change was an illusion, a lie. You were who you were. Thomas was Thomas. Anxiety was Anxiety. And Deceit was Deceit. Dress them up in outfits and names, but that didn’t hide the truth.

Janus couldn’t build Virgil’s trust to break it yet again.

He wasn’t that cruel.

And of course, he should be jumping at this chance. This was an in to real acceptance, a second chance, all that he’d dreamed of in the empty years without Virgil. The perfect chance for manipulation, too, to wriggle his way into the light and coil around Virgil’s neck. Every atom in Janus’ body told him he needed to take this chance.

And yet, he had always been selfish.

Virgil hated him. Always had, and always would. He didn’t think he could stand to give himself hope.

Some things could change, but some things were broken beyond repair. Janus didn’t want to cut himself on the edges. Janus didn’t want to waste time on his hands and knees. Janus didn’t want to put it together, again and again, postponing the inevitable.

Everything broke. Every game ended. The king fell over, hit the board, and lay still. And Janus set the pieces back into place and tried again.

Who was he without an opponent, someone to rival, a foil to reflect? Who was he on his own?

Fighting himself, dreaming up an imaginary opponent to outwit, and making mistakes just to make the game last longer.

Janus was fooling himself, and it would be funny if it wasn’t so pathetic.

“I don’t promise,” he said, and his hand dropped to his lap. “I’m sorry, Virgil.”

Virgil’s face tightened. “Yeah. Should have seen that coming.”

“I won’t hurt him,” Janus pleaded. “I’ll try not to, but I can’t--”

“I know, I know, you’ve got to keep your options open.” Virgil sighed. “Can’t commit, won’t commit. One day you’re gonna need somewhere to stand and you’re not gonna find anything, Deceit.”

“Not yet,” Janus said. “Not yet.”

“Not yet,” Virgil agreed, and stood up abruptly. His cold tea sat by the chair, untouched. He slipped over to the door, leaving scuff marks on the carpet. “Bye, I guess.”

“Goodbye,” Janus said, feeling simultaneously like the conversation was unfinished and untethered and that things had ended in a very final way.

Virgil pulled open the door and stepped into the hallway. Then he paused, standing there, one hand on the doorframe. A silhouette in black and purple. The purple was so gaudy and bright--no way to sneak around, to hide in the dark.

Virgil didn’t need to hide anymore. Virgil had grown.

Janus wished he was capable of that, too.

But people were who they were.

Every chess game had to end eventually. He’d drawn this one out, but now it was checkmate, and Janus had to cut his losses.

“I’m sorry,” Virgil said, quietly, and Janus fought back a gasp. “I don’t know what you needed, but I know I couldn’t give it to you, and I hope you find whoever you’re standing with eventually. It’s gotta be lonely on your own side.”

“I make do,” Janus said lightly, his chest aching.

“I’m sorry,” Virgil repeated, his fingers tightening on the doorframe. “And--for what it’s worth, Janus, I promise not to hurt him.”

Janus opened his mouth and closed it again.

Virgil disappeared in a rustle of fabric, and the door swung shut behind him.

The room was quiet. Janus’ cold tea sat next to his chair, and Virgil’s teacup gave out and shattered into several small pieces. Cold tea splashed over the carpet, the same dark shade as the plants, as black pieces on a chessboard.

Everything was silent, and Janus knew very suddenly that he’d made the wrong choice.

But there was no turning back. He had to sacrifice pieces for the good of the game. And there was no way to go back in time and fix everything that could be fixed. He had to do his best with the broken pieces.

Janus pressed a hand over his mouth and let himself have one small sob.

Then he waved his other hand, and the carpet folded over itself, the pieces sinking into the ground and disappearing, as if Virgil had never been there at all.

Janus pulled out his chessboard, set up the pieces, and began to play.

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morningfears · 4 years

Text

Linger

Rating: M | This is smut! No one under 18!

Summary: Calum gets a little handsy while you’re out at a bar with friends. (Fingering in public, basically.)

Word Count: 2.1k

The bar was crowded, typical for the late summer evening, and the sounds of revelry could be heard from the parking lot as you stepped out of Calum’s car. It was the one bar that everyone in your friend group loved - it was also the bar where you and Calum had met - so it was no surprise that you ended up there, ready to spend the night catching up on things you’d missed throughout the week.

It wasn’t often that you all went out drinking, not anymore, but tour was fast approaching and you were all eager to take advantage of your time together as a group while you still could. There was no telling when you’d be able to do this again, without the added pressure of work, so you and Calum abandoned your plans to spend the night alone together at home.

As you weaved through the rows of parked cars, Calum’s hand found the small of your back. His skin was warm against yours and you breathed a quiet sigh as you climbed the steps to the patio where the rest of your friends were already waiting. He was always glad to spend time with the boys, however, he’d made it clear that he’d had other plans for the night.

Right before he left for tour, Calum got into a mood. He was a little clingier, a little more hands on, and today had been no different. He’d taken every opportunity to wrap his arms around you, to touch you, to kiss you, and you weren’t complaining. The touches were light, loving, and the kinds of touches that you most associated with Calum. However, that changed after you’d gotten dressed for the night out.

The outfit was nothing special, nothing Calum hadn’t seen you in a million times, but the way he’d reacted to seeing you dressed in the black mini skirt you knew he loved never failed to bring heat to your cheeks. He’d - only half seriously - propositioned you to stay home and let him remind you of just how much he loved seeing you in that skirt but the girls were blowing up your group chat. Though it pained you to turn him down, you reminded him - and yourself - that you could always enjoy yourselves when you returned home.

He’d agreed, he knew that you were right, but there was a glint of mischief in his eyes that told you he wasn’t going to relent entirely. Not without a little fun, anyway.

“There you guys are. Thought you’d gotten lost on your way.” Ashton is grinning, happy to see the two of you, and you return his smile in kind as you take the seat in the corner.

“L.A. traffic is a literal nightmare. ‘Sides, we both had to actually put on clothes suitable for leaving the house. We’ve been living in sweats,” you retorted with a laugh as you watched Calum settle into the seat beside you.

“We’re not even late. You guys were just uncharacteristically early,” Calum pointed out as one hand found your thigh while the other reached for the drink menu in the center of the table as if he didn’t already know what he wanted.

The conversation quickly shifted to plans for the future as Michael, the person who’d drawn the short straw and was tasked with grabbing the first round, headed to the bar with Crystal. Sierra, grinning and bright, gestured to Luke’s recently bleached hair before she pointed at Calum’s nearly completely faded pink curls. “How do we convince them to keep these for longer than a few more weeks?”

They’d both dyed their hair for the Wildflower video and you’d fallen head over heels for the pretty pink that Calum had donned. You knew that he was planning on either buzzing it again or bleaching it but you enjoyed the pink tint that remained. Without thinking, you lifted your hand to run your fingers through his curls and Calum leaned into your touch with a glance in your direction and a slight tilt to his lips that hinted at his amusement. He returned your touch with one of his own, a squeeze to your thigh, and that was that.

“I’ve tried everything,” you assured her as you gently tugged at the curls and bit back a grin at the groan Calum released. “But even the puppy dog eyes aren’t working. He’s not budging on the pink. I think I talked him out of the buzzcut for the time being, though.”

“Why do you hate the buzzcut so much? I like it.” He knew why, you’d explained yourself time and time again when his head was between your thighs and you were incapable of doing anything but whine his name and grip his shoulders instead of the curls you wanted to tug, and his grin told you that he just wanted to hear you explain yourself.

You rolled your eyes and tugged at his curls once more, relishing in the increase in volume of his groan. “You’re really annoying. You know that, right?” You weren’t serious, he knew that. It was exactly the answer he was expecting, accompanied by heat rushing to your cheeks when Ashton howled in laughter, and his grin grew as he shot you a wink.

That was one of his favorite things to do - making you flush and either lose your words entirely or retort with a roll of your eyes - and though you’d whined at first, you loved it more than you’d ever tell him. It was never explicit, usually just him asking you to explain something that sent your mind straight to the gutter instead of letting it remain unspoken, but it was a game that he liked playing and one you had yet to grow tired of.

As always when you were with the group, the conversation never lingered on one subject for too long. It was always chaos, sometimes controlled but usually a complete clusterfuck of tangential comments masquerading as a coherent conversation, but there was no shortage of laughter. As the night wore on, as the patio grew darker and the conversation grew stranger, your sides hurt from laughing and your cheeks hurt from smiling. Your group was in the corner, away from prying eyes and listening ears, and Calum’s hand never left your thigh as you both enjoyed your night out with friends.

As Michael and Luke found themselves in the midst of a playful argument, both men pointing fingers and giggling uncontrollably as the alcohol tinted their cheeks pink and emboldened them, Calum’s hand drifted a little higher up your thigh. You wrote it off as nothing, used to his touch and even leaning into it, however, you were quickly proven wrong as his fingers dipped beneath the hem of your skirt.

When you turned your head, glancing at him questioningly, Calum kept his eyes on Michael and Luke but squeezed your thigh as a warning not to let on that anything was happening. It had been a while since he’d tried anything in public - the last time ended with the pair of you locked in a bar bathroom for a little too long before Ashton, the only sober one in the group, had to drag you out and take you home - and you found yourself a little too excited by the prospect as you shifted a little closer to him.

Calum was always better at feigning nonchalance than you. He was good at keeping the easy grin on his lips and laughing in the right places in the conversation. You, on the other hand, had a hard time concentrating on anything but Calum as his hand drifted higher up your thigh and his fingers brushed the lace of your panties.

You kept your drink in your hand, teeth nipping at your straw, to keep yourself from sighing as he teased you. He knew that he had time, Ashton had just started telling a story that he’d heard a million times but knew the others were pleasantly tipsy enough to want to hear again, so he took his time just brushing his fingers over your heat. He wanted to see you squirm, to watch you struggle to keep quiet, and with the combination of alcohol and the setting, he knew that he would get exactly that.

Every time Calum touched you in public, he had a sort of routine. He would surprise you, slip his hand between your thighs when you least expected it, and then lull you back into a sense of complacency as he took his time working you up. He alternated between brushing your thighs, his fingers warm against your already heading skin, and brushing his fingers over your clothed heat as he felt the material begin to dampen. He waited for your shoulders to relax, for you to return to the conversation and offer a comment or two on the topic at hand - whether you believed Ashton should bleach his hair, too, or leave it dark -, before he brushed the lace aside and let his fingers brush through your wetness.

You gripped your glass a little too hard and thanked your lucky stars that the conversation surrounding you was loud enough to cover the gasp you released as his fingers found your clit. You tried your hardest to keep your face neutral and when that failed, you returned your straw to your mouth and pretended to focus on the drink in your hand. Beside you, Calum hid his grin behind his beer and shifted to get a little closer as your thighs threatened to close around his hand.

You swallowed your desire to close your legs as Calum’s fingers rubbed lazy circles over your clit. He said something, responded to something Ashton said, but it all sounded like white noise as you shifted enough for him to finally slip a finger into your heat. You couldn’t focus on anything but him as he finally gave you what he’d been building up to for far too long.

It was never frantic in situations like this, though you imagined it would be, and you were almost in awe of how slow he seemed to be moving as he took his time with you. Every drag of his fingers, every time the hell of his hand bumped your clit, you wanted to whine at him to hurry but you knew that you couldn’t. You had to sit back, content with what he was giving, and stew in silence lest your friends catch on and tease you about it for the foreseeable future. And that was one of the things he loved. He loved hearing you whine and beg, your lust clouding your patience, but moments like these were his favorite as he was in control of the pace.

When your free hand moved to his knee, your nails digging into his leg through the material of his jeans, he decided to take pity on you. He’d teased you enough, had taken his time, and you’d been patient enough to keep the attention away from what was happening beneath the table. So, when Luke stood to grab the drinks and pouted at Sierra for her to join him, causing everyone to devolve into giggles at his clearly lovesick attitude, Calum took the opportunity to give you what you’d been waiting for.

He moved his fingers as quickly as he could to avoid drawing attention. It was an awkward angle, one that made touching you the way he really wanted to a little difficult, but he did the best he could with the space he had. It was enough to draw soft sighs of pleasure and to have you struggling to keep your eyes open as you barreled toward your end.

He was grateful, just as you were, that it was dark out. Even under the lamps littering the patio, your face was hidden in shadows and only he could see the way your eyes fluttered shut and your mouth opened slightly when you finally fell over the edge. It was a sight reserved for him and him alone, something he would never tire of seeing, and he let his hands linger between your thighs as he drew out your high as long as he could get away with.

When it finally became too much for you, when you nudged at his hand and shifted uncomfortably at the overstimulation, he removed his hand and wiped his fingers on a napkin. Though he wasn’t normally one for public kisses, he couldn’t help himself as he leaned over and pressed a soft kiss to your lips. He heard coos from the others and lifted his hand to show them all the finger as you buried your face in the crook of his neck.

The haze of your orgasm lingered over you as a summer breeze blew. The night wasn’t exactly what you’d expected but any night with Calum was more than perfect. And you couldn’t wait to return the favor once you made it home.

________________________________________

Author’s Note: Is this good? Not really. But it was fun. And it was inspired by a fantasy I had for this person (and if that person, by some miracle, happens to read this.... sorry). I was reminded of it when I read this fic for Spencer Reid (I know. I’ve been watching CM) and needed to write. The fantasy was..... Different. A little rougher, a little more ending in a broom closet or something but this felt more Cal. I dunno. Anyway. Yes. This was a struggle to write but I desperately needed to write something. I feel so useless being so unproductive when I literally have all the time in the world. Ugh. Okay. Anyway.

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5-falsehoods-phonated · 3 years

Text

When Our Hands Next Meet

Series summary: Soulmates are given memories of their past lives when their hands touch. For Virgil and Logan, each memory is happier than the last.

This series was created for @analogicalweek and made in collaboration with the lovely @birdsongisland! Please go look at the wonderful drawing that pairs with this work and support them with reblogs so their work can be seen!

Credit to birdsongisland for beta reading this as well, it came out a lot better because of them!

Chapter 5: We’ll Meet in the Middle

Chapter Summary: Virgil didn’t know what he had been expecting when he asked for a tutor to help with his studies, but it definitely wasn’t who could kick flip a skateboard without even looking down and also happened to be his soulmate.

Day 5 Prompt: Vocab Card/Skateboard

Warnings: none. If there are others please let me know!

WC: 1539

AO3 link

Taglist (ask to be added or removed): @ace-in-a-shopping-cart @janus-is-an-adorable-snek-boi @logans-library @im-an-anxious-wreck @edupunkn00b

Virgil huffed as he cupped his chin aggressively in his hand, staring down the road to wait for his tutor to show up. Not to get the wrong idea- he was very grateful to the person who had agreed to help him with his vocabulary; he just...wasn’t the best with people. He was socially awkward and very obviously had a vague emo style- wavy purple hair with white streaks fell messily over shadowed eyes and cheeks that would burn in five minutes outside despite his tanned complexion. His black nail polish was chipping from the constant picking and he was never seen anywhere without his favorite purple hoodie hugging him like a portable blanket. But he was falling a bit behind in class because he couldn’t seem to remember the constant influx of new terminology thrown at him each week. Asking the professor about extra practice had landed him a phone number that he had agonized over for too many hours before finally biting the bullet and calling.

The voice on the other end alone was enough to make his stomach flip, light and lilting even when talking about something as boring as scheduling. Virgil knew it then and he was stewing over it now- he was absolutely done for. No one had that kind of voice without being kind and patient and while those were things he definitely needed if he was going to learn anything he was sure he’d get distracted anyway. Forming a squish from a voice- that had to be the worst joke played on him yet.

Looking up however nearly made him want to cry at the irony. That had to be him, the only person on campus at the moment standing tall on a skateboard while gripping a dark blue messenger bag. From what Virgil could see he had blue hair that was pulled to one side with the other shaved, immediately piquing Virgil’s interest with the unique look. He tried his hardest not to stare as he came closer and his jacket came into view; a leather one spiked at the shoulders and sporting pride flags at the chest. Virgil felt his own chest constrict as he stored that away for later, the pintrovert system coming in handy for what felt like the first time in his life.

Just as he was getting his crutches situated to stand up he noticed the other man riding straight for the sidewalk seemingly not paying attention to where he was going. Scrambling to his feet he lurched forward to yell out.

“Hey watch ou-” The warning died on his lips as his tutor executed a perfect lick flip onto the sidewalk, letting the momentum carry him a couple more feet before stopping and tucking the skateboard under his arms. Virgil was sure he looked like an absolute idiot as he approached him, trying his hardest not to gape while practically feeling his eyes sparkling while looking at the punk with wide eyes.

“Hello, I’m Logan. And you’re Virgil right? The person I’m supposed to help with his medical terms?” He waited for Virgil to nod before continuing. “Excellent. Is the library fine?”

Realizing He’d been silent too long, he managed to squeak out a “Yeah,” as he reached down to swing his bag over his shoulder. Logan started towards the doors with him, shuffling things around in his bag to pull out notecards and stuff the skateboard into it. How it fit Virgil had no idea but taking in the aesthetic he honestly wouldn’t be surprised if it involved some sort of fae magic.

They settled down at the table and Logan looked over at him, making his heart once again skip a beat as he took in the beautiful shade of brown. Shaking his head slightly he tried to focus on what Logan was currently talking about while organizing several colored pens in front of them.

“-that way you’ll be able to separate the terms better and your brain will be better equipped to compartmentalize the terms you need to remember in half the time. Does that make sense?”

It didn’t. It really, really didn’t. He had a soulmate somewhere that he hadn’t found yet and most likely wouldn’t for a long time to come, and yet here he was trying desperately to hide a blush because this person was just- he was so cool. His voice and eyes were pretty and he was obviously smart if he had been the first person his teacher had recommended to tutor him…

“Are you feeling alright? You look flushed.” Hearing this Virgil snapped back to reality and gave a thumbs up, ducking his head while trying to resist the urge to slam it into the wood.

“Fine, yeah! Just you’re- it’s hot! Hot in the hoodie.” Praying he had saved that sentence quickly enough he dared to peak back at Logan through his bangs, who was just smiling slightly with an arm draped over the back of his chair.

“You can take that off then, if you want.” Logan pointed to the hoodie. “Since you’re hot.”

Virgil decided then, somehow managing to keep a straight face through his panic, that it was quite homophobic of the floor to not simply open and swallow him whole. Try as he might to calm himself he could still feel the remnants of the harsh flush in his cheeks as he saw Logan simply look at him with that smile, making him idly wonder if the sly bastard was really flirting with him or was actually just that oblivious.

Virgil sputtered as he wrapped the hoodie tighter around himself, shaking his head slightly. “Nah, I’m fine actually! You were saying about colors?”

“Just that color coding can help you study better. I’m here to give you tips as well so please pay attention.” Leaning forward again, Logan started explaining how to separate the different concepts and how to decide what was important and what wasn’t; honestly Virgil was genuinely surprised at how much he retained, forgetting his panic in favor of actually learning, for which he was very grateful. By the time an hour had passed he had a pretty good grasp on what he was meant to be learning and how to go about it. He stacked his much improved notecards together and shoved them in his pocket for later, shifting around in his seat to look at Logan properly.

“Thank you honestly, I feel a lot better about the class now.”

“It was no trouble, I’m grateful I was able to help. And if you’re in need of further assistance before next week, call me?” Logan smiled crookedly. “I use the library’s phone for tutor scheduling, this is for my actual phone..”

Virgil gaped at the slip of paper offered to him with a wink, fully cementing the idea that Logan had, in fact, been flirting with him and Virgil had been too infatuated with his style to actually notice. Purple nail polish caught his eye as his hand moved closer and he had the vague thought of that being his favorite color and how did he keep them from chipping? Before his thoughts could wonder further he was taking the paper and smiling, just aware enough of their fingers brushing as he remembered being with this person, his soulmate, time and time again. Every time was better than the last as their souls grew accustomed to one another and grew over eternity, strengthening their bond with every word exchanged.

Virgil looked at his soulmate's dazed expression, the most beautiful smile he’d ever seen gracing his lips and eyes watering with emotion at having found him again. So many words stuck in his throat as he struggled with the perfect thing to say, something that would capture how happy he was to finally be together again and how excited he was to explore this lifetime together. Something that would make Logan understand just how much he meant to him.

“I think this is the coolest form you’ve ever taken.” He blurted, immediately covering his mouth and cursing himself twice over.

His heart sank as Logan barked out a laugh, snorting into his own hand and taking a minute to compose himself before laying a gentle hand on his cheek.

“And I think this is the loveliest I’ve seen you.”

He laughed softly as Virgil went completely red, fingers twitching with indecision over whether to flap his hand or slap the idiot beside him. Deciding on a combination of both he frantically beat a hand against his shoulder while sleeping his other over his mouth, mumbling profanities under his breath. Whipping around as his hand was caught he couldn’t help but grin at Logan’s own brilliant smile, even if his face felt like he had dipped it in a vat of boiling water.

“It’s getting late, I could walk you home?”

“Yeah,” Virgil managed. “I’d like that.”

Walking home and still slightly wishing the floor had opened up beneath him, he couldn’t help but feel lucky that he had found Logan so soon. They had an eternity to catch up on and if it had to start with fixing his bad study habits, he supposed he couldn’t complain.

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#false writes #sanders sides #sanders sides fic #analogical #analogicalweek #analogical week #virgil sanders #logan sanders #collab #collaboration

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drxwsyni · 4 years

Text

Petrified (pt.5)

Yandere Erasermic x f!Reader

SERIES MASTERLIST

a/n: idk what to say about this part. the dialogue wasn’t fun, but that’s about it! hope y’all enjoy!

5.9k words

Warnings: reader experiences anxiety

Realistically speaking, there was a very low chance that you’d be able to wrestle your nerves under control as you waited for the impending meeting. It was creeping upon you, quite painfully slowly. On top of that you still had yet to resolve the almost instantaneous sensation of despair you felt upon waking.

Even as you spent the time you had to yourself completing menial tasks, nothing could truly remedy the feelings that plagued your being. It was incessant. Eating away at your will to distract yourself. And eventually you did succumb to its pestering.

No matter what you occupied yourself with, the reality of the approaching situation would invade your thoughts. It would keep you there until you mentally fought tooth and nail against it. But even then it wasn’t enough. It simply became easier to settle with the mindset.

You opted to lay on your thrifted couch, toying with the soft tussles on the blanket that was draped over your lower half. The connection of the fabric running across your fingers to how it actually felt wasn’t something your brain was choosing to register at the moment.

Rather, you simply stewed on your conflict.

It felt like you did this a lot nowadays. Brewing over muddled thoughts that didn’t entirely make sense but also did at the same time.

You trusted Shouta and Hizashi. Yet there was always an inkling of suspicion―or perhaps it was moreso a fear. Probably both, you assumed. What you wouldn’t give to have this whole reality be erased from existence. To never have met the two. Never have gotten preyed on by some lowly criminals that made you so indebted.

But that wasn’t something you could control. Much like you couldn’t seem to control the extent of the impact the heroes were having on your life. That was something they preferred to dictate, regardless of your protests.

Not that you protested all that much. To be fair, you hadn’t exactly been assertive with your wishes. Still, that doesn’t mean your few opinions should be as disregarded as they were.

It angered you more than anything. Shouta wouldn’t give you the chance to speak your mind while Hizashi glazed over the problem with a delusional sense of care. With their combined insistence it was more than enough to force you back into your shell. A place where no matter how upset you were, the courage to speak your mind was next to impossible.

If you didn’t know any better you would think that they were just as aware of this as you. After all, they seemed to be exploiting your weaknesses more and more. Maybe they did know you quite literally feared their methods of approach and were doing it just to see your pitiful reactions.

It would be cruel, and highly unlikely. But your mind had a habit of coming up with the worse case scenario, and this idea was no exception.

You were so wrapped up in contemplating the meaning for their behaviour and subsequently how you felt because of it that the time passing at an alarming rate didn’t even phase you.

No, not until the sound of your phone pinging―an alert for received text messages―were you finally pulled out of your stupor.

From: Shouta

Are you still okay with being picked up at 5:30?

4:32 pm

The time on the receipts made your heart drop a little. An hour left.

You:

That’s fine :)

4:33 pm

From: Shouta

Let me know if you need more time.

4:33 pm

You:

Will do, thanks!

4:34 pm

Of course you didn’t need more time to meddle with your own thoughts.

How exactly were you supposed to get ready to spend time with them? You couldn’t make anything to bring, something they made clear. Were you supposed to wear something casual? Or maybe dressing up a little was the better option.

None of these details really mattered, but overthinking was one of the things you were best at. So at each decision you came across you muddled over what to do. When all was said and done, you chose to settle with a navy blouse and black high waisted jeans. Dark colours were best for not drawing attention to yourself after all, and that was exactly what you wanted to do.

The rest of the routine to prepare for your slowly ensuing departure from the comfort of your apartment was done on autopilot. Any actions couldn’t be fully processed when your mind was drowning in nonsensical worries and ‘what if’ scenarios. The phenomenon wasn’t surprising, but still mentally taxing nonetheless. Nothing you could think or do would make you feel better. This was just something you would have to push through regardless of the voice in your head urging you to make up an excuse not to go.

After all, excuses now would only postpone the inevitable. And right now the inevitable was already here.

From: Shouta

I’m outside.

5:29 pm

You’d been ready for the past fifteen minutes―spending your remaining time anxiously waiting at the kitchen table. You regarded the text with a feeling of dread, but pushed the sensation down as you pulled on your shoes and jacket, stuffing your wallet in a pocket.

Just as he said, Shouta was waiting outside the apartment complex in the parking lot. He was leaning against the side of his car, eyes trained on his phone. Dressed in casual clothes with his hair pulled back into a half bun, he lifted his head upon hearing your approaching footsteps.

You watched as his eyes briefly scanned your form, presumably taking in your choice of clothing. “Ready to go?”

He didn’t exactly sound bored with the pseudo-greeting, rather it was a ‘let’s move this along’ kind of sound. It made you question for a moment whether he actually cared about the situation, but you disregarded the idea. “Of course.” Out of habit you offered a warm smile, which made his face lighten slightly in return. Even that alone was comforting compared to his normally serious facade.

Shouta opened the passenger door for you, letting you step in before closing it. He rounded the car and entered on the drivers side while you fastened your seatbelt, hands shaking ever so slightly. It was in your best interest to keep your nerves under control as much as possible, lest one of the two men pick up on it and become more concerned.

The car started with a low hum, the interior dashboard lighting up in areas that were blacked out before. The radio was playing quietly, allowing you to just barely register the soft rock music being emitted from the speakers. Shouta was the first to break the silence as he began driving.

“So, how was work yesterday?”

Small talk, thank god.

It would probably be a good idea to disregard the normal strain it put on your body. “It was good, like any other Friday I guess.”

The erasure hero nodded slightly before replying, “Anyone giving you trouble?” His eyes never left the road as he spoke, which you were thankful for, but it also made his expression hard to read from where you were sitting.

“I suppose a few people were a little impatient, but it’s nothing I haven’t dealt with before.”

To that he only offered a hum in response before moving to turn the radio up. By now there was a segment between the hosts, and you gratefully let it fill the silence if it meant you could avoid any awkward bits of forced conversation.

You found out regrettably that his home wasn’t too far from your apartment. Perhaps roughly ten minutes there by car, and you were already pulling up to the settlement.

It was comfortably small, set in a neighbourhood with houses of a similar size. You could tell that it was a pricy abode, evident in the elaborately carved wooden doors and smooth stone walkway. Everything exuded luxury, and you expected to find the same quality of handiwork on the inside. Not only that, but it was placed comfortably in the midst of the city―not close enough to any normal bustling life but in an area that would allow for a fast commute. Just another aspect that alluded to it’s likely expensive cost.

Shouta pulled into the driveway, parking the car inside the garage which was surprisingly big enough to fit the automobile. You stepped out as soon as the car door unlocked, the erasure hero following suit. The sound of the doors slamming shut echoed off the walls loudly, causing you to jump a little with your nerves already being on edge. Silently, you prayed he had yet to pick up on your behaviour.

“S’just through here.” Shouta gestured to the only door in the room before heading towards it, one hand shoved in his pocket. He held it open in wait for you to round the car and step through the threshold.

Instantly your senses were flooded with a smell that was so indisputably welcoming―a certain warmth, enhanced by the aroma of a home cooked meal in the making. It was wildly calming, and in that moment you forgot how stressed you’d been over the ordeal you were about to sit through. And yet, even as you came back to reality, the atmosphere continued to still your worries to a certain extent.

“We’re home.” The erasure hero’s voice sounded off behind you, causing you to turn to see that he was removing his jacket. You did the same, but before you could ask where to hang it Shouta had already gently removed the article from your hands, placing it on a hanger in the front entrance closet.

As you were removing your shoes a certain voice hero made himself known. “I’m just in the kitchen, grub’s almost done and cooked!”

Once the two of you had finished up getting comfortable, Shouta led the way deeper into the house. Following him, you finally laid eyes on his partner who was preoccupied at the stove. He glanced over his shoulder, face turning bright upon seeing you.

“Songbird? How’ve ya been?” He talked like he hadn’t seen you in forever, but that was no surprise.

What did come as a surprise was the suffocatingly tight hug he went on to wrap you in. The contact was jarring, but you did your best not to recoil. After all, you would be lying if you said the hug wasn’t at least a little nice. Sure, your mind had momentarily ceased it’s functioning from the shock, but biology did have its ways of easing your pain. Namely, in the form of that sweet release of serotonin as an innate response to the affection. Leaning into it to prove you weren’t too bothered by the close proximity, you responded. “Ah―fine. The same as last time you saw me I guess.”

The blond pulled away, opting to hold you by the shoulders as he spoke. “That head feelin’ okay? Your meds workin’?” The look in his eyes told you how concerned he was, even though the soft tone in his voice did more than enough to convey it. It was one of the few times it carried such delicacy to it, something you were grateful for as you don’t think the normal booming of his voice would’ve been tolerable from such a distance.

You smiled warmly, doing your best to maintain eye contact―and failing after a few seconds. “Yep, everything's back to normal, pretty much…”

That’s what you said, but it wasn’t the truth.

The reality of your health was something you normally chose to disregard, but you knew it wasn’t normal. At the end of the day, your normal was likely another person's hell. The exhaustion you felt was second nature, but that didn’t mean it was easy to deal with. However, putting up with the sensation was worth what you got out of it. So you kept going―kept lying―both to yourself and others that you were okay.

The pause Hizashi gave before answering instilled a brief pang of anxiety. The two were unbearably perceptive―they had to be, being heroes and all. But whatever he was thinking seemed to pass. “Good ta hear, why don'tcha make yourself comfortable while we finish up sweetheart.”

You glanced over to the stovetop, then to the countertop that was adorned with wayward vegetables and measuring cups. Naturally, you couldn’t help but offer assistance. “Oh, I don’t mind helping out. If you want I could―”

“Nah listener! Go get comfy, ‘Shou and I’ve got this.” He gave your shoulder a few reassuring pats, before motioning to the living room with his other hand.

As he gave you a gentle push, you managed to sputter out a response. “Um―okay, then…” Was it a strong response? No. But they weren’t giving you time to come up with something more polite. So you took Hizashi’s queue and padded over to the living room.

The first thing you noticed when you stepped into the expanse was how...empty it was. It had furniture―more than enough to fill the room. All of it looking high in value, only adding to the comfort and prestige of their home. That wasn’t the issue. It was the lack of personal items that stood out.

There were none of the items that you would expect in a well lived in home. Things like photos or framed degrees on the wall―nothing to suggest that either of the two heroes stayed there. Not so much as a haphazardly discarded personal belonging like a sweater or even a stray coffee mug was in sight. It was immaculately devoid of unique human presence. The only thing that served as evidence to suggest someone was actually living there and it wasn’t more so a showroom was the laptop on the coffee table in front of the couch.

But that was it. Peculiar, to say the least.

There was quite literally nothing else for you to evaluate. Nothing to help you get a better sense of who the heroes were behind closed doors. With the lack of stimulation came an awkward feeling of self awareness. So you did what the blond instructed―you made yourself comfortable.

The couch looked invitingly cushiony, so there you took up residence, pulling out your phone for the distraction of social media. You had your back to Shouta and Hizashi who were still in the kitchen. That particular detail mildly unsettled you, and you did your best not to let the paranoia induced urge to keep looking over your shoulder get to you.

With the comfort of the temporary seclusion you concluded that while they might be taking your presence to make up for the burden you’ve placed on them, you were paying an equal amount with your sanity. They couldn’t have seen how much their existence in your life as of late was displacing your will to remain calm. If they did then you were sure the heroes in them wouldn’t have suggested this meeting.

They were getting too personal, and all you could think about was never having to see them again after tonight.

Regrettably, the sound of clinking metal pulled you out of your thoughts. Behind you Shouta had begun setting the dining table, placing down cutlery along with napkins. Part of you knew that your offer of assistance would be shot down. It was all routine at this point, and you’d honestly lost track of the amount of times it had happened.

You inwardly cursed yourself for causing unnecessary anxiety, “I can help with that, if you want.” The ‘if you want’ came out unintentionally, your subconscious knowing what was about to happen.

Shouta glanced up at you, “That’s fine (y/n), you can just take a seat.” He went back to what he was doing without another word, before heading back to the kitchen.

It wasn’t even worth putting up resistance over.

Standing up, you walked over to the dining room, claiming the spot next to the head of the table. Not a moment later and the two were walking out with various bowls which appeared to be steaming.

“Hope you’re hungry sunshine! Dinner’s comin’ in hot” Hizashi set down a bowl in front of you.

“It’s beef stew, hope you don’t mind.” The erasure hero sat down at the head of the table. His partner left the room, only to return with a tray of golden dinner rolls.

“Homemade and fresh outta the oven!” He set the tray down in the middle of the table, taking a seat across from you.

You looked down at the food displayed before you. Frankly, it looked absolutely delectable. “This looks really good, you must’ve been at it for a while.”

Shouta had already begun eating so you assumed it was safe for you to do the same. Lo and behold, the food tasted just as good as it looked. The perfect ratio of vegetables to meat, seasoned to perfection. It was impressive, to say the least.

“Yeah it did take a bit, but it’s worth it for you songbird!”

You were almost too distracted by the mouth watering meal that was gracing your tastebuds to care about his pet names. And even if you did care, the hospitality would help in overlooking it. Thankfully your nerves had calmed down a bit, part of you thinking that you were growing used to their presence ever so slightly.

As you ate, the two took it upon themselves to make idle discussion to fill the silence, Hizashi always doing more of the talking than his counterpart. You did the listening, as they were dealing with topics beyond you. Namely hero work, its details something that you couldn’t quite relate to, let alone offer something valuable to the conversation. You weren’t complaining either―it was easier to let them go on than it was to worry yourself over trying to find something interesting to say.

It would’ve been nice if things could’ve stayed like that. The mood was something you could tolerate at the moment, an occurrence that was rare when you were around the two men. But of course something so ideal as that would never last.

Soon enough their back and forth discourse began heading exactly where you hoped they would avoid tonight.

Hizashi was on the subject of a few unsavoury criminals that had been active in the area. Nothing too serious, but still posing a large enough threat to those who were less capable of defending themselves.

And then he started talking about the area you were walking through when you just so happened to get cornered by similarly dangerous individuals.

At that point you were a little over halfway done eating, and desperately wishing to quickly move from the subject if not just drop it entirely. But no, Hizashi was intent on remaining on the topic.

“Ya know, a few buddies of mine have been dealing with some trouble in that area.” With his mouth half full, he continued. “Sure you gotta work so late? Can’t imagine walkin’ home at that time is very safe.”

You’d lost your appetite.

“Yeah, they need me to cover the later shifts, and I don’t really mind it, so…”

Shouta seemed to be more interested in the discussion now that you were involved. “Still, you should try and switch to morning shifts.”

“Mm―not only that but ya can’t just go exploring a bunch of alleyways. Shit’s bound to happen there hun.” The blond had set his food aside and was more than happy to indulge himself further in telling you what to do.

Did they really think you were so dense that you’d be going down alleyways just to explore?

You placed your spoon in the almost empty bowl, bringing your hands to rest on your lap. At least like that they wouldn’t be able to see you trying to relieve some stress by repetitively fidgeting with the end of your sleeve or digging your nails into the palms of your hands.

“I was taking a shortcut. That’s not something I would normally do.” There was a certain feeling of spite in your voice, but you doubt they could register it. Rather you probably simply sounded displeased to be talking about that night, mixed with a hint of shame for letting yourself get attacked like that.

“If that’s the case then I’d advise you take the long way. You’re just putting yourself at a higher risk by going down that path.” Shouta was taking a sip of his drink as the two let you process their advice. He didn’t seem to like the idea of you ‘putting yourself at risk,’ judging by the almost disappointed tone in his voice.

It was hard for you to meet their eyes as they spoke, so instead you alternated between staring at the table while looking at them for a brief second to prove that yes, you were listening to them.

However you did watch as Hizashi moved to fold his hands atop the table, leaning forward slightly. He paused, likely gathering his thoughts. “And, ah...somethin’s been sorta bothering Shou’ and I for a bit.” The two men eyed each other for a moment, “It’s just...the doctor never said what was quite wrong with ya, being so tired and all.”

The heroes were looking intently at you for an answer, causing you to mentally recoil from the unwanted attention. But you still had to come up with something to influence them into moving on to something that didn’t directly relate to your wellbeing. ��Oh...well it was the end of the week I guess. That probably explains it…” You were curious to see if the answer was satisfactory, but upon looking up a little more to judge their reactions you found that oh no, that was most definitely not enough.

They didn’t look convinced in the slightest. You weren’t lying to them, just omitting most of the truth. And somehow it felt like they knew you were doing so―your suspicions being quickly confirmed.

“You passed out, (y/n). Your records don’t list any medical problems so there should be no reason your shifts cause you that much exhaustion.”

You had no doubt Shouta was boring holes into your skull with the unmatched intense look he was likely giving you. The wavering amounts of courage you held only allowed you to observe him from the shoulders down. He’d leaned back in his chair at this point, one hand in his lap while the other rested on the table.

They didn’t have the right to be so invasive with your personal life. They were heroes. They saved people and then they were supposed to move on.

Not access their medical history without their permission to see if they were being completely honest.

As if sensing your growing uncomfortableness, Hizashi piped up. “We’re just worried about ya sweetheart. Stuff like that doesn’t just happen outta the blue. And if somethin’ really is wrong then you gotta tell us.”

You could almost drown in the concern blanketing his words and tone. It was conflicting―you knew he was being genuine, and that the two were just that invested in your wellbeing at the moment. But that’s what scared you.

The attention was entirely unwelcome. How many times did you have to reassure them that you were handling things before they let it go?

Self-awareness was haunting you, knowing full well how you were going to be unable to control the shakiness in your voice. Even less so was the hold you had over the stirring of worrisome emotions brewing inside you. You knew skirting around the truth was better than telling them you used your quirk at work. They would probably get mad at you―the reality wasn’t a conventionally accepted thing.

“I think..I’m just a naturally tired person. And those guys freaked me out a bit, so...I don’t know. I guess it was just a combination of those things?”

You waited in heavy silence for a response. For once it seemed that they were thinking before they spoke. Hizashi especially liked to say whatever came to mind, at least that’s what you thought. Shouta wasn’t as impulsive, but he never hesitated this long. And so when he finally spoke, you weren’t sure whether to be relieved due to the occurrence or not―given what he said.

“If you think we believe that excuse for a second then you're very wrong, (y/n). You might be tired, but we know there’s more to it than that. It’d be much easier if you’d just cooperate with us.”

Looking up was a bad idea, but your head moved on its own. While Shouta looked as menacing as ever, his partner looked...nervous. You’d never seen him that way, like he was suffering just as much as you were. Perhaps it was a side effect of this irrational concern he felt, realistically you didn’t care. But the feeling transferred to you and slowly the pit in your stomach grew bigger and bigger with each passing second. You weren’t sure how much longer you’d be able to hold out.

“Please just tell us the truth, songbird. You’re not in trouble, we promise. It’s just―we can tell there’s somethin’ off with ya.” If your hands were on the table you wouldn’t be surprised if he tried to hold them, knowing of his tendencies.

You looked back and forth between the two, eyes silently pleading for them to just drop it altogether.

Of course, you knew they wouldn’t.

Maybe you should just run while you had the chance?

“R-really, I’m okay. Listen, dinner was...really good, but I think I should be going n―”

“You’re not leaving.”

The erasure hero was in no mood to put up with you dancing around the topic at hand anymore. He brought you here to find out what the fuck was going on with you and he’d be damned if you just denied them that truth any longer. Hizashi had no complaints―maybe wincing at his partner’s harshness a little, but otherwise was in it just as much as him.

The blond could bring the tension down a little though, mostly for your sake. “Are ya not gettin’ enough sleep? Shou’ knows a pretty good doctor that helps with that kinda thing if that’s the problem. We just wanna make sure you’re being safe is all, sunshine.”

Really? Because this feels more like an interrogation than a friendly discussion over your habits.

Perhaps it would be better to just cut your losses and tell them. You didn’t want to, if they deemed fit they could be the reason you lose your job. Your boss didn’t know that you used your quirk―nobody did. It was how you stayed ahead of everyone else. Technically it was like cheating, having such a big advantage over your coworkers in your line of work. But where was the harm? You were making people happy, there’s nothing wrong with that.

But just like before you left your apartment to be accompanied to their house, your mind decided it was a perfectly fine and healthy idea to come up with countless ‘what ifs.’ One of which included the possibility that yes, you would be fired for this small transgression. Even though it was unlikely, it still plagued your mind with dread. The shop was where you got validation―a place where you knew you were doing something right. You didn’t want it taken away from you.

But you had to tell them. They were waiting. There was no way out of this.

“M-my quirk…”

How were you supposed to explain this?

“What about your quirk?” Shouta was not giving you any room to weasel your way out of this.

Your eyes remained trained on the abandoned dinner in front of you. “I use it...at work, sometimes. It just makes me a little tired I guess.”

The erasure hero didn’t give his counterpart the chance to ruin the moment, knowing you were susceptible to revealing more information with another push. “Only sometimes?”

God, it felt like you were being shamed for what you did.

“A lot...I use it a lot.” Admitting it felt hard even though you were more than aware of your behaviour. It was their reaction that made the task so difficult.

“What’s your quirk, sweetheart?”

You looked at your hands―the tools that made the fruits of your labour possible. “I...um―it’s called Nurture. I can sort of...put life back into plants? It just makes them healthier, but doing it puts strain on my body. Makes me a bit sleepy, but it isn’t usually that bad…”

Shouta gave a quiet hum in response before continuing, sitting up in his chair a bit. “Well―I wouldn’t call that a bit. No point in trying to downplay it now, just be honest.”

It was probably supposed to sound lightly encouraging, but he sounded more like he was making a demand.

A demand in which you had no choice but to meet.

“Okay...it can be a little much sometimes. B-but Friday was the exception, I had to use it a lot the night before so...the exhaustion just caught up with me.” You left out the part where the emotional response from being cornered was likely a bigger problem than the sorry state your general physique was in.

Hizashi sighed, and it would appear that the two were relieved to finally get the explanation they were looking for. You however were not in the same state. You were vulnerable, and inwardly you prayed they would leave well enough alone.

The erasure hero took a sip of his drink, and you caught the men exchanging glances before the blond spoke up. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

You didn’t respond. Just kept staring at your hands.

“What you’re doing isn’t illegal or anything, but it’s still not something you should be doing. I’m sure you know what could happen to your career if this kind of information got out.”

At that your eyes shot up, looking desperately in Shouta’s direction. “Please don’t tell my boss. He doesn’t know, and I’m not hurting anyone by using it. Please just―I don’t know what I’d do without my job.” You glanced back to Hizashi, looking like your words were hurting him as well.

“I don’t know (y/n), you’re not exactly being responsible with your quirk. Just because you’re not hurting anyone else doesn’t mean it’s safe to disregard your own health.” Shouta must enjoy judging you when you were at your lowest, seeing as he tended to do it an awful lot.

Just when you thought this night couldn’t get any worse, it did. It got so much worse.

You weren’t able to form a rebuttal, but it didn’t matter when Hizashi beat you to it. “Listen, we don’t want to do that songbird, honestly. How ‘bout we make another deal instead…”

What in god’s name could they want from you.

“W-what kind of deal?” How you wished they’d just let you walk free, unburdened by their presence like you planned on before coming here. It’s like they wanted to watch you squirm uncomfortably with anticipation.

Finally the blond continued. “Simple. Ya try not to use your quirk as much and we don’t tell management!”

Shouta added his take, “And you have to keep coming over for dinner so we can make sure you’re holding up your end. It’s a fair proposition. Take it or leave it.”

It was unbelievable. Of course you didn’t want to comply―they were blackmailing you for christ’s sake. But one problem did stand out, “What are you guys getting out of this? I―I’m just not quite sure I understand.”

The erasure hero sighed, “Call it peace of mind―lets us know you're not on the verge of death while enjoying your company at the same time.”

Clearly they couldn’t see how much you weren’t enjoying their company. Or maybe they did and simply didn’t care. How they thought this was a fair deal was beyond you, and it didn’t exactly matter either way.

You didn’t want to admit it―to agree to their ‘deal,’ but you had no choice. They’d effectively cornered you. At this point you could only hope they would get bored enough of your presence to eventually call it off. You wouldn’t be able to stop using your quirk, it would break your heart not to. You got so much out of using it―emotionally at least.

They might not know if you were lying now if you agreed to it, but having to see them again wouldn’t be good news. Was it that obvious what your quirk did to your health? Honestly speaking, you’d never really evaluated whether or not you looked worse for wear. All this time you just acted without thinking of the effects. Perhaps there was physical evidence―but it was something you would have to evaluate later.

Not that you personally cared whether or not you actually looked tired. There was always makeup for that if you were feeling self-conscious. Mostly, you needed to see what you had to do to fool them into thinking you were complying.

At least they were patient when it came to this response, and eventually you did manage to give one. With great reluctance, you spoke. “I guess...if that’s what you want. But I―”

“Then it’s settled! We can keep meetin’ up like this every Saturday from now on!” Hizashi was positively beaming at the prospect, you however were not as excited.

Every fucking Saturday?

The thought of having to experience the same god awful stress made your heart sink. They should be sick of seeing your face by now. All you’ve done for them was place an immense burden, both on their wallets and apparently their minds as well. It didn’t matter if they were worried about you―they would have to get over it.

You would play along for now, mostly for the sake of your sanity.

It was simple. You just had to convince them that you were keeping up your end of the deal. It wasn’t impossible. You would be fine.

Shouta stood up from his chair, muttering an “Alright, then” as he did so. You watched almost helplessly as he began gathering the bowls and glasses off the table, stacking them in a neat pile.

You would've offered to help, but they’d already taken enough from you tonight. Realistically, you doubted it was even possible to form a coherent sentence. Your mind was too muddled with what was currently an inescapable despair, alongside of a slowly kindling detestment for the two men.

The audacity they held to put you in such a position would be impressive if it weren’t also mildly disturbing at the same time. For heroes, they seemed wildly unaware of how oppressive their behaviour was.

For the time being you were under their every whim and command. It wasn’t ideal, but it was something you would have to put up with.

Just enough for them to see you were okay. That you were capable of functioning even when your quirk posed certain unpleasant obstacles.

And in your mind of calculating escapes, you just barely registered that the two had gone back to their discussion of life events that you’d never come close to relating to. Hizashi still being the more dominant, relaxed as his partner cleaned the dining table.

The clock ticking away on the wall read 5:57 pm. You wondered how much longer they’d keep you here, seeing as they never made a point to ask you what you were comfortable with anyways―probably planning on doing the same with when they thought you should be free to go for the night.

End of Part 5

_____

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#yandere bnha #yandere erasermic #yandere shouta aizawa #yandere aizawa #yandere present mic #yandere yamada hizashi #yandere hizashi #yandere mha #yandere my hero academia #yandere

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cryptid-killjoy · 2 years

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New Shit to Stir The Pot - Plot Helper

If Heresy was never the real supreme, a banished dark fae stealing powers trying to get back to her own realm, who is the supreme now? The big question was always where did the supremacy go? It wasn’t a title like a king or a queen. It was a transfer of power. It was a law of nature. Who has it? Delta is indeed powerful, but that’s fae powers, the powers her mother stole, and the powers of her combined staff making her seem beyond the powers of Hell. But, it’s not her.

The Evil Queen Grimhilde

Who’s been the unnamed mother of Nelson Silas Chernabog?

The Evil Queen Grimhilde. She’s not got a great history of loving children. Snow White. What a mess. She may not have a history of loving children, but she has a long history of jealousy and this Heresy had managed to gain everyone’s adoration. The Lich King. The Chernabog. Then after her death Chernabog still turned to Oogie. Mother fucking Oogie. She never wanted to rear that child. But, now it clings to her too. No sign of Chernabog anywhere. He just vanished and Maleficent is suddenly back? Silas has never known who she is though Chernabog might still got his rocks off there sometimes. She never could lock a man down and oh yes she tried.

What has she been doing all this time?

Biding her time waiting for the Horned King’s return playing the long game. She still shows up for poker games and smiles. Friends close. Enemies closer. She’s stewing since Chernabog’s disappearance. All this power and she hasn’t been able to keep her claws in and control who she wants to. But, the mirror keeps telling she is fairest. That keeps her content enough. Her vanity reins most supreme. But, it’s feigning now as the pot keeps stirring.

Does she know the Horned King is back and in Delta Castle?

Oh, she knows.

What is she queen of anyway?

Yeah, most people have no idea. She just calls herself that right from back when she was a stripper? Wasn’t that her stripper name? Oh, you think a girl with roots like that wouldn’t go on a power trip with actual power? The Evil Queen sees herself as the Queen of Nola. She knows she’s the real supreme now and she’s going to enjoy the day she lets all witches know. She’s a stage girl. She likes an entrance. She’s waiting for just the right time.

So, whatever happened to the Cornerstone of Light and does it really matter now anyway? (longest section but probably least relevant to use) lol But, we could all use a little clarification on all that jazz.

Yes and no. It could hurt some Laveaus, Delta or Maleficent, but not for the same reasons as before, and it can take out the true supreme. Supremacy is a force of nature and it would only transfer again. It’s random it’s in someone evil right now.

Here’s why:

Because that lore somehow got twisted in with Cinderella’s star people, and her being a pure light, and the Laveau kids being her offspring: It matters because it can affect Chip and Dale’s powers. It would affect Chip and Dale most. They have offshoots of her gifts. Jetsam’s biology was too fucked and didn’t pass to the twins. Scout does not have her gifts. So, if one knew how to use it against them it could render Chip or Dale powerless. Luckily, only River had all the main light stuff going on. That’s done.

Delta has her own powers. She has however used Maleficent’s grimoire to become more powerful since coming back from the dead though she’s quite powerful in her own right especially with the phoenix in her.

So, it would follow that the same concept could apply with Organization XIII trying to come together with the lights it could have the power to take out Delta’s over-imbalance in power due to her having so much of Maleficent’s power in her.

However, Delta is not the big bad darkness they’re actually looking for. People might believe she is. They might also believe Maleficent still is. That can be controversial in Nola.

BUT-

I want to get a little bit away from the Organization XIII lore as frankly this lore gets too hard to play with only us and in need of 7 princesses. It’s too complex and it was written for the big game. We’ve killed off half the lights anyway and we never play with pure good muses in our actual stories. I don’t even like playing with them. It’s never gonna work in this setting. So, to make it simpler just gonna say the lights were transferred into power stones. Organization XIII can possess them for now and disappear into the background of the story unless needed just like the Organization themselves. I only want to say Madam Medusa has seen them in the past, but does not possess them now. But, as the resident gemstone expert she’s the gal that knows all about them, or used to. Her mind is going in her aging lack of sobriety. That’s why she doesn’t even know The Corner Stone of Light is now in the depths of one of Madam Medusa’s caves protected quite special. Black outs. What do you do? Her apprentice will know though.

Also note:

It would seem Organization XIII should not be happy Maleficent’s back since she caused them to be hollows. But, that’s also a lore I’m steering away from as NPC’s and too big to play when I’m not about those characters. Unless it becomes a useful plot device I’d like to go with Organization XIII currently argue amongst themselves that there’s been a shift in the balance, “a disturbance in the force” if you will. They currently just serve as guardians to keep balance and peace between the forces of good and evil. It’s going to make this way simpler if they ever even need to be used in the plot at all.

Just a reminder

Chernabog is still captured and encased in a necklace Delta wears around her neck at all times along with her vial of Frank’s blood. Maleficent does not know this.

#head canon #shit that's happening

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definitely-not-an-alb · 3 years

Note

Geralt?

Thank you for asking, too.

Sexuality Headcanon: What's a sesc-u-a-litty? Witcher. Okay so generally Geralt sleeps with random women because like he gets lonely and horny and if they aren't running away screaming he figures that's what you do about that, he guesses. But all his relationships (canon and fanon) have a big Treats-Me-Like-A-Person????-Sexuality. So like. I'm getting demi-aro-ish vibes? I guess? Like yeah he's gonna have sex with you but don't expect him to become like, romantically attached or anything. Also stop treating him like a person that's - that's weird. He's gonna have emotions about it and shit. Do you know how much time he spends on his own with Roach, having to think about this stuff? So yeah, I feel like he's vaguely demi-aro (if that's a thing) and bi, and he falls in love like a cat who loves swimming but pretends to hate baths to save face.

Gender Headcanon: Geralt is A Man, but with an extremely tired I Guess attached. Like technically he's a guy, right? Because boys grow up to be men? right? but also he's not a regular boy and he didn't grow up regularly and he can never really have any of the stuff that makes other men around him Men(TM)? He's never gonna have kids (*laughs hysterically*) or a family or a little farmstead or whatever, women and what men would want to be with him think he's repulsive (oh honey, no) - it's not even like he's different from other men as they among each other because of class or such. Like what do you do in a world where what's A Man and what's A Woman is very strictly defined in it's societal expectation and you're ... A Witcher, and there is nothing else and there are no girl witchers, and even if it’s not like it matters, so - shrug and go 'I Guess'. (Someone hug him pls.). But also I love all the trans hc in this fandom they are all great and I love them.

A ship I have with said character: Jaskier/Geralt and Yen/Geralt and Yen/Geralt/Jaskier, I guess? Idk haven't really met game!Jaskier yet, but I already like game Yen & Geralts 'exes who don't fuck but oh god the tension' thing more than I liked the show. I hear the books have Geralt/Yen cuteness in the form of Actually Canon Affectionate Interaction? And I guess in a three-way they'd annoy the hell out of each other and would also be an Unstoppable Powerhouse on account of combining maxed out charisma & luck, survival & fighting and magic & politic-ing stats and even archiving like one whole usable braincell between them, two, on good days, so like 10/10, love it.

A BROTP I have with said character: I haven't really met the other Witchers yet in the games, but I feel like the general vibe on my dash is that the Wolf School has big Cuddlepile Energy, so I'll go with that.

A NOTP I have with said character: I feel like I can never answer these because I'm always vaguely down for anything as long as it's well-written or explores something interesting, and otherwise I'm just MEHTP. Like for example I know a lot of ppl hate Geralt/adult!Ciri, and I get why, but also like. You could do something there. Narratively. But yeah I guess Geralt/Ciri as a NOTP?

A random headcanon: Geralt doesn't know non-enhanced humans can't really tell what kind of meat they're eating really well. Like he doesn't remember not being able to taste it out, and they can tell if it's good or bad meat and game or pork and such, so they must be able to tell what it is in stew and sausage, too? Right? So he's kind of the reverse of the 'I said it was horse piss, not that I don't like it' situation, where he kind of assumes ppl are way more down with eating things they Officially Wouldn't and are like. politely pretending they don't know what that is, and he doesn't want to upset them so he also obviously doesn't comment because it would be Rude and he doesn't want to Make Trouble. And it's not like he's going to be sick from basically anything served in a regular kitchen, so no harm done to him. He finds out this is not true because Jaskier bitches at him about 'always' (not true!) stealing his sausages 'like an asshole' and Geralt's just standing there like ... but I know you don't like horse I assumed you were just to polite to say something? What do you mean 'you didn't know' - just because there's a bit of groats and nutmeg and clove at it you can't tell if it's horse all of a sudden??? Are you kidding me, it tastes like horse.

General Opinion over said character: Deserves All The Hugs. Like idk he hates himself so much and he deserves good things and ppl being nice to him. What little I've played of the games, I like a lot better than the series for him character-wise, because he's just a lot less ... one-note? And grumpy-assholey. And also doesn't take quiet as much lying down, at least emotionally. Or maybe that's just because I like to play him like A Bitch who’s Done With This Shit.

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evolutionsvoid · 3 years

Photo

The Drillbeak Cockatrice is indeed a member of the Cockatrice family, as one should easily be able to tell. Even if the name wasn't a dead giveaway, the modified crop, fancy crest and ocular decorations should be enough of a clue! They share all the traits that this family possesses, and have found a way to use them in a different niche. Drillbeaks are found in warmer climates, often leaning a bit more toward the arid side. In truth, they aren't too particular about the weather and temperature, it just so happens that they care more about the wants of somebody else. The climate they seek is the one that termites and ants prefer, as Drillbeaks are primarily insectivores. Wherever there are colonies of these insects, these birds are close at hand. Their populations are scattered amongst the ranges of these eusocial insects, but their strongest numbers can only be found in the ultimate insect motherload! You want to see Drillbeaks? Pack your things and go visit the Hivelands! For any insectivore with the proper tools, the Hivelands is the closest to paradise they can get in their lifetime! It is an entire ecosystem that forms around a massive colony of insects, the land being literally shaped by their actions! The Mountain Makers are the sole reason these bizarre habitats even exist, and they are also the reason why a lot of living creatures call it home! A population big enough to rebuild the landscape on nearly a monthly basis is a huge one indeed, and anyone looking for a bite to eat knows that this would be a reliable food source! It should be no surprise that the Hivelands has incredible diversity when it comes to insectivores, as the Mountain Makers serve as the dietary staple for the entire region! With such an endless buffet skittering beneath the porous rock and sculpted earth, the Drillbeak has equipped itself with the best tools to access this feast! The rather obvious feature is its powerful beak. While it may not look as threatening or deadly as some other predatory birds, it can pack quite the punch! It is quite sturdy and is backed up by a series of tough neck muscles. When a Drillbeak wants to nab some bugs from down below, its beak will strike the earth with enough force to shatter rock. While Hiveland stone is not nearly as tough as other rocks, due to it being held together by Mountain Maker secretions, the power necessary to break it is still quite staggering! And to do it with your face! This is only possible because the beak is anchored to the skull in such a way that the shock of the impact is safely dispersed through its whole form. Internal cushions and specially arranged anatomy keeps the Drillbeak from beating its own brains out, especially when they start "drilling!" When these birds encounter dense rock or seek to dig far down, they can peck at the earth at a blinding speed! This rapid movement turns their head into a blur, as they rain powerful blows down upon the ground or any unfortunate thing below them! It is impressive to see and easy to hear! It is a rather loud event, and it is how I was able to track down these birds whenever I sought to study them. Hearing the sound of a digging Drillbeak echoing across the jagged hills and warped spires is one of the Hivelands common joys! That earth-shattering beak isn't the only thing the Drillbeak is equipped with! Those who look upon a drawing of these birds will notice that they possess more developed forelimbs than many of their Cockatrice brethren. Rather than them being stubby little arms, these could actually be called functioning appendages! At first glance, you may think these limbs end in thin razor-sharp claws, but these are not weapons! Rather, they are actually highly modified feathers! Perhaps long ago, these feathers once made a wing, but now they have found a different purpose. These structures are mainly a hollow shaft that has lost most of its barbs. These have no use for flight or warming them in cold weather. Instead, these feathers have a special structure that runs through their hollow insides, which interacts specifically with the nerves that lie within the surrounding flesh. Certain muscles allow them to move these feathers like probing fingers, and you may see a hungry Drillbeak tap the ground with these slender structures. What the creature is doing to hitting the ground in such a way that it can sense buried chambers and tunnels beneath its feet. It is believed that these feathers are good at picking up vibrations and subtle movement, and that is how the bird finds its food. It can feel the places where the Mountain Makers are the thickest, or where fat grubs may hide. When a promising signal is felt by its feathers, it shall smash the ground open and feast. A long sticky tongue is good for tiny insects, while larger prey is crushed in the beak and swallowed. While the Drillbeak prefers insects, it will not turn its beak up at an opportune meal. Pitfall Moles can fall prey to these birds, especially when the Drillbeaks detect their famous traps. With its sensitive feathers, a Drillbeak may notice the obvious pitfall and deduce that the moles are lying nearby in wait. With its heavy tail, it will bash open the fragile floor and dupe the moles into thinking prey has blundered into their pit. When the eager critters scurry forth to claim their prize, the Drillbeak will stab its head into the fray and seize one of the would-be predators. A hearty whack upon the skull, and the acid-spitting mole will be dispatched and a hearty meal will be claimed. It is a rather clever tactic, and that is not the only trick these birds can pull!

Drillbeaks are rather crafty birds, always finding ways to turn things to their advantage. Duping the Pitfall Moles is one neat trick, but they can also take advantage of another ambush predator! Through the Hivelands, Leg-Eaters are a rather famous and vicious hunter. Their ability to spring from practically any hole to sear off flesh is terrifying, but the Drillbeak is not scared of this. It seems like their tapping methods can pick out the presence of these Slimes, as their unique gooey bodies create a distinct sound and feel. If they can sense that an Acid Slime is hiding nearby, they will use these long feathers as a lure. By tapping loudly and probing the inside of the Leg-Eater's burrow, they can bait it into attacking. When the Slime lunges for the supposed food, the Drillbeak will evade its attack and move in for a bite. In some cases, the Drillbeak may steal chunks of food still digesting in the Slime's pseudobody, but most of the time they are seeking out the goo itself! Leg-Eaters secrete a powerful acid, and that is precisely what these birds want! By tricking these Slimes, they can grab a mouthful of this potent goop and store it in their resistant crop. Don't forget, these are Cockatrices! What member of this esteemed family wouldn't want a belly full of death? The specialized crop of the Cockatrice family comes into play once again and, for the Drillbeaks, it is designed for acidic slime and venomous insects. Mountain Makers have certain members that use venom to defend their colonies, and other bugs can retaliate with the same. The Drillbeak eats these poisonous morsels and stores them in its crop. Pitfall Moles and Leg-Eaters are also a good source of caustic fluids, perfect for burning flesh! Combine that all with its own bile, and you got a powerful stew that will eat a hole right through your body! This is how the Drillbeak will defend itself from foes, spitting streams of flesh-searing vomit onto those who get too close. While it may not cause infection like other Cockatrice concoctions, it will melt your flesh and scar you for life. I remember when I was looking through the archives in Baraku, when a curator pointed out a interesting skull that they owned. It was a human one, but I only knew that because they told me it was. Apparently it belonged to a nomad who had gone into the Hivelands and accidentally ticked off a Drillbeak. It seems like they got a big dose of its spit, because the face looked more like a melted bowl than anything else. A morbid thing, but one that should warn you about getting close to these creatures! Of course, like all Cockatrices, this weaponry is limited. They can only store so much acidic vomit at a time, which means they can deplete their stock. When this happens, predators may swoop in to take advantage of this weakness, and promptly get a beak through the skull for their cleverness. Don't forget that these birds smash through rock to get their food, so bone and carapace prove no match to them. Chlora Myron Dryad Natural Historian ----------------------------------------------- Why not more species? Why not just more? A Cockatrice and a woodpecker? Sure! The nice thing about coloring birds (despite them being pains to draw) is that there is literally no way you can screw up coloring them. If you think you designed something tacky or way too ludicrously colorful, just look up some birds and see that they already have this color scheme and they love it.

#cockatrice #mythical creatures #monster #creature #art #drawing #bird #woodpecker

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foodbytesback · 3 years

Text

A Millenial's Guide to Dinner Parties

Ok, sorry. I didn’t have time to write anything real for this week, because I was too busy planning a dinner party. But uhhh that counts as a food-related topic, so I’m just gonna write about that.

You may be asking “just how much “planning” do you need?” The answer? Much.

I feel like I never understood how “we’ve been planning this dinner for months!” made any sense as a sitcom throwaway line, until I tried to plan a dinner between myself and 3 other adults- 1 who just started a second job, 1 who just started grad school, and 1 who lives out of town. But people who love to say “fail to plan, plan to fail” rarely seem to specify what kind of planning that entails, so let me break down my approach (or, in some cases, things I learned in light of my approach) so that you too can funnel your anxiety into worrying about all the right things.

Consider your living space

Since I knew 2 of those 3 really like Indian food, I decided I’d base the menu around that. Incidentally, this ended up having one major benefit that I would recommend keeping in mind: if you, like me, don’t have a proper dining room table, don’t serve anything that would require a fork and knife. If you’re gonna be eating on the couch (Or, if you have a studio that doesn’t have room for a couch, bed? Floor? Getting imaginative about how to host people in a studio is its own challenge), you should consider serving something that can easily be eaten one-handed while balancing the plate in your lap. Besides curries, I would also recommend tacos (or any kind of finger-food), stir-frys or any sort of braise/stew, although a soup that’s too thin is just asking to be spilled.

Cook as much as you can ahead of time

The day of the event, you’re really gonna want to make sure all your mise en place is… uh, en place. It’s a given that dishes that are a multi-day process (like the bread dough for the naan) are going to be done well beforehand, but you really will be better off taking care of as much of the things that could be dismissed as doable the day of as you can the night before (or the day before that, depending on your schedule, if your produce is fresh it will survive a couple of days chopped). For me, this meant dividing up the bread dough into smaller, individual portions, pre-cutting anything that needed to be cut (which luckily ended up being just onions, garlic, one serrano pepper, paneer, and chicken), marinating the chicken, and making the sauce for the chicken tikka masala.

You may have noticed that one of those containers used to be soup. Or that the pepper’s in a ziplock bag. Yes. Listen: I don’t work for Food Network, I don’t have hundreds of those little bowls lying around. I didn’t even have lids for most of those deli containers. I can only steal so much from work before it becomes noticeable. If you’re only making one thing, feel free to combine ingredients that get added in at the same time in the recipe together in one container. I ended up keeping most of mine separated out like this because I needed garlic for pretty much everything, so it made sense to just have one big thing of garlic, etc. Honestly, you should just have one big thing of garlic on hand at all times, dinner party or not.

Even with all that prep, it still took me close to 2 hours to cook the chicken, add it to the sauce that I had dumped into a crock pot for reheating, put the rice on, make the 2 paneer dishes (for clarity: saag paneer and a weird dish one of my friends mentioned liking that doesn't’ seem to have any actual basis in Indian cuisine that’s just paneer sauteed with onions and cumin seeds) and bake off several naan. Which leads me to my next point...

Provide entertainment that doesn’t involve you

Yes, the whole point is that you want to spend time with your friends. But, unless you’re making something like dumplings, where you can easily enlist your friends to help you, you’re gonna be alone in the kitchen while your friends hang out without you. In this case, they played WarioWare on my Switch and played/made fun of this weird foodie trivia game that I had never even bothered to unwrap from its protective plastic that focussed way too much on Julia Child-era cooking shows, wine varietals, and antiquated edicate, all while I listened from the kitchen. Because my apartment is pretty small, “from the kitchen” means about 5 feet away, so it’s not like I was really feeling that left out. I was able to break away from cooking every-other question or so to shoot someone a judgemental glare any time they couldn’t get an answer that I assumed was somewhat-common knowledge right. I should also mention that if you know it’s gonna take a while to cook everything, put out some sort of snack, too. I hadn’t thought about this, and ended up throwing a box of pumpkin spice Twinkies at them.

I guess this can be avoided by just having them come when the food is ready. I guess.

Clean as you go

This is pretty much true for any time you cook something, but seriously, the dishes really start to pile up when you’re cooking larger quantities. This goes double for things like tasting spoons, which I’m normally fine with reusing when I’m cooking for myself, but I will NOT subject my guests to double-dipping. And take my word for it, you’re gonna want to go into the actual serving of dinner with an empty sink, because after everyone’s left you’ll turn around and be caught completely off-guard by how many dishes have to be done.

Have fun and be yourself

No, really. If your friends are anything like my friends, they’ll just be happy to see that one friend from out of town again or at the very least get a free meal. Like, despite (or because of?) my obsessive planning, when the time came to actually start cooking I felt no pressure to have to go at my usual breakneck line cook pace, because my friends were there to have a fun little evening, and that’s exactly what I gave them.

#food #cooking #dinner party

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sisterofiris · 4 years

Text

Everyday life in the Hittite empire

Have you ever wondered what your life would have been like if you had been born in central Anatolia 3500 years ago? No? Now that I’ve brought it up, are you curious to find out?

Well you’re in luck, because that’s just what this post is about. So sit back, close your eyes, and imagine yourself in Anatolia - that is, modern Turkey. Are you ready? Can you see the mountains, the red river and the towering buildings of your capital, Ḫattuša? Can you hear the chariots driving up the road? Can you feel the electric brewing of a storm in the distance?

Then let’s go.

(With a brief disclaimer: while I study Hittitology, this is not intended as an academic-level post. It was written to give general, approachable insights into Hittite culture and can be used as writing inspiration or to titillate curious history nerds around you, but if you’re writing an academic paper on the subject, I would recommend you check out the bibliography instead.)

About you

First things first, are you older than five? If so, congratulations on being alive. Child mortality in this place and time is very high, so you’re one of the luckier ones among your siblings. You probably have at least a couple of those; you may even have as many as six or seven, especially if you come from a well-to-do family with access to good healthcare. When you were little, your parents might have told you the tale of Zalpa, in which the queen of Neša gives birth to thirty sons then thirty daughters who marry each other, but you know this only happens in the stories - not to normal people.

When you were born, your parents rejoiced regardless of your sex, as sons and daughters are equally valued in your society (albeit for different reasons). Your father took you on his knee and gave you a good Hittite name: maybe Armawiya, Ḫarapšili, Kilušḫepa or Šiwanaḫšušar for a girl, or Anuwanza, Kantuzili, Muwaziti or Tarḫuzalma for a boy. Gender-neutral names, such as Anna, Muwa and Šummiri, would also have been an option. Many people around you have Hurrian or Luwian names, even if they are not ethnically Hurrian or Luwian themselves. (This is comparable to the modern popularity of Hispanic names like Diego, or French names like Isabelle.)

It’s hard to say what you would have done during childhood. While your earliest years would have been spent playing and babbling in grammatically incorrect Hittite, by the age of six or seven you may well have already started training in the family profession. If a girl, you would have been taught to weave by your mother; if a boy, you might have helped your father out on the farm, tried your hand at making pottery, or spent long hours learning cuneiform. (There may have been careers requiring gender non-conformity, as there was in Mesopotamia, but as far as I am aware this has not been proven.) You know that even the noblest children are given responsibilities - king Ḫattušili himself was once a stable boy.

Now, as an adult, you are a working professional contributing directly to Hittite society. You look the very portrait of a Hittite: as a woman, you have long, dark hair that you probably keep veiled, and as a man, your hair is around shoulder-length and your face clean-shaven. Ethnically, though, you are likely a mixture of Hittite, Luwian, Hurrian, Hattian, and depending on when and where exactly you live, maybe Assyrian, Canaanite or even Greek. There’s a fair chance Hittite might not actually be your native language. Still, you consider yourself a Hittite, and a subject of the Hittite king.

Well, now you know who you are, let’s get along with your day!

Your home and environment

Your day begins the way most people’s days do: you wake up at home, in your bed. As an average Hittite, you probably sleep on the floor rather than on elevated furniture. Your floor is either paved or of beaten earth, and your house itself has stone foundations and mud brick walls, with a flat roof supported by timber beams. Windows are scarce and small, to keep the indoor temperature stable.

Outside, the rest of the settlement is waking up too. Statistically, you live in a village or small town, surrounded by forest and mountains. Summers here are hot and dry, and winters cold and snowy, with spring and autumn being marked by thunderstorms. Most inhabitants work as farmers, relying on the weather for their survival. Contagious illnesses are a constant threat - under king Muršili II, the land suffered a deadly plague for twenty years - as are enemy invasions. If you live within the bend of the red river, in the Hittite heartland, consider yourself lucky; if not, your settlement could well be shifting from one kingdom’s property to another and falling prey to both sides’ raids on a yearly basis.

Admitting no enemy forces are in the area today, you take your time to get up. You might tiredly stumble to the outhouse to go pee. Eventually, you’ll want to get dressed.

Clothing

As a man, your clothes comprise of a kilt or sleeved tunic, with a belt of cloth or leather. As a woman, you wear a long dress and, if you are married, a veil. All clothing is made from wool or linen, and a variety of dyes exist: red, yellow, blue, green, black and white are all colours mentioned in texts. If you are rich enough, you may be able to import purple-dyed fabric from Lazpa (Greek Lesbos) or the Levant. You will also want to flaunt your wealth with jewellery, regardless of gender.

Of course, your shoes have upturned ends in the Hittite style. Historians will tease you for this. Don’t listen to them. You look awesome.

Mealtime!

It’s now time for one of your two daily meals (the other will take place in the evening, after your work for the day is done). This will be prepared at the hearth, a vital element of every home, and which is likely connected to an oven. The staple of your diet is bread; in fact, it is so common that “bread”, in cuneiform texts, is used as a general term for food. It is usually made from wheat or barley, but can also be made from beans or lentils.

Worried you’ll get bored of it? You needn’t be: your society has enough types of bread that you could eat a different one each day for a whole season. Fig bread, sour bread, flat bread and honey bread are just some of your options, along with spear bread and moon bread... yes, in other words, baguettes and croissants. (Something tells me the Hittites and the French would have a lot to talk about.)

You also have various fruits and vegetables available: cucumber, leek, carrots, peas, chickpeas, lentils, beans, olives, figs, dates, grapes, pomegranates, onions, garlic, and more. Your diet is completed by animal products, including cheese, milk, butter, and meat, mainly from sheep and goats but also cows and wild game. Honey, too, is common.

These ingredients can be combined into all sorts of dishes. Porridge is popular, as are stews, both vegetarian and meat-based. Meat can also be broiled and quite possibly skewered onto kebabs. And of course, food would be boring without spices, so you have a variety of those to choose from too: coriander are cumin are just two of them.

As for drinks, you can have beer, wine, beer-wine (good luck figuring out what that is), milk or water. If you’re well-to-do enough, you may own a rhyton, a drinking vessel shaped like an animal such as a stag or bull. Don’t forget to libate to the Gods before drinking your share.

Daily work

The next thing on your plate, after food, is work. What you do depends on your social status and gender, and most likely, you do the same work as your parents did before you. You could be something well-known like a king, priest, scribe, merchant, farmer or slave, but don’t assume those are all the possibilities; you could also be, for example, a gardener, doctor, ritual practitioner, potter, weaver, tavern keeper, or perfume maker.

It’s impossible to go into detail on every career option you would have in Hittite society, so for the sake of brevity, let’s just discuss four - two male-dominated, and two female-specific.

Farmer

As a farmer, you are the backbone of your society. You and your peers are responsible for putting food on the plates of Hittites everywhere, thus ensuring the survival of the empire.

Like many farmers, you live on a small estate, most likely with both crops (or an orchard) and livestock to take care of. You may own cows, sheep, goats, pigs, horses, donkeys, and/or ducks. Your daily routine and tools aren’t that different from other pre-industrial cultures, though you have it a little rougher than most due to the Anatolian mountain terrain. If you have the means, you hire seasonal workers - both male and female - to help out as farmhands, and you may own a few slaves.

You get up early to milk the cows, and at the onset of summer, you or a hired herdsman may lead your livestock up to mountain pastures to graze. Depending on the season and the work that needs to be done, you may spend your day ploughing the fields, harvesting grain or fruit, tending livestock, shearing sheep, birthing a calf, repairing the barn, or various other tasks. Make sure to take proper care of everything: new animals are expensive, and losing one could get you into a precarious situation. In particular, you’ll want to keep an eye out for bears, wolves, foxes, and even lions and leopards.

Scribe

Few people are literate in Hittite society, and you are one of the lucky ones. You have been learning to read and write in three languages (Sumerian, Akkadian and Hittite) since childhood, and after long years of copying lexical lists and ancient myths, your education is now complete.

As a scribe, you are the dreaded bureaucrat. In a small town, you likely work alongside the town administrator, recording tax collections and enemy sightings as well as corresponding with other towns, and with the capital. You and your peers are the go-to people for officialising marriage agreements and divorces, drawing up work contracts, and creating sales receipts. If not in the town administration, you could also work in a temple, recording the results of oracles, cross-checking the correct procedures for a ritual, and making sure everything necessary for a festival is available. If you are particularly lucky, you may be employed by the nobility or even the palace, and be entrusted with such confidential tasks as writing the king’s annals or drafting an international treaty.

Regardless of where you are, two things are essential to your job: a stylus and a tablet. You may be a “scribe of the clay tablets”, in which case you will need to carry around a bit of clay wherever you go (and some water to moisten it). Otherwise, you are a “scribe of the wooden tablets”, in which case you use a wax tablet in a wooden frame, which requires less maintenance. It’s unclear whether these types of tablet are used for different purposes.

Fun fact: you likely have a few pen pals around the Hittite empire. After corresponding with other scribes for so long, you’ve started writing each other messages at the bottom of your tablets, asking each other how you’re doing and to say hi to each other’s families. Your employers needn’t know.

Weaver

Weaving, to a Hittite like you, is the quintessential female activity, along with textile-making in general. Like farming, this is a backbone of your society: without weaving, there would be no clothes, and without clothes, well, you can’t do much.

As a weaver, you produce textiles for your family and in many cases also for sale. You work in an atelier within your home, along with the other women of the household, keeping an eye on your smallest children as they play nearby. While your husband, brothers or sons may transport and sell your handiwork, you are the head of your own business.

You are skilled in multiple weaving techniques, and can do embroidery and sew fabric into various shapes (including sleeves - take that, Classical Greeks). You create clothing for all sorts of occasions, including rituals and festivals, outdoor work, and winter weather, and if you are lucky enough to be commissioned by the nobility, you put your best efforts into clothing that will show off their status. Don’t try to cheat anyone out of their money, though; prices are fixed by law.

Old Woman

Contrary to what you might expect, you don’t need to be old to be an Old Woman - this is a career just like any other, though it probably does require a certain amount of life experience and earned respect. As an Old Woman, you are a trained ritual practitioner and active in all sorts of cultic, divinatory and magical ceremonies.

Most commonly, you are hired for rituals protecting against or removing evil. Your services may solve domestic quarrels, cure a sick child, or shield someone from sorcery (a constant threat in your society). This is done through symbolic acts like cutting pieces of string, breaking objects, and sacrificing and burning animals, which are of course accompanied by incantations - sometimes in Hittite, sometimes in other languages, like Hurrian.

Far from a village witch, you are high-placed in Hittite society and trusted by the royal family itself. You have taken part in major rituals and festivals, including funerals, and you perform divinatory oracles too. This last responsibility gives you a large amount of influence over the king and queen; if you establish that something should be done, then it almost certainly will be. Use this power well... or not.

Your loved ones

After a long day ploughing fields, writing tablets, weaving clothes or reciting incantations, it’s finally time to reunite with your loved ones. For adults, these likely - but not necessarily! - include a spouse and children. You may just live with your nuclear family, but living with extended family is also common, and there may be as many as twenty people in your household. Siblings, aunts and uncles, parents, grandparents, children and babies all share the evening meal with you, and some nights, you might gather afterwards to sing and dance, tell stories, and play games.

You also have relationships outside of home. Friendship is valued by Hittite society, with close friends calling each other “brother” and sister”. You might meet up with them regularly at the local tavern for a beer and a bit of fun. Someone there might even catch your eye... Interestingly, there are no laws against that person being of the same gender as you. So, same or different gender, why not try your luck tonight?

Greater powers

It’s impossible to spend a day in the Hittite empire without encountering religion. The Land of a Thousand Gods is aptly named: Gods are in everything, from the sun to the mountains to the stream at the back of your house to fire to a chair. You should always be conscious of their power, and treat them with respect. Though there are few traces of it, you may have a household shrine where you make libations or offer a portion of your meal. Your Gods may be represented by anthropomorphic statues, by animals such as a bull, by symbols such as gold disks, or even by a stone. Either way, treat these objects well; the divine is literally present in them.

You should also be wary of sorcery. Never make clay figures of someone, or kill a snake while speaking someone’s name, or you will face the death penalty. Likewise, always dispose of impurities carefully, especially those left over from a purification ritual (such as mud, ashes, or body hair). Never toss them onto someone else’s property. Has misfortune suddenly struck your household? Is your family or livestock getting sick and dying? These are signs that someone has bewitched you.

Some days are more sacred than others. You participate in over a hundred festivals every year, some lasting less than a day, some lasting a month, some local, some celebrated by the entire Hittite empire. The most important of these are the crocus festival and the purulli festival in spring, the festival of haste in autumn, and the gate-house festival, possibly also in autumn. The statues of the Gods are brought out of the temples, great feasts are held, and entertainment is provided through music, dance and sports contests. Depending on how important your town is, the king, queen or a prince might even be in attendance. All this excitement is a nice break from your regular work!

Sleep and dreams

Phew, what a busy day it’s been. The sun, snared in the trees’ branches, has set on the Hittite land, and you are ready for bed. Time to wrap yourself snugly in blankets and go to sleep.

You may dream, in which case, try to remember as much as you can. Dreams can be a vehicle for omens. Maybe, if the Gods are kind, you might catch a glimpse of what the next days, months and years hold in store for you.

Good night!

Bibliography

Beckman, Gary, “Birth and Motherhood among the Hittites”, in Budin, Stephanie Lynn, Macintosh Turfa, Jean, Women in Antiquity: Real Women across the Ancient World, Abingdon 2016 (pp. 319-328).

Bryce, Trevor, Life and Society in the Hittite World, Oxford 2002.

Bryce, Trevor, “The Role and Status of Women in Hittite Society”, in Budin, Stephanie Lynn, Macintosh Turfa, Jean, Women in Antiquity: Real Women across the Ancient World, Abingdon 2016 (pp. 303-318).

Golec-Islam, Joanna, The Food of Gods and Humans in the Hittite World, BA thesis, Warszawa 2016.

Hoffner, Harry A., “Birth and name-giving in Hittite texts”, Journal of Near Eastern Studies 27/3 (1968), pp. 198-203.

Hoffner, Harry A., “Daily life among the Hittites”, in Averbeck, Richard E., Chavalas, Marc W., Weisberg, David B., Life and Culture in the Ancient Near East, Bethesda 2003 (pp. 95-118).

Marcuson, Hannah, “Word of the Old Woman”: Studies in Female Ritual Practice in Hittite Anatolia, PhD thesis, Chicago 2016.

Wilhelm, Gernot, “Demographic Data from Hittite Land Donation Tablets”, in Pecchioli Daddi, Franca, Torri, Giulia, Corti, Carlo, Central-North Anatolia in the Hittite Period: New Perspectives in Light of Recent Research, Roma 2009 (pp. 223-233).

#Hittites #damn i love the hittites #ancient history #anatolia #history #infodump #i put so much effort into this please appreciate it

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babblable · 3 years

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SO, I am so sorry, but I can't decide what to ask for the character ask meme, so I'm asking EVERYTHING for Jackie pls forgive me ;w;

1. How likely are they to have a stuffed animal? What kind? How many?

They currently only have one stuffed animal atm. Their Sheepy Sleep Sheep. Or Fluffy as Jackie calls it!

If they had any more stuffed animals, they'd name every one of them. They do not though, only got the one.

2. What does their bedroom look like?

Currently, unless they're bunking with Abbigull in her captains quarters, it looks like your regular Salty Squabble barracks. I don't know if they're able to personalize it or not, due to the barracks being for crewmates hired for short voyages rather than long staying family.

Regardless, their room has always been pretty empty. Jackie doesn't have a lot of belongings. They didn't have enough to fill their studio apartment and what they had there is all being abandoned due to Reasons™️. They certainly don't have enough to fill a room right now.

3. Do they collect things for themselves? What do they collect?

Things to chew on, mostly? And Jackie, the child brained dumbass that they are, will put damn near anything in their mouth. They also like to collect gears, bits, bobs, screws, small pieces of metal and tools, though! Also anything dinosaur related. They LOVE dinosaurs.

4. Do they cuddle/snuggull/hug in their sleep? Do they talk in their sleep?

Jackie is the kind of toon that needs pressure when they sleep and thus snuggulls Very Much Into Things, but really only allows two birds, a dog and maybe a rat they've known for a while to be PEOPLE they snuggull into. Otherwise, they mostly just burrow into blankets and hug Fluffy.

5. What are they most afraid of? Does it cause them nightmares? How bad?

Haha, Listen to Warships for your answer to this one! :D

6. How do they respond to stress? Any habits they have when stressed?

Oh boy. They respond to stress mostly by becoming irritable and itchy. If it gets bad enough, they begin to stress molt and combined with their scratching? Depending on what causes it as well, they have gotten physically ill and lost their lunch before. Not Good. Tbh though, Jackie is easily prone to stressing out. They may not look/show it, but this penguin is a ball of anxiety with damn near no skills to manage it, yet.

7. Do they prefer warm, mild or cold baths/showers?

Warm baths, tbh! Showers are nice but they're small and sometimes the strength of the water from the showerhead hurts. Also, they can't splash around as easily in a shower, so not as fun! Don't expect them to come out actually clean though. They learned how to bathe from their dog Todd.

8. What's their view on socks/shoes/pants?

They wear pants usually anyways, so their viewpoint on those is just: [Meh!]

Socks and shoes though? That's a different story. They can't wear socks bc of their talons, but they can wear shoes! It's a learning process, tbh, but they're doing it! They can't figure out how to tie them though. Hmm...

9. Do they like ice in their drinks? how much?

Yes and no. Depending on the drink. They don't drink as many cold beverages as they used to anymore, but when they do, it's usually either icy cold or has plenty of ice in it.

10. Do they have a comforter? What is it?

Yes! Fluffy! Their Sheepy Sleep Sheep!

11. Favorite article of clothing/accessory? Favorite home decoration?

Hmm... Probably their light up sneakers! As for their favorite home decor... they don't really have any.

12. If they could live anywhere, where would it be? What kind of house would they have?

A lighthouse by the shore! With a sunrock to lay on!

13. Favorite game to play with family/friends?

Any game! Even dangerous ones!

14. Favorite moment in their life right now?

Hm... Perhaps their Mama Abbigull holding them til they fell asleep in the nest in the drifting cube. They had never felt more safe than in that moment, in the arms of their Mama after such a frightful day.

15. If they could have any pet, what would it be?

A frog! But they really really do love their dog Todd. He's a very good boy! The BEST Boy!

16. Chili, Soup, Stew or Other? What kind is their favorite? Why?

Soup! Jackie gets colds easy and soups are lighter on their already sensitive belly than the other two.

17. What's their opinion on their childhood, if they had one?

:'D Haha! Warships!

18. What's their view on their siblings?

They haven't quite adopted any yet, so I couldn't tell ya. Although one person is close enough to start being considered...

19. Who do they miss the most right now?

Their best friend, Legs and friend Bilgerat. Legs deserves an explaination the most out of all their friends and Bilgerat deserves to be told what went down, but also to enjoy his vacation.

20. What kind of touch do they need the most right now? Forehead kiss? To hold someone? To be held? [Insert other options here]?

To be held or hugged. Always. Tbh, more specifically from Abbigull and Legs.

21. What do they think their base needs are?

Water, Play, Attention, Todd, Fluffy, Sleep, Food. In that exact order.

22. Opinion on touch in general?

They Cannot Handle. It causes them severe physical pain if from a stranger, unprepared for it, and/or it lasts for too long.

23. Soft, stiff, normal or fuzzy blanket?

Soft and fuzzy!

24. Do they have a secret hideaway they retreat to?

There is a garden hidden away in one of the parks they like to go to...

25. What is their deepest desire right now? Will they work to achieve it?

To get away from Mortis. They'll do their best, but really, they have very little faith in themself and for good reason when compared to him.

26. What's something they're in denial of, if anything?

Wanting to be Bilgerats sibling. And also their worth.

27. What's something they're starting to admit to?

Abbigull being Mama Your Honor.

28. What would they do if they could go back in time?

Dare I say... leave the Glacier Rider.. They had plenty of opportunities to just. not go back to her. But they did.

29. Their favorite color?

Yellow!

30. Do they celebrate their birthday? How do they do so? How would they like to?

They've never celebrated before and honestly wouldn't unless the one person who knows when their birthday is threw them a party or did something to initiate the celebration.

31. How often do they get sick/injured? How are they when they're sick/injured? Sleepy? Needy? Bored? Fussy? [Insert Something Else]?

Jackie gets lethargic as hell and incredibly needy. Growing up a sick kid, their immune system isn't the greatest and combining that with what else they went through? Yeah, no, they're pretty prone to getting sick. It doesn't help that they really don't know what to do other than eat soup and sleep to make it better.

#leeym answers asks #ajaxx mackeller #ajaxx mobel #admiral abbigull #bilgerat

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thatsamericano · 3 years

Text

Budgetary Details For This Plot

I’ve decided that the FrUKSpa Christmas budget for the oldest kids (Matthew, Alfred, and Savino) was $2000 each, which they considered a nice round number and a reasonable amount. They’re wealthy, so they’re used to spending way more money than most people, but they wanted to put a limit on 16-year-olds who are playing around with debit cards for the first time and have to get Christmas gifts for seven people. They had a smaller amount of money they gave to Feliciano, and a smaller amount than that for Marcello (without the debit cards being an issue for either of them, of course).

I want Alfred and Savino to have spent an equivalent amount on each other, so back in September, Alfred bought approximately $500 worth of textbooks (because he was trying to buy in three different areas, and was drawn to some huge hardcover textbooks and some smaller paperbacks he thought would would be interesting). He nearly, but not completely, drained his checking account and FrUK were like WTF because Alfred hadn’t made a big, sudden purchase like this before. They talk to him about this, and Alfred says it was a Christmas present for Matthew. They hadn’t expected him to be thinking about Christmas so early and sometimes their family did spend more extravagantly than they could this year because they’re now buying for four additional people, so they forgive the mistake their teen son made only two months after getting a debit card. They explain the Christmas budget to him and say that now the budget will be $1500, so he will have to spend carefully and his presents for everyone else will be much smaller than they could’ve been before.

Savino bought his nearly $500 telescope for Alfred after Antonio explained the budget to him (which happened sometime in November, because I do talk about the kids doing Black Friday/very early December shopping). At this point, Alfred and Savino may or may not have been in a relationship, but that doesn’t matter for the background I’m giving here. Antonio talks to Savino about this, because Antonio is a very laidback guy, but Savino spent a quarter of his Christmas budget on one person when he has to buy things for six other people. Savino gives a very convincing explanation about this being an extremely good telescope for this price point and how he researched it extensively before he made this purchase (all of this is true). Antonio is like, okay, it’s fine you bought this really expensive present for Alfred this year, but make sure you have enough to get other people something without having to go so cheap it looks insulting (and in Savino’s case, he planned to get something for his grandfather, which Alfred couldn’t do, so his presents for the rest of the FrUKSpa plus kids group were a bit smaller-- around $200 rather than $250-ish).

By the time they get to Rome, both of them have maxed out their Christmas budgets, but they do have more walking around money than most 16-year-olds, especially since their parents wanted them to be able to buy a fun souvenir if they wanted (especially Alfred and Matthew, who’ve never been to Italy before). Alfred is able to buy an about $100 present for Mr. Vargas, and each of them spend about $50 to get a joint present for Chiara that is small enough it’s not suspicious (also their money was in cash at the Christmas Market, and Euros obviously). I mentioned them getting souvenirs at the Leonardo da Vinci Experience Museum that are about $77 dollars for Alfred’s and $42 for Savino’s (I’m rounding up), Savino bought a fairly inexpensive scarf for Alfred earlier in the month while Christmas shopping, and Alfred will probably spontaneously Savino a fairly inexpensive hat at the Christmas market. They might have also bought something small for close friends from school before they left for Rome, along with other minor purchases like the things they got at Starbucks at the mall. After Christmas, Alfred and Savino are low on money, but not in immediate danger of going into overdraft, so FrUKSpa aren’t bothered by this. They’re all happy the 16-year-olds (including Matthew) managed to stay within their Christmas budgets and didn’t go crazy buying tons of souvenirs for themselves.

On Christmas, people do notice that Alfred and Savino bought each other expensive presents, especially if one of them unthinkingly says something about it (like Savino looking at all the textbooks and going “Dio, this must have been so expensive.”) Antonio doesn’t really care, and he’s glad it wasn’t too awkward when Alfred got a substantially cheaper gift for Savino than Savino got for him (what he expected to happen). He thinks it’s cute Alfred thinks Savino is talented in so many areas that he picked out all these textbooks for him, and he’s like, “aww, look at this cute mutual friendship.” Matthew and Feliciano are like “okay, you guys went way overboard on each other,” especially since they had a girlfriend and boyfriend who weren’t accounted for in their Christmas budgets and had to plan their purchases more carefully to get them something, but they’re happy with their presents from Alfred and Savino and aren’t mad about it. Nonno Vargas is flattered that Alfred (along with the rest of the FACE Family) got him something at all, and he remembers going nuts with Sofia on present giving occasions sometimes, especially at the beginning of their relationship. (But I think the reason Sofia’s family weren’t happy with the idea of them being together at first was because Augusto was from a poorer family, so the dollar amounts were much smaller than I’m talking about here). Chiara is surprised Alfred helped pay for a present for her, and Savino usually gives her fairly small gifts for Christmas anyway since I don’t think he gets something for each of his twenty cousins and wouldn’t want to make that too obvious with a huge price tag for Chiara’s gift. They understand Chiara and Savino are close, so it’s okay if she gets a little Christmas present from him, but not if it’s some huge thing like he got for Alfred.

For maximum drama points, Marcello is stewing about Romerica after he figures out they must be doing NSFT things together, and he gets pissed when he sees their Christmas presents to each other. I don’t think he’d easily be able to make a price point comparison, but maybe he looks up Alfred’s telescope online and sees that it’s nearly $500 compared to his approximately $200 present from his brother (which to be fair, is still very nice for a nine-year-old and something he would enjoy). The textbooks would be harder for him to figure out since there were multiple ones, but maybe he looks up some of the bigger ones and figures out Alfred’s present to Savino is also substantially more expensive than Alfred’s present to him. He puts on a pleasant face for Christmas and the rest of the Rome trip (which maybe lasts a couple of additional days), and then he decides to blackmail them once they get home.

FrUK are very WTF about Alfred’s and Savino’s Christmas presents to each other, but they’re trying to mask it because of the Christmas Eve drama over the hickey I’d planned before. Arthur made Savino very upset the day he spoke to his dead parents and grandma, and they are trying to be nicer to him after what happened. Antonio gives an explanation for the telescope that they don’t totally believe is a friendship thing, but they’re more pissed about Alfred because he lied to them about the textbooks back in September (precisely because he was scared saying it was for Savino’s Christmas present would make his feelings way too obvious). They add the Christmas presents to their mental rolodex file of “Alfred and Savino are obviously fucking,” but probably don’t say anything.

After Christmas, Alfred and Savino are in no position to purchase a Vespa, or even a kiddie version of one. If Marcello insists on a real Vespa his brother drives for him, they try to do some quick research to figure out if Savino can even drive a Vespa right now or if he needs a special license and what models are allowed for that. Marcello is mostly about going vroom vroom on a Vespa, so I don’t think he’s looking too closely at the models and would be happy with one that’s not hyper expensive if his brother could actually drive him around on it (because according to whatever state laws I’m basing this on, Savino might need special licenses for some of the higher horsepower models but not the lower ones). Marcello might want one that’s a specific color or similar to one some cousin has, and Romerica are like “okay, sure” even if it costs more because they’re desperate to make this kid happy. At minimum, they’re looking at about a $4000 purchase which is both their Christmas budgets for the entire holiday combined, and they have to dip into their savings accounts that they had access to (I’ll try to research this so it’s not completely stupid plotwise for the fic) but that their parents told them not to touch until they turned 18 because they were specifically for their adult/college life. They don’t drain them, but they each take about $2000 out (possibly after cleaning out their checking accounts completely), and it’s very suspicious.

FrUKSpa are irritated by this immensely. Savino probably mentioned wanting to get a Vespa someday to Antonio before, but he thought Savino would wait until he was 18 or ask for that as his high school graduation gift. If he had to get a Vespa now, he could have tried asking FrUKSpa before this holiday they all just celebrated that involved buying gifts for each other. It might have been something they decided not to get him because it’s too expensive, but it’s weird as fuck that he did this right after getting gifts from everyone he seemed to appreciate. He could have asked for this when he turned 16, instead of/in addition to the car Antonio thought would make it more convenient for Savino to get around. Antonio may not have bought him a Vespa then, but it would have been a lot more normal for Savino to ask back then or before Christmas.

Alfred is the one who they’re most suspicious of, even Antonio. Antonio is able to brush off $500 of textbooks for Christmas (even if FrUK tell him the precise dollar amount and that Alfred lied about it back in September), but he can’t brush off Alfred paying $2000 to help pay for a Vespa that’s not even his. It looks like Alfred keeps getting these ridiculously extravagant gifts for Savino, and they’re all like WTF is going on (FrUK highly suspect, and at this point Antonio is beginning to as well). By contrast, Savino possibly pressured his stepbrother into helping him get a Vespa and made both of them dip into their savings accounts to make this sudden unnecessary purchase, so he needs to be confronted on his spending habits too, but it’s a different issue (and FrUK are especially pissed at him if they think he’s pressuring Alfred financially). Privately, they may decide that FrUK should confront Alfred on his behavior without Antonio since they’re his parents and since Alfred has made it abundantly clear he doesn’t think of Antonio in any kind of family way and will be very disrespectful if Antonio tries to tell him not to be an idiot with money. FrUK really want to confront Savino about the Vespa and possibly manipulating Alfred to get it, but maybe they’re willing to let Antonio talk to his own kid about this and have similar reasons for suspecting Savino would totally disrespect them if they tried to confront him about his spending habits.

#i'm still working through this potential new plot and i haven't written any of this yet #it may change in the future but for now here's what i have #antonio doesn't go in assuming savino was being an asshole about the vespa but fruk might #especially if alfred breaks and is like i helped him buy the vespa because i love him but he doesn't love me at all so pls quit torturing me #he thinks saying savino doesn't love him is protecting him but it makes it worse #because now fruk will think he's using/manipulating alfred #antonio won't because he knows savino isn't like that but he might have a hard time convincing them #possible fic spoilers #romerica stepbros au #hetalia #romerica #frukspa #hws america #hws romano #hws south italy #hw france #hws england #hws spain #aph america #aph romano #aph south italy #aph france #aph england #aph spain #my writing #original post

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