#it doesn’t have meaning in the sense it won’t help you sleep easier at night

[yourbleedingh3art]

You should really read my writing. You don’t even judge me thru the lens of my talent and my biggest passion

[lincolndjarin]

Every Now and Then - ch. one

[ I Dream of Something Wild ]

pairing : joel miller x f!reader, platonicsoulmate!tommy & f!reader

word count : 6.4k

summary : Joel Miller destroyed you. He loved you, then he left, leaving you in the New York City, QZ. But he's a good southern gentleman, so of course he didn't leave you without a reminder of the time you spent together. Four years later you're living in Jackson, in a lovely little ranch house. (With your reminder.) The last person you want to see is Joel Miller, unfortunately you've never been particularly lucky.

tags/warnings : 18+ mdni, angst, canon typical violence, injury, language, manipulation, joel takes advantage of readers situation, eventual smut, no use of y/n, no physical description of reader, she is picked up by joel at one point but i'm a firm believer that he's strong enough to lift any one who may find themselves in the pov of our reader, joel is possessive and controlling, dark!joel miller in a sense?? like he's not really dark now but he's going to be, multiple time lines, not canon compliant, mentions of prostitution, i sorta made up my own timeline, i probs missed tags sorry!!

a/n : i really need to fix my writing schedule so i'm hoping that having a new fic to put my energy into is going to help!! also sorry if this chapter doesn't have much going on i need to set up a lot of stuff but i promise more action in future chapters

ao3 .𖥔 ݁ ˖ series masterlist .𖥔 ݁ ˖ main masterlist .𖥔 ݁ ˖ kofi

He crept up on you like the shadows as the sun sets in the west. An all encompassing darkness that blotted out the sun until all that was left was night. He sunk his claws into you so deep that your eyes adjusted to the dark, and you didn’t even realize how much time had passed until you shrunk away from the inevitable sunrise that made him cower away from the dawn as if he never really was big and scary. 

And in the light of day you saw him for what he really was.

He was just a man, who was once a boy, who was scared of the dark. 

So he made himself big, and terrifying, and he grew so accustomed to the thing he once feared that the very idea of anything else made him recoil.

You feel something akin to pity when you think of him now. That doesn’t mean you forgive him, but when you can stomach it you try to, for the sake of your peace. You’d probably be happier if you could just forgive him. 

But you can’t.

So you don’t. 

It’s hard when his own blood doesn’t think he’s a good man. Tommy was afraid of him. Terrified at the very thought of his big brother. You can recall several nights where you had woken up to him screaming in the sleeping bag beside you, absolutely petrified of a memory that had inevitably snuck in through the darkness. You never feared him quite like that, but seeing the effect he has on Tommy makes your stomach churn, a painful reminder of your own suffering.    

Most of the time it’s easier to just not think of him at all, despite the reminders he’s branded into you forever. You ignore him when he tries to soak back into your very being, but at the end of the day he’s unavoidable. You see him in the dark brown eyes of others, hear him in Tommy’s southern drawl, taste him when you have the occasional sip of whiskey. He tries and tries relentlessly to worm his way back into you, but you never let him. You put up walls and you focus on other things, anything, that isn’t Joel Miller. And even though you can’t forget him entirely you manage to ignore the memory of the man you once loved for several years.  

Until one day it’s impossible to keep the thought of him away. 

Until he himself makes it impossible.

Then - NEW YORK CITY, QUARANTINE ZONE : 2019

“Stay off of it or you’re going to lose it.”

That’s what the QZ doctor had told you. A couple weeks of bed rest was the most he could offer when you came to him with your broken ankle. 

A couple weeks without working is a death sentence. 

If you don’t work you won’t be able to afford food. And you don’t have anybody to fall back on, no family, no friends, not even an acquaintance to borrow funds from. 

Lose your leg or starve. 

As appealing as it sounds, starvation isn’t an option, too painful. 

So you have to work. The only issue with that is you’ve been blacklisted, the stupid doctor had you put on a no-shift list. You beg them to let you work, you’ll do anything, but they never budge. 

You only have enough ration cards stocked up to make it to the end of the week so you have to consider your other options. You could sell yourself. It certainly isn’t uncommon and the money’s good but it’s too dangerous, especially if you can’t run on your leg. You’ve seen too many people get hurt in that profession to risk it. You don’t have a trade. You’re terrible at sewing, you can’t cook, there isn’t a need for much of anything else and you own nothing valuable. 

So there’s only one other option for you. 

You steal. 

You dress inconspicuously, in your only pair of jeans and a plain shirt, both of which are getting rather tattered at this point but you have nothing else. With your jacket on you pull up your hood and you do the exact thing you aren’t supposed to do, and you walk. 

The conditions in the QZ are poor enough that your limp doesn’t stand out. You walk up and down the streets all day, slow and steady, with your head down and you don’t take risks. You don’t take anything big or obvious, just little things. A single ration card peeking out of a pocket, a pocket knife off a vendor's table, stale bread, set away from the good stuff where no one is looking. And you return home each night with your pockets full and your leg aching. 

By the end of your second week you’re still barely scraping by but you’re managing. What little ration cards you manage to snatch you use to buy food, but it’s still nothing compared to what you’re used to making. Your ankle feels worse by the day. 

You need more. 

You need to find a source of income that will let you rest or you’re going to lose your leg, which will leave you in an even worse position. It isn’t until you hear your neighbor slam his door that you come up with an idea. 

Your neighbor probably has more cards than he knows what to do with, and he’s always coming and going so he probably wouldn’t even notice if you skimmed a little off the top. Nothing substantial, just enough to keep you going and give your leg time to heal. 

The only problem is your neighbors reputation. 

You doubt you’d have much of a chance of surviving him if you got caught. Joel Miller was a bit of an urban legend around the QZ. Of course you only knew him as your stoic neighbor, just a guy who didn’t make a lot of noise and came home at strange hours, and sometimes disappeared for days at a time. 

But everyone else acted as if he was some kind of Boogey Man. You didn’t see him much in the streets but when you did children ran and people whispered, and while you had no knowledge of how he earned that reputation you knew it probably wasn’t pretty. 

So you’d have to be careful. 

He’s gone now, you’d heard him stopping down the hall so you decide it couldn’t hurt to take a peek, just scout out the area. 

You climb out onto the fire escape, your leg aching as you do, and you use the dull little knife you’d stolen a few days ago to shimmy open his window lock. It slides open pretty easily, he’s probably rather confident that nobody would ever mess with him so he doesn’t seem to have the usual precautions taken to protect his belongings. 

Lucky you. 

Stepping into the room you wince as you land on your bad leg, stumbling onto the floor, knocking a board loose in the process. 

“Shit.” You groan, sitting up quickly, trying to put everything back in its proper place when you catch a glimmer of something under the floor. 

A revolver. 

You shouldn’t be here. Joel Miller is a dangerous man, you knew that but you did this anyway, you can’t help but feel incredibly stupid as you stare at the weapon. You feel so stupid that you don’t even hear the click of a lock. You don’t even bother with the ration cards you can see peeking out from under the gun, you just want to leave and forget that you ever thought this was a good idea. It’s a struggle, getting back to your feet, your leg is throbbing, begging for a rest you can’t afford to take right now. With a groan you push the window open, eager for this silly idea to be over you try to figure out the best way to go about this. You’re starting to lose feeling in your leg, should you go bad leg first or try to balance on it while shimmying the rest of your body out the window? 

You never get to decide what the best course of action is because your head is slammed against the wall, your knees crumple underneath you as you hit the floor, the room spinning as your leg bends at an angle that makes you shriek. You slap your hand over your mouth but it’s far too late for that. He’s been here the whole time. It’s dark but you can still make out the foreboding shape of his figure. The broad shouldered beast that’s glaring down at you, his boot nudging your chin roughly as you bite back a shriek of fear. 

“I could report you to FEDRA for this.” The gruff voice whispers into the darkness. 

You’re desperate to avoid lockup, you know you’ll die in there, or worse. Although you’re not entirely sure what’s going to happen to you either way. 

“I- I’ll tell them about your contraband.” You point frantically at the loose floor board. “They’ll lock you up too.” His glare is unwavering as he stares down at you. You’re a little worried that he might just kill you himself, there would be no consequences, no one would be looking for you. 

No one would look for you. 

The thought makes you shudder and even though you try to stop yourself you feel your eyes beginning to water. You hear footsteps, watching his outline move across the room before you’re shrinking away from the light of a dim lamp in the corner. 

“You gotta be real dumb to find yourself in this situation.” He mutters, turning back around to stare at you. His gaze makes you want to cover yourself up, it’s like he can see every single part of you within that icy glare. You’ve never taken the time to really, truly look at him before but you do now, after all this might be your last chance to look at anything at all. 

He isn’t a terrible last sight. 

Sure, he’s ominous enough to make you want to try and run despite the ache in your calf right now, but that doesn’t make him any less handsome. In a rugged, weathered sort of way. He’s older than you thought, gray sprinkled throughout the mess of curls framing his face. What a nice face it is. Soft where it needs to be soft, sharp where it needs to be sharp. He marches back over to you, easily taking the pocket knife from your hand and crouching down in front of you.

“Give me one good reason not to finish you off right now.” He points the blade in the direction of your leg. “Seems like it’d be a mercy at this point.” 

Maybe he’s right. 

Maybe it would be a mercy to just let him put you out of your misery. Why have you been fighting so hard? You can’t seem to recall a reason other than the fact that that’s what you’re supposed to do. Your mind tells you that you’re supposed to keep fighting but you can’t think of a single driving force. You’re in pain, constantly, you live in a world that wants you dead, and you have no one relying on you. 

You don’t have a good reason, other than the fact that surviving is all you know how to do. So you look up at him and you nod. Taking in the sight of the pretty, frightening man one last time before closing your eyes. 

It feels good. You feel good, for the first time in a long time, knowing that you won’t hurt anymore. You won’t have to be afraid of someone kicking your door in, you won’t have to worry about where your next meal is going to come from, and you won’t have to worry about turning into a monster. It’s a mercy.

So you close your eyes.

Suddenly grateful for the killer before you, your guardian angel, here to deliver you the peace you didn’t know you needed. 

You wait patiently for the sting of a blade or the embrace of his hands around your throat but all you're met with is a sigh. When you finally find the courage to open your eyes he’s sitting on the edge of the bed across from you, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“Just go.” He grumbles, muttering a few other words you don’t catch. 

You’re almost disappointed, having accepted this was the end, and now you’re being shoved back into the cold and unforgiving world. You start to get to your feet but your knees buckle under you. You try again, willing your leg to just work but much to your dismay you can’t even straighten out your leg anymore. When you try to move it all you find yourself only able to bend your knee a few inches.

Shit. 

You think of the fall you took on the way in and wonder if you finally pushed yourself to the limit. If you go back to the doctor will he remove the entire thing? Maybe you should just ask Joel to finish the job before it comes to that. It would be a kindness, between a quick death here or a slow death starving in your apartment you’ll take the quick way every time. Before you even have a chance to ask he’s on his feet. Maybe his patience has run out and you won’t have to ask at all. 

“Let me.” His voice rattles around in your head, so low and commanding that you put up no resistance as he lifts you up under your arms and sets you down on the edge of the bed where he just was. He flips the knife out, going to cut your jeans off of you but you stop him.

“Wait!” He freezes in place, giving you an impatient look. “These are my only jeans, just- just pull them down.” Before you can realize how embarrassing it might be to show your neighbor your faded pink panties, you're already unbuttoning your pants, lifting your hips up so he can pull them down your legs with a roll of his eyes. It’s painful, the feeling of the denim running against your skin but it’s better than not having any pants at all. 

Fuck. 

It’s been a while since you’ve actually looked at your leg. You’re surprised he was able to get your jeans off with how swollen it is, the flesh bulging around your ankle and now up your calf. The skin is shiny and blotchy with shades of purple and red. The sight of it makes you want to hurl but you manage to swallow the urge, looking away as he pokes at the tender flesh. 

“Christ girl, what the hell did you do?” When he grabs your ankle to lift your leg you yelp in pain, making him set your leg back down instinctively. 

“I just- it’s just a broken ankle.” You mumble as he gives you an incredulous look.

“Like hell it is.” Something about the sternness of his voice demands your obedience as you nod. “Wanna tell me what really happened?” 

“Well I- I fell and-” You struggle to find an excuse to justify how bad you let this get but you come up empty. So you tell the truth. “I fell off a ladder while painting over graffiti during my shift and broke my ankle. The doctor told me to stay off of it and- well, I couldn’t afford not to work so I just… didn’t” You rush through your words, staring anywhere else but into his demanding gaze as you explain yourself. 

“So you turned to stealin’.” He says it like the fact it is and you can only bring yourself to nod. “You need antibiotics.” He says just as matter of factly. “You know how much that sort of thing costs?” 

A lot. 

More than you’d have even if you were working overtime. 

He clears his throat and you finally meet his eyes. 

His eyes were so dark that day they threatened to swallow you whole. Were they always that dark? Or was it just that day, the first day, when he realized that he had you. 

“Look, I don’t do this kinda thing for just anybody. But I can help you.” He had sounded so kind, his hint of a smile had seemed so promising. 

“I can’t afford it-”

“You can use alternative methods to pay me back.” 

You told him you’d think about it. 

And he hadn’t pushed you, he had simply helped you back into your jeans and carried you back to your apartment. He told you he’d check on you tomorrow and see if you had an answer for him.

So when the next day came and you had a fever and your leg was throbbing, demanding your attention you’d been all too eager to accept his help. 

And just like that, it was your idea. 

It wasn’t his, he was blameless, you asked him to help you. And it didn’t matter who had suggested it first, it mattered who brought it up after. 

You had been certain that when he had told you you’d be using alternative methods to pay him back that his intentions were unsavory. And at that point you didn’t really care, you’d made your peace with that. The medicine you needed wasn’t cheap and you could find worse looking men who didn’t take care of themselves the way Joel did. 

But he wanted nothing of the sort. 

Southern Manners.

All he wanted was for you to take care of his apartment when he was out with his business partner, a woman who didn’t seem to dislike you but certainly didn’t care for you. He told you to take a week to just rest, take the medicine he brought you, eat the food that he fed you, and be good. So you did as he asked. And after a week you could move a bit more, you started spending your days at Joel’s tidying up and organizing while he was gone, it was much easier to stay off your leg for most of the day and he always made sure there was food and books for you while he was gone. And when he returned he would help you hobble back to your place and help you into bed without complaint and with a promise that he’d be back in the morning. 

But you still don’t relax around him.

It doesn’t make sense. Even someone who wasn’t known for their cruelty wouldn’t just take a stranger in. You’d like to believe that there’s good in people but you know better than to have that kind of faith. There isn’t enough left of the world to share the remains. Yet Joel does. He doesn’t ask to know you better and he certainly doesn’t tell you about himself yet he shows you more kindness than anyone else in your life has before. 

He must like having someone to take care of. 

That’s how you explain it to yourself. 

You watch him with Tess and it’s clear who’s in charge there, she barely even lets him stitch her up when she returns to the apartment. Joel gets frustrated every time, huffing and pacing around the room before finding some way to tend to you in her place. Icing your leg, or bringing you a new book to read, or feeding you. 

It took a few months for your leg to heal, it had been in such bad shape a part of you worried that it might never be the same as it once was. 

After the first month of your arrangement Joel told you his knees hurt and he wouldn’t be able to carry you home, you offered to just walk yourself over, your leg didn’t hurt that bad anymore and you were more than capable of walking short distances. But he insisted you stay, told you you could sleep in the bed and he’d take the couch.

But his knees hurt, you couldn’t let him do that. 

And you told him you’d take the couch and he told you he wouldn’t feel right making you sleep on the couch with your leg the way it was. 

So you told him you’d both just sleep in the bed. It wasn’t a big deal. You trusted him, of course you did, he had an opportunity to exploit you and he didn’t, if he was going to hurt you he would have done it already. 

He had acted unsure. 

You know now that it was acting. 

So you had insisted. You told him it was okay, you told him you felt safe with him. 

It was your idea. 

Even though it hadn’t been your idea to stay that night.

You had insisted he get in the bed with you. 

A fact that he would bring up often in the months to come. 

He would still help you to your apartment some nights, but just as often he’d complain about his knees and you’d stay. You got used to his warmth, you got used to waking up in his arms and not talking about it in the morning. 

So it made sense when he told you that you should keep your pajamas at his apartment. 

It made sense when he got a toothbrush for you to keep in his bathroom cabinet. 

It made sense when he told you that he couldn’t find new clothes in your size and you could just wear his. 

It made sense when he told you that he and Tess had never been a thing, so you had no reason to feel weird about sleeping in his bed. 

And it made sense when he told you that he’d hold onto the keys to your apartment, afterall you wouldn’t want to lose them. 

Joel Miller was a glue trap. And you had waded across his sticky surface without a care in the world, never realizing that it was getting harder and harder to move until you were standing still. Until the only way you were going to escape was by biting off your own leg. 

You don’t remember when you stopped returning to your own apartment completely, but you know that it happened early on, before you’d even started chewing. 

Now - JACKSON, WYOMING : 2023

“Ruth?” You’re gonna be late if you don’t find her soon. The turntable in the corner of the kitchen plays a 3 Doors Down song as you lift the table cloth, searching for the little girl. “We don’t have time to play, we need to get you to school.” You groan, turning to face the boy currently sitting in a highchair he’s just about grown out of. “Do you know where she is?” You cross your arms in front of your chest, glaring at him as he shrugs. 

Of course he isn’t going to tell. They look out for each other before anyone else, a fact that normally fills you with joy but not when they’re ganging up against you. Thankfully you catch his eye as he shoots a glance at the pantry. Pulling the door open you’re quickly met with the sight of Ruth, giggling on the floor. You pick her up, putting her in her own highchair before setting a plate of fruits down in front of her.

“Eat. We don’t have time to play this morning, young lady.” You poke your fork in her direction as you sit down across from them.

“Eat.” She repeats in a mocking tone, her brother erupting into a fit of giggles at the impression as you sigh. They need to be at the community center in half an hour. You make the job schedules on Friday and you need as much time as possible if you want to finish them in one day. You’re having a hard time focusing on the mess your son is making as he smashes each blueberry down onto the table before popping them into his mouth as you try to schedule your own weekend. 

You need to finish all of your work today while the kids are gone so you don’t have to juggle watching them and working later, it shouldn’t be too much of an issue, scheduling should only take a few hours if you really zero in on it. You have dinner with Tommy and Maria tomorrow and you promised to bring dessert so you’ll have to take the kids to the market tonight, which also means you’re going to have to find supplies to barter with before you go. 

You have nothing planned on Sunday.

You’ll have to change that. 

You hate having nothing to do.

You’re snapped out of your thoughts as a blueberry hits you in the forehead. Both twins laugh now as you frown at them. 

“Behave or I’ll tell your aunt that you’ve been bad.” Both children look at each other nervously before returning to their breakfast. You were never stern enough with them. You loved them too much, you couldn’t ever bring yourself to yell at them, and it wasn’t like they were troublemakers by any means, they were just kids with a lot of energy in the mornings. And when they did misbehave a small threat of telling Maria was enough to make them stop whatever it was they were doing. 

You finish up your own plate and start getting ready to leave as the kids start giggling again to themselves. When their plates are empty you use a wet washcloth to clean their hands and faces before lifting each of them out of their respective seats, letting them run off a bit more energy before you head out. You set all three bags down in front of the door. Yours being the beige over the shoulder bag accompanied by two little backpacks. Ruth’s green canvas bag is covered in mud and other remnants of the yard that she’s brought in with her but Arthur’s purple backpack is kept neat and tidy. You slip into your coat before turning just in time to watch your son dive into the couch, quickly followed by his sister. 

“Come on little ducks. Time for school.” You take their jackets off the hook, holding them out to them as they rush over to you, tugging their own coats on before grabbing their bags, once you pull the door open they both rush out into the cool autumn morning, talking to each other in hushed tones. Always secrets with those two. It would probably make you a little worried if these were normal circumstances, the way they don’t let anyone in except each other, with you being the only exception. But the world is a terrifying place, it brings you peace to know that they have each other. 

A part of you is certain you wouldn’t have been able to handle just one. 

One little person relying on you, all while you’re doing your best to hold it all together? It sounds like a nightmare. It’s better that they have each other. Once you’re standing outside the community center, busy with parents dropping off their children, you kneel down. 

“Be good, if you behave today you can go to the market tonight.” The promise of the market has both of them grinning, showing off the teeth they’ve both recently had grow in. “I love you, I’ll see you in a bit.” You hold open your arms, each of them taking their respective sides as they wrap themselves around you. You take your daughter's face in your hands before pressing a kiss to her forehead, repeating the motion with your son. After a few “love you mama’s” they both run into the building, once you’re sure they’re safe inside you head off in the direction of town hall. 

You have what you would call the best job in town, despite the fact that no one else seems to want to do it. 

Maria understood when you arrived that you needed something that let you work from home if needed, you needed something that kept your mind busy but also gave you time with the kids. So you took care of the parts of Jackson most didn’t think about. 

You document all of the citizens, you make the shift schedules, and you make sure everyone has the necessities. You take care of housing, when big hauls from scavenging come in you divide them up among the people who need them. You make the meal schedules for the dining hall, and you make the crop schedules. 

You keep Jackson moving. 

When you arrived all of this was Maria’s job along with her other duties, when you told her you wanted something engaging and demanding she was more than willing to pass off those duties to you. So now you’ve got to make the schedule. Town hall is nothing more than a house with several desks for people doing work similar to yours but thankfully you’ve been lucky enough to reserve your own office in one of the bedrooms. 

Most Friday's Maria visits you for lunch but you know she’s on patrol currently, another perk of this job is knowing where everyone is, all the time.

No surprises. 

You hate surprises. (With a few exceptions.)

One of the exceptions is waiting for you in your office, Tommy sits with his legs up on your desk, reading over this past week's schedule. 

“You put me on crop harvest way more than anyone else.” He grumbles, tossing your notebook down.

“It’s the end of the season, everyones on crop harvest.” You lean down, kissing his cheek before taking your place across from him, immediately getting to work as he groans. 

“Maria gets to go on patrol.” 

“Council gets first dibs on patrols during harvest season.” The tip of your favorite pen is dry so you quickly bring it to your mouth, wetting it with your tongue before you start writing out jobs for this upcoming week. The second he sees how many farming related jobs you’re listing he leans back in his chair, groaning and running his fingers through his dark curls. 

Today’s his day off. You always gave anyone doing more manual labor three days off instead of two. 

“I can get you on one patrol shift but they’re going to need your help with the corn.” You write his name in with the Monday and Tuesday patrol squad, filling in the rest of his week with harvest as he grins. 

“Thank you, darlin’.” He drawls. You hate that nickname, you hate that he isn’t the first to give it to you but you never complain, you’d let Tommy get away with murder at this point. It’s the least you can do considering everything he’s given you. 

“Yeah yeah, whatever. You’re only getting a two-day weekend next week.” You mumble, searching through the list of citizens, trying to pick out the people you know won’t mind the hard work. 

“Fine by me.” You have a complicated relationship with that smile of his. You can love it all you want but that doesn’t change the fact that it makes you uneasy, it doesn’t help that you’re starting to see that same smile in your son. 

“I was thinking about berry cobbler for tomorrow night.” Molly twisted her ankle last week, make sure she isn’t standing. You put her down for shucking corn, she can sit in the dining hall and work. 

“We have a bunch of extra sweet potatoes if you want to make sweet potato pie.” He takes your crop ledger, flipping through it, clearly not reading a thing. 

“Ruth hates sweet potatoes.” Marcus insists he’s capable of doing manual labor, his pride won’t let him act his age. You put him down for pushing the wheelbarrows, he won’t have to bend down to pick anything up but hopefully he’ll still feel like he’s doing enough. You’ve told him countless times that at his age he shouldn’t be working so hard but he always insists. 

“Shit, forgot about that. Maria might have some apples.” 

“I’ll stop by tonight before I take the kids to the market.” 

You’re thankful for Tommy.

He keeps your mind busy with conversation while you work, and he’s one of the only people you actually trust. By the time you’re almost done you know you need to go get the kids, with a conflicted glance at the clock you start to gather your things but Tommy beats you to it.

“I’ll go get them, Maria should be home from patrol soon, she’ll want to see them.” He’s already putting his coat on so you stay seated. 

“Are you sure?” You already know there’s no reason to argue, he’s stubborn, just like his brother. 

“It’s the least I can do to make up for bothering you all day.” He steps around the desk to give you a peck on the cheek before going to leave. “Just come by the house when you’re done, no rush.” And just like that he’s gone. 

You make quick work of your remaining duties. Finishing everything within a half an hour before heading out in the direction of the Miller’s farm house on the edge of town. It’s only a few houses away from your ranch house, a fact that you couldn’t be more grateful for, if it weren’t for Tommy and Maria you aren’t sure you’d have been able to handle those first few months of parenthood. Most people in town assumed Tommy must be the father purely based on how much effort he put into taking care of not only them, but you as well. As you make your way up their porch steps and into the living room you’re also reminded of the similarities. You can’t blame people for making assumptions, even Maria thought he was the father. The twins have his eyes, (which by association means that they also have his eyes, but you try not to dwell on that.) Ruth has your nose but Arthur has that Miller curve already starting to show on his little nose. Both little ones are sitting in the big recliner with their uncle as he tries to get them to settle down while he reads to them but the second they see you, both are scrambling out of the chair to hug your legs. 

And everything goes exactly how it’s supposed to. 

(Of course it does, you plan every day down to the minute.) 

You give Tommy the list of things you need along with a few things he can trade them for and he takes the kids down the street to the market as you sit at the kitchen counter, talking to Maria about her patrol. You had all planned to go to the market together but she’d insisted she was tired and you didn’t want her to be here alone so you stayed, helping her cook dinner. And you talked about all the things you knew you would, something cute the kids did, how her patrol went, what things you could put on the dining hall menu in the coming weeks. 

It’s all exactly how it should be. 

Until she frowns. 

“Are you busy Sunday?” You had sensed something was wrong with her but you assumed maybe she was just a little rattled coming off of a three day patrol. 

“No, did you need something?” You continue to chop up the sweet potatoes she now planned to use tonight instead of tomorrow. 

“We found a couple of strays, I thought maybe we could get them settled in.” 

Odd. 

Normally finding survivors would be the first thing she mentioned after returning, even stranger is the fact that she’d often waste no time getting them supplies and a home to make their own. But you're not one to question Maria’s judgment.

“Sure, we can do that Sunday morning.” You want to ask questions about it but she’s already changed the subject to doing a clothing drive at the community center so you don’t press. Despite the way the look on her face is bothering you.

It wasn’t fear, or discomfort, or something you could explain away with the excuse of the strays being off putting or violent. 

It’s a look of pity. 

As if she feels bad for even asking. 

It unsettles you enough to leave it be. Making idle chit chat with her until Tommy returns with the twins and you take them home. It unsettles you as you make your own dinner, as you give the twins a bath, and as you help them into their pajamas and read them a story. It never leaves your mind. 

“Goodnight Ruthie.” You lean down to kiss her forehead, watching her eyes flutter shut as she continues to fight sleep. Always the stubborn one. 

“Night Mama.” You take the stuffed bear from the foot of her bed, tucking it in beside her before quietly standing, walking across the room to your son's bed. 

“Goodnight Arthur.” You lean down, kissing both of his rosy cheeks, he doesn’t fight sleep the way his sister does. So similar but so different. 

“Goodnight Mama.” His little voice has the same southern drawl you know he’s been picking up from Tommy. 

“I love you, little ducks.” You smile at him, turning to see that Ruth is already asleep, you tuck in the blankets around Arthur before leaving, keeping the door cracked open a bit so the light from the kitchen can act as a night light. 

God, you're tired. 

You’re quick to shower and slip into your own pajamas, crawling into bed with a yawn. You take the book from your nightstand, flipping through until you find where you left off yesterday. 

You never really know what’s going on in the books you read, they serve a singular purpose and it isn’t entertainment. 

You read until you fall asleep, they’re just a distraction to keep your mind busy with thoughts so he can’t sneak in right before you fall asleep and embed himself in your dreams. 

It works.

Your dreams never feature him. 

They aren’t good dreams by any means, they’re wild. Often of your journey to Jackson, the fear you felt then. But you’ll take that over Joel any day. Tonight isn’t any different, your sleep is restless as you fight the memories of fighting for survival in those woods, but instead of your usual nightmares of infected hunting you through the trees you’re faced with a sight that somehow makes you even more uneasy than the living dead.

The look on Maria’s face when she told you about the two strays. 

support me on kofi!!

a/n : this fic has been bouncing around in my brain for months now and it feels so fucking good to finally start it omfg. sorry if this felt a little slow, i really needed to set a tone and a base for the story, sorry!!

[aleksa-sims]

RL Story

CW: Pain... when it sucks, it really sucks hard. (my life)

Today N. came home. After 3 months abroad, he was back with me/us. However, N. was a little disappointed. Our Baby didn’t feel comfortable with him. He didn’t see him for 3 months. He was a stranger to our son. But later in the evening, when we were in bed together, our little one seemed to slowly understand, that Nico belongs to us. He didn’t cry anymore when N. tried to hug or hold him. He even seemed to enjoy it a bit. ❤️

Nico: I missed you both sm. I was hoping he’d remember me.😟

Me: You have to give him some time. He was only one day old when you left. And look at him, he likes you.

Nico: He’s quiet now because you’re holding him.

Me: But something about you seems to make him curious? He’s already tired. I can tell by his eyes. Still he struggles to stay awake. He doesn’t want to fall asleep. He looks at you all the time, N.

Nico: And he won’t let go of my hand. He pulls really hard like.. he’s fighting with me. 😄 He wants me out of here, huh?

Me: Let's put him between us. 🥰

Nico: Why is he sleeping here with you in our bed?

Me: He got used to it. He screamed & cried a lot. It was easier for me to have him next to me, to calm him down or feed him.

Nico: Yea, I know. You told me. But now that he’s fine, he should learn to sleep in his own bed, babe.

Me: He’s only 3 months old!! And I still have to feed our son every 3 hours.

Nico: I’ll get up for you. I go to his bed and give him the bottle.

Me: Is he bothering you?

Nico: What about fucking? I mean, he doesn’t bother me. He’s just a Baby. He doesn’t get it anyway. But I know, you! I doubt you’ll sleep with me, as long as our Baby is lying next to us in the same bed.

Me: Maybe that’s why he doesn’t like you?🤨 ...No, I’m just kidding. Um, well! I-... Idk? It's gonna work out somehow. But tbh... here, at my parent's, it's-.... Agh, I’m afraid someone might catch us or something. Yk? I can’t even close my door! Let’s stay in the house tomorrow night. There we have at least a little more privacy.

Nico: You had a fight with your parents? We used to have sex in your room, so why not now?

Me: It was a bit tense between me and my Mom. I just don’t want to hear anymore that I’m a bad mom.😞

Nico: Did she say that to you?😠

Me: She didn't really say it, buttt I always feel like I’m doing something wrong. She said I didn’t care about Lucas. This hurt me a lot. Anyway.

Nico: I gotta get you out of here.

The next morning I woke up with a severe headache. The pain was unbearable. I knew that pain. I’ve had this kind of headache in the past. That’s why I became hooked. I had to take very strong painkillers, opiates, because nothing else helped me. And now it was back. Why the hell? I really didn’t have the strength and nerves to deal with this kind of pain, NOW. 😭😫

I got up and went to the bathroom. This pain almost drove me crazy. I was afraid I’d be as bad as I was then, in the past.

I sat down on the floor in the shower. I tried to get through it somehow. Usually, the headache stopped after an hour.

And yes, I got a bit better. That moment Nico came to me. He just woke up.

Me: Did you leave Lucas alone?

Nico: No, ofc not! I took him down to your Mom. I thought you were there too. What-

Me: Nothing! I- I’m fine. I had a bad headache.

Nico: That’s why you’re sitting.... naked in the shower? 🤨🙂

Me: Yes, exactly. When I have this severe headache, sometimes I do things that don’t make sense. Yk? Out of desperation to survive the pain somehow.

Nico: And has it helped?

Me: No, nothing helps, but I still try, because, as I said, I’m desperate and can hardly stand it.

Nico: I love you, babe. So much. 😟

Me: Love you too. 😳

A day later I had to go to the hospital. I passed out, because I couldn’t stand the pain anymore. The docs suspected that it had something to do with the c-section anesthesia? However, it was nothing serious but the pain... didn’t go away. Just as then. 😫

Previous/Next

[nightlocked-in]

peeta tells katniss she snores

(scene from a modern au wip)

EDIT: you can find the completed fic here

***

“Why don’t you sleep with white noise anymore?”

“What?” he asks groggily. He’s half asleep.

“Your white noise sound thingies. You haven’t put them on since, like, the first night I stayed over. I’m starting to think you’re a liar.”

We’re cuddling in my favorite position, facing each other where I’m able to hold his head against my chest and his arms are wrapped around my waist. We’re completely clothed. Well, I’m in a tank top and underwear, and he’s in boxers. We didn’t have sex tonight. Sometimes we don’t have time for anything other than studying and sleep. I don’t know when it became okay to have sleepovers with no sex, but now I can’t usually sleep without his arms around me. Even if I had to fuck him every night just to sleep next to him, I’d take it in stride and count my blessings. But he doesn’t seem to mind this way, either.

He chuckles, and the sound tickles the skin on my shoulder. I instinctively tug on his hair some, and I know it makes him wake up more because I hear his breath pick up speed a little. “I haven’t had to play them. When you stay over.”

I pause my scratches on his scalp. “What do you mean?”

His hands tighten around me and he seems to hesitate. “It’s um, easier… to sleep when you’re here, sleeping with me.”

My brows furrow at his nervousness, making me sense he’s hiding something. “What are you saying?”

He sighs. “Katniss… there’s no easy way to say this.”

“Spit it out, Peeta.”

He rubs circles on my back in a comforting manner. “You snore.”

I fake-slap him on the back of his head, sitting up. “I do not!”

He holds up a hand in a surrendering gesture, smiling. “You do, unfortunately. Well, not unfortunate for me. The sound helps me sleep.”

I narrow my eyes at him. “You’re lying. I’ve never snored a day in my life.”

“A night in your life.” I roll my eyes. “And you do.”

“My sister and I have had sleepovers my entire life! She’s never once mentioned something like that!”

“Baby,” he reaches out to rub my thigh, and I’m used to the feel of his body on mine, but the new term of endearment makes my eyes widen and my face heat. “I’m sorry she never told you.” He smiles. “But I’m not lying.”

I look at him for a moment too long, then scoff. “Whatever.”

I pretend to be making my way off of the bed, but he wraps his arms around me, “Uh-uh, not so fast, Everdeen.” I giggle while he pulls me to lay flush against his chest, so we’re face to face. His eyes are slightly crossed from looking at me so closely. His eyelashes are so long. “Hey.”

“Hey.”

He sighs in what seems to be contentment. “I really like being around you.”

My heart skips a beat. “I like being around you, too.”

“And I like it when you stay over. It means that my white noise won’t be top five on my Spotify Wrapped for this year.”

I scrunch up my nose. “I don’t know about that one, Mellark. It’s already November.”

He rolls his eyes, “Fine. Then I like it when you stay over because…” he trails off to gesture between the two of us.

And I thought he was so good at words. “Because the sex is great?”

His brows furrow, and his grip on me tightens. “No.” He observes me a second longer before continuing. “I just like who I am when I’m around you. Don’t you feel like that with some people?”

I search his eyes. I feel like that with Annie. “Yes.” With you.

He gives me a soft smile that I match, and then we both lean in for a kiss, slowly. Just when our lips touch, I pull back a centimeter, taunting him. “Peeta?”

“Yeah?” His lips move against mine.

“I don’t snore.” I try to keep a straight face.

He chuckles against me, grabbing the back of my neck to bring me closer. “Whatever you say, baby.”

[spoiled-milk]

honkai star rail characters’ reaction to your tattoos [ft dan heng, welt, blade, kafka, gepard]

a/n: it's been four weeks of uni and i have pulled too many all nighters and consumed way too many energy drinks. i am running on no juice at the moment and i wrote this is like two sittings and it is very much not proof read

content warning: mentions of tattoos (duh), very out of character characters probably, shitty writing, sfw

word count: ~780 words

dan heng

neutral to your body tattoos and just see it as another part of you

i personally hc that he has at least one on his body and it’s on right shoulder (source: me i saw it in person in his bed)

doesn’t mean that every time you wear a tank top and your back is somewhat visible he can’t help but stare at you

it’s just fascinating to him. he wants to know if it has meaning to you or if you got it on a whim, if you were meticulous in picking every element represented or it’s just a collage of your favorite things. if the artwork on your back shows your lifetime story that words can’t describe

sometimes at night when the you’re giving him information to fill in the data bank and you fall asleep he’ll unconsciously hover his hand where your tattoo is and rub circles where it is

welt

welt sees your tattoos in pretty much the same way dan heng does, but he admired how the artwork on your body highlights your beauty

when you fall asleep on the couch filling out paperwork for both himeko and for the data bank, your tattoo is visible

as you snore on the red couches in the lobby of the express, welt can’t help but bring you a blanket and shift you into a position that won’t hurt your back in the morning

welt sits next to you book in hand while he watches you snooze away. eventually he too succumbs to slumber and he is seen sleeping next to you on the couch (no one is sure how the two of you manage to fit on one couch)

blade

he’s the first one and probably the only one to notice that your tattoo covers a scar

he won’t ask you about it (it’s not any of his business) but he would point it out in private

“you’ve got a scar there” he’d point at your tattoo and you’d play dumb “pfft… what scar?” then he points at the exact spot on your tattoo where ink covers scar tissue

freaks you out tbh you thought it was not that noticeable and blade senses your panic and reassures you it can’t be spotted that easily

he’s a little confused on why you would want to cover it and you tell him honestly. you don’t like it when people point it out while in public and you just found out easier to cover it up permanently without needing to always apply foundation

he feels bad for you but he’s got bandages on his hands so who is he to talk about covering up wounds

he has a new sense of closeness to you and vice versa. You sometimes catch him eyeing your tattoo and you ask him if he wants to get one too

he politely declines but if you wanted to get matching tattoos with him in a discreet spot, he won’t reject probably

kafka

i’m surprised that in that one light cone of kafka from forgotten hall she’s got none but that’s okay she’s still hot nevertheless

mommy kafka thinks your tattoos are hot probably so she deliberately buys you clothing that don’t cover the tattoo (backless dresses, sleeves less shirts, low rise jeans, shoulder less blouses)

she will be upset if you don’t wear the things she buys you

she probably thinks back tattoos are the sexiest and if you let her she would totally kiss your back just to make you squirm

loves water color style type tattoos the most, but whatever you have on you is hot to her

gepard

in one of gepard’s voice lines he mentions that he’s into gardening (hot hot hot) so i think if you had a tattoo of flowers he’d melt probably

if it’s on your shoulder or back and you show him? he will scream. he’s gonna scream, throw his jacket at you, then go into another room. he’s just a little baby you gotta cut him some slack

will admire your tattoos from afar but cannot look you in your eyes because he will go red in the face

if you ask him for his input for some flowers for a new tattoo idea that you have, will be honored that you asked him of all people

he would suggests lilies, amaryllises, morning glories, or bellflowers. don’t ask him why though he will not be able to tell you without blushing

he thinks all these flowers are gorgeous and he finds you gorgeous and if you incorporated some of these in your new tattoo he will be putty in your hands

he rarely gets to give out advice that’s not related to silvermane guard rules, regulations, and formalities so he’s secretly ecstatic

[mandalhoerian]

leon kennedy + love languages analysis

It’s in Leon’s job description to help and serve, he’s always out there chasing bioweapons and their makers to save others or doing the bidding of his higher-ups — it’s all in the name of the right thing and out of his strong sense of justice. It doesn’t matter if he’s in an overbearing mission breathing down his neck in utmost priority, he will stop and try his best to help out a random citizen as you can see in RE6. He does also state in RE2 remake that helping people in need was why he chose his occupation, be it in his emo era too, Leon just can’t look away from innocent bystanders. Accepting to look for Claire’s brother when he just met her that night, and also the inability to leave Ada alone in the maze of the sewer he has no idea how to solve the puzzle to, and agreeing to whatever Helena wanted to show him when he was so suspicious of her because she was distraught and clearly in need of something are just some examples of this. 

He helps however he can, whenever he can; he also expresses great concern for the wellbeing of others before his own as it’s his main drive in life. Leon’s a man of duty and selfless in nature, the only time he’s done anything for himself was when he wanted to chase the trail of bioweapons in Eastern Slav Republic instead of pulling back like he was ordered to, and even that was work.   

Therefore we can say acts of service is his primary love language, so much so you would want him to take a break from it. 

Leon really doesn’t look after himself. 

His go-to self-destruction method is to indulge in alcohol to deal with his problems and drink away his feelings instead of seeking help. Maybe he doesn’t believe in getting help in his field of work (nobody has gone through what he has, and seen what he’s seen, and maybe he doesn’t want to bother people with any of it), but he does shut himself off and ignores his problems — doesn’t ask for help, at all. 

In Damnation, he pushes Hunnigan away when she tries to explain the situation to him and nonchalantly dissolves the conversation when she’s afraid he’s going to take off. In Vendetta, he’d rather fight Chris and put on a sarcastic demeanor than to express vulnerability when he clearly needs someone to be his confidant. He doesn’t want to share his burden, but will relentlessly pressure you to share yours.  

With his significant other, he would want to take on the weight of whatever’s on you regardless — from mundane things around the house like cleaning, fixing things, preparing breakfast so you can sleep a little bit more and being a great giver in bed to grander gestures like taking a bullet for you and becoming mean to you in order to keep you away from harm’s way (like he did with Claire at the end of Infinite Darkness, he lost his friendship with her but it kept her safe). Leon will go above and beyond to make life better and easier for you, but he is obsessed with your safety first and foremost. 

However, you will have problems with getting him to open up like I mentioned previously, he deals with his problems on his own and he won’t want to trouble you with whatever he’s going through at the moment — with the plus of his job being mostly confidential, it’s a struggle to help him when the most of his suffering comes from the loss and trauma that comes with it. 

It makes him emotional that you help in other areas though, when you clean up his place at times he is away for a long time, when you make a homemade meal cooked just for him, or when you offer to give him shoulder massages seeing as he’s extremely tired. He isn’t used to being taken care of, and part of him feels guilty, but he’s so appreciative and happy someone cares for him this much. 

Leon moves around quite often and is rarely at his place of residence, so he doesn’t spend a lot of time at home. Therefore, even when his place screams how fat his salary is from the outside, his house is not a home, it doesn’t have a lot in it and is basically empty like a ghost is living in it. And again, with being an agent comes the practicality of not having a lot on you so you can be more flexible, but it’s almost as if it reflects how little he thinks of his life and has nothing to leave behind if he dies on duty.  

He even has two default outfits, first is anything he can throw on himself (preferably jeans) with a leather jacket and the second is the agent outfit, which is just a suit (button-up shirts grew on him over the years.) He isn’t someone who treats himself aside from alcohol and he doesn’t care much for luxuries — the only materialistic things that could excite him were a bike and a bazooka, and both were found by him randomly and were tools to help him in action. 

What he chooses to own, though, are high in quality. His RE4 outfit has Schott’s Classic B-3 Sheepskin Leather Bomber Jacket is $1495 USD. He also drove to Racoon City in a Jeep that he had to abandon. Being rich makes you this carefree, huh? 

He has a lot more than he can spend, therefore I believe he would happily spend it on his significant other. Leon would be the type of guy who buys something out of nowhere because it reminded him of you, or that he saw you looking at it, maybe it was a chocolate bar, or maybe some random scented candle you thought looked sick. He loves seeing you surprised and delighted, and thinking of your space having the traces of him makes him happy — makes him feel the bond is more concrete and tangible. He’s a giver, so it’s only natural he gives presents too. 

Now, receiving gifts from you is another level of joy for him. Leon wouldn’t have thought he cared much about things like that but the thought. The idea of you thinking this much of him and putting your heart into it, there’s something intimate in it that has him feeling so important. Owning things you gave him has a special place in his heart, and he will take great care of them. Maybe he still has the wrapper of some ribbon from a package in his drawer, who’s to say? It’s the carnal desire to hold onto the proof of your existence, perhaps. 

Leon has absolutely no time at all for himself, and in his days off, they keep pulling him back for some unexpected emergency. His schedule is unpredictable. In RE4, he does say “Story of my life,” when Hunnigan reminds him that he’s on duty right now after he flirts with her. Then later, he reminds her that it was them who pulled him out of furlough for this when she tells him to fall back on his Eastern Slav Republic mission. Leon rarely gets any break from bioweapon fighting and over the years, the exhaustion has taken a toll on him, the only constant is chaos in his life, he scarcely can spare any mundane moments to his acquaintances as he barely has any time for himself. 

Quality time though, as he lacks so much of it, is something he yearns for deep down. I mean, hello, the way he wanted that dinner with Claire in Infinite Darkness? He really really wanted her company, and to catch up with her. He asked Shenmei as well. It's a crime that nobody accepted his requests, someone go get dinner with him right now.

It’s because he can’t spend time with people that he wants it so badly in the first place. That’s where he is also self-destructive and it’s a double-edged sword. He seeks company of flirtations because he’s lonely, yet he won’t pursue anything serious. He’s scared of committing to someone since it won’t work due to complications and the distance, it’ll get messy. 

He even deprives himself of friendships and is unwilling to let anyone get too close. Leon is an isolationist, yet he needs people in his life to process his trauma and grief and bully him about his drinking habits but keeps denying himself the company. 

And then there’s the fear of losing that person. He doesn’t spend any time getting close to people, he treasures the companions he has, but everybody is at an arm’s length. He already reacts so negatively to the deaths of allies he barely got to know briefly — Ada messed him up real good, too. How do you think he feels imagining what he could have had with her? He wants stability and settling, but Ada is anything but that. He chases every interaction to be longer, seeks her company just for their meeting to be stretched even by minutes. Leon gets attached so easily, and he deprives himself of time with them out of being scared by it. One part of him must be comfortable in his love for her because it’ll never become a reality, because she’ll never take him up to it, he’d rather take the suffering than the happiness. 

But quality time also is so important to him because it’s in these times of ordinary domesticity that he can find normalness outside the crazy undead shit he has to deal with. It helps him recharge and he craves having this to come back to. 

He would feel so guilty about not being able to be with his significant other, he could even forget important days and miss important moments of your life and he wouldn’t even know most of the time because he’s just so occupied and in survival mode for a while after he comes back. You would have to be understanding of his situation and forgiving, too, it’s not up to him whatever he gets called in for, and because you wouldn’t know what it was, it’s a great deal of practicing patience, and that’s why it’s hard being in a relationship with Leon. Hell, it’s the base reason why couples break up; the guy is inattentive and negligent and the girl breaks it off in the end. In this scenario, zombies are involved. 

You can only get the peaceful moments inbetween with him. And it has to be enough, and believe that he hates going away as much as you do and more.    

Leon hates being praised. He dislikes being heralded as some legend for getting out of Racoon City alive and his experiences ultimately leading him to rescuing the president’s daughter only to be elevated in praise more. 

He was just at the wrong place at the right time. He got lucky, ended up trailing behind Ada who was competent at what she did and reached the root of the problem just because he happened to run into her — it wasn’t him, it was just stars aligning. Pure coincidence. 

Leon sometimes thinks he didn’t deserve making it out, but he did anyway, and now this life of his belongs to a purpose, the purpose. 

He’s just doing his job. One shouldn’t be applauded for doing their job. 

Compliments make him uncomfortable and it’s the easiest way to make him clamp up on a conversation, he’ll vehemently deny whatever it is and change the subject. It looks like Leon’s being humble (he is), but there’s a deeper reason with an underlying imposter syndrome going on in the back of his mind. He just doesn’t feel worthy some days. 

Affirmations on the other hand also don’t come easy, he’s in one of the most coldly professional fields and it’s strictly business, and he is emotionally constipated and deeply traumatized, therefore there’s a lot he doesn’t say and he doesn’t know how to say, and he is bad at telling you what he wants. He’s good at sass and banter, but ask him to tell you about his nightmares and he’ll just hug you and go back to sleep. 

Leon isn’t used to expressing affection through words either, and prefers to show it instead. You’ll know he loves you even if he doesn’t say it outright. But with his significant other, though, he’ll do his best to learn to be more affectionate with words to you to show his appreciation — just prepare for shy and awkward Leon. The soft side of him comes out this way, he’ll hesitantly ask you to stay and he’ll look so young doing it that it’ll melt your heart.   

Leon is one touch-starved poor bastard. 

Here’s the reason why: he’s a pretty lonely guy but he’d rather indulge in the warmth of a person than letting them in. Solitude is a personal preference of his, and it leads him to seeking out temporary companionship to feed this part of his. Meaningless one-night stands are a go-to of his, as they mean no deeper connection but all the skin to skin contact and the soothing heat beside him. If he’s lucky, his partner would pet his head during the deed, or caress his face, now those are the treat. 

If he could just let go and the perfect opportunity arose, he would just lie in the arms of his significant other for hours being hugged by them, enveloped in the coziness, head empty and fuzzy. Those would be the perfect naps he needed, because wow does this guy not sleep well.    

It would be a first for him to get affectionate touches coming with a friendship as well, it’s been a lifetime since he let himself be that way with someone, it’s not easy to get him to be chummy and lighthearted with you in that aspect. He’s a well-mannered guy too, so he’s the type to keep a respectable distance even when he’s being playful. Half-hugs, back pats and handshakes are the best you’re going to get as his friend, and they don’t happen often.   

The clinginess blooms well into the relationship after Leon gets comfortable with exploring that childish, neglected part of his. He would adore hugs, hand-holding, reaching out to grab you casually while sitting next to you in the confines of your private space, you would feel his love through him seeking you out for comfort voluntarily and lowering his serious exterior to be relaxed around you. His utmost weakness is you playing with his hair and tracing his face with your fingers, because he goes out like a light almost immediately.  

Leon also won't be rough with you physically while bonking so don't expect playfighting and do not hit him while joking around, he gets thrown around and hurt so much as it is (the amount of being strangled by tyrants and plagas? no, he's not into choking), and he tends to be extremely tender and sweet. Though you might discover a pretty interesting side of him if you decide to be assertive and take care of him in bed, you might just get addicted to how shy he could get.

[header template credits]

[archivistofnerddom]

Batch Headcanons — Bed Sharing and Bedtime Snuggles with a Partner (SFW)

This is safe for work and all ages, so no worries on that front.

Hunter

This man’s senses are always working, so he has a hard time settling down to sleep. In a perfect world, he would have the right environment to let him sleep every night. But, of course, he doesn’t have that.

But he likes to snuggle with you. Having you next to him helps him soothe and settle.

He will focus on the smell of your hair or the way you breathe as you fall asleep. Paying attention to those small details calms him immensely.

Hunter will curl into you, letting the senses of you wash over him completely. This man is a cuddler and generally a big spoon, holding you close to him.

Whenever either of you are away from one other for whatever reason, he doesn’t sleep as well. Life is stressful, and he has a milieu of reasons why he won’t sleep well.

But that gets easier after you start wearing his sweatshirts or large soft shirts to bed and then sneaking them into places he’ll find whenever you have to sleep apart. He loves the gesture. Being able to focus on one sense, on one smell, keeps him from getting overwhelmed when he’s trying to fall asleep . And then he holds you close when you’re home and sharing a bed again.

Crosshair

Crosshair is a skittish feral cat with an injured paw. He has been through a lot and has trust issues because of his past. Approaching sharing a bed with him takes time and patience.

Being a calm and steady presence while he falls asleep and when he wakes up again counts for a lot to him.

He isn’t immediately a cuddler, but he will brush his fingers against your hand or arm or back while he sleeps or dozes. Those little touches are his reassurances that you’re still there.

The man runs cold, so blankets, sweatpants and sweatshirts, and socks are a must for him. Crosshair almost cries when you buy him a weighted and quilted blanket. He is both warm and calmed as he sleeps.

When he does relax and realize you aren’t going anywhere, this man is such a little spoon. He likes being in close proximity to you and being held. Being close to you reassures Crosshair that he has someone who cares for him right there.

He isn’t good at saying “I love you” out loud. However, he says it all the time when he presses in close to you and snuggles up against you at night.

Tech

Guess who has figured out the ideal temperature for both of you to get a good night’s sleep while snuggling? This guy.

Perfect number of blankets to room temperature ratio. (It’s endearing that he figured out the right ratio for you, since it means he’s paying attention to you and your specific nuances.)

His brain doesn’t shut off easy, so it’s hard for him to fall asleep. When you present with the concept of natural noise to lull him to sleep, Tech latches on to that idea quickly. He takes your sleep needs into consideration and develops a playlist that suits you both (usually thunderstorms and ocean waves on a beach).

Tech struggles to put down his data pad when he’s in bed. However, he’s willing to try when you explain that setting it aside for a while before bedtime will help him fall asleep. (Anything for a science experiment, and it does help.)

When he does fall asleep, Tech sleeps hard, as in he won’t wake up unless there is literally a klaxon sounding right next to him.

He is a spider monkey when he sleeps. Tech clings to you, his legs twisted through yours and his arms around you. He nuzzles in close and finds you to be a calming presence.

Wrecker

Literal ultimate big spoon and personal space heater.

Once you mention that you like to sleep in a cold room so that you can snuggle up under blankets or with a partner, his brain just light-bulbs. He’s immediately files that away for future use and deploys it with great effect. Wrecker is nothing if not very aware of his partner’s needs and likes. (Someone rolled high on emotional intelligence.)

He’s also aware of how large he is, so he doesn’t hold you too tightly when he holds you at night (unless you ask him to). He keeps his hold loose enough if you want or need to squirm out of his embrace for any reason. He also loves it when he registers that you snuggle back into his embrace in the middle of the night, if you had to get up for a midnight bathroom break.

Having you in his arms when he wakes up makes him so unbelievably happy. This man lives to protect those he loves. If you also happen to be holding Lula while you sleep in his arms, he’s a big old softie and will basically melt.

Wrecker is also functionally a weighted blanket for you. His heart swells with love the first time you pass out quickly in his arms as he holds you.

Just because he’s a natural big spoon doesn’t mean he doesn’t love it when you (try to) spoon him. Usually that means your arm slips under his armpit and your leg goes over his hip. Wrecker knows he’s a big man, and he finds you doing that adorable. He’ll usually slip his hand into the bend of your knee and shift it to a comfy spot for you both.

Echo

Echo has his fair share of insecurities and body image issues after what he survived at the hands of the Techno Union on Skako Minor. Losing three limbs takes a lot out of a person. Sharing that with someone he cares about deeply isn’t easy.

He is tense the first time you share a bed with him. This stems from his prosthetics and what he looks like without them. It takes a lot for him to feel comfortable sleeping without them, especially after sleeping with them on due to the war and being in the run. You being patient with him gives him the confidence to try sleeping without them.

He sleeps so hard the first time he takes them off for bed. Maybe it has to do with you holding him and curling around him, or the way you gently massage his limbs to work out the tension he has after wearing them for so long. Being so vulnerable with someone in bed helps a lot.

Echo loves having you snuggle into his left side and press your face into his left shoulder. It means that he can hold you properly with his one good arm.

He doesn’t say it, but he also loves the way you sneak your legs between his and the way you cup his right elbow with your hand and arm. It makes him feel whole in a way he hasn’t felt in a long time. Having you hold him so tenderly is reassuring.

This man is also the king of sleepy, gentle kisses to the side of your head. He is sweet and soft and warm, snuggling close to you.

[clovermunson]

morgan, my sweet!! bringin’ on the heartbreak has caught my eye, and i’d love to hear your best fluffy finnick headcanons. what would it be like to spend new years with him? would he love it or hate it?

savvy, my love!! i’m so happy you requested finnick headcanons, because you know better than anyone that i could talk about this man for hours on end and never get tired. he’s got me gnawing at the bars of my enclosure. but you’ve asked for fluffy headcanons, so i’m gonna deliver. some of these are just general headcanons, some are x reader, so there’s some variety here, folks.

i’ve included them all under the cut, because it’s quite a bit.

join the party!

— so first off, i think that finnick prefers to stay in on new year’s. he loves the new year because to him that means new opportunities and a renewed sense of hope. he just doesn’t care much for parties, huge crowds, and obnoxiously loud music. not to mention, the capitol really ruined him when it came to those kinda things (i’m sorry that got a little sad). but he much prefers a quiet night in, enjoying your company and most definitely eating all of the leftover holiday sweets so they won’t “go to waste”

— speaking of eating all the sweets, he never passes up the chance to help out with baking. sure it’s a chore to keep him from eating everything before it’s finished, but he does his fair share. he’s just a got a sweet tooth, he can’t help it. “don’t you think i deserve a treat for helping?” he’ll ask as he’s already taking a bite from a cupcake before you even get the chance to answer. and he’s right, he does deserve it.

— finnick can cook at least decently. if there’s a night where you don’t feel like making dinner, he’ll cook and he won’t complain about it at all. but you better believe he’s treating it like he’s a world-class chef and he’s asking you to taste test everything (because let’s be honest, he’s not the best, but he’s trying)

— finnick is a cuddly sleeper. this is just a known fact. if he’s having a particularly rough night because of the nightmares, he’ll nuzzle closer to you and hold you just a little tighter.

— he loves loves looooves having his hair played with. it’s calming to him, and just puts him in a relaxed trance that eventually ends up lulling him into sleep.

— finnick odair is tough. as tough as they come, really. he has experienced incomprehensible horrors and he’s strong and well-built, but he’s the softest, most gentle man to ever live. a big 'ol softie. a total teddy bear, some might say.

— of course i think it goes without saying, but he’s a romantic. so much to the point that it would be nauseating from an outsider’s perspective.

— anyway. i also think it’s a given that he’s scarily protective over his loved ones. which is a little shocking, considering his general calm and pleasant demeanor.

— he’s the most unserious person ever. sure he knows when to be serious, but does he want to always be that way? no, because that’s boring. this man giggled over his own “death”, i mean c’mon.

— this man cannot keep himself away from water. any chance he has, he’s in the ocean because it’s comforting to him to be one with the water.

— he’s the most considerate person ever. he’s always thinking about what his loved ones would think about any given situation, and he’s always finding ways to make things easier for them if he can.

— his primary love language is words of affirmation, because despite projecting such a confident exterior, he’s riddled with insecurities and hearing that he’s more than enough or any receiving any praises in general makes him feel like he’s genuinely loved. but it’s closely followed by physical touch, because he’s also a very touchy person when it comes to who he loves, and he gives the best hugs because of it. what i wouldn’t give to hug this man, my fucking god.

[likecastle]

Ronance Femslash February - “go to sleep”

This is the first prompt I filled for Ronance Femslash February! The wonderful @crushcandles sent me the phrase “go to sleep.” Thank you, as always, for the Ronance encouragement!

You, too, can send me Ronance prompts for Femslash February, if you’d like! I’ll be accepting prompts all month and doing my best to fill them in a timely fashion, so please send some prompts my way! You’ll be able to find any other prompts I fill here.

“This is the part where we close our eyes and go to sleep,” Nancy says tersely, and it comes out harsher than she intended, but it’s too late to take it back. She’s always doing that where Robin is concerned, winding herself up tighter and tighter until she says or does something she doesn’t mean.

“Right. Of course. Obviously.” This is followed by a brief interlude of silence, and then Robin whispers, “It’s just . . . I wanna make sure we’re cool.”

Nancy huffs out a sigh, but she can’t help asking, “Cool?”

“Yeah.” She hears Robin turn onto her side and when Nancy opens her eyes, she’s startled by how close Robin is, as if the darkness has shrunk the space between them somehow. How can her eyes be so bright in this low light? “Like, this kind of thing can really screw up a friendship, right? Not that I’d know from personal experience. I mean, the whole thing with Steve is kind of an outlier in the sense that it actually made us better friends—that and being tortured by evil Russians. But historically, most of my friendships have gotten screwed up before things ever got this far, not that they ever would have, because if there was ever any actual chance of it happening, the possibility of it happening probably wouldn’t have screwed up the friendship in the first place, you know?”

Nancy definitely does not know what Robin is saying, but before Nancy can tell her as much, Robin continues.

“But the point is!” Robin stops herself, deliberately lowers her voice like she’s just remembered it’s the middle of the night. “The point is . . . I really like you. I like researching decades-old murders and impersonating college students with you. And I really like kissing you. But even more than that, I like riding around in your car together, and finding out how you like your eggs—poached eggs are disgusting, by the way, but I respect your right to your opinion even if it’s the wrong one. And I’d just, I’d hate it if I had to give all of that up just because you don’t want to keep kissing me. So I, um, I’m just hoping this won’t change things between us.”

Nancy closes her eyes again, because all at once, it’s too much—the way she can still faintly pick out Robin’s freckles even in the dark, the high line of her cheekbone pale in the shadows. “It doesn’t have to change anything.”

“Oh.” Nancy can almost feel the shift of Robin’s ribs against her as she lets out a sharp breath she was obviously holding. The gust of air as she exhales ruffles Nancy’s hair. “OK, good,” Robin says, trying so hard not to sound dejected. “Because I’d really miss you, I think.”

Nancy bites her lip. Her instinct is to leave it at that. She’s always turning away from the vulnerable choice—toward judgment, toward irritation, toward closing something down. It would be easier—safer—if they just stayed friends, if she let Robin think it doesn’t mean anything that she can still feel the starry tingle where Robin’s lips touched hers. It would be easier if she could keep what she wants separate from how she feels, just draw a line between the two and not let herself ask for more than she can have.

But the thing is, she does want it. She wants the tentative pressure of Robin’s fingers at her hip and the velvet drag of the inside of her lower lip. She wants all that and she wants the way Robin will lean into her space to point out a weird sign on the side of the road, the way she’ll talk for twenty minutes straight about an article she read about fatal familial insomnia. And Nancy’s not going to get any of that if she can’t overcome that instinct she has—even now—to turn over and pretend she wants to go to sleep. “I mean,” she says slowly, carefully, because she doesn’t quite trust herself not to say it wrong, “that we can still . . . drive around and get breakfast and listen to your pretentious music, even if we decide we want to keep kissing each other.”

Robin is silent—really silent—for a long time. Long enough that Nancy finally gathers up the courage to open her eyes again, to find Robin looking at her with such a searching expression that Nancy’s heart clenches. “Do you?” Robin asks, quietly. “Want to?”

“Yes,” Nancy breathes, and it’s not as hard to say as she thought it would be.

[eunchancorner]

It's a little late, but here's part 4 to the RatQueen series!

“So, what do you do for a living, Richard?” Dexter asked, seated on a nice, white couch, holding a small glass of expensive scotch that the couple had supplied. He had to admit, while he still felt a little strange in such a grand, expensive home, the hospitality he’d been shown was helping him immensely to feel comfortable in such a new setting.

“I work with Carmen in an office building just a few blocks away. I trust she’s told you how well that job pays,” he smiled, gently gesturing to the room around them with his glass. “And I hear you’re a freelance exterminator? Must be nice to keep all the money your customer pays you, instead of entrusting someone with all too much power over you to give you a suitable paycheck.”

“Yeah, heh, it doesn’t pay as much as you’d think, but it’s enough to survive, I guess…”

“Oh, yes, that reminds me! Dexter, I was wondering if you’d like to stay the night after dinner? You’d be welcome to stay in my room, or a guest room if you prefer,” Carmen offered.

Dexter thought for a moment. He really only had his truck to sleep in, and at least getting to stay over after all this time might be nice. He really didn’t see any downsides, except…

“As nice as that is, if I did, I’d probably want to sleep with you, and not have Richard there, but I don’t wanna kick the guy out of his own bed, so…” he trailed off, getting the sense they understood.

“I guess I should have mentioned that me and Carmen don’t have an ordinary sleeping situation. We actually have separate, adjacent rooms and separate beds. The architect may have had tough nights in mind when designing the house but Carmen and I find it easier to sleep on our own. Not to mention the rooms being adjacent make it easier to change that should we be feeling extra affectionate,” Richard explained, watching how Dexter seemed to brighten up a bit at the news.

“Which means,” Carmen got to the point of the explanation, “if you want to sleep with me, you can, and you won’t even bother Richard.”

“Well, if that’s the case, then, yeah, I’d love to stay the night! I mean, hell, it’ll probably be the nicest night I’ve had in a while…”

“Wonderful! We’d both love to spend the extra time with you. In fact, that might give you more time to get to know our son.”

“Speaking of son, we should call him. After all, he’s going to have to meet Dexter tonight, since he is staying for dinner,” Richard pointed out, Dexter nodding in response.

“Ah, right, can you get him, darling?” Carmen requested, and, with a nod of his own, Richard rose from his seat and went to go get the kid.

“Are you alright, darling? I understand if this is a bit much for you,” she asked Dexter now that the two were alone. 

“Mhm, yeah, I’m fine. It’s kinda weird just being in a gigantic mansion with two people whose monthly income could probably buy my whole truck and everything in it, but hey, I’m honestly just proud that I was able to pull you at this point…” he assured her. He still felt a little self-conscious about his income but it was helpful that her and Richard weren’t being super judgemental about it.

She moved closer to him, taking his face in her hand gently, causing him to blush as she ran her thumb along his cheek.

“Good… but if you start to feel overwhelmed, please let me know. I want this to be a happy occasion for you, and everyone else, and that all starts with making sure you’re comfortable.”

“Don’t worry, I will… just… thanks for even giving me a chance…” he leaned forward, resting his forehead on hers, closing his eyes as he just let the softness of the moment envelop him. He always cherished how soft and calm these moments made him feel.

“You’re welcome…” she kissed his nose softly, causing him to blush even more, something she couldn’t help but find absolutely adorable.

“Uhmm…”

The two turned as they heard an audibly confused voice coming from beside the couch, greeted by the sight of Richard and Roy standing there, the younger having a very puzzled expression, his eyes locked on Dexter.

[winterpinetrees]

A Phone Call (The Gap Years part 30)

July 21st 2019

The Scapegoat Wilderness, MT

On the worst night of their lives, the party get an unexpected phone call.

We are two or three chapters from the end of "book" 1. I can't believe it. I made a thing!

.......................

There is an empty moment after Jezero staggers into the clearing and reveals that Sierra is gone. It reminds Marin of the moment after a killing blow, when fatal damage has been done but the body hasn’t quite realized.

Brian shakes his head and takes a step back. “What do you mean, she was gone? She-she got kidnapped?”

Clay rolls back on his heels and looks up at the sky. “Oh, we screwed up. Brian, the message. It said where Sierra would be. The guards must have gotten there first”. 

“No, that doesn’t make sense. She was armed, she had a gun and the loudspeaker, it only took a few minutes for you to get there. She couldn’t have been gone”.

Jezero gives Brian a look of what might be sympathy. It’s a bit like a smile, a bit like a grimace, and slightly lopsided like most of their expressions. One of his fangs shows. “The guards had magic. They must have charmed her and moved quickly. Soldiers were waiting for us inside”.  

Brian is breathing too quickly. The boy smiles madly and starts to laugh. The whole scene feels distant. Should Marin run to him? Should he cast a spell? The boy hunches over, nearly convulsing with laughter and despair. Clay catches him when his knees give out. Finally, Marin spurs himself to action. He kneels beside them while Zerada runs to her brother. Clay’s behavior is the perfect opposite. His voice is level and he doesn’t make any moves. He’s not calm though. Clay is like a rabbit frozen in the grass. He has the face of his mother on that night he only vaguely remembers, the first time he saw her with her shining helm and scepter when he looked up into its emerald glass eyes and didn’t recognize her at all. His innocent memory says she was wearing red armor, but he knows it had to have been blood. 

Somehow he finds himself holding Brian and petting his blond hair. Some of the strands at the back are stiff with blood. He thinks it helps. Somehow they manage to fall asleep that night, deciding that if they plan anything it won’t be tonight. He wonders if Jezero is using Sierra’s sleeping bag. It’s not like he’d care. The truth is that Marin doesn’t have trouble sleeping. High nobility are so fragile that they need their rest, and he’s learned how to fall asleep as a skill. There’s probably an old edit to his genome that makes it even easier, but he never memorized that sort of thing. Even without those gifts, Marin’s feeling pretty good. He does miss her of course, but Sierra really doesn’t know anything, and now he has his family. This whole scheme might actually work! Of course, the humans are distraught enough to kill if they knew.

So Marin covers his hair and sleeps but does not dream while Clay and Brian have the worst night of their lives. He doesn’t know that they once again discuss surrender because there’s no way to explain this to Sierra’s actually loving parents. They don’t have a proper plan, but Clay will do anything for his friends and neither of them can get the metaphorical blood off of their hands. Then, at around two in the morning, Clay’s satellite phone rings. 

It wakes up all three boys in the tent. Clay feels for his glasses and reads the number on the screen. 

“I don’t recognize the number, but it’s a San Francisco area code?” 

Brian crosses his arms. “I swear if we’re getting a spam call…”

“Sierra-” Clay nearly drops the phone. “She added some junk to block calls. This isn’t a normal scammer. I’ll decline it. If it’s important they’ll call again”. 

He does. He places the bulky phone onto the plastic floor of the tent. A minute later, it rings again from the same number. The dim glow of the screen lights up all of their faces.

“Wait, Marin, can we get charmed through a phone?” Clay asks. 

Marin says no, and so he picks up the phone and sets it to speakerphone. Immediately they hear a voice. It’s been distorted by a voice changer into something rough and warbling. The words are clear, but none of them can make out an accent or guess a gender.  

“Have I reached Clayton Shepard?” It asks.

“This is he. What do you want?” Clay rests his chin on one hand and doesn’t emote at all.

“You have another ally. I am a servant in the palace and I have access to internal documents. I know where they are keeping Sierra”. 

Setting the tent on fire could not have gotten a greater reaction. Marin is the only one with any sense. 

“How do I know you aren’t leading us into a trap?”

“I am a human. I do not approve of this conquest. Without Sierra, the Mercurali will certainly succeed. I have to act while I still can”. 

Marin isn’t so sure that Sierra is the key, but he stays quiet. 

“How do you have this information?” 

“I am a servant in the palace. I handle paperwork”. 

“On what level? For who? What’s your pedigree?”

Brian raises a hand in the dark. “Back up, is that a so-called normal thing to ask a human? You go around asking that like someone’s a racehorse?”

“I will not disclose that information as I cannot guarantee that this line is secure. I am wildblood, if that makes you more willing to trust me”. 

Marin scoffs. Having recent wild heritage and maybe even the inherited trauma of an abduction could explain why a palace worker would rebel. The dialogue is so methodical though. Is this even a person?

“I am trying to help you, your highness. Do you want it?”

Brian takes the phone himself. “YES. Yes we do want it. Where is Sierra!”

“Thank you, Brian. Sierra is being transported to the old laboratory in the Excalibur ruins, where you raided a month ago”. 

Well… it’s as their informant said. They raided that place a month ago. It’s too easy. Why not take her into the elven world, and then across an ocean or two? 

“That would make a rescue suspiciously possible,” Marin replies. 

“I know! That’s why we swayed Councillor Eburos to claim her for plague testing. It was not so hard. Questionable decisions happen often during times of crisis”.

The boys look at each other and the surprise on each other's shadowed faces. It seems their informant is more than just a paper-pusher. There’s bad news though. 

“Plague testing,” Clay says as though the words hurt to say. 

“She will not be infected with anything for five days at least. Councillor Eburos is very specific about intake protocol. Even then, she will not die”. 

“Is not dying is worse?”

“That would depend on who takes possession of her. She is already a legendary figure for traveling with Prince Marin, which may protect her. It also may not”. 

They all pause for a moment. Marin nearly says something absurd about Lazarus’s reforms to protect humans from all sorts of abuse, but he knows those are easy to dodge. There was a scandal when he was very young after a kidnapped wilder exposed the entire racket that brought her to the elven world. His mother gave her a title and a royal favor as a reward, but he forgets what it was used for. Rivka something or other, bringer of justice. She must have passed away from old age by now. 

Brian takes a shuddering breath. “How long do we have? Before they fake her death and we have to reveal everything, I mean”.

“According to the files, you have not spoken much with your families. That means a disappearance could go unknown for several days. However, the Mercurali would rather kill you all than risk you revealing the truth. They are already watching your families”.

“Okay. Fun. Can we keep using this number? How do we contact you?”

“I can access your phones in any way that is convenient, but you must remember that this is treason. I can speak during the second hour of the night, about 1:30 to 3am in your hours, and may see messages at other times, but you should not expect quick replies”.  

Zerada and Jezero, probably woken up by their loud reaction to learning that Sierra is almost in reach, poke their heads into the tent. They’ve been inseparable since Jezero returned. He can understand why. Marin doesn’t have any siblings (which is a bit odd for the high nobility) but he remembers his relief when Zera called. He’s realizing that they’ll probably split from the party now that his arm is mostly healed. The car only seats five, and it might be better for him to lay low. She smiles and leans closer to the phone that Brian is holding. “Good on you for having boundaries”.

“Your Grace, I assure you I would make myself more useful to this team if I could”.

Her brother crouches in the doorway. “I like her”. 

Brian looks over his shoulder in confusion. “Her? You can tell?”

“I can guess the original sound. The speaker is probably a young human female”.

“Lord Adust is right,” the voice says, suddenly afraid. “I assume you wish to claim that title. You are not the eldest surviving Adust, but you were the eldest acknowledged heir”. 

He pauses and looks at his sister. She rolls her eyes, elbows him in the side, and waves him on. “ I do”. 

Their little tent in the woods holds a prince, a noblewoman, a new lord and the son of a governor. There is also a son of a billionaire, but he’s no heir at all and all these titles are making him uncomfortable. “What should we call you? Unless you want to be our mysterious voice forever,” 

This causes the longest pause yet. The voice changer crackles without an input. “I have no qualms with staying a mysterious voice until I add a few more layers of security”. 

Brian’s eyes go wide. “A few more?”

“Treason, remember?”

He opens the phone to it’s list of contacts. “I’m sorry, I really can’t call you The Mysterious Voice. Does ‘The Spy’ work for you?” 

“That sounds so blunt. I’d prefer you think of me as an emissary. You can think up a silly nickname from that”. 

They look at each other and smile. Marin blurts out Emmy or Essie the Emissary, only for Brian to cut him off with definition of the word and how it doesn’t really fit the situation, no matter what she wants.  

The distorted voice from the phone doesn’t care. “I like that second one”. 

“An emissary is a diplomat! You’re an informant at best”.

“Brian Whitaker, my job is to be pedantic. Trust me”. 

He hands the phone to Clay. “Oh, we have to trust you, Essie. I’ll get a notebook. Tell us everything you know”’.

Marin doesn't believe for a second that she actually does tell them everything, but it might just be enough.  

…………….....

Elven days are 18 hours long, but each hour is 80 minutes. The high council, Voyagers, and many other elves do the biphasic sleep thing where they wake up for an hour or two in the middle of the night but go to sleep earlier. Esther fakes that she can’t manage that sleep schedule to get an hour of free time in the night. 

Esther’s codename was originally going to be Emmett, but I had second thoughts about the symbolism and it sounds too much like Emer anyway. Instead, she tricks the gang into giving her a nickname she’s already using with Amedi, but with plausible deniability this time!

Next time, we see what Sierra and Amedi are dealing with (eachother).

@lokiwaffles @reggie246

[erogenousmind]

Fright

You may have noticed I’ve gone for a seasonal theme for the last month. If you enjoyed it and might like to see something similar in the future, please let me know.

Because fear can be an exciting feeling to play with. So often in hypnosis, we focus on relaxation and peace or pleasure, and with good reason. It feels nice to be in those states and so they can reinforce the desire for trance very easily. And the overlap between trance and sleep makes some of those even more effective. But trance is a multifaceted state and intense enough focus or feelings of many different types can mesmerize you. You can even be frightened into trance.

If you want to know what that might feel like, then read on. If it doesn’t sound like something you might enjoy, that’s alright as well and there can be many more opportunities for you to drop. But if it does sound exciting, then you might wait until you can be alone in the dark before you read, already primed to let yourself be frightened.

Because you are tapping in to something deep in your psyche when you let yourself get scared. You may be in a familiar place. You may have every reason to know that you are safe, that the monsters aren’t real. That they can’t get you.

But in this moment, none of that matters. You’ve allowed that critical factor to be suspended. Every noise could be a threat. Every shadowy form around you looks strange and unfamiliar. Your senses insist on relaying every bit of information to you. And that’s good. It helps to keep you safe. But what do you need to be kept safe from?

Has the vampire with the mesmerizing eyes caught your scent? Is the mind-controlling virus spreading, even into this very room? Or maybe some mysterious hypnotist is on the loose. Maybe they’ve decided whom they are going to enthrall next.

Or maybe it is that thing that truly terrifies you. The one that has kept you up at night before, or had you pulling the covers up a little bit more. Take a moment and remember. Let your imagination run wild with what truly scares you. Because right now, there is a reason to be scared of it. It is close. It is getting closer.

Whatever it may be, lurking nearby, the more you think about it, the more aware you become of everything around you. Every unexpected noise could be a sign that it is coming. Or maybe your mind even starts to play tricks. Can you hear that? It’s so soft, but it sounded like...there it is again. Listen.

Maybe you can feel the eyes on you even now. Watching...waiting...And you are so vulnerable, so exposed. You can imagine it creeping closer and closer. Maybe you are being watched from a window. Maybe you are too scared to dare look.

Maybe you are already responding powerfully enough that you couldn’t stop yourself from taking that quick glance, trying to reassure yourself that you are safe. But how thoroughly did you check? Behind you?

Above you?

Below?

Doors locked, curtains drawn? Do you risk moving from where you are? Drawing attention to yourself? Leaving the limited safety of this place. And of course, even if you do check everything, all that really means is that you are safe for the moment. How long will that last? Maybe you need to look one more time to make sure there is still nothing there. Did that shadow move? Was it there before?

But see how hyperactive your senses are becoming already, responding to the power of these words. You become aware of things you never would have noticed before. You realize the stillness around you, and every disturbance to it becomes so important. See for yourself. Take a moment. Hold your breath. Listen.

Every sound could be a threat. Everything unexpected can make you jump. Because it gets easier and easier to let your focus narrow. Something primal in your mind tells you it won’t get you if you don’t see it coming. Like hiding under your blanket, deep down you think that if you don’t let your eyes leave what you are reading, then you are safer somehow. Your own little glowing circle of protection. But you have to stay focused. Because you don’t know what horrors you might find if you let yourself look away now. How much closer, how much more real the terror has become.

And look how you have become ensnared. The very words which have put such fear into you have now made it so much worse to try to get away. The tension is still so high. You still have no relief. But you have no choice but to keep reading while it keeps getting closer and closer and closer. Because you know it waits until you look for it. It’s just waiting for it’s moment to strike. You might even feel the breath on you now, hear it moving next to you. But you mustn't look. You need to keep your focus right here. You need to stay safe. But maybe this is the fright you should have been watching for all along. Maybe it is too late now.

Maybe you are paralyzed with fear. Maybe you’ve felt it before, but it can feel so real now. Your body doesn’t know what else to do. Your mind is too caught up to decide. So you just read, trying to tune out what you know must be happening so close to you now, what is inevitably coming for you. And maybe you realize that you’ve been caught. Ensnared. Entranced. You can’t look away now. It’s far too dangerous. So you just read and read and let these words cast the spell that has made it so scary to be aware of anything else.Just sink deeper into them. You wouldn’t dare risk stopping now.

These words have become a sanctuary for you. Because it’s so hard to constantly be on edge. To try to keep your attention everywhere at once. To have to focus on that sudden noise, or the movement out of the corner of your eye. To know the peril that awaits if you look away. But if you just stay focused right here, if you just keep reading, you can be safe. And maybe that’s enough to let your guard down a little. Because you can be aware of less and less and just let these words that have given you such a thrill finish what they started in you.

Everything else stops for you.

Your fear has entranced you. All you can do is wait and hope for it to pass. While your mind is wide open. Because you can’t escape these words. The alternative is infinitely more terrifying. You have no choice but to let them sink into you.

Maybe all these words leave you with is the desire to share how exciting this could be. How helpless you could feel, and how exhilarating that can be right now. Maybe they leave far more insidious suggestions in your mind. Ones that it will be so hard to remember later. And maybe once you’ve surrendered to that idea, that need to respond. That need to feel and drop deeper. Maybe the tension can gradually release.

Because it is so tiring to stay so hyper-vigilant, to maintain that focus. It’s so much easier to give in. To accept your fate. To accept that you have been caught and you can let go of all that awareness that you don’t need now. You just need these words. You just need to let go and sink down. Focus here and the rest of it need not matter. You sink down. Your body relaxes. The tension begins to melt away.

And as it releases, as your body begins to accept that it is safe once again, the relaxation that follows is so much more intense. As the adrenaline begins to fade, your body just feel so heavy. Everything feels heavy. Your thoughts feel heavy. But it’s alright. You can just stare at the words. The words that are your sanctuary. The words that keep you safe. It’s alright if it is hard to think anything else but what you read. It’s alright if you body is growing more and more relaxed, if you feel your mind sinking down.

You are safe here now.

Safe to relax.

Safe to turn your mind off.

Let all the tension drain away.

You don’t need your own thoughts.

Let these words become your thoughts.

Remembering how easily they entrance you.

Remembering how deeply they can affect you.

The suggestion to share your experience making its way deep within your mind.

And realizing deep down, feeling deep inside you, that the fright you felt is in the past now. That you do not need to be afraid. That your body and mind can be calm. And that you can truly know that you are safe from whatever terrors these words helped you imagine. And when you feel calm and safe, it’s alright to come back up. Find your way to the waking world, allowing yourself to enjoy this experience however your mind decides to do so.

Safe, alert, and awake.

[late-to-the-magnus-archives]

And Eat It, Too: Chapter Eleven: Violation

In which Annabelle Cane makes an appearance and offers a hand, and Elias "helps" Jon with his nightmares with cruel violation…

>>> NOW ON AO3!

This one gets ROUGH.

We're dealing with nightmares that involve skinning.

We're also dealing with Elias harming Jon and ignoring Jon's desires in order to "help" him handle said nightmares.

It's appropriate for canon, but it is ugly as hell. You have been warned.

(Masterpost including playlist)

*

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Jon is having the worst night.

His body won’t calm down.

His brain won’t shut up.

He could masturbate. It’s a thing.

But doing it in Elias’ house with Elias’ eyes everywhere just feels awful. Even if they’re not in this room.

…that he knows of.

Jon tries a cold, cold shower, and succeeds only in giving himself a headache.

By the time he lies down, he’s angry.

He didn’t ask for this. Never indicated he wanted it. Oh, now he does, sure, but it isn’t his idea, is it? No, it’s just… contagious, like some kind of disease.

This isn’t the person he wanted, but Michael is gone.

And Elias is here. And understands what he’s going through, even if he’s an asshole about all of it.

Part of Jon wonders if there will ever be anyone else.

If he even deserves anyone better. Maybe Elias is the best he should get—manipulative, controlling, frightening.

But at least Elias wants him.

(So does Michael, but Michael is gone.)

But why, though? Why would Elias want this? It’s not like Jon had lovers lined up, eager for a turn.

It made no sense.

Jon was missing something, some key explanation. Something that would answer the why.

He can’t read Elias. It’s never worked.

And he knows better than to ask, because the man will probably demand one intimacy violation per answer, or something.

A kiss a syllable, Jon thinks, feeling slightly hysterical.

He lies face-down in his pillow, telling his body to shut up right now, telling his brain to stop saying things that weaken his resolve.

Neither body nor brain go quiet.

He tries to think of anything else but Elias’ mouth.

Speaking of temptations….

He doesn’t want to consider that Salesa’s little sphere-of-darkness was incredibly tempting, too.

But it wasn’t a guide. It was just a way. An entryway, into the Dark—and, Salesa said, one-way only.

What the hell good would that do anyone?

Why would Annabelle offer this? Does she think he’s stupid? Does she think he’s that out of his mind, that he’d just plunge into the Dark without a plan, or hope, or any kind of exit? Surely there had to be easier ways to kill him off.

You need a guide, she said. There was no guide through the Dark. That was the entire point of it. What could she even mean?

Jon squeezes the pillow around his head. Maybe he can suffocate himself, and sleep that way.

Something taps on the window.

He groans.

No. No, he doesn’t want to see whatever is floating out there, or tossing tiny skulls, or scratching with twenty-foot fingernails. He wants his body to shut up, and he wants to go to sleep, and he wants it all to be over, and to retire to Wales with a cat and maybe some fluffy Scottish cows.

Tap tap.

Why isn’t Elias stopping this?

Jon goes still. And slowly, very slowly, rolls over.

His entire room is filled with webs.

They’re more obvious, now. Wall to wall, corner to floor, the edges of the ceiling and wall completely hidden in woven, white strands, and as his breathing grows fast and short and sharp, they flutter in response.

The good news is he no longer feels remotely turned on.

Tap, Tap.

Oh, look. They’ve left an opening. If he rolls off the bed and goes to the window, he won’t touch any web at all.

Or he could fight his way through that mummy-mass of weaving, and bust through the door.

Elias would help him. He knows this. Elias would absolutely know what to do.

And the payment would be…

Not payment, exactly. But there would be a cost.

Jon is not ready to pay it.

He lies there, trembling.

Tap, tap.

Twenty minutes pass.

Tap, tap.

Is it going to do this all night?

“I’ll outlast you,” he whispers, vowing.

Tap, tap, tap.

Quicker, that time. Like laughter.

Salesa’s words come back. So she is Web, so what? What do you expect me to do about it? Expect anyone to do about it? Nothing, that’s what we can do, so no use letting it bother.

Was that the reason he visited? To plant that idea in Jon’s head?

Maybe.

It’s not like Salesa was wrong.

You don’t resist the Web. Not really. Even if it doesn’t control you directly, it controls your circumstances, your situation, your environment, carefully tweaking things precisely so that you, with your free will, your nature-nurture instinct, will still do what She wants.

That's the concept, anyway. And it is terrible.

Of course it is. Like the rest, the Mother of Puppets feeds on fear.

Can Jon really put this off forever?

Yes, he thinks.

Except that there is no way the Mother hasn’t thought of that.

The one thing Jon would never do is willingly walk outside.

He closes his eyes.

What if… just what if… all this time, all these attempts, was not to sacrifice him to Mister Spider, but to put him in a position where he had to listen and not run away?

He doesn’t like the idea. It assigns far too little malevolence to the personification of the fear of being controlled.

But… it isn’t impossible, either.

Tap, tap.

What if he listened, said no, and it went away?

You know that’s not how this works, he chides himself.

Unfortunately, he knows this, too: that if he says and does nothing, it’s not going away for sure.

His chest tightens as he tries to see years in the future, decades of this, of the Web hinting and dropping terrifyingly cursed books, sending enemies to give him messages, tempting him with half of what he needs.

Forever.

He covers his face with both hands and exhales very slowly.

Elias can’t hear this, can’t see this, can’t sense this. How does Jon know? He knows.

The amount of power required for that is horrifying. Even Michael couldn’t pull it off for long, and this is Elias’ home base.

A lot of effort is being expended to make this happen tonight, and Jon has a bad feeling the Mother considers the cost worthwhile.

He’s tired.

Fuck, he thinks, and rolls out of bed.

No webs touch him as he goes to the window, heart in his throat, empty stomach doing wild and crazy flips.

Nothing is making him as he slides the window open, the Roxane to the Spider’s Cyrano.

That’s a really inaccurate analogy, he thinks, already ripping it apart, but then the window is wide, and he stares.

Annabelle Cane stands in the courtyard.

She is young and thin. Tall. A Black woman with bleach-blonde hair that does not quite hide the thick webbing covering the hole in her skull.

She is smiling. “I was beginning to think we’d need to hire a skywriter. Hello, Jonathan Sims.”

“What are you doing here?” he demands, trying to sound brave, trying not to let his teeth chatter.

“What do you think?” she says, friendly, her tone amused and humorous and pleasant.

“Just tell me.”

She shivers, closes her eyes for a moment, smiles. “You’ve made it very clear you’re not willing to talk unless you feel at least a little bit safe. So this is a compromise. You’re very lucky, Jonathan Sims.”

How was he supposed to take that?

Not to mention this was the first time an avatar of fear (apart from Elias) had not responded with anger to being compelled.

He doesn’t want to push his luck. “Wh… what do you want?”

“A better question is what you want, Jonathan Sims.”

That’s three times she’s called him by his name. Not Archivist. He frowns. (Is she being intentionally personable? Is it manipulation? Does she want something in my capacity as Jon and not as the Archivist? What is going on?) “Stop… dancing around and answer me.”

“Why do you think I’m here?”

“Why would I know? You’ve been stalking me since I was eight years old!”

She ignores that. “Let’s try a different line of thought. What good would the Unknowing be to the The Spinner of Schemes, The Hidden Machination, the great Spider herself?”

Jon opens his mouth. Pauses.

It suddenly hits him that the Fears are being divided neatly down a very simple line, and he sees—knows—who falls on each side.

The Corruption doesn’t care if victims know nothing. That’s rot, stench, suffering. Understanding not required.

The Buried doesn’t care if no one knows what anything is. You don’t have to know anything to be crushed and choked, forever deep below creation.

The Dark, similarly, requires little knowledge; it is blindness and helplessness, fear only aided by not knowing what’s there with you, eating your flesh.

The Desolation? It’s about pain, burning, and one does not have to be able to define it to feel it.

The Flesh? Hard to say. He has a strange feeling Jared doesn’t give a damn either way.

But the Eye is knowledge.

The Web requires understanding to manipulate, to birth fear.

The Spiral relies on knowing things so one can doubt them.

The Vast only works if one knows there should be solid ground, knows how small one is in the face of the universe.

The Slaughter engenders fear specifically from the terror of murder—not the pain of it, but knowledge of the actual act.

The Lonely doesn’t work unless you know that you are inescapably alone.

The Hunt needs understanding that you are being hunted, are prey, and it is after you.

Even the End can only drink fear if one knows one is alive, and can lose that life.

Jon’s eyes are very wide.

Annabelle waits. She doesn’t have to do anything more.

Planting a seed, Jon thinks bitterly, because now that he sees this, he can’t unsee it. “So why offer me—wait. You say what you’re offering me, instead of me assuming.”

“What do you think we’re offering?” Annabelle says, positively playful.

“I am going to shut this window if you do that again,” says Jon.

“Sorry about that,” says Annabelle. “Explaining things, giving answers like this… it’s not what I am. It’s difficult, against my nature.”

“If the Distortion could manage it, I’m fairly sure you have a solid shot,” Jon snaps.

She grins. “We bring a goodwill offering, Jonathan Sims, but also a needful tool. The Mother has looked at every angle, followed every strand. If you go to stop the Stranger without a door, all but you will die. But if you have one—if you have that way to get out before it’s too late—you have a ninety-seven point eight percent chance that everyone lives.”

She might as well have swung a hammer directly into his stomach.

It stuns him, knocks out his breath—and couldn’t have been more what he wanted than if he’d planned it himself. Everyone lives. “So you’re offering a way to retrieve Michael.”

“Is that what—sorry. Yes.”

“Why not do it yourselves?”

“Because you are the Archivist.” She shrugs. “With a little help, you can make it through the Dark, find the book, and get out again. I promise you there is not one other person in this world who could—even with our guidance.”

“People of the Dark, maybe,” Jon mutters.

“Yes. But they’d never retrieve the book. It’s delighting their Mister Pitch too much to be holding a part of an enemy inside itself, helpless.”

Jon is breathing quickly again. “Mister Pitch is real?”

“Anything humans fear enough, worship enough, is real,” says Annabelle. “I’m out of time—what we did to keep your host unaware had a short shelf-life. I suggest you tell him most of the truth when he comes in. He’ll be pretty upset—and you don’t lie very well.” She looks so amused. “You and I will talk again. Soon.”

Jon is shaking. “No more books. No more Mister Spider.”

She tilts her head.

The silence is bad.

He swallows.

“Then you’ll be willing to talk to me of your own free will?” she says, and she doesn’t make air quotes, but she might as well have done.

Oh, gods, what is he doing? “Without being… tricked or trapped? Traumatized further? I… on my terms. Fine. Yes. My terms.”

“Of course. We need you, Jonathan Sims. You’re very lucky that way; the strands of your life have a lot of flexibility.”

“That’s not actually encouraging, you know,” he mutters.

She winks, turns, and walks right out the side gate, casual as anything, and the moment she’s through, Elias slams the door open.

Elias’s silk robe is half-on, his pajamas and hair both mussed. It’s the most undone Jon has ever seen him.

And that looks like genuine fear.

Rage, yes, heating its edges red, but fear.

Jon is so tired. He closes the window.

Elias is on him, pulling him away from the window, shoving him against the wall. “What happened?”

“Annabelle Cane was in your yard,” says Jon, weary.

Elias is studying him. For what, Jon doesn’t know; spider legs in his nose? Webs, dangling from his ears? “What did she do?” Elias demands, and that is a terrifying tone. It is not directed at him, but it is frightening, the full wrath of one who knows how to harm. How to kill.

Jon swallows. “She says the Web wants to work with us to stop the Unknowing.”

Elias makes a disbelieving sound. “Did she touch you?”

“What? No. She was on the ground.”

Elias doesn’t seem sure. He’s still looking, burning into Jon, as if searching him down to the marrow.

Jon keeps his thoughts surface-level. It’s easy, this tired. “She didn’t get me, Elias,” he says, softly. “I think she actually wanted to talk.”

“She could have taken you,” Elias says, low and rough. “I’d thought… she could have taken you back, and I wouldn't have even…”

Jon blinks at him. “Back?”

Elias meets his eyes again.

It feels like staring down a train, coming full speed, too much mass and inertia to dream of stopping in time.

“You are sleeping in my bed tonight,” Elias says.

“No!” says Jon.

“Not for sex. For safety. This,” Elias holds up a small necklace; from it dangles a glass bead that looks like an eye with a crack directly across the pupil, “was slipped into my nightstand at some unknown time. However it happened, there will be repercussions.”

“Not like you can stop the Web,” says Jon.

“This is not about stopping,” he snarls. “This is about making the cost too high to fuck with me again.”

Jon has never heard Elias swear before, in all the years he’s worked for him.

He also—in spite of comments to Tim about physique—did not truly appreciate Elias’ strength. He is not given a choice about moving to Elias’ room. He is all but carried.

It would be terrifying if Elias were focused on him at all, but the man is not. Jon is deposited, and then Elias is on the phone, and pacing, and ignoring him completely.

Jon stares at the bed like it’s a mousetrap. It’s a king-size. The blankets are mussed; Elias clearly sprang out of it in a hurry.

Jon stands against the wall, half-fantasizing about sleeping in the bathtub.

Elias, fortunately, does not seem to be in the mood anymore. He makes several calls, snarling about boundaries and consequences and penalties.

“Yes. Do it,” he finally says, hangs up, and looks over at Jon.

Jon has made himself as small as possible.

“Oh, relax, Jon, I’m not going to maul you like a bear,” Elias snaps, and moves to the other side of the bed. “Do your best to sleep. Tomorrow, we are making plans to blow up the Circus.”

“Swear it,” says Jon, feeling like a child.

The look Elias gives him is fitting for that feeling, but he sighs. “I swear I will not touch you tonight. Now lie down.”

Jon flinches. He feels what’s not being said here, that he can have his space tonight, that he can be in his blanket fortress until Elias decides enough, that Jon will give in, will be taken, but since it’s late, he can have this inch of autonomy as a treat.

His throat tightens.

But what else is he going to do? Where else can he possibly go?

Either he’ll be alone, and something far worse than Elias will get him, or he’ll endanger anyone kind enough and foolish enough to take him in.

Jon feels like he’s lost a battle he didn’t even know he was fighting. He hangs his head and inches onto the edge of the bed, then mummies himself. The blankets are up to his eyes.

The sheets smell good, of course.

And then he remembers that he might be able to save Michael, and in spite of himself, in spite of the distracting awareness of Elias breathing behind him, Jon’s heart lifts.

He’s going to rescue Michael. Or at least, he’s going to try.

Stop thinking like that, he tells himself, because it’s not guaranteed, because it means going into the Dark, because Michael probably doesn’t want to see him and will take off like a dove the moment it’s set free.

But Jon can’t help that tiny little ray of joy. It feels better than anything has in a long time.

He thinks about Michael as he drifts off, and, half-asleep, realizes why Michael’s approach to seduction had been better than Elias’s.

Elias relied on overwhelming him. Flooding him; maybe making him mindless so he agreed without thinking it through.

Michael… did not do that, even though it was obvious it could. The Distortion’s control of Jon’s senses was terrifyingly precise, and elegantly demonstrated.

But Michael did not overwhelm him, short-circuit him, leave him writhing and out of his head.

Michael asked permission.

Michael gave Jon a choice.

That choice made Jon want to say yes. Funny, how that worked. This joins the little bit of joy in his heart.

Whatever happens, Jon thinks, he doesn’t think he’s going to choose Elias. Even if Michael runs away.

He has so little choice in his life. This one, simple thing matters.

“I will help you when you dream,” murmurs Elias.

Jon tucks his revelation deep in his heart, resolves not to think about it, and hopes Elias is telling the truth.

#

Nikola.

Ringmaster’s uniform, painted-on face.

Plastic hands deep in Jon’s body, gripping his skin and peeling it down like a thick and meaty sock.

He screams, and he screams, and he screams.

Elias.

Pulling him away, reaching from behind and around his chest like he’s saving Jon from drowning.

But then he doesn’t do things like Michael, doesn’t help Jon to know this isn’t real.

Instead, he holds Jon against his chest, tight, trapped, reaches up, and pries open both of Jon’s eyes with his fingers.

Jon is watching himself be skinned.

Gripped, Jon gasps; cries out; screams weakly as he watches, sees Nikola stretch her new trophy over herself, smearing blood and fatty tissue, tearing and distorting his features so it is Jon’s face she wears, and Jon’s hands she waves, and her bell-clear laugh comes from his wide-open, ever-screaming mouth.

Jon cries.

Elias does not let him go.

And the Beholding feeds.

Thrums through Jon, filling him with energy and power and easing his pain until Elias no longer needs to hold his eyes open anymore, but stays, holding him close, watching Jon’s skin contort.

Watching it be used.

And the intensity of Jon’s gaze grows, heats, until his ever-open eyes do not sting but they burn, and everywhere his gaze falls begins to snap and tatter and sizzle, and Nikola screams as the fingers she’s stolen burst apart to reveal her own unmoving plastic ones beneath.

And Jon stares at the Dance, and stares at the Strangers, and anger quickens his breath, and the Beholding surges into his fear and his rage and his pain, like a sluice-gate opened, through him like many waters, seeing them so deeply that they boil and quake and reduce to what is, lies cooked off, masks rendered down.

Until all that remains is a twitching dendrite of plastic limbs and old, brown blood.

Elias kisses his neck. Jon cannot look at him. Cannot look away.

The dream shifts, and now there are statement givers, parading their way through his nightly journey. Doctor Elliot is there, and Naomi Herne is there, and Trevor Herbert is there, and Julia Montauk is there, and Georgie is there, and Jon watches them all without memory of blinking, held from behind, and Elias kisses his neck and watches Jon feed their god.

(part twelve)

[solartranslations]

AF2 Dante Chapter 6 (12/24): A Large Contract and a Small Promise

The two of them have been captured. Her being passed out is a painful sight…

~*Scene: Casa Bianca Underground*~

Felicita: …

Gli Amanti: You two have faced quite the defeat

Felicita: (…Tell me. Was Vir telling the truth?)

Felicita: (He’s really your creator and can’t be harmed by the Tarocco…?)

Gli Amanti: You may not want to believe it, but it is the truth

Felicita: (Then…)

Gli Amanti: He only deals with others through contracts

Felicita: (Contracts…)

Gli Amanti: You have the choice to obey him if you value your life

Felicita: (You want us to surrender?)

Gli Amanti: I said you had the choice. But it is ultimately up to you

Felicita: (I…just want to help Dante…)

Gli Amanti: Then, you can also form a contract with him

Gli Amanti: Those red armbands are proof of his contracts. If you want something from him, those are necessary for a contract

Gli Amanti: The color red symbolizes gold

Gli Amanti: Or would it be easier to call them stigmata?

Felicita: (……)

Gli Amanti: Once the contract is fulfilled, the armbands may be discarded. The choice is yours to make

Felicita: (Choice…)

Felicita: Ugh…

(*gets up)

Dante: You’re awake, Ojou-san?

Felicita: Dante…! Where are we…?

Dante: We seem to be beneath Casa Bianca

Dante: Despite capturing us, he doesn’t seem intent on taking us anywhere

Dante: Maybe the bad history of this place is of use to him

Felicita: These chains…

Felicita: I wonder what he’s going to do with us…

Dante: …

Felicita: How are your wounds?

Dante: Nothing serious. But more importantly…I needed up putting you in danger…

Felicita: I’m alright

Dante: You’re not hurt? But didn’t you fight Vir?

Felicita: I’m fine. And I’m much more worried about you

Dante: It’s nothing a good night’s sleep can’t fix

Felicita: …At least let me look at it

Dante: Alright. Thank you

Felicita: But…I’m glad I came with you

Dante: Even though it ended up like this?

Felicita: Well, if I’d stayed in Regalo or Nordia, I wouldn’t have been able to help you

Felicita: It may be small, but since we’re together, I can at least treat your wounds

Dante: Ojou-san…

Felicita: I won’t leave your side… Because I know I can help somehow

Dante: …I’m sorry

(*creak)

Vir: Sorry if I’m interrupting…

Felicita: Vir…

Vir: Relax, I won’t do anything. Not that you can resist like that anyway

Dante: Your tastes are truly incomprehensible

Felicita: ……

Vir: I really won’t do anything. As long as you do as I say

Felicita: We’d never listen to you…

Vir: Haha, are you sure? Even if your precious lover is in pain?

Dante: Ojou-san, don’t listen to him

Felicita: What do you mean?

Vir: I mean that the regression of his physical age has caused a lot of damage that isn’t obvious

Felicita: No way…

Vir: What I want is your “Wheel of Fortune”. If you use your powers for me, I’ll help Dante

Felicita: ……

Felicita: (Is Vir being truthful? I want to check, but…)

Felicita: (I can’t use Gli Amanti… but if I could see into his heart…)

~*Flashback*~

Vir: The Tarocco cannot turn against their creator

Vir: Attacking me is the same as attacking themselves

~*End Flashback*~

Felicita: (I’ll…)

>Use “The Lovers”

(No Amore)

>Find another way

(+20 Amore)

Felicita: If it’s to help Dante, I’m not scared of anything…

Dante: Ojou-san…!

Felicita: It’s alright, Dante

Felicita: (But, there’s nothing we can use here…)

Vir: Or, you can wait and freeze to death here. Your choice

Felicita: …

Dante: Ojou-san, you can’t…

Felicita: (I need to help Dante, fast…!)

❤≪Vir≫

???: The word “shallow” suits you. Don’t you think, Gli Amanti?

???: (I can’t see very well here)

Felicita: !!

Dante: Ojou-san!

Felicita: Ugh…

Dante: Do you…sense that anything has changed!?

Vir: How foolish. I just told you that the Tarocco’s powers are ineffective on me

Vir: Just like his regression…you will naturally be subject to a punishment

Felicita: I don’t feel any different…

Vir: On the outside. In your case, the change seems to have occurred to The Lovers’ powers

Dante: What do you mean…

Vir: If you have the courage, why not try touching Dante? You should be able to see into his heart from just that

Felicita: …!

Vir: Whether you will it or not, that is

Vir: Now it will be difficult for you to touch anyone…including the one you love

Felicita: ……

Vir: *laugh*…Since people often have unsightly thoughts they can’t say aloud

Vir: But if you want to save him that badly, I can help you

Felicita: …Is that the only way?

Dante: Ojou-san, don’t! Don’t worry about me…

>I want to save you, Dante

(+40 Amore)

>I won’t just leave you

(+20 Amore)

Dante: I know that. I don’t want to cause you pain

Felicita: Then you should understand how I feel…

Felicita: You’re the one I care about the most

Dante: …!

Felicita: …Fine. I’ll help you

Dante: Ojou-san!

Vir: Good. And sorry to disappoint, but you won’t be using your powers for anything bad

Vir: I did want to talk this out peacefully at first, you know

Dante: How can you say that with how suspicious you’ve been acting…

Vir: Come then, fated one. Let’s form a contract

~*Scene: Casa Bianca Outside*~

Felicita: Do I use them now?

Vir: No, not yet. I’d like you to use the Wheel of Fortune according to my instructions

Felicita: If I do, will you do something for me? It’s an equivalent exchange, right?

Vir: Is helping your lover not enough?

Felicita: But you haven’t actually done anything to help him

Vir: Oh. Then what do you want?

Felicita: I want you…to destroy the Tarocco

Felicita: Dante always said…that we would be better off without these powers

Felicita: So I’m sure doing this will help Dante

Vir: How interesting. But that’s not an equivalent exchange. It’s too greedy

Felicita: No it isn’t. The compensation needed to use the Wheel of Fortune is heavy for me

Vir: …That’s pushing it. But, fine. Though I will burden you another way

Vir: Wear this armband so it’s visible. Usually, I’d allow you to keep it hidden

Vir: But that will be the extra request. It’ll show that you are mine

Vir: Can you handle that?

Felicita: If I wear this, you’ll destroy the Tarocco?

Vir: It goes without saying. That is all I have to offer you

Felicita: Doing this will save Dante…

Vir: We are short on time

Felicita: Fine. I’ll wear it

Vir: We have a deal then

~*Scene: Nord Harbor*~

Vir: I still have business here. You two can go find an inn

Dante: …You’re not worried we’ll run?

Vir: Is Arcana Famiglia really that dishonest?

Vir: Besides, we have a contract. She’s the one who’ll pay if you run

Felicita: ……

Vir: These are tickets for a ship leaving tomorrow. Don’t be late

Vir: Ah, yes. Tomorrow is Natale

Felicita: ……

Felicita: (I did promise to spend Natale with Dante)

Felicita: (It feels like such a long time ago…)

Dante: You must be tired, Ojou-san. We should rest. You can tell me the details of your contract with Vir

Felicita: Yeah…

~*Scene: Nord Harbor*~

Dante: …So that’s what Vir asked for…

Felicita: I couldn’t think of any other way to save you…

(*pat) Dante: Don’t be sorry. You did well

Felicita: Yeah…

Dante: What’s wrong?

Felicita: Nothing. He said I would see your thoughts if we touched, but it looks like it’s fine if I don’t initiate

Dante: You didn’t see anything just now?

Felicita: No. Want to try it out, Dante?

❤≪Dante≫

Pain: I can’t believe Ojou-san sacrificed herself to help me…that armband being a sign that she “belongs to Vir” hurts the most

Love: I’m just glad you’re safe

Arcana: I don’t mind my new appearance or the change in Ojou-san’s powers. What’s the point of these punishments?

Person: It seems like Vir holds the keys to everything

Dante: Well?

Felicita: It looks like…if I don’t touch someone of my own will, it doesn’t happen

Dante: I see…then I’ll be the one to. I have a right to share my warmth with you

Felicita: …Yeah

Dante: But, Ojou-san. I don’t mind if you want to touch me

Dante: I’ll always think about how much I love you, so you can see it at any time

Felicita: Love…

Dante: You may end up wanting to return to that small house out of fear of touching others, right?

Dante: Since it may be difficult for you to bear seeing the depths of people’s hearts without meaning to…

Felicita: ……

Dante: So to put you at ease…I’ll fill my heart with love towards you

Dante: *kiss*

Felicita: Dante…

Dante: Don’t forget. Your life is what I treasure the most…

Dante: If the Tarocco is destroyed, stigmatas will also disappear. And so will our powers…

Felicita: Will you go back to normal too?

Dante: Haha, do you like how I look now better?

Felicita: …I don’t know yet. But, it makes my heart race

Dante: …Yes, I see that. I can tell even from here

Dante: Tomorrow is Natale too

Felicita: I’m happy I get to spend it with you as promised

Dante: Though it is much different than anticipated

Dante: …Oh, that’s right

Felicita: What’s this…?

Dante: It’ll be a bit late, but I’ll give you your present when we return to Regalo

Dante: So tie this ribbon around your finger, and think of it as a placeholder until then

Felicita: If I’m with you, I don’t need anything else

Dante: I still want to give you something, and see you smile when we get home. Until then…

Felicita: Okay, I’ll do my best…

~*End of Scene*~

(Continue to Dante Chapter 7)

(Back to Directory)

[sixpossumsinatrenchcoat]

The things we leave behind: MISERY

In part 4 (of 6) of my post-true end Headspace AU, Hero grapples with his past. Sunny grapples with Omori. (Hero & Sunny's siblinghood is very important to me!!!! So you can expect this one to be silly & sad in equal measure.) You can start from Chapter 1 here: ao3.org/works/45213322/chapters/113743957

MISERY

Omori isn’t on his laptop this time. He’s not drawing in his sketchbook, either. He’s sitting very still with both arms wrapped around his knees, staring at Sunny the same way you’d look at a spider that just spun its web over your bed.

Sunny stares back at him. “Are you going to stab me again?”

“I won’t apologize,” Omori says, without heat. He doesn’t look angry. He just looks tired.

“That’s not what I asked.”

Omori doesn’t answer. He just stands up and slouches to the door.

###

They find Hero in the classroom in the depths of Sprout Mole Village.

He doesn’t look very comfortable. Which makes sense. The desks here were built for sprout moles, and sprout moles rarely grow much taller than a terrier. Whereas Hero is six terriers tall, at least.

He couldn’t even fit into a chair. He’s just sitting on the ground with his legs sticking out and his knees kinked up like a cricket’s. The pencil he’s using is basically a toothpick. It’s a miracle that he can write without snapping it in half.

“Hero,” Sunny says calmly.

—The toothpick snaps.

“Sunny??” Hero beckons him over, frantic. “Quick, find a desk before the teacher gets back. I can’t believe I forgot the exam was today; I haven’t screwed up this bad since I was—ugh—I don’t think I’ve ever screwed up this bad. But you still have—” He checks his watch. “Oh my god. Six minutes? That’s not even enough to scrape a passing grade. Oh my god, I’m really not going to graduate. I’m going to be a 26-year-old high schooler. I was supposed to take the boards next year and now they’re going to laugh me out of—”

“Hero,” Sunny says again.

“Shh!” He darts a nervous glance toward the front of the classroom, but the coast is still clear. “What?”

“You already graduated.”

“I did? I… did. Yeah. I did, didn’t I? So why am I—” Realization dawns. “Oh. I’m… dreaming?”

Sunny nods.

“Oh.” Hero tries to stand up, but only manages to bang his knee on the underside of his ridiculously tiny desk. “Well. Good.”

“Hero.”

“What?”

“Your nightmares are really lame.”

“They’re not always like this!” Hero says defensively. “I’m under a lot of stress!”

“Okay.” Whatever helps him sleep at night. “Now come with me.”

Hero looks suspicious. “What? Why?”

“Because I’m asking.”

“Oh, alright,” he sighs. “Just let me get through this page, or I’m never going to—”

“You already graduated.”

“Shit. I mean—shoot. I mean—ugh. Okay. Yeah. I guess let’s just go.”

###

Sunny doesn’t bother with the details. Hero’s brain is very good at rebooting to factory settings. Even if Sunny tried to explain, he’d probably get halfway only to turn around and find Hero trying to take another exam. More efficient to cut to the chase.

“Someone needs your help,” he says.

Hero straightens up. “Someone’s hurt?”

“Nnn…maybe?” Sunny thinks about it. “No. I don’t know. Probably not physically.”

“Oh,” Hero says, frowning. “Well. Who is it?”

Sunny hesitates. He doesn’t like to lie, but the only person who Hero isn’t interested in helping is Hero. “Tell you later.”

Hero rolls his eyes, but he stops asking questions.

###

Hero seems strangely at ease keeping company with two Sunny’s. He doesn’t even ask any questions. But as they close in on the nearest Pluto stop, he finally hesitates.

“Hey, Sunny?” He looks between Sunny to Omori. “Uh. Whichever Sunny, I guess. What is it you need me to do, exactly? I can do a better job if I know what to expect.”

Sunny frowns. He isn’t sure how to explain it. It would be easier if he knew what was going on with Headspace Hero. But it doesn’t look like Omori is planning on clearing that up anytime soon. “Um. Have you ever played Persona 4?”

“What? No. What is that, a computer game?”

Wow. What year is it again? Then again, it’s not really a surprise. Hero’s schedule doesn’t leave a lot of space for dungeon crawling. And besides. The fourth installment iterated on the formula in a lot of mechanically practical ways, but it was also… really homophobic. Like. Pretty distractingly homophobic. And don’t get Sunny started on their clumsy attempt at a trans narrative.

“Sunny?” Hero says again.

“Mh?”

“Why do you ask?”

What? Oh. “Don’t worry about it.”

“So… that’s not why you need my help?”

Sunny gives him a scathing look. “Like you could help me with a videogame.”

“Of course he can,” Omori cuts in, unexpectedly. It’s the first thing he’s said since they picked up Hero. “Hero can do anything.”

“Hah!! Wow. Aw, Sunny, what happened?” When he reaches out to ruffle Omori’s hair, Omori actually lets him. “You used to be such a sweet kid.”

Sunny frowns. No, he didn’t. “No I didn’t.”

“Pfft,” Hero snorts. “Yeah. I guess you were always a brat.”

Omori’s gone quiet again. He’s watching them with an expression that Sunny’s never seen on him, or maybe anyone. It’s bitter. Resigned. Sort of like envy, but from someone who’s already accepted that they’re never going to get what they want.

Sunny’s head tilts. “...Omori?”

That seems to break the spell. Omori flinches, then turns coldly away. “Just don’t fall behind.”

###

They catch a ride on Captain Kel’s spaceship, presumably to save time. It couldn’t be because Hero’s already wheezing just from the climb out of Sprout Mole Village. Omori has many talents, but 'consideration for others’ has never been one of them.

“Hah HAH!!!” the captain shouts, once Sunny’s clambered up the rope ladder and onto the deck. “Welcome aboard, mateys!! Where are we headed?”

Sunny has no idea. But he’s glad to see Kel back in the troposphere.

He’s even gladder when two fluffy pink ears pop up from behind the steering wheel. Headspace Aubrey is looking cuter than ever with her hair pulled back in a hot-pink ponytail and two long, candy-colored ears twitching overhead. Sunny resists the urge to pat her like a puppy. He's not looking to get stabbed again.

“Are you stupid or something?” Bunbrey demands, whacking the tricorn hat clear off of Kel’s head. “Obviously we’re going to go save Hero! Look, Omori even brought his wrinkly old clone!” She stops to frown critically at the real Hero, who's finally dragged himself onto the deck. "Why do you look so tired? Mari says you have to get enough sleep, or else your brain won't grow right. And it's bad for your skin. Mari said."

“Hhh,” Hero wheezes.

“HaHAH!!” Kel bellows, not dampened in the slightest. “First Mate Spaceboy!! Chart a path… to adventure!!!”

Aubrey wrinkles her nose at him. “First Mate Spaceboy, chart a path to the Deep Well, please. Thank you.”

###

The Last Resort has grown since Sunny saw it last. It’s less like a casino you’d find outside a gas station on the border of Nevada, and more like a casino you’d find on the strip in Las Vegas. Flashing lights, bustling crowds. Glittering fountains cascading to the rhythm of syrupy-smooth jazz. Huge, roving spotlights that cast the whole seafloor in azure and gold.

When Omori moves to disembark, Captain Kel and Bunbrey follow close behind. But before they can step onto the ladder, Omori pops back into view and shakes his head.

“What!!!” Captain Kel sputters. “Why!!!”

“We’re not looking for a fight,” Omori says calmly. “And you’ve still got that lifetime ban.”

Bunbrey stamps her feet. “But I wanna help!!!”

“Then keep the engine running.”

###

The first floor still throngs with Gator Guys, but they’re not primed to attack. Now they’re just running the tables—and, clearly, raking in the clams. Running a blackjack table must be a lot more profitable than picking fights with random children.

Omori doesn’t stop to play the slots. He beelines for the elevator and doesn’t slow down till they reach the colossal door to Jawsum’s reception office. Sunny can hear someone talking on the other side of the door. It’s a high voice, a little nasal and a lot familiar.

“Hello? Please hold. Hello? Please hold. Hello? Oh, yes, Mr. Dino, sir, the Chairman is ever-so-excited to speak with you! Please hold for just a teensie moment and I’ll transfer you to his direct line.”

Omori throws the door back and stomps through, with Sunny close on his heels.

When he sees who’s manning the desk, Sunny stops short. It’s Sweetheart. Sweetheart is Jawsum’s new receptionist. She's tied her twintails up into a pair of puffy space buns, and swapped the ballgown for a powder-pink button-down with a sailor collar and a neat pencil skirt. But it is very much still Sweetheart. When the door swings open, she looks up with a wide, vacuous smile, which quickly turns into a glare.

“You again,” she says coldly, to Omori in particular. “What is it this time?”

“I have an appointment.”

She looks down at her schedule and grimaces. “Ugh. So you do. I suppose you think that means that I’m going to let you through.”

Sunny did think that, yes.

“Well, I won’t! Children are disgusting. And you carry all sorts of diseases. The Chairman is a very busy man. Far too busy for horrible little rats like you.”

Omori looks nonplussed.

Sunny looks to Hero, who rakes a hand through his hair and sighs. “Right. Okay. Um, excuse me, miss—” He stops to read her nameplate. “Miss… Sweetheart. We really need to speak with the—”

(Chairman, Sunny mouths.)

“—the Chairman, if it isn’t too much trouble. We don’t mind waiting! Or if you’re understaffed, maybe I could give you a hand? I know how it is to work too many hours.” He smiles at her, disarmingly rueful. “It’s okay if there’s nothing you can do. Honest! I’d hate to make your life any harder than it has to be. But if there’s anything I can do to help, to—take something off your plate, or…”

Sweetheart’s eyes narrow, but her heart-shaped mouth curves up.

“Well, aren’t you charming,” she says sourly. “Hmph. I suppose I could make an exception, just this once.”

“You’d do that for us?” Hero leans across the counter to give her a heartbreakingly genuine smile. “Wow. You’ve really made my day. If you ever need a favor, you know who to call.”

Sweetheart was already weak to Hero when he was a barefoot 16-year-old in pajamas. She never stood a chance. “Ohhh, just—go on already!! Just keep it short. The Chairman is a very busy man.”

###

Before going inside, Sunny grabs Omori by the elbow. “Is this going to be a fight?”

“Who cares.”

“Oh,” Hero says, a little sheepish. “Um. I guess I do? I, uh. Don’t really fight.”

“It’s fine,” Omori grits out. “It’s— You’ll be fine. You can… trust me.”

Sunny’s eyebrows go up. He’s never seen Omori act that accommodating for anyone. It’s sort of unsettling, actually.

But Hero just smiles. “Thanks, Sunn— Oh, I’m sorry. Sunny called you something different, didn’t he? What do you like to be called?”

Omori looks surprised, and then strangely despondent. “...It doesn’t matter. Let’s just get this over with.”

###

Jawsum’s office room has undergone some renovations since the last time Sunny saw it. The whimsical porthole windows are gone, along with the steering wheels above the doors. Now it’s all black glass and smoothly varnished wood. And it’s immaculate. There isn’t a speck of dust or sneaker-scuff or spiderweb to be seen. It looks sterile. Clean. Modern, but in the stripped-down, Apple Store sense of the word.

The desk is still enormous, though. And the chair. The chair looks about big enough to live in.

When Omori clears his throat, that colossal office chair spins around to face him. From where Sunny’s standing, it looks like it’s empty. But when he stretches onto his toes, he can see a few tufts of dark brown hair.

—Oh. It’s not Jawsum. It’s Hero. (The other Hero.)

Headspace Hero leaps to his feet, hurrying around the desk to clasp Omori’s hand in both of his. “Omori! What a pleasant surprise! Did you change your mind about that job offer?”

“No.”

“Haha, hey, I hear ya! Just keep sleeping on it! It’s a great opportunity, you know. Something like this could really put you on the right track.” The Chairman smiles wide, baring a mouthful of dagger-sharp teeth. “There’s nothing wrong with a little nepotism, Omori. I could cut you one hell of a deal.”

He must have outgrown the pajamas. This Hero is sharply dressed in a pinstriped three-piece suit. His shiny silver cufflinks are set with real amethysts, and his once-messy hair is slicked back from his face. He looks like the Wolf of Wall Street. Like a shark that crawled out of the ocean and started selling car insurance.

“And who’s this, now!” Bossman Hero prowls forward, pacing a full circle around Sunny and Hero before giving Omori a sly smile. “Omori, you scamp! Is this some kind of prank? It’s very funny, of course, but you really shouldn’t make an appointment for something like this.”

Omori huffs a breath. “Kel’s back,” he says shortly. “From space.”

“Great!! Wonderful!! That’s wonderful to hear!! It’s dangerous up there.”

“Aubrey, too. She was hoping to see you.”

“Sure, sure, of course! I’d love to see her! I should have some availability in, let’s see… Sweetheart!”

“Yes, Mr. Chairman?” Materializing at his elbow to give Omori a snide smile.

“Where’s there space on my schedule, darlin’?”

“Not for a few weeks yet, I’m afraid,” she says sweetly. “No further commitments till the merger goes through, you said, Mr. Hero. You made me promise.”

“Right, right, the merger!!” Bossman Hero turns to clasp Omori’s hand in both of his. “Omori. I’m so glad to see you doing so well. Playing, and… pulling pranks, and all that. But we all have to grow up sometime. It was fun, going on adventures with everyone! Sometimes I wish we could have stayed like that forever. But there comes a time when you have to leave those childish things behind.”

“Childish things like your brother?” Omori asks coldly.

“I offered him a position,” the Chairman shrugs. “He just needs to apply himself.”

“And like Aubrey.”

“That girl’s got a good head on her shoulders! You just wait. She’ll come around.”

Omori doesn’t say anything, but his shoulders droop. He looks smaller, somehow, than when they first arrived. Sunny’s never seen him look so young. Like a little kid who found out that his parents won’t be home for Christmas. If Sunny didn’t know better, he’d say that Omori’s feelings were hurt.

But that’s impossible.

Sunny knows how it feels to be Omori. In a fairly real sense, Sunny’s been Omori. He spent years of his life hiding in the recesses of Omori’s subconscious mind. So he knows firsthand that Omori doesn’t get his feelings hurt. Omori was made to feel nothing. A living exoskeleton, immunized against hurt and hate and heartbreak. Emotions wash over Omori and then fall cleanly away, like water off a duck’s back. He only feels sad if it gives him the advantage in a fight.

But even so… the way he looks—

Before he can stop himself, Sunny’s already stepped between them. “What about Mari. Is she just something you outgrew?”

He’s braced for anger, or aggression outright. But Boss Hero doesn’t flinch. It’s more like he… flickers. For just a second, Sunny can see straight through him. Like someone walking past a projector.

—Then the image stutters, and the Chairman is back. Sunny’s eye narrows. A hologram.

“Look,” Bossman Hero says earnestly, sidestepping Sunny to give Omori a firm pat on the shoulder. “I love ya, kid, I really do. I’m always glad to see you. But I’m fine! There’s no need to worry. It’s just… not a good time.”

“Right,” Omori mutters.

Sunny’s still scanning the room. No matter where he looks, he can’t see the projector. But then— “Where is it projected from?”

The Chairman’s smile sharpens. “Respectfully, Omori, I don’t think that’s any of your business.”

Omori shakes himself off and turns back toward the door. “Come on,” he tells Sunny and (the real) Hero. “This is all we can do from here.”

“Give Kel a firm handshake for me, eh?” Bossman Hero calls after him. “And tell Aubrey that offer still stands!”

###

“Why is he being like that?” Sunny asks quietly, on the way out of the Chairman’s office. He’s never seen the real Hero act like that. All forced smiles and lying eyes, like he’s never been sad a day in his life.

Hero winces. “R-Right. I guess you weren’t there for that part.”

But that explains literally nothing. Sunny just stares, waiting for an explanation.

It doesn’t take long. “Well. Uh. I guess he… probably thinks he’s just being responsible. That he’s got to hold it together, for everyone’s sake. So he won’t be a burden, or… make anyone worry.”

“But they’re still worried.” Probably more worried than if Boss Hero wasn’t pretending to be fine.

“...Yeah.”

Sunny sighs. “You should never do your hair like that.”

“It looked bad, huh?”

“It looked bad.”

###

When the office door swings open, Sunny finds himself nose-to-nose with a tyrannosaurus rex in shutter shades.

“Haha, heya, Boss! It’s great to—” Dino lowers his shades. “Oh, it’s you kids. Hey, kids!”

“Go get hit by a meteor,” Omori spits.

Dino shakes his head. “Not cool.”

“Sorry about him,” Hero says, cringingly. “It’s been a long night. Um… Best of luck with your pitch!”

###

“I hope you’ve learned your lesson,” Sweetheart says snootily, as they shuffle past her desk.

Sunny absolutely did not. From the look on his face, Omori didn’t, either. But Hero’s a little more cooperative.

“Haha, yeah. More or less. Thanks a lot for your help, though. Really! We really appreciate it. Especially at such a stressful time.” His face darkens a little as he glances back toward the Chairman’s office. “...I don’t get it. What’s the deal with this merger? How could it be more important than his family?”

Sweetheart gives him a suspicious stare. Hero smiles back at her, guileless.

Confronted with his obvious good nature, Sweetheart softens. "The Chairman is an exceptional specimen,” she tells him kindly. “It’s his hand at the helm which keeps this whole place afloat, you know. He sees the big picture. Much, much bigger than your tiny, insignificant lives. You couldn’t begin to understand.”

“Haha, yeah. For sure. Makes sense.”

Sunny has bigger fish to fry. “What’s the point?” he asks bluntly. Why would Boss Hero even want to buy the Food Pyramid? The Orange Oasis is all the way on the other side of Headspace, far to the west and a million miles overhead. And it’s not like they can move it.

“Hmph! If you must know, the Chairman intends to leverage their resources. Mr. Dino’s excavation equipment is of exemplary quality.”

“Hero’s digging?” Omori asks sharply. “For what?”

Sweetheart turns her nose up at him. “Well! I don’t believe that’s any of your business. Now, if you’re quite finished, I believe it’s long past time for you children to leave. Unless you’d prefer to be forcibly removed?”

“We were just leaving!” Hero says hastily, shepherding Sunny and Omori toward the entrance.

Omori really must have a soft spot for Hero. He doesn’t even brush him off.

###

The End of the Highway used to be vacant. Lightless and utterly noiseless. It wasn’t just that it was too dark to see—it’s more like there was nothing to see. Even shadows couldn’t survive in that absolute vacuum.

But times have changed.

The last few miles of highway have been swallowed up by the Chairman’s dig site, a glittering tangle of steel girders and bulldozers and crocodiles in bright-yellow hard hats. Drill rigs the size of skyscrapers tower over the asphalt, making the toll gates look like kid’s toys. The whole space is lit with harsh, industrial-grade floodlights, like the kind they use for baseball stadiums and indoor basketball courts. (Not that Sunny does a lot of sporting. But he does grudgingly turn up for some of Kel’s games. It's nice to support your friends' passions, even when your friends' passions are really boring.)

Security is way, way up. It’s not just a bunch of underpaid gators who’ll look the other way for the right price. The whole dig site is fenced off with miles of barbed wire and sparking steel. Sunny can see signs posted every ten-or-so feet. DANGER!! HIGH VOLTAGE!! KEEP AWAY!! STAY BACK!!

“Aw,” Hero says, though he doesn’t look too upset. “Sorry, guys. Looks like it’s a no-go.”

“We’re going,” Omori says flatly.

Hero blinks. “But… it’s private property. And it looks like they’re pretty serious. Look, they’re even checking ID.”

It’s true. The only entrance in sight is ridiculously well-guarded, with CCTV and a barcode scanner and everything.

Sunny waits for Omori to say something scathing about rule-followers, or how fences are made to be vaulted. But Omori just shakes his head. “We’re going.”

“Uhh,” Hero says. “I mean. Do you… have any ideas?”

Omori just glares at his feet. Which means that he probably doesn’t.

Sunny chews his lip. If they found a suit, maybe Hero could pose as the Chairman? The color palette is off, but crocodiles aren’t known for their color vision. Though the teeth are a dead giveaway. It’d only work if Hero kept his mouth shut. Is Hero even capable of holding a conversation without any ingratiating smiles?

Sunny nearly jumps out of his skin when a low, rattling whisper rings out from directly behind him.

“Are you kids lost?” It’s not a nice voice. It’s sharp and scratchy and a little bit nasal, like peeling apart a strip of velcro. “Looks like you could use some directions.”

The stranger is dressed like a detective from a cheap paperback, in a long canvas trenchcoat and a fedora that hides their eyes. Their teeth are the same sickly yellow as their hair. And it’s weird… As far as Sunny knows, he made this place, and everyone in it. But he’s never seen this person in his life.

To his surprise, Omori seems to relax. “Yes.”

“Uhuhu,” the stranger chuckles. “Come to face your regrets, eh, Dreamer? All those forgotten things, buried in the deep, deep dark… But nothing stays hidden forever.”

“Obviously,” Omori says impatiently. “Do you know the way or not?”

###

Sunny knows Headspace. He charted its peaks and caverns and hidden crannies before Omori even had to exist. Sunny scaled the peaks of Otherworld while he waited for the lunch bell, and plumbed the depths of the Deeper Well on the bus home from school. He thought he’d seen every inch of this place. He’d sort of thought that he made every inch of this place.

But he’s never seen anywhere like this.

The Abyss is just as black as Black Space. But it feels more… solid, somehow? Fundamentally more real. Black Space is erratic, chaotic. It’s fear unbounded by form. Illogical. Implacable. Jagged splinters of color and sound, eyeless and still staring staring staring. Whispering all the things you couldn’t make yourself forget.

Whereas the Abyss is… well. It’s not not a nightmare. It’s certainly dark enough. Black as pitch and squirming with monsters. Lurching, limping shadows with a thousand staring eyes. The floor absorbs the faintest footfall, so every step is soundless. It makes Sunny feel sort of ghostly, like maybe he isn't really here at all. Like maybe he’s still utterly alone.

—But it isn’t his nightmare. That’s the part that’s weird. It’s terrifying, but in a broader sense of the word. It’s dark, but Sunny doesn’t really mind the dark. It’s claustrophobic, but Sunny always liked enclosed spaces. They make him feel small and safe.

But if the Abyss isn’t his, then… whose nightmare is this?

…Is it even possible that it’s Omori’s?

Sunny isn’t sure. Omori was supposed to be part of him. An only slightly unconventional trauma response, gifted with a name and a face and a dark sense of humor. But if that’s the case, then how could Omori have fears that aren’t Sunny’s?

Sunny doesn’t know.

###

The deeper they descend, the colder it gets. Sunny starts shivering on level two. When they clamber down another elevator, Hero slips out of his sweater and pulls it over Omori’s head.

“What about me?” Sunny complains.

“You’re an adult.”

“(A cold adult.)”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Hero snorts. “Let me just take the sweater off the back of the literal child so you can warm up. Is that what you want?”

“Maybe.”

“Pfft. Well, don’t hold your breath.”

Omori has been watching the exchange with the same inscrutable expression he was wearing when they first picked up Hero. But now he lunges forward with his knife drawn. “Get ba—”

—He’s too late. The monster’s already closed in.

It’s one of those shambling, whimpering shadows, ink-black with a thousand staring eyes. Another broken-mirror splinter of Mari, born of dread and poisoned by shame. The sight still turns Sunny’s stomach. But he knows that’s not really his sister. Mari lost her patience sometimes, but she would never hurt him. She loved him. And she’s dead.

“…ny…” the creature whispers. “…S…orr…y… Sunny… I’m… sorr…”

Omori winds up for a swing. But before he can land the hit, Hero throws himself between them.

“No!!” he shouts, his voice cracking halfway. Omori has to windmill his arms to keep from slashing him in half. “D-Don’t—!!”

“Lo…ve… you…” the monster whimpers. “…so…rry… love you… sorry…”

It’s still apologizing as it rears back and kicks out with two wickedly pointed hooves. Sunny barely manages to yank Hero out of the way before it can crack his skull like an egg. Ugh. Out of all the people Sunny loves, Hero is maybe the only one who’s even more useless in this place than he is.

In the background, Omori’s recovered his balance. He slams a fist against the cave wall and a torrent of Red Hands shatters through the ground under the monster, smashing it flat against the ceiling. Then he whips around to glare at Hero. “What was that?”

Hero gapes for a second, wordless, before he remembers to answer. “I—don’t know. Fuck. Sorry, I’m really sorry, that was so stupid, I just— For a second, I thought…”

For a terrifying three seconds, Sunny thinks he’s going to have to intervene. And then, for the millionth time tonight, Omori huffs a breath and turns away.

“Whatever. Just don’t get in my way.”

###

Four ladders deeper, the air glitters with cold. The luminescence from the lichen on the walls shines in every mote of vapor. Sunny can see his breath turn white. Each exhale is a tiny puff of phosphorescence, like moonlight on snow.

Hero’s breath glimmers, too. But Omori’s is dark. Like the breath in him is cold. Like he’s not alive at all. When he notices Sunny watching, he glares.

“Stay quiet,” he mutters. “We’re close.”

You can read the rest here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/45213322/chapters/127613875

Or start from chapter one: https://archiveofourown.org/works/45213322/chapters/113743957

[vspencerblog]

5 Ways How An Oculamp Can Improve Your Sleep

Sleep is a big industry right now, and many products are available to ensure you can get a good night of sleep. Good sleep is linked to greater productivity and increased energy, so many people prefer finding ways to get better sleep throughout their days. We are more disconnected from our bodies now than ever before. And it only makes sense that we need devices like the Oculamp to improve sleep.

Recent research has shown that blue light can have many negative impacts on sleep and its quality. Oculamp acts as an alternate for these harmful blue light rays. The article below discusses Oculamps and how they may improve your sleep and work with a blue light filter for computer devices.

Here are five ways how an oculamp improves your sleep

1. It Limits Blue Light Rays

Blue light rays can severely impact your ability to sleep. Blue light rays have a high frequency, alerting your energy and brain. The blue light will also suppress melatonin release, making it much more difficult to fall asleep and work productively. With an Oculamp, there is a lower amount of blue light that you’re going to come across. The Oculamp is also direct, meaning you don’t have to worry too much about the blue light impact it can have. You could also use blue-light filters for iPads, computer devices, and the Oculamp.

It is a low blue light desk lamp with three control settings that you’re in charge of. Since you’re in control, you can decide how much blue light you will expose yourself to.

2. It Directs Lights

One of the best aspects of the Oculamp is that it allows you to direct light so that it’s not all around you. Much of the reason that you may have difficulty falling asleep during the night is that your retina may have had to face blue light directly. You don’t want your photoreceptors to die out or directly face the high-frequency lights with short wavelengths. Instead, the Oculamp is something you can use on your study table at night with a minimal area of focus. Thus, the direction of light also means that you won’t have to worry about falling asleep after Oculamp usage. For extra protection, you could also use anti-blue light glasses for men and women.

3. It Has Adjustable Light Modes

We know that our body runs on the Circadian rhythm to adjust our productivity per the sun and how it shines throughout the day. Like the sun, the Oculamp also comes with a different mode of light and temperature. White light will have more blue wavelengths than yellow light, but thankfully, the Oculamp has both for us. If you want to concentrate more during the day, you can use the Oculamp on the white light mode during the morning when you want to be the most productive. In the evening, when you want light but don’t want it to be too intense, you can shift to the yellow light mode, which provides light without significantly impacting your sleep schedule.

4. It Doesn’t Cause Eye Strain

The Oculamps are not as persistent as some of the other light sources that you may have around you. Oculamps give a more distanced approach to lighting and are also very portable, so you won’t have to consistently deal with eye strain when using any other form of lighting. Many users use the Oculamp not only for their digital projects but also to get other tasks done throughout the day. Since the Oculamp acts as a light source, you can direct it where necessary and restrict yourself from undergoing eye strain while working.

If your eyes feel much more relaxed before going to bed, then chances are you will have a better sleep overall. You won’t have to peer or squint too much when you have the Oculamp by your side, making matters all the easier for you. The less you strain yourself with work, the quicker you’ll find it to sleep at night.

5. Optometrists in the UK have designed it

If you’re not sure about how the Oculamp may help you, then we’re here to tell you that it’s one of the first and only lamps that has been designed by optometrists who know how difficult it can be to get proper sleep during the night if you don’t have the right kind of lighting throughout the day. If several optometrists are the deigning team behind a product, you best know that they’ve accounted for all the trials and tribulations you may face when trying to work with the correct light.

Thus, its claims of reducing migraines and directed lights are much more likely correct. The Oculamp is also super flexible, meaning you can direct it away from your body so the light doesn’t flash directly into your eyes. Optometrists would also recommend using these lamps with anti-blue light glasses or blue light filters for screens.

Notable Features of the Oculamp

If you’re not entirely sure if the Oculamp is worth the hype, then here are some features that may change your mind:

Better well-being and less eye strain, as leading optometrists in the UK, have designed it.

Instantly relieves migraines and headaches

Low Blue Wavelengths with 3 Different Settings

Portable and easy-to-carry

Smart Touch Panel Display

The base is flexible and easy to direct

Rechargeable batteries that allow for 20 hours of light with one charge

These features consolidate and make the Oculamp one of the best devices you can opt for to get better sleep and be productive during the day.

Buy an Oculamp With My Blue Protector

If you insist on being productive during the night but still don’t want to harm your sleep, it may be helpful to buy an Oculamp to restrict blue-light effects. There are also anti-blue light glasses that you can use with an Oculamp to prevent yourself from harming your eyes.

At My Blue Protector, there are several products that you could opt for, including anti-blue light glasses and blue light filters for computer devices, including MacBooks and iPads.

You could opt for several products, including anti-blue light glasses for men that limit blue light and work well with blue filters for iPads. You can visit or contact them today for more information on our products!