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sewersewersewercouch · 3 days

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A macro post for a Micro-phone!

To those of you I’ve been threatening with this post for god knows how long–yes, I’m finally doing it. I’m writing the goddamn Microphone meta, because I have SO MANY THOUGHTS on this silly little sentient microphone. (She’s not even my favorite character, she’s my second favorite. My favorite is Cabby, but Cabby makes me go into such a feral state that I can barely form words about her other than writing copious amounts of fanfiction. I digress.) Before I get into it, though, I have some general “please be normal on my post” housekeeping I want to start with.

Firstly, this post is about Microphone. Specifically, about Microphone and the themes of choice and morality as they appear in her arc. This post is NOT meant to comment on the morality or choices of any other character. Specifically, by the nature of Mic’s story in the majority of the show, Taco will probably come up a lot because she’s there for a lot of it, but in a weird way, a lot of this post is kind of about how Mic’s arc doesn’t revolve around Taco as much as it’s often believed to? I don’t know, hopefully it’ll make more sense when you read it, but whatever, this post is not about my views on Taco.

To add on–THIS POST IS NOT ABOUT SHIPPING. I don’t want to hear about how much you like or dislike XYZ ship in the comments or reblogs of this post. Make your own damn post. If you want to know how I feel about a certain ship, you can always feel free to ask, just…like, not here.

Also, I will admit, part of the reason I started making this post is because there were certain interpretations of Microphone in this fandom that bothered me, but I don’t want that to be the vibe of this post as a whole. I do the “I’m always right about this character and nobody else gets them” bit as much as the next guy, but when it extends beyond being a bit, that’s when you start to be kind of an asshole who refuses to so much as listen to views different from their own. I don’t want to be that. I know I’m not incapable of being wrong, and I also know there’s a lot of this that’s subjective, because it’s a fictional story written by people whose minds I cannot read. I don’t want to make this post to hate on others’ opinions, I want to make this post to love Mic! We are all love Mic!

Lastly, I started drafting (read: rotating in my brain and vaguely mentioning it to friends) this post pre-II16, and as I’m writing this now I’m just after act 1. So this may have spoilers for act 1, but also some of this I came up with before that even existed and had to kind of adjust in order to account for that. Obviously Mic wasn’t in there much, but there are a few small adjustments so I will say here there be spoilers. I also have so much ADHD (so does Mic, but that’s a different meta that I mayhaps will write if this goes over well) and I am allergic to being concise or staying on topic. The title does not fuck around, it really is quite a macro post. Sorry in advance.

That said, it’s Microphone time!

Ok so there are a couple quotes from a Brian livestream that I really appreciated because they kinda summed up the general thesis statement of this post, if you will? So I’m gonna put those here and then refer back to them as needed:

“What I find most interesting is how you would think when [Taco] comes back in season 2, and she’s like, ‘oh, I’m gonna make a deal with Microphone’, that she is going to manipulate Microphone, she is going to be the one in control, the one in power, the one, you know, leading the more ignorant and innocent Microphone, but Microphone at a point is like, ‘I’m done,’ and cuts Taco off.”

“I think Microphone was completely justified to leave [Taco] in Hatching the Plan. Perhaps would have even been justified to do so sooner than that. But, you know, it’s really up to what she wants and what she’s comfortable with, and she set a boundary, and we stan.”

“I really enjoyed the subversion of expectation with [Microphone], that she was not a victim, played an active role, and when a line was crossed, she was like, ‘I’m done, I’m out.’ And you really gotta respect the integrity of that, I certainly do.”

Okay, remember those? Good. We’re going to get back to them in a while, because we’re going through this shit episode by episode.

So, for the first…quite a while, actually, Mic doesn’t really do a whole lot. Like, we see that she’s generally pretty friendly but with a rather short temper, and her main schtick is that 1) she’s loud, 2) this causes her to screw challenges up, and 3) this in term makes most of her team not like her and behave quite rudely towards her. That’s kinda all we got.

Oh, and she seems to be being stalked by some kind of mysterious entity, but whatever, that’s a later problem.

One of the earlier on scenes I’d like to draw your attention to is in Theft and Battery, where Cheesy walks up to Mic and, apropos of nothing, says, “Mic! I've just experienced the most horrible thing! It was a monstrosity! Your personality! Get it? Because everyone thinks you're annoying!” Which, like, I know I said I wasn’t commenting on the morality of other characters, but I will take this moment to say, fucking asshole. I don’t usually dislike Cheesy but I would have decked him for this one. Mic went so easy on him.

But I digress (I do that a lot! You’re going to find that out over the course of this post!) We see Mic blow up like she usually does at comments like this, but before that, we see inside her head for a second—she imagines being surrounded by Cheesys, all laughing at her expense.

This is the first time we truly see how much all those remarks from her teammates actually affect her. It’s not just a split-second flash of anger—all those things are really, truly, hurting her.

In the next episode, Rain On Your Charade, we see the first time she has an actually good interaction with another Grand Slam, this being Soap. Mic and Soap seem to bounce off each other pretty well—Mic’s impulsivity is a good counter for Soap’s much more rigid way of thinking. They give each other advice on their respective problems and comfort one another. For once in her life (literally in her life thus far, given you-know-what!) we can see Mic having a healthy interaction where she is clearly valued and supportive. Someone who encourages her to listen to her heart—as we see, this is gonna be a theme.

So, of course, it’s just Mic’s luck that Soap gets immediately eliminated.

And now Mic is stuck alone on a team that hates her—that makes disparaging remarks about her every move, and that is doing an absolute number on her mental health. She refers to herself, in her own diary, as annoying, harmful, random, useless, insignificant, a loser. And now she has absolutely nobody in her corner.

Enter Taco, with a cup of tea and a deal to make.

Okay, the first thing I want to address is the way that Microphone reacts to seeing Taco. Well, I mean, first, she reacts with, “AAAAAA,” as I’m sure many of us would if a British woman jumped out of a bush at us. But after she’s done doing that, she says, “What are you doing here, Taco?” And it makes me sound really silly to say “how’d she know her name?” because, uh, duh, genius, it’s an object show, she’s a taco, but like…you get what I mean, right? She addresses Taco like she knows who she is. Which makes me wonder, did she see season 1? (Did she even exist when season 1 would have been airing?) But she can’t have done, or she would have heard about all the Pickle stuff. The most likely option in my opinion would be that she heard the season 1 contestants talking about it, I guess? But either way, she seems to know that Taco has done bad things in the past, and instinctively doesn’t trust her. (I mean, also she has been actively stalking her, which maybe doesn’t help. Whatever.)

I don’t have too much to say about the rest of this interaction—Taco offers to guide Microphone through the game in exchange for a fifty percent cut of her winnings, Microphone declines, Taco tells her to think about it.

Next episode—Mazed and Confused! As usual, the Grand Slams immediately ditch Mic, and she winds up getting kinda pulled into the Bright Lights group. And there’s some interesting Mic dialogue—featuring the II-typical move of characters not discussing their issues outright but rather showing them via thinly veiled projection. And I will fully admit that I love this. Every time I see it I go nuts for it. Firstly, Marshmallow is talking about Apple using her, to which Mic says, “Maybe it's not so bad if someone uses you, if- if it benefits you as well, right?” Then she has this interaction with Fan:

Fan: B-but in that song, the vocalist lovingly chronicles how they couldn't deal with themselves until they gain the companion they need! It's pure poetry!

Microphone: So, everything he does is decided by someone else? Nice message…

Fan: Well, Microphone, what gives you the right to have an "interpretation"? When's the last time you gained something of value from true art such as this?

Microphone: Ugh... certain people always tell me I have so much to gain.

So, obviously, “certain people” is Taco, and we can see how conflicted Microphone is about the whole situation. On the one hand, she doesn’t like the idea of blindly following someone else’s directions without making any of her own decisions, but also, even if she’s concerned that she’s being used, she does see how it could benefit her. (Also, this is far from the last time we’re going to see Microphone flimsily attempting to justify something going on with her.)

Well, apparently she comes to a decision, because she runs off to get help from Taco. With Taco’s guidance, Mic makes it through the maze, and Baseball even compliments her. We see a clear example of how she could potentially benefit from this partnership. (Well, until she accidentally gives away the position of the exit to Test Tube, but I digress.)

As we get into “Kick the Bucket,” it seems like Mic’s pretty all-in on working with Taco. However, right off the bat, we see a moment where Mic outright gives Taco a hard no on one of her directions, that being, using her temporary paralyzer. (Side note: it absolutely cracks me up how she goes “you don’t do that!” like she’s telling off a small child for stealing candy or something. Never change, Mic.)

We see a couple of things here—one, that Microphone has no reservations of telling Taco she won’t do something where she crosses a certain line. And secondly, with some other evidence, we can figure out where that line is. She refuses to use the temporary paralyzer, she freaks out about Lightbulb and Test Tube being sent back in time, she stops Taco from letting Knife’s minecart go over a drop, she makes her promise “no violence” before they go on the Shimmers’ ship.

And yet, look at the scene after this, with Balloon. She purposely tries to get in his head to make him feel anxious and afraid that he’s at risk of being eliminated, and then later makes fun of him to her other teammates in order to cast doubt on him. And she came up with this plan against Taco’s advice—although it does end up impressing Taco, that’s not why she does this, it’s pure Microphone. So it isn’t hurting others that she draws the line—one could clearly argue that her messing with Balloon like that is pretty hurtful. It’s specifically physical violence that bothers her, which is kind of an interesting place to draw the line in a world where dead contestants can be revived, but emotions are forever.

Hell, Mic says it outright in the next episode, Alternate Reality Show–”You say that like we didn’t do our share of permanent damage.” She’s aware what she did was “permanent damage,” and Taco didn’t even tell her to do it, and yet, she did. This is where we first start to see the cognitive dissonance that Mic is dealing with here—she has a strong sense of morals, seeing as she’s giving back the temporary paralyzer explicitly against Taco’s wishes, because “it’s the right thing to do.” And yet, she’s actively making choices that go against that sense, and she doesn’t know how to feel about that.

Next up, we’re looking at Mine Your Own Business, AKA one of Mic’s best episodes. Her and Taco’s plan in this episode is to try to get Knife on their side because he’s seen that they’re working together. This goes…not as planned, starting from the moment they blow their cover by getting into an argument about whether you should say “excuse me” when you sneeze, while invisible behind him. (We didn’t get enough of them as a comedic duo, by the way. They crack me up so bad in this episode.) Anyways, Mic tries valiantly to bring Knife in with a very convincing, “Join us…yeah!” When Taco and Knife inevitably begin arguing, however, Mic says “We just wanna help!” Which…do you? Yeah, okay girl, keep telling yourself that.

There’s also the little scene where Mic is trying to get Taco to open up about why she was reaching for the portal. This is one of the first interactions we see them have that isn’t about the game. Microphone just…genuinely wants to know what was distressing Taco so much. You know, like you might with a friend. And that’s one thing that interests me about this—Microphone thinking of Taco like a friend isn’t something that Taco did on purpose to gain her trust, and in fact, she seems rather resistant to it. It’s entirely Microphone initiating these friendly interactions. (Even though soon after she does imply she doesn’t feel she really knows the real Taco.)

Then we see the bit where Knife is about to go off a cliff, Taco gives a thumbs up, but Mic doesn’t approve and manages to get Knife into their minecart. I touched on this above, but this is another example of Mic’s resistance to physically harming others.

The next time we see this terrific trio, Taco apologizes to Mic for not being open with her, and I kid you not, Mic responds with, “aww, Taco!” (I reiterate: Never change, Mic.) And, even when Knife explains what happened with Pickle, Mic still comes to Taco’s defense. Some of this is because of the fact that Mic is beginning to truly see Taco as a friend, yes, but I think another part of it is that previously mentioned cognitive dissonance. She wants to believe she’s doing the right thing, and not just aiding and abetting someone who hurts others, so of course she’s going to want to defend Taco–because if Taco is a bad person, and she’s purposefully helping her achieve her ends just for the sake of winning a game show, what does that make her?

On to Hatching the Plan! (We’re in the home stretch, I promise!) We see Mic joking about the idea of what happened to Pickle happening to her—”At least, until you inevitably ‘drop me too,’ or whatever.” Clearly, she didn’t take too much stock in Knife’s words, and she’s pretty convinced she’s safe from a similar fate. (Which she is! Because Pickle was being unknowingly strung along, and Mic is willingly helping Taco reach her goal. But that’s a later problem.)

Now we see Knife confronting Microphone and trying to convince her to, “stop, idiot, have some dignity?” To which Mic tells him that she “has a voice” (as Taco, in the background, turns off MePad’s volume), “no one’s shutting [her] down” (as Taco powers MePad off) and she’s “not just being dragged along” (as Taco literally drags MePad along.) And the thing is, obviously there’s the ironic juxtaposition of what Mic is saying and what Taco is doing, but Mic also…isn’t entirely wrong?

Remember those Brian quotes from earlier? Here’s where we start using them!

Because here’s the thing—like he said, you would totally expect Taco to be playing Microphone the entire time, to be the one in power and manipulating her, because that’s what happened to Pickle. But that’s…not what’s happening. Rather, Taco has been pretty upfront about what she expects of Mic and what both of them have to…well, for a lack of a better word, gain. And it’s not like Mic has no choice in this matter! She has repeatedly shown that she is willing to say no to Taco when she crosses a line, and as Brian said, she would be totally justified to have noped out way earlier than she ends up doing. But…she doesn’t. She’s making her choices, and then bending over to justify them, because as I said, Mic has a strong sense of morals and knows there’s something that’s off, but she doesn’t want to admit she knows that and has continued to do what she’s doing.

So anywho. Taco and Mic use MePad’s teleportation to go after Fan and Test Tube on the ship, but not before Mic tries to make Taco promise no violence. Taco does not promise this, and of course, immediately kills Fan and Test Tube upon arriving.

This is where Mic’s cognitive dissonance runneth over, and she makes the executive decision to ditch Taco’s ass and leave the game.

I’m going to put Mic’s whole little speech here, because I really like it and it’s kind of the culmination of all the points I’m making: “I haven't been... listening to my heart. Instead, I've been listening to... this... well... It was a voice in my head! And it would tell me how to... go further. Further than I was willing to go. I heard it so often that I never... I never heard myself. So... what's the point?” And also, “I didn't make the best choices. So now... I'm making my first good one. This is what I want.”

Because that’s kind of the thing, right? Deep down, Microphone always knew cheating and messing with people was wrong. But she was, by choice, not listening to that instinct, because what Taco was promising seemed so attractive. Getting the prize, yes, but she also just fucking wants friends. And when she does well in the game, her teammates want to be friendlier to her. And also, as I said she came to see Taco as a friend, and she didn’t want to lose that either.

But…okay, here’s where I complain about a take I don’t like, and I’m sorry about that. I find it to be an oversimplification that Mic left Taco because “Taco hurt her.” Because, honestly, she didn’t really directly? What drove Mic to leave was seeing Taco hurt other people, and that by proxy, Microphone was…not even a bystander to these things, but kind of an active participant. Morally speaking, she couldn’t sit with that. So she decided that the prize and the recognition weren’t worth it, and boom, she was done.

I don’t really have much to say on the following episodes that are already out, because Mic has barely in here. But I do have a hot take on what might potentially come next for Mic I’d like to share.

I don’t really…care whether Mic and Taco end up on good terms.

Okay, maybe that’s not the best way to say it—rather, I think there are ways to do either way well, and ways to do either way wrong, and what I care more is about whether Mic’s story is well-written than which direction it actually goes.

Quick disclaimer that I drafted this section pre-II16, and at the point we’re at now, I’m operating under the assumption that the deleted contestants aren’t actually going to be dead forever and we will have Pickle again. (If this turns out not to be the case please don’t make fun of me.)

I’ve seen a lot of discourse around the fandom about whether Microphone and Pickle will forgive Taco, and the first problem comes right there with aggregating them into one MicrophoneandPickle entity. Microphone and Pickle are two different people who had very different relationships with Taco. As I’ve said earlier, the Pickle that Taco knew was entirely a facade, whereas with Mic…well I don’t want to say she was entirely honest about who she was, because I don’t think she’s entirely honest about who she is with herself, so let’s just say as honest as she’s capable of being. Pre-II16, my suspicion was that they were going to split the difference and have one end up on good terms with Taco and the other not. Like, I think in terms of the message that the show is trying to give, this would be a good one—if someone has wronged you and tries to make amends, you can choose to accept that or you can choose to walk away, and neither is a morally wrong choice. Post-The Reality of the Situation, I’m going to say that if this does happen, it’s going to be Mic the former and Pickle the latter, just having seen how Taco’s apology went over with Pickle. And that’s the thing—Pickle had no choice in what happened to him. Mic had agency over her situation, and went along with it in full knowledge of what that entailed. The Taco that Pickle had a relationship doesn’t exist, but in Mic’s case, she does. And most importantly—Pickle’s qualm with Taco is that she hurt him, but Mic’s was her actions towards other people, not Mic herself. If it’s proven that Taco has changed and doesn’t want to hurt others anymore…I think it’s not impossible that Mic could be lenient.

But either way—whether Mic ends on good or bad terms with Taco—what would make it satisfying to me is if it’s not framed about whether Taco “deserves” or “doesn’t deserve” her forgiveness, but rather whether Mic chooses to forgive her. Like Brian said—it’s up to what she wants and what she’s comfortable with. Choice has been such a major theme for Mic, and I think she deserves to have her agency at the forefront.

Anyways, it is literally after two in the morning and I wrote this entire thing in a fit of hyperfocus, god help me. Again, if this does well and anyone wants to see a “why Microphone II has ADHD real and canon” post I will absolutely do that.

#ii #inanimate insanity #microphone ii #ii microphone #god. I can't believe I did this

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thewrittingpan · 2 years

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Painting Lies 3

Phinks x reader, Fetain x reader, Shalnark x reader

Tigger and content warnings include but are not limited to: blood, gore, violence, kidnapping, abuse, mental health issues, trauma

Wc: 6501

Tumblr links: Part 1, Part 2, Part 4

Ao3: Here

You think you remember the two blonds being there, but you also remember your legs being twice their usual size. Honestly you just stared at the ceiling for a bit wondering what the hell was going on in your head. For all you know you did get into a fight with a giant blanket yesterday but also you felt like you had somehow completed an entire treasure collection in that game you played. Everything in the dream was too close to reality for your liking.

“Hey Phinks?” You looked out into the hall to see if he was up.

“What?” The door across the hall from you opened.

“Weird question, did we have a staring contest during dinner or did I dream that?”

“That kind of happened.” he went to close the door.

“Okay, did you play video games yesterday with me watching?”

He looked at you terribly confused, “no?”

“Did we set up the table?”

“No, shalnark did.”

“Did I go to the basement? Does the basement have a whole art studio too? Because I dreamed there was like some art supply store or something in it and I feel like I'm going insane.”

“Yes to both.”

“Okay okay, now the part that ia really fucking with me is that i swear i woke up in the middle of the night-”

“You did.”

“-and you and the other guys were there-”

“Correct.”

“Then I got kissed goodnight by the three of you? And like some drink that you see moms in movies make for kids after a nightmare?”

He stood looking at you, you had no idea what he was thinking, honestly he looked as confused as you were.

“That didn’t happen, those two just wanted to see you before leaving.”

“Weird.” You mumbled to yourself. “It all felt like stuff that happened or could have.”

Everyone had dreams that left them confused when they woke up, or well you think everyone does. Waking up from them can vary, like with every other kind of sleep. When it came to “what the fuck happened who am I” level of confusion dreams waking up in anyway that left you dazed was not a good thing. What you personally think is worse is when you don’t feel like you have been asleep, or when you think you haven't had a dream.

Your thoughts fizzled out until you could have been a cartoon character with smoke coming out of their head. Confusion sticks, the whole day would probably feel off, and hell you might just fall back asleep with how just trying to think through it all was driving you mad.

“Are you going to spend time around the house or in your room?” Phinks was leaning against the door frame.

“Oh-“ you sifted through your ideas to keep yourself entertained.

There were the new games you’ve been given, but the clearly visible camera in your room had been creeping you out. You had some books but part of you couldn’t stand the idea of reading at the moment, something in your bones felt like they couldn’t find a comfortable way to sit to read. Maybe you could draw- there was that sketch you wanted to paint.

“I might go paint something?” You asked him.

It felt like you were allowed to go paint down there whenever, or that was the ideal goal they had with showing you it. Though there was something about this house, even with Shalnarks advice of Phinks being surprisingly soft, you felt like you were standing on an inch of ice and it was already waiting to break.

He nodded, “Not a bad idea, just don’t go past the curtain, Fetain doesn’t like anyone touching his things. I’ll make something simple to eat, I’m not much of a cook so you’ll have to put up with it or make your own food.” He walked past you towards the kitchen, “I’ll stay down there to make sure you don’t go poking around in things you don’t want to see.”

Yeah totally not threatening or creepy in the slightest. Hell part of you felt like a horror movie character right now, that vague warning only made you want to see what was down there. As you gathered your sketches your mind ran wild. The stairs in this unfinished basement were creaky wood. You looked at your feet as you descended, the wood was nice and sanded, with no nails that you could notice. Yet your mind drew with jagged lines, poorly put together stairs covered in splinters. That would be too empty, not enough visual interest but something could be drawn from those mental images of stairs. Maybe if something was spilling down the stairs it would be interesting, something twisted hidden in the shadows or beneath the stars themselves, something hard to notice but once you do it’s shocking.

You pulled out a pre-stretched canvas. For a while your hands hovered over two, each size would have its benefits, the smaller ones could make the figure have a “weaker” tone. Though the larger would allow the grotesque details you were longing for. Yet you could alter your concept slightly and “zoom in” on a smaller canvas, get up close and personal with the spine. You propped them both up so you could more easily compare them while sorting through your sketches. You tore them from the sketch book with a strange chaotic need. They were spread out across the cold concrete floor. Scattered and overlapped so they could all be seen without taking up much space. It was a kaleidoscope of paper and ink, and you were the crazed lunatic who had created it.

“You’ll have to pick those up when you finish painting.” Phinks stepped down the stairs holding a large plate full of scrambled eggs and waffles. “Or do you think you’ll need to have them spread out while working?”

“Do you have tape?” You asked, “Something stronger than a basic office tape, I could hang them on the wall?”

“Eat some, I’ll find some.”

The food was weirdly over and under done. The waffles had parts that were slightly more runny than they should be but the eggs were concerning. Parts were crispy and almost burnt, while the rest was fluffy, almost as if he had gotten distracted and almost made a bad omelette.

“Duck tape and packing tape.” He placed one roll of each on the table beside you.

“Oh, thanks, that’ll work fine.”

He was quiet, but it wasn't the same way Fetain is. Fetains silence was a threat, one you had grown used to. He had this weight to him that was impossible to ignore when alone, though he easily blended in and was easy to ignore in a group. Phinks was almost the opposite. You never noticed him when it was just him, though that didn’t mean you trusted him in the slightest. There was a comfort to him, familiar almost, half memories of moments with an old friend or a split second where you almost felt like you were sitting in the room with a long forgotten family member. Warmth tried to spread through you, you desperately wanted to trust him when you felt the familiarity, but how could you when you knew nothing about him.

You taped away. Deformed figures, haphazard diagrams and sketches of anatomy from memory. While each sketch held some semblance of a thought, a firework of an idea, sometimes you found that the best ideas grew when you worked without a clear thought. Molding fog and light created forms and shapes that you may overlook, sometimes you could compare them to an instinct, or a deep need to connect with something you had yet to fully understand.

These things made the beginning difficult but one of the most fun parts of it all. Every thought could be quickly scribbled out, fulfilling the urge to create, but not held back by perfection. It was wild, untamed, which made it unpredictable. A great idea could last a second before flickering out while a bad one could haunt you, not because the idea’s roots were rotten but because the branches had been infested by a failure to succeed.

You stared at the sketches of green bruises. The needles poked through skin, emerging from the bones themselves. Single drops of blood would sit atop the skin, staining it, drying deeply into the grooves. If the dirt and grime of the depicted horror went untreated it would stain not only the mind, but cling to the body like death itself, unable to be removed with hours upon days of scrubbing. It would always feel dirty, and you could always end up permanently stained.

This gorey twist that you adapted in your work was a little strange, even you had to admit it. You didn’t like the idea of torture porn when it came to horror movies, which some found surprising, clearly you didn’t hate it, but there had to be something gained from it. In your pieces you wanted each graphic mark to mean something, there needed to be a story you could read into if you wanted, but often they became reflections of struggles. It was relaxing, in the way that snapping and throwing something can make you sigh and sob after the frustration was finally released.

The thing about art is that it sucks ass. While it can be a weight off your shoulders and drain all of the stress out of you, it could just as easily make you want to stab someone’s eyes out. Staring at pins and needles for long enough just made you want to see your eyes shut so you didn’t have to see them everywhere else. Even closing your eyes made you think of the horrible blotchy shading that just did not want to work because you didn’t think and added too much water to your paints. Hell every time you groaned in frustration your fucking kidnapper look scared. So you tossed the brushes in the sink and worked on scrubbing out the paint before you ruined them right away.

“Do you usually work in these long multiple hour sessions?” He asked you over the sound of running water.

The water was cold, dangerously so. Your fingers toyed with the hair gently mixing small amounts of soap into it. This rhythmic movement helped calm you down and get out of the “holy mother of cats why won’t things go right” headspace that you got stuck in.

“Yeah, that’s common, anything less than three is an oddity.”

“I guess I just didn’t understand how hard it was.”

“Every job is kinda like that.”

You left the brushes on a spread out towel to dry. The pallet of rapidly drying paint was still there and there were a few reasons for why you didn’t clean off the paint; it’d ruin the plumbing, it was half dry anyways, you didn’t care, and it was fun to peel off later. If that little thing could give you some control maybe it would be worth it to wait and try to earn a way out.

Part of you felt like you were giving up too easily, that you had already lost your will to fight when you woke up that first day. Yelling at yourself wouldn’t do anything and you knew that but you felt like it was your fault. Perhaps you’re just the circus elephant tied to nothing. Yet you didn't blame yourself, or at least not as much as you think you were supposed to. Playing along and being good allows for you to be taken as a cute little pet that might be too frightened to try anything. Maybe other kidnappers are different.

You looked at Phinks from when he was leaning back in the folding chair balancing on its back legs. He was large, so much strength loomed over him, making him seem like the biggest in the room. Some damn part of him made you both think he was some jockey asshole like in movies and tv, or some large warm hearted man, though the latter seemed like a stretch.

“You’re starring again.”

“I’m thinking.”

“About?”

You gathered up the sketchbook you had ripped a handful of pages out of. You should lie. Shalnark said something like “he wasn’t perceptive” right? What if you were wrong? What about telling the truth? Would he kill you in anger? Slam you into the wall? Be the manifestation of the shadows from the covered half of the basement that had been driving you crazy, pulling you back and deep down into its maw, screaming as you die from-

“Just say it, I’m in a good mood, I don’t want it ruined with some anxiety attack because you’re scared to say someth-.”

“I don’t know how to feel.” You didn’t turn back to him as you walked towards the stairs, stopping at its feet, so he knew you weren’t trying to run away. “I don’t want to upset you or the others and risk dying or something arguably worse. I feel like everything has to be said correctly or not at all so I don’t find out someone is secretly more delusional than a damn LSD trip.”

You heard the chair squeak a bit as he stood up and walked towards the stairs, he didn’t stop like you and slowly started climbing them, slowly so you could continue.

“I should be scared, angry, maybe I should try to kill someone, or myself, try to escape? I don’t know, I can’t do any of those. I don’t want to, I hate how nice my room was, there was so much thought, so much detail, it felt so real, so close to my messy room. It creeps me out, enjoying the food, the room, the clothes, even the personal products make me feel like I graduated from a top academy with no debt and no depression.”

You lead him down the hall towards the living room. “I haven’t even looked outside you know, somehow I feel like it’ll make or break the dream. I think it might make me try something stupid, make me snap or something. I want to feel okay but I don’t, and when I don’t want to feel okay I do!” You ripped the curtain open, startling yourself.

“Did the window change anything?”

Woods. Beautiful moss covered trees that stretched far. The fire kissed trees rained down their leaves and it looked gorgeous. It reminded you of that date with the cats, the betrayal, of this fuck up of yours. It was something akin to heaven in your eyes, a perfectly twisted picture.

“I miss home.” You said finally tears slipping through your horribly masked emotions. You turned from the window stepping away from its bright light and into your dark room. You didn’t close the door fully behind you, it was very easy to look through the gap.

The blankets were smooth but when you burrowed into them to avoid everything, they felt fluffy against your skin. Even as your breath filled the underneath of them with hot air that felt suffocating, you accepted it with open arms. Stale warm air was unpleasant but it felt like the first warmth you’d felt in eons. The world outside this nest was cold and cruel, and you felt chained to the bed the more you thought about it.

The room's gentle darkness left you thinking as you tossed and turned. You fought back sobs but didn’t care about the tears that leaked down your face. Your sweetest boy laid next to you, his paw resting atop your hand as you faced him and the wall. You longed for the comfort of your real bed, sitting on the small balcony with your cat as he stared wide eyed at the birds.

Maybe you could have avoided this. Maybe if you had kept to yourself, avoided people like you had grown accustomed too, you could have continued your life. It didn’t change the fact that you were here now, but you were haunted by it. Those dark eyes at the damn exhibit. Why did it have to happen? Were you a fool? Were there any signs that you could have noticed? No matter how much crying you did or didn’t do you hated every second you were left to think about anything. Each damn second made you manic, and every other one made you depressed and unable to move. You felt so nauseous that soon you just vomited and sat on the bathroom floor headhung as you finally sobbed.

It was loud and obnoxious, you were lucky only one other person was home. It bounced off the walls. Phinks could definitely hear you. It was the kind of sob that was scratchy and full of angry screams, perfect for a tantrum that would destroy everything in a close area. You felt like a toddler who had been told no when asking for candy, a brat who wanted something. It felt like you were the problem even if you were just a victim of your surroundings. Yet you screamed and cried until your throat was sore, until it felt like it could have been bleeding, and you choked on the bubbling sobs as snot filled every airway.

You laid in a puddle of yourself, not moving when the front door opened and slammed shut. Unblinking as keys jingled down the hall with heavy footsteps. Looking with tired weak eyes, up at Phinks who stood, with plastic bags in hand, his face red and his eyes looking at the wall instead of you.

“It’s late, Fei and Shal want you to have a routine but they're not here… come stay up late and watch a movie or something? Shal bought some of your favorites and ones you’ve talked about! I have some chocolate, or popcorn if you’d like? I’m not sure what you all like when it comes to movie snacks…”

Your voice was so scratchy it hurt to hear you speak. “Please…” you whined as he helped pull you up and onto the living room couch.

He handed you the bags, a multipack of tissue boxes, an assortment of chocolate, popcorn, beer, teas, sodas, chips... You dug through it all and he returned with blankets in hand and a stuffed animal he knew you were attached to, that they all knew you were attached to.

He sat next to you, draping the blankets over you. He pulled a box of tissues out handing one to you. “Use the bag as a garbage bag for now.” He laid out everything haphazardly. He gently pulled your head down onto his lap and pressed the remote into your hand.

The blue glow of the tv puts you to sleep soon enough. It didn’t matter if it was one movie or ten, you were asleep, as soon as you were Phinks was too. You used his lap as a pillow, and Phinks leaned back, his head tossed over the couch’s back, his mouth hung open with a light snore as the tv eventually turned itself off.

In the morning you woke up when the keys turned to open the door’s lock. It made you jolt awake as the door was pushed open. Shalnark was clicking through his phone as he carried in a handful of something.

“Oh, you’re both up? How was the movie night?”

You sunk into the blankets giving back into your exhaustion. “Okay.”

You said it mostly to avoid any upset feelings on his end, the movie night was a nice way to avoid it all. You hated it considering everything, but those few hours of just zoning out at the tv and falling asleep to your favorite movies made you fell like home. You could imagine it so vividly it is what lulled you to sleep, the house didn’t have that smell of the three men, it was your home filled with cat fur, paints, and gesso.

You could feel the canvas frame from when you had to custom build one for a commission. Having to stretch it yourself, and you struggled to pull it back enough for it to hold well. The frame was obnoxiously large, you couldn’t fathom how they had the money to commission it or why they’d need one this size. That one had become a secret favorite, it was in someone’s private collection, an anonymous commissioner. You remember them sending someone to pick it up, which was strange, but if someone had that money how weird could it really be?

“Fei will be appearing soon, he has to drag something down to his office.” Shal giggled to himself speaking without catching his breath. “He’s surprisingly very interested in the work he brought back. It’s like a cat that got a hold of a mouse and doesn’t want to let it go.”

He set his envelope of papers down on the table, and sat down next to you on the couch. He was in front of you really, your back pressed firm against the couch nearly sinking into the cushions and the framework. Shalnark was turned slightly so he could face you and Phinks easily, his knees pressed against the front of the couch and one of Phinks’ knees. He breathed in deeply, his breath pushing both his stomach and chest out, he sort of chuckled as he sighed and leaned over to rest his head on the sofa’s back next to Phinks’ shoulder.

“I missed being home.”

Phinks and you didn’t say anything in response. Maybe Phinks secretly hated Shalnark, well, obviously not, but his silence kind of confused you. He cared deeply about the two from what you could tell, but who's to say you were ever good at reading the room. Your view upwards was obstructed by Shalnark hovering-leaning over you. Phinks moved his arm, you could see its shadow crossover you briefly, but you didn’t see what he did. Shalnark sat there resting with the two of you, this serene glazed look to him. He looked so pleasant, his hair hanging in his face, and his eyes closed.

He did eventually move, while he seemed content that was in no way comfortable to sit there for long. Shal eventually collected his things and ran off to go put them away. You gathered up the mess from the night before. Phinks took the trash out, you saw the cement steps out front as the door opened, and cool air rushed in to kiss your cheeks. The cat with wide eyes watched him complete his chores from the window, while you avoided looking at them. It was easier to stay busy with wiping the table and stacking the coasters in a neat pile in the center.

You kept wiping the table. Slow circular motions as you dazed off. The window just hurt you. Its clear glass was a mirror of your betrayal and gentle suffering, every damn time you saw that view it reminded you of the damned date. That date would remind you of his hands in your hair as you sobbed into his lap. What kind of suffering is this all? To be cursed with the inability to act, but blessed with a comfort of home and kindness. though it came from triplet tyrants. What tragedy had you fallen out of?

You went about giving yourself chores, dusting the shelves and tv stand, sweeping the kitchen floor, making a few pancakes with a box mix you had found, then cleaning up the mess you had made. Your hour or two of small chores only could keep you distracted for so long. You could hear Shalnark from his room, typing away on a keyboard and flipping through papers. When you walked past the basement you could hear things being moved around. It was faint and muffled, almost like you were hearing things, you wanted to go down there, the curiosity haunting you, but I’d anyone scared you the most it was Fetain.

You pushed open Phinks’ door. He had looked up at you as you did, but he didn’t say a thing, just motioned for you to come in. It was simple, navy sheets that were wrinkled, a strange mixture of pillows that didn’t have matching cases. There were some clothes lying around the room and the closet was open. He had a simple fold up chair in the corner and some green running jacket thrown across it. He didn’t have curtains, just the plastic blinds though some were bent and damaged. The closest thing to decoration was a digital clock on a wooden stool made bedside table and high quality at home gym equipment on the floor and tucked away into the closet.

“Need something?”

“I’ve never seen your rooms.” You half ignored the question, “and I don’t want to work on my painting when Fetain is working.”

He hummed, and you sat down on his bed looking at his window with the blinds pulled shut. “I hate it,” you said quietly to yourself, not knowing fully what you meant. “I might drive myself crazy. I keep trying to make things make sense, but I don’t get it.” You flopped down and rolled over, you didn’t look up at his face, didn’t acknowledge if he was looking at you or listening. “I think I’m ignoring half of everything to try and pretend that I’m okay.”

His hand rested on your head, his fingers playing with your hair. “You’re putting up with it well, though coming from me that doesn’t mean much.”

You grabbed his hand and his shirt. Pulling yourself up, straddling his waist. “Why couldn’t you have killed me? Torture me? Why not just make my life a real living hell? I feel like I’m burning but there’s nothing there, I keep thinking I’m drowning but I’m not!” Your hand trailed up to his neck, your nails pressing into his jugular, as you pinned him down to the bed. He laid there with his eyes wide but he didn’t move. “Please give me a good reason to hate it here! Please, I can't understand what’s going on! I didn’t ask for this. I don't know what I’m here for!” you screamed at him, though it wasn’t loud, just desperate. “I can’t do anything.”

His hand grabbed your hip and his other grabbed your neck, and he flipped the roles so he was hunched over you. His nails pressed into your skin. There was no weight to the threat. His hands while touching you, felt like they were hovering.

“You’re allowed to be angry, you don’t need permission for it.” And his hands were lifted away. and he was back on his side of the bed laying just like he was earlier, as if you never disrupted him.

Then you cried, you laid there curled up in a ball next to him. He never touched you, until you reached out and touched him, pulling yourself into his arms. He held you then gently and quietly until you relaxed and laid there half asleep and exhausted. His hands cupped your cheeks and you were held close to his face, his mouth a meare inch from your nose.

“I’ll do anything for you, even if you don’t like us or being here. We will do anything to keep you safe. I’ll make you as happy as I can, I swear to you I will.”

You heard Fetain come up from the basement when the door slammed shut. He was lighter than air with his footsteps so when he walked into Phinks’ room and ended up next to the bed you nearly screamed. “Try to sleep at ten and wake up at six. You need good sleep routine.”

You nodded, Phinks had mentioned it right? Ten to six seemed reasonable. “Exactly 6 am?”

“Roughly. Take time to change, one week to do yourself.”

“I’ll try to do it.” You nodded and a yawn slipped from your lips.

“Take nap, us three will talk work.” He waited for Phinks to get up.

Phinks patted your shoulder, “stay here and sleep for a bit we don’t want you dealing with our work stuff yet.”

“Okay.”

But Feitain hovered for a second longer than he needed to, just quietly looking at you with this deep thoughtful look in his eyes, yet he left without saying anything.

They had a habit of leaving you alone with your thoughts. Thankfully your cat at least sits with you when you need it, most of the time.

There was nothing to do with them all being busy. Something told you not to poke around for answers about what they were discussing. Even though you weren’t gonna search around for answers your mind wandered. It was a gross wandering similar to how one could lay in bed and gaze up into the darkness and just sit there. Rambling and turning whispers in your thoughts flashing images of blood gore and violence. How could anyone imagine what their jobs could be? You were used to surrounding yourself with images of oozing guts, but just beccause you had been decentized to it didn’t mean that fucking kidnappers who seemed more than used to living isolated was something you could handle.

You ran your hand back from the cat’s nose to his ears. He pressed himself so firmly against your hand that his eyelids were slightly pulled back as he demanded all of your attention. You could feel him breathing on you, his soft purrs are loud as he clung to you. When the fur around his face is pushed back his whole meringue look changes to one of a rat. His eyes while blown wide into dark saucers continue to look up at you fondly, his fur looks like a front facing bald eagle. There’s a reason you hardly ever see those angles, it’s less flattering. There’s less pride and a slicked back edge that is perceived as coolness. This is what that sweet cat looked like from this angle, his poofy roundness disappeared and strange looking from the front, while you never truly have looked too explore the other angles of the strange hair-do, the adorably crafted ugliness makes you melt into him as he melts into you.

As you lay there thoughts bubbling up worries and anxiety scratching away at your insides, this sweet fluff keeps you grounded. As was his task, he was an unofficial emotional support cat, nothing more than a pet that kept you mentally stable and provided both a comfort and reason to live. It was easy on the days where the paints seemed poisoned to be unable to reason and find out why you were alive. You wondered if everyone questioned this at times perhaps that’s why your artwork seemed so desperate, why you just cling to an intestine rope to pull you closer to answers and people who relate. It’s not something you can say for sure but even now, after a few years of this cat he kept you perfectly content to question but not give up.

He was also a good muse, posing in ways during his naps. Belly up, his head laid back against a pillow, his front paws folded under his chin but his back legs sticking upwards like two towers, fluffy and off white. He laid his ways that made it hard to determine if he was a cat or strang fluffy void, even though lots of cats did that. No matter how many photos and squeals you let out, it never felt the same, there simply isn't a connection. No photo could replace your cat, because you knew just about everything about him.

Sometimes you wondered if you relied too much on the cat, you’d question if the kidnappers thought the same if you weren’t so preoccupied with anything else. Even in captivity it seemed like you never had time for anything. All your plans would get mixed up or you would get horribly distracted. You acted as if you were wandering naked in a dark maze with how time snuck up on you. With no one to truly tell you otherwise you gave into it when you could, which was most of the time. Hours would be spent gazing off into walls and corners as you painted in your own head, it didn’t matter if you pictured it or not, it was the mental motions of the act that kept you entranced.

A jiggle of a brush, a whirlpool of the paint thinner. Hell the actions are what lured you down into the basement again. You hadn’t been told to stay, hadn't been told not to. You may not have paid attention to the home as you were pulled down to the basement by your navel; the living was quiet though the three men hummed and buzzed with a quiet conversation. You continued onto the door opening it so gently and silently you might have well just phased through the door to begin with. The unfinished steps hadn’t groaned or creaked as you stepped on them even though they should. The door hovered open, the light peering and stealing across the floor to the hall now behind you. As a moth would you step down and forwards moving towards your painting.

At this moment your eyes flashed with one lucid thought, “something isn’t right.” It didn't take a genius to know this but somehow as you were drugged by your own relaxation and you had taken the liberty to forget about everything that had been a bright neon sign telling you something was amiss. You looked away from your studio and across the room at another’s.

It’s important to note that some people have a personal belief that art is in the eye of the beholder, regardless of whether each piece usually has an original meaning in the grand scheme of things. You had thoughts and ideas, messages and stories to tell through your paintings. Each a commentary on something since you didn’t believe in unthoughtful gore and brutality, that wasn’t to say it had no meaning, but that there wasn’t a personal thought being expressed even deep below the surface. In this belief of art interpretation all art has at least two meanings, the artist’s original suffering inquiry, and the viewer’s lack of understanding. With this in mind the scene behind the curtain is much different then one in your studio.

The curtain had always been a temptation, that’s a simple fact of the matter. Place a marshmallow in front of a child and most struggle to resist even with the promise of more. This curtain in your case was so much more than temptation. A temptation is often pictured as sweet and sugary, lustful even, not a need but a want. This curtain was so much more than that, it was thorn covered and speckled with a lifetime of warnings but it wasn’t sweet, there was no guarantee of safety but an expectation of more. Even then you peeled it back.

It was more than a treasure trove of goodies, it was a threatening pile of one. The lights were on and you were slammed into with information as you peared across it all, for instance the room was large, much larger than you thought it was. While most of it was still unfinished further back against the far wall was a much more finished section. That is what you noticed second but you just were too in shock to register the first yet. The furthest wall was finished, a simple gray paint and from it hung old custom paintings, things both long forgotten and new. They were strange to see though in comparison to your room when you had first woken up nothing crazy. The first thing you noticed was crazier, though not too surprising.

The wall was lined with a board, hanging from it an assortment of household tools and even more specialty ones. Mostly pliers, wrenches, screwdrivers of all sorts of sizes. There were spools of wire, rope, and bolt cutters. There were more too, there were tweezers, the heavy duty kind, expensive looking, stainless steel and with a rubber grip. Each item while normally not threatening was fucking horrifying. The blindfolded and gagged half-dead looking man would ultimately agree if he saw the line up. Yet the detail of the organization, to the bindings, and yes even the table he was on, made it look like a perfectly created scene. To Feitain, who you half-confidently assumed was the resident torturer, this must be something artistic or even religious, sometimes the two came hand in hand.

His hair was glued by brown dried blood, his nose broken, the bruising covering his cheeks and eyes from what you could tell from afar. There was no way for him to escape from his binds, strapped down to the table. The table itself looked to be something akin to an embalming table, slightly slanted towards a floor drain, some blood already leaking down from the man and dried against the table’s cold smudged metal. He had bruises down his arms and legs dark purple and splotchy. His ankle looked painfully enlarged, not enough to be a break but horribly sprained.

You should have screamed in horror, your heartbeat sped up like crazy after all. There was enough adrenaline that maybe you could have killed a person, not your captors from the look and attitude of them. If a captor can be so unconcerned like they were either they were morons or knew full well that they had perfect complete control. From a second kidnapped person being in the basement looking like a corpse it’s easy to decide which.

Looking on even in your shocked state you made your third discovery. There were bulkhead doors. A small flight of stairs led up to them. In your shock you continued to move like a ghost, even though your chest was pounding. It rumbled in your gut, twisted and stabbed at your lungs, and you looked upwards at it, upwards into the dark steps a small crack of light. Your cat in all his loving sweetness rubbed up against your leg, mewling softly. You walked forwards reaching upward towards the door, climbing the stairs and gently pressing to see if they’d open, to your surprise it did.

#x reader fanfiction #fanfiction #hxh x reader #hxh #yandere #fanfic #feitan x reader #yandere phinks x reader #phinks x reader #yandere shalnark #shalnark x reader #yandere feitan x reader #yandere feitan #Phinks #yandere fanfiction

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princess-of-the-corner · 2 months

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QuirkSwap Soulmate AU

2 major thoughts, device being weird, so submission to be safe (all ideas may be altered to fit, or discarded):

1) My idea with Himiko, was like. In this, she is a year older. She should already have swapped with Hagakure and Sato. However, her parents have had her on Bond Blockers basically since her Quirk CAME IN. In addition to forcing her to suppress her Quirk, essentially starving her, they also are terrified she’ll meet her Soulmate, Quirk Swapping them, and letting everyone know about their “demon child”, so they put her on Bond Blockers. Himiko doesn’t know that’s what they are, of course. She actually thinks it’s “medicine” to help control her “deviant tendencies”. Or, alternately, to help with whatever “condition” she has (ie, BEING STARVED). Himiko basically takes the Bond Blockers until she flees her home, at which point she stops because a) she doesnt have easy access, but also b) she doesn’t actually know what the medication is CALLED, so even if she had access, she wouldn’t know what to look for. Also, as far Himiko is concerned? She doesn’t have a Soulmate. At all. Her 16th birthday came and went (her parents upped her dose that day, just in case) and no swap happened, so …

Now, I headcanon that part of the reason Bond Blockers are seen as so … is insidious the word? It’s probably not, but anyway. Part of the reason it’s seen as a “dangerous” drug, is that if you take it “recklessly”, it can seriously fuck you up. It is possible to “OD” on Bond Blockers - you won’t necessarily die, but it can really screw with your head, like the world’s worst drug trip, even make you physically ill. If you take the meds while you have an active Soulbond, it feels like submerging a part of you in a flash-freeze, it is actively PAINFUL. Which, is probably ironic, cause I see the function of Bond Blockers as “numbing agents”. They are meant to “numb” the bond, so you can’t feel it, hence their use for people with broken or severed bonds. But you have to be careful, cause the wrong dose, or the wrong kind can REALLY hurt somebody.

And one of the big things is you DO NOT give Bond Blockers to someone UNLESS THEY HAVE AN ESTABLISHED BOND TO BLOCK. If The bond is already in place, said bond is usually stronger than the meds. The moment you stop taking them, it snaps right back into place. But if the bond hasn’t quite “formed” yet? The Bond Blockers “numb” the part of you that SHOULD form the bond, making it anywhere from hard to impossible to actually FORM said bond in the first place. You are essentially crippling someone if you do this. I’d see it as a LAW that you cannot give out Bond Blockers to anyone under the age of 16, under threat of outrageous fines, and maybe almost 10-20 years in prison. The only exceptions are medical emergencies, and you’d better hope to hell you can prove your patient has an established Soul Bond that would have caused problems if you hadn’t given them the blockers. If you can’t, whatever happened had better have been life-threatening, and even then, it might not save you from legal, social, and financial ruin.

There’s probably a study, or famous in-universe story, about a kid who got put on Bond Blockers, and even after he went off them, his Soul Bond never kicked in. Like, he was thirty with no bonds. It had a serious psychological effect on him, (similar to how Himiko being starved makes her a little … uh, murdery?) and maybe even gave him long-term health problems. It affected the Soulmate too - his Soulmate was younger, that guy thought he didn’t HAVE a Soulmate, until these two met in person, but even the First Meeting didn’t actually awaken the Bond. The two had to physically TOUCH each other (they shook hands) for the Bond to snap into place. So, even after Himiko stops taking the Blockers, she doesn’t swap with Haga, or Sato (who can probably vaguely feel SOMETHING from Himiko, but like. Nothing actually HELPFUL). Then, during the training camp, Himiko fights Haga or Sato at some point, and physical contact kicks their bond into gear - maybe even drags the other person in too, like, chain reaction, if she doesn’t encounter them both.

I’d imagine, in addition to about 48 hours of NOT feeling like she’s been starved and left on a deserted island, the Bond also is a massive (no better phrase currently) mental boost. Like. Have you ever taken a medication that gives you something you are currently lacking, and man, you feel awesome!? Himiko is having that. For the first time in her life, she isn’t starving, and whatever part of her brain is wired for the Soulmate stuff is getting the right “nutrients” or whatever. Or Like. Chronic pain, suddenly not having it? She’s having that kind of high.

(other thought, if we go with this, and Kurogiri and Tomura are on Bond Blockers. Kurogiri already had bonds, and he’s been through A LOT, so while said Bonds need a bit to recover, they do slowly snap back into place on their own. Tomura stops taking them … and nothing happens, cause I imagine AfO was making him take these as a kiddo, so he’s having the same problem Himiko did, only Tomura has a lot of, like, justified feelings about physical touch. My thoughts are either he bumps into Spinner, and suddenly has scales and a tail, or Momo or Hana, or someone else grabs hold of him to pull him to safety, immediate swap.)

2) I like to imagine Dabi and the rest “jumping ship” isn’t exactly a smooth process. Like, “we desperately need a hospital, or us leaving was pointless cause we’ll all be dead” kind of not-smooth. So I just have the image of Dabi rolling up his house with his very beaten, bloody friends behind him, like. “Heeeeey Fuyumi, you remember when we were like, 8, and we promised we’d help each other if we had to evade the law?” And now the entire Ex-League of Villains is just hiding out at the Todoroki house. Enji and Rei would probably have more problems with this, except, ya know, turns out their son isn’t dead, and part of the reason he isn’t dead is bleeding out on their couch, so. Guess the family just got bigger.

Thoughts on the LoV’s Soulmates:

- Still a big fan of Magne/Jin, so I’m pulling for these two. They meet at the LoV, like officially meet their Soulmate, think this might be a good sign (which … debatable??). Also, I know Magne’s in-universe name is still her birth name, cause she hasn’t really been able to start her physical transition (which, again, anytime I think of her leaving the AfO Employ, that’s the first thing I see her doing), but I was thinking - do you think she just straight up changes her name to Magne? Or is that kept as an alias, and she goes with … idk, Kimika? Jun? Megumi?

-other Jin thought, that info-broker guy? Giran, I think? I’d see him and Jin as possible platonic Soulmates. Like, in canon, Giran (who seems to be aloof and strictly business with everyone) treats Jin like a friend, regularly checking up on him, going out of his way to help the guy out. He even apparently shelled out the cash and resources for Jin’s costume, and outright REFUSED any kind of repayment, which seems wildly out of character for him. And later, when he gets nabbed, Jin’s the first one pushing for them to save Giran - not because he has loads of info on them, which Tomura’s concerned about, but because “[he’s] my best friend!”. And there isn’t even his usual double line right after, saying the opposite. I don’t know how he’d survive the eventual League of Villains possibly becoming the League of Vigilantes or whatever, but I can definitely see a bond there.

-Kurogiri/Oboro, of course, has Aizawa and Mic, I see his bonds kind of … no better phrasing, fading in and out like a bad radio frequency, at least until he either regains more of his memories, or meets the two in person.

-Also a big fan of Spinner/Tomura. Mimi and I dubbed them the GamerGecko ship, and I adore these two awkward losers. If yes, then Spinner is probably feeling BIZARRE around Tomura at first, cause. Tomura’s still taking the blockers, but also, they are like. Right next to each other on the regular, their bond is TRYING, DAMMIT, WILL YOU TWO JUST BUMP SHOULDERS OR SOMETHING-!

-Mr. Compress … hear me out, but I kind of like the idea that Compress just … doesn’t have a Soulmate? Like, either he did, but they died before he ever met them, or (the one I’m thinking of) he simply never had that kind of bond AT ALL, but like. He’s fine, ya know? Ok, I realize he’s a criminal, but I mean. He isn’t super torn up about it. He doesn’t feel “incomplete” or “like half a person” or any of the other ways people describe not having a Soulmate. And it isn’t even “if he DID have one, he’d realize what he’s missing”, it’s more “if you managed to give Compress a Soulmate, he’d be ‘what the hell is this??’ about it”. Like, he’d adjust, but it would be HELLA WEIRD for him, and he would be real uncomfortable until he got used to it, which would take a WHILE. And I’m not even billing him as AroAce, I kind of see Compress as, like, the token cis, straight guy of the group? Like, Soulmate or no, he has romantic relationships. I can even see him settling down and getting married, having kids. He just doesn’t particularly need (or want) a Soulmate for any of this. As Mimi put it, if you swapped the Soulmate AU with CC, only Compress would be exactly the same. Any of this make sense?

(thoughts, feeling, opinions?)

OKAY SO

1.) My thoughts on Himiko:

I think I vote for the idea of her being on them but not knowing that’s what they are. Just her parents put them in her daily vitamins and such. And then she’s off them when she runs away. I do want to keep her age being dropped like in CC because it doesn’t change much except when the Soulbond kicks in. Because it’s either first meeting or when the youngest turns 16. So their first meeting would be during the Forest Training Camp Arc, which is after Hagakure and Sato turn 16. So she would’ve gone in knowing at least one of her Soulmates is invisible rather than dealing with it mid-fight.

Anyway!

Re: Saito! With Himiko not knowing she’s on the blockers, she gets a crush on Saito and because he’s either Quirkless or doesn’t have a flashy Quirk she /thinks/ that the instant obsessive crush she gets means that he’s her Soulmate because she’s a bit of a romantic like that. She does find out he’s not, but she still likes him and he likes her but yadda yadda blood frenzy and she nearly kills him and then runs away.

Himiko stops taking the meds after she runs away, but it’s not until the LoV and the discussion with Shigaraki and the same ‘idk what you’re talking about these are totally just normal vitamins’ conversation happens and she realizes what her parents were doing to her and laments the fact that she may have missed her Soulmate.

1.5.) As for the blockers! I wouldn’t say they’re seen as ‘insidious’, but because of both cultural stuff surrounding Soulmates and the fact that there’s evidence that unless the Soulmate is actively causing distress it is healthier to be with the Soulmate in some capacity. The meds themselves are less ‘insidious’ as much as there’s an instant ‘oh you’ve been through some shit’ if you see someone taking them.

Officially, the blockers are untested on people who have yet to trigger the bond. Because of the age trigger, they really can’t get mass-experiment in people 15 and under. There’s definitely been some people who never triggered the Bond on them, but those are usually adults who /should/ have triggered the Bond.Though also yes like any medication it can be abused and overdosed on. Which is why it’s only prescribed by licensed professionals!

Now, because of the previously mentioned lack of study on it, there’s no real protocol. But they have noticed that the only time the blockers stop working is on the initial First Swap when the Bond kicks in. They still can’t feel the Bond, but it’s now active and forces the Swap. So in the case of the Shigaraki-Momo Bond, they did swap that first 24 hours! Only Momo noticed because Decay is easy to accidentally activate. But she couldn’t pull on the Bond because the blocking meds effect both parties in that regard.

But again there’s little study on it because people are only supposed to be on the meds after the Bond is active. It’s really only cases where like ‘A and B already bonded, A went on the meds, then sometime later awakens a Bond with C’, which is always rare.

So on the three being on the meds and then recovering….. I think their dosages are probably normal despite them being gotten illegally. Kurogiri and Shigaraki’s meds are through Dr. Garaki who might be committing so much medical malpractice but his other identities are licensed to prescribe them so he knows the dosages that would be okay. Himiko’s parents are getting them in a similar way: bribing doctors who know what they’re doing rather than buying them from back alleys and guessing at dosage.

Kurogiri is pretty fine. Once the meds are out of his system, the bond is back in full swing. Pretty much no issues.

Himiko has some issues but not a lot. She’s been off the meds long enough to get them out of her system by the time she runs into her Soulmates. Her end of the bond is a bit quieter and lethargic, but that’s one of the reasons the group shoves her at her Soulmates. Close proximity helps healing.

Shigaraki has like. A Lot. Because he’s still numbed out when the Bond first activates and doesn’t notice it. Then a few months later he gets off the meds and deals with the withdrawl symptoms and such. But the Bond is very quiet on his end. It’s hard for him to grasp because it’s so foreign to him and even quieter than Himiko’s is. And he can’t fix it by proximity. Especially as he has no idea who his Soulmate is or what their Quirk does or how to find them.

2.) Oh yeah there’s some difficulty in jumping ship! In part because they’re a little on the run and also they’re trying to get away from AfO’s influence because he’s not gonna like that and he’s ESPECIALLY not gonna like Shigaraki getting away. Like fuck everyone else that’s the one he’s hunting down to drag back.

re: lodgings…. I have this headcanon that I actually used for CC where Enji has a handful of safehouses planned out and used for Hero Work things. Toya knows where most of them are and how to tell if they’re in use so he just shoves the LoV members in one of those for a bit.

As for coming home that’s a wild ride because like. How many people know Toya’s alive. Because

Hawks finds out when the Soulbond re-activates after Toya wakes up from the coma and they end up swapping for a bit. Hawks told Endeavor because…. honestly he was kinda freaking out and doesn’t have many people he can go to for that sort of thing.

Enji…. didn’t really. Didn’t tell the rest of the family. Because he knows that clearly something is going on ofc. But he doesn’t know what and clearly Toya is still in danger and… if he tells them that Toya is alive only for them to lose him again……

So like. I still have Shoto get kidnapped with Katsuki in CC because AfO thinks yoinking Toya turned out great! (Himiko is already there so no need to yoink her but I might yoink Shinso? Both in general but also for this). And Dabi thinks that Shoto knows because he reuinited with Hawks who admitted that Enji knows but Shoto is like ‘hey what the FUCK????’ when Dabi shows up to let them escape (another reason he’s jumping ship from the League).

So ofc Shoto called Enji out on that when he got home and now Rei, Fuyumi and Natsuo know too but they’ve had like a day before Dabi shows up with Himiko under his arm and is like ‘hey you might notice a safehouse active that’s totally fine ignore that’.

3.) LoV Soulmates!!

Okay yes Magne/Jin! They’re having fun because they’ve had the Soulbond active for years but never ran across their Soulmate until now and are very much riding a honeymoon phase about it.

Kurogiri is having his weirdness in like. Because of the blockers he assumed his Soulmate must be dead as he didn’t feel them. Once he stops the blockers the bond clicks back but it’s. It’s like a lot of things with his other Amnesia qualities. There’s plenty of muscle memory but not a lot of active memory so some things he does on reflex and it feels so familiar but also he has no idea what he’s doing.

I am 100% here for the GamerGecko but I’m also here for 1.) Soulbonds that are platonic and 2.) romances that aren’t Soulmates. So we have the Tomura-Momo Soulbond and idk who Spinner’s is yet but it’s also something platonic but then the gamergecko ship still sails.

Honestly while I can NOT see Mr. Compress as straight, I do agree that I can’t see a Soulmate with him so yeah I’m rolling with him not having one due to them dying before the Bond triggered. But also yeah while there’s people who feel absolutely devestated by the loss or feel like they’re missing out, there’s also plenty of people who cope really well and feel fine! He’s never even considered the blocking meds he just kinda rolls with whatever. Maybe when he was youger he felt more out of place about it, but mostly he’s just fine.

#submission #quirk swap au

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bisheepart · 7 months

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More Incorrect Quotes

Send help

Gregory: Vanessa got me a coat, but it's an extra large.

Cassie: Ah.

Gregory: So the sleeves go down to my knees.

Ellis: I forgot short people existed for a moment and had to think why that was bad.

Tony: *snorts*

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Cassie: Dumbest scar stories, go!

Elizabeth: I burned my tongue once drinking tea.

Cassidy: I dropped the hair dryer on my leg once.

Gregory: I have a piece of graphite in my leg for accidentally stabbing myself with a pencil in the first grade.

Tony: I was taking a cup of noodles out of the microwave and spilled it on my hand and I got a really bad burn.

Evan: ... I have emotional scars...

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*The 'Not So Alone' Gang hanging out at the Afton House, and in the living room*

Michael, walks in and sees the boys with makeup on:... The fuck are you all doing?

Evan: Lizzie and Cassie wanted to do makeup practice... And Cassidy just likes to cause problems.

Michael: Well, you all look hilariously ridiculous! Oh man, can't wait to tell every-

Gregory: HEY CASSIE, LIZZIE! MICHAEL WANTS TO JOIN IN TOO!

Elizabeth: *gasps* Mikey! Come here I got so many good ideas for you!

Michael: No, no no no! *goes to run off* Stay away from me!

Cassidy: GET HIM!

*the girls chasing after Michael while he yells at them to leave him alone*

Tony: CAN'T MAKE FUN OF US IF YOU'RE ONE OF US!

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Gregory; hey, Freddy Fazbear's, if your pizza is $5.99 and I order two of them, where the fuck do you get $36 from?!

Cassie: *wheezes*

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Evan: I don't get how you do it.

Cassidy: Do what?

Evan: Make everything sound like a threat. That man looked like he was about to piss himself, and all you did was ask him to step aside so that we could get past. Even when I actively try to sound threatening, no one takes me seriously.

Cassidy: That's because you look and sound like the personification of a warm hug.

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Ellis: Who the fuck added me to the fucking group chat?

Charlie: >:O Language!

Tony: Yeah watch your fucking language.

Elizabeth: OKAY WHO TAUGHT TONY THE FUCK WORD?!

Cassidy: 'the fuck word'

Evan: Are you guys stupid? You say the f word all the time.

Gregory: Oh my God, he censored it.

Elizabeth: Say fuck, Evan!

Cassidy: Do it, Evan. Say Fuck

--------

Evan: You guys really put aside everything and came all this way for me? How did you even get here so fast?

Tony: Several traffic violations.

Cassidy: Three counts of resisting arrest.

Ellis: Roughly thirteen cans of energy drinks.

Gregory: Also, that’s not our car.

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Elizabeth: I need you to come meet me, and I need you to come alone.

Charlie: And I need you to be less vague and weird.

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Elizabeth: We're going to a candy store?!

Evan: What, no! It's night time, candy stores are closed.

Gregory: We're gonna rob a candy store?!

#fnaf #not so alone au #evan afton #michael afton #elizabeth afton #incorrect fnaf quotes #fnaf cassie #fnaf gregory #fnaf cassidy #charlie emily #ellis fnaf #ellis tftp #ellis tales from the pizzaplex #tony becker #tony tales from the pizzaplex #tony becker tales from the pizzaplex #swearing #tw swearing #this wasn't meant to be a not so alone AU one but it just kinda happened.

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gayemeralds · 2 years

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alright heres the sonadow fic

word count: 3863

“What do you think that weird energy surge is?"

Shadow doesn't bother looking at Rouge. The Commander had asked him the same thing during the briefing for their mission, and Shadow had already told him he had no idea what could be going on. It wasn’t the same energy signal as a Chaos emerald. But Chaos energy was just as unpredictable as its name suggests, so it could quite literally be anything.

“I told you, I don’t know.” Shadow crosses his arms as Omega takes a sharp left to dodge a volcano. “Why did we let him steer the ship again?”

“I THREATENED TO BLOW IT UP IF YOU DID NOT.”

Rouge waves vaguely, and Shadow rubs his forehead, sensing a migraine forming. He’s a man-made super weapon but Omega’s terrible, jerky driving was enough to give even the most iron of stomachs at least a few flips.

G.U.N. had noticed an intense surge of Chaos energy on the coast of some back water island Shadow had never even heard of. Some place called Christmas Island, on the outskirts of the other mainland islands like South and West Side. It was a quiet, unobtrusive place, and thus no one could figure out why there was a sudden surge of energy.

Rouge had initially been sent to do reconnaissance, before they decided to have Shadow tag along, considering his knowledge on Chaos energy. Omega eventually decided to join because he was hoping a fight would break out, and no one at G.U.N. really wanted to tell the giant robot prone to mass destruction “no.”

The shore of the island came not a second too soon. Shadow hopped off the motor boat as fast as he could, not exactly thrilled about the trip back home, and scans the perimeter. Rouge floats to his side, and Omega nearly tips the boat over trying to join them. Shadow tries to figure out where the source is coming from, but his ability to feel out Chaos energy is weaker than that of Sonic or even Knuckles. A man made connection to the energy, as it turns out, isn’t always up to snuff with the natural sort.

Shadow thinks it’s coming from within the forest, and motions for the others to follow after him, silently. Rouge, as an international super spy and jewel thief, stays as silent as nightfall. Not even the flap of her wings makes a sound as she floats above the foliage and dried leaves. Omega isn’t quite as graceful, though Shadow gives him some credit- he really is trying for some stealth.

The surge in energy becomes strong enough that Rouge seems to feel it. She shivers slightly, the hair on the back of her neck standing up. Chaos energy had the strange property of being like water, or electricity. Wild or still, the eye of a hurricane, the perfect blend of a thunderstorm.

Shadow has them stop. The energy source is only a few feet away, and Shadow hesitantly creeps forward. Omega is charging up his weapons, while Rouge files her nails. Her eyes are sharp, however, and Shadow can see the tension amongst her shoulders, prepared to jump in when the moment’s right.

It’s radiating from a bush dead ahead. Shadow can feel it rolling like the waves of an unsteady tide, like the first time he stepped foot on the shores of an ocean. Jagged but fluid.

He pushes the bush apart, separating it in half, and finds a bundle of blue on the other side. His brows furrow in recognition, noting the iconic shoes and even more iconic color of fur. “Sonic?”

Rouge perks, twirling the nail file as she takes a half step forward. Omega appears to contemplate, before asking, “IS HE A THREAT?”

“Not at all.” Shadow bends down, prodding at Sonic’s shoulder. He’s slumped face first in the ground, and Shadow really wants to make stupid comment about that, but Sonic doesn’t react in the slightest to his podding. Shadow even moves to kick him, not hard, but not particularly kind, and that still doesn’t wake him.

Shadow rolls Sonic onto his back while Rouge moves to his side. Sonic doesn’t appear injured, but he’s definitely unconscious. Rouge settles on his other side and presses a hand against his forehead, her lips twisting. “Oh, he’s definitely got a fever. He’s burning up.”

Shadow’s brows furrow even further. It’s… honestly never crossed his mind that Sonic could be sick, could get sick. They are identical in every way that matters, in speed, in power, in energy manipulation. Shadow just sort of assumed… Sonic would be like him in this way, too. That colds and sickness were essentially below the both of them.

Shadow tilts his head. Sonic’s damp with sweat, but now he’s begun to shiver, curling in on himself a bit, and Shadow brushes some of his quills down. Well, he might be fine with looking like a wreck, but if Shadow has to be seen with him, he’d prefer it if he was able to maintain some class. Obviously.

“Let’s bring him back to Tails,” Shadow finally says. Shadow does have training on how to take care of sick people, of course, but Tails would probably be the better option, considering he has the same medical knowledge but more supplies, and Sonic would probably prefer him over Shadow. Shadow isn’t exactly known for his bedside manner.

Shadow hauls him into his arms. Sonic tucks his head into Shadow’s neck but doesn’t otherwise stir. He must be pretty sick; despite being a chronic napper, Sonic’s always been a pretty light sleeper. Must come with the territory of having defeated Eggman since he was a kid.

“So Baby Blue’s the cause of the energy signal?” Rouge muses as they walk back to the boat. “Chaos energy does require a lot of concentration to use, so I suppose it makes sense that it would become unbalanced if he fell sick. I wonder what he was up to that cause him to just collapse here.”

“I think Eggman was defeated yesterday,” Shadow admitted, trying to remember the news report. “Perhaps Sonic fought him while he was sick, and collapsed here before he could go home.”

“Hm, last I heard, Christmas Island was his home. Maybe he came here while he was under a spell of delirium.”

Shadow pauses while he steps inside the boat. Sonic was from here?

He stares back at the coast line, eyes scanning the forest. The island was insanely small, perhaps a fourth the size of the other islands in the area, and Shadow hasn't seen much signs of civilization here. If there were villagers here, there couldn’t be more than a handful, and none had even bothered to check out the energy source, or talk to Shadow and them when they arrived.

Shadow’s lips thin, and he goes back to boarding the boat, Rouge and Omega not far behind. Omega seems the most disappointed by this turn of events, pouting as he puts his hands on the wheel. “ARE WE CERTAIN THERE”S NOTHING I CAN BLOW UP BEFORE WE LEAVE?”

“Please don’t blow anything up,” Rouge practically begs. “Let’s just get out of here, alright?”

“I DEMAND TO BLOW SOMETHING UP ON THE NEXT MISSION OR I WILL DESTROY GOVERNMENT PROPERTY.”

“Sounds like a G.U.N. problem,” Shadow mutters, keeping a tight grip on Sonic as Omega takes off. The boat jets off at a blinding speed, and it wouldn’t do well for Shadow’s pride to drop his rival in the cold clutches of the ocean during a technical rescue mission. That’s obviously why he holds him as close to his chest as possible.

Rouge and Omega drop him off at a nearby port. As much as Shadow wanted to simply Chaos control to Tails’s, he wasn’t entirely sure how Sonic would react in this state, with his energy so heavily unbalanced. He’s always been Chaos sensitive, even if he claims to be just your average adventurer, and while Shadow has some expertise over the emeralds and their mystique, he doesn't have all the answers. They couldn’t really be called Chaos emeralds if they were so straightforward, after all.

It doesn’t take long to get to Tails’s, and he knocks on the door less than two minutes later. Sonic still hasn’t really stirred other than to shift a bit in his hold, hands clutching his chest fur in a way that’s making something stir in Shadow’s ribcage. Discomfort. That’s it. Obviously.

Tails opens the door a few moments later, hands covered in motor oil, rubbing the sweat on his forehead before his mouth drops into a small ‘o’. “You found him?”

“He was on Christmas Island. I fear he is unwell.”

Tails opens the door wider and invites Shadow inside. He leads him towards the lab, and Shadow carefully avoids some of the random parts strewn across the floor while they walk towards his medbay. Shadow sets Sonic on the bed, not at all gently, nope, and Tails immediately begins to work, humming as he takes in Sonic’s condition.

“I saw he defeated Eggman the other day,” Tails says, “And he was supposed to come visit me after he did, for a celebratory chili dog. He never showed up, so I assumed he forgot. He forgets stuff a lot, you know how he is.”

“Of course.” Shadow can’t even remember how many races Sonic ended up forgetting. Though, to be fair, he usually only misses them because of Eggman or an apocalypse. It was the principle of the matter, however.

“He’s got a really nasty fever,” Tails murmurs, hand settled gently across Sonic’s head. “Watch him while I go check for my medicine.”

Tails doesn't give him a chance to refute, and immediately walks off. Shadow is left alone with Sonic, who’s started to curl in on himself again, shivering as he burrows into the sheets. His eyelids flutter, though he makes no inclination to wake up, and instead begins to shift a bit. Shadow wonders if he’s having a bad dream, frowning at the sight, and moves to smooth a few quills back into place.

Tails walks in and Shadow snatches his hand away. The motor oil from his hands is gone, but there’s a dejected look on his face. “Sorry, Shadow. I don’t have the medicine to help him at the moment. I need to go to Angel Island to find the right herbs. Can you watch him while I’m gone? I just don’t like leaving him alone, if I don;t have to, but I don’t think I can really bring him along…”

Shadow could say no, of course. There’s plenty of other friends that could watch him. But Shadow is here, now, and he can’t quite get his eyes to leave the sight of his normally strong rival so vulnerable. He crosses his arms and looks away from Tails. “I guess. Why Angel Island, though?”

“Sonic’s got a super fast metabolism,” Tails explains, grabbing a backpack. “He’ll burn through normal medicine, so I have to make something special for him. I wish he told me he was feeling bad before it got to this, but he’s always been so stubborn about stupid things liken this.”

Tails sounds exasperated, and Shadow perks up a bit at what he’s learning. “Sonic… hides his sickness from you?”

“All the time. He always ends up getting worked into exhaustion, and then I usually end up finding him passed out somewhere. He doesn’t get sick often, but still. I hate it so much, but Sonic just doesn’t change. You know how he is. A little too independent at times, and always stubborn.”

“But… why?” Shadow can’t quite wrap his head around this. Sonic’s always preaching about friendship and working together. And Sonic doesn’t much care about being vulnerable or weak in front of others; it’s not necessarily a pride thing, despite him being prideful. “Why would he feel the need to hide these things from you?”

“I think he’s just so used to being alone, he doesn’t really think to ask for help for things like this.” The sentence makes Shadow’s stomach form a pout, and Tails himself appears sad, glancing over at Sonic with a soft, almost wistful expression. “Sonic can ask for help with the big things, you know, like adventures. He always thinks it's more fun to do those things with friends. But it’s always been the little things he can’t quite ask for help with.”

Tails pulls on his backpack, and seems to pause, eyes watching Shadow carefully, searching. He seems content with whatever he finds, because he says, a little quietly, “You found him on Christmas Island. Did you know that he’s from there? That tiny little island in the middle of an ocean…”

Tails gazes back at Sonic, frowning. “He doesn’t talk much about that time of his life, before meeting me and Amy and Knuckles. But he said enough. Or maybe it’s what he doesn't say. You know how it is. But he was all alone on that island for years. He didn’t have anyone. Not until Eggman showed up, wanting to test out his latest inventions on what was supposed to be an abandoned, remote island. Sonic challenges Eggman, because no one else would, because no one else could, because it was just him all alone on that island.”

Sonic burrows deeper into the blanket, curling up as tight as he could. Tails places a hand on his forehead, stroking his quills as gently as he could. “Everyone has someone in their life, you know? And at least, when we all started this fight against Eggman, we never joined all alone? Sonic was by all of us, step by step. But no one was there for him. And I think he just can’t shake that, no matter what. It makes me sad, sometimes.”

Tails finally looks at Shadow, long and hard. “Sonic’s always protecting, but no one really bothered to protect him. I don’t think he knows what it means to be protected, in the little ways that matter more than life or death battles.”

Shadow pauses.

Shadow was made to protect, that’s true. At first, he thought maybe he could understand Sonic’s predicament. After all, Shadow was literally made to protect. He was made to protect Maria, to give a cure, and to become a weapon, “to protect the world.” (He doesn’t believe that; G.U.N. didn’t want a hero.)

But then Shadow thinks a little bit more. Because sure, Shadow was made to protect, but he had been protected, hadn’t he? There had been people in his life who loved and adored him and wanted him safe and tried to protect him.

Gerald tried to protect him from G.U.N., tried to protect him from becoming a weapon. The other scientists were kind, and wanted to protect him from the truth of his birth. Maria protected him, ever since he was created- hell, she fucking died to protect him, to send him to earth.

Shadow might have had his loved ones snatched from him because of military brutality, but he still had loved ones to get snatched away from. Shadow does spend a few nights contemplating whether it’s better to have loved and lost than to never have loved. In his heart, he knows it’s better to have loved.

But Sonic didn’t have that, did he?

Shadow had a family, even if they all ended up dead. But he still knew his family, still loved them dearly. And that family loved him back, loved him so much that they tried to protect him even though he was made to protect them.

But Sonic didn’t have that.

Shadow frowns, peering down at Sonic. “I didn’t know that. I guess I’ve never really thought about his life before meeting the doctor.”

“That’s Sonic for you. Forgetting the past is the game he’s always playing.” Tails shakes his head. “You get why I don’t wanna leave him alone now? If he wakes up, he might end up bolting.”

“I’ll stay. I don't’ mind.”

“Oh, I figured you wouldn’t.”

Shadow blinks at the shift in tone. Tails is peering at him with an almost sly expression. “What?”

Tails waves vaguely. “I know how you are.”

“Again, what?”

Tails tilts his head, then point blanks states. “You know? I know you like him.” Something crosses his face, and seriousness shines in his eyes as he adds, “You’re going to have to make the first move, by the way.”

For a very long moment, Shadow’s entire brain stops functioning. Gerald’s hard work was for nothing, some Ultimate Lifeform he was, getting a brain freeze from the most inane accusation. The only thing he can manage to get out is another, “What?”

“Come on, I know you’re in love with him. Everyone does.” Tails rolls his eyes. “You don’t need a high IQ to see that.”

“Everyone...?”

“Well, except Sonic.” Tails sighs, his harsh expression softening. His gaze flitters back to Sonic, who remains blissfully unconscious. Shadow wishes that was him right now to avoid this conversation. “He’s... well, you know how he is. He’s love blind.”

Tails gave Shadow a mischievous look. “You know, it took a full year of Amy’s antics before Sonic realized she loved him.”

Shadow wanted to laugh, but the realization made the reality sting. “Oh Chaos, you’re joking?”

Tails shook his head, firmly. “So if you want to be in a relationship, you need to state it plainly and simply and broker no room for misinterpretation. Because Chaos knows, he won’t fucking confess to you.”

Shadow frowns. “Why? Isn’t this the same guy who waxes poetic about following his heart and doing what he wants, why doesn’t he, if he likes me back?”

Tails sits down on his work bench, clasping his hands together. He hums a bit, looking like he’s not sure how to word his next answer. Shadow waits, watching the cogs in Tails’s brain work. Shadow’s still trying to figure out how he feels about the fact apparently everyone knows about his (VERY MINUTE AND SMALL)... interest in that blue pest.

Sonic’s always had his respect, of course. From the moment Shadow saw his speed in motion, there had been a part of Shadow impressed by Sonic’s physical abilities. It was piqued further when they battled for the first time on Prison Island, and even more when Sonic proved himself able to use Chaos Control. Shadow’s respect for him, however, finally cemented when Sonic and his friends continued to try to find ways to stop the ARK from crashing into the earth, even though they were no doubt doomed.

He was going to give his all to save the planet he loved, even if he died in the process. It was something Shadow could respect, even before Amy convinced him to help the others. Shadow didn’t have plans on intervening, to help or hinder; it wasn’t likely that they would stop the ARK, but if they did…

Sonic had his respect, too, when they meet again after Shadow develops amnesia. His memories were few and far in between, but there was one that stuck in his brain, faded and weathered, but still there. A golden figure reaching out to him across the stars, radiating an energy that Shadow himself was losing. Sonic, reaching out to him as Shadow lost his super form, as the ARK floated harmlessly outside of the atmosphere, as Shadow descended to what he assumed was his grave.

And then that golden figure appeared again, this time to face off against some creature called Metal Sonic, Neo at the time. Shadow watched as he demolished a mechanical monstrosity that had copied all of their data and used the power of the emerald to transform into a disgusting creature. Shadow watched as Sonic saved the day once more.

Sonic continued to worm his way into Shadow’s life, following him through the invasion of the Black Arms, supporting him through his identity crisis (even if he was, at times, quite annoying). But Sonic taught him the most valuable lessons, despite his silly nature. To love and let live, to enjoy what once was, and to learn to enjoy what you have now.

Tails watches him carefully, and Shadow looks away, not daring to look back at Sonic, either. “I just don’t think he understands the idea of being cared for. He’s always done the caring. A partnership, a true partnership, romantic or platonic, where he’s not the provider, where he’s half of a whole… I don’t think it’s really crossed his mind.”

Tails watches his brother with gentle eyes. “He takes care of all of us. And I think he sees us all as equals. He knows I’m not his side kick, that we’re all partners. But it’s kind of like he’s the big brother and everyone’s his little sibling. Even Knuckles. He just… thinks that he needs to do all the caring. It doesn’t really cross his mind to be cared for.”

Tails pauses, then gives Shadow a strange look. “I think that’s why Amy’s romantic proposals sort of freaked him out, once he realized she was serious. A real partnership like that was completely foreign to him. But I think you could help him realize it’s not so scary. You’re one of the few people in the entire world he never has to slow down for. You can keep up with him, and you can protect him.”

Shadow looks away. He can’t stand the look of earnestness on Tails’s face. “I’ll do my best.”

Tails has a sly grin on his face. “I know. Now, I’ll give you a proper shovel talk once you and Sonic actually figure out what you’re doing. But I’ve got to get to Angel Island, so just keep an eye out for him, alright?”

It feels like a heavier question than it should be. Shadow has no problems bearing the weight, however. “Of course. I’ll keep him company.”

“Thanks again, Shadow.”

Tails walks out of the lab without a spare glance back. Shadow settles himself into the chair next to Sonic, who twists and turns in his sleep. It takes about half an hour before Sonic really wakes up, and even then, Shadow knows he’s not fully awake, eyes open halfway to peer at his surroundings, a yawn escaping his mouth. “Mmm, Shadow? What are you doin’ here?”

“You’re sick. Tails asked me to watch you.”

“That’s silly. I can take care of myself. I always have.”

It’s such a short sentence, but it says more than Tails did during their conversation. Shadow frowns, watching Sonic bury his head deeper into the pillow, sounding sleepier with every syllable. He lets out another yawn, and continues with, “I don’t need anyone else. I can take care of myself.”

Shadow opens his mouth to say something, but Sonic’s already drifting back to sleep. Shadow hesitates, before he runs his fingers through his quills. “Yeah, but now you don’t have to.”

Quietly, to himself, he adds, “And you’ll never have to again.”

#tbh it wouldn't be ahrd to drop the sonadow aspect but um. <3 #sonadow #sega official speaks #fic posting

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mollymawkwrites · 1 year

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this is the longest thing i have written in well over a year, and i'm quite happy with how it came out. thank you so much @dapandapod for your support and cheer reading, it meant a lot <3 CW: dubcon, sleep paralysis, inhuman!Eddie

Of course Steve gets nightmares. He’s always had them, ever since he was a little boy in a too big house. They only got worse after he saw a demogorgon crawl out of the walls at the old Byers’ place.

Flesh monsters, vines tight around his neck, demobats tearing at his flesh… Yeah, his brain has all the material it needs to fuck up his nights for several lifetimes. And yeah, some of them are about Eddie.

That’s weird, given Steve was only vaguely aware of the other boy’s existence until they met in less than ideal circumstances. And it’s not like they hit it off then, either. Sure, Eddie was fun and braver than he liked to pretend, but they hadn’t really gotten to know each other, what with the whole “running for our lives” situation.

But one doesn’t decide what one’s traumatized mind chooses to focus on, and so, in the months after the almost apocalypse, Steve gets used to seeing Eddie’s pale, bloodied face in his sleep every once in a while.

One of those nights, give or take five months after they’d buried an empty casket and struggled to meet Wayne Munson’s eyes, Steve wakes up from a nightmare featuring big, fearful doe eyes with a strangled gasp.

His brain struggles to catch up as his heart beats fast enough to hurt, sweat tickling his scalp. What hits him first is the heaviness of his limbs, unresponsive even as he wills himself to sit up. Panic seizes him, and he screams — well, tries to. All that comes out is a pathetic wheeze.

No matter how hard he strains on his vocal chords, nothing comes out but the air in his lungs.

It takes him a while to calm down, and even then it’s more out of exhaustion than anything else. That’s when Steve notices the shadow in the corner of his room. And it’s not like he’s not used to mistaking a pile of clothes or a coat hanger for a threatening presence — there have been incidents involving panic attacks and waving his nail bat at unsuspecting items.

But this — this is not just a hallucination. Or maybe it is, a very elaborate one. He can’t see much, a humanoid shape, hunched between his wardrobe and his desk, so dark it looks like it’s sucking the moonlight from the room.

It doesn’t move, and Steve keeps his breathing shallow, quiet, his lungs straining with the lack of oxygen as he stares at the shadow, his eyes burning with the need to blink. As if keeping his eyes on it will keep it from moving closer.

A car passes in the street outside, bathing the room in light for a second, and two eyes flash, reflective like a cat’s, fixed on Steve, furthering the feeling of prey tickling at the back of his neck.

But with the sudden light, there and gone, Steve gets a better look, though the thing is still just a shadow, a complete absence of color and light; but the shape of it is familiar, wild curls around its head, bad posture in a relaxed, careless way. It’s a silhouette he sees more often than not when he’s asleep.

Maybe he is still dreaming; that would explain why he has no control over his body, his voice. Why Eddie’s shadow is standing in the corner of his room. It doesn’t make it easier to relax, the claustrophobic feeling of being trapped in his own skin bringing back flashes of metal chairs and manacles in a Russian secret facility, of slimy vines crawling over him, restraining his limbs, choking him.

“Eddie” is unmoving, quiet, as Steve’s chest heaves around painful breaths, his mouth opening around silent words and pleas. Nothing comes out of his mouth but agonized whimpers. Tears gather at the corners of Steve’s eyes. He still doesn’t dare to blink, equal parts terrified that Eddie will disappear or that he’ll attack him if he does. Adrenaline rushes through his veins, making the forced immobility of his limbs even more unbearable.

It feels like hours before he slips into an exhausted sleep, “Eddie” just as unmoving in the corner as Steve is in his bed. Flashes of light glint off of his eyes from time to time, and the outline of him seems blurry, like dark, unnatural smoke. Steve fights to keep his eyes open, trying to catch more details out of the apparition haunting his room, but as the stars wink off and the sky lightens, he gives up, and sinks back into uneasy dreams.

The incident stays on his mind for the next couple of days, making him nervous, unsettled; but after an uncomfortable conversation with the other older kids, he concludes that was just the results of his exhausted, traumatized mind, a textbook case of sleep paralysis (thank you Nance). After that, it’s easier to put it out of his mind.

Except it’s not even a week before he wakes up gasping in the middle of the night, vivid images of bitten off flesh and big, lifeless brown eyes staring at a blood red sky superposing with the familiar decor of his own bedroom for a second. Restless energy thrums, desperate to do something, get rid of this helpless feeling that’s been underlying, hiding under his skin for months; but as he goes to rise and find something to do, maybe call Robs or demand a check in through the walkie, he finds himself, once again, unable to move an inch.

This time he forces himself to breathe through the panic, to relax his limbs, just like Nancy told him. And it helps, it does, right up until he notices the shadow standing at the foot of his bed, the moonlight coming from the window forming a halo in its wild, curled hair, darkness bleeding out from where Steve knows the bats tore into skin and flesh.

He can’t help the choked sob clawing up his throat as tears spring to his eyes, rolling down his temples to pool in the hollow of his ears. He whimpers, hurting his tight throat as he fights to whisper, “S— sorry, ‘m sorry, Eddie—“

A weird, hissing noise echoes around Steve’s room, making the hair on his arms rise, like the warning sound of a rattlesnake when you’ve stepped too close. It takes Steve a minute to realize it comes from Eddie, a mockery of a shushing sound, as if trying to soothe him.

At some point, around the same time his tears dry and his sobs fade into tired hiccups, the sound merges into a faint hum, discordant and unsettling, like an old-timey melody heard through a malfunctioning vinyl turntable. It sounds familiar, though Steve’s exhausted mind can’t quite recognize it. He falls back asleep quickly, wakes up in the morning with salt tracks dry on his cheeks and a stubborn melody stuck in his brain.

This, like the nightmares, the yearly world-ending threat, and the knowledge that superpowered teenagers are a thing, becomes Steve’s new “normal”. Every once in a while, when Steve dreams of Eddie, he wakes up to the silhouette of the dead metalhead lurking in his room, sometimes in the corner, sometimes in the shadow of his wardrobe, or even perched on his desk.

As weeks pass, the silhouette seems to get sharper, like a camera focusing bit by bit. Shadows leave place to a pale face with wide, black eyes, reveal claws at the end of long, thin arms, and the low, rough voice always seems to be humming the same melody, the one Steve can’t seem to shake off his brain even during the day, and is pretty sure is meant to be played on a guitar.

After a few of these nightly visits, Eddie gets bolder, starts crouching at the foot of Steve’s bed, and eventually, perching over him, his face hovering over Steve’s, eyes glinting, mouth forming wordless melodies. There is no weight, no dent in the sheets; dreams are weightless, Steve supposes. There is a smell, though, something like ash, like ozone and iron, that gets stronger whenever Eddie manifests that close to him. A cold sensation seeping through the sheets where there should be contact between them, raising goosebumps over Steve’s skin.

This goes on for another few weeks, during which Steve debates telling anyone about his unusual nighttime visitor. He saw Eddie’s dead body, the vital parts ripped out of him by thousands of tiny teeth. He mourned along with the rest of the Party, though his waking mind kept his focus on Max and her slow, painful recovery.

All that to say, Eddie is dead. Steve knows that. And even if he wasn’t, they left his body back in the Upside Down. El closed all the rifts, they made sure of it. How could Eddie be here, when his body has been locked in another dimension?

Steve is probably going crazy, making up a strange imaginary friend, a fucked up kind of coping mechanism. Telling the others will alert them of his less than stellar state, and get it in their head to help him. And then… then Eddie, or whatever weird imaginary version of him, might disappear for good.

Steve’s not sure why the thought makes him so uncomfortable, why he almost looks forward to going to bed now, despite the nightmares, despite the insomnia, just because it might be one of those nights where Eddie “visits” him again. Somehow, he gets to spend more time with a man he lost before they could become friends, and no matter how fucked up that is, Steve doesn’t get a lot of nice things these days. He’ll enjoy that one while it lasts.

There is something else Steve hasn’t told anyone, not even Robin. Since their last stunt in the Upside Down, Steve’s libido has been… well, lacking would be a word for it. And he knows he’s got A Reputation, but the truth is he’s never been as much of a Casanova as everyone says. Sure, he’s gone on a lot of dates, and some ended up in one night stands. But that always feels unsatisfactory. Yeah, Steve likes sex, loves sex, but what he loves about it is the emotional connection. So no, he doesn’t sleep around that much even at the best of times. And this… this is not the best of times.

The fact that he’s either been not sleeping or having nightmares when he does surely doesn’t help. He’s had no interest in sex in months, and even masturbation is only perfunctory, just another unsuccessful way to try and fall asleep.

So when he gets his first wet dream in who knows how long, Steve damn well intends to enjoy it. There’s no real focus of his dream, only warm, fuzzy sensations, a tingle in his lower belly he’s not felt in what feels like forever.

He basks in it for a little while, heat building, shapes and sensations brushing his skin, his hands tangling in long, soft hair, humming lips kissing his burning skin, a weight shifting over him like a comforting, grounding embrace.

A hoarse voice moaning praise, whispering his name against his throat, his ear, his hair.

“Stevie…”

He grinds against the other body, chasing sparks of pleasure, but the weight disappears, and he whines, hips stuttering, seeking delicious friction.

“Steve,” the raspy voice pierces through the hazy fog of lust, and Steve opens his eyes to his dark room, a now familiar immobility restricting his body. His heart beats hard in his chest, body still caught in unfocused pleasure. He knows to look for a shadow before he’s even completely awake.

Eddie’s crouched awkwardly near Steve’s legs, big eyes staring at him in surprise. From his point of view, there’s no ignoring the obvious tent in the light summer sheets. The shame that floods Steve chases away the last of the sleepiness, and he closes his eyes in mortification, a muffled groan making its way out of his tight throat. There’s no doubt Eddie had been sitting atop him when Steve had started moaning and grinding his hips like a perv. The weight had felt so real, so good, and now Steve is left with a persistent hard-on in front of his own personal ghost.

So instead he keeps his eyes closed and hopes against hope he’ll get back to sleep and Eddie will be gone when he wakes again. Which, of course, has zero chance of happening in normal circumstances, even less so with his dick still stiff as a board.

The mattress shifts, Steve’s body rolling with the movement. He snaps his eyes open, meets Eddie’s equally confused gaze. That felt like… Eddie actually sitting on Steve’s bed, his weight dragging Steve towards him like gravity. But it can’t…

They both watch as Eddie raises his hand as if in slow-motion, hovering right over Steve’s knee, complicated emotions stirring in his bottomless eyes. The touch, when it comes, is cold through the sheets. A jolt of electricity shoots up Steve’s thigh, contracting the muscle and tingling over his skin.

“Stevie?” Eddie rasps, voice unsure. Steve wants to tell him it’s okay, though he really doesn’t know if it is, all his comfortable assumptions about dreams and sleep paralysis and logic flying out the windows as Eddie’s fingers press into his flesh; not bruising but firm, like he’s trying to make sure he won’t go through Steve’s skin.

Gaze rising from where he’s been staring at Eddie’s — corporeal— hand for the last minute, he finds Eddie’s eyes searching his face, bloodless lips parted over too sharp teeth. Though he feels far from confident about the situation, Steve dredges every bit of reassurance and comfort he can find, pushing it to the front of his mind as if Eddie could absorb it through — fucking osmosis or something.

Dumb as it sounds to his own brain, Eddie seems to catch up on it, and he shifts again, a little closer, upper body hovering over Steve’s, his big dark eyes searching for something.

Slow, as if not to spook him, Eddie brings his other hand to Steve’s bare chest. His fingers are freezing, and Steve can’t fight off the shiver that wracks through his body at the touch, soft skin yielding under a clawed hand.

Eddie stays still for a moment, his eyes never leaving Steve’s, before lowering his head next to his hand, ear against Steve’s chest, as if… as if listening to his heart.

Steve’s face flushes bright hot as his traitorous heart immediately picks up, betraying how affected he is by all the touching.

He is so lost to mortification he almost doesn’t notice the strange sound rising in the room, but the vibration against his chest catches his attention. Weird as it is, it doesn’t take long for Steve to understand Eddie is purring, loud and smug like Dustin’s cat always does when he perches on Steve’s lap. A silent laugh shakes Steve’s shoulders, and Eddie straightens up, a small, hesitant smile on his face. Sharp fangs press into his plush bottom lip, creating little dimples matching the ones on his cheeks. Steve only sees them for a second before Eddie shuffles even closer, leaning down again, aiming this time for Steve’s neck. Visions of those sharp fangs tearing into his throat only torment him for a second, before he hears Eddie snuffling against his pulse point, cold breath raising goosebumps over the bare skin.

Steve’s not sure his sleep stale sweat is a very alluring scent, but Eddie seems to think otherwise, as an oddly long tongue trails from the dip between Steve’s collarbones to the ticklish spot under his left ear, the deep purring emanating from Eddie’s chest growing louder with the action.

Steve lets out a strangled gasp at the wet sensation, the night air flowing from his open window immediately cooling the trail of saliva and enhancing the sensation. His flagging dick reacts immediately, rising to attention. Eddie raises his head, face hovering right over Steve’s as he searches his gaze, a sharp grin pulling at his lips when he finds whatever it is he’s looking for. Steve’s breath is shallow, fresh sweat beading at his temple as his body heats rapidly, hyper aware of Eddie’s skin so close to his own, their only point of contact the hand Eddie still has placed at the center of his chest and the strands of curly hair tickling his throat and shoulders.

“Stevie,” Eddie croaks again, with an edge of teasing to his voice this time, his cool breath brushing over Steve’s face.

A pang of loss runs through Steve when Eddie sits back, mourning their proximity, until Eddie throws a leg over Steve to sit over him, much like he has taken to do during his nightly visits, except this time, Steve can feel it, his weight, the coldness emanating from his body, as he sits right over Steve’s crotch.

For once, Steve thanks his momentary paralysis, as he has no doubts his hips would have thrust up if he’d been free to move. Instead, he lets an admittedly embarrassing groan, which has Eddie smiling wilder and squirming a little, sending sparks flying through Steve’s spine, his core tightening with pleasure.

Leaning with a smug purr, his hair tickling along Steve’s scarred ribs, Eddie plants a kiss right over Steve’s sternum, nosing into his chest hair. Steve’s hands itch to reach for him, to stop him or urge him to keep going, that isn’t clear even in his own head. Staring at the dark blue of his bedroom ceiling, trying to breathe deeply enough to get enough oxygen to his brain so he can think about the situation properly, Steve leaves Eddie to his animalistic… scent marking?

The scrape of a fang over his left nipple startles him back into the present with a gasp, eyes snapping to Eddie’s mop of dark hair. Dark eyes glint at him between the strands before lowering again to focus on the sensitive area.

It’s more exploratory than intentional, the way that slick, serpentine tongue flicks out to follow the edges of Steve’s scars, to taste the moles and freckles that dot his entire body, and it drives him crazy. He feels filthy, enjoying it this way, though there’s no way Eddie doesn’t know what he’s doing.

The thin sheets offer little protection, and though Eddie is still mostly shrouded in darkness, Steve’s pretty sure he’s just as naked. He can feel the muscles in Eddie’s thighs flexing on each side of his hips with every tiny movement, and there’s no ignoring how well Steve’s cock fits under his ass, trapped in delicious agony.

Once Steve notices that, no amount of imagining his old swimming coach naked helps to quell the fire building inside him. It only takes a few more minutes of Eddie playing with his chest like a kitten with a new toy to bring him to the edge; once there, it’s only a matter of Eddie shifting a little, Steve’s cock slipping between his buttcheeks, and Steve is thrown into a cramp-inducing climax, body going rigid under Eddie.

He comes to a few seconds later, chest heaving, opening his eyes to a pleased and awestruck expression on Eddie’s face. They stare at each other for a silent second, before Eddie sits back and snakes his hand under the sheet and Steve’s underwear with a focused expression on his face. Excuses and apologies bubble up to his lips, dying on his tongue as Eddie drags a clawed finger in the sticky cum on Steve’s lower belly. Bringing it to his own mouth with a curious expression, Eddie licks Steve’s cum off of his finger, effectively strangling the breath out of Steve’s lungs in the same time.

Making a face at what Steve assumes to be a bitter salty taste, Eddie scrunches his nose and lets the sheet fall back over Steve’s modesty. Fondness floods Steve’s chest, and he smiles up at Eddie when the boy turns back towards him.

Body lax and fuzzy, more relaxed than it’s been in what feels like years, Steve quickly slips into a dreamless sleep, only conscious long enough to feel Eddie’s cool but solid presence laying down beside him, wrapping around him with a contented purr.

Steve falls asleep to the feeling of Eddie’s sharp, blackened fingers treading through his hair, playing with the strands, humming a discordant melody in a deep, raspy voice.

Steve wakes slowly, drifting in and out of consciousness, sensations coming back to his body; the slight chill of the air over his naked skin, something soft brushing against his cheek, an unpleasant sticky sensation tickling at his crotch. God, it’s been years since he’s come in his sleep like this, he’d thought he was over with this kind of teenage bullshit—

The memories of the night before hit him at the same time as he registers the arm thrown over his chest, and he snaps his eyes open, suddenly completely awake. The body against his shifts as it wakes, tangled curls tickling his nose and making him sneeze. All movement seizes, the other body going as stiff as his, before it springs up, light blue sheets slipping down to reveal pale skin mottled with dark ink and angry pink scars.

Eddie Munson is looking down at him with wide, disbelieving eyes. Warm, brown, human eyes.

“What the fuck?” A rough, scraping voice escapes Eddie’s mouth, though it doesn’t look voluntary, if his even more confused expression and the hand flying to touch his own lips are to be believed.

“Me what the fuck? You what the fuck!” Steve replies intelligently. He’s not very proud of how he’s handling the situation, but he’s pretty sure he can be excused for that one. It does feel good to be able to talk — and, oh, to move as well, he checks as he mirrors Eddie and sits up — with Eddie there.

“I’m alive? I’m— I’m real?” Eddie overlooks Steve’s stupid answer, turning his eyes to his own — very naked — body, right hand hovering over his chest as if afraid to touch. Or to go through his own skin.

Too confused and tired of this shit to be delicate about it, Steve tugs on the curl of brown hair sticking to Eddie’s neck. “Seem real to me.”

Eddie slaps his hand with a wince and a frown, but at least the disbelief on his face fades from his expression for a second. Silence settles over them as Eddie wiggles his fingers in front of his face, pokes at his own cheeks, smushing them in a way that floods Steve’s heart with fondness.

“Am I… human?” Eddie asks at last, his eyes deliberately avoiding Steve’s this time, as he skims his right hand over his left forearm.

Steve studies him, the vulnerable slouch of his shoulders, the slightly unnatural paleness of his skin, and raises his own hand to brush Eddie’s hair away, revealing a pointed ear. “I’m not a hundred percent sure on that one,” he says, rubbing his thumb over the arch of Eddie’s ear. “You can still blush though, so that’s good news.”

Face flushed red, Eddie groans, falling forward to hide in the crook of Steve’s neck. “You’re an asshole, Harrington.”

“Well, I might be an asshole, but it looks like fucking me brought you back to life, so I think you should be grateful,” Steve says, barely containing a laugh as Eddie gives a halfhearted slap to his chest.

“I thought it was a dream! I thought I was dying or already dead and my brain just decided to let me have some fun in my final moments.”

“You often dream about breaking into my room to have your way with me?” Steve wraps an arm around Eddie’s shoulders, reveling in the very firm, solid presence of him, though not as warm as he’d expect a human body to be.

Pushing away to give Steve a stern look, Eddie says with a flat voice, “Steve, I literally just came back from the dead. Stop trying to get in my pants.”

Steve shrugs and slips out of bed, giving Eddie some space. He steps out of his soiled underwear, confident that Eddie likes what he’s seeing. “I’m not the one who sex-dreamed myself back to life. You don’t have a leg to stand on here, Munson. At least I got a great orgasm out of it. And here I was, about to return the favor.”

And if he puts a bit more of a swing into his hips as he walks to the bathroom, well. The sound of bedsheets being shoved to the floor and footsteps following him in a hurry are so, so worth it.

#steddie #steddie fic #my writing #stranger things #dubious consent

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nierly-amazing · 6 months

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Open the Memory Cage: Chapter 24: Shenanigans

Thank you so so much to jJohn313 for being a huge support and kickstarting me into writing again! This still would be in fic limbo (heh) if not for him!

Summary:

Take two…three…four…seven…eight…

[Read on Ao3]

[Like my work? Support me on ko-fi!]

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Chapter Text

“Don’t you think it’s a little weird to be meddling in someone’s love life like this?” A2 grunted and handed 9S a bag of fruit. “How many picnics have you had so far?”

“We’re not—” 9S snapped. “I mean, we’re trying to—” he slams the lid of the picnic box. “Shut up.”

A2 shrugged and walked off.

11S rolled toward them on an old office chair. "Let's see. So far you've been to the flower fields, the cool spot by the factory where you got attacked by seagulls, the amusement park where you all nearly got killed by that bunny robot..." He leaned back in his chair which gave a threatening creak. "...the spot by the desert where Jackass was testing her new explosives..."

"Yes, we remember," 9S sighed.

11S continued as if he didn't hear him. "...the entrance to the Forest Kingdom because you remembered 21O and 6O can't reach the library without falling apart, aaand the desert oasis that got hit by a sandstorm."

9S glared.

"Okay, geez." 11S rolled away.

“A2 does have a point,” 2B said. She casually slipped a few sandwiches behind the shelves. “Should we really be doing this?”

“It’s fine, it’s for the greater good!”

“The greater good? What do you mean?”

“Don’t worry about it, let’s go!”

6O dug into the bowl of apples and settled herself on the frayed, vaguely plaid blanket. “Thank you so so much for inviting us to another picnic!” she beamed.

“Of course!” 9S said with a mouthful of PBJLT. He scrunched his face up while swallowing the mess.

The Scanners had gotten more creative with sandwiches for their picnic since the previous attempt was less than impressive. Since they lacked the old recipes for condiments, they had to make do with whatever substitutions they could get their hands on. Plus, the thought of killing an animal to put part of its flesh on some bread when they didn’t need to eat seemed—as 42S put it lightly—pretty fucking disturbing.

9S was skeptical at first at the choice, but 13S and 14S assured him they taste-tested them beforehand.

I don’t think they know that ‘taste-testing’ means making sure it passes the test. He quickly washed it down with a glass of fresh-squeezed juice.

At least the drink was good, if a bit chunky.

2B and the Operators each took a sandwich. The Operators quickly tossed theirs behind them when they thought no one was looking but 2B took a few small bites from hers. She made an expression 9S couldn’t decipher and set it back on the plate.

After a bit of idle chit-chat, 9S messaged Anemone to call. Thankfully, it came a lot sooner than before.

“ Geez , Anemone, why do you have to keep calling during our picnics like that? Can’t it wait?” He faked a heavy sigh.

“What do you mean, this was your id—”

“Right! We’ll be there in ten!” He nearly batted his pod out of the air to close the channel.

The Operators both tilted their heads at him.

“I’m so sorry, Anemone needs us again. It’s so inconvenient!”

“What did she need you for?” 6O asked.

“I dunno but it sounds important.”

21O simply looked at him then at 6O. They shrugged.

9S stood and dusted crumbs off himself before he grabbed 2B and turned on his heels. “We’ll be back ASAP! Bye!” They took off at a brisk pace toward the nearest building, dodged behind it, and waited. And waited. And waited. Again, nothing happened. The Operators kept nibbling on the fruit only and engaged in what seemed like small talk.

9S sighed louder than he anticipated. 2B gave him a questioning hum.

“Man, I know these things take time and like I’ve said before we just gotta be patient with them but maaaaaaan.”

“Maybe we can stay the whole time next time,” 2B offered as she peeked out at them.

“Well, they definitely won't say anything in front of us.”

“No, I mean,” she paused and leaned back toward him, “I would like to have just one uninterrupted picnic to spend time with all of you.”

9S sat up straight. “Oh.” He shifted his gaze to a trail of ants on the wall. “Ohhh, 2B I’m sorry. I didn’t even think about that. I was so focused, I didn’t—”

“Nines, it’s not that big of a deal,” 2B snorted.

“You sure? I feel like I’ve been messing up a lot lately.”

“I’m sure. It’s nothing compared to what I’ve—”

“Hey!” 9S put his hand over her mouth. “Don’t talk like that!”

2B whined.

“ 2B ,” he pouted.

“Okay,” she said, muffled through his fingers.

He pulled his hand back and bumped his forehead against hers. She blushed.

After a minute 2B spoke up. “You know, if I can’t say things like that you can’t either.”

“What?”

“You can’t say you’ve messed up like that.”

“But that’s not the same! That—” 2B slapped her hand over his mouth. “Hey!”

“ Nines, ” she said in the same tone he did.

“Yeah, yeah.”

2B snorted and headbutted him.

9S headbutted her back, pushed her against the wall, and pressed his knee between her legs. Her arms slid up his back as he leaned in for a kiss.

“I love you, 2B, don’t ever forget that.” He pressed his fingers to her thigh.

“I love you too, Nines. But…” She grabbed his hand.

“Hm?” He leaned back and looked at her with half-lidded eyes.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?”

“Oh, right.” He coughed and shifted his legs. “Anyway, you’re right, let’s just have a normal picnic next time!”

---

The next picnic was not, in fact, a normal picnic.

“How was I supposed to know we set up between a moose and her baby?” 9S exclaimed over the ruins of their picnic. “Pod only scans for machines, not wildlife!”

“You still picked the spot, son .” 21O crossed her arms.

“Not sure I like you saying it that way.”

“It’s fine you two!” 6O said while she rubbed her wrist. “The moose didn’t hit me, I just fell! It doesn't hurt that bad. It's not like I have glass bones or paper skin or anything!”

“Still, we need to be careful,” 21O sighed. She turned back to 9S. “ You need to be more mindful when choosing a location. Might I remind you what happened last time...times.”

“Hey, why are you singling me out? 2B helped pick—” His words caught in his throat.

2B looked at him with a frown.

“Er—sorry, 2B. It’s not anybody’s fault. Let’s just find a new place before the moose decides to come back with reinforcements.”

“Fine,” 21O huffed.

6O sighed.

2B finished bagging up all the supplies in their muddied picnic blanket and threw it over her shoulders. It hit her back with a loud crunch.

“Oops.”

9S held back a groan.

---

They re-set up at the top of a shrubby hill and dusted off the surviving fruits. 9S nestled himself in 2B’s lap and popped a cherry in her mouth. She bit down a little and her expression softened as the sweet juice flowed into her mouth. And then…

Crunch.

9S sat up. 2B kept crunching but tilted her head at him. He bit his lip.

“Nines?” She swallowed.

“Nothing, it’s fine.” He gave her another cherry.

6O and 21O each took a handful of cherries.

Crunch.

9S cringed. The crunching continued. Inside him a battle waged. He picked up another cherry. He looked to 2B, 6O, and 21O as they happily munched and crunched the stony pits. He looked back to the cherry, shrugged, popped it in his mouth, and bit down.

Crunch.

Well, at least their teeth weren’t made of chalk or anything.

“Wow, humans sure had strong teeth to be able to eat lots of these,” 6O mused between crunches.

“...Yeah,” 9S said. “Y’know, I kinda prefer it without the seed.” He spat one out into the grass. He nodded. “Mmm, much better! Try it!”

6O and 21O shrugged and spat theirs out too.

“Agreed,” 21O said after a moment. 6O nodded, too.

“I like the crunch,” 2B said and popped another in her mouth.

Crunch.

9S bit the inside of his lip.

“Hey, 2B?”

“Hm?”

“I bet I can spit this further than you can!” He aimed and fired a seed into some bushes a few meters away.

2B’s eyes lit up and she immediately shot her seed out further than he could ever dream of, which sprayed him with cherry bits in the process.

She covered her mouth. “Sorry!”

9S snorted and wiped his face. He began to laugh. He grabbed another cherry and shot its seed after 2B’s, much further than before but nowhere near hers. He coughed on a bit of juice and tried again, still laughing.

6O joined in, then 2B; they took more cherries and shot the pits out over and over. A warm feeling grew inside him and he leaned against 2B. She hummed and leaned back but only until she got another cherry. She angled her head with laser precision and launched the seed.

“Come on, 21O!” 6O nudged her. “Join us!”

“I don’t see wh—” She rolled a cherry between her fingers and looked at the others smiling like dorks. A small smile grew on her face. “Oh hell, why not?” She popped the cherry in her mouth and with a deep breath launched the whole thing a few meters away. A small bird sitting in the brush nearby pounced and flew off with the treat.

“Good enough,” 9S chuckled. He leaned against 2B once more and hooked his arm around her for support. 21O huffed and tried again.

9S felt something welling up in his chest. “I’m really glad you came back to us,” he hummed. “I missed this.”

21O raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean? We’ve never done this before.”

“I mean like…” He pinched his chin. “I don’t know how to explain it. I know we haven’t done anything like this but it feels right. Like in another universe, this would have been a normal experience for us.”

“Yeah, I feel that,” 6O nodded. “Despite being so distanced from each other back with YorHa, there was still that feeling of…family.” She looked at 21O but looked away when she returned her gaze.

2B pulled 9S closer to her. She didn’t speak but the look on her face made 9S feel warm.

“Despite everything,” 9S murmured, “the four of us still managed to get out of this alive. More or less.”

21O wiped her eyes and nodded. “Despite everything, we’re still here.”

---

How was the picnic?

It was great!

We shot cherry seeds from our mouths.

Ah. Ok. Did they confess finally?

No. But we might be getting close. Maybe.

You gotta invite us next time.

Yeah, we’re kinda jealous. You have all that good food all to yourselves.

Well, there is a lot of food, yes.