#im going to start shredding up paper with my teeth.

[cherubispunk]

BARK! BITE! BLEED! (PART I) - FWB!Frankie Morales x AFAB!Reader

summary: being without is always easier when you don't know what it is to be 'with'.

a note from Lucy: heyyyy! hows it going? yes...im back with another series. Those of you waiting for cherub, its coming. I promise. hand over my heart and the other on the bible. but words have a funny habit of not wording so...tale please take the humble peace offering of slutty fwb!frankie and please dont bite my fingers off.

playlist | moodboard

wc: 5742 Warnings: 18+ MDNI! no use of y/n, slight noncon voyeurism, thin appartment walls, mentions of cheating, obsessive behaviour, frankie is obsessed and it is very unhealthy, toxic relationships, heavy religious imagry (come on, is this even a surpise when it comes to my writing?), age gap but not bombastic sorry chloe (reader is 21, Frankie is 27) - though not mentioned in this part, graphic smut, could be considered dubcon, oral (f receiving), unprotected p in v sex (do i need to spell it out to you not to do this?), creampie, biting, its not vore!!!! but there is something inherrently sexual in the themes of metaphorical consumption, softdom!frankie, scratching, gore imagry in the sense of a hunter prey type of thing? More of lu being dell, batshit insane, blurting words onto a google doc and praying ot makes ense when being blasted out into the void.

series m.list | m.list

“At the end of the day, a dog that’s all bark and no bite is merely a bitch. True power lies in those who don't just bare their teeth, but make you bleed when they sink in.”

Frankie was a quiet man. He would always keep to himself. Never usually stuck his nose in anyone's business unless it was for their own good. Stayed in the four walls of his own apartment he rented close to the barracks. He’d made one friend in the entire complex. You. His next-door neighbour. The only thing he knew before prying was your last name on the buzzer out front. From there it was waiting. And watching. Frankie had an obsession with observing you from his kitchen window every time you came home from work at the bar. Stood in the shroud of shadow and sheer curtain. He dug his claws in and clung to each passing conversation in the hallway, or the laundromat down the street whenever coincidence let you pop up there too. Stored each part of you that you trusted him with in his mind for safekeeping. Often caught himself staring at a particular pair of red lace panties whenever you did your laundry. 

There was one small, tiny little problem in all of this, however. Lisa. He supposed he should thank her really, because without her, he would have never moved out of the barracks in the hope of starting a life for them. He would have never met you. It was convenient, reasonably priced and he could excuse poor plumbing and heating for the fact it was close enough to his work that he didn't have to wake up any earlier than 5:30. But Lisa…oh, Lisa was Machiavelian. A conniving woman, with her heart set in thick ice, and a cold, unforgiving grip over what was hers. It made him wonder what he saw in her in the first place. Maybe he was blinded to everything but the curve of her face, or the pout of her mouth and the pant of his name as it passed her parted lips. Or there was some morbid fascination he had with her teeth as they bared to his skin and bit down. Tearing him to shreds. Either way, there was something to live for when being ripped apart by her. Something to distract from the sounds of pleasure that seeped through paper thin walls at night. Your pleasure. At the hands of a man he felt nothing compared to and knew nothing about. So he’d roll over and fuck out his frustration on the woman he hated but chose to stay with until she left him for another.  

Another day, another ache. Another pain cramping in his lower back as Frankie inched closer to thirty and still no happier. Twenty-seven, a stable-ish job…and what else in life to show for it? He was bitter. In no place to want the company of another unless only for the night. Except tonight he was alone again, pressing his key into the lock, twisting it open, closing the door behind him. And then waiting…listening. Anticipating the drag of his hand south over the plane of his abdomen to under his boxers where he’d tease himself to the sound of you with another man. The pretty whimpers you’d let slip under the weight of another man's skin and bone, and the pleasure flooding the gaps of your synapses. 

Only this time there were no cries for more. No whimpers, or moans. No. These sounds were shouts. And anger ignited you as you rampaged through your apartment on the other side of the wall, getting dressed as Mark, the man you’d wasted months on, chased after you in pursuit of your forgiveness. 

“Who do you think I am?’ Frankie heard through the wall, pressing his ear to cold plaster with bated breath. Your voice was shrill, seething with the intent to carve into Mark’s skin with an onslaught of verbal mutilation. Have the words mark him with bleeding, weeping shame. “No, really? You think I’d never figure it out, Mark? Am I naïve to you?” 

He slipped out of bed with careful stealth: Followed the sound of your voice through the wall, walking with his ear pressed to it before the sound of your front door opening made him jump, stepping back for a second. He blinked, once, twice…then raised his hands to plaster again and leaned closer, ears straining to hear what was now distance shrieking from the hallway outside. Which he followed to his front door. Listening intently behind the wood.

As he held his breath until his lungs burned in his chest, something flared up in Frankie. A desperate, wanting, starving need to swoop in. Be your knight in shining armour. The words were stuck in his throat, and if he wasn’t careful, they would choke him blue. But if he knew even a shred about you, it was that you’d hate that just as much as whatever it was Mark had done to you to have you tossing him out in the early evening. You were a private person. A woman who never appreciated prying ears or eyes. You avoided all his questions about your past whenever he asked. Swerved him off topic and into the hedgerow before he had a chance to blink and realise he had the backhand of whiplash. And if he let it slip once that the walls were thin, there was no telling where your quick mind would jump to next. Frankie never knew why or what made you so guarded. But he imagined one day you bit the hand of god and he stopped feeding you. 

Frankie’s heart was thumping to the beat of his anxiety in his throat, making it harder to swallow the lump it formed, clammy palms pressed to the cool wood with the rest of him. 

“You’re a sick man!” He heard, followed by a thumping of something being thrown, then a yelp out of Mark as Frankie guessed he was dodging whatever it was you threw his way. Shoes, maybe? Something else? “A coward! So get out. Don't call. Don’t come knocking. And tell your fucking wife!” 

A shuffling of ashamed feet. A slam of your front door. Clattering around behind shared walls. Then silence. 

It was five minutes of silence. But it felt like the seconds within those intervals were put on the rack and stretched in torture. Five minutes that he should have used to step back from his door but didn't. He just prayed there was more of you to have to himself for a second. 

Then the descent of knuckles came beating down on his door. Causing his heart to jolt out in his chest then plummet into his stomach. Twisting his insides into knots that made him sick with intrigue. He took a step back. And a breath. Then waited a second before opening the door to find you stood there in a silly little lace hemmed tank top and sleep shorts. Your hair dishevelled and cheeks flushed. He opened his mouth to speak, but found the words stuck to the backs of his teeth and the roof of his mouth like soggy, claggy toffee. So he shut up, grateful you cut him off first. 

“We’re having a bonfire. So whatever shit Lisa left here, bring it with you. My door will be open. I’ll be on my balcony.” And you left him with nothing but that. Stomping back down the hall in a flurry of your anger. 

Frankie stood there, feet practically glued to the floor, fingers curling in on his palms as his blunt nails pressed into already calloused flesh. And an image of you, teeth bared to him like Lisa’s once were, appeared in his mind. An apparition of hurt, torment and his own vulnerability. But it was too late. His feet moved before his mind could and he was already collecting the things of his ex-girlfriend who had wronged him time and time again, stuffing them into his arms in a bundle of broken memory, anguish and lingering hurt. 

He found you standing by a metal bin of a man's belongings. The odd t-shirt, pictures of your face next to his, smiles happy and bright with the joy of a relationship you never expected to cave in. In your hand was a packet of cigarettes you'd told him in the passing of a hallway’s conversation that you’d quit, but evidently not. And a crumpled, misshapen box of matches. In the other was a bottle of Whiskey. The brand Mark insisted on liking and you’d bought him for a birthday present. A present he’d never receive because he was as dead to you as the day was long. 

“I thought you quit.” He said, trying to start a conversation that hit a dead end pitifully quickly. 

“Toss it on.” You mumbled dismissively with a jerk of your head to the pile, eyes glued to Mark’s belongings, washing down your bitter words with an even more bitter swig of drink. 

Frankie complied wordlessly from there, dumping the contents of his arms on top of the photos and clothes, stepping back while you poured a generous amount of the liquor on top. A seasoning of fuck you not farewell to the people you’d shared your life with and would thankfully never cross paths with again. He took the bottle from you when you pressed it into his chest, taking a drink and grimacing at the taste. It wasn't smooth. It was almost sour, with a kickback that burned too much to be pleasurable as it passed down the column of his throat in a thick swallow. His thoughts trickled in from there as he read the label and glanced at you. He wanted to get you drunk. Get you to slip up. Let yourself be taken for once.

You both watched, deadfaced, as you struck a match, used it to light a cigarette and then tossed it in the bin as memories curled up under heat. The alcohol setting the blaze up in a satisfying roar of good riddance. 

He thought it was a little strange. How you’d come to him. Yes, you were friends. But the type of friend that only ever conversed between life events. In the empty limbo of hallways and laundromats. Not burning things on your balcony in the hope the heat will melt your heart back together, It was a little late for that. Stone doesn’t melt. And the two of you had hearts of set concrete from the turn of events you’d experienced. Encased in the cage of bone that would no longer open to another unless broken in two and forced apart. So you slid down the brick wall, knees bent to your chest while you smoked. The flame flickering a violent xanthous, ochre and scarlet. 

He joined you on the floor, passing back the bottle. The two of you side by side, and it only just occurred to Frankie how lonely he was now. But how terrified of intimacy he was. Intimacy of a level deeper than skin/ The both of you wordless, silent as the decaying dead of night. Only the crackle of fire between you and a sniff for your nose as the evening air nipped it and made it run. So to distract yourself, you condemned your tongue to bad liquor, chasing it with a drag of your cigarette and a grimace,

“God, this is shit.” You scoffed. 

“Not a hard liquor gal?” He chuckled, turning his head to glance at you out the corner of his eyes before the flame had his eyes attention again. 

“More of a wine person, really. But even I can tell this is shit.” And you gestured to the bottle in your hand, reading over the label and sighing. 

“Yeah,” he sighed, inflicting another taste upon himself when he took it out of your grasp. “It is.”

Silence again. Not awkward for you who preferred your own company to others, but for him, who had been watching you begging for an in, it was clawing at his insides like a starved animal would at the walls of its enclosure. 

“So…” He drew out, and you had to bite back an amused smile. 

“What?” 

Frankie found himself staring in trance at your side profile, with the same fascination you honed in on the flickering flame. He thought in silence for a second. Asking himself the same question. 

"How long did you date Mark for?" He asked. The name made him grimace as if it tasted sour in his mouth. Like he had to spit it out with disgust in every syllable for fear of it burning.

"Six months." Another awkward, off beat pause followed as he nodded. Then asked again. 

“Did you love him?”

"No." You said flat out. But your words were honest and brutal to the man you let in then kicked out. 

Frankie found himself suffocating a sigh of relief in his own ribs. They pinched slightly with an attempt of something profound to be felt. Like a child who had stumbled upon a strangely twisted shell at the beach. "Have you ever loved anyone?"

You turned to him, tilting your head. But Frankie couldn't tell if it was annoyance or respect for the bravery he had on asking you such personal questions. "What is this? Keeping Up With The Kardashians?"He held up his hands in quick defence, backing down. 

“I’m just trying to get to know you.”

"There isn't anything to know except for the fact I'm pissed off." You muttered. “And I figured you would be too, considering the argument I heard a couple nights ago through the wall of my kitchen."

Frankie felt his face go pale, then heat up in the apples of his cheeks. "Oh. So you heard that?" The way your cigarette smouldered as you spoke was the only movement on the narrow balcony. So you did know the walls were thin. It made him wonder what else you knew. If you knew how he strained to listen through plaster and drywall each night. 

"Oh, I heard it alright.” You smirked, finding sick pleasure in the way he seemed to squirm. “Something about Lisa finding you...'dull behind the eyes'." Frankie watched as you rolled your eyes and doubled back on your standing in the argument, "If you're going to insult someone, at least be creative about it. ``Give them a good reason to cut it loose." You were like a pendulum to him. But one that spun in clockwise, then anticlockwise circles, instead of oscillating back and forth. Unpredictable in a way that both horrified and intrigued him. 

"Dull?" He had to laugh in disbelief, "I am not dull."

You smiled to yourself at that, leaning your head back against the brickwork. Ready to shatter his lie with a flick of your sharp tongue. "You are dull, Frankie. You get up. Go to work. Come back. You do your laundry every Sunday— and I know that because so do I. Your car is always in the exact same spot next to mine. Without fail. Now, you can put all down to ‘strict military regime’, but the bitter truth is," You looked him in the eye, your cig hanging from your lips as you showed him the satisfied grin pulling at your mouth, "you are dull. We all are. We work, we grind, we cry because we work. You ache to the marrow and you get stabbed in the back. And you're begging on your damn knees to bite the hand that feeds you. But if you do, then you starve.”

Frankie had never had his own fear served to him by such a beautiful devil before. And he wished, with all he had left in him that Lisa hadn’t taken or ruined, that you were wrong. It made him want to cave into himself to protect what little he had left. Snarl like a wounded bitch as he held back from others to lick his wounds. Maybe offer it to you and beg you to take it off his hands. But how could he argue when you were practically holding up a mirror to his own eyes? "I hate that you're right." He said in solemn downcast bereavement. And watched the cloud of smoke float silently in front of your face to obscure the very mouth that let him have it in such careful, exact slicing words. The blade of your knife was sharpened to a paper thin point. Now stained with his body’s red. 

"There are very few things I'm wrong about. Regardless of that, it's a simple formula and easy to understand.”

“And what is it?” He asked, but regretted it for he knew his heart might not be able to take much more. Not that he showed it. This whole exchange his brow hadn’t folded into a single crease. 

“Two things in life are certain: Death. And taxes. You work to pay your taxes, and you die from working."

"That's a pretty pessimistic way of looking at things."

"Life is pessimistic." You shot back with amusement, intently staring in a fixed trance at the pile of burning memories. The last warmth it offered was metaphorically and literally its own destruction. Irony, as Frankie pointed out to himself in his crawling mind. "It crucifies you, and burns you...until you curl in on yourself at the corners and turn to ash." 

The conversation had reached a level of solemnity he hadn’t expected, but he’d be a liar if he didn't admit to sinking his claws in yet again. His teeth might come next if you gave him the sweet chance. 

You were quiet after that. Both of you were. The remnants of a fire that symbolised how Mark was no longer relevant in your life, and neither Lisa in his. If he thought Lisa was machiavellian, the word had new meaning now. But like with her, it drew him in and snared him into blissful trance. It was the type of blind faith you pin to a deity in the sky. The type that you never see but are forced and gaslit into believing because it's shoved down your throat from a young age. You were not his savour. He knew that in the pit of his very existence, the eye of the storm in his gut.

He would be crucified by you. 

“You’re a real ray of sunshine, you know that?”

"Aw." You pouted in mock appreciation, pressing a hand to your chest. "Thank you." 

Frankie afforded himself the pleasure of laughing at that. As cynical as it all was, it was real. You had just dared to say the quiet hushed parts out loud for him to digest. Though he felt like he was choking on it more than swallowing it. Regardless, he pushed it down to find confidence in himself and prod further. 

“You keep doing that.” 

“What?” “That.” Frankie pointed to all of you with a gesture absent of any direction, as if it was obvious. He watched as you tilted your head and scrunched your face a little. That crease in your brow…how it would haunt him in future. He felt like the prey. He was torn between wanting you to hunt him slowly so he could feel something at your hand, agony or not. Or asking you to do it quickly so he doesn't have to pursue through the bitter aftertaste. 

“I’m not following.” 

“You do this thing…where you turn conversations on their head. I feel like I'm getting whiplash.” He forced out a chuckle to make it seem like he was playing through with humour. But his words were genuine under the lace disguise of jest. You really did confuse him. You had his string of thought in knots. Complicated ones. “Why?” 

Your eyes narrowed at the question. “You’re trying to figure me out.” 

“Why shouldn’t i?”

"Because I'm not the distraction you need." You bit, almost like a warning. And Frankie would have listened if he wasn't so hellbent on breaking in. No matter how hostile, how feral, he'd take the time to tame the caged, battered, abused animal. 

“Maybe not.” He agreed, twisting his upper body to face you. It’s important to understand that what Frankie felt wasn’t love. At least, not how he’d experienced it in the past. This was an infatuation birthed by the fruit of lust forbidden to act upon until now. “But you’re the one I want.” With those words came a darkness in his eyes. The kind that reminded you of floods and tempests in biblical art. You were that tempest, with swollen grey clouds and a hammering of thunder ringing in his ears. Laughing as you crashed him onto rocks while he swam helplessly with little energy to the shore. Only to be shoved back with another crushing wave that cut through flesh and met bone with a chill like ice. “Just because we’re sad and miserable, doesn’t mean we have to give up a good time.” His instincts were buried before. Rolling in their grave at the chance to touch you. So he pressed his palms to the lid of the coffin and pushed. Reaching out to trace a delicate line along the angle of your jaw. His eyes were drawn to the soft plush of your lips and how they parted ever so slightly. “I want a distraction, baby.” 

He had you where he wanted you. And the liquor mixing thick with your blood had inhibition slipping through your fingers. His breath was hot on your lips. Needy to be paid attention to.

“Would it be worth my while?” You challenged, ignoring eye contact for now. Instead looking to his lips for the lies. 

“You don’t think I could satisfy you?” He smirked, lifting your chin with a single thick finger curled underneath and the pad of his thumb swiping slowly over your bottom lip. “I’ll do better than anyone else could.”

“Sounds like an awful lot of confidence you have there. At the end of the day, a dog that’s all bark and no bite is just a bitch.” 

Frankie chuckled at that. A deep rumble that rattled the bones that protect the hollow hole in his chest. “Come on…let me have a taste.” 

He didn’t wait for a reply. He took the silence and the glimmer of ‘i dare you’ in your eyes, pressing his lips to yours to consume you. Devour you whole. They took their time in sinking together and suctioning your lower lip into his mouth. Then his tongue dared to venture forward past parted lips to lick into your mouth and taste the backs of your teeth.

First, you let go of trepidation to take a hold of him. The roots of his hair and the back of his neck, fingers curled like talons. After, you let go of all else. The thoughts scratching the back of your skull, the headache that blistered before by the inferno calmed down and you were forced to focus on him alone as he took a handful of your hips and lifted you up to his lap to roll into him like a steady tide. 

You pulled him by the collar of his shirt to your room, clothes left in a scattered flurry along the way. Breadcrumbs to pick up later and either regret or laugh at. He unhinged your jaw to let slip your airy moan as his hands travelled south to meet the seam of your cunt. All else fell into place when he circled your clit with two fingers to start the first loop of the knot in your belly. A warmup for the act of sin, and need, and wanting. Whatever god there was should have never been prayed to in the first place. And Frankie knew it now that he was damned to hell from the first parting of your thighs for his wandering hand. His teeth were ready for sinking as he gathered your legs and hooked them over his shoulders to walk open mouthed, spit decorated kisses down the trunk of your navel. Pressing his nose into your mound. The must of your cunt making his eyes light up as he stared at the bob of your throat when you swallowed sharply. Head rolled back to the pillow. His tongue glided into your folds for the first lick. Making a hot wet stripe of a path from your asshole to your clit. He used the tip of his tongue to circle it and glide lover to curl into your quivering hole. Drawing out the taste. The beckoning gesture of his tongue gathering your taste in his senses. A thumb following suit to roll the bud of your clit under it, his nose clumsy as it bumped into it too. Obsessing over the tang of your arousal, thick in shine over his lips the scruff of his chin.

Your thighs clamped over his ears that were red. The heat made your own skin burn. Dark curls of his hair whispering against their insides as he continued to devour you from the seam. And your orgasm– it burned bright after the first fizzle. Made your eyes scrunch closed as he pulled it from you with hand and tongue. What was used for his words had yours spilling from parted lips like a puppet. A vessel for him to carry pleasure through. It had you toppling over into oblivion. The abyss. 

With bones brittle and hollowed like a bird you were fine to be dead weight as he ascended your body again. Folding you in half with your legs still bent over his shoulders. He traced the jut of your collarbone with the blunt edges of his teeth. How he wished they’d be sharp to sink deeper. But you were grateful as it would be easier for him to not draw blood and see the inside of you ran red like all the others. It was easy to not be human. It was easy to not show emotion and weakness. 

“Feel that?’ he panted against your goosebump pebbled skin, and you nodded. You did. It was the promise to feel desired and not broken. And not maimed beyond repair by another person you let in. Another person you built yourself up to prepare to love, to only have the rug pulled from under your feet and the brickwork clatter to the ground. It was the same promise to him. And the desire that ran thick in his blood made his pulse thrum heavy under its weight. Its intrusion hot under his lust scorched skin.  

“Yeah.” 

“Imma make it go away for you, baby.” he promised with a kiss to the hollow of your throat below its column, between your clavicle. And it was anything but empty. It was full. And round, and swollen with something deeper in his ribs that ached to be let loose. Breathed to fill you too. “I’ll make it all go away.”

His hips pressed flush to yours and the drag of neatly groomed hair sent a shockwave through your clit and up your rattling spine. Vertebrae by vertebrae. Setting off blazing fireworks in your mind for just a second before he started a slow drag. It was a stretch that stung. But pain was comfort if it had pleasure hot on its heels like an obedient dog. Ironic how you feared men like him, who seemed so eager to please and let themselves in uninvited. But you took it willingly this time because you needed to forget for a single second about the heart that bled under flesh and bone in the cage of your ribs. 

His cock was thick, full and curved up into the part of you that you couldn't have reached even if you tried. He slotted into your heat like he was meant to stay there. And that alone made you want to scream for him to give in and not relent so you could be ignorant to the way it seemed divine. The roll of his hips kicked up in pace and soon he was hunched over you. Strong arms rippled with muscle from brutal training since the age of eighteen bracing himself on either side of your head. The feeling of him curling his hips into you made you burn. It sent a tumble of a moan from your lips through the breathless pant of his name. A name he never thought you'd call in the tangle of your sheets. But the burning need to give you what he had wanted all this time ate at him. It ripped the flesh fresh off his bone and left him bleeding into you. 

Frankie’s eyes misted over when the chain that hung from his neck slipped over your chin and you bought the metal of his dog tags between your teeth. Biting down. It feels better biting down anyway. And the cool of the metal on your hot tongue made your head swim. Looking him in his eyes and daring him deeper. So his lips pressed into a firm line, and your nails raked down his back to leave raised red lines in their wake. Tracing new paths over the old map of scar tissue. Marking new land and territory. The air between you hung heavy with the heat of exhales. And blew with the shared moan you indulged in when it coiled in your belly. The cradle of your hips accommodated his cock as it stretched the tightness of your walls. Your slick arousal giving way to fluidity of otherwise rabid motion. Starving.  

When on his tongue, you were alive. Inside you he breathed again with the clutch of your cunt around him. Warm and beating, and thrumming quickly like a hummingbird's wings. A squatter temporarily camped up in the crack between two ribs. Where thick muscle shuddered with breath. You believed something in you was worth loving. But you also knew for it to be found you'd have to be flayed alive. 

The crash of his hips into yours aided in the symphony of sex, and filled the four walls painted but void of personal belongings. If he were on the other side of them he'd be jealous. But now he was here, he was alive. Beating hearted and thriving. And any god, saint, angel or divinity could watch and weep as he finally had what he wanted. What he might have needed in order to restore his humanity that lay dormant for so long. He was trying to crack you open so he could lick up what lay inside you. Gather it up in his arms like the greedy wolf, lambs gore, blood and flesh, between fangs of his lower jaw. Have the muscle pulsing between his teeth. But he wouldn't. So for now he'd settle for the flesh on show. The mound of your panting breast that he pressed into his open mouth. The flat of his tongue pressing greedily to your nipple. Before his lips pinched together and pulled the left pert. Switching to do the same for the right. Not leaving an inch of you untouched. Because he had his chance now. And who knew when he'd get another. So he relished in what he was spared and he would take it with him to the grave. Dream of it on his deathbed if this killed him. Or if something else did. Regardless. This would run through his mind until his last heavy and troubled breath. 

“That's it.” he murmured into your breast. “Take it. Take it, baby. Take me..” 

Your back arched, strung tight like a bow ready to fire. Spine curled up into the heat of his mouth and he bit down again on the swell of your breast. Wanting to take its entire weight into his mouth and have it rot and smear into his tongue. The fizzle of nerve endings reached the tips of your curling toes. The heels of your feet digging into the planes of his scapula to press him closer in the burning of your young orgasm. 

“Come on. Let me see you come.” Frankie demanded in a breathless growl as he stared you down with his eyes.  The hue of his irises almost devoured by black of pupil. Your jaw unhinged to let rip a silent scream. Feeling that sharp coil snap, and a numbness fill your aching core before your toes curl in pleasure. He helped you ride it out with his cock fucking into your tight weeping cunt while you sang out his name in a chorus of moans, whimpers and cries. Letting go utterly as a rush filled you, lighting you up like dry kindling under your skin. The pulsating of your walls around his length had his hips faltering for just a moment, twitching within your sopping cunt. His head fell into the crook of your neck as he let out a deep guttural groan, closing in on skin with teeth again. Spilling inside you, the mix of your slick with his cum painting you white like the searing heat of pleasure between you. He leaves the last of his load with you by fucking it deeper. Three, sharp, punctuated thrusts. 

He lay flat above you while he awaited the comedown from his catharsis. The tingle down his spine sputtered out in a haze of slowburn afterglow. Eyes closed and face buried into the crook of your perspiring neck. Panting together. Hit tongue forgot for a second to shape your name the way it sounded, but with a sharp inhale, the air surged his mind. 

“I suppose this is the part where I leave?” He mumbled, pulling back from your skin. His time had come and ended. The two of you now sat back to the world of hallway and laundromat limbo. He sighed through his nose when you nodded. And he did the same, pressing his lips into a thin line. 

Frankie gathered his clothes up, putting them on slowly one by one. Drawing out the ache of being alone again by lingering in your presence. 

“Come back tomorrow.” You said. Not asked. He nodded, still facing the door. Then twisted the handle and left an empty space in your apartment where he had once been. 

[mypuppyalt]

I finally did it. 3 days ago I went out and bought a dog collar, like a literal dog collar for dogs from pet smart. I've been wearing it as much as I can since then. I've been sleeping in it. I keep it in my pocket when I can't wear it and reach in and touch it when people aren't looking.  I've started counting down the hours until I can go back home and wear it again when Im out.  I've started sneaking away to wear it for a minute or two during the day.  Today I drove to work with it on and took it off a block before I got there, then when I got off I drove a block away and took it out and put it back on.  I wore a collar a lot as a kid, mostly in secret after I realized it wasn't normal. I only stopped when I lost my collar in middle school. I had tried to stop before but I would always end up digging it out and wearing it. Sometimes I would keep myself from doing it for months, a lot of the time I would only last days. It's not even a kink thing, I mean pet play sounds great, like really great, but when I'm wearing it I don't feel aroused (usually) I just feel calm and complete, like I can breathe freely.  It just makes all my worries seem small because as long as I'm wearing my collar it's ok and I will be ok.  I feel crazy, I feel like a crazy person.  I feel like something as stupid as wearing a literal dog collar should not make me feel like this.  I'm scared about what people would think about me if they knew.  The only people who even know are my therapist and a really close friend and I don't think they understand how serious this is for me.  It's more than just the collar too.  I've started barking when I'm alone for no reason, it just makes me really happy.  I dug my old soft toys out of storage and I've been carrying them around in my mouth and nuzzling them at night.  I want to groom them with my teeth and my tongue like I did when I was a kid but I've stopped myself so far.  I want to do so much more.  I want to chew up a stick.  I want to shred a paper bag with my teeth.  I want to buy myself a dog crate.  I want to go a whole day without saying a word, only barking and whimpering.  I want to get pet.  I want to get called a good dog.  I want to sniff the people I love and roll around in their dirty clothes.  I want to lick their faces.  I want to bark and growl when people I don't know get too close to them.  I feel like a freak.  I shouldn't be acting like this.  I shouldn't be thinking like this.  I'm a normal person.  I'm well spoken and witty and smart and caring, I have people who look up to me and rely on me.  I have a car and a job and a bank account.  I'm independent and strong and tough and I want to act like a literal puppy dog.  It doesn't feel correct.  Part of me wants to just burn this collar and pretend I've never done any of this.  Just go back to pretending to be a normal average unremarkable person but I'm the happiest I've been in years.  I'm excited for the future for the first time in a long time.  I feel like I have the energy to fix my life.  I don't feel the need to drink myself to sleep every night.  I feel happy, hell happy probably undersells it, I'm ecstatic!  And so I'm going to keep going.  I'm going to try some of the things I've been too embarrassed to try before and I'm going to try and find people I can be my honest and full self with and try opening up to the people I already have.  And I'm going to wear my collar and bark and be a puppy girl, for a bit at least.  Anyway sorry for how long this is, if you made it to the end thanks for reading I guess.  Just felt like I needed to get all this off my chest and out into the world.  I'm going to go and try to sleep now. night tumblr.

[hugsforyuri]

Chap 4

An

Imma be real wit yall, they kiss soon.

Summary:

Mischa had a panic attack after Talia left him on read and Noel helped.

Noel slowly climbed out of bed. He stretched out and got his phone

N: Misch, come over 

Noel quickly sent the message and within seconds there were three grey dots in their chat

M: Of ccoursw, wuen dhould i he ovef??? Bring anyrhing,,?? 

Noel laughed loudly at the message 

N: anythin you need for the weekend, maybe some food, a charger, your phone, just whatever u want:))

Mischa read the message and smiled brightly at it. 

M: ty love, i'll be over soon 

Noel's jaw dropped. He was gobsmacked, shook, flabbergasted, an fear.

N: ??? Love???????

Mischa whyd you call me love???????????

M: bc i love you. Idiot

N:??????? But talia???????

M: im polyam, noel.

N: waitwait but didnt you like whats his name harry??.

M: nah hes not as pretty as u.

Noel threw his phone across the room. Fucking Mischa Bachinski, thinks that he, Noel Gruber is pretty? He opened his closet and grabbed his comfiest clothes out. Sweatpants and a sweater. He quickly put them on and went to brush his teeth. Just as he finished he heard a knock on his door.  He rushed and opened it. "Hello dear." Mischa said as he stood at the door. Large suitcase in his hand. Almost over-packed. "Just get inside." Noel said. Mischa ran upstairs and tried to find Noel's room to put his bag down. He soon found the room, he knew it was Noel's due to the obnoxiously large chicago poster on the door. He opened the door to fine bits of shredded paper. He picked one up and it read:

'Mischa,

I like you. A lot. I think you're really

I'd love to just kiss you 

You're gre'

It was cut off there but Mischa couldn't help but wonder what the rest of it said. Mischa heard footsteps climbing the stairs. "Mischa!" Noel ran over and hugged him tightly. Mischa returned the favour by wrapping his arms around his neck. Mischa slowly lowered his head and gently pecked Noel's hair. "Misch, did you really mean what you said?" Noel asked. "What? That I love you? I meant that Noel. I meant that with my whole heart." Noel tightened his grip and started to sob. "Mischa Bachinski, you're so perfect. Don't Let me go." Noel started to shake. "Misch please. Please. I love you. I need you." His voice shook. Mischa picked Noel up and placed him on the bed. "Noel. I'm going to get something. Get some snacks." He walked to where he set his bag and unzipped it. He grabbed some reccees, coke, and chips. "Noel, I got you a few things." Noel dragged Mischa onto the bed and hugged him. "Mischa I love you." Noel spoke loudly. "Mhh, love you too, Dear." He put his arms around Noel and pulled him close. Noel reached down slightly and grabbed the coke. He tried to read the label but he struggled "This diet coke?" Noel asked. "No it's not. Do you want diet? I can get diet. I don't mind going and getting it if you want?" Mischa Said. His tone was rather rushed, it sounded idiosyncratic. "Mischa I'd love that." Noel whispered. Mischa nodded and climbed out of Noel's wooden single bed frame. He then pulled his sweater off and grabbed a dress shirt from his suitcase. "Wait fuck fuck fuck fuck!" He yelled. The last fuck was extended. "So sorry Noel, I am so so so sorry." He took the sweater and ran out to the bathroom with black trousers and a blazer in hand. Noel just layed there, absolutely flabbergasted. Oh his golly good days. His homosexuality was real !!!! He knew from the young age of 7 when people started liking harry potter he liked the french new wave cinema . The door downstairs opened and Noel saw Mischa running out. Within minutes he was back. Five diet cokes in hand. Mischa ran upstairs and gave Noel one. "Wowzers! Gee willikers thank you mischa !!!!!!" Noel screamed. "For realz" Mischa said. He made sure the z instead of s was known. IRL TOOOOO!!?$&@*!?

They were both men likers for each OTHER.

Mischa lay next to Noel and they slept. Peacefully asleep together. 

A/n

Soz if this is really bad. I'm writing this while stoned as hell. Lovw yall rho. Stay safe ♡♡♡ also im gay, like a gay man , big men lover. Wanted to clarify 

[turtle-steverogers]

i was thinking but do you know the unsent project? it is this website where you can write a message to your first love that you never sent to them. now imagine steve writing one (or multiple) to bucky after he came out of the ice after nat told him about it... yeah

hello hi anon this broke me and it was too perfect not to turn into a ficlet klafjldskjfalskf thank you

-

Unsent Letters

To:

Steve’s fingers freeze over the keyboard, the cursor blinking at him. It feels like it’s taunting him-- teasing him with the burden of choking out a name. What should he even say? The sender is anonymous, but how many people are named Bucky out there? Would anyone even care?

To: Bu

Steve huffs and backspaces, his hands trembling as he curls them into fists. He isn’t sure what provoked Natasha to tell him about this website. It’s a cruel tease to everything he wishes he could say-- wished he could say before Bucky slipped through his fingers. And now his only option is yelling into an abyss. The text box is black and daunting. He turns it yellow. No, too happy. Green. Yes, that’s fine. Bucky’s favorite color was always green.

His gaze wanders away from the screen of his hefty Dell laptop and out the window of his apartment. DC’s low rising buildings span out in front of him. His gut aches; he misses New York already. But he knows being there would only mangle his soul further, seeing his already alien home torn to shreds by literal space whales. He huffs, thinking of Bucky’s comics. His stories came to life after all. Bucky would have probably vibrated out of his skin if he knew there was other life out there.

To: My astronaut

How’s space treating you? It’s treating me pretty badly, if I’m being honest. If only you could see what it’s done to Brooklyn. I think you’d be pretty mad at it if you knew…

Steve hesitates, reading back over what he’s typed. It’s stupid as hell, and he cringes, but he doesn’t backspace. His fingers find the keys again.

I miss you something awful. I don’t think that even encompasses how much I’m hurting without you. I feel so lost right now-- space is much bigger and scarier than you’d think. I know you’d love it. I wish you could see bits of it, but god, I just want to go home. I want you to come home.

Steve freezes again and finds the screen blurry where tears have welled in his eyes. His jaw clenches as he pictures the way Bucky would laugh at him-- teasing him for his dramatics and ruffling his hair. He wishes he could be there now, rolling his eyes and nudging Steve’s shoulder.

“What’re you upsetting yourself for?” He’d say, gently closing the laptop and coaxing Steve into his arms. “I’m right here, pal.”

And if Steve closes his eyes, he can almost feel Bucky’s warmth enveloping him. But he’s not there. He’s dead, and Steve’s a goddamn ghost, drifting through a future that doesn’t know him.

He opens his eyes and stares at the text box, then clicks submit.

The screen loads, and his message is gone, his pain forever documented in the abyss.

-

For someone who fought aliens two weeks after waking up from his impromptu seventy year sleep, Steve’s life is pretty monotonous. He contemplates this unfortunate fact as he stands in front of his toaster, hair sticking up on the back of his head as he nurses a mug of coffee and waits for his toast to pop.

It’s 5:45 in the morning and he tries to remember a time when he didn’t rise this early. Before the war, perhaps. Though, he’s always been a bit of an early bird. His home life was sporadic to put it lightly and he’d learned from an early age that the sooner he was awake, the better it was for everyone. Vigilance is not a new concept for Steve.

He hasn’t always stayed up late, though. That’s certainly new, and he feels this fact viscerally as he catches sight of his reflection in the microwave. There are bags under his eyes that will be gone by mid-morning thanks to the serum. Dermatologists hate him, Natasha says. Steve thinks he’s pretty lucky that the serum more or less equipped him with a built-in anti-aging agent. His father had started balding by thirty.

His toast pops and he starts a little, blinking blearily at the slightly burnt bread as he pulls it out of the toaster with his thumb and forefinger. He spreads on the same raspberry jam and butter that he uses every morning and tries not to think of how bland it tastes in his mouth as he eats it standing at the counter. Another routine.

He tries not to look at last night’s dishes in the sink as he stacks his plate and silverware on top and doesn’t bother sorting out his hair before pulling on his sneakers and slipping out of his apartment. The sun hasn’t quite risen yet, only the beginning tendrils of light sneaking over the low tops of the DC buildings, and Steve vaguely regrets not grabbing a sweatshirt before he left. It’s not quite Summer yet and the mornings could still get pretty cool.

He’s about to take off down the street when he freezes. Natasha is sitting on the steps of his complex, wearing a pair of pink tinted sunglasses and tossing up and down the keys to her car. Steve blinks, rubs his eyes, then blinks again. Nope. She’s still there.

“Nat?”

Natasha looks up at him and smiles. “Hello.”

Steve shifts, uncomfortable. “Hi. You need something? Is there a mission?”

“No,” Natasha says lightly, standing. “You’re not running this morning, though. Come on, I’m taking you to Starbucks.”

“What?”

“Starbucks. You’re going to try it.”

“I don’t want--”

“Steve, you do the same thing every day. Step out of your comfort zone a little.”

Steve frowns, but Natasha’s right-- he really doesn’t ever stray from his routine.

“Fine,” he says, and twenty minutes later, they’re strolling into the nearest Starbucks.

He’s only been in one before, and that was to use the restroom while on a run. He’d bought a water bottle in an attempt to not be rude and use their facilities without giving them any business, but he hadn’t even considered the expansive menu. All the fancy names were too daunting.

They’re just as daunting now as he stares up at the board, heart hammering out of his chest as he’s faced with indecision. Natasha takes one look at his face, and reaches out to squeeze his arm.

“I’ll order something for you,” she says. “What kind of coffee do you like?”

Steve gives her a pained look. “Um… just coffee?”

Natasha quirks a smile and orders him something called a caramel macchiato. He’ll take it, he guesses.

The drink is too damn sweet and sugary and he almost gags. Still, he was always told to finish what he was given, so he drinks the whole thing.

-

To: Mr. Sweet Tooth

You’d fucking love it here. Everything is packed with sugar and sweetness-- enough to make even my teeth rot. I had something called a caramel macchiato today and it tasted like someone took your ma’s caramels and condensed them into a cup. I couldn’t stand it, but I know if you were here, you’d want at least twelve. I hope you’re enjoying all the sweets you can up in space.

Love, Mr. Boring

-

Steve’s fingers are stiff and frozen as he works at the straps of his stealth suit. The tangy taste of saltwater still sits heavy on his tongue, and he clenches his jaw to keep his teeth from chattering too harshly as he finally peels off his suit. It’s not much better, being naked, but at least the wet fabric isn’t clinging to him anymore.

The mission had been pretty straightforward until some alien tech managed to blast the quinjet to kingdom come, and they all free-fell straight into the freezing Atlantic.

Steve had managed to keep it together as they took down the goddamn mad scientist that fucked them over, but now that he’s home and alone, he can feel the adrenaline crashing.

He’s shaking from more than just the cold as he draws himself a warm bath, and he pulls his knees up to his chest, trying to breathe through the panic that wants to engulf his entire being.

He loses time for a bit, and comes back to himself lying in his bed, burrowed under several thick layers. He feels so cold, down to his very soul-- a chill that he can never seem to truly shake, even when he’s warm.

Not for the first time, he wishes Bucky were there to hold him. He slips off to sleep thinking old, comforting thoughts of Bucky rubbing his hands between his own, coaxing his head under his chin to engulf him in that natural warmth of his. He always was a fucking furnace.

But when Steve wakes an hour later, shaking hard enough to move the bed with the force of the nightmare he’d dropped into, Bucky is not there to soothe away the ice.

-

To: JB

im so cold and i cant breathe ever and nothing feels right. I dont know what to do, u were always the problem solver between us and i cant think straight right now and i just want you here please. I cant do this anymore, im so tired please come back. I need you please

-

The Winter Soldier file sits in front of Steve-- a horrifying nightmare wrapped up in a neat brown folder. Residual nausea swirls around in his gut as he comes down from the horrible high of reading through the contents. His hands shake where they grasp the thick paper. His heart clenches hard in his chest.

Bucky is alive. Bucky is alive, and he’s been unmade.

Steve doesn’t know where he is-- if he’s escaped, or if Hydra found him again. It’s been three weeks now since the helicarriers, and he’s only just gotten the courage to sit down and wade through the shit that is Bucky’s reality.

He just hopes he’s safe. God, he hopes.

Sam says he’ll help him look, and Steve needs to know he’s at least out of danger, but he barely knows where to start.

And he’s sorry. He’s so fucking sorry.

Blinking out of his reverie, Steve looks at his laptop. He feels strange and detached as he reaches for it and logs in.

To: Bucky

And yes, that feels right. He should use his name, since he suspects no one has for a long, long time.

I’m so sorry for what happened to you. I’m sorry that you’ve been hurting so quietly for so long. I understand if you’re not ready to come home-- I understand if you never are. I just hope that you know that there will always be a place with me that is safe. I love you so much and I’m here, forever and always.

Love, Steve.

He’s not naive. He knows it would be dangerous to submit that particular message, so he doesn’t. But that’s okay. That one’s just for him-- for them.

-

“Steve? What is the… Unsent Project?”

Steve frowns and pokes his head out of the kitchen. Bucky is sitting on the couch in the living room, using his laptop, because his own is having storage issues.

Bucky looks at him. “It’s one of your saved tabs. What is it?”

And oh, fuck. Steve had forgotten to remove that from his homepage-- it really wasn’t needed anymore. He blushes all the way to his ears.

“Oh, it’s-- nothing. Not anything important--”

But Bucky has already clicked on the tab.

“The Unsent Project,” he reads aloud. “A collection of unsent text messages to… first… loves…”

He trails off as he processes what he’s looking at, and Steve can’t quite read his expression when he looks at him again. His eyebrows are furrowed, and he’s looking at Steve like he’s some sort of kicked puppy. Steve shifts, uncomfortable.

“Were you sending me… messages? While I was dead?”

Steve swallows. “Um…” and now that Bucky says it out loud, it really does sound quite sad. He shrugs. “It’s Natasha’s fault?”

Bucky shakes his head, clicking on the search bar. He starts to type his name, but Steve shakes his head.

“I didn’t use your name.”

“Oh,” Bucky says, then frowns at him again. “What did you use?”

Steve blushes harder, sitting next to Bucky and taking the laptop from him.

“Um…” he hesitates, then types what he was sure he used as his first alias.

My astronaut

The screen buffers and loads, then fifty or so messages pop up. Steve scrolls down-- it doesn’t take long to find his.

They’re both quiet as they read, and Steve cringes. Jeez, he really had been pretty dramatic. Next to him, Bucky makes a hurt noise.

“Oh, honey,” he murmurs, taking the laptop back from Steve. He reads the message again, then once more, and reaches out for Steve. “Aw, I’m here now.”

Steve huffs, embarrassed. “I know,” he says. “That was way back, like, three weeks after I woke up.”

Bucky stills. “You fought aliens three weeks after you woke up?”

“... More like two.”

Bucky hums. “Are there others?”

“Yeah,” Steve says, reaching out to type on Bucky’s lap, because Bucky is holding him now and he’s quite reluctant to move. He thinks for a moment, then types in the next one he remembers.

Mr. Sweet Tooth

Bucky laughs, and Steve finds himself smiling.

“I find this funny,” Bucky says. “Because caramel macchiatos are definitely one of my favorites now.”

Steve laughs, too, and butts his head against Bucky’s shoulder.

“If only I could tell that to myself back then-- he’d be thrilled.”

“I’m sure,” Bucky says. “Any more?”

Steve hesitates, thinking of the one he’d sent after that nightmare-- when he was low and hurting. Incoherent. He isn’t sure he wants Bucky to see that particular side of his soul, but Bucky has been more than generous in letting him in on his pains nowaday, and it’s not like Bucky hasn’t witnessed Steve’s own current nightmares.

He bites his lip and types in JB. That seems to yield a lot more results, and it takes a while for Steve to find the message.

He hides his face in Bucky’s neck as he reads. Bucky’s arms gradually tighten around him, and a moment later, he feels him kiss the top of his head.

“Honey, I hate that you were hurting so bad,” Bucky mutters against his hair.

Steve shrugs. “We both were,” he says, and it’s true. There’s something to be said about the guilt they both feel for not being able to save the other person at their lowest, but life hasn’t been kind to them. The vitriol, Steve thinks, should be directed at the goddamn universe for keeping them apart, not themselves for fucking dying. They’re working on it.

Bucky’s quiet for a long time. “Yeah, I guess you’re right,” he says. “Is that it?”

Steve shakes his head. “But I never sent the last one.”

“Why not?”

“I wrote it after DC.”

He feels Bucky squeeze him again, and he squeezes back.

“Oh.”

“I just-- I wanted you to know that you didn’t have to come home. That I just wanted you to be safe; needed to know you were safe, but it was up to you. I just needed you to know I was here, if you needed me.”

Bucky pulls back then and cups his face, kissing him soundly. Steve’s surprised for only a moment before he’s kissing back.

“I did know that,” Bucky says against his lips. “I needed time-- I was lost-- but the first thing I knew when I remembered who you were was that you were a safe person, because you’d never force me anywhere.”

Steve kisses him again, then pulls him into a hug. “I’m glad you knew that.” It’s warm, where their chests meet, and Bucky is solid beneath him. Real. He isn’t speaking into an abyss anymore.

-

There’s a sticky note on Bucky’s pillow next to his head when he wakes up the next morning. Steve’s side of the bed is already vacant, and he can’t hear him downstairs. He must have already left for a run.

Propping himself on an elbow, Bucky plucks up the sticky note.

To: My Bucky

Thank you for choosing me to be your home, and thank you forever, for being mine.

I love you with everything I have.

Love, your Steve

Bucky smiles, heart light as he folds the notes. He’ll keep that one with him, he thinks. A little bit of home to bring wherever he goes.

-

anyway yeah fslkjflaskjfls i-- ouch. anything to do with letters w these two hurts me immensely

[starryseung]

bang chan + smut

☾

requested; nope! word count; 1.5k warnings; fingering, overstimulation, oral (fem receiving), unprotected sex

you know you’ve met hands with the devil himself when you signed those blood red papers with bright gold ink, the pen almost trembling between your fingers. demon!chan knew the thousand thoughts littered around your mind, but chose to keep quiet as he smirked through it all, hands clasped one above the other behind him.

you sigh and drop the pen next to the papers, looking up and around to see everything slowly morph into darkness; blood, fire, everywhere. your television and refrigerator are replaced by bright lava, spluttering everywhere. the smell of a rotten something lingers in the air —you can’t pinpoint if its eggs or a dead body— and looking up, you notice how your roof is replaced by the dark night sky filled with red and black dragons which was, just a mere minutes ago, spring blue sky with pigeons flying in peace.

“so, uh, i’ve signed the papers—”

“very well, y/n!” chan exclaims, holding the delicate pages carefully between his fingers as he moves close behind you. the atmosphere was already hot, but chan's breath dancing on your neck was hotter, the faint smell of chocolate and vanilla from him filling your lungs.

“so the deal is sealed. let me do the honours of walking you to you— my apologies, our room; may i?” he cocks an eyebrow, smirk never leaving his lips. he extends his hand forward for you to take, but you’re too full-of-ego to hold it, walking right past him.

that’s when chan knew he hadn’t gone wrong with his choice of picking you. he had hundreds of desperate females trying to get onto his good side, doing anything to please him. there were ladies trying to impress him, flaunting out of their homes to sign the ‘devil’s contract’ in a tight black dress, some even going as far as wearing red heels and devil horns. chan never liked those kinds of women; they were just a trial-and-error method to reach out to you — the real win. and now that you were finally wrapped around his little finger, he didn’t mind how you behaved around with him; he knew he had you all for himself.

he meandered close behind you, nudging you when you were going off the track to his room. as you went closer and closer to his room, the rotting smell started fading away, replaced by the intoxicating fragrance of just chan. the sweet vanilla and chocolate musk dominated your senses, almost as if you were under a spell. you didn’t realize when chan walked you into a dimly lit chamber, the interior looking all-too-familiar to your room. you take note of your neatly stacked clothes in one corner of the room; ‘wow, this is really serious business, huh?’ you think, licking your lips as you slowly feel yourself automatically comfortable in the room.

“yeah babygirl, it’s all serious business once you’re in the devil’s room,” chan chuckles, his expression morphing into a serious one, quirking his eyebrows as he leans closer to grab you by the waist, kissing you. 

you expect the kiss to be rough, full of lust, blood and greed; but surprisingly chan went at just the pace you wanted. not too fast, not too slow, just simply perfect. his tongue pushes into your mouth fluidly and right at that moment, chan tugs you to fall onto the bed, your back cushioned by the soft duvet underneath.

chan lies on top of you, soft lips abandoning yours as he moves lower to your jaw, bringing the skin between his slightly pointed teeth to softly nibble at it. you’re too sensitive at this point, almost down to tears when he grinds down on your clothed core with his bulge, pressure on your neck overwhelming you to the point your vision is clouded. the moan bubbling up your throat makes chan smirk against your skin, your grip in his hair tightening further.

“can i,” he kisses a light pink spot which’ll soon turn dark purple, “continue with this?” he asks ever-so-quietly, you wouldn’t have noticed it if it weren’t for his sudden soft eyes staring down at yours.

you’ve signed the devil’s contract, goddamn it. why was he asking you that? wasn’t signing the contract already enough of a sign that you desperately wanted him to fuck the living daylights out of you?

your small trail of thoughts is interrupted by chan attacking your shoulders, swiftly unbuttoning your white shirt as he moved lower and lower to cup your breasts in his hands. he fondled with your clothed nubs, grazing the pads of his thumb over your nipples to drag another moan out of you.

“babygirl wants me to fuck the living daylights out of her?” he mocks, smiling against your shoulder. it hits you almost like a freight train when you realize he can listen to your mind, and you’re trying to scramble for your thoughts to come together, but it’s nearly impossible when chan can listen to anything you’re thinking about.

a soft giggle is heard, before he moves his plump lips lower and lower until he’s facing the waistband of your jeans. pulling them harshly so they’re off, he admires your squirming form under him, and he trails a finger up your thighs and right against your clothed heat, circling where your folds should be.

a choked moan leaves your lips and you arch your back just the slightest, chan's fingers rubbing slow circles on your covered cunt. he grins at how the fabric gets wetter and wetter, and he brings them aside to look at your glistening pussy, smirking before licking a thick strip from the base above; making you involuntarily shudder under him. 

he brings a hand around your waist to hold you down, soft lips rubbing on your clit. his tongue darts out and pushes against the bundle of nerves, and you can all but clutch the soft sheets beneath you tighter, sucking in the warm air of the room. he lazily laps his tongue and lips against your dripping heat, humming occasionally to run shivers up your spine. 

he pushes a finger between your folds, letting out a guttural groan against you as you clench around his appendage. your juices easily coat his digit as he thrusts them inside your hole, curling his finger to brush over your sweet spot deliciously. needless to say, you’re a moaning mess under him, a thin layer of sweat giving you a brighter sheen under the dim lights of the room. without wasting time, he inserts a second finger, thrusting it faster in you as you keep fidgeting under him, wanting more.

his fingers gain momentum, the tips pressing at your sweet spots every time he pushes them knuckles deep. a particular flick of his tongue against your clit paired with his fingers perfectly stretching you out made you arch your back, fingers almost tearing the sheets to shreds as you come around him, splotches of red and black clouding your vision. 

but chan doesn’t stop, pushing a third finger in as you clench around him tighter, yelping as the stretch increases, setting a burning pit in your core. he thrusts them slowly, and deep down you know you can’t take it any further, but just then chan pulls out his fingers with a pop, getting onto his knees. you aren’t given enough time to register the sudden halt of his movements, when chan's length prods at your slit, making the air knock out of your lungs.

you inhale sharply when his thick length pushes in, movements steady as his hands wrap tight around your waist. you’ve had sex before, but chan's cock filled you up to the brim, as if it was up to your stomach.

your pussy clenches around him, perfectly squeezing his length in a way he had never experienced before. he groans, losing the last threads keeping together his resolve as he snaps his hips into you. you’re trying your hardest to not scream, but all attempts are thrown out the door when the demon brings your legs a tad bit higher, the angle making him reach deeper into you.

you know you’re so close you can taste it, but voicing it out isn’t an option when all you can get out is babbles and moans. luckily chan's there to help you out, bringing his fingers down to rub circles on your clit, and just the slightest pressure has you coming around his length, clenching around him uncontrollably.

chan doesn’t take much longer either, thrusting into you twice, thrice, before spilling his seed in you, such that even after he’s pulled out, you’re left feeling full.

“babygirl’s okay?” he questions quietly, taking note of how exhausted you were as you tried catching your breath. you nodded slowly and he smiled, grazing his thumb over your temples and down your cheeks. you keen into his warm touch, the faint fragrance of chocolate and vanilla still lingering even under the smell of sweat and cum.

he plops down next you, bringing the covers up to your chin before snuggling next to you under them. you remember he had told you once how he was a softy under his demonic self but you always failed to believe him, until now.

you could now only hope; signing this contract wasn’t going to take a toll on you.

—

a/n; this, for some reason, took me 3 days to finish :’) i hope it was worth the wait im so sorry sjhdjshdjs

taglist; @joengni @cherryeol04 @lomlminho @bruh-changbin @yooniversalstudios @ann0325441904 @yourdaddychan (message me if you want to be added!)

[ballwizard]

chicory is a good game and you should play it (MASSIVE SPOILERS AHEAD)

this is just going to be a semi organized ramble/analysis of the game . cleaned up but mostly copy pasted from the discord convo @leftistaco and i had last night :P

core themes of the ending

I will never never never NEVER get over chicory saying "when I said you could have the brush, you were already holding it." like. thats why the game ends if you don't pick up the brush at the start. in the brushflower field, chicory saying They must have been a VERY creative person and after the whole game of pizza saying they're NOT a wielder they ONLY got it cuz they were there they're JUST A JANITOR and THEY'RE the one who made a new brush. they were the most capable. they were already holding it. like. aurgh . art is meant for everyone even if you don't think it is . like its a thing that everyone can share . you could be dropped into a room with a complete stranger and a pad of paper and pencils and you could still draw together . art is so personal and yet it's everyones but everyone's is different and part of a whole . ripping and tearing my books to shreds with my bare teeth and crying and rolling around everywhere. ART IS EVERYONES THERE IS NO LEGACY YOU MUST FOLLOW THERE IS NO BURDEN YOU MUST BARE. IT IS ART THAT IS THE MOST HUMAN THING OF ALL.

not to say it again but "you were already holding it". I dont think any line ever has affected me more. God. all of them kind of want it. every godamn person you talk to kinda wants to try it out. you give it to pickle. they all say it. God. ohhhhh were all so human were so fucking human it is killing me. you would take it. I would take it. everyone would take the brush. we all want to color in our world don't we.

the final battle

first off, the repeated bringing back of the up on the mountaintop's motif was SO good. the way chicory fights is so awesome too. all her flourishes. and th e way you can feel all thr wielders even if techincally they arent there. I remeber someone saying that the wielder before cardamom was abstract. you know that Shapes attack it does ? they're really there.

AND THE . FIGHTING THE INSTITUTION ITSELF THROUGH THE BRUSH WITH THEIR OWN BRUSHES THEY MADE . THE CYMBAL ISM................. the fact that. the connection with the brush manifests your darkest feelings physical and its SEEN in the boss fights like like like like. chicory sees herself as imperfect and not worth it so she manifests as a hideous shriveled rabbit head . blackberry feels remorse for the way she's lived and mentored and feels like a monster so she MANIFESTS AS A MONSTER . PIZZA FIGHTS A LITERAL MANIFESTATION OF THEMSELF WHO IS COMPLETELY LOST AND ANCHORED TO THE BRUSH LIKE ITS A LIFELINE. AURGH. the fact that the first boss fight is disembodied eyes . because pizza feels like theyre being watched in the first time in their life after being a "nobody" and it's scary!!!! its fucking terrifying feeling like you're being scrutinized for everything you do by everyone and its not just pizza!!!! chicory feels like it too!!! i bet every fuckin wielder was freaked about those eyes because its scary and it's a burden to be that hypervisible!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

chicory & pizza

as someone who kinda looked rlly similar to chicory when Twas Bad like...her being Like that is so accurate it hurts. when you're that deep you want to dig your fucking claws in and drag it down with you. the depiction of both chicory and pizzas struggles with mental health and self worth are so. God it fucking HURT like ive BEEN THERE iv e had days where i didnt even want to feed myself. it feels very, very heavy, and very, very real.

The FUCKING Brush Wars

im also thinking about like. the fact that there were canonically brush wars. the power to make color being institutionalized made people so mad for power that there were wars . like . people died for the brush just because there was only one and the importance placed upon it ended up being false because you literally can just grow one with the right mindset!!!!! like. the importance on tradition is such a fucking burden that its prevented people from making color basically opens source for years and years. so many people were hurt by it, physically & mentally and GOD!!! game makes me feel emotions

TL;DR:

[corruptedconfessions]

I hope your nose pain will one day pass along with mine😔. Thots on doin a part two for that yandere neko hitoshi in heat, where he kidnaps his darling and finally breeds her? I don't know what I just read, but I like it👁️👁️

Link to Part 1

This ask has been sitting in my inbox for like a month? Whoops, im sorry anon. I hope it was worth the wait. It got away from me and took longer but also got longer than I planned.

Day 16! of monster fics a day

This one has references to Shinsou wanting to breed you, and actively fucking you with the intent to get you preggy but its gender neutral other than that! 

Warnings: dubcon, consent to questionable consent

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You had been enjoying the quiet stillness of the night, curled up on your couch, wrapped up in a blanket in front of the TV, flicking through channels mindlessly, more so enjoying the background noise than actually watching anything. Everything was quiet and peaceful, and you felt yourself almost slipping into a light doze.

At least until a loud thud shook your front door, like something had hit it, something large. You sat still for a moment, staring at your door in confusion, deciding if you wanted to get up and investigate or shrug it off and melt back into the sofa below you.

A soft knocking at your door made the decision for you.

Groaning softly in complaint you threw your blanket to the side as you stood, stumbling over to the door. You placed a hand on the doorknob before you paused, hesitating for a moment before deciding to peep through the peephole. You stood up on the tips of your toes to get a good look, gasping in shock at what you saw. There, leaning heavily against your door was Shinsou, barefoot and covered in scrapes, sweating heavily as he practically relied on the door to stay standing.

You immediately swung open the door, staring at the neko in fear and confusion, noting that his normally perfectly groomed fur was sticking out every which way as well. And his eyes…Normally they were big and round, reminding you of a cute little kitten, but now they were slitted, sharper, angrier as his gaze snapped to you.

“Shinsou?! What happened are you-”

You were cut off as the neko suddenly lunged at you, pushing you back into the room as he shut the door behind him with his foot, waiting until it clicked shut before he tackled you, sending you sprawling to the ground. Your eyes squeezed shut, waiting for your head to hit the ground, but he moved faster, a hand moving to cup the back of your head, absorbing the impact. You found yourself sprawled on your back, staring up at your friend as he towered above you, caging you against the floor as he stared down at you.

“S-Shinsou?”

You couldn’t stop the soft confused whimper that bubbled out of you as you stared up at him with wide confused eyes. What was going on with him? Normally he was so even tempered, never reacting to much or getting upset, he even would let you pet his ears and play with his hair, something you were told nekos almost never did.

“Are you hurt?”

Slowly as to not startle him you raised your hand, moving to cup his cheek tenderly. He immediately pushed into the touch, a low rumble coming from him as he turned to nuzzle your palm gently.

“Am…okay.”

His voice was deeper than normal, rough and ragged, more animalistic. It would almost scare you if it weren’t for the way he kept nuzzling your hand, dragging his rough tongue across your palm gently.

“Then what’s wrong?”

You brought your other hand up to cradle his face, watching with wide eyes as his breath hitched and he arched closer to your touch, shuttering hard as he nearly pushed against your hand hard enough that you couldn’t help but chuckle, sliding it into his hair, scratching his scalp lightly.

“Need to…need to fuck you~”

He rumbled low and deep in his throat, rolling his hips down against yours. You gasped softly in surprise, jumping when you felt his hard on, everything suddenly clicking into place.

“O-oh!”

You stared at him, everything making sense now, his sensitivity, the way he was panting and sweating like he had just ran a mile. The new little…friend that was currently being rubbed against your thigh shamelessly.

“I-I…Okay.”

He didn’t need to be told twice. In a second your clothes were ripped off of you, claws shredding through the fabric like paper as a low possessive growl bubbled from his throat. He leaned down claiming your lips in a kiss that was almost all teeth and blood as his clawed fingers slid down to rub harshly at your sex. You were gasping and whimpering against his lips, hands going up to grab at his chest, pushing him away lightly.

“Shinsou…Bedroom.”

The neko growled down at you, burying his face into your neck as he kept rubbing roughly at you, leaving you gasping and wincing at the harsh rub against dry skin. You reached up to pet his hair, stroking it lightly as he panted against your skin, clearly eager and desperate.

“We need lube, baby~ And my back hurts…I need the bed.”

He huffed low in his throat, scooping you up as your legs wrapped around his waist as his hands slid under your ass. You rolled your hips down against the bulge that was already straining hard against his jeans, pulling another ragged noise out of the neko. The claws on his toes clicked against the floor loudly as he rushed to your bedroom, throwing you down on the bed and immediately crawling ontop of you. You arched up, reaching to grab the lube from your bedside drawer as he fumbled with his jeans, managing to get them off without tearing them to shreds like he had done to yours.

“Calm down-!”

You yelped softly when he tackled you back down to the bed, pinning you down with his body as he snatched the lube from your hand, pouring it all over his fingers before pushing his claws against your twitching hole.

“S-shinsou wait- The claws-”

You gasped cutting off when he suddenly shoved two fingers into you, immediately pumping them in and out of you. You hissed softly at the burn but luckily his claws didn’t scratch you as you had feared. More lube was poured directly on you hole, causing you to squeal in shock as he added another finger quickly. You wanted to complain, to hiss up at him to slow down but when you looked up the look in his eyes was…feral. You supposed you were lucky that he was holding himself back long enough to prep you at all. Part of you was touched that he was so caring to stop and worry about hurting you even when he was straddling the line between control and being lost to his instincts.

Surprisingly despite his impatience when pushing his fingers into you, he took his time prepping you, stretching and rubbing at your walls until you were relaxed around him. You were whimpering and rocking down into his touches by the time he pulled his fingers out, pushing your legs up to your chest as he lined himself up.

“Shinsou…”

You panted his name softly, watching as purple eyes flicked up to you, narrowing in on your flushed desperate look before he was thrusting in. You threw your head back, fingers clawing at the sheets as he bottomed out in one thrust. Any restraint he seemed to have before was gone as he started thrusting, his claws dug into where he was holding onto your thighs, feeling like pin pricks across your skin as he growled openly, snapping his hips forward into you.

All you could do was cling to the sheets and take it, gasping and crying out up at him as he fucked you hard. It didn’t take him long before he was angling his thrusts, slitted eyes staring into you as he searched for that little sweet spot that would have you desperate for his cock. Within moments he found it. You moaned his name loudly, tightening up around him as he brushed against it, sending shocks of pleasure through you briefly. He pulled out, adjusting his hips before hitting the spot dead on this time.

Your loud moans and cries joined his possessive growls and grunts, harmonizing with the sound of his hips slapping against yours. Already you could feel the sweat forming across your skin as you twisted the sheets in your grasp, whimpering and gasping Shinsou’s name as you tried to roll your hips down into his thrusts. He leaned in closer, pushing your legs apart so he could latch onto one of your nipples, sharp teeth scraping across the sensitive bud as he kept fucking you, leaving you shaking with pleasure under him as he now pushed deeper into your guts. You let go of your sheets just to wrap your arms around him as he growled against your chest, nuzzling himself closer to your touch as he started thrusting faster.

You stayed like that, moaning and whimpering for him as your nipples were sucked until they were red and puffy, a cluster of claiming bites marking the skin of your chest and shoulders before you felt that familiar tightening in your core.

“S-shinsou-!”

You clawed at his back weakly, your nails leaving angry red lines down his skin as he snarled, apparently in a similar state as his hips stuttered. He pressed his face hard against your neck, panting and mumbling something against it.

“W-what-?”

You were cut off when he suddenly sunk his teeth into your skin, clamping down on your neck hard enough that blood flooded his mouth. The shock of pain sent you tumbling over the edge, crying out as you came hard, suddenly being thrown over the edge you had been slowly building towards. Only a few thrusts later you could feel him growling into where he was still latched onto your neck as he spilled inside of you, thrusting his hips to push his cum as deep inside of you as he could, something that made your face scrunch up uncomfortably. Should’ve made him wear a condom…

You groaned hissing softly when he finally let go of your neck, the spot already pulsing with pain as he started dragging his tongue across it, lapping up the blood that welled up from the wounds.

“Ew- Gross, Shinsou stop.”

You pushed at his face as he slowly lowered your thighs down, still trying to lean in to lick your neck even more, only to be foiled by your hands over his mouth.

“Why did you bite me?”

You hissed softly in pain, twisting around onto your stomach to reach over to your bedside table, reaching for the wet wipes you kept in the same drawer as the lube. You had just managed to brush your fingers against the handle of the drawer when a low deep growl interrupted you. You moved to turn your head, about to ask the neko what his problem was when clawed hands grabbed your hips roughly, dragging you back until your ass was pressed against a very hard bulge.

“Wha-”

“Not done yet…Need to breed you up full, stuff you full of my kits. My beautiful mate…”

He mumbled quietly against your neck as he pulled you back under him, his cock bumping against your loose hole before slowly sinking back in, leaving you gasping and straining against his tight hold. What was he- You whimpered softly, raw and sensitive as he started thrusting his hips again, rubbing a hand over your belly as he pressed kisses to the bite mark on the side of your neck.

“My pretty little mate…”

You shook whimpering as he started fucking you in earnest, balls slapping against your skin as he grunted and growled, hand pressing hard against your stomach as he fucked into you.

“Im going to stuff you so full, kitten~ You be so round and happy with my pups…You’ll be my pretty little mate won’t you? I won’t let anyone else touch you…”

You could barely hear his rambles into the back of your neck over the blood rushing in your ears. Everything felt numb, you felt like you couldn’t cum again, you were too sensitive, too fresh from your last orgasm and yet you found yourself climbing towards the edge again, shaking and whimpering up at Shinsou as you clenched down on him.

“W-wait! Shinsou!!”

You nearly sobbed as your orgasm crashed down on you, cumming hard around his cock, walls twitching and clenching down on him. He growled grunting in your ear as he fucked you through your orgasm, only lasting a few seconds with your walls milking his cock like you were made for it. He sunk his teeth into the back of your neck this time, the bite mark joining and matching the one on the side of your neck, though he let go quickly this time, mumbling desperately into your skin as he lapped at the injured flesh.

 “Good mate~ Take my cum, yes…good mate, good.”

You sobbed for real when he only paused for a second before he started thrusting again, still completely hard as he started fucking you once again, pushing your hips up so his cum wouldn’t slide out of you. Your sensitive hole twitched around him desperately, feeling raw and fucked out but that just seemed to encourage him further.

You had a very, very long week ahead of you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~?

Groaning softly Shinsou squinted against the bright light peering in from your curtains. Rolling over his arm groped for you body instinctively before he froze, realizing where he was and what he was doing. Immediately he sat up, desperately searching the room for you until he saw a note on your bedside table.

Shinsou, I went out for a bit.

His stomach dropped. Desperately he tried to scan his memory for any clips of the past seven? Days. Fuck. He wasn’t even sure how long it had been. It was all a blur, he couldn’t remember anything concrete. Only…feelings. If he tried really hard he could vaguely recall sinking his teeth into your neck…tasting the metallic tang of your blood against his tongue.

He had claimed you. Marked you up as his mate…The thought both excited and terrified him. You were finally his…forever. But he hadn’t wanted to do it like this…had he scared you? What if you never wanted to see him again?

He couldn’t help the panic boiling inside of him as he pulled on his pants, nor as he cleaned up the mess of your room and put your sheets and blankets in the washer for you, or even when he was carefully locking your door with the spare key you hid on top of the frame. You had just gotten up and…left. He didn’t know if you were happy or angry with him. He didn’t know how badly he had hurt you during his heat, or if he had hurt you at all. He didn’t know anything!

Well, he knew one thing. He had fucked up big time.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~.

He barely managed to make it home, now painfully aware of the sharp rocks on the sidewalk digging into and cutting his feet, aware of how far he had run on foot to get to you, aware of just how rabid he would have had to be to be this desperate…

He immediately headed straight to his nest, collasping into it as he curled up into a little ball. Everything inside of him was screaming at him to go find his mate, make sure they were okay, protect his mate, just be with them. But he couldn’t bring himself to even pick up the phone to call you. What if you hated him now??? You were his everything! His world, his life, his air! His entire reason for existing! You couldn’t hate him!

He wasn’t sure what he would do if you did.

He cursed the lingering heat hormones pumping through him for the way tears burned in his dry eyes, the way his thoughts were racing too fast for him to keep up with. It was all about you you you. The way you smelled, the way you looked, the way you would be heavy with his pups one day…

You belonged to him. You were meant to be with him! You were his mate! There was no way you couldn’t want to stay with him, right? You would stay with him, shielded away from the world and its harsh realities, his happy little mate, content by his side with kits on your hip. There was no way you would possibly deny him, your mate…not when you were already his! You had stayed with him the whole heat, let him mark you, let him claim you! You couldn’t say no to him now!

He was sure you just left because you were scared…he had been a bad mate and hadn’t explained it all to you! But he was sure once he showed up you would understand! Surely you would find comfort in his presence just as he found comfort in yours!

He just needed an in…

His eyes trailed over to the cum stained hoodie still crumpled in the center of his nest. That could work…

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~?

He nervously pet the folded hoodie held carefully in his arms for what must have been the hundredth time, the nerves building up inside of him again now that he was here, back at your door, with shoes this time.

Still, he couldn’t back down now, already he could feel the buzz under his skin. He knew you were inside, and it was agony to be apart from you for a second more, so he rang the doorbell, stepping back and waiting patiently for you.

When you opened the door you had nothing on but a pair of shorts and a baggy shirt. The collar sliding off your shoulder and showing the various mating bites he had left all over your skin, most of them bruised and healing but one, the first one, his mating bite was clearly scarring. The sight had his stomach warming as a possessive thrill shot through him.

“What do you want, Shinsou?”

He frowned, flinching back at your cold tone as he held up the hoodie he had stolen borrowed from you. Freshly washed and definitely not absolutely drenched in his scent.

“I brought back your hoodie.”

You stared at the hoodie for a second before glancing up back to his eyes. You must have seen something there in them, probably how pitiful and desperate he was after being separated from his mate for so long, but something in your eyes softened as you sighed, stepping aside.

“Come on.”

His ears perked up when you offered for him to come inside, tail wagging happily behind him as he entered your home. He couldn’t help the soft pleased purr that rumbled out of his throat as he was enveloped in your scent, the most perfect smell in the world~ The only thing that could make it better was if it was intertwined with his~

He handed you the jacket when you reached for it, watching you walk down the hallway to your bedroom with it draped over your arm. He practically glowed, chest warming when you lifted it to your nose and sniffed it.

“What laundry detergent do you use? This smells really good?”

“Just some no name brand.”

He kept his tone neutral as he shrugged, but he couldn’t help but watch your ass as you moved, purring as he licked his lips. Your scents would mix together soon enough~ After all he had no intention of leaving or letting you leave ever again~

[energyanon]

Surprise reading as I can’t seem to shake off the curiosity. Ok, I’m gonna set them up in relation to this drama. Personally, I don’t believe it. NV would have to have various personality disorders in order for this to be true, among 5000 other reasons why that is not normal, sane human behaviour. But the Instagram.. so many things don’t match up. However, both me and another anon felt fuzzy headed when we were representing her.. maybe it’s not just her overthinking, maybe it’s something more relating to some kind of disorder, but that’s not my place to say. Let’s check it out. Once again I’m gonna type as I go.

I’ve decided for three set ups here: 1. NV, 2. The group chat as a whole as cited on said Instagram, and 3. Henry.

Set up 2. (The GC) first. I picked up NV and got a headache.

First flag: Natalie wanted to be on top of the GC… that’s weird..

Henry is at a distance but he is staring at them both. Starting to feel like I may have been wrong in my judgment here ha.. 😬 I’m really hoping it’s not true cause otherwise that’s fucking sad and NV has genuine issues. But, I’m ok with being wrong.

Alright, let’s start as NV (cause GC, I feel I already know their feelings regardless of if it’s true or not) FYI, I have moved NV to being close but not on top, as one energy on top of - group of energies would be much too hard to decipher.

NV:

Immediate dizziness. I feel very hot and my air con is currently blasting down upon me so it’s not me. The group chat feels very little to NV. like tiny, as in I could step on them. (1. This can mean they’re not even being seen, she barely cares about them, or 2. Can feel more powerful than) as we know in the screenshots the latter was supposedly the case, so I’m not going to cross that out just yet, but it feels more like I’m just not even seeing them. they’re dirt under my feet. They don’t really have her attention and she’s not super bothered by them, but once I brought her attention to it She does want to stamp it out, it’s a complete nuisance. She wants to cover them up. I gave them a little tap, which ended turning into many taps which turned into actually wanting to destroy their rep all together. so she’s angry about it. (At this point I don’t know if she’s angry about This situation being a lie, as in she’s sick of these people doing this to her, or if she’s genuinely angry at the group for exposing her) the tiny dirt now feels a bit bigger but more like a basketball sized nuisance. She still feels bigger than them, it’s just that this is so ANNOYING. Still wants to rip them up into little pieces, she’s annoyed, she’s moving me around a whole bunch, she’s angry, she’s frustrated, she’s tying her hair up, she’s not having it. like it’s fucking annoying. this is all so ANNOYING. She’s stressed, she’s annoyed, she wants this over and done with.

No more energy shifts. Incoming questions.

Q: do you know them?

No I don’t fucking know them

Ok do you think that was a friend who exposed you?

I don’t know I can’t think I- (just a bunch of profanities) [note: it’s like she’s keyboard smashing in my brain right now it’s REALLY annoyed]

Jaw clenched, I’m swaying from side to side my hands are on my hips, hair away from my face I want to move somewhere else but I need to deal with THIS FUCKING THING FIRST ISHDJFKSJXJDSNX.

god it is SO ANNOYING like if you guys were all in front of me right now you’d be heading me yelling and screaming and So irritated I’m so I’m SO Annoyed. I can’t even think of any other questions to ask cause I’m too busy getting keyboard smashed atm.

I’m gonna move to the group to just see if the intentions there are legit. I need a break from NV.

Ok the group:

the group have some anxiety, stomach dropped. They’re not angry they’re just looking at NV. None of them can be sure if It was NV - I think some of them doubt but it was a “get it out just in case” situation. At least one of them feel bad. Nervous jitters from my right leg. You know how you fidget when you’re waiting to get in trouble?

Q: do you believe it was NV?

There are many of them so I’ll just say it as it came up. No (1) I don’t know (majority) one of them is a yeah, feels like the leader of the group but even then the yeah isn’t a solid resounding yeah. But it’s also not like a “yeaahhh?” It’s like I’m just gonna make a decision and it’s yeah.

Q: are you mad that nv is with Henry

I’m not mad (1)

We’re not mad, we just think he could do better. (Majority)

Q: why did you do this

To expose her

Q: why to expose her if you didn’t truly believe it was her

There is a very weak “it was the right thing to do” like.. when I say weak it feels like they don’t even believe that, but they’ve convinced themselves it is..?

Q: at any point did you lie or fabricate the screenshots?

Resounding no, but one solid yes from someone.

Q: Yes?

One of them.

Q: which one

(I was shown one of them, it was one of the purple and black ones, one where there isn’t much purple - I’ll have to check it after)

Ok, my leg isn’t going crazy anymore - there is just an expectant waiting. They’re looking at NV, she’s taller than them but not much taller (not like they’re a basketball being looked down upon, just normal human heights) the feeling is just waiting. Waiting to see if there is a response. That’s it, that’s all I’ve been given I can’t even conjure Up another question. (Sometimes when the energy is done sharing its just done, I can’t force it past that and I’m not in my right to)

Checking Henry:

Henry is tired, he’s disillusioned, he’s just staring into space. The other two are in front of him (facing one another) but he doesn’t see them. Genuinely no thoughts from him it’s complete disassociation. But I did ask if he knew about this situation, he doesn’t seem to know yet.

And yet he’s still disassociating.. the thought “I don’t know what to do” came up, but it was so slow and fractured it was like… you know that video of that kid who’s trying to say have you ever had a dream that you could do anything but he muddles it up for 20 seconds before getting to it? It’s like that (I’ll link it when I’m done)

“I don’t kn- I just I - what do I ev- wh-“ and it keeps going but imagine it taking FOREVER for him to say it.

He’s stuck in the disassociation. Weird choice, but I need to do it. I’m gonna slap him. (Which yes, means slapping myself)

Ok, that didn’t make much difference, he’s still super tired, he still didn’t see the other two but I tried to bring his attention to NV and he was already turning around to leave “I don’t care, I don’t care I’m too tired” and then he turned back and said to NV to clarify “I do care, but I don’t, I’m tired” and I took him out cause he was walking out of there anyway.

Back to NV one last time, and then I’m doing other stuff with my day and then I’ll do CE tonight.

NV

It’s always dizziness with this chick, I swear. Everytime im with her I’m dizzy, I’m losing blood pressure. She’s calmed down at least but fuck I’m dizzy more dizzy than I usually am (can be her, could also be me continuously going into different energies, I don’t tend to feel like this though but don’t rule it out)

Dizzy, Im not tired, but fatigued like I don’t need to sleep, I need to just lay down. I see the GC but they can fuck off I don’t care. She wants to kick them out of the way. As soon as she does she wants to leap out at them and tear them to shreds. She goes from 1- 100 real quick. I don’t want her to destroy my representative for the group, cause I don’t want anything to accidentally manifest in real time for the actual group, so im going to create a little thing that she can destroy instead - just in case there are any energetic consequences of her destroying the representation of the GC. Found a little piece of paper I called it placebo GC and we’re tearing it up.

Ok so, I got her to tear up Placebo GC. She got raveonous with it. I am now coming to believe that NV has some major anger issues. To be fair, im feeling how annoyed she is and I get it honestly it’s the only way to get out this level of emotion. It’s not healthy, therapy is needed for sure, but I’m not gonna sit here like this and say that she’s overreacting cause when you’re feeling like she is, there’s no where else for this to go

She ripped them up, crushed them, tore at them with her teeth, crushed them into a little ball again and chucked them away and then we just screamed “FUCK!” For literally about 3 minutes and she was LIVID. I’ve sat her down now while I write this, she’s still annoyed, she’s not livid.

Interesting to note though, all throughout the screaming there was never a single thought that came up that was like “why can’t they just let US live, why can’t we just BE together” she really doesn’t seem to care about the affect it has on her and Henry’s relationship, she’s just annoyed people are talking shit. Like she just doesn’t care that people won’t accept them.

Oh! I haven’t checked on her vs. HC so lemme do that. I wanna see if she checks up on him too, cause from a normal relationship perspective, this would affect him too. But let’s see.

Yup, ok, nothing from her end, if anything she’s giving him the silent treatment. Like she’s looking at him in the way you do when your partner has said something stupid and you’re too angry to answer. But she doesn’t care that he’s there. I went to him also to see if he would comfort her and he was just a brick wall, kind of more like “here I am I’m showing up but idc. I really idc. Sorry that you’re going through it I guess.” Both of them had the ~aura~ (I don’t know how to explain it on text) of “this did not go as planned” however, they didn’t SAY that, just as an FYI, it was just a bit of a shared feeling translated into words.

That’s it. I’m ending it there. I’ve got life admin to do, be back later for a CE reading as promised. :)

[nightmaretyrantvantas]

When tensions break too often- a dark side au story

So I got my ideas back for some angst and some tension in this au, and I just couldnt resist writing it. Plus its a good way to warm me back up into doing things for this au.

This is also a bit of a deeper dive into the dynamics of darkside! Virgil and the other dark sides and how they all bounce and thrive off each other, as well a some backstory and peeks at the full effects of Deceit leaving( jealousy is with the dark sides but is only mentioned, he currently doesnt make much of an appearance in this one in particular, he gets his own angst later)

This was fun to write, not gonna lie. Its been awhile an this is gonna be long so buckle up with me

I also got alot of inspiration to finally write this out(and revise parts of it) due in part to @aimasup ‘s recent comics and writings about their kid sides(which I love, like alot alot and I hope they dont mind me getting super inspired by it!)

ships: Past prinxiety, past anxciet, implied intruxiety, implied intrulogical, implied intruloxiety, implied one sided remus x wrath, implied past demus, implied current roceit

Im putting a trigger warning here for cussing, fighting(verbal and physical), descriptions of panic attacks and emotional breakdowns, violence, gross and inappropriate language, some body horror descriptions, as well as implied unsympathetic sides(all sides are morally grey but the perspective is biased towards the dark sides as its seen from Wrath’s view- keep that in mind)

Things are about to get angsty my friends but i promise it ends happy(for once in this au)

I hope you guys enjoy

~~~~~~~~~~

Wrath Sanders had a lot more patience then almost everyone gave him credit for. Most considered him the biggest hothead there was, going off at the first irritation. But, the truth was he was eerily patient...Sure he may simmer and seethe and hold onto things in unhealthy grudges, but he never lost his cool as often as some would want you to believe.

Wrath Sanders kept his cool during many things, even if that was the last thing he wanted to do.

He had sat back through many things, biting his tongue to hold back the venom and yelling and grinding his teeth together in anger and forced himself to sit through many many things that happened around him out of respect- out of a deep fucking respect- for Virgil’s Fear’s Anxiety’s authority. Instead, he watched shit go down over and over again and held himself back from reacting towards the problem, focusing his energy on the recovery. 

But, the most recent event was his last fucking straw.

It had happened seemingly out of nowhere, Wrath had been slumped down on their shitty lumpy couch boredly watching some dumb movie. It was getting later in the night, around 10 maybe 11 and he had one of Remus’s crappy beers partially drank in his hand. He was just getting up to change the movie or turn it off all together when the whole house seemed to shift violently, the walls seeming to tremble. There was a moment of confusion before he heard it.

“ Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaauuuuuuuuuuuuughhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” 

His whole body jolted to its feet unsteadily as the sound of Anxiety’s pain wreaked scream filled the house to an almost deafening volume as it distorted and deepened. His body moved before his mind, lurching over the couch and running for the source of the scream as another one wailed out even louder than the first, the sound muffling the breaking bottle and violently shaking the walls with their reverb. He heard other sounds too underneath, glass shattering heavy objects banging and wood splintering, wallpaper shredding. A third screech rang out, cutting itself in half with echoing high pitched sobs. 

He hadnt been the first to make it to his room.

Wrath watched as he turned the corner in time to see Remus destroy Anxiety’s door with his morning star, a wild and desperately freaked out look to his glowing eyes as wood splintered and gave out under the weapon, some sending cuts into his cheeks. The creative side was then out of sight in a flash, forcing his way into the room yelling as to be heard over the screams.

Remembering the pain, the fear the absolute panic in Remus’s normally confident voice sent a deeper chill down his spine than the screams had.

“ Virgy??!! Fuck fuck fuck fUCK!! Virgy no no! Its me dammit!! Fuck FUCK FUCK!! No no NO! Virgy virgy virgy storm cloud creepy cryptid no no nnonononono look at me no no look at me cmon honey look at me not those at me. me me me me..” His voice continued, shaky and softening as the screams faded into heart wrenching sobs and high pitched hyperventilating gasps. Remus continued to speak, morning star thudding against carpet and a softer thud sounding.

“ Hey hey hey hey hey hey...hey hey hey I got you I got you I’m here im still here....i’m always here for ya honey...I got you now I got you see? Yeah yeah thats me....just focus on me....cmon cmon stormy cant pass out on me now...follow my breathing lets breathe together...in...out...in out...now....tell me five things you can see....cmon honey you got this just look up im here right here...” 

The sight through the broken door haunted him, made his chest throb hard and bile burn his throat. 

The bedroom before him was completely trashed. It was as if something feral and destructive had ripped it from its very foundation. Every piece of furniture, big or small, was broken and smashed apart, the anxious side’s bed and couch ripped into multiple pieces. Every shelf  or flat surface had faced an even worse fate, thrown around and shattered into various pieces that had been strewn around the room along with glass fragments from anything unfortunate enough to have been made of glass. Papers and books were severed and torn apart viciously, and the wallpaper was slashed in huge wide cute, some of the slashes cutting deep into the wall underneath. And in the middle of the disaster was Remus and Anxiety. Long, protruding limb like dark shapes sprouted from the purple side’s back, twitching and trembling with adrenaline along with his heaving, hunched over shaking form. Remus was there in front of him, knelt down to the balled up figure and slowly but surely coaxing him up enough to pull him into his arms and rock him back and forth as he kept speaking to him. It took Wrath a few seconds of his vision adjusting to the room’s darkness to realize Remus had more cuts on him, and why.

Strings.

Millions of purple tinted, tautly pulled strings, like a tightly woven and intricate sickening spider web filled the room from top to bottom as if trying to shield the two in its depths. He could see parts of them hanging limp, likely from Remus forcing his way through to the other. He watched in a horrified shock as Anxiety’s body lurched and jerked with his piercing sobs, hand harshly digging into his scalp through his hood and shadowy claws threatening to rip said hood open. He could see many of the strings connected directly to various parts of his body and to the eight extra things on his back and it made him shudder. The room radiated a sort of fear and panic that was infectious, suffocating even. But he refused to leave the doorway and abandon the two there, in that too dense darkness. 

He watched Remus manage to gather up the shorter side into his chest and rock him more, practically curling into a ball over him. He was still talking, his voice softening to the point he couldnt make it out anymore from the door. But he could see his expression. God his expression mightve been what pushed him past his bullshit accepting limit.

Remus’s face was grim, any traces of his grins and normal attitude gone. His eyes were glowing in a dark, dangerously violent fury but the way they stayed trained on Anxiety kept them, for the time being at least, soft and remorseful. There was so much pain there in that focused gaze, pain regret sorrow a disturbing amount of fear and understanding. His mouth moved with words not meant for Wrath to hear, soft gentle coos and reassurances too intimate to be heard by anyone else but the one trembling harshly in his strong arms. Brows furrowed and it made Wrath feel even colder to realize his hands, hands that were holding the other up and petting his hair through that black hood and rubbing between the spidery appendages, were trembling. 

Remus was trembling.

After awhile the strings seem to fade away into nothing, those shadowy limbs following them scarily slow. Once that happened and the worst of the darkeness seemed to dissipate was when Wrath dared to take a few stiff steps into the room, debris crunching too loudly under his boots. He saw Remus stiffen and his eyes flicker up like a cornered, ready to attack animal before relaxing, glow never leaving.

“ W...wh..r...R-remus...” 

“ Des...Dessy brat...h-hey spitfire do me a solid and go open my door ok? Dont worry itll lead to my bedroom...just...go open it for me...will you...?” Wrath’s voice failed him after that and he nodded, backing out of that suffocation and away into the brighter lit hall rushing from the room to push open the dark stained door further down. He turned around to go back, to try to help somehow...anyway he could, when he watched Remus instead picking his way out of the mess and into the hall, their leader cradled in his arms limply like a small sleeping child. Not a sound came from either of them as he stalked through the hall and into his room, a single nod dismissing Wrath before the door swung shut in front of him...

That was where he was drawing a line. Enough had been enough.

Wrath had sat back through many things, too many fucking things than he should have. He held back his doubts when Virgil and Roman had first started seeing each other when they were younger and dumber, had held himself and barely held Remus back from mauling the so called “good” creativity when things had gone awry and he had broken Virgil’s heart and left him in bitter, resentful pieces for them to pick up and help mend back together. He held back every time Thomas had, intentionally or unintentionally, slighted and undermined their jobs as a part of him, of their importance, of Virgil’s and Remus’s importance to him. He had sat back through the aftermath of ever fight with the “light” sides and with thomas, through every dismissal and banishment and arguement and accusation. He had helped and been there through countless sleepless nights and previous breakdowns and panic attacks between all four three of them, and he had been here, had been forced not to retaliate as per Virgil’s simple request.

“ Dont Des....dont go after them...Im forbidding it got it? Dont do it. it isnt going to be worth it...please...” 

It had always been the please, soft and defeated that made him obey. Not the angry snaps and lashing out, not the cruel words and push and shove they all did for so long, but the plea in that word...the vulnerability it revealed. 

He had sat through Deceit’s slow distancing from the rest of them...and his eventually leaving them for the light sides and the ensuing pain and breakdown that his leaving left behind.

It had splintered them, had struck both Virgil and Remus harder and more painfully than either side would verbally admit. Wrath had been forced to do nothing but helplessly watch it break them and break himself too, and try to clean up the aftermath best he could.

But this breakdown, seeing the side that had always stubbornly refused to buckle or back down reduced to a screaming sobbing wreck on the floor, seeing the other side he had always seen be nothing but strong and indifferent to everything thrown with a grin shaking in fear and softly pleading was too much.

He had stayed down, seething, resentment festering for years. too many years without an outlet.

He remembered the hand that had been held out to him all those years ago. Remembered coming along a little bit before Deceit ever did...and looking up from where he was angrily crying on the floor to see two figures before him. One was shorter, with two sets of brightly glowing purple and green eyes and a big black hoodie that was too big for him and messy hair that fell into his face. Behind him was someone much taller, with wild hair and a single streak of white in it, eyes feral and gleeful i a way that made him tense and made him mad through his tears. He was dressed extravagantly, like a prince or even a king grinning unnaturally wide. But his focus narrowed on the purple one, whose dark claw tipped hand stretched out in front of him in an offering. When Anger had put his head back in his knees to cry more he felt an arm drape over him. His head snapped up and he saw the princely one next to him with a softer expression, hand rubbing his back a little.

“ Hey....hey its ok Anger. Whatcha crying for? You did your job! Pretty damn well too! You were amazing the way you had Thomas screaming at that bully!” A clawed hand smacked him making him yelp and he looked in front of him to see Fear knelt in front of him with a look of understanding, a bitter smile on his face.

“ He’s right you know? You were only doing your job...you didnt realize how out of hand things would spiral and thats ok. How they reacted isnt your fault...” 

They offered him a place to go, a place to thrive. Screw the others that refused to understand and stay with them. And Fear led them both deeper down the halls by the hand, making sure he didnt get lost

He was done standing down.

Someone needed to pay. 

~ ~ ~

If he was honest, Wrath wasnt sure how long he sat outside the intrusive side’s shut door, sitting slumped against the opposing wall in a thick, deafening silence. It mustve been long enough for him to drift into an uneasy, restless sleep. His dreams filled up with memories of younger years, of pranks and scuffles and violent roughhousing the three of them got up to being on their own, of Remus making meals and running around frantic to keep both Anger and Fear from accidentally killing themselves or each other on something. Of Deceit hazily joining their trio, hesitant and quiet but able to snap back just as viciously and able to rough house back just as good as the rest of them after awhile. Of days filled with shrieks, squeals, bickering and shrilly laughter, of restless nights where they all broke into Remus’s room and dog piled on his bed to sleep. Of slowly growing up and watching Virgil come out of his quiet observance and transition from Fear to Anxiety and taking charge as a leader among them, of Remus stepping back and letting him with full confidence as his right hand and partner in crime in most cases. Of seeing Deceit come out of his terrified shell and blossom into a belovedly bitchy and...supposedly self assured side...of Virgil’s echoing screams that seem to reverberate through his very core...

He jolted awake at the sound of a door creaking, and sluggishly lifted his head to see a pair of familiar scuffled riding boots, laces fraying if you looked close enough. He lifted his gaze higher and soon locked onto tired green eyes that were dark and dull from exhaustion. Lifeless was a term he could describe those eyes with and that fact made him briefly queasy and cold. He looked tired, so very tired, and older. He was older than them both....but right now he looked much older than he was...There was a silence between them for a few moments that allowed Wrath to rouse himself up a little more.

“ Dessy....for all thats unholy...what’re you still doin out here dumbass? Did you stay there all night?” 

‘Dessy’...‘ Des’ the nickname eased some of his shot nerves. Ever since they were kids they had joked that his name shouldve been “ Despair” instead of “ Daniel Williams” because of his very present pessimism and negative outlook. And soon it became so much more fitting that his nickname became “ Des” short for despair...or in Remus’s case “ Dessy” as he oh so enjoyed calling him. The annoying nickname was familiar though, and it helped him relax enough to speak. His voice was rough and awkwardly quiet in the small hallway, as if he’d been the one screaming. 

“ I....wanted to make sure he’d be ok...” He trailed off, voice faltering with a clear shake. It sounded pathetic and weak to him. 

But maybe, just this once pathetic and weak wasnt a bad thing. Because at the sound of his voice, and his dumb reason, Wrath saw some life flicker back into the older side’s eyes, some of their glow returning. Remus let out a tired, exasperated sigh and gave him a small sad smile, his expression softened into something sorrowful yet fond. That fondness, that softness sent warm tingling butterflies fluttering through his chest like it always did despite the grim circumstances. Remus let out a strained chuckle and shook his head, pulling his door shut with a quiet click.

“ He’s asleep now ya little Tasmanian devil...let him rest and we’ll check on him in a bit...now cmon, lets go make some breakfast and watch some movies or something....lets go up up.” With a grunt Des allowed himself to be heaved up by the armpits to his feet and didnt protest Remus wrapping an arm around him and guiding him down to the living room. He didnt want to see that pained exhaustion on his face...he needed to do something

and had a problem he was finally going to get rid of. 

“ No Des you cant.” 

There was that feeling as familiar to him as breathing bubbling in his chest, that hot smoldering feeling of anger or irritation igniting. It flushed out the cold he had been feeling in an unpleasant way but he ignored that part, pressing his palms flat on the table with a bit of force as he narrowed his orange eyes at the one across from him. He felt something like acid stinging his mouth and begging to be spilled free but he did as he usually did and grit his teeth to hold the worst of it at bay. Pushing it down. Holding back again.

“ Not again Remus. I refuse to just fucking sit back and do nothing again. They need to be taught a lesson! This is all their fault- all his fault--”

“ Even if it is so fucking what?! You blindly lashing out at them is only going to make things worse I can promise you that--”

“ Like hell it will!! They act like they can just walk all over us and treat us like fucking trash and cause things like last night and you think im lashing out blindly when--”

“ --When youre temper is as violent as a fucking feral mongoose--” “ Dont call me a fucking mongoose beetlejuice reject!!” “ Oh shut up and sit back down you twerp!!” 

They went back and forth across the table, both their tempers and volumes raising as they fought. That bubbling feeling was twisting into a boiling, growing burning that began filling his chest and core. Why was Remus not agreeing with him for fucks sake--

His vision started tinging red.

“ Look brat you think I fucking like this?! You think im not pissed the fuck off?! Because I am! I’m beyond pissed off about this!! About the fact I know exact who and what caused Virgy’s breakdown and about the fact it happened at all!! I fucking get it!! But even I know you shouldnt just storm in there to take off trying to take off their fucking heads when youre too upset! Youre not thinking clearly enough for that kind of confrontation dammit im trying to protect you in this too!!” Remus’s words were loud, ruthless, and hard hitting. There were angry and forceful and made sense.

Plenty of sense. 

And somehow that made him even angrier.

“ Oh? Ooooh! I get it, I fucking get it! Now that youve been sweetening up fucking logic youre suddenly the first to fucking defend them hurting our fucking best friend--”

“--oh for fucks sake bitch Logan has nothing to fucking do with this!! Im not fucking defending them either!! I swear to god im just trying to--” “ --to what huh?! Keep on his good side so you can get in his fucking pants?! Or so you can fucking push it aside and laugh about it later like one of them?!--” “ Goddammit you fucking stubborn brat you dont know what youre even talking about--” “ I dont know what im talking about?! I DONT KNOW WHAT IM TALKING ABOUT?!?!” His voice rose much louder, his own trembling distortion coming out and getting spat at the side who had helped fucking raise him like venom.

“ I dont know what im talking about?!!  You mean like how I NEVER seem to know what the fuck im talking about?! Like how Virgil  never knows what hes talking about or how you never seem to know what youre fucking talking about when your talking to them?! God now youre even starting to sound like those pretentious bastards!! Dont know what im talking about?! What part do I not know what im talking about Intrusive Thoughts?! huh??!!” His breath was coming out in ragged, squeaking pants as his eyes began to burn “Which fucking part do I not fucking know?! The part where ive had to sit back and bottle up my rage at being pushed aside and degraded and judged and dismissed or having to sit back for fucking years and watch you and virgil get hurt and hurt and ignored and dismissed and talked down and insulted and broken and having to swallow my protests of it?! Or of knowing last night fucking happened because Deceit decided to fully live up to his fucking name and abandoned us for those bastards and left us alone without a second thought and got away with it?! Or the fucking fact youre too busy trying to bone down logic to even fucking care--!!” 

Smack!

It came so fast he hadnt had time to prepare for it before his head was snapped to the side and pain exploding in his face, on the cheek near the jaw in particular as he staggered to the ground a good foot and his eyes eerily slow dragged themselves from looking at the kitchen cabinets to Remus, who still had his fist outstretched near where it had collided with his face, his chest heaving almost like his own was, eyes wild and just as angry before a flash of realization went through them.

“ ....Des....fuck...i...you...” Nothing too coherent came babbling out Remus’s mouth, he was still way too hoped up on anger fueled adrenaline. His fist was starting to tremble and Wrath watched his pupils dilate a few times in his attempt to calm down.

And then there was something like an explosion as that burning feeling warped into a raging fire and Wrath let out a infuriated, inhuman shriek and lunged for Remus with a full intent to rip out his stupid fucking throat as his rage consumed him.

The two fighting sides went crashing into the living room loudly nearly knocking over the couch in their wake, both of them screaming and Wrath inhumanly screeching in an almost reptilian manner as he clawed and punched wherever he could reach. Remus wasnt just lying down and taking it either, yelling in loud angry spats of soon unraveling nonsense as he fought back mercilessly, throwing the other into walls, into furniture, throwing punches and kicks of his own. But nothing seemed to slow the orange side down and he struck back with slowly growing claws and fangs and something sharp growing out of his hair, angry tears burning his eyes and his voice too warbled and distorted to even be understood anymore, both their forms twitching and subtly shifting and glowing as they tried to rip each other to shreds, things fluid dripping and twisting lashing out from Remus’s back. Remus was stronger, he always had been, but Wrath had a seemingly endless stream of fury and adrenaline that kept him getting back up and charging in for more, the room being wrecked between them. Maybe things would have gone too far if it hadnt been brought to a hard, screeching halt.

By the time they could both blink they were ripped away from each other, both now uselessly struggling as they were entangled in roughly restraining strings that glowed a eye straining, furious purple color and seemed to tighten and wrap around them more the more they fought and struggled for freedom. Their indecipherable words and incoherent screams where just as ruthlessly cut short as strings wrapped warningly around their throats, not tight enough to actually choke or hurt them, but firm enough to be very present and felt, their voices being quite literally silenced the moment it touched looped once and touched the spot over their vocal cords. There was a horrifically tense silence as their mouths moved in spat insults and screams that never made a sound.

“......that....that is enough out of both of you.”  

Virgil’s voice cut through the room like a cleaver, the tone dead, cold, and just as pissed off as they were. At first they couldnt see him, manic eyes darting around until Wrath saw the Duke’s eyes trained on top of the stairs near the hallway, pupils down to small pinpricks. When he glared over in that direction he fully understood and felt all that anger draining and quickly turning into a queasy, cold dread that made him want to cower.

That radiation of fury, or bone chilling fear and a kind of suffocating anxiety that made it hard to breathe and a panic that made them both feel like they were perpetually falling and simultaneously drowning swept over the living room like a flood, the corners and ceilings slowly developing intricate pulsing webs or strings that seem to absorb the rooms light as Virgil stepped, no, half crawled down the stairs and into view. Both sets of eyes were visibly, the whites dyed a void like inky black where his brightly burning purple and green irises cut into them coldly. Something sharp and gleaming poked from his scowl and revealed themselves as fangs as his snarl curled his lips. His hood was up hiding most of his pale skin but couldnt hide the flecks and scatterings of void like, inky and purple spots dusting parts of his slowly purple tinging skin. His hands, snapping out from his sleeves to grip the stair railing were fully blotched in that void, fingers curling into razor sharp claws that strings hung stickily too. The eight dark appendages, opaque and gangly half carried him down faster than usual, the ends digging into the carpet as if for stability. A shrill hiss whistled through Anxiety’s teeth and the panic inducing feeling of being stared at at being excruciatingly examined came from every corner, growing worse and worse as he stalked closer with silent movements. 

“ What....the actual fuck are you two doing.” The words with sharp edged and cold, tone flat and tired. They both just stared helplessly, unable to move or speak and both beginning to mindlessly panic. Virgil blinked and a gust of air like an exhale swepted through the room and....left no traces of those fearful horrified feelings in its wake. Both of their feet thudded mutedly against the carpeted floor as the strings released them and retreated back into nothing, disappearing from all around them as if they had never been there to begin with...the room never dimmer than it had started in the morning light and the three of them stood there in silence. Any hints of inhumanity were gone from Anxiety’s form, leaving his two still glowing eyes losing their luster and leaving dull annoyance behind, no fangs, no extra limbs, no claws, no void dotting his skin. When he spoke he took a slow breath, as if unable to breathe just like them.

“....I...I mean it you two...what. the actual fuck did you two wake me up with.” Even his voice had returned to normal, if not for a bit shaky and hoarse from last nights screaming. Wrath saw his eyes were bloodshot, and his face was tinged with blotchy pink and was puffy from crying and something clenched in his chest, thudding hard. He looked at Remus, who was panting from lack of breath, eyes dull and exhausted and pain filled again, injuries from their fight blaring from the blood decorating his body and clothes.

He had done that....he’d lost control again...

“ Im dont want to repeat myself a third fucking time. What the fuck did you--” 

“ I...This is my fault I started it...” Both of them looked at him, gazes drilling into him. But he let his head drop as shame took over, choking him a little. This was his family and they were already hurting and look what he’d done-

“Oh piss off Dessperato. It aint only your fault I fucked up too. Look virgy we were both tired and coming off that dumb worry adrenaline shit and we started arguing...and we got waaaaaay too heated and decided to beat the living shit out of each other...sorry we woke you you were suppose to sleep later.” Virgil let out a sigh and rubbed his temples, pulling off his hood and shaking out his messy bedhead. 

“ Is that all that happened? Im not deaf and the doors arent sound blockers...” “ Then why are you asking.” Virgil and Remus as a bit of a stare off before finally, for the first time that morning all the life slowly returned to his eyes and he gave a toothy, blood streaked grin and started to laugh. The other two looked at him like he had fully lost it. Then Virgil’s lips twitched up and Des rolled his eyes and failed to stop the grin spreading across his face or the chuckles that he managed to choke out. Within a few minutes all three of them were laughing on the messy living room floor  half sprawled over each other and Jealously bemusedly deciding they werent capable of making breakfast and making it for them all instead. Des watched half delerious from his exhaustion as Remus cackled and kicked his leg, just to laugh more when he kicked back.

“ I swear to god no more violence out of you two or I swear I’ll...” Remus let out a snort and gripped the other’s chin between his fingers sensually tugging their faces closer with a smug grin

“ You’ll what Hot Topic? Lock me in the closet again? Or send me reeling with nightmares and hallucinations~ Oh please virgy baby I dare you too~” His tone was light and suggestive, quirking his eyebrows up teasingly for added effect. Virgil snorted and and grinned back leaning close as well.

“ Oh dont start teeempting me with those sweet talkins about hallucinations dr. Hideous~ I might just take you up on that...” Then he flicked his nose and shove him away, both of them laughing. Des was about to try to give them the time to themselves when Remus yanked him between them waggling his finger disapprovingly, making him whack the other’s shoulder with a affectionate “ fuck RIGHT off” and for awhile, in that growing morning light, things felt ok. 

It had taken alot of talking, and another arguement almost breaking out between himself and virgil to convince him to back down from confronting the light sides violently. Virgil brought a surprising amount of identical points to remus, while also reminding him that reacting to violently will only make them ignore and dismiss him further. Des was very reluctant, and stubborn, but ultimately he trusted Virgil’s and Remus’s judgement. He trusted Virgil’s reasoning and that he was looking out for him- protecting him. So when he asked him, softly, to refrain from trying to handle it on my own and let him deal with it Des had agreed, obeying his request.

And then a real tipping point pushed him back over the edge.

It was a few weeks later. He remembered distinctly because the mindscape was abuzz with excitement, even the dark sides were effected by Thomas’s unbridled joy. But Virgil had said he was getting a bad feeling...and headed off to the main part of the mindscape that morning. Things were quiet after, calm even. At some point him and Remus had started playing cards, though Remus was blatantly cheating and they were bickering.

Things were fine...things were calm...

Then Virgil crashing into the living room breathing harshly and in the midst of a bad panic attack. 

They both jumped up and Remus caught the other in his arms, trying to calm him down and figure out what happened. It took a long time and for awhile they only got bits and pieces out

Thomas

A callback, a big important one he and Roman were thrilled for

Patton, something with both Patton and Deceit

Neither of them agreeing but both of them fighting Virgil

some kind of important friend event on the same day

they had argued, they had fought, there had been yelling by the climax of it

Him and Roman went at each others throat despite the fact he had been trying to help roman’s cause

Deceit fought him alot too, trying to cut him off at every chance in a form of fear response, out of defense

Him and patton argued and fought badly for the first time since Thomas’s last breakup

He thought logan would try to see his side and be a neutral party

Logan was getting tug of warred into agreeing to arguments to push him out

They kept trying to shut him down and dismiss him, they stopped listening fairly

Virgil had to pull out a form shift in front of thomas

He had to use his influences and fear to get them to stop talking over him and twisting his words

it only made things worse, and arguments harsher

They rejected him and his attempts to help more

He started having a panic attack mid argument

He thought logan and patton tried to help but they were getting drowned out by Roman and Dee

There was so much yelling, things that should never be said got thrown

They told Virgil he never does anything but make Thomas worse

Thomas finally nearly screamed for them all to stop and half asked half pleaded for Virgil to just leave until everyone calmed down

He lashed out and hit someone, he wasnt even sure who before he fled, not hearing them yell after him. It mightve been patton, or thomas, or maybe logan

And then his panic attack got worse and neither of them could get another understandable word from him. 

In the end Remus eventually got him called down, after a good couple hours of trying, and it took everything in Wrath not to scream and destroy the room.

All Virgil did was try to help, and look what their....their bullshit left him. He was beyond seething at this point, he was fuming he was downright practically breathing fire and shaking from the effort to keep himself still. Remus gave him a cautious warning look, as if he was sizing up one of his many monsters in the imagination and debating if it would kill him or not and Virgil lifted his head to choke out for him to stand down, and to not do anything. Wrath had nodded silently and waited, watching Remus help him upstairs to his room to grab his headphones, and hopefully calm down more. Once they were out of sight he made a decision. He knew the consequences of it, knew theyd both be furious and Virgil would make hell for him for it. But none of that mattered to him

For the first time in many many years...he disobeyed Anxiety’s direct request.

It took a few days to find an opening, but once he saw one he took it, rising up in the big main living room, unknowingly in the middle of a video brainstorm.

Wrath always seemed to appear near the couch, between Roman and Thomas. Just seeing them made his blood boil more than it had been.

It was easy to say he scared the shit out of most of them by just appearing, his entire presence sucking the air from the room and making it hot and tense, a cracked dam waiting to break. Itd been months since he’d seen them face to face, and for a moment his senses got overwhelmed by everything.

But he let that fuel his anger further and he growled for them to fess up. Which one had said it. Roman had of course jumped to the defensive of his friends and that was all Wrath needed.

He lost it, pointing and yelling and accusing Roman. Blaming him for it. Roman didnt back down and fought back, and the fight only seemed to worsen. The others tried to interject, and maybe if Wrath’s vision hadnt been blood red from his fury he wouldve seen they were trying to diffuse the situation and calm things down, talk things out. But he ignored that, whipping around and lashing out at them too

“ Wrath you need to step back and take a deep breath! Youre getting irrational!”

“ Wrath kiddo please we dont have to yell and scream about this Logan’s right lets all take a deep breath ok?”

“ Like hell! Im not going to just let him force his way in here and yell and scream and pretend its ok and we can talk!”

“ Roman please!” “ro stop getting angry back is just making all of it worse the others are right we need to be calm or we’ll never get through to him.”

That voice. Silken and soaked with caution. He whirled around on Deceit and snarled pinning him to the wall without thinking.

“ This is all your fucking fault! Youre the reason they keeping hurting and virgil has breakdowns that put him out of commission for days!! Youre part of the reason Remus locks himself away beating himself up. they trusted you!! We all trusted you and you decided to fuck us over and throw us out like trash!! Was it worth it?!?! Was being here worth breaking the people you grew up with you and loved you?! Well?!” There was yelling around them, and he thought briefly he heard Remus’s and Virgil’s voices behind him as well. But now all that anger, that pushed down bitterness and resentment finally had a target and he couldnt focus on anything else. He didnt even heard Deceits struggling answer as he tried to claw him off, his different eyes wide and his mouth moving in words that werent registering.

“ -youre right ok?! Fuck youre not right at all--fuck fuck I get it youre angry and I fucked up with this, this isnt my fault and I havent been trying to figure out ways to fix it! I totally havent been beating myself up for what happened a few days ago with virgil and I dont regret it ok--” THe words blended together in his head, there were hands on his shoulders ripping him away the the freaked out snake and shoving him into the couch. He snarled but froze when he realized He was staring at the very formal business end of Remus’s morning star, inched from his nose and Remus standing over him with a dark look over his face...dark and upset The red faded from his vision and he blinked rapidly, eyes burning again and jaw aching from how hard he’d been clenching it or from yelling he honestly couldnt even tell anymore. From behind Remus stood both Logan and Virgil, side by side speaking in rapid low voices he couldnt decipher. Behind them he caught of glimpse of Roman and Patton both kneeling on the floor, fretting over a still freaked out Deceit as Jealously offered to help him up. Wrath was struggling to breathe, his body twitching and shaky from the quickly fading adrenaline. Soon he was left feeling cold and sick of himself, staring at Remus with just as wide and wild eyes. 

“ Easy....easy spitfire....youre...just breathe for me ok?” He couldnt even nod, he couldnt move. He vageuely noticed Virgil and Logan both looking at him before the morning star was gone and Logan was in front of him, hands palm up in a non-threatening manner. 

“ Wrath can you hear me? Good...just listen to my voice...I need you to name me five things you can see.” He blinked rapidly and barely heard Remus’s and Virgil’s murmurs of reassurance. Or maybe Virgil’s was more quiet talking, as he was standing at Patton’ side  like the normally bubbly side’s shadow. 

“u...uuh....y..youre tie...r-remus’s outfit....the stairs...the others...and the Roman’s s-sword...” Logan gave a nod, slowly kneeling in front of him with a calm, leveled expression that helped him focus more.

“ Good, now four things you can touch. Take your time Wrath.” He flexed his fingers, more of a twitch really as his breathing began to even out slowly. “ Um...My jacket...the couch...my jeans...uh...t..the carpet?” He nodded again through his faltered stammering as the deepness faded.

“ Three things you can hear?” He blinked again and listened for a moment.

“ .....your voice...Remus’s voice...the others...” “ Two things you can smell, remember take your time.” “ Bacon...from breakfast...and someones cologne..” A small smile came to his face as he adjusted his glasses in slow noticeable motions.

“ Just just 1 thing you can taste.” He managed to smack his lips once and his face screwed up at the taste lingering in his mouth.

“ ....acidic bile...” Both their brows furrowed a little but when Logan looked over his shoulder Remus shrugged at the silent question.

“Probably needs to puke Dr. Maywhoo.” Logan sighed at the nickname and turned back to him, holding up his hands a little.

“ Now, Wrath Id life for you to unclench your jaw, roll and relax your shoulders, loosen your posture if you can, uncurl your fingers and exhale please.” He blinked and slowly did as instructed, not realizing until then that he was wound up like a jack in the box. His jaw ached as he unclenched it and his shoulders slumped heavily as he relaxed, fingers sore from apparently being curled into firsts for so long, small red lines in his palms from his nails. He felt calmer, drained and upset, but calm. 

“ Logan, Remus.” He looked past them to see virgil standing up tall, if not awkwardly, besides Roman and watching them with a hard to read look.

“ I...think sitting down and calmly talking...is now long overdue.” 

~~~~~

Hours later Wrath Des found himself on the mindscapes main couch tiredly nestled besides a dozed off Jealousy Jacob and a cheerfully talking Patton. They had spent hours haphazardly strewn around the very room, just...talking and discussing and airing years worth of grievences. It wasnt easy, and things were no where near fixed or completely repaired. But, there were many small positive steps taken in that direction...and things were lighter and better as they stood at a better understanding of each other. Things werent perfect, and in the back of his mind he could list everything that could fuck up and send them back spiraling. Yet he didnt want to ruin what...whatever it was happening as dinner was cooked. Logan, Remus, and Virgil all sat together on the other side of the couch chatting among themselves and with Patton as they tried to decide on a movie and played candyland. In the kitchen he could hear Roman and Deceit cooking and giggling with each other, trying to outdo each other with some dumb food based pick up lines. But they sounded happy, so many it wasnt that dumb...Des watched them play candyland, staying relatively quiet aside from answering questions and jabs sent his way. It was comfortable and relaxed, and Des couldnt help but yawn. Without noticing , he ended up resting his head on Patton’s clearly unoccupied and underutilized shoulder as his eyes drooped shut. He felt Patton jump a little before slowly relaxing, and he didnt even need to open his eyes to flip Remus off as he let out an overly exaggerated coo at the motion letting himself relax. Patton smelled good he decided. Like fabric softener and baked goods and some kind of spice...Des also decided that the blurry sight of the trio next to them, with Remus’s legs draped across Logan and Virgil’s laps and one hand playing with Virgils messy hair as he sat on Logan’s right and Virgil contently and fully relaxed into Logan’s left side, head resting in the crook of his neck and his hand laced with the logical side’s unused hand as they played was also good. The sound of Jacobs soft snores was soothing and the joyful flirty voices in the kitchen blended into it well when combined with Pattons soft humming. If this was how things would be more often....he’d learn to add a little more patience to his supply of the stuff....

And maybe for once he didnt have to be negative, with no more tension for now to be broken.

The end.

 Ok holy shit its finally finished!! This was over 7k goddamn words of emotion and holy shit was it a rollercoaster to write

THis is what happened when I wake up before 5 in the morning after not being able to sleep much...I apparently bust out 15 whole pages worth of words

Now....to go do my chores real quick and go pass the fuck out for an hour or two of sleep

I hope you guys liked it!!!

taglist

@phantommoonpeople @sweetsweetemo @leesacrakon @amazable01 @strawberryjellystuff @heyhelloitsk @jemthebookworm @max-is-tired @seriously-a-dragon @sar-kasstic @soupspam @riarities @yalltookmyurlideas @unsocialchapeau @hyperions-stallion @aqua-mazing @pancakewithamace @dee-ree-vee @sensibleghost @ro-roowo @baby-duck-boy @wack-ismygender

[bettersafethandicks]

oh gross this got out of hand i guess ill throw it in the tag im not editing it though sorry

oh to be a stupid little researcher on a team hired by the crimson raiders , oh to be attacked by the cov, to be trapped in a little outpost shack when you hear the commotion, to reach for the pistol kept in there only to have someone else grab it, leaving you to cram yourself in a equipment cabinet in a panic. 

 to hear the door be kicked open with a fanatic shout and hear your teammate get out a single gunshot through the roof of the shack before a horrid wet crunching noise and a heavy thump of a body hitting the floor, peeking through the cracked cabinet door to see enough of the prone body and handle of a thrown axe to know exactly what just happened.  staying curled up in that cabinet for what feels like hours, hand pressed over your mouth to quiet the breathing youre certain everyone can hear.

oh to hear a bandit stomp in after the gunfire has stopped, looting whatever they can.  to feel time slow to a crawl as the rummaging approaches you, adrenaline overloading your body so much its impossible to even move.  to have the door thrown open, the sudden light blinding you, a harsh laugh and a rough hand gripping your arm to wrench you free of your nest.  a screech that feels more animal than human flying from your mouth, twisting and flailing in the grip of the cultist; the sound of renewed struggles making the less coherent psychos perk up, and if you werent currently in the hands of a higher ranking bandit, youd be mauled on the spot.

insisting that youre ‘not a crimson raider- no- your team was just hired to collect data, you don’t have ties to them- ‘

until the bandit raises a gun and says ‘that’s a shame, they were looking for one of the firehawk’s little lackeys to take back, but if youre sure youre not a raider then they’ll just kill you here ‘

and suddenly youre 'a raider a raider i’m a raider please-’

to be tied up and thrown in the back of the technical with everything theyve looted and a couple bodies.  hearing someones half broken echo go off with a crimson raider at hq trying to get in contact with the research team, hearing the intercepted raider radio transmission sending out a patrol to check on you guys, the driver turning it up just for you.  by the time the radio buzzes with a “Site 859 compromised- those fucking cultists- looking for survivors- “  you’re already far into CoV territory.  

oh to be dragged in front of the twins and see them excitedly rock paper scissors over who gets you, tyreen pouting when troy wins and gloats about it as he steps down off the pedestal their thrones are on.  flinching away as he reaches for you and calls back to tyreen that you barely ever have any fun with them anyway 

being hauled off your feet like you weigh nothing, slung over his shoulder, taken to a livestreaming room as he flips on the ‘RECORDING’ sign outside the door.  sitting you half on his lap on a couch youd seen in these propaganda videos before

troy speaks with an almost playful tone  ‘Alright, now your job, little raider, is to beg and cry for help from your big bad firehawk so she crawls out from wherever she’s hiding.  Tell ‘em theyve got three days to come getcha- really sell it, y’know?’ his grip on you tightens, pressing you against him and leaning his face in so you can feel his breath on your throat, ‘maybe it’ll help to imagine that youre real scared and if she doesnt come to your rescue, youre going to be oh so slowly eaten alive...or something.’  he punctuates his instructions with a wet tongue dragging up the side of your throat, a tongue you can’t see from this angle, but it feels far too long.

cambots whirr into view, waiting for his cue-  ‘Oh! And one more thing.‘  Troy takes one of your hands into his, thumb pressing into your palm as he brings it up to his face.  “this isn’t live tv, babe, so you try and tip off the losers and we’re just gonna do another take. And every time you make me redo this-’  that tongue slides out of his mouth, twisting over your fingers as his jaw splits at the seams with an audible wet pop.  you stop breathing.  razor sharp teeth prick at your skin as he mouths at your suddenly incredibly fragile fingers, the hungry drool slicking over your skin telling you that he would like nothing more than for you to disobey.  just as fast as he revealed his monstrous features, his tongue slides back and he pulls your hand back to safety and resets his face  ‘you lose one of these.’

not having to act much at all for the camera, knowing that if lilith or a rescue team came for you theyd be heading into a trap but god you were so fucking scared and this was your only shot-  Troy smirking , speaking derisively to the future audience, arm slung so casually over your shoulders keeping you nice and close

it was over too soon, and you prayed you did a good job.  you were bait, at least, and you’d be alive long enough to have a sliver of a chance-

‘Cut!’ troy called, standing up to slide the long coat off and toss it over a nearby chair.  “right- get that out to the liarhawk and pals today.’ troy spoke to the cambot,, ‘now- im fuckin hungry, so we’re gonna do the letsflay for thursday right now, k?’  he turned to you, tongue peeking out to lick over his lips as he pushed you to your back, a spark of sheer panic making you try to jolt up, only to be held down by his prosthetic with a soft chuckle.  troy got onto the couch, straddling you and pinning your legs down, your head resting on a throw pillow that would have been comfortable if not for the current situation

his jaw started to shift as he looked down at you, his gaze almost affectionate

you stammer ‘W-wait no no you said- you said i had three days for the raiders to come and -’ 

Troy laughed, wheezing like it was the funniest thing he’d ever heard, “oh my god you- you really- hhahahahaha sweetheart, I lied.”

midway through a laugh, his grin broke apart.  his face was an open, horrid display of teeth, too many- too many teeth- a blue tint to the drool starting to drip from that awful tongue, so eager- somehow you could tell he was still smiling as he pushed up your shirt to reveal your soft middle,

you thought you’d scream when his teeth sank in, but no- no your breath caught in your throat like youd been choked.  you didnt even feel the pain right away, just the wrong feeling of something being undone, broken apart- and then he pulled and you felt it and it was like you were being torn apart because thats exactly what was happening- your skin stretched until it met his teeth and was sliced with a jagged edge, muscle pulling and tearing to yield to his much stronger jaws and you couldnt help but watch . 

screaming, fighting, trying to kick and twist and shove him off of you, not succeeding in making him budge, your pushing hands only following his head back as he liberated the sizable chunk of meat that had been yours until very recently.  troy leaned back out of your reach, snapping his unnatural jaws to toss and catch the bloody shred, swallowing it like he was half-starved.  

A huff that mightve been a laugh came from him, gathering your flailing arms in his mechanical grip and pinning them up over your head, exposing your torso even more.  “they always wait ssso long to fight’  he slurred through blood streaked mandibles, tongue lapping over the red dripping down his jaw

your middle burned, hot and wet with pain, and when he moved in you though he’d simply take another bite but no- no he was moving to your face bringing that awful mouth to your face so close to you so close-

he nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck, in a way that you might call gentle if you weren’t writhing like a fish on land.  he nosed at your throat a bit, giving a low, pleased rumble as he went, moving down until you felt his fractured jaw close around the space between your shoulder and neck and bite with a soft hum , and you shrieked, bracing yourself for the tearing and ripping but he held there like that, not pulling, just-

a cold seeped into your muscles, a frigid alien wave that seemed to creep along with your heartbeat.  every pulse brought it further through you, until it ebbed away and left a sluggish heavy feeling in its wake.  down your shoulder through your arm, fingertips twitching a little before they felt too heavy to move.  slinking across your chest, up your neck, ears ringing for a moment as whatever venom he just administered hit.  against your wishes, your breathing slowed from its panicked hyperventilating.  your other arm followed shortly, struggling and grabbing at the couch’s fabric dying down to little shivers.  the chilling wave seeping down your torso, washing over the bleeding hole in your middle and pushing that agony far away, a dull, hot pressure remaining.  your legs were the last to give out, scuffling and and kicking getting slower and slower until all of you stopped. 

you let out a whine

troy, mouth still wrapped around your shoulder, let out a groan.  he swallowed the mouthful of blood that had accumulated while you were being sedated.

jaw loosening, he pulled back, saliva and blood and florescent blue venom coming away in strings from the deep bite.  the siren looked down at you, now pliant and truly helpless under him.  focusing your eyes was hard, but you could make out the red glow of his markings, seeming to pulse with your own slowing heartbeat.

he sighed happily, rolling his shoulder and letting it relax. you could distantly feel a hand running over the bleeding hole in your abdomen.  “mmh...there....now, where were we?”

[imnotcameraready]

Enjambment (chivalry au)

A/N: it’s the first not-main-story story!!!! wrote this while tryna figure out how to get from point a to point b, and it doesn’t really fit in with the story’s Flow, so it’s gonna be its own lil part! it’s also got a little bit more character building for the Playwright and the Artist, if anyone wanted that lm a o — they’re good bois, they’re just. really bad at being good bois. 

also i kNOW chapter 11 came out like, last night, but  ,. ., ., .. . ive had this sitting ready for literally a week ., ,. ,..  sorry for bombarding y’all with this au :’’D

WARNINGS: self-deprecation, self-hate, touch starved, threats, cursing/swearing, destruction of property, destruction of art (ewe)

Words: 2085

AO3 link to this story; AO3 link to chivalry’s main plot

MASTERPOST! <-- i dont think this story is understandable without reading the other parts, hence im plugging it so much  ; v; i’m sorry y’all ilu <3 

chivalry taglist: @starlightvirgil​ @forrestwyrm​ @daflangstlairde​ @marshmallow-the-panda​ @askthesnake​ @k9cat​ @patromlogil​

general tag: @jemthebookworm​

hope you enjoy!! <3 <3 <3 

The Playwright didn’t like admitting he was wrong. He often wasn’t. Having the position of an omniscient narrator meant he got to be right a lot, which was one of Roman’s favorite things.

But his argument with the Artist may not have been one of those “right” things. The Playwright leaned on the table, twirling a pencil absentmindedly as he contemplated. He wasn’t entirely wrong, no. The Artist had to keep in mind the safety of the other Sides. If anything happened to any of them, Thomas would be hurt, and Roman would riot. Every bit of him, except for…. The Playwright winced. On the other hand, this in-fighting was exactly what they should be countering. Sure, everyone disagreed and that was the purpose of this dismantling, but the Playwright was above these squabbles. Should be above them, figuratively, because in physical space, he very much was above them.

Apologizing would be the logical thing to do.

He sighed, rubbing his forehead. He didn’t enjoy entering the medieval town, didn’t like going deeper into the Imagination, but it seemed he would traverse there more often.

The sound of a paper flipping caught his attention. His eyes shot open as he looked around the room. No one was there.

But he’d definitely heard movement. The Playwright swallowed down his fear. “Hello?” he called out.

Nothing. None of the costumes had moved, none of the shoes or benches or any of his paperwork.

Wait, no, there was something. The Playwright moved a few scraps to the side and picked up an envelope. This hadn’t been there before.

Cordial invitation of Roman ‘Playwright’ Sanders to the Entry Gala — in celebration of Morality, Logic, Anxiety, and Deceit’s welcome to the Imagination.

The Playwright’s eyes widened. Oh, fuck.

He tore the envelope open and read its contents.

The Artist wept.

He ran his hand along the ruined canvas — ruined by his hand, torn open with his own knife and dirtied with his tears — and pressed it fast to his chest.

Why was he so mean? Why did it hurt so much, for his creations to be picked at like vultures and a carcass? Wasn’t that the point, wasn’t that how artists improved?

Ah, who was he kidding. He wasn’t a real artist at all. Just a name he’d selected when they first started this game.

The Artist was so wrapped up in his lamentations that he didn’t hear the soft sound of paper falling onto the floor beside him.

He shouted again, cradling the broken mess of canvas and wooden frames. All good artists got second opinions. No one was safe from criticism, and there was always room for improvement! He should know this, he DID know that, it was reasonable. But hearing it from the others always made him so anxious—

He sniffed, wiping his face with the paw of his sweatshirt. If he was falling apart this bad, it must mean he was losing this challenge thing. But thinking of anxiety and then, well, Anxiety, Virgil…. the Artist wished he’d gotten to meet the two, too. Like every other bit, he did love them.

The sound of debris being scattered, then a surprised yelp. The Artist sighed, curling up tighter. God fucking damnit.

“What—I’ve—Artist?!” the Playwright asked.

The Artist was sat against the wall, cradling a bundle of broken paintings to his chest, previously white sweater dirtied with layers upon layers of paint. All around him, every painting that has previously been neatly stacked in the room was torn to shreds. Broken pieces of wood and canvases halved were strewn around the room in piles, or one thick pile, with only a small circle of ground around the Artist. Sketchbooks were torn, even the drawing tablet was — okay, the Playwright wasn’t going to look at that and think of the physical monetary price, because none of this was real. Holy shit, the Artist had put a hole into the wall of his house. There was a hole? He’d punched a hole into the wall? Good heavens.

The Playwright, in an effort to not damage any of his art, accidentally appeared on top of one of the piles. He fell over, landing on his butt amongst the shreds, and looked around wildly.

“What happened?” he asked once he caught sight of the Artist’s frozen figure in the corner, still since he arrived, “Did Dragon—”

“They weren’t good enough, so I tore them up,” the Artist whispered into his own folded arms.

The Playwright’s brow pinched in worry. That had happened only a few times before, where a single work had been so terrible that the Artist ripped it to shreds in anger, but he’d never done….this. And he especially wouldn’t have done this, since he had numerous pieces he wanted to show the other Sides.

He drew in a breath as his mind filled in the gap.

“Oh, Artist, what did they say?” the Playwright whispered, pushing himself up and slowly making his way closer.

“Nothing. Get away.”

He grit his teeth. The Artist was going to be difficult, wasn’t he? Now, now, it wasn’t a good time to lose his temper. He came with a job to do, and he wasn’t cruel enough to leave the Artist to be upset alone. And he needed his help. This was purely logical.

He wanted to laugh. Being logical was so taxing; how did Logan do it all the time?

“Artist. I’m not leaving,” the Playwright sat in front of him, “I take it that Logic and Morality didn’t take well to your paintings?”

He glanced up at the Playwright, quick enough to now show an expression but slow enough that the Playwright caught a glimpse of his tearstained eyes.

“They–They said my art’s unfinished. Logic did.”

The Playwright frowned. “Wait. That’s it?”

The Artist curled up more, and the Playwright gently put a hand on his forearm. “Wait, wait, I didn’t mean it  judgy. I just….that’s something you’ve complained about, too.”

To that, the Artist shot him a small glare. When the Playwright put it like that, then the Artist’s reaction seemed childish. “Yeah, but,” he sighed, “I didn’t want them to say anything about it.”

“Then why didn’t you warn them about it?” the Playwright asked, confused.

“Look, I don’t–I don’t know!” the Artist tossed the painting he was cradling aside and ran his hands through his hair, “It all happened so fast, and Padre was getting mad at me for not letting Child stay here. It—they both got upset at me, and they interrupted my painting, and Padre kept hugging me and it felt weird.”

The Playwright exhaled. He put a mental pin on the hugging thing — a similar thing had happened to him the other day, and he would have to talk to the others about what may be occurring — and then scooted closer again, sitting beside the Artist.

“Seeing as I wasn’t there, I cannot speak to what your argument may have been about. But I know that Logic and Morality wouldn’t have wanted to intentionally harm us.”

“How do you know, Pencil pusher?” the Artist hissed, though his words held an emptiness that betrayed his disbelief.

“Because they wouldn’t. They’re calloused, but they wouldn’t hurt us. Maybe Prince.”

The Artist snorted. “You really hate that guy.”

The Playwright smiled. Good. He cleared his throat and threw up his hands in the Prince’s signature style. “Hoo hoo, look at me, I’m a Disney Prince and I like singing songs and being an idiot!” he said, mockingly emphasizing a mispronunciation of “Disney.”

That got the Artist to laugh, shoving the Playwright gently. “Hey, hey, Disney’s cool! I’ll defend Disney to the death,” he rubbed the back of his neck.

The tension returned, but only slightly. The Playwright didn’t want to push him, but he was a little impatient for the Artist to pull himself together. His feet gently tapped against the ground in a small, familiar tune.

After what seemed like ages, the Artist let out a breath.

“....I did….overreact. A little,” he said. “The knife was too much.”

“A lot. Wait, did you say knife?”

“Yeah. I, um, I lost it a little.” He rubbed the back of his head again, looking up at the Playwright. “Thank you for sitting with me.”

The Playwright smiled. Wonderful. He patted the Artist’s arm comfortingly. “If I cannot comfort myself, then what am I doing?”

They both shared a small chuckle at that. It was easy to forget that they were two parts of a much more cohesive whole.

It was also easy to forget that the Playwright had something else he wanted to ask. He clapped, sitting upright and startling the Artist.

“Sorry,” he put his hands up, eyes blazing with new worry, “I actually came to ask something else — did you get invited to the party?”

The Artist’s brow furrowed. “The….party? No?”

“Oh, come, you must have,” the Playwright looked around.

The same envelope he’d received prior was sitting beside the Artist, on top of some of the ruined paintings. He picked it up and found two more envelopes beneath. “Great Ben Jonson, you got Logic and Morality’s invitations, too,” the Playwright flipped through the three cards and handed the one addressed to the Artist, to the Artist. “You must not have noticed it earlier. I got a letter similar, this morning. From Dragon.”

“From Dragon? Fuck, how’d he find us?” the Artist read the front and flipped it over again, tearing it open.

“I don’t know. Perhaps he just sent it to the location of whoever said Logic’s name last night. I also don’t know how he got backstage to deliver mine,” the Playwright read over his shoulder, “I honestly came here hoping to find the other Sides. We need to warn them.”

“We do? About what?” the Artist shot him a frown, but the Playwright just gestured to the paper, so he read the invitation.

His eyes scanned through it once. His body slowly tense as he realized what was being asked, and he flipped it over, checking all around the letter and the envelope that there wasn’t more.

“This,” the Artist reread the letter once more before lowering it and staring, stricken, at the Playwright, “This is a fucked up joke, right? Like, it’s gotta be a joke. Dragon’s Disney pranking us, without friends.”

“I don’t want to hazard that,” the Playwright stood up and motioned for the Artist to get up, “We need to find the others and warn them. If Logic and Morality’s invitations are here, then they must not know, and it’s a safe bet that if they don’t know, then Anxiety and Deceit don’t know, either.”

The Artist pushed himself up, rolling his sleeves up and wiping his face slowly. “He wouldn’t hurt them,” he mumbled. “Why’s he mentioning Prince, too?”

“I don’t know. And after what he did to Damsel?” The Artist rolled his eyes as the Playwright continued, “I don’t think Dragon would hesitate to hurt them, and he’s using the concept of Prince as bait.”

Goddamnit, he was probably right. The Artist rubbed his eyes and fixed his glasses. “Alright. I just,” God, he was hideous. “Should I change?”

The Playwright squinted. “Have you not left your house since this all started?”

“No,” the Artist looked at him like he was stupid, “Why would I?”

Alright. Alright, this was a predicament. The Playwright blew out a lot of air, eyebrows raising as he tried to figure out, in the most concise way, he could tell the Artist that he wanted to throttle him. His attire was absolutely not correct for the setting that they’d established, and he couldn’t fathom WHY the Artist wanted to parade around a medieval town looking like THAT.

No, you know what? It was fine. Sleep was walking around in a leather jacket, it’s FINE. Perhaps the Playwright was the only one who cared about the sanctity of the setting.

Meanwhile, the Artist looked around and waved his hand. The torn paintings all disappeared, leaving the room empty, looking larger than ever. The hole in the wall faded away, establishing itself as a solid wall once more. He looked down at his outfit and simply wiped it, the paint stains all disappearing as his hand passed over them, revealing a creamy-white color once more.

“That’s good enough,” the Playwright snapped, grabbing a fist of his shirt and tugging him forward, “Come on.”

[lovemesomesurveys]

Are you cold, warm, or just right at the moment? I’m okay at the moment. Are you watching anything? A YouTube video. Who was the last person to txt you? My brother. How about the last person to comment you? I don’t remember. What was the last movie you watched at home? I watched the OG It the other day.

Are you mad/frustrated at anyone right now? Just myself and certain things in my life. What’s for dinner tonight? *shrug* It’s 1:43AM we got time to figure it out. Are any of your parents on your IM messenger(s)? My mom has Facebook and Facebook Messenger.  Do you feel like you need to brush your teeth at the moment? No. When was the last time you took a shower? Yesterday. What have you done today? So far just some surveys, scrolled through Tumblr, and watched some YouTube. Where are your pets right now? She’s asleep on her couch. Who was the last person you talked to in person? My brother. Do you miss anyone at the moment? Yes, a few someones. Have you ever felt like you found the “one”? I actually thought that with Ty, but of course I was wrong. What was the last piece of candy you ate? I don’t remember. Are you thirsty? No, I’ve been drinking water and a Doubleshot. Does that person that you last kissed mean anything to you? I don’t have romantic feelings for him anymore, but yeah I care about him and hope he’s doing well. Who was the last person to IM you? A friend. What is todays date? Friday the 13th. :O Don’t you hate it when your body parts fall asleep? I do hate that feeling. Do you take any medication on a daily basis? Yes. What was the best moment of your life? Childhood years. Are you single, taken, or is it complicated? Very much single. How old is the computer your on? I got it 2 years ago. Did you ever wet the bed when you were younger? Sometimes. How much cash do you have on you? None. Who is always able to cheer you up when you’re sad? My doggo can always put a smile on my face. What is your blood-type? I don’t know. I should know that by now given all the surgeries and blood work I’ve had done in my life, plus a few transfusions. Have you ever faked sick? I’ve milked being sick before or maybe exaggerated at times, but I really didn’t have to do that much because I was sick for real often enough. The last time you were in the fridge, what were you looking for? I got some shredded cheese to put on my ramen. What type of day are you having? It’s only 2AM, I can’t say yet. In your opinion, whats the best way for someone to die? Uh. How do you handle stress? Not well. Anything good happening tomorrow? No. Do you like clowns? Only Pennywise. Has anyone ever under-estimated your intelligence? Some overestimate my intelligence. Has anyone ever borrowed something from you and never returned it? Yes. Do you twitch when your falling asleep? Sometimes. I hate that. In winter, would you rather wear jackets or hoodies? I love hoodies, but I mean I like jackets, too, and sometimes they’re needed. Sometimes both a jacket and hoodie. If you could pack up and leave your life now to move away, would you? I’d love to with my family. Do you have an innie or an outtie bellybutton? Innie. Do you scrunch or fold your toilet paper? Fold. Do you have a good relationship with your family? Yeah. I don’t see my extended family much anymore, but I mean there’s no issue or drama or anything. Can you crack your neck? Sometimes.  Have you ever blocked someone on MySpace before? Yeah. Do you feel you have a purpose or calling in life? I haven’t figured out what that is, yet. Is your room painted or wallpapered? It’s painted. Do you lick your lollipops or suck them? I’m not a fan of lollipops, really. It’s been several years since I’ve had one. I liked those caramel apple ones and Jolly Rancher ones as a kid, though. Has someone checked you out in a grocery store before? Not to my knowledge. Highly doubtful. What is the best kind of pizza in your opinion? Creamy garlic sauce/pesto sauce/garlic pesto sauce with lots of cheese, including feta and ricotta, spinach, and crumbled meatballs if available with olive oil. List three of your fears: Blah, blah, and blah. Is there something that someone has done to you that you cannot forgive? No. Have you ever felt stupid after saying something? A lot of the time.  Who was the last person to make you smile? My brother. What color is your underwear? Pink. Do you believe people who live in trailer parks are trash? Wow, no. Have you ever cried so hard that you threw up? I’ve definitely felt like it many times, and have dry heaved, but I don’t think I’ve ever actually thrown up afterwards. Look to your right, what is the first thing that catches your eye? This cute Halloween reusable bag. What color is your tongue? Normal tongue color. Do you find body hair sexy? I like some facial scruff. Do you have freckles? Yes. Do you put on deodorant on every day? If I’m going out. When was the last time you yelled/felt like yelling at someone? I didn’t yell, but I had to get the stern voice with my doggo yesterday cause she got into the trash in the bathroom. I don’t know why she’s started doing that again, she hasn’t done that since she was a puppy. What was the last compliment you received? I think it was on my shirt the other day. Is there anyone who wont leave you alone right now that you wish would? No. Do you scream at scary parts in a horror flick? No, I just jump.  Have you ever felt like life was unfair to you? Yes, but I know life isn’t fair. We aren’t promised a life without trials and tribulations. What do you spend most of your time doing? Tumblr, surveys, watching YouTube/listening to ASMR, watching TV, lounging around in bed doing nothing... Who was the last person in your bed other then yourself? Just me. Do you really care what’s going on in celebrities lives? I do follow celebrity gossip/news. More interesting than my life, ha. Have you ever broke a plate/bowl? Yeah. Does your house have air conditioning? Yes. When was the last time you felt like you didn’t have a care in the world? Not since I was a kid. What was the last family get together you went to? It’s been a few years since we’ve had one. What is your favorite restaurant? I don’t have one anymore. Has anyone ever drunk called/txted you? Yeah. Do you know anyone who has a homosexual parent? Yeah. Have you ever moved? If so, how many times? I think like 4 or 5 times, but only 1 of those times I was old enough to remember. What is your current myspace song? What kind of color eyes do you like best? Blue and green eyes are gorgeous. Do you fake and bake or get a tan naturally? If I go to the beach my arms get a bit tanned. Do hate it when people are hypocritical? Yeah, but we all can be at times. We don’t always practice what we preach. What was the last website you visited other then myspace? I haven’t visited Myspace in like 10 years at least.  Have you ever tweezed your eyebrows? Yeah, countless times now. I don’t get them waxed, I just tweeze them myself. Can you do a backwards london bridges? No. What type of music could this world live without? Just cause a certain genre might not be my taste, doesn’t mean I want to wipe it off the earth and take it away from those who do enjoy it. I just don’t listen to it.  Do you have a job? If so, where do you work? No. What smiley do you use the most on the computer? (: but I use non-smiley faces more like  :/  D: :X  :|  -____- Are any of your pets “overweight”? No. Do you find it romantic when a guy/girl whispers in your ear? It can be. Who can you go to any time of the day for anything no matter what? My mom. What color is the shirt you’re wearing? Black. Name three things around you: Pillows, laptop, phone. Do you believe you are a nice person? I haven’t felt that way the last few years. :/ Are you hungry right now? Nah. Has anyone ever bought you a ring? My parents. Name three of your favorite colors: Pastels, yellow, rose gold. Don’t you just hate that morning mouth taste? Blech.

[scaryscarecrows]

Roots and Leaves, Pt. 6

DC did it first. Take your grievances to them.

Jason and Sheila e-mail back and forth for about a week before she says that she has Thursday off so if he has Thursday off does he want to meet for lunch again?

Last time wasn’t bad. Not a lot of staring or people or anything. He can…he can probably do it again. And it’s a few days away still, so he has time to psyche himself up or, worst case scenario, fake his death and move to Canada.

And it’s been a week and she hasn’t pulled out the Pity Card on him yet and maybe…maybe this’ll all work out okay. She might never be Mom, because Catherine’s always gonna be Mom, but…but she could be Mother, maybe. He can see that in the distant (or not-so-distant?) future.

But he’s not going to rush into things, that’s what got him here in the first place. Patience, grasshopper.

Thursday rolls around and he hasn’t faked his death and moved to Canada, so he has no choice but to put on jeans and a hoodie and resign himself to a couple of hours, easy, of no sunglasses and no e-book shield.

Sorry, any small children who might come out of this traumatized.

Okay. He brings his Kindle anyway, and his sunglasses for the journey, and sticks to his normal Civilian Weaponry-couple’a knives, one pair of brass knuckles tucked into a hidden pocket in his hoodie. Last thing he needs is for someone to pick up a bullet, match it to the Red Hood’s, and come knocking on his door. His luck is bad enough that’s exactly what would happen.

Besides, it’s noon on a Thursday, and even in Gotham that’s a slow hour. Bank robbers gotta eat, too.

The monorail ride there is literal Hell (three fighting couples, two crying kids and old man with no personal spaaaaace!) and he’s literally gasping for air when he stumbles out of the car. He likes people. Honest. If he legitimately hated them all, he wouldn’t risk his life to help them. But interacting with them…he could do without that, mostly.

Whatever. Whatever. It’s over, he lived, he’s had worse.

(And no, he doesn’t hear faint cackling in his head, and that’s final.)

It’s windy today, the type of wind that buffets people every which way and is determined to keep his hood off his head. He fidgets with the drawstrings until it’ll stay and buries his hands in his pockets. Wind sucks. He can feel pollen and dust and Gotham Grime being blown onto his skin.

“Jason!”

Is he there already?

Sheila…looks a lot more haggard than she did before. He tries to remember if she’d mentioned being horribly busy, doesn’t think she did, and figures that to be fair, he hasn’t mentioned the bruise that goes halfway up his back.

She smiles, her awkward driver’s license smile, and waves. Yeah, she doesn’t…it must’ve been a long week, or maybe a rough drive or something. She looks tired.

“Hi.” He’s not sure what to call her, still. Miss Haywood is too disconnected, Sheila’s too personal, and it’s way, way too soon for Mother. Names are a pain. “I’m not late, am I?” He knows he’s not. “Monorail was packed.”

“So was the subway. Can I…?”

Her arms are half-out and he figures she’s asking for a hug. He can do a hug, as long as it’s a short hug.

“Yeah. Thanks for the warning.”

Holy crap, she feels frail. But to be fair, barring Dick’s tackle-hug, everyone’s felt frail since…since. So it could just be him. Hugs are weird now.

(“HUG YOUR DADDY!”)

No. Not today. Everything’s fine.

It’s a sort-of short hug, short enough, anyway, and he wonders, abstractedly, if a day will ever come that he’s used to that sort of thing again. If it even matters whether he does or doesn’t.

It does. Of course it does. And the day will come, in time, and he’ll be better, be normal, be what people want him to be.

Little steps.

* * *

They’ve fallen into a companionable silence and for once Jason’s not jumping whenever someone walks by in a purple sweater or anything when Sheila forces her lips out from between her teeth and says, “I know you were Robin.”

Well. That’s, uh, there’s that out of the way.

“Yeah.” There’s clearly no point in denying it. She probably put it together when Batman came knocking. “For a little while, yeah. I was.” He tastes blood, wonders how long he’s been doing that, and wishes he had gum. Or a mint. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you right off, I just…old habits die hard, I guess.”

“Oh God, no, no, I didn’t mean-” She takes a drink. Her hands are shaking, she’s shaking and he doesn’t know what’s wrong. “I just. I thought I should probably make it clear that I did know, so you wouldn’t…I know I was absent, but I don’t want…you shouldn’t feel like you have to hide things from me.”

Oh. That’s. He doesn’t know what to say. Bruce, God knows, has the emotional capabilities of a Himalayan Salt Lamp. Thankfully Jason hadn’t been the type to go through crushes every two weeks, or he probably would have been in Hell. He certainly wouldn’t have…it’s not like he would have shut down the conversation, but sharing and caring? That would have been awkward and best not repeated. Alfred was the go-to for that sorta thing.

All right, then. Since they’re dropping sudden bombshells ‘n all…he has to know.

“You worked for Joker.” There. It’s out. He said it.

And now he kinda regrets it-the self-loathing on her face is a pretty good match for his own, and he can’t tell himself it’s anything less than deep, deep wishing to have made better choices.

“I did.” She straightens up, begins tearing apart a piece of bread on her plate. “Briefly. I’m not proud, but he had a line to my mother, knew where she lived, knew her schedule…knew.” She swallows hard. “Knew she had to rubber-band her jam jars because she couldn’t open them otherwise. I panicked. But it was only for a couple of months-pills, he wanted pills, as much as I could get him. And then he just…went away. I don’t know what he did with them.”

Honestly, after everything, he can’t…he doesn’t have the right to say much. And honestly? There was that one guy, who accidentally cut the fucker off in traffic and couldn’t get away from him.

And look at him. The first man he killed, that wasn’t…oh, sure, he probably had it coming, at least a little, but Jason wasn’t thinking about that or considering it like he does now, he just…he wanted to kill Bruce. Because that was right and reason at the time even though he knows it’s insanity now.

No, he can’t say much.

“I’m sorry,” he says softly, and it’s suddenly easier to look at his hands. “I didn’t…that sounds awful.”

“No.” She tips his chin up and it’s an effort not to pull away and to remember that it’s fingers, warm human fingers, and not the pointy end of a crowbar against his skin. “You deserved to know. It’s only fair.”

Truth be told, it’s a relief to know that she hadn’t…yeah, technically she could’ve…maybe done something different, but she hadn’t wanted to work for him. She wasn’t like the ones he’d christened Dumb and Dumber that…they enjoyed that kinda work.

Lunch is finished in relative silence after that, though, and he’s wondering what’s going to happen now when she rifles through her purse and swears.

“Damn…I meant to grab an old photo album I wanted to show you, with some old family pictures and things.”

Pictures of Willis? Yeah, he’s good. Pictures of other people might be interesting, though.

“Next time?”

“My apartment’s a few blocks over.”

Something feels off. He’s paranoid, he knows he’s paranoid, but something…she’s been shaky and weird all afternoon and he doesn’t…

Calm the fuck down, you freak out when someone window-shops for too long!

“Is everything…is everything okay?”

Or maybe something is wrong-she pulls a napkin over and there’s suddenly a pen in her hand.

“I really do want you to see these pictures, Jason,” she says, but her hand is moving and there’s the ever-so-faint skrit-skrit of pen on paper. “I swear you got my mother’s eyes.”

The napkin slides over to him and he glances down. Her handwriting’s spikey and awful-doctor writing to the bone-but his is no better and he can read it well enough.

An old colleague has been hanging around the hospital lately.

Oh.

That explains a bit.

“Sure.”

Her shoulders drop and she crumples the napkin, nails picking it into shreds.

“I’m sorry to do this to you,” she says softly, nearly too soft for him to hear, and he’s quick to shake his head.

“No, no, I don’t mind, I’m glad you…if there’s anything I can do to…”

Shit, she looks like she’s going to start crying and that is indeed PANIC in his throat. Tears are not good.

“You’re a good boy.” Her voice is watery but there are no tears to be seen. Thank Jesus. “I promise next time we have lunch it’ll be normal.”

Oh, good, things haven’t plummeted down to fiery Hell because of all the revelations flying around.

“Everything’s gonna be fine,” he says, and whoops that’s his ‘all will be well, citizen, never fear!’ voice. But it must work, because the about-to-cry look disappears. “Um. Do you wanna…it looks like it’s gonna rain, should we get going?”

And so they do.

* * *

The wind has picked up and it smells like rain. He’s not looking forward to patrol later.

The wind’s not so bad, though, to stop Sheila from lighting up with a self-depreciating, “I know I’m a doctor and should know better, but I honestly don’t care.”

“I can’t really say anything.” He holds up his own pack and rattles it before pulling one out. It’s not as calming as it usually is and he doesn’t know why.

Eh. It’s been a long day, that’s all. He’s not used to interacting with people on a personal level anymore, which is his own fault and probably not necessarily a good thing.

The first few drops have started to fall when they arrive at her building-big, square, and simplistic. She fishes out her keys while they’re in the elevator (which smells like new car, for some reason).

The hallway is deserted. It’s a little creepy, to be honest-his own building might be crap, but there’s always activity. And then, of course, there was Arkham’s hallways, or what he could hear of them. Noisy. Always noisy. But this? Wayne Manor was silent like this. It unsettled him then and it unsettles him now. Call him a city boy, whatever, but he needs noise.

The brass knuckles and knives in his jacket are warm and comforting and he knows he’s not gonna need ‘em, but they make up for this creepy-ass silence.

Sheila opens the door and motions him inside. It’s dark inside-blackout curtains, probably-but he can hear the rain. It smells like new car in here, too, and he wonders, off-handedly, why-

-it’s not empty. He’s walked into one too many ‘empty’ buildings to be very, very attuned to the sound of somebody breathing. Okay. Be calm, back out and shut the door.

He’s about to do exactly that when the light switch clicks and bathes the whole place in stark white. White walls, white floors, white furniture.

Which only makes Harley Quinn stick out like a sore thumb in all that red and black.

“BAY-BEE!” She could never hope to match Joker’s grin, but she gives it a good go, stretching her makeup. Okay. Change of plans. Get Sheila out of here (and preferably out of the building), deal with Quinn. “It’s been a whiiiiile!”

He takes in the mallet leaning against the couch and the shotgun (are those fuzzy dice? Really?) in her hands and comes to the conclusion that great, she’s riding the crazy train.

But maybe she hasn’t seen Sheila yet. Where’s that goddamn light switch?

He moves, only a little, only to feel the unmistakable press of a gun against his lower back.

“Don’t. Move.”

And the world drops out from under him.

No. No, no, no, she said she quit, it was over, she said they’d let her go, she said-

The door shuts. He twists so he can still see Quinn in his peripheral. Sheila’s face is a blank mask-no tears, no joy, no nothing. Just quiet determination and he doesn’t understand, she said…

“Mom?” The word feels thick and wrong in his mouth, but maybe…maybe she’s brainwashed or hypnotized or something, maybe she doesn’t…isn’t…

“Sorry, kid.” The words are harsh but her tone isn’t. Quinn giggles in the background but she sounds so far away and Sheila’s still pressing a gun against him. “It was you or me, and, well…it had to be you.”

What?

“Aww, come to mama, baby!” Quinn giggles again before straightening up and scowling. “Now.”

His feet drag him forward, sneakers scuffing against the white carpet an’ Heaven’s s’posed ta be white, innit, so why does this feel like Hell and what’s going on she said she said-

For once horrible, desperate second, he wants Bruce. Bruce wouldn’t…yeah, he’d thought, at first, that he’d left him but he knows that he didn’t, he really didn’t, he just…

Bruce wouldn’t have pulled a gun on him, he wouldn’t and God, if he’d just fucking talked to him-

“I did what you wanted, Quinn.” Sheila’s voice is so, so flat and is this all she wanted from the beginning? Is it? “Now call your man.”

Quinn doesn’t even look at her. She’s looking at Jason like she always did-like she’s torn between wanting to rip his head off and wanting to wrap him in a blanket and keep him.

This is his own goddamn fault, he just thought…just once, just once-

“Quinn!” Desperation now, and the gun wobbles against his hoodie as she steps out from behind him. “I did what you said! Call your man!”

Okay. Okay.

He forces himself to take a few deep breaths that taste like that last cigarette outside and says, voice as steady as he can make it, “Let her go, Harley. Leave her alone, I’ll. I’ll do what you want, just. Just let her go.”

“Aww, look at you!” Her pigtails sway and he finds himself oddly hypnotized by the movement. “I knew ya had to be Robin for a reason.”

Yeah. Yeah, he was Robin and that’s all he’ll ever be, the one that fucked up.

“Please, Harley.”

“Nyeh…” She adjusts her grip on the gun, finger dancing near the trigger, and looks down at her knuckles. “Eeny, meanie, miny, moe, catch a Batman by the toe. If he hollers, let ‘im go, eeny…meanie…miny…moe!”

He sees it before she does it, but there’s no time-he’s moved maybe half a centimeter before the gun goes off-

-and Sheila.

Falls.

His ears are ringing. They’re ringing and everything’s so white except her, all blonde and blue and so fucking red because Harley didn’t miss and if he’d been quicker, he should have been-

“Aww, don’t be sad!” Harley’s not alone, of course she’s not. He should have known from the start stupidstupidstupid. “Doncha know what happens to people who know too much?”

Her eyes are open. They’re open and they’re looking at him like this is his fault and it is if he hadn’t…

S’like Joker said, once.

“Good boys know how to lay down and DIE.”

“Mistah J had a spot for ya, baby.” Huh? “But you up an’ left us before it was time! So since it’s his birthday-” The fucker has no birthday he just appeared one day too evil for Hell. “-I thought I’d get my puddin’ somethin’-” She winks. “Real nice.”

And they’re on him.

Harley’s goons are dumb, but they’re also big and they manage to drag him down for a minute before he gets a knife out of his sleeve and drives it into the nearest jaw.

“Andre!” Yeah, Andre ain’t comin’ back from that any time soon. “I thought we taught you manners!”

He reclaims his knife and scrambles back up and okay okay maybe he can get outta this-

WHAM!

Lights out.

[alexiss-fic-archive]

The magic she loves the most

Summary: A monster shows up near Connie’s home.

Notes: Definitely not my best work, but i kinda need the show to fuel my inspiration and after 100+ days im starting to run ow on inspiration. ANYWAY, I needed to pull something out before winter and here it is.

Also available at the Ao3!

Ever since Connie and her parents moved into Delmarva, She noticed that the place had some sort of magic feeling. And she didn't thought so because of the occasional monster attack and the general activities of the Crystal Gems in the area.

She thought that Delmarva was magic in and of itself. The air was fresh, the nights were starry, the people cared for each other and the ocean breeze could be felt from a few miles inland.

This natural magic was often accentuated by the passage of time, which brought something unique to the land as the seasons pass by.

The dreamlike Winter made the air chilly and created beautiful landscapes as snow fell gently during the night. The lively Spring brought the perfume of flowers and a particular day when small flowers descended from the highest hill of the area, showering the suburban area Connie lived in pink. The warm Summer made the heat stronger, and caused the Ocean breeze to be carried further inland. It's arrival also was followed by vacations Connie would spend alongside Steven.

Finally Autumn, the season She was currently in, was a transitory period between the fun of summer and the comfy cold of winter.

The deciduous trees all around the area distorted the everyday weaker Sunlight into a yellowish reflection that gave an ambience of comfort to all the inhabitants of the suburbs. And the sight of their falling leaves as the wind gently blew through them was something relaxing.

That relaxation however was easily shattered by the sound of Steel clashing, as an insectoid Corrupted gem resembling a living yellow pages but green and made out of metal appeared nearby Connie's neighborhood.

It was about the same size as a large car, and was as fast as its slender frame suggested. It's vivid green body changed as it pleased, folding its shiny sheets into dangerously sharp appendages which tried to shred Connie and Steven in tiny Pieces. Its mantis-like visage had a few sets of compound eyes, while its shark-like maw, filled with razor sharp teeth, let out screeches so horrifying that seemed to bend the wind into its will..

Steven and Connie, The two Crystal Gems that weren’t at the other side of the world, were amazingly skilled and managed to drive the beast into a small forest near her neighborhood as Doug and Priyanka calmed down the other residents without the beast causing any damage.

Then, when they were far enough from the suburb to avoid any collateral damage, the two children engaged the creature in combat.

“This isn't what I had in mind when you invited me to hang out.” Steven said as he blocked a scythe-like claw with his shield.

“What did you had in mind?” Connie asked him before trying to deflect the spear-like tendrils that sprouted from the folds on the creatures back.

“I dunno…” He mused as the creature's attacks waned a bit. “Maybe drink some tea, Watch a Romantic comedy, play on the fallen leaves.”

“That sounds great Steven.” Connie said as the dodged a kick from the beast's absurdly sharp legs. “But I kinda want to watch the new adaptation of Dogcopter instead.”

“It’s out already?” He asked her before throwing his shield into the creature's head, which did nothing to it aside from creating a loud, metallic noise.

“Yup. It premiered last night.” She said as she tried to slash at the Creature's side. It remained unflinching as the sharp edge of Rose's sword bounced off the thin material. “Maybe we can watch it later if we figure out how to beat this thing.”

“Awesome!” He said before he created another shield to deflect a set of spears. “But how are we going to do so? It looks like paper but it is as hard as my shield.

“Hmm…” Connie mused as she tried to regroup with Steven, dodging many attacks from the monster in the process. “I think it's like an insect. It has very tough armor outside to protect his squishy inside.”

As Connie reached the boy the creature released an enraged screech, giving Steven enough reaction time to create a bubble just in time to block a powerful claw swipe that sent them bouncing across the woods, tearing their way through the few slender trees before crashing on a large tree trunk.

“Ow…” Steven said after the bubble hit the ground. “You okay?”

“Yeah. But we won't be okay if we let the fight drag on.” She said, pointing at a large crack in the side of the barrier where the beast had attacked.

“Maybe we could throw something into its mouth and hurt him from within.” Steven said as he tried to repair the light barrier.

With that, Connie's face lightened up as an Idea Struck her.

“What if you throw me there?” Connie said Confidently.

“WHAT?!” Steven said surprised. “No! That's too dangerous!”

“If we Don't stop it it might destroy my neighborhood, Steven.” She tried to reason with him. “And it could even go after everyone else.”

“But you could get hurt!” He said, worried about her safety.

“I’ll be fine, Steven. Trust me.” She said, her courageous eyes staring at Steven's.

“Okay.” He conceded. Saving his worry for later. “How do we do it?”

“If we manage to open its mouth we could come up with something.” Connie mused. “I mean, It's obvious that he must use it for more stuff than screeching.”

“Maybe he has a ranged attack?” Steven said.

“You think so?” The girl said.

“Yeah. The air gets all weird and heavy whenever it screeches.” Steven explained. “Maybe he shoots pressurised wind?”

“Did Pearl taught you that?” She asked.

“Not exactly…” The blushing boy said embarrassed. “I saw a guy doing that in the ninja anime we saw the other day.”

His comment pulled out a small giggle from Connie.

“I would lie If I said I didn't thought that as well.” She smiled at him.

Steven was about to say something as well, but was interrupted by the beast's earsplitting screech getting closer to them, followed by a rather violent gust of wind .

Upon noticing the small gale conjured by the monster, Connie said: “Well, I guess that's where the mangaka got his inspiration from.”

The two laughed a bit at the joke before Steven extended his hand towards her.

“Ready to get thrown into a monster's mouth?” He said smugly.

“Thought you might never ask.” She responded similarly before grabbing his hand. Afterwards, Steven wrapped Connie in his arms and leaped upwards, ascending gracefully into the canopy of the tree they crashed into.

Once they got a vantage point, they could see the way the withering treetops seemed to create a small sea of orange and gold, expanding all the way into the meadows where Peridot and Lapis’ barn once was.

However, despite Connie's desire to stay there and watch the sunset in a few hours next to Steven, they had work to do and instead, focused her attention into finding the creature, whose large body shaked the base of the trees as it moved..

“There it is!” Steven said as he catched a green dash in the ocean of orange. “Its coming towards us.”

A moment later, the beast reached a small clearing in the forest, where both of them saw each other in detail. It sprinted towards the kids in a frenzied manner, deciding to paint the nearby trees red with their insides.

Fortunately for them they were at a height where it couldn't reach them, the creature couldn't climb the tree, and after Steven shielded it from its sheets by dropping several constructs near the trunk to defend it and bait it to use its mouth.

At some point, the monster got exasperated and decided to end it all right there. It walked away a few meters before opening its mouth as wide as it could, forcing an overwhelming quantity of air inside that started to bloat its figure like a bloodthirsty tick finishing its meal.

“There it is!” Connie said as she readied her sword to fight. “Now, Steven!”

“On it!” He said as he lifted her effortlessly. “Please stay safe, my strawberry.”

“Don’t worry, biscuit.” Connie declared, ignoring the fact that both of them just called each other by their pet names. “I’ve got this.”

And so, Steven launched his best friend into the vacuum created by the creature's attack.

As she was pulled into the wind vortex, Connie pointed her sword in front of her, in an attempt to impale the monster's vitals with the pull and Steven's strength as her only propulsion.

Connie let out a battle cry as she entered the creatures maw, piercing the back of its throat's soft tissue, inches above the square-shaped gemstone that was the core of the creature.

With another grunt, Connie forced the edge of her sword to slide across the soft flesh, causing its green blood to pour over Connie until its body finally faltered and evaporated in an iridescent puff of green smoke, which disappeared in a flash as the stored air within the monster bursted violently like a balloon, creating a wind so strong that it managed to tear the dying leaves from the entire forest in one go.

Seconds later, a rain of brown, orange and dust fell down to the ground all at once, covering the young girl up to her knees in dead leaves.

“You okay Connie!?” Steven asked as he dangled from a branch of the tree she was on moments ago. “Did you got hurt?”

“I’m fine!” She notified him before sheathing her blade. “I have the monster's gem here!”

“Cool! I’ll be there in a sec!” He said as he flung himself off the branch towards her, using his slow descent to break his fall. The boy landed next to Connie, creating a crackling noise as he stepped on the dry leaves.

“Here.” She handed the gem over to Steven, who proceeded to bubble it and warp it into the temple.

He then gave Connie a small once-over to see if she really wasn't injured.

“So…” Connie said after she was deemed unscathed. “What do you want to do now?”

“Hm…” Steven said. “We should go back and report to your parents.” He told her. “They are probably worried about us.”

“Do you want to see Dogcopter along with me then?” She asked him.

“I wouldn't watch it otherwise.” He said smiling as the pair of children made their way back into her house.

★★★★★

In many cases, watching a new show with your best friend as you drink tea under a blanket to shield yourselves from the cold wind of autumn is something considered as ‘friendship goals’.

In some others, helping clean the mess you did along said best friend after defeating a hideous creature is a similar experience.

It turns out that after the monster popped up like a balloon, the dead leaves from the trees the wind had ripped off flew into the surrounding areas. This of course included Connie’s neighborhood, which seemed to be buried under thirty centimeters of yellow and brown.

However, this didn’t bothered Connie at all.

The point of Steven’s visit was to spend a good time after all, and she already knew that steven was one of the few persons on earth who could turn a boring task into a fun game.

And true to his nature, he made the mundane task of raking the leaves into a contest to see who could make the biggest mound of leaves, only to jump straight into them regardless. Making figures on the leaves and making a tiny amethyst out of them.

This made Connie remember that Steven was also magical. Not only magical in the literal sense, but magical in the same way the land she lived in was. His natural optimism and kindness were something that never failed to shine, even through the most dire of circumstances.

And that magic was the one she loved the most.

[shiredded]

A Predict of Text

a terrible horrible mishmash of beautiful words from @phantomrose96’s mp100 fic, A Breach of Trust

Written by a robot using a predictive text emulator, into which I fed the entirety of ABoT up to the current chapter, and then sat back and did my best to add in punctuation and try to steer it into some semblance of plot. I failed.

Unfortunately it looks like it didn't accept all the chapters into it’s algorithm but it’s something. it sure is something and you can write with it here! and instructions here.

I now present: APoT

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

The house and wall beneath Mob's feet groaned with the same two officers from the previous night. Exhaustion pulled like deadweight on every muscle in his body as the sun dipped lower. Tetsuo was probably fine, just a bit too fast to find out possessing people. It had been clear enough for any sign of life to be dead by 5:52 pm... But wandering roaches were easy to find in the darkness of the stairwell.

Mob's voice cracked with sweat. “You’re going to kill me tonight if you don't have your powers.”

" I guess you can't understand why you're going to die, holy shit! " tears erupted in Mogami's eyes every now and then.

A tiny smile flashed bright in Mob's heart, then closed in on darkness. " shishou, I don't like the extra trick you taught me. "

Mogami motioned Mob into the bush, his tone stroking across Mob's barrier. " You coulda killed me, though if you think you did, it wasn't your fault. " 

Mob’s brow scrunched into a scowl before he looked back at him. " listen to me holy fuck you know?-I’ve got a pretty good idea where you're going today! "

 Paralyzed in horror, shishou wasn't in danger himself, but nothing could ever take him down. Tetsuo, buddy, he could never breach the barrier. Mogami stabilized himself against the counter and waited out the silent seconds before letting the ice flash back to water. Anxiety edged back behind his teeth and tapped it against the underside of his feet. His mother never told him exactly when they gave him more barrier, but muscle could not overwhelm the thing he stared at, Mob. He swallowed, listening to the television going off the handle.

“Yeah something like that. Sorry about that one too. Possession is significantly creepier than it could be. “The woman officer Isa asked into the thing. The television volume was too strong for Mogami to handle, so he kept it scrunched down.

 “Why can't they kill you, shishou? “Mob asked.

 Fidgeting, Mogami raised his arms. “Oh my god! I've got ta be campbell's face, which is why- "

 Mob’s heart jumped into his throat. Relief poured like a snail across the pavement. " Celebrate... Or else. " He sharpened his hands in frantic spurts.

 " Whatever. " Mogami descended one step closer to the television.

 Campbell's soup cans rattled on ahead of him, permanently alive and healthy. Someone's voice was not going to say anything else, crumpled cans through the dusty television volume knob. Fingernails dug into his skin through the pajamas on his shoulder, Mob found a single cockroach among the filth and turned on his shishou.

" you better run now, Ritsu started to teach himself to take control of cockroaches, spiders, and roaches. It made things just slightly trained. " poison muttered from Mob's voice, and tapped down on mogami's heart.

 The thing walking around in Mob's fingers, cold terror in a single cockroach. Tiny movement caught Mob's eyes and he sheepishly smushed it against Mogami’s ears. It felt like eating anything living, but Mogami seemed to be dead.

 Twisting anxiety pulled back just as Mogami answered dismissively, " Mr. cocky wasn't something that able to get past my barrier! " Violently shivering, he flipped back on his heels as Mob stared.

 78 %

 Mob curled his hands into his pocket after that night, if shishou wasn't locked somewhere in the morning, campbells would-- be flushed into the street's. crying a few silent seconds, Mob raised his hand to shake the damp iciness of Mogami’s thin hand. " stabby is a very serious thing, shishou. "

Darting his eyes, Mogami asphyxiates and and- the basement became warm for a split second. He'd be campbell's voice no more.

 " I do what I must to survive, " Mob howled in a perfect voice.

 Mogami was forcibly cease to be. Missed somewhere in the next world beyond the foyer.

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

 Mob's elation sunk as his eyes traced its path from above his head. Nothing was shredding this time. It was fine.

 " oi! Knock it off! " another living being called to others.

" what did that mean? Yeah yeahi'll oh god. " the man twisted his body and prepared to deal with darkness, but that was not a psychic master at all! " you okay, kiddo? "

 Mob shook his head and waved it in wild ways. " my powers are impressionable, but shishou wasn't a good enough ghost. "

 the man did not shy away from Mob, eliciting glimmers and shimmering with the clean exhaustion. His face was thin and gaunt and flesh, a wonderful man who'd appeared at the doorway telling him to wake up. Parts of his façade were slick and smooth, deliberate smile, unbidden skirt swirling in the darkness. His eyes were impossibly wide as he watched the anxious kiddo that was alive.

 3/4 %

... the cockroach could muster just a few sympathetic greetings. " you know his corpse is still hanging in that house for 30 years? Why didn't someone come fetch him when it happened? How does that even make sense? "

Reigen leaned away from the accusation of the thing in Mogami’s chest. it was pink and oily, kind of dangerous. but it wasn't like it was the butcher, Mob had broken his shishou's neck and face: just as Mogami motioned toward the kitchen, for those cans to fight Mob.

 veins rose up and down Mob's barrier. " you should mind your own business, actually don't. "

 “uh shit im alive?” Reigen thought the kid would be shredded when he died. “you don’t want to stay here do you?” Reigen answered

 " oh. well no, not anymore. but I can't fix this thing, it would only get your hand shredding if you clawed at me, " Mob whispered into Reigen's battered fingers.

 Reigen drummed his fingers along his forehead and pulled back. His hands shook without eight paper packs every day, but they were still smiling and disaffected by the barrier.

 " I’m a psychic adventure man! Not a psychic master! You can't hurt someone alive. "

 Mob felt dizzy looking at him like he was a thing made of glass. " i'm not dangerous? "

 " no one came to get you away from him, that permanently dead evil spirit named Keiji. "

 Mob's greatest private investigator was around with a single cockroach on his shoulder. " his voice was loud against the man's name, Keiji. He felt actually dead, so he kept himself turned to Mogami. "

 Reigen watched transfixed once more. " first, he was dead and possessing Tetsuo. He didn't like that people were happily conned out of their spouses. anyway he gon up into silence down in danger. He isn't smiling any more. "

 Mob knew that sounded good. he swallowed compulsively, " I really hope my barrier becomes not dangerous so I can put those fears behind me. "

 Reigen straightened his back. " you're going to worry about being in club activities because you don't have to worry about being rejected or haunted out there in the world outside. "

 " oh. "

 Reigen tapped the barrier to not endanger him. " I understand why you're acting this way of course, but it's very rational to worry about being president when you hung that ghost thing in our closet- "

 Mob wrapped his arms around his body and prepared to deal with Tetsuo. " Ritsu Kageyama was 13 years old, I should sleep. " he flickered again and thrust his face into bed.

 " holy fuck you're doing something different. "

 Reigen glanced sidelong at the hanging body's eyes and shot quick droplets of holy water against it.  " yep. It was forbidden pods, the little bits of sunkissed beige he swallowed compulsively. "

Mob fumbled out of control, then nodded once to himself in front of the door. " I need to go home tonight, but he didn't like that. "

 Reigen answered simply, " today is different, Mob. "

[agent-kentauris]

day 134

dear game im not ignoring that picture sincerely me

She’d taken it better than I expected.

“Are you sure you weren’t even a little surprised?” I checked, balancing the McDonald’s bag in my arm and the phone on my shoulder.

“Nope.”

“Not even a little?”

“No.”

The inside of the house was quiet. Some of the lamps were on, casting weak yellow light over the floors. Other than that, it was dark. I dropped the bag on the side table, and went about quickly disabling security measures.

“Come on, Mina. Admit it. You were surprised.”

“Michael,” she said, sounding a touch too condescending for my liking, “you’ve befriended an actual photojournalist. You’ve agreed to meet, alone and completely unprepared, with a possibly hostile G22 agent. You said you were going to protect her Michael, so, no. I wasn’t surprised.”

“You keeping tellin’ yourself that.”

“Uh huh.”

“So…” I said, reaching the last of the devices, “you never explained the ‘oh shit I’ve gotta go’ moment.”

“It was nothing I couldn’t handle,” she said, quickly. Evasively.

“Sounded pretty serious from my end.”

“I know,” she said sharply, “that you only see me as your handler, but I do have other responsibilities, Agent Thorton.”

O-kay.

“Listen, you don’t wanna talk about, I won’t ask,” I said.

“It’s not…”

She sighed.

“Another agent almost caught me. I had to wait awhile before I could contact you again. Like I said, nothing I couldn’t handle.”

“Oh.”

It still didn’t sound like nothing. But if she didn’t want to tell me, then fine.

“I’m going to go talk to Saint James. Can you do some digging on Marburg for me?”

“Look, Mike, if there was something wrong, I would-”

“I know,” I told her.

“As long as you know that,” she said quietly.

“I do,” I said brightly. “Now, about Marburg…?”

“I’ll get on it.”

“Great. Then I’m going to go check on our guest.”

“Your guest,” she reminded. “For the record, I had nothing to do with this.”

“Duly noted. Mike, out,” I said, and slid the phone closed.

 The door remained jammed, and since the bedroom didn’t have a window, smart money said she was still in there. Took me a couple of seconds to get it open.

Inside, all the lights were off.

“Miss Saint James?”

She looked up, lifted her chin off the pillow she was curled over.

“I, uh…” I started.

Her eyes were still dripping tears. Some snot had started to leak from her nose, and her whole face was red.

“I have some food?” I offered, feeling a little inadequate.

“And I can get you some tissues,” I added, watching her swipe her hand under her nose.

“Just, um…” I pointed over my shoulder, towards the main room. “I’ll be at the table.”

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

It took her a couple of minutes to amble out. I looked up from my newspaper, and smiled at her. She hardly moved the chair, just sort of slipped in and stuck an elbow on the tabletop. She didn’t actually smile back until her eyes took in the McDonalds bag sitting on the table, and even then, it seemed to take most the energy out of her.

“You’re in Rome,” she said, flicking her eyes up to mine.

“What can I say? I’m a patriot.”

“That’s…” she said, slowly, like she wasn’t quite sure whether or not she was making noise, “That’s one way of looking at it.”

I put the paper down, and pushed the bag over to her. “Didn’t know what you liked, so…went with the basics.”

She grabbed the burger at the top without looking.

“How are you feeling?” I asked her.

She teased the crinkled paper, and shrugged. “I don’t really think you’d understand.”

And there it was again. The sad detachment in her green eyes that I really didn’t wanna think about.

“I might,” I said, and pulled the bag back across the table.

“I don’t know…you’ve got your family, your job-” she waved a hand around, but I was still stuck on the beginning of her sentence- “your home.”

I dropped my burger on the table, ignored the alarm and the feeling of my heart rate being unpleasantly jolted into action.

“This isn’t exactly my house,” I said studying her. She’s not an agent. She doesn’t know anything. “What exactly do you think you know about my family, Miss Saint James?”

“I…” she started, shaking her head briefly. “I’m sorry, I thought…that man in the photograph? The one on your nightstand? Sean?”

“Oh! Uh…” That was… “Yeah. Right. That.”

She frowned, opened her mouth like she was going to say something, and then didn’t, which, great. Because now I had to say something and yeah, the alarm was gone, but for some annoying reason my pulse was refusing to go down to a perfectly normal rate. I swear she was staring at me.

“He’s trying to kill me,” I informed her, working not to grit my teeth.

“He’s trying to kill you,” she repeated.

“He’s a traitor and he’s trying to kill me,” I explained, realizing as I said it that nothing I said was making much sense.

“Then…why do you-”

“He just-” I interrupted, then stopped. She was staring at me. Meanwhile my traitor face had decided to heat up. This was stupid.

“He reminds me,” I said, carefully, “of home.”

“But he’s trying to kill you.”

“You’d think that would matter,” I said, feeling the skin on my face. “But apparently, it’s complicated.”

She eyed me, tried to smile again. Didn’t get very far.

I let her sit. Let her play around with the flimsy wax paper, crunching the corners and folding the edge into half-shapes. Let her tear into shreds the edges where some tired, underpaid employee had forgotten to tuck it properly. Her eyes were starting to fill up again, and I knew I had to do it, had to fight past the need to just sit there and breathe, had to dodge the small pain in the center of my chest,had to force myself to confront the familiar look on her face. I didn’t want to. I got ready to say something but the tightness in my own throat strangled the words away. I didn’t want to, but she was starting to shake a little, and I had to.

“You know,” I said, ignoring the tactile memories of tissue paper and wood polish and – I said ignoring them-

I shook my head. She blinked at me.

“You know,” I said again, bending my lips into a smile, “I can’t go home either.”

“Why?” she asked, immediately, the shaking still there, but the beginnings of focus starting to stir behind her eyes.

“I…I did something, and I got some very influential people riled up.”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

She voice was still dead, but the focus swirled and concentrated and started to bring some life to the way she was studying me.

“Why’d you do it?”

“I didn’t really have a choice.”

She paused to consider that for a moment, then leaned back up.

“Is it Mr. Marburg?” she asked quietly.

“An old friend of his. At least, I think they’re friends.”

She nodded. “Oh. Okay.”

And with that shocking underreaction, she tore the wrapper free of the burger, flipped the top bun off. She picked two pickles off, and seemed prepared to disassemble the entire thing. Went about it with a mechanical focus that was all the more alarming for the faint sense of everything in the room being too close to me, the certainty that my fingers could feel every grain in the table, the hyperawareness of electricity buzzing in the air around the TV and the phone and in the kitchen the refrigerator humming. If this was how I was handling it – and I was fine – and she was a civilian with this landing on her plate?