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1kook · 4 years

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ZOOM CALL

⇢ meeting two

jeon jungkook x (f) reader

⇢ series masterlist

summary: Most notably, there’s one group project waiting for you, which leads you to Friday. Sitting at your desk, bright and early, absolutely dreading being assigned to your group. genre: fluff, slice of life, smut (tags tba) warnings: ITS A SLOW BURN OKAY...., sweetheart jk, campus crush jk, college crushes, social distancing, zoom -_-, jk owns a keroppi plush, oc thirsts over his hot bod, jk’s sweet attempts at flirting </3 he’s just 2 cute for his own good ratings: e for everyone <3 wc: 3.7k

notes: this took long bc i wrote one version but it was SO LAME u guys r lucky my friend and editor ( @kigurumu 🖤 ) stopped me from posting it. so then i had to reorganize my thoughts n b like girl. the ppl are waiting. get it together. anyway here’s zoom jk 😎

Being grouped with Jeon Jungkook (he/him) for your first class on the first day of your first Zoom semester truly sets the standard.

By no means do your other classes suck; they’re quite enjoyable, more relevant to your area of study. They’re familiar which makes them comfortable, your Zoom meetings filled with faces you’ve seen time and time again the last four years. The material interests you, so you definitely don’t have anything against them or your classmates.

That being said, no one is prepared for the awkwardness that comes with each and every Zoom meeting. You never thought you’d be embarrassed to turn your mic on— to speak in a class filled with your peers. And the meetings are all like that, filled with uncomfortable silences and endless black screens.

You wish there was a Jeon Jungkook (he/him) in every class.

Jungkook’s just got this bubbly aura to him, this magnetic presence that staples itself into the back of your mind with each passing day. No one fills a Zoom call like he does, making every person laugh and smile like him.

Wednesday rolls around and you find yourself a little disheartened when you don’t get sorted into the same randomized group as him again. Disappointment melts into annoyance when you find out how incompetent your other classmates are, refusing to speak in the small group or just completely clocking out all together. A lot of them didn’t do the reading— the one you stayed up all night doing —and your first partnered assignment of the semester finds you doing it all by yourself. Muted mics, black windows, complete radio silence; you hated it all.

You find yourself weirdly longing for Jeon Jungkook’s presence, even if he’s only there to talk about some movie he saw last night. No one is as much of a chatterbox as him, can’t even hold a candle to the way he draws everyone in with his mindless conversations. At least he speaks during Breakout Rooms, you think bitterly.

Anyway, the first week of classes ends and your brain is a frenzied mess. There’s schedules to memorize, professors to impress, assignments to plan out. There’s definitely no time to sit around and fantasize about the curly haired cutie in one of your general classes. The weekend is spent trying to organize your planner, filling in due dates and exam days ahead of time. It’s your last semester and you’re dead set on making it your best one yet. There’s a lot of written work this time around, analyses and research papers that need to be organized. The road ahead is manageable, but you’ll have to work hard to keep it that way for the next five months.

Most notably, there’s one group project waiting for you, which leads you to Friday. Sitting at your desk, bright and early, absolutely dreading being assigned to your group.

Jungkook is early this time, not like on Monday where he’d been one of the last to filter in, and he’s looking as chirpy as ever. Donning this horrendously hot pink shirt, completely unlike the neutral tones he’d worn during your last two meetings and that decorate his room, and the cutest pair of circle glasses sitting on his nose. He says his regularly scheduled ‘good morning’ to you all and receives a collective response from the rest of the class that not even your professor got.

Speaking of the professor, you’ve been giving him the stink eye this whole time. Not that he can tell, given the fact he’s probably miles away in his own home while you angrily glare at him through your webcam. It’s this old guy who’s decided to sort you all into semester long groups for the class, which is the absolute worst. These types of groups always go the same way: you make a group chat promising to study together, those plans fall through, and then everyone just leeches off of each other for homework answers. And in most cases, it’s you handing over your homework answers because no one else ever bothers to do anything. Sadly, it’s a routine you’ve had to suffer through many times in your academic career.

The thought makes you sick. Having to spend another semester being labeled as the bossy, nerdy dictator of the group? Not exactly how you wanted to spend the last few months of college, but there’s nothing you can do. Maybe this time around you’ll just let it be, won’t fight it (and by it, you mean your lazy classmates when they inevitably try to guilt trip you for homework) and simply let it run its course.

“I’m going to put you guys into Breakout Rooms with your new groups!” your professor claps excitedly, and then you and the rest of your classmates are forced to watch him lean too close to the camera as he begins clicking around to find the preset groups he’s assigned the class. “Remember, guys, this is it for the rest of the semester. So if something isn’t right, let me know by the end of today.”

Man, this was going to suck, you groan. The syllabus had said that the purpose of these groups was to keep you all connected with your classmates during these trying times, to give you the same opportunities in-person learning would. Frankly, you’re not too worried about making friends with everyone in this large class. Most of them are younger than you anyway, save for Jeon Jungkook (he/him) and a handful of others who are apparently in your year. Befriending lowerclassmen only to have to bid them adieu in a few months seems awfully sad, a little too heartbreaking. You really just want to get a good grade in this class, collect the last of your credits, and put this whole college experience behind you.

Your thoughts are wrapped up by the pop-up message that appears on screen.

The host is inviting you to join a Breakout Room: Group 12

You sigh, contemplate dropping this class for all of two seconds, before dutifully accepting the request. Worse comes to worst, you make up some lie to tell your professor that you’re allergic to group work and hope it works. (It won’t.)

You sit through the mandatory loading screen for a few seconds before being abruptly dumped into your new room, Group 12, or so the message had said. There’s no one else here yet, which isn’t really a surprise. A lot of your classmates are probably like you, scowling at the pop up message every time your professor sends you into small groups before accepting the request. So you chill by yourself, eyes tracing over your own mirrored image. The notes on last night’s reading are neatly laid out before you, your copy of the book off to the side.

Another beat and then, much to your surprise, Jeon Jungkook (he/him) is appearing in your room. “Oh,” he says, round eyes magnified by the thick lens of his glasses, the glare of the computer’s glow casting a funny shape across the lens that momentarily robs you of his pretty eyes. His pretty pink lips stretch into a smile, upper lip thinning out a bit when he flashes you those perfect teeth. “Hi, __,” he greets politely, bubbly.

It’s embarrassing how much his presence affects you, your back going ramrod straight in a terrible attempt to compose yourself. “Hi, Jungkook,” you manage to get out, fingers nervously reaching for something, anything, to ground yourself. They land on a pencil.

Jungkook doesn’t seem even the slightest bit aware of the commotion he causes within you. “I was really nervous for these groups,” he begins rambling right away, lips pushing down into an exaggerated frown as he shivers at the memory. “But I’m glad I got placed with someone hardworking like you!”

Despite how sweet he sounds, you’re not entirely sure if he’s buttering you up just to take advantage of your ‘hardworking’ attitude later down the road or if he’s genuinely being polite. The little information you know about Jungkook wants you to believe it is the latter; he’s very kind, sweet and nice in a way that makes everyone he speaks to feel warm. Still, for all you know this could be some elaborate ruse of his to make you trust him now and then convince you to do all the work for the rest of the semester.

Tentatively, you ask, “and how would you know that?” You try your best to keep your usual snappiness out of your voice, pose it simply out of curiosity. But everything you say or do feels like a stark contrast to Jungkook and his bubbliness.

His head tilts cutely to the side, imploring brown eyes looking at you for one hard second. And then, “I read your forum analysis from Wednesday,” he admits, breaking into a smile. Shy and tiny, bashfully looking down at his desk. “I thought your perspective on the piece was really interesting,” he says, lips pursing together as if he’s suddenly too embarrassed to admit such things to you.

Stunned, all you can manage is one slow nod. “Thank you,” you eventually choke out, trying to ward the heat away from your cheeks as Jungkook sheepishly nods back, cute smile still on his face.

“Oh, please,” he chuckles, raising his hand to rub at the back of his neck. “Don’t thank me!”

It is in this exact moment that you are suddenly made aware of two things.

One: despite his collection of soft sweaters and t-shirts, his bouncy curls and sweet smile, Jeon Jungkook’s body is neither as cute nor as soft as any of his belongings. In fact, Jeon Jungkook’s body is all hard planes and prominent veins. Arms beefy, biceps that bulge beneath the fabric of the short sleeve t-shirt he’s donned today. His shoulders fill out the material nicely, making him look broad and huge, but that’s not even the worst part, because—

—two: Jeon Jungkook is covered in ink. Dark streaks and swirls paint his forearms, curling around his elbow. Every inch of his pale skin is littered with tiny designs. They dance along the back of his hands, over his knuckles, and end at an unidentifiable point beneath the sleeve of his t-shirt. When he tugs at the neckline of his shirt in an effort to readjust it, you hope your eyes are deceiving you and that isn’t a hint of ink by his collarbone.

Your normal composure seems to slip away at the mere thought.

It’s Jungkook’s voice that brings you back, a soft timbre that asks, “aren’t we supposed to have someone else in our group?” You flinch as if you’ve been caught ogling him, never mind the fact he’s started mindlessly shuffling some papers around on his desk, not the slightest bit concerned with you.

“Oh— um, yes. I think,” you stammer, feeling like some creep for ogling your very cute, very sweet classmate. The memory of his inky skin nearly sends a shiver down your spine as you navigate back to the class syllabus. “We’re supposed to have at least three people,” you read off, glancing at the boy on your screen who frowns at the news.

“Do you think they dropped?” Given it was still only the first week of school, probably. There had been a fewer number of people in the call when it started, you remembered. Jungkook sighs, this rather light sound that ends in a hum. “Well, we can always wait a few minutes just in case.”

So you wait, nervously bouncing your leg up and down. It’s not awkward, or at least, not as awkward as it would be with anyone else. The other week you had silently sat with another classmate in a one-on-one discussion and hadn’t uttered a word for five minutes. It wasn’t because you didn’t care about the class, but because said classmate had been tapping away on their phone the entire time and hadn’t even responded to your simple greeting. That was awkward.

With Jungkook it’s more weird than awkward. You can tell the silence makes him uncomfortable because he keeps doing these tiny inhales like he’s about to speak, followed by a little head shake where he seemingly stops himself from saying anything at all. He wants to talk, very badly it seems, but holds back for some odd reason.

He’s scribbling on some sheet of paper, leaning forward to give you a view of the top of his head. From this angle, his shirt hangs forward and a silver necklace falls out from beneath the neckline, thuds against the table. And then your suspicions are nearly confirmed, and oh god, is that a chest piece—

You quickly look away.

Robbed of his handsome face and feeling like you’ll die if you look at his body any longer, you settle for your newly acquired favorite pastime: inspecting your classmates’ rooms over Zoom. Yes, you’ll admit it is incredibly nosy, but what else can you do? You can only look at your professor for so long until you inevitably grow bored, attention drifting off to your classmates tiny windows. And with no professor in sight, just gorgeous Jeon Jungkook, you quickly begin your examination of his bedroom.

Jungkook’s room is pretty much the same as you remember it, rather neat and plain. There’s not a lot going on in terms of decoration, which is a little surprising to say the least. Over the course of the week, you’ve watched your classmates’ dormitories and bedrooms gradually change, decorations and tapestries decorating the walls, mountains of pillows added to their beds. It’s only natural that everyone has an innate need to show off who they are now more than ever, and you thought Jungkook would be the same.

Apparently not.

Aside from the guitar you had spotted on Monday, his little dorm room remains unchanged. Blank walls, grayscale sheets. The same perfectly fluffed pillows and then—

A tiny Keroppi plush smack dab in the middle of his bed.

It’s adorable but a little out of place amongst Jungkook’s rather masculine decorations (or lack thereof). A tiny green doll sitting by his pillows, cute striped shirt and ridiculously dopey smile.

Leaning forward, you unmute yourself and conversationally say, “I love your Keroppi.”

At the sudden sound of your voice, Jungkook abruptly straightens up, glasses practically at the very tip of his nose. Eyes wide, it takes him a second to process your words before jerkily whipping around to stare at the aforementioned item. “Oh,” he jumps, slowly looking at his screen again, lips pulled into a tight line. “Um… it’s not mi—“

“It’s adorable,” you add, propping your chin in your palm, absolutely endeared with the rosy color that paints his cheeks, fades down the column of his neck.

He squirms, hurriedly pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. He looks like he’ll deny it again, nervously nibbling at his lower lip, before eventually he settles with a sigh. “I won it from a crane machine,” he confesses with a sheepish huff of laughter, rolling backwards to the edge of his bed to snatch it from its spot.

(Of course he manspreads as he sits, dark jeans hugging his thighs as he rolls back your way. His arm looks so strong, covered in all that ink, you nearly drool.)

“It’s cute, isn’t it?” he says, abandoning his embarrassment as he shakes the little figure around, makes it look like it’s dancing for you. “My mom said it looks like me.”

At that, you laugh. Loud and boisterous because you were definitely not expecting Jungkook to say that, such an odd but weirdly fitting comparison that has you looking at the doll in his hands with renewed interest. And through the pixelated screen, you can see the similarities: Jungkook does have the same smile as Keroppi.

“Your mom was right,” you agree, wiping a faux tear from the corner of your eye. “Very cute.”

Jungkook’s got this big goofy smile on, shaking his head in disbelief that you would ever dare agree with his mom. Like he’s genuinely enjoying himself, you think, oddly proud to have evoked that reaction from him. Granted, Jungkook always looks like he’s pretty happy during class, but it feels nice knowing that you were (confirmed) the reason why.

A little caught up with the bumbling feeling in your chest, you’re not expecting his next words. “Does that mean I’m cute?” he asks, still with that same dopey smile on his face.

It’s a bold statement you wouldn’t have expected from him, someone who seems content being the world’s friend, but apparently Jeon Jungkook also craves compliments.

Slowly, you nod. “...yes,” you say, trying to keep the tumultuous emotions inside of you at bay while you grant him this one compliment. Outwardly, you give him what you hope is an obviously feigned look of disbelief, managing to lace it with a little amusement as you shake your head at his inquiry. On the inside, your mind and heart are a thundering racetrack, the roar of the engines and the screams of the crowd enough to momentarily make you lose your senses. “Very cute,” you repeat, hoping he can’t hear the same pounding of your heartbeat in your throat and in your ears as you do. “Like a little frog.”

Jungkook graces your robotic response with the most boyish laugh, head tossed back as one loud cackle (because, really, there is no other way to describe the sound that tears itself from his throat) escapes him, curls bouncing back from the movement. “Cute like a frog,” he wheezes, seemingly to himself as he shakes his head with a grin, scooting closer to the camera again. “That’s a new one.”

“You set yourself up for it,” you defend, busying yourself with the papers spread out in front of you before Jungkook can distract you any further. “Anyway!” you announce, neatly lining the papers up. “Our group.”

Jungkook does his best to wipe the glee off his face, but even as he reaches around for his things, it’s still there. “Right,” he agrees, “we have to, um—“ a huff of laughter “—group contract! Or, well, partner project.”

Briefly, you consider calling in your professor to inform him of your missing partner. He had said to let him know by the end of today if something was wrong. But, honestly, you didn’t see a problem with your group the way it was now. While you can only hope he’ll turn out to be as dedicated to his work as you, as it stands now, there weren’t any major red flags surrounding Jungkook’s character.

Besides, you didn’t mind being with him for the rest of the semester.

You nod, forcing yourself to ignore the glimmer in his eyes when he looks at you through the screen. “I think it’s safe to say it’ll just be the two of us, which I don’t mind,” you say, glancing at the time on the corner of your screen to see five minutes have passed since you agreed to wait. “Do you?”

On screen, Jungkook profusely shakes his head, curls bouncing all over the place. “Nope,” he hums. “I don’t mind at all,” he reassures you, resting his chin in his palm as he regards you, and then sweetly adds, “it’ll be nice with just us, __.”

Right.

You gulp, heart fluttering at the dreaminess he exudes through your screen, the soft strand of hair that falls over his forehead, tickles his brow bone when he flashes you another smile. He was so handsome. Before you say anything silly, you quickly attempt to move on. “But it does make us more of a duo than a group.”

Jungkook looks away from his screen for the first time in what feels like forever and you finally let your heart rest for a second. “A duo,” he murmurs, shuffling through his papers. “Like Mickey and Minnie?”

You nearly choke on your spit, coughing to hide the surprise from his rather cute suggestion. He’s not even looking at you, doesn’t even realize the absolute shock he’s thrown you in by comparing the two of you to one of the most famous couples— that’s what they are, a goddamn couple, not a duo! the words mean two completely different things! —in the world. Instead, Jungkook is humming the theme song to Drake & Josh.

This man was dangerous for your heart.

After having felt all the emotions in the world in the span of ten seconds, you eventually gather the courage to say, “sure,” and quickly try to move the conversation along. “We just need to, um, make some ground rules and responsibilities for us to follow.”

Jungkook nods, finally glancing up again, but not at you. He’s glaring at some point behind his computer, brows furrowed together as he begins brainstorming on his own. You try to, really, but his lips pout adorably when he’s deep in thought, and they’re just so pink and look so soft and would feel like—

“Well, we should probably exchange numbers first,” Jungkook says, interrupting your spiraling thoughts with a new topic to spiral over. He tilts his head to the side, brown eyes focused on you.

“Yes, of course,” you stammer, fumbling for your phone as Jungkook lets out a soft yay at your acceptance of his request. Quickly, he recites his number and you type it in with trembling hands into the number pad, giving him a quick call so he can have your number as well.

You save him right away, just his name followed by the class you share with him. Not like you know any other Jeon Jungkooks, and if you did, you doubt anyone could ever leave such an impact like this Jeon Jungkook.

“__, look,” Jungkook calls, that same excitement lacing his already lovely voice, and you raise your head up at the screen again. He’s waving his phone over his camera, so you don’t get to see his face when he says, “It’s a little mouse emoji and a pink bow— just like Minnie!”

Dangerous for your heart and, most likely, the death of you this semester.

#networkbangtan #bangtanhq #jungkook fic #jungkook smut #jeon jungkook fic #jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook x reader #bts smut #bts fic #jjk smut #jeon jungkook smut #jjk♡#mine

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ilici · 3 years

Text

flushed.

Summary: During Karl’s love or host you give Karl a blow job.

NSFW MINORS DNI !!

Warnings: Public humiliation.

Word Count: 1191

Y/N watched her boyfriend get dressed up for his Love or Host tonight, and she felt a twinge of jealousy go through her. “Are you sure you have to do this?” She asked looking as Karl was putting on his blue button-up shirt, the one she got him months prior. “I don’t have to do it, but it will make great content. Plus nobody knows I am in a relationship, including my friends.” He reasoned, and Y/N just rolled her eyes. “I just don’t like the fact that girls will be fighting over you.” She said whilst crossing her arms, “Baby, I won’t actually date them. I have you.” He said walking up to her and kissing her cheek. “Is there not a platonic Love or Host?” She asked, and Karl just shook his head, and Y/N groaned turning around and walking away. “Have fun with your little girl toys.” She said annoyed, and Karl just sighed as he sat down joining the call that Austin told him.

“Karl Jacobs! Hello!” Austin chirped loudly and happily, while Karl smiled, “Hello Austin!” He greeted, as all the contestants were muted together in a call, “Here in a minute we will let you introduce yourself to the girls, then we will have the girls introduce themself.” He explained to Karl, and Karl just nodded his head, “Alright you ready to meet the girls?” Austin asked, and Karl just nodded his head, as he turned his attention to the girls that were now audible to hear. “Welcome to Love or Host featuring Mr. Karl Jacobs!” Austin yelled enthusiastically, and they all clapped, while Karl just giggled and hid behind his hand. “Okay, Karl introduce yourself.” Austin said and Karl situated in his seat, “Uh hello, I am Karl, I play Minecraft and make youtube videos with Mr. Beast.” He said, and Austin just laughed, “Very interesting.” He said, laughing quietly.

“Okay! Girls introduce yourselves!” Austin said, as he arranged them in the order he wanted them to introduce themselves, as the girls were introducing themself Karl heard his bedroom door open. Looking over he saw Y/N and he froze, “Karl? You alright? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” QTCinderella spoke up, and Karl glanced between his screen and his girlfriend. “Yeah I’m fine, my roommate came in to tell me he was leaving.” He said as Y/N made her way over towards Karl, and Karl kept watching her out the corner of his eye. “Karl you seem very paranoid now.” Austin pointed out, and Karl shook his head, “No I am fine.” He reassured them as Y/N sat down out of camera view. “Okay, question one, if you were to take Karl on a date where would you take him?”

Minx quickly raised her hand as Y/N moved under the desk, and motioned Karl to keep quiet and he instantly became nervous. “Yes, Minx?” Austin said, and Minx spoke up, “I’d take him to whatever place he’d want and let him have a good time.” She said and all the girls just laughed at her answer, “What the fuck is funny about that?” She said offended, and Karl now had his eyes glued to the screen, his entire body becoming hot. “I’m sorry it’s really hot in here.” Karl apologized as he started unbuttoning his shirt, and Austin panicked, “Karl! Karl, keep your shirt on!” He yelled, and Karl nervously giggled when he felt Y/N’s hands rub his thighs. “I’m not taking it off, just unbuttoning som-” He stopped his sentence when he felt Y/N add pressure to his clothed cock. “You were saying?” Boze asked, and Karl shook his head, “Nothing.” He said not wanting to say much.

Y/N was now unbuttoning his pants, and pulled them down rather roughly which made Karl fall down in his seat a bit, “Sorry, I tried to kick the water bottle under my desk and I didn’t realize how far it was.” He said laughing, before looking down quickly at his girlfriend. “Excuse me.” He said, muting himself and turning off his camera. He shot Austin a quick text saying he was going to the bathroom, “While Karl is on a bathroom break, I will also take a bathroom break. Girls talk amongst themselves, entertain the chat.” He said, and Karl glared at his girlfriend. “What the hell are you doing?” He asked and Y/N rolled her eyes, “I am just doing what any girlfriend does and pleasuring their boyfriend.” She said simply, and Karl scoffed, “In front of 80k people?” He said, and Y/N innocently shrugged.

“I don’t see the problem, you better hurry they might think you have fallen into the toilet.” She said smirking, and Karl glared, “Just be quiet and it never happened, but if you make a sound then all of those 80k people plus the girls and Austin will know what’s happening.” She said, as Karl groaned and reluctantly turned on his camera and mic. “I am back.” He said, and Austin spoke up, “Okay, back to the question.” He said, and Y/N reached up pulling Karl’s boxers off now. Karl shuddered at the cold air hitting his bare bottom half, “Didn’t you say it was hot? Now you are shivering.” Aquafina said, and Karl mentally cursed himself out for shivering. “I’m fine.” He said, waving it off and everyone dropped it.

Y/N grabbed the base of his cock, and licked a long stripe up it, and Karl inhaled sharply, as he tried to pay attention to the girl’s answers. “Be good.” Y/N whispered, “What was that?” Austin asked, and Karl looked around, “What was what?” He asked acting confused, “Oh sorry about that. I am watching Youtube.” Boze said, and Karl felt his entire body relax when he realized they didn’t hear Y/N. “Okay, Karl text me the three people you want in the bottom three,” Austin said, and Karl nodded not trusting his voice at the moment. Quickly typing out random people, not really caring about this anymore as his attention was now on his girlfriend. Y/N now wrapped her lips around the tip of his cock, swirling her tongue around it.

Karl bit his lip holding back the sinful sound that wanted to escape, and his face grew red quickly. “Karl are you sure you are okay? You seem really red.” Austin said, obviously concerned for him. “You might be sick,” Minx spoke up, as she looked at him genuinely worried. Y/N pinched his inner thigh motioning for him to answer as she finally put his entire length in her mouth. “I-I am feeling bit woozy, could we re-fuck-schedule?” He quickly rushed out hoping they didn’t hear the ‘fuck’ that he whispered. “Yeah, let’s do it whenever you’re free. Sorry guys, Karl is feeling sick so we will reschedule.” Austin said as everyone left one by one. The first to leave however was Karl, he never clicked the left button in his life. “God, you’re so in for it tonight.” He said, his entire face flushed red.

#karl jacobs #karl jacobs smut #karl jacobs x reader #karl jacobs imagine #mcyt #mcyt imagine #mcyt fanfiction #mcyt x reader #mcyt smut

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strawberrymilkgeorge · 4 years

Text

Part Four. "You hosted me?? In MINECRAFT??"

warnings: swearing but that’s it (i think)! just karl being a goof and dream being a little shit but whats new word count: 3k (not ncluding pictures)

behind the screen (irl dream x reader) series masterlist ultimate masterlist

**********

Y/n sat to Karl's left, out of the camera's view as he scrolled through Twitter on his PC.

"Um... oh, how did you guys meet?" Karl read before looking offscreen at Y/n. "Uh... school?"

"What? I was going to make up a funny story but I'm appalled by the seriousness in your voice! Is that really how you think we met?"

The embarrassment on his face answered her question. "Karl! I'm two years younger than you, how would we meet have met at school?"

"I don't know!" he said back defensively, raising his shoulders. "Clubs?"

"Like I was in any of the nerd clubs you were in."

"Well, then, how did we meet?"

Y/n sighed with a laugh. "Our moms–"

"Oh, wait wait, I remember!" he cut her off, excitedly looking towards Y/n. "Our moms are friends and they forced us to hang out." He smiled proudly and looked back to his screen as he continued scrolling for good questions. "If I'm honest, I only still hang out with you because my mom makes me."

Y/n smacked Karl's arm and he laughed but pretended to be hurt. "WHAT THE HONK, BUGSY?!"

"I can't stand you. I barely hit you, nimrod."

Karl giggled and read another one. "How tall is Bugsy? Two feet, four inches."

"No, I'm 7'6," Y/n lied easily and Karl laughed.

"How tall are you actually?"

'I think 5'10 or something? Maybe 5'11. I'm not 6' but I'm taller than you for sure, I know that much–"

"Okay, you are not taller than me. Just to be clear. Chat, Bugsy is not taller than me."

"Yes, I am. Wanna test it?"

"No," he replied quietly in defeat.

"Because you know I'm right," Y/n laughed as her eyes flicked over to read chat. They were spamming their surprise, expecting her to be short. "Yeah, no, chat, I'm tall. I'm taller than Karl."

"Only because your shoes make you tall! Doc Martens are tall and that's pretty much all you wear!"

"You're shorter than me when I'm barefoot!"

"That's literally false. Like completely."

"Just accept it, shorty."

"I'll accept that you're taller than George and Sapnap, but not me. I'm barely taller than you but I'm still taller."

"Whateverrrr. I'll move on to protect your dignity."

Karl ignored her and laughed, pointing to a message from Dream in Karl's chat.

"Dream said I have short girl energy," Y/n read.

"You kinda do."

"What does that even mean?"

"You're shy around new people and you act all sweet."

"So tall girls can't be shy and sweet? Or shy and sweet girls can't be tall?"

"Stop twisting my words," Karl groaned.

"Also, wait, what do you mean I act sweet? Am I not?"

"No, you are. But I mean you also aren't when you don't want to be. Upset Bugsy is scary Bugsy."

Y/n frowned, not recalling a time she's ever been angry or upset at Karl but she let him move on. He pointed to another tweet as he looked at Y/n, giving her an 'I told you so' look. She read it before shaking her head at him.

"Don't read that one."

"Pleeease, can I answer?"

"No!" she whisper-shouted. I don't want to be shipped with him for asking or you for answering, she mouthed so Karl's chat couldn't put together clues.

"Are you assuming I'll answer positively?" he teased, earning him a hard smack on the arm.

Y/n couldn't help but notice every time she put her hands in the frame, which was usually to hit Karl, half of the chat turned into simps requesting a hand pic because they could see her bracelets and nail polish and now that they knew she was tall they wanted to see how big her hands were. They really wanted every crumb of content they could have regarding her looks. She caught one that said something pretty kinky about her hands which she tried to scrub from her mind immediately.

"Fine," Karl sighed at her request to not read Dream's tweet out loud, instead reading another. "Bestie sleepover? Yes! Bestie sleepover! Bugsy and I are gonna cuddle all night--"

"No, we aren't. I'm sleeping on a completely different bed. Or couch. Nowhere near you."

"WHY DO YOU HATE ME?"

"Karl! Stop trying to get me to cuddle with you!" Y/n laughed as she pushed away his arms, which were trying to give her a hug. "You're a freaking heater and I don't like touching people!"

"That's my worst nightmare in a friend, how did I end up with you?"

"No idea. Deal with it. It's still a bestie sleepover even if we don't cuddle."

Karl giggled and looked back at his stream. "Oh, by the way, in case anyone ever wanted to know or was Dreaming about it, Bugsy is very cute. Just thought I'd mention it in case anyone was wondering or if anyone tweeted specifically asking..."

Y/n smacked his arm again as she yelled, "Karl!"

He grabbed his arm in dramatic pain as if it had been cut off. "Ow! Ow! Bugsy hit me!" he cried as he fell to the floor. "Oh my gosh. Someone call a doctor!"

"I cannot stand you," Y/n informed as she stared down at him. She glanced at chat, who were all joking about how bad his condition was, saying things like they might have to amputate his arm. "Chat, don't encourage him. Oh, Karl I know what we can do!"

"As long as I don't need two arms for it..." his voice still laced with fake pain.

"Karl Jacobs."

"What is it?"

"Give me a tour of Dream's SMP. Dream whitelisted me yesterday."

"Oh, yeah! What could have possibly made you think of him?" he teased as he got back in his chair.

Y/n glared at him and he cowered slightly.

"Minecraft, yes. There's a PC in the other room you can play on. Do you need help setting it up?"

"No, I've streamed once or twice," Y/n teased as she stood up.

"I'm just trying to be a good host! Gosh!"

"Wait, I have to cross over to leave the room."

"Just do it? What's the issue? Literally no problem, just walk?" he joked before zooming in his camera on his face so it took up the whole screen. Y/n laughed as she went across the room, chat now forced to look at disturbingly close footage of Karl staring directly into the camera with his eyes crossed.

Y/n called Karl on Discord after logging in. "Hi, Karl and Karl's stream."

"Are you on yet?"

"I'm logging in to my Minecraft account right now."

"Okay, join a vc on the smp discord so others can talk to us if we run into anyone. I'll be over in a minute, just give me a bit to read some donations." They both muted, leaving Y/n to herself.

She typed in the IP address to the server and joined a random voice channel that no one was in. She spawned and looked around, confused by the cobblestone wall around her. Her phone lit up so she occupied herself with the texts from Naomi.

A green figure caught her eye on the screen and she looked up. In the distance was Dream's infamous green Minecraft skin punching the air as he faced her. He ran towards her and stopped in front of her. She set her phone down and slid it away, crouching as his character did the same.

Dream whispers to you: are you streaming you whisper to Dream: no but Karl is and he's about to get on to tour me Dream whispers to you: hmmm okay here

He uncrouched and dropped a few diamond blocks before punching the air again and running away.

Dream whispers to you: shh don’t tell anyone you whisper to Dream: omg :D ty <3 you whisper to Dream: first twitch donos now mc donos you whisper to Dream: rich man over here giving out money and diamonds to everyone like it's candy Dream whispers to you: no, only to you Dream whispers to you: a little gift before our date ;) Dream whispers to you: oh and this

He came back and paused in front of Y/n before dropping a red poppy and sprinting away again. She acted cool despite the huge smile on her face.

you whisper to Dream: charming you whisper to Dream: you give me a flower and dart away before I can properly thank you Dream whispers to you: oh yeah? how would you have thanked me?

Y/n smiled, her cheeks flaming up as a dirty thought entered her mind. Stop, he's not flirting, she told herself. It’s literally a block game and he’s not flirting.

you whisper to Dream: guess we'll never know ;) KarlJacobs joined the game

"I'm back," Karl's voice filled her headset as he joined her voice channel, snapping her out of her thoughts. "Where are you?"

Y/n looked away from the chat in Minecraft and turned around in the game. "Still at spawn. Some forest and cobblestone walls."

"Go left and I'll meet you halfway."

As she ran, the Minecraft chat reappeared with new messages for everyone to see.

<Dream> hey Karl <KarlJacobs> hello Dream <Dream> thanks for answering my question on your stream <KarlJacobs> just doing my civil duty as a bugsy dream shipper <KarlJacobs> official petition for the name to be dreamsy <Dream> signed

"Oh my gosh," Y/n muttered, making Karl laugh.

"What?" Karl asked innocently, but his laugh was maniacal. "Oh, I found you. This way! I built everything on the server, by the way. So if anything is impressive, just remember that I did it."

"Karl, that's the biggest lie you've ever told me. I watch the lore videos."

"Well, I did build it all so I don't know what to tell you. Let's go this way first."

Y/n followed as he showed her stuff, including background and unknown facts about things that have happened off stream. After the tour, they messed around the chessboard. At some point, she found a blue cornflower and turned to Karl.

"Do you have an anvil?"

"I don't exactly have one on me at the moment but I think there's one over here. What for?"

She killed some chickens with her fist to gain XP so she could carry out the task in mind. "I need to name this flower I found." She followed him a few blocks away and clicked the anvil and named the flower 'love, bug'. "Okay, thanks."

"Why did you name it?"

"It's a gift for someone."

"Me?" he asked as his character jumped up and down.

"No. My presence is your gift."

"Ouch. You know, honestly, I'm really hurt by that. Like, why would you say that to me? It's just sorta rude."

"Fine, I'll go get you a flower."

"Well, I don't want it if it isn't sincere. Who's that one for?"

"...no one."

"Tell me or I'll keep complaining about not getting a gift."

"I can deal with that."

"Okay, then tell me or I'll make you sleep in my bed and I'll smother you to death with my affection."

"Ah, okay, fine. It's for Dream."

"Wow you really hate me that much!" Karl laughed.

"No, I'm just not touchy like you!" she defended. She always worried she offended Karl since he was so physically affectionate towards his friends but she just wasn't a physical person.

"Oh, speaking of Dream..." he turned and Y/n followed his characters line of sight, having to zoom in to see the green figure perched at the top of a tree.

"He's very menacing."

"He does that."

<Bugsy> come here pls dream <Bugsy> i have a gift :]

Dream ran towards Y/n and stopped in front of her expectedly. She looked at Karl then back at Dream and dropped the gift, backing up after and crouching.

His character picked it up and held it, pausing to read the name. After a moment, he slowly looked up at Y/n's character before jumping and spinning in circles. Y/n hid her smile in her sleeve even though no one could see her.

<Dream> wait lemme see the one I gave you <Bugsy> what D: <Dream> I wanna name it

"What is going on?" Karl giggled.

"Gift exchange. Mind your own business."

"Woah!" Karl gasped dramatically. "Uncalled for."

Dream came back and dropped the renamed flower for her. Y/n picked it up and hovered over it to read the name.

'host, dream'

She gasped and started punching his character. He backed up and ran away but joined the call seconds later.

"Wait! Stop hitting me!" Dream yelled into her headset.

Y/n laughed, trying to contain her smile as she continued to hit the green character. "Dream! Are you kidding? I tried being all cute and you hosted me?? In MINECRAFT??"

"It was a joke! You said something like that to Wilbur on Twitter a while ago, I was just using your humor!" Dream's giggles filled Y/n's headphones and she smiled but quickly dropped it so her voice could sound serious.

"Give it back."

Dream looked at her before letting out a small, "What?"

"Give me back the flower so I can go burn it with the other one."

"Bugsy!"

"What is going on?" Karl asked through a cackle. "Dream, did you hurt Bugsy??"

"Yes, Karl! He hurt my feelings! He gave me a flower and gave it back to name it something mean!"

Dream just laughed so Y/n punched him again.

"Dream! You can't hurt Bugsy!" Karl defended, also punching Dream.

All Y/n could hear was the sound of Dream wheezing, his character running as the two chased him. "Stop! You guys are so– STOP HITTING ME!"

"Fine," Y/n finally said, crouching and facing the ground as she walked into a corner to look like she was pouting. "I'm just not going to go on any Minecraft dates anymore."

"Wait, no," Dream protested in a soft voice, his character stopping to look at her's. "Take that back."

"Heart been broke so many times..."

"You're so stupid."

Karl gasped happily. "You guys have a Minecraft date? Can I help plan it?!"

"We did. In exchange for letting you give me the tour. But I've changed my mind since I've been so betrayed."

"Oh my gosh, you're so..." Dream trailed off but his wide smile could be heard through his voice.

"So what? Finish that sentence, Dream," Y/n dared teasingly.

"So... ANNOYING!"

"DREAM! SAY YOU'RE SORRY!" Karl yelled.

"Okay! I'm sorry! Bug, I'm so sorry. Really. Please let me... let me rename your flower something cute. It'll make you so happy that you'll fall in love with me all over again and–and we can go on our date. Please don't burn our flowers."

"And what if I don't give them to you?"

"I'll just kill you and pick them off your corpse."

"Woooooowwww. Okay, it's like that?"

"Yes, it is like that," he said through a smile. It was so apparent in his voice that he was grinning like a kid on Christmas morning.

<Ranboo> how is the tour going Bugsy was shot by Dream using DEFINITELY NOT PENIS <Ranboo> ah going well I see

Bugsy screamed in her mic as the death screen appeared. "DREAM!"

"You took too long!" He wheezed as Bugsy respawned.

"I don't know where I am!"

"Hold on, I'll avenge you!" Karl declared before he died too.

"You thought you could kill me with your fists? Karl, you're naked and I'm wearing full Netherite."

"You weren't when I started punching you! You pulled that out of thin air!"

<Ranboo> canon

Y/n smiled at Ranboo's comment. She had never talked to him but she knew he and Tubbo were close friends and he seemed really funny. He had already proved he had a dry sense of humor in the 30 minutes she was on the SMP and she loved that. Y/n made a mental note to befriend him before returning to being drama queen to Dream.

"So, Dream, now that you've made me an enemy–"

"WhAT? We are not enemies, Bug. I'm actually naming a flower something really cute as we speak. Enemies don't do that."

"Maybe I'm not your enemy but you sure are mine."

"Oh come on now," he mumbled lowly, running chills down her spine. What the hell was that?? "What do I have to do to make it up to you?"

"You-you murdered me in cold blood. Nothing will make it up."

"So I could get the flower! It was out of love! So I could give you a better present! Does that count for nothing?"

"Hm," she hummed. "We'll see what new name you come up with and then I'll decide."

Karl and Y/n got back to the chessboard and waited for Dream to return with his new flower.

Breaking character and turning towards her best friend, Y/n laughed at Karl. "Sorry for distracting from our BFF shenanigans time."

"This is way more entertaining," Karl assured. "Me and my chat got front row seats to the Dreamsy love saga."

"Shut up," she mumbled as she punched him in-game.

"OW! STOP PUNCHING ME SO MUCH!"

"Okay, okay, I'm back!!" Dream announced and they saw his figure sprinting and jumping towards them. He dropped the flower for Y/n and stepped back, crouching and standing repeatedly.

Y/n picked up the flower and hovered over it to read the name.

"Is it worthy of your forgiveness, Bugsy? Does it pass the vibe check?" Karl asked with a giggle.

Y/n bit her lip as she smiled at her screen.

to the prettiest girl in the world. love, dream <3

It was a joke, obviously. He was just continuing the joke of flirting with her like he does on Twitter just like Sapnap and Karl and George and Quackity do. They all joke about flirting with her and this was another joke.

But it still gave her tummy butterflies.

"Bug?" Dream called softly.

But why would he joke like that when neither of them were streaming? Karl's chat wouldn't see it so there was no one to point in feeding into the joke, unless he meant for Y/n to show Karl? She was overthinking. She needed to play it cool.

She also needed an enderchest so no one could find it and no one could take it away from her and destroy it but they didn’t need to know she liked it that much.

"Mmm.... it'll do."

**********

PREVIOUS | NEXT

**********

A/N: yeeee hope you guys liked this one! i think this is my favorite so far i just think dream was being too cute and i wanna be best friends with karl so much it hurts. we’re gonna get deeper into the dream relationship soon!! i just needed to indugle in bff karl content real quick!!!

taglist: open (at the time) @hydrate-tion @loraleiix @tinaswagbd @charsdummb @smileyyuta @1ghoste1 @cerberus-hellhound @gaysludge @queestionmark @carnations-red @letsloveimagines @the-fictionwriters-hairdo @boiled-onionrings @a-cryptic @fee-btheweeb @letsloveimagines @erwinss @just-a-stan @axths @kayleigh2703 @furiouspockettoad @sometimeseverythingsucks @powerpuffyn @itshaileyn @millavalntyne @automaticcomputerpaper @nikkineeky @fivedicksinatrenchcoat @sprucekot @bellomi-clarke @possiblyanxioushuman

#rpf #real person fiction #dream x reader #dream x y/n #dreamwastaken x reader #dreamwastaken x y/n #social media fic #dream smau #dreamwastaken smau #smau #mcty x reader #mcyt x y/n #mcyt fanfiction #dream fanfiction #dreamwastaken fanfiction

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pjstafford · 4 years

Text

Letter to The Truly Like Lightning Book Club

I’m a person who likes to write, but I know I sometimes make spelling or grammatical mistakes which annoy people. I apologize in advance.

I do tend to be pretty open and honest about my feelings and I do feel deeply.

I kind of like social media to be upbeat and positive. I don’t really like to knock it too much when it isn’t. What’s the point!? Social Interaction between humans is sometimes problematic no matter what form it takes.

I have Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. When it is triggered I have a flight response. On Twitter that means making my Twitter footprint smaller. I want to be smaller to protect myself. Yesterday, though, it seemed like I was being told that as small as my footprint had gotten, I wasn’t small enough. What do I do now? How small can I go before I’m gone.

I truly don’t know where to go with something that is not a life threatening problem, not a rocket science issue, but is a little thing about a book club. I believe it was The Who who sang this is not a social crisis, but just another tricky day for you. This morning is a Tricky day. I am really wondering...

Do we cancel the book club?

Do we have a steering committee to organize it differently?

Do we go off twitter?

Do we have a different facilitator?

Should I leave social media, maybe shave my head and take a vow of silence?

How I feel about this is extremely foolish and really desperately sad with just a smidge of anger.

I feel foolish because I thought the book club was going really, really well. I have loved the discussion. It has deepened my understanding of the book which I already enjoyed. It’s been fun. Imagine my surprise to find out there are issues. The sad and angry piece is a little complicated. So let me put the issues out first since that is what the club needs to discuss today. This is the fourth book club I have facilitated on Twitter. It has been my most pleasant experience until today. Every club has been formatted exactly the same. Apparently this one might need some restructuring.

1. When is the appropriate amount of time following a book’s publication to allow to pass before doing a public book club where people who may not be in the book club could still see the discussion? People who might read the book in the future or had started the book and wasn’t as far along might have spoilers. It’s a valid concern, but Twitter isn’t known for being a spoiler free zone. If a program drops on the East Coast two hours before my time, before I can watch spoilers exist on Twitter. However this book dropped February 2 and we waited until March 1st to begin the book club. We have a # but when people respond they don’t always use the #. Also some people don’t follow me and they are not part of the book club but because people retweet the questions they were showing up on people’s timeline when they didn’t want them there. So the compromise we arrived at was no body can retweet any question or response and every response must have the #. I’m still confused, though, about the rules. Movies/television =immediate spoilers acceptable, books= a month to six weeks is too soon. I was told it’s not a matter of rules but being nice. Ok. I want to be nice but what is the appropriate time because sometimes I don’t read a book for years? If we postpone the book club for six months, a year, three years, thirty? With the compromise reached, why do I care? Because why are we being so quiet and circumspect about a book I think people ought to know about and read. Sometimes social media helps create a buzz. What a shame that a book club that is reading the book critically and in depth is, to some degree, being told to not be so loud because, you know, Twitter is a spoiler free zone. To be clear, I think the persons who raise the concerns did so for legitimate reasons and out of concerns for future readers of the book, but when we talk about the reasons I am sad and angry you will see why this upset me we much. it’s not their fault but I responded poorly and I’m still coming down from my PTSD spiral.

2. Perhaps, the problem is that Twitter isn’t the appropriate forum for a book club. Maybe Discord or private messages or zoom. Yes. This is the fourth book club I’ve hosted on Twitter. I was asked in March last year if I would start a book club due to quarantine. They’ve all been successful so far. Why do I feel so silenced? Again I don’t think the person who suggested this meant anymore than oh, let’s solve the spoiler problem. But I have a particular reason for not wanting to be silenced.

3. Some people have read the full book already and want to talk about the book in its entirety. I see that. I really do. I just have never had a book club like that. That means waiting longer. Some people like the chapter a day. Should we do multiple book clubs ?

4. Are the questions too serious? The subject matter is complex. Would a different facilitator be more appropriate? One who wouldn’t highlight the controversial and serious issues!

Why am I sad and a little angry? Why did my PTSD kick in outside of it being a bad year and a stressful time at work and I’m tired? Haven’t had a day off I a long while. (No complaints I have a job). I’m tired.

April 2017 I started the Twitter account @hearteyes4david. I had help but it was mostly me. I kind of love David Duchovny’s writing. I have blogged about it and have said someday he will have a break out novel. I believe Truly Like Lightning should be it. But the account showed love for all things David and I believe it gave some fans some fun. I enjoyed being a part of it. We had newsletters and contests. But for me, I an first and foremost a fan of David’s writing. I write. I admire writers. His writing should not be diminished by his other careers. In March of last year with the lock down I was asked to facilitate a Miss Subways book club, then the lock down went on so we did his other two books. Twitter and hearteyes have been my happy place in this year. It’s hard when your happy place feels threatening.

I was fortunate enough to get an advance digital copy of the book to read. Wow. Different! Great! It is not because I am 😍. This is one of the best books I’ve read this century. I am an avid reader. I have a critical eye. I wrote a spoiler free review. Almost immediately a fan contacted me. Because of spoilers you shouldn’t have posted this. Why don’t you do a DM for those who are interested? Don’t do spoilers. It’s a spoiler free review. This fan continued to tell me that it would be best not to post about the book. ( you know, spoilers). Then fans who had not read the book but knew for a fact that every other page was full of sex scenes and drugs and it was essentially exactly like Californication (not remotely) started saying nothing should be posted on the 😍 page about this book. Then a fan who hadn’t read it complained about how it handled religion and said it would cause her personal pain to see anything about this book on the 😍 page. I kept saying. I actually don’t care if you read it or not. My suggestion is you mute, block or unfollow the account if you don’t like the content. “But the pain, could we at least not do the book club? “. 🥺🥺🥺. I was convinced that rather than have the controversy on the 😍 page I would choose to leave my happy place account I had created to start a small account and my fan related activities became far more focused. It might not seem like much, but the decision to leave 😍 was hard, but I wanted to talk about this book. These aren’t the only reasons but the three pronged fans really angry at me for a book I didn’t write which wasn’t even published yet was challenging during the holiday season of 2020. I made my Twitter footstep smaller. I passed the account to Charmion who is doing great.

So then I waited till March to talk about the book. In the meantime “fans” who hadn’t read the book, immediately started to spread lies and mistruths about the book including selective out of context screen shots. So much for “Spoilers”. Still I waited until March. So now I have a smaller account followed by 100 people which very few “super fans” know about and about 5-7 of us are talking about this book. That’s it. For 18 days we have discussed the difficult, complex flawed characters and how the book demonstrates that these characters actions caused harm to other characters and yet left us with empathy for all. We have not always agreed. It’s a book club. Reading one chapter a day.

Yet somehow we are too loud. My tweets were being retweeted. You know, have to be concerned about spoilers. Were there 15 hate filled tweets from people who shared screen caps they were sent of random out of context paragraphs, people who proudly say they haven’t read the book, don’t need to, they’re experts, 15 for every one of mine. Of course. But I’m too loud. You know. Spoilers

So I am sad. Desperately so. I walked away from an account I had poured a lot of love into because I believed in a book I wanted to talk about. After being pretty involved in the fandom, my current activities are pretty narrowed. I’m not sure I can continue to facilitate the book club. I guess my days involved in “fandom” outside of being a fan are drawing to a close. My happy place is kind of gone.

I’m angry because this book deserves to be critically read on its merits. I’m angry because I don’t like my voice to be silenced. I’m angry because I think there are fans who actually like the book who are in fact concerned about spoilers, but they don’t realize by silencing or at least quieting the discussion of fans who have read and want to discuss the book, they are only allowing the space for the haters voices to be heard. I’m angry at myself because every step of the way I should have handle this differently. I’m angry because I shouldn’t care so much. It’s not a Jan 6 insurrection, climate change, or world peace. It’s a book by an author who don’t need me to fight these battles.

Finally I’m simply confused about where or what to do. With an account of 100 followers some people who don’t follow me think I’m too loud because I’m posting about something they don’t want on their feed (David’s book) and someone might repost me. Because I feel threaten by people telling me too get smaller my response is to try and get smaller. So I shouldn’t post about David’s book because there are people in he fandom who don’t want to see posts about David’s book. Ok. I should come on Twitter and never interact because that way no one will ever see a post from me they don’t want to see🤷‍♀️. Mercy, I’m on a lobbyist, have you guys seen the political stuff I post on my other account? Yep, probably just the fandom stuff I need to walk away from except for, you know, being a fan, but never discussing it.

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glorious-blackout · 4 years

Text

Self-Indulgent Tranquility Base Hotel and Casino/Simulation Theory Crossover Part Four

@rock-n-roll-fantasy Still don’t have a working title yet, but the current favourite is ‘Mark Needs a Hug’ 😅 This one is set directly after the teaser. I’ll hopefully be able to post some more tomorrow but that depends entirely on how much the next part fights me during the editing process...

Part One, Part Two, Part Three

Any hopes that the warm fuzz clouding over his mind would lift by morning are quickly dashed.

A shrill alarm snaps Mark out of a light doze, sentencing him to the wrath of a crushing headache which cannot be blamed entirely on alcohol. Any thoughts of getting up and facing the day are discarded. Heavy, unblinking eyes remain fixed to the ceiling above, the muted colours swirling as his vision blurs, and a shuddering exhale tears through his chest as fatigue immobilises his limbs, confining him to the mattress. Contrary to what he’d hoped as he drifted into slumber, he retains enough memory of the previous night’s events that he doubts he can ever convincingly slip back into normality.

It takes tortuous effort to direct his gaze towards the bright red phone resting on his bedside table, but the thought of calling his friends is enough to have his throat closing from dread. They wouldn’t understand. Words have a habit of eluding him even at the best of times, and he doubts he has the ability to string together a sufficient explanation for why he feels like his life has been irrevocably altered. Not in the space of a single phone call at any rate.

Eventually he does summon the strength to drag himself out of bed, albeit the specifics as to how he accomplished such a monumental task elude him as he stares blearily at the bathroom mirror. He even succeeds in throwing himself beneath a scalding spray in the shower before locating a shirt and jacket combo which almost matches, but that’s the extent to which his normal routine is preserved. Breakfast is not an option of course; the mere thought of searching through his fridge for something to eat is provocation enough to have bile rising in his throat. No doubt he had clear plans for the day at one point, but those too are mercilessly cast aside. Instead, his focus becomes narrowed to one very specific focal point. Matthew may well have vanished into the night, but his influence stubbornly clings to Mark like a terminal disease.

Countless hours are spent retracing his steps from the previous night. As the thick haze pressing against his skull intensifies, he allows instinct to take over as his feet carry him through the now-deserted ballroom. Seven identical corridors ultimately lead towards this room - the beating heart of the hotel - but it takes Mark no time at all to identify the unassuming door through which Matthew slipped away. Traversing the convoluted maze which lead to that impossible corridor takes significantly longer, but in spite of the many random twists and turns, the route appears to be fused to his brain like a hot brand. His innate familiarity for the hotel’s many secrets has always served him well, though he wonders how long that will last considering the location he seeks shouldn’t exist in the first place.

It’s less surprising than it should be when his memories direct him to a dead-end. Mark had expected little else, though disappointment still hangs heavy in his heart as he draws to a premature halt outside Room 217. The sleek black door stares at him enticingly, daring him to turn back the way he came and try another route, but he knows for a fact that he has not taken a single false step. Last night there hadn’t been a hotel room here at all. Instead, the hallway had stretched onwards to yet another junction, directing him onto the impossible corridor with the impassive statues and the cupboard which played host to a menacing red light, right up until it hosted nothing but a broom and several layers of stacked bedsheets.

Mark must linger a little too long. His funk is shattered when the door opens to reveal an ancient woman with papery white skin and pursed red lips, dressed in elegant black furs with emeralds draped around her neck. She surveys him intently with deep hawk-like eyes, wordlessly demanding an explanation for his presence which he is incapable of offering. When he makes no attempt to break the spell, she simply shoves past him, muttering something about “bloody day-drinkers" as the door slams shut behind her. Mark sways on his feet, wondering if the old bat’s assessment is somewhat correct and if he’s still trapped within the throes of an alcoholic daze, but he discards that thought quickly. In retrospect he barely had anything at all last night, and he suspects that his mind has been poisoned by something far worse.

Undeterred by the corridor’s absence, he spends the rest of the day searching the length and breadth of the hotel for answers. It occurs to him at one point during his mad escapade that he doesn’t even know what he’s searching for. A solid hour is wasted flitting among slot machines and poker tables in the vibrant casino, half-expecting Matthew to appear around every corner. He would certainly blend in here with greater ease than he accomplished in the ballroom, given the neon colour scheme and lurid eighties aesthetic. Many of the guests frequenting this establishment choose to do so in hideously expensive suits which become less and less affordable the longer they stay, but the oddballs are more numerous here than anywhere else in the complex. The specific oddball he seeks does not make a reappearance however, nor do any of the patrons admit to knowing him when Mark lures them into a casual interrogation, and he eventually abandons the gamblers to their vices with an air of dejection.

When he’s not searching for Matthew, he preoccupies himself with trying to convince his brain that he didn’t imagine the strange corridor last night. He does a pretty terrible job of it too. The endless twists and turns of identical hotel corridors with their identical high ceilings and identical oak doors and identical potted plants become dizzying fast. Even when he’s certain he’s covered the guests’ quarters from root to stem, the overwhelming sense of déjà vu with every new hallway he stumbles upon makes him wonder if he’s been trapped within an endless maze.

Christ knows what he must look like when Jamie eventually finds him. Mark leaps out of his skin when he’s dragged back to reality by the gentle touch of a hand on his shoulder - frantic and wild-eyed - and not even the sight of his friend is enough to calm his racing heart. Jamie looks equally startled, raising his hands in mock-surrender as a fleeting smile betrays his deep concern, and Mark can only stare blankly when his friend explains that he’s somehow missed three meetings today including a guest pick-up and their band rehearsal and oh, by the way, what the hell is going on?

Whatever sorry excuse leaves his mouth must suffice. He even manages to play a show that night, sans rehearsal and with his mind a million miles away from the stifling overhead lights and the gawping guests. He performs the entire show on autopilot. Lyrics he’s been singing for years escape his lips with the aid of pure instinct and little else, and while he fumbles the words once or twice, the crowd don’t seem to mind. The concerned glances darting between his bandmates aren’t lost on him, but he cannot bring himself to care. Instead, he uses what little mental faculty he has left to scan the faces in the crowd in search of Matthew, or one of Matt’s pursuers at the very least. His efforts ultimately prove to be fruitless, though he can’t say he expected anything else.

The show ends in the usual uproarious applause, despite the fact that Mark’s investment in performing has never been lower. Before the crowd has even begun to disperse, he finds himself galloping towards the stairs. He pointedly ignores the naked concern in Jamie’s eyes and Nick’s questioning “Mark?” in favour of abandoning the stage as quickly as his feet will allow, storming towards his suite without so much as a backwards glance as he swallows down the sting of defeat.

The following two days pass in a similar blur, albeit a far less productive one. This time around he has the foresight to cancel his meetings and rehearsals first thing in the morning, feigning illness as a half-baked excuse. He even manages to convince the orchestra’s conductor to play some additional shows in exchange for a lofty fee. Beyond that, however, he accomplishes very little. The strain of exhaustion confines him to bed for the most part, and any sleep he gets is scattered and restless. More often than not he wakes with his heart in his throat and a dull throb tearing his skull apart, emanating from the spot where the dreamlike apparition of Matt’s pursuer has just planted a bullet.

(On occasion the nightmares will involve him discovering Matthew’s body instead, pale and sightless, though he can’t say those dreams make him feel any better than the ones in which he is the one reduced to a lifeless mass of flesh and bone).

**************************

An insistent, nagging voice tugs at his attention from the periphery, but for once he feels inclined to ignore it. At the present moment, the small poker chip in his hand seems much more fascinating as he flips it between his fingers. Much as he tries, he cannot remember where he found it. Perhaps he acquired it on his wild goose chase through the casino; either that or it was already living on his desk as a souvenir, won during a wild night out many moons ago. Its origins don’t particularly matter in the grand scheme of things. What matters is that its weight provides a pleasant distraction from the lecture he is currently fighting to drown out.

“-ark!”

He clenches his eyes shut and flinches as his peaceful bubble bursts into vapour, leaving his nerves exposed and frayed. The poker chip slips between his fingers, clattering on the hard wood of his desk before slipping to the floor, and he forces himself to take a steadying breath before his resolve can shatter. Breaking apart now will do him no favours. Especially considering that the one who’ll bear witness to his unravelling is the last person he wants to reveal any weakness to.

“You haven’t listened to a word I’ve said, have you?” Murphy observes when Mark finally draws his eyes towards the screen. The scathing edge to the man’s tone is not lost on him, but overall his voice is impressively calm. One could be forgiven for believing that he wasn’t seething with liquid rage, but Mark knows better. This call is taking place a whole four days earlier than scheduled, which is a frankly terrible omen as far as he’s concerned.

A particularly startling detail is the fact that Murphy appears...unsettled. He’s clearly trying to conceal that fact with all his might, but Mark knows how to read Murphy’s expressions better than anyone. That same anguish has faced him in the mirror too many times to count. Upon answering the call, he had been struck by the messier appearance of Murphy’s hair – eyes fixated on the stray curl obscuring his forehead – alongside the added lines carved into his brow; had found himself honing in on the tightness of his jaw and every minute twitch that rocked his slender frame. Something is preying on Murphy’s mind – more so than his usual troubles – and Mark doubts he wants to uncover the source of that unease.

“Sorry,” he forces out eventually, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and taking an exaggerated breath to sell his exhausted façade, not that there’s much falsehood to it. “Haven’t been feeling well lately. Zoned out for a bit.”

As excuses go, it’s rather paper-thin and they both know it. Mark reluctantly meets Murphy’s gaze, schooling his expression into one of apologetic sincerity, and he can’t help but wonder if the persistent impassivity on the other man’s face is equally forced.

“Hmm,” Murphy hums dismissively, settling against his high-backed chair and capturing Mark with eyes which appear almost black in the office’s dim light. It must be late wherever he is, which only heightens the impression that Mark is eating into his time like a disruptive child having to be held back after school. “And are you back with us now?”

“Yeah,” Mark says without thinking. Experience has taught him that any other answer will not be tolerated. “Yeah, go ahead.”

Murphy doesn’t appear convinced. Large, piercing eyes continue to bore through Mark via the computer screen, and he cannot help but shift uncomfortably in his seat. The similarities between the pair of them appear starker in this moment than they have in years, albeit Mark imagines he must look like a second-rate version of the put-together businessman facing him. Their resemblance has never felt like a crueller coincidence, especially as any certainty about his own identity is already crumbling to dust in the wake of Matthew’s weighted farewell.

Eventually, Murphy stops trying to dissect Mark with a gaze and merely huffs a sigh, before launching into the topic he seems to have been waiting for all evening.

“I’ve been reliably informed that you had some...interesting company the other night.”

The man’s delivery remains remarkably flat, but the accusatory undertones are clear as day and Mark releases a choked laugh that surprises even himself. Of course this is about Matthew. Mark is honestly stumped as to why that fact even surprises him. Why else would his boss call him out of the blue if not to address the weird fucking circumstances of the other night?

He wonders who the whistleblower was. One of the guests? Andrew? The barman had certainly struggled to keep a straight face when he’d served Matthew the other night; his judgement of Mark’s choice of drinking partner clear as day with every sideways glance. Shame. Mark has always liked Andrew. Not enough to trust him, perhaps, but enough that the possibility of his thoughtless betrayal stings.

“Y’know what, I’m actually impressed!” he admits, a crooked smile lingering on his lips as he shakes his head. “Didn’t expect you to be so upfront about the fact that you’re spying on me.”

“Enough with the games, Mark!” Murphy snaps, his resolve finally shattering. A twinge of satisfaction tugs at Mark’s heart as he watches that impenetrable exterior bend a little; the cracks beginning to show at last. Whatever game is truly afoot is clearly shaking Murphy to his core, despite his valiant attempts to hide it. “Do you mind explaining to me why you were with him?”

Him. No name, no identity of any sort, yet Mark doesn’t need to ask who exactly has Murphy so riled up. Treacherous curiosity sinks its claws into his brain as he wonders what influence Matthew could possibly hold over a man like Murphy, but he doesn’t dare ask. Not yet anyway.

“I wasn’t with him,” he retaliates, with perhaps more bitterness than he intends. The underlying insinuation hardly offends him, but the thought of his every move being observed and speculated upon even in the supposed freedom of his evenings is enough to make his skin crawl. “I wanted to get drunk. So did he. We just happened to do it in the same place and figured we might as well chat for a bit like normal people.”

There’s a minute shift at that, so subtle that Mark doubts anyone else could have picked up on it. The moment is so fleeting that he finds himself second-guessing if what he saw was real or imagined, but the heaviness settling in his chest - coiling around his heart and lungs – is enough to assure him that it was genuine. That Murphy’s eyes had widened, albeit only slightly, and his breath had caught on a sharp inhale. If Mark didn’t know him better, he may even begin to suspect that the man was afraid.

“Did you discuss anything in particular?” Murphy asks eventually, schooling his voice into one of flippant curiosity. His effort to convey only mild interest is admirable, though Mark has to conceal a proud smirk when the man’s eyes dart to the side, betraying his lingering unease. He thinks he can just about handle the suffocating awkwardness of their conversation so long as he gets to watch Murphy squirm as well, like a feeble woodland creature caught in a trap.

“Good scotch and theoretical physics if you must know,” Mark snaps, exerting far less energy on keeping his voice level than Murphy is. He pulls his gaze away from the screen as white-hot rage simmers in his veins, making every breath feel as though they’re being yanked from his ribs. The temptation to plant his fist in the screen is momentarily overwhelming – it would certainly put an end to this infuriating conversation – but he settles for clenching his hands in his lap until the knuckles go white. On any other day, he would be able to control himself where Murphy is concerned, but at this particular moment he finds he cannot even recognise himself. No doubt the fault for that lies more with Matthew than Murphy, but Matt isn’t here to face Mark’s confused wrath. “Not that it’s any of your fucking business.”

Silence washes over them like a towering wave during a storm. Mark’s breathing suddenly feels unbearably rapid and, in the absence of external stimuli, his heartbeat pounds against his eardrums with enough ferocity that he can feel the blood rushing to his head. On the screen, Murphy recoils as though slapped, and his body stiffens as the weight of Mark’s outburst settles in the air. Mark forces himself to look and wishes he hadn’t; feels dread coil in his gut as Murphy’s face goes white and his jaw clenches with the effort of containing his unmistakable loathing.

Such ugly rage is not something Mark ever wanted to see on a face so strikingly similar to his own. The mere sight of it makes him feel like a child. Suddenly he’s five years old again, crouched beside his mother’s shattered vase with the football-shaped culprit cradled in his arms; heart in his mouth as he waits for her to return home with hot shame flaring in his cheeks. Only, Murphy’s temperament is nothing like his mother’s, who had simply laughed off his mistake and urged him to be more careful in future as he hugged her tightly (“Or at least aim for the green one next time love, you know I hate that one...”). No doubt if it were physically possible, Murphy would reach through the screen and throttle him until his eyes rolled back into his skull, and Mark has never been more grateful for the colossal distance between them.

Hours seem to have passed by the time Murphy’s deep scowl morphs into a sardonic smile, the edges of his lips tugging upwards with visible effort, and it occurs to Mark that the man’s undisguised fury may have been preferable.

“Careful now,” Murphy says in a low voice, head tilting to the side as he traps Mark under the weight of his gaze. “Need I remind you that you still answer to me?”

Mark thinks that even if he wanted to speak, he wouldn’t be able to. His throat feels tight, to the point where he wonders if Murphy has figured out how to wrap his fingers around his neck from thousands of miles away. His heart continues to race as though he’s just completed a sprint at the Olympics, and his eyes feel impossibly heavy, seeking recompense for all their hours of lost sleep. In the end he settles for answering Murphy’s question with a minute shake of his head and hopes that it’ll be enough. He’ll be damned if he utters an apology as well.

The gesture seems to suffice. Murphy drops the degrading smirk and draws his lips into a tight line, but his eyes soften and he sits back with a sigh which seems to carry all his pent-up frustration with it. In the ensuing quiet, Mark is left with the distinct impression that he’s just dodged a bullet; not for the first time this week.

That thought, as so many others have over the past three days, bring him back to Matthew. Or rather, to Matthew’s mysterious assailants. They certainly hadn’t been associated with the hotel any more than Matt himself had, and Mark can’t help but wonder if Murphy was the one who sent them. Sending armed individuals into a hotel full of innocent civilians seems extreme even for Murphy, but his apparent hatred for Matthew may have overwhelmed any sense of moral decency he still possesses.

Which of course brings his mind back to Matthew himself. For all his eccentricities, he certainly hadn’t seemed threatening. Nor did he seem to have a particular agenda, and even if he did, he hadn’t been particularly forceful in trying to convert Mark to his cause. All they’d really done was discuss some theoretical possibilities which Mark had no interest in believing. While he cannot deny that Matt’s questions have been looping around his brain endlessly, he still can’t bring himself to question the nature of his reality with too much scrutiny. Whether that’s because he truly believes Matthew to be a madman or because the possibility that he may be right terrifies him more than he’s willing to admit, Mark cannot say. All he knows is that life was much simpler before he met that mysterious traveller, though that doesn’t mean he has any desire to betray him on Murphy’s behalf.

Murphy considers him a threat though. He may not have admitted as much out loud, but his demeanor has been screaming it loud and clear from the moment Matthew was first referenced.

“Who is he?” Mark asks, inwardly scolding himself for doing a terrible job at hiding his desperation for answers. At this point in time, he thinks he may burst if forced to endure any more mysteries.

“Nobody you should concern yourself with,” Murphy offers dismissively, though he must sense Mark’s curiosity strongly enough to throw him a bone. Albeit a paper-thin one that’s been used as a dog’s chew toy a tad too long. “In saying that, I would strongly advise against interacting with him further. He’s dangerous, Mark. If left to his own devices, he will destroy everything you’ve built.”

‘Everything I’ve built or everything you’ve built?’ Mark finds himself pondering as his brows furrow with confusion, though he thinks better of voicing it. ‘Dangerous’ is not an adjective he would have used to describe Matthew, and if he’d sought to harm Mark or damage the hotel in any way then he’d done a piss-poor job of showing it. Contrary to his hopes, Murphy’s response has simply left him further in the dark, and he’s beginning to doubt he’ll ever be able to crawl out of it.

It occurs to him that he hasn’t yet addressed the biggest question remaining from that night. The detail which had left him unable to sleep as his mind replayed one specific moment over and over, like a highlights reel condensed down to ten critical seconds.

“He recognised me,” Mark admits, voice small and lifeless as though all traces of energy have been sapped from him. Perhaps he truly has been drained. Murphy’s always had that effect on him even on the best of days.

“Of course he did,” Murphy scoffs, and the bitter amusement in his eyes is enough to make Mark’s blood boil. “You’re rather famous, or so I’m told.”

Oh, he’s well aware of that. Except that isn’t the issue, not the crux of it anyway. Matt had certainly acknowledged his status often enough to make it clear that he knew who he was, but as the night had worn on, his aloof attitude had morphed into something approaching fondness. With his final words, Matthew had bade farewell as though addressing an old friend, despite the fact that Mark could have sworn blind that he’d never laid eyes on him in his life.

Only, as time has passed, that line of thinking has started to feel less and less accurate. Even during their conversation he’d been plagued by a nagging sense of familiarity which had been quickly cast aside, though the fact that Matt acknowledged that same familiarity has reignited his curiosity in the aftermath. And while he cannot pin down a specific memory, he has found himself plagued by occasional... flashes. Tiny details, like remnants of a half-forgotten dream or individual components of a jigsaw puzzle with several missing pieces.

He sees a mass of people sitting at round tables in one flash. The spark of a camera in another. Scattered laughter and a lingering sense of self-consciousness as he takes in the faces of the crowd. A desperate need to be anywhere else coiling in his alcohol-soaked gut. Perhaps the setting was a fancy dinner somewhere, though at one point his brain brings up the possibility of an awards ceremony and something vital clicks into place.

He only catches a glimpse of Matthew in one of those puzzle pieces; the fleeting memory coming to him during a fitful doze in the wee hours of the morning. He looks markedly younger, with tamed flat hair and a suit that somehow appears more awkward on his skinny frame than his ridiculous neon jacket had, but his eyes are bright and his smile is sincere in an environment where so many smiles seem feigned for Mark’s benefit. Any concrete recollection beyond that image remains locked away, though Mark had awoken with the words, “Saw you guys playing the other day, you sounded great!” circling his head like a pack of vultures.

Despite his efforts, he cannot combine those flashes into a coherent whole. They feel too scattered, as though someone has taken a scalpel and carefully removed all the connective tissue from the scene. At times he finds himself doubting that the memories are even his. They feel too detached from his current existence to slot easily within his known lifespan, and surely a fancy dinner or ceremony with that level of grandeur would have stuck in his memory beyond mere snippets of recollection? Surely such a significant event would be memorable enough on its own, rather than concealed behind an impenetrable brick wall?

“That’s not what I meant,” he manages to spit out, and he could swear that some of Murphy’s smugness fades at that utterance. As his next words threaten to spill forth, Mark takes a deep breath and lowers his gaze, feeling his resolve waver with each passing moment. “He called me Alex.”

With his eyes trained on the hardwood floor beneath his feet, Mark misses the way Murphy freezes as his admission is released into the open. At the end of the day, this is the true issue which has been gnawing at his heart since Matthew christened him with that random name; one which he’d mindlessly accepted without argument. The name has spent a considerable amount of time circulating his mind these past three days, bringing with it a persistent ache which grows in severity the longer he dwells on it. It’s the same ache which plagues him whenever his mind strays towards home, or whenever a childhood memory returns to him unbidden, or whenever he considers taking someone back to his room only to be seized by an inescapable sense of guilt. It’s an ache which shouldn’t belong, yet is as much a part of him as his flesh and blood. And much as the prospect disturbs him, the name ‘Alex’ seems to fit him like a glove in a way that ‘Mark’ never has.

Which doesn’t make sense. One of those names was given to him at the moment of his birth, whereas the other has only been used in reference to himself on one occasion. His attitude should be the complete opposite, and yet somehow hearing the name ‘Alex’ felt like he’d been handed an important puzzle piece without knowing what he was supposed to do with it.

Realising that the silence has stretched for far too long, he lifts his eyes to meet Murphy’s once more, unable to mask his surprise when he notes an amused smile creeping across the man’s thin face. It doesn’t go far enough to reach his eyes – Murphy's smiles never do – but it has the desired effect of sending a chill down Mark’s spine as a sudden wave of dread sinks in his gut like a stone. He feels once again like he’s caught in a trap, and that impression only intensifies as Murphy’s voice spills into the room like melted butter.

“Well he was clearly mistaken, wasn’t he?”

As if on cue, an unmistakable fog descends upon Mark’s mind and caresses his scalp like a lover’s touch, attempting to soothe his anxieties and banish them to the lost recesses of his subconsciousness. Only this time he knows it’s coming. This time he knows to anticipate it. The instant a familiar numbing haze slips into his skull, he clenches his eyes shut and curls his hands into tight fists, resisting the mental intrusion with all the strength he can muster.

“His name was Matthew,” he inwardly screams into the void. “He knew me. I think I must have known him too. He called me Alex. His name was Matthew...”

He clings to those truths with a desperation he can’t explain, repeating them like a mantra in his battered mind. The fog doesn’t abate, but his efforts go some way in holding it back; securing his consciousness to the present moment, even as the temptation to drift into a pleasant lie persists.

And then, just when things are beginning to feel a little too easy, he forces out an agonised cry as sharp pain lances through his skull and explodes behind his eyeballs.

The agony is so intense that he curls into himself, body taut and aching. Tears stream down his face and a fine line of sweat trickles from his brow as the pain pulses in time with his heartbeat; a persistent throb which feels like someone has stuck a hot poker through his temple and is now moving it back and forth. Forcing air through clenched teeth, he casts aside any sense of humiliation over his tears or involuntary whimpers, and instead focuses on the task at hand; clinging to his mantra with renewed desperation as he wards off the brutal assault on his senses.

“His name was Matthew. He knew me. I knew him too. He called me Alex... Am I Alex?”

He cannot say how long the pain lasts. The moment seems to stretch on for eternity with no end in sight, and he wonders whether the agony will cause him to pass out or simply kill him outright. Every breath escapes in the form of a choked gasp and long hair clings to his face as a film of cool sweat coats his brow, but he refuses to stop fighting no matter how sweet the thought of release might be. At one point his eyes must have opened again, but it makes no difference at all. His vision whitened out long ago, banishing the relative comfort of his suite to the realm of distant memory.

And then – at the critical point where he begins to consider surrender – the pain stops. A choked sob tears itself from his throat and he has to swallow his own bile before it can spill onto the floor. His breathing remains shaky and uneven, but he no longer feels like he’s suffocating, and with considerable effort he loosens his grip on the armrests before they can snap. For those first few seconds his mind feels so blessedly quiet that he’s tempted to let exhaustion claim him right there and then, but he somehow manages to cling to consciousness. Something still feels wrong. There’s a wave of anxiety creeping beneath his skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake, and it occurs to him far too late that his vision has yet to clear. All-consuming white has morphed into a muted blur, the image before him crackling like television static, and when he lifts his eyes in the general direction of the computer screen, long seconds pass before he realises what’s wrong with the image before him.

Murphy is gone. That much is evident even before his vision starts to clear. The image on the screen is too dark to resemble the light teal shade of the man’s office, and the vaguely humanoid blob in the centre of the frame is clearly not the outline of the man Mark knows all too well. Nothing can truly prepare him for the moment his vision clears though, and he finds the air being sucked from the room as his blood turns to ice.

In Murphy’s place is a creature which looks as though someone has dug up a corpse and bathed its yellowed bones in molten silver. Only the lower portion of its skull is visible; a gaping socket resting where a nose may once have been and a wide jaw braced in a wordless snarl. Obscuring the eye sockets and cradling the upper half of its face is an oversized helmet - not unlike a motorbike helmet on Earth or the VR mask resting in a case by Mark’s feet - with thick grooves embedded in the metal lining and a pair of screws giving off the impression of eyes. The image looks like the monster a child would conjure when asked to describe the creature lurking under their bed, and the mixture of assorted screws and plates embedded in a fading skeletal torso make Mark wonder if the being was once human, before someone set about replacing all organic components with metal.

It occurs to him that he hasn’t dared move a muscle, nor has he so much as breathed since his vision cleared, and he can feel his lungs screaming in protest. He doesn’t dare move, however. Not even to breathe.

“-ark?”

The spell breaks. The image before him shatters in the blink of an eye, though not before Mark sees the creature tilting its head and relaxing its jaw into what might be a smile. Light returns to the room and his lungs sing with relief as he finally provides them with precious oxygen, though his heart is still promising to exhaust itself if it doesn’t slow its pace soon. Frantic brown eyes turn to see Murphy sitting in his usual spot with an unusually relaxed expression, as though nothing untoward has happened in the interim. In comparison, Mark imagines he must look like a frightened deer caught in the headlights; wild-eyed and rigid, with hair clinging to his forehead and sweat soaking through his shirt. The grotesque image of that... thing still lingers in his mind like a horrifying echo, even when he casts a glance over the room to see nothing out of the ordinary. The only plausible explanation he can summon is that the creature was a hallucination, similar to the impossible corridor from the other night.

And yet, somehow, that explanation doesn’t sit right with him. No matter how impossible it may seem, his instinct screams at him that the vision was real and not simply the product of pain-induced delirium. He cannot explain where this certainty comes from, other than this; when presented with the most horrific sight his brain could possibly conjure, the main impression which lingers in the quiet aftermath is a vague sense of recognition.

“Earth to Mark?” Murphy says, forcing Mark’s attention back to him once more. To his surprise, there’s a sense of enjoyment lurking beneath the man’s tone rather than anger, and the crooked smile combined with a single raised eyebrow betrays a pervading sense of amusement. “I was merely suggesting that if you should run into dear old Matthew in future, I want you to report him to me immediately. Do I have your word?”

He isn’t sure what to say to that. The words make sense individually, but in combination they make a jumbled soup which refuse to coalesce into anything solid in Mark’s mind. In light of everything that has transpired in the last ten minutes, Matthew seems like an insignificant memory, though Mark imagines that couldn’t be further from the truth. Every inch of his body hurts and his brain can’t focus on anything without being rocked by aftershocks of pain and terror. He wishes he could wipe the smug smile off Murphy’s face. God only knows what spectacle that man must have borne witness to as Mark fought off wave after wave of agony, but his clear enjoyment of Mark’s discomfort is setting his teeth on edge. It almost feels like Murphy knows what Mark has just experienced; as if he knows what he saw and is now basking in the satisfaction of watching his plaything’s torment. Almost as if...

As if he’d orchestrated it. As if he’d planned every second of Mark’s anguish and set it into motion from the safety of Earth, like a bully holding a magnifying glass between the sun’s rays and an unsuspecting ant and watching it burn.

“Mark?”

That assumption can’t be right. Matthew’s theory can’t be right. And yet, all other explanations are currently in the process of eluding him. Even when he turns away from the screen, he cannot get the image of Murphy’s smug satisfaction out of his head.

“You have my word,” he utters, almost as an afterthought, too tired and defeated to argue further.

Not that it matters in the end. They both know the promise is a lie.

#Tranquility Base Hotel and Casino #Simulation Theory #Arctic Monkeys #Muse #my fic #writing

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sun-spark · 4 years

Text

Shadow's of the Past Haunt and Creative Monsters Hide

In celebration of a new Sander Sides Episode, I finally finished editing the 36 page fic that has been completed since March of 2018. Yes, 2 years. No, don’t ask and take it up with my depression.

Summary:

Directly 'After Can Lying Be Good?' Thomas and the sides make an effort to accept Deceit as part of their famILY and see past his function to his personality, much like they did with Virgil, not wanting to have a repeat of when the anxious trait had disappeared with Deceit. As the half-snake gets more comfortable with them Thomas starts to notice that he is always tense, waiting for something, and he intends to find out what it is. Before he can ask carefully the thing Deceit was afraid of comes back from eh past to haunt them all.

The mysterious thing from Deceit and Virgil's isn't the only thing to return, as Roman loses control and is forced to deal with his other half, long hidden and unknown to the others...well most of them.

Warnings: Reference/Past Abuse (Verbal, Physical, Emotional) - This is stated not described.

Tags: Sympathetic Deceit, Protective Thomas, Protective Virgil, Protective Roman, Protective Logan, Caring Patton, Hurt Deceit, Hurt Roman, Hurt Virgil, Hidden Side, Hurt/Comfort, FamILY, Healing, Trauma, Trauma Recovery, Angst.

Ao3 Link: Here

Enjoy and let me know what you think!

It was hardly easy, but Thomas had been making an effort to make Deceit feel like part of the family, as had the others, not wishing to repeat what had happened with Virgil. True, none of them were particularly fond of what he represented, but they attempted to set aside his function and focus on the person behind it, and they had to admit that sometimes his function was self-preservation for Thomas’ sake rather than a source of darkness. It was a rocky journey to be sure, unlearning stiff morals they’d had ingrained from childhood. It had taken some time for Deceit to drop his walls and let them in, to stop snarling and spitting lies dripping with cruelty every time they addressed him.

Things were better, though still tense. Patton took to it the best, practically shoveling food at his new ‘snakey-kiddo’ when he realized how thin he was, and layering blankets on top of him at every random interval. The abrupt and energetic affection made Deceit jumpy and elicited many hisses out of him, but he soon learned to just accept it, startling a bit and settling with an eye-roll as Patton bumbled around him affectionately.

Logan had “seen the logic in treating the other as a member of the group rather than ostracizing him, after all his function is not to harm you or us, Thomas” and had, as such, made an effort to converse with the lying trait whenever possible. It had been frustrating for both of them, Deceit not used to calm conversation that didn’t hide danger, and Logan annoyed at having to flip all of Deceit’s words around to mean the opposite. It didn’t help when Patton laughed gleefully and said he was “proud of his kiddos for playing opposites!”

Virgil, oddly, had been both the worst and the best of them. He knew what it was like to be shunned and hated for a nature he couldn’t change, but Deceit’s very nature made him uneasy. Their attempts at cohabitation had been halting and tense at first, but eventually they settled into a truce on the common ground of them both acting to keep Thomas safe above all else, even if neither of them liked how the other went about it. These two could often be found silently curled up near each other, sharing the silence as they read or scrolled through their phones. To the others, it seemed tense, but Deceit and Virgil both appreciated the calm nature of their time together.

Thomas had shocked all of them when he had not only been the first one to suggest they include Deceit, but when he had gone the extra length of summoning the half-snake for the sole purpose of keeping him company. All of them, especially Deceit, had expected their host to be hostile towards the manifestation of his deception, but apparently the young man’s kindness had won over his apprehension.

Deceit spent nearly a month waiting for the other shoe to drop. Waiting for Patton to disown him, which had admittedly come to a few close calls with the strict-moral compass the side had. Waiting for Logan to snap and yell at him in anger, shunning him permanently and attacking his core with cold facts. Waiting for Virgil to finally bare his teeth and tear at him with claws and teeth alike. Waiting for Thomas to either admit it was helpless or drop the charade of pretending he didn’t despise everything Deceit was. But it never happened, none of it, and, albeit haltingly, Deceit started to hope that maybe he was truly welcome.

The only problem was Roman, and Thomas became aware of this as Deceit began popping up more and more often, unbidden and uncalled. He didn’t really mind, the half-snake wasn’t obtrusive, and he seemed kind of lonely when he first showed up, though he denied that relentlessly. At first, he thought his Deceitful side was just more comfortable with him, that he was beginning to feel more included, and that had made him happy, but then little things had started to catch his notice. Deceit still startled when Patton popped up, but he began looking around with wide eyes, every muscles tense, as if waiting for an attack, even though Patton wanted nothing more than to wrap him in blankets, knowing the half-snake ran cold. He tensed when Logan rose up to speak with him, eyes darting to the corner nervously as he carried on the conversation, and Thomas watched, noting how he seemed ready to bolt. When Virgil appeared and flopped on the couch next to him, Deceit jumped before settling, but his eyes stayed on the tv, though nothing played on its black surface. Thomas hung back and observed, frowning as the progress they had made seemed to be erasing itself, replaced with an ever-growing fear.

He had pulled Virgil aside briefly and asked him about it, but the dark trait had only shrugged. “He’s worried about somethin’. Darn near terrified, but I dunno what.”

That hadn’t been the answer he wanted, but it was the only one Virgil had to give, so Thomas resigned himself to watching and taking note of Deceit’s reactions to, and interactions with, the others. He watched for nearly another month after the first, silently taking it all in to examine later. More than one night found him without sleep as the niggling pit of worry in his stomach kept his focus. As he stared at his ceiling late in the night, he would examined Deceit’s reactions to each side in turn, and how their interactions had changed. Thing was, at nearly three months since they had accepted him as part of the family, they hadn’t changed in any massive way. He still quietly submitted to Patton’s excessive affection with eye-rolls and snarky comments. He still sat in companionable silence with Virgil with occasional conversation and sibling-esq bickering. He still debated with Logan, and while that had not become less tense, it also had not become more so. He and Roman…Thomas sat up wide-eyed with realization.

Three months and he had never seen Deceit interact with Roman outside of a few videos. Indeed, the snake-like side had always managed to disappear when the fanciful side showed up to talk with Thomas or one of the others when they were manifested. He would go silent and slip away as quietly as he could, while Roman held the attention of everyone else, not to reappear until Roman was gone once again. He thought about it for a moment, a sick feeling twisting in his gut. When one side showed up Deceit would scan the area where the others normally stood, as well as the rest of the room, before turning his attention to his companion, panic lessening only when his scan was complete. His eyes were always drawn to the corner, to the tv, whether it played something or not...where Roman usually stood. Thomas had seen that mentions of Disney or theatre, or any point that usually sparked an argument with the creative trait elicited muted panic from Deceit. He just hadn’t made the connection, assuming that Deceit either didn’t enjoy Disney films or loud conflict.

Thomas frowned as he lay back down. Was Roman acting toward Deceit as he once had Virgil? He had hoped that Roman had learned better than that by now. Or perhaps things were merely tense between them because of Deceit’s manipulation of the creative trait months ago? He wanted an answer to these questions, but…. he sighed, he wasn’t going to summon them and risk accidentally cornering Deceit and making him panic with his queries. Or getting Roman defensive and hostile. He would wait, he wasn’t sure for how long, but he needed a better plan than that.

***

As fate would have it, finicky mistress with a twisted sense of humor that she was, he never got to make a better plan, though he did get the answers to his questions, just not how he would have liked.

Very rarely did all the sides, or even more than one or two of them, gather in Thomas’s physical living room if they were not filming a video or if he wasn’t having a crisis, but today was different. Thomas was relaxing on the couch, Logan was reading a novel in the armchair, Patton was ‘doing’ a puzzle on the floor, meaning he was haphazardly putting the pieces together, Virgil was curled up on the other couch on his phone, and Deceit was contentedly curled up under Thomas’s arm like an adorable puppy, half asleep. He’d figured out rather quickly after Deceit had started to trust them that the half-snake trait got cold very easily and would take almost any excuse to leech body heat from someone else, not that Thomas or Virgil, his usual ‘victims’, minded. The only one missing from their gathering was Roman. That was soon to change as the Prince rose in his regular spot, boisterous voice filling the room without warning.

“Thomas! About the next video, I was just thinking, and we should totally-“ he stopped as his eyes fell on Deceit, who had gone tense and wide-eyed but was unable to sink out, held as he was to Thomas’s side. Roman crossed his arms over his chest, both eyes and tone falling flat and cold. “What is he doing here?”

Thomas’s brow tic’ed up as he looked at Roman, his own voice betraying nothing of his sudden annoyance. “He spends quite a bit of time here, Roman, which you’d know if you spent any time with him.” It was a mild reproach for not making an effort, and he certainly wasn’t expecting the response he got as the prince’s eyes quite literally flashed an amber color in anger before returning to brown.

“Spend time with him?” Ah, well, storms were so often calm before they roared. “Why the hell would I want to spend time with that vermin?!” The prince spat. Deceit curled into Thomas’s side as Virgil grit his teeth, unconsciously settling into a tense posture, fight or flight gearing up. To his side, Logan set his book down, cold steel in calm eyes as he gazed between Roman and Deceit. Patton went still, trembling as if sadness and anger and shock were warring inside him and he couldn’t decide which to settle on. Thomas leveled a glare at roman.

“What. Was. That?” Virgil flinched minutely, having never heard such an icy hard tone from the normally joyful man, but Thomas paid him no mind as his attention remained on a now agog Roman. The fanciful side recovered from his shock quickly, red flushing his features with anger, venom rivaling any snake’s lacing his words. “You heard me, Thomas.” He scoffed “I have no wish to consort with the likes of that snake. I fail to see why you would!”

Thomas tightened his arm around Deceit ever so slightly, stopping the increasingly nervous side from leaving. “I wish to spend time with Deceit because he is a part of me. Part of me that I care about. And he is far more than his job Roman, which you would know if you made any effort to know him.”

Roman scoffed, a hand waving through the air dismissively. “Oh please, Thomas! He is a villain. There is not a single good thing he can do. All he does is lie and hurt us, and you, and your friends when he influences you! He is a dark side!”

No one noticed Virgil flinch a second time, wounded eyes glaring at Roman. Deceit couldn’t take anymore, he had had enough. He lurched off the couch, tearing himself from Thomas’s grip, teeth bared and eyes glaring furiously as he stood before Roman, the several feet between them irrelevant as he spat. “And you most certainly aren’t one yourself, Pride!”

Deceit went still, his eyes going wide as the blood drained from his face. He clapped a hand over his own mouth, terror at his own words clear as he began shaking. Logan stared at him, emotionless and evaluating, while Patton was momentarily jolted out of his inner conflict for sorrow or rage by shock. Virgil jolted into a standing position, fight or flight thrown into overdrive to the point of short-circuiting, eyes widening to show more white than color as his gaze locked onto Roman, seeing him in a way he hadn’t before. Roman, for his part, had gone still, ice creeping in where a moment ago there had been fire. Everything remained still a moment, a single long echoing click sounding through the room as the clock’s hand moved, before the tense silence was broken as Roman audibly snarled. He lunged forward and grasped the sides of Deceit’s collar, lips pulled back in a snarl. “You take that back you foul creature! I am not like you!”

Thomas stood quickly, Roman’s name catching on his tongue, as Virgil made a jerky movement forward and halted again, fight to flight unsure how to handle the current situation as memories of another royal side flooded his memory, blocking his desperate wish to protect Deceit. Patton stood with a cry of “Roman-!” but stumbled and Logan gripped the sides of his chair with white knuckles, eyes fastened unblinkingly on the dispute before him, ready to move should he need to, but unwilling to act before he understood what the hell was going on.

Deceit, despite his trembling, bit back his fear, figuring the only way to handle this was to face the monster he had just unchained, though his anger may have fueled that particular, ill-advised, plan. He pulled his lips back in a snarl of his own, glaring furiously at the other. “What? Don’t want everyone else to see you for who you aren’t?” He got his footing, regaining his balance despite Roman’s hold on him. “Or don’t you want to not look at yourself?” His tone turned mocking, despite the hatred in his sneer and the fear in his chest. “Pity, you used to ~love~ nothing more, what with all those mirrors you didn’t used to have in your room, Pride.”

Roman’s eyes flashed in pure rage, a snarling growl wrenching out of his throat as he pulled Deceit closer to him roughly, one hand raised into a fist as if to strike the smaller side. “That is not my name!” He roared furiously.

Deceit looked up into no longer brown eyes, seeing the chains falling away and the creature so long caged inside coming out. He began to shake in earnest, mindless terror wiping any trace of bravery from his being.

Thomas moved, quickly grabbing hold of Deceit’s shoulders and pulling him back sharply, resulting in the smaller stumbling back and landing against their host’s chest. Thomas’s arms encircled him protectively as he stared at the enraged side before him, shock, but not quite fear lancing through his tone. “Roman! That is enough!”

The side in questions growled, stalking forward a step, his eyes only for Deceit. Patton’s eyes caught on Roman’s chest and he stumbled up from the floor, a cry on his lips as worry won out over rage and sorrow both. “Roman, stop it!” He made to grab the other, but Logan stood swiftly, an arm outstretched to stop the movement. Patton stopped and stared at him wide-eyed, Logan only shook his head silently. The moral side swallowed thickly and nodded, holding still. Thomas bared his teeth. “Princey, I’m warning you, enough already!”

The royal trait paid him no mind, gaze locked on the half-snake trait who was pressing back against Thomas fearfully, yet meeting his eyes defiantly. He’d be damned if he was going to go out sniveling. Virgil’s fight-or-flight response finally pulled out of its spiraling nose dive and he jolted forward through the step he had frozen halfway through. He stared at Roman, eyes wide with fright, chest beginning to heave in preparation to hyperventilate, still, he kept his tone even, dripping in panic though it was. “Roman.” The other didn’t acknowledge him. ‘Damn it. He can’t be! Please, he can’t!! …but his eyes…’ he took a shaky breath and stalled his mounting panic.

“Roman. Your eyes are red.” Red. Orange. Gold. Amber. Colored like fire and shifting wildly in rage.

Roman jerked back as if physically struck, eyes breaking away from Deceit and flying to Virgil in near panic. “No.” His voice was tight, fear coating it, freezing the flames of his rage. ‘nononononono!!! Not again! No! This can’t be happening….this is just a nightmare! Not real, notrealnotrealnotrealnonononono!’ he stumbled back, hands tangling in his own hair as his breaths began to come in short bursts, half the words in his head, the other mumbled frantically.

Patton’s timid voice filtered through his racing thoughts from where the father figure was protectively held behind Logan’s side. “Ro…what’s wrong with your chest?”

Roman’s eyes flew to his chest, wide and panicked, and took in a sight he’d hoped never to see again. An inky blackness was seeping through his pristine white clothes, a pinprick starting over his heart, spreading out like an oil spill. It clung to him and stretched, arching away from his body like a living darkness. He stumbled back another step, panic clear in every line of his body as his hands frantically clawed at the darkness, trying desperately to tear it away from himself. “N-no! I-I” His eyes flew to Thomas and back to his chest. “I-I have to go!”

He popped out of existence in the manner Virgil and Deceit did, not risking the time it would have taken to sink out, ignoring frantic twin calls of his name from Patton and Thomas. He reappeared in his theatre, center stage under blinding spotlights, the world around him a haze of yellow light and the blurred shapes of the darkened auditorium.

He looked down at his chest and his thought were overrun by panic.

‘No, not again!’

Inky blackness, living darkness.

‘I threw you out! Not again!’

Rising from his breast, from his heart.

‘I can’t!’

It arches around him, living, breathing,

‘I banished you!’

It slid over his skin, caressing him, surrounding him, he tore at it, felt it choking him.

Y-you can’t have me, not again!’

Like the greeting of a lover,

‘D-don't! Stop!’

It covered him, suffocated him, he couldn’t claw it off,

‘Leave me alone!’

It seeped into his skin, slid down his throat, choking him, poisoning him as it filled his being.

‘I don’t want this, not again!’

It swirled around him in a vortex of darkness, sinking into him and changing him, warping him into something else. When all stood still, silence reigned.

‘Well hello there~.’

Where Roman had stood was a slightly taller man, dressed in black robes not unlike those the creative side normally wore, intricate golden buttons and cords decorating the fabric, and a crimson cape draped around his shoulders in place of the scarlet sash the prince was known for, falling to brush the heels of polished black boots trimmed with delicate golden chains. The spotlights fell on him, their light striking perfect skin and sharper features, pale pink lips curled in a sharp smile. He stood tall, chin held high, power radiating from his posture. A crown of silver and black rested on his head, impossibly deep, blood-red jewels set around its circumference, sucking in all the light that hit them.

“Roman. Roman!”

The figure cocked his head to the side jerkily. He hadn’t been able to hear the calls during his transformation, but now that he looked, he could see the others and their host standing on the side of the stage, watching him in varying degrees of shock, curiosity and horror. His moves were lithe and graceful as he turned dark flame-red eyes on them.

“Well, well, what have we here?” He purred in a voice deep and soft like velvet, it felt like ice sliding down Virgil’s spine, clawed poison stealing his breath away while it snapped his spine. The man grinned as he stepped toward them, swaying with easy poise, presence filling the room in a manner that the great actors could only dream of achieving, and he purred, “Come to watch the show~?”

He stepped closer to them but did not leave the circle of light radiating from the spotlights, still standing center stage. His red gaze fell on Deceit and he sneered, voice cold and arrogant. “I suppose I ought to thank you for releasing me,” he sniffed turning his head away dismissively, “but I don’t make a habit of showing such kindnesses to lowly creatures such as you.”

Deceit, hiding behind Thomas, shrank back with a whimper, stumbling into the curtain as his body shook violently. Virgil’s protective instincts kicked in, overruling the dire need to run as far away from this thing as he could, and he stepped in front of the other, arms raised protectively as he stared wide-eyed at what had been Roman, panic racing in his veins. They both remembered quite well what this creature had considered ‘kindness’ to ‘lesser’ creatures, and the memories paralyzed them.

Thomas’s eyes flicked back to them in concern but wisely focused back on center stage. Perhaps not as wisely, he stepped forward and cleared his throat before meeting the stranger’s eyes. “What is going on?”

The figure smiled brightly, “Oh just a show, that’s all!” He said it almost jovially as he turned toward the front of the stage, half facing them, flicking a hand dismissively. “Any great actor must master the art of transformation, as you’ve just witnessed. Sadly,” he sighed forlornly, but the smirk on his face was smug “few ever manage it~.”

Thomas frowned and went to speak but a second whimper cut him off, louder and more pitiful than terrified as Deceit’s had been. It emanated from a distraught Patton who was being held back once again by Logan’s outstretched arm. “Roman? Kiddo?”

The figure sneered disdainfully, and Virgil spoke up, the words he’d been trying to form finally spilling from his lips, squeezing their way through a panic choked throat. “Th-that’s not Roman Patt, tha-that’s-” he choked off, breathes coming too quick and short to speak as flaring red eyes gazed coldly into his own. Deceit’s shaky voice sounded from behind him, filled with more terror than either logic or morality had ever thought possible, a whisper, a whimper, and a scream crushed together in his vocal cords to create this single syllable. “Pride.”

With all eyes back on him in varying degrees of concern, alarm, and fear, what once was Roman rolled his eyes. “Well!” He huffed “That introduction was just dismal!” He smiled wide and turned back to face Thomas, grace and arrogance dripping from his every pore as he raised a hand in a graceful arc so like the prince’s normal gestures but so much more sinister. “But indeed, I am ~Pride~.” He finished with a flare, and one might think he would have bowed dramatically with a sweeping gesture, but this man did not bow to anyone, not even his host.

Thomas glanced at the sides behind him, worry for their safety overtaking his penchant for resolving things with humor. He took a deep breath to steady himself and forced his eyes to meet those of Pride. “Roman? What is going on?”

The figure sneered. “‘Roman’?” He scoffed and waved a hand as if batting the offending name from the air. “What a pathetic name.” He drawled, “No, I am Romulus.” He finished dramatically, holding himself up like a king over his subjects.

Logan stood in preemptive protection before Patton, hummed as he often did before providing information. “‘Romulus’. Founder and first king of Rome. Considered in Roman myth to be among the most powerful and impressive men to ever live. Blessed by the divine and raised by wolves. Stronger and more accomplished than any general who followed after him. Killer of his own brother and descendant of the Roman gods and both Latin and Greek nobility.” Romulus smirked, but Logan continued, voice sharp. “Also one of the most highly conceited and foolish men to ever exist, if indeed he ever did.” The dark man sneered and looked as if he might leave his precious circle of light, if only long enough to strike Logan.

Thomas side-stepped ever so slightly and placed himself in front of the others as if to block them from Pride’s gaze. He pressed his lips together unhappily, keeping his tone even. “Where is Roman?”

A scoff preceded his answer. “I am Roman. Or rather, he is me, I came first after all.”

“Then why are you…. this version of you…here now?

The other hummed, tilting his head and swaying side to side as if bored with the whole conversation. “I simply saw no reason to continue as I was. Denying myself was quite…detrimental…” he frowned at speaking negatively of himself. “to my success. Honestly, why I ever bothered subduing myself so others would feel less inferior,” He broke off with a scoff and a shake of his head, burning red eyes glaring at Virgil and Deceit. “I’ll never know.” He waved a hand dismissively as he turned away, moving as if half remembering a dance. “But no need to worry Thomas! The work you share with the world will be beyond adequate, rather, it will be quite spectacular now that I no longer see a need to play nice.”

Thomas frowned but attempted the gentler approach he normally took when one of his traits was acting out. “Wha- hey now, no need for that. I’m sure we can all get along just fine without anyone feeling inferior.”

Pride rolled his eyes while Virgil grit his teeth, forcing out words past his chocking panic. “Thomas.” Brown eyes focused on the anxious trait curiously, and worriedly at the strangled sound. “He…he won’t listen… he’s Pride!” He said the name almost frantically, as if trying to convey the sheer depths of his terror through that one word alone. “He thrives off feeling superior…I…. we…” his voice broke and he stopped to take a breath. “Pride doesn’t play well with others Thomas, he can’t, not knowing he can never be good at their roles.” He had intended to say more but a vicious snarl cut him off and he flinched back violently, lowering into a crouch and pressing back against Deceit, who clung to him from behind, eyes flying to where Pride stood, fist curled at his side, looking for all the world like he might just cross the stage and attack Virgil.

“I thought I taught you manners brat.” He spat the cruel nickname, “or do you need to be taught again? You and your” he adopted a high, squeaky, mocking voice, as he tilted his head condescendingly, “precious little snake~?”

“Now that is enough!” Pride’s eyes tracked to Patton, the fatherly figure having stepped out from behind Logan just a bit, fists balled at his sides and anger in his eyes as his whole body trembled from the force of it. “You have no right to come here and threaten our family. Even Roman wouldn’t cross that line!”

Pride smiled, mocking and sickeningly sweet, bouncing once on the balls of his feet and clapping three times in mock excitement - a mockery of Patton’s usual gestures. “Oh Morality, so you finally grew a spine, hmm? Shame it doesn’t make an appearance when your lungs are being crushed by depression, eh?” His smile grew wider, sharper, as Patton flinched back. “How dismal a job you do Morality, too bloody broken and malfunctioning under your own emotions to even work properly.” His eyes and voice took on a hard glint. “If you can’t stand up straight and do your job, maybe we should remove that spine of yours and let someone else do it, hmm?”

Patton shrunk back with a whimper and Logan stepped in front of him with a frown. “Surely your functions do not require harming the other facets of Thomas’s personality? What purpose could this possibly serve?”

Pride paused, tilting his head to the side in contemplation, a neutral expression sliding over his face. “Logic. Perhaps the only one I have no issue with. You work well, and you take great pleasure in your work, carrying it out efficiently and with dignity. Tsk.” He clicked his tongue, eyes narrowing as he shook his head in disappointment. “But you can’t even make yourself heard without someone else to silence the drivel. Shame really, that you conflict with my goals. You’ll learn to be silent, even if I have to remove your vocal cords.” He smiled sweetly, saying it like a child who just told their mom they just saw the most amazing thing. Thomas’s back straightened and he lifted his chin, fear-driven defiance taking root, but he was stopped before he could speak as Pride let out a series of high, childlike laughs.

“Oh, don’t worry yourself, Thomas!” He shot a look at Virgil and smiled sickeningly sweet and cruel, making the other cower. “There won’t be any reason to soon enough~.” He laughed then pouted playfully. “It really is all for the best, you just don’t take any real Pride in your function or your work.” He smiled, wide and sharp and deadly, playfulness gone and replaced with cold cruelty, voice falling to a deep and melodic tenor, hypnotizing. “We’ll fix that.”

He took a step forward, towards the group.

‘NO!’

He stumbled as the shout both sounded through his mind and echoed through the theater, resonating through every cell of his being.

‘No! You can’t!’

His form began to blur and he clutched at his own chest. “What the hell?!”

‘I won’t let you’

As the others watched, the dark kingly form began to pull away, separating from the prince beneath like a specter.

‘You do enough damage in me! You don’t get to come out and do more!’

A violent gust of wind nearly blew them back, forcing them to close their eyes as dust flew up from the stage. When they looked again four gasps and a fifth grunt of surprise sounded, echoing through the empty room.

Roman was kneeling center stage, slumped over and panting, face turned up to stare brokenly at the dark form of pride, hovering in the air above him like smoke, form flickering and almost transparent. Only his top half was manifested, while what should have been his bottom half turned into inky darkness at his waist, curling elegantly down like smoke and toward the other, connecting him to Roman in slimy tendrils that stabbed their way through his black shirt, into his chest.

It appeared very much like a broken man facing a spirit that had been possessing him, now forced partially from his body. Distantly Virgil’s snark informed him that Hamlet would be proud.

Pride scowled down at Roman, seemingly more annoyed than bothered. Roman panted and grit his teeth, voice a whisper, rough as sandpaper. “No.”

Pride scoffed, his voice sounding musical even in that harsh sound, while Roman sounded as if he had been screaming a thousand years without reprieve. “‘No’? Whatever do you mean by that~? Not ready for the performance to end?” He smirked, voice turning sickly sweet and cruel. “Don’t worry~…. There’ll be plenty more~”

Roman’s eyes flashed, the golden orange of a sunrise instead of bloody red. “No!” He clutched his side and coughed, red speckling the ground before him. He paid it no mind as he glared up at Pride, snarling. “You do enough damage without a physical form! You’ll not take one and harm them!”

Pride snarled, leaning down inches from Roman’s face. “You can’t even move, and you think you have any say in this?” He hissed furiously, then straightened back up, pouting like a disappointed teacher. “Tsk. How unsightly, arguing with yourself!”

Roman flinched but continued to glare, unfalteringly, up at the other, coughing up more red. “We are not the same.” The specks of red began to pool into small drops on the floor.

His counterpart laughed, a magical sound like a hundred musical bells in a summer breeze. “Oh Roman, Roman, Roman!” He leaned down, grasping the prince’s chin harshly, tilting his head back painfully, and looking him in the eye. “I. Am. You.” He tilted his head to the side, smiling in a manner that might have been kind, as one might smile at a child they found endearing, but its sharp edges spoke of nothing but malice. “Good thing too~ lucky little prince you are.” He released Roman’s chin with a snap of his wrist, nearly giving the man whiplash, standing back up with a click of his tongue. “Could you imagine any of them being a king?” He scoffed “No. They are far too flawed to hold such an honor.”

Roman stared down at the floor with a broken expression on his face, small trails of blood dripping from his lips. “You couldn’t handle being imperfect, could you?” He whispered. Pride just hummed and turned away from him as far as he could while they were connected, flipping a hand dismissively. “Why should I? There is not an imperfect thing about me. Something you should be grateful for, seeing as I am quite literally, you. I don’t know why you bother to hide it. You’re a subpar actor Roman, hardly a creator at all, simply stunted while you deny your nature.” He hummed as if in thought. Logan wondered if this is what it was like to stare up at a madman before they dissected you. “We’ll have to fix that as well.”

Roman looked up at him, gazing past him with hazy vision to see his family cowering. Logan holding onto a crying Patton, Virgil crouched protectively in front of a terrified Deceit, the both of them shaking in fear, all of them cowering behind Thomas…Thomas…his host was staring at him, not at Pride, but at him. He stood straight, almost relaxed, staring and somber. Roman couldn’t read his expression, and that alone stabbed pain into his gut. He looked back at Pride, expression withdrawn and resigned. “A King?” He whispered, a small sound, so much like an unsure child.

Pride smirked, not turning back to him. “Yes. The little prince could be a king again, perfect and powerful.” he said in a sing-song manner before his voice started dripping honey “Wouldn’t you like that Roman?”

Roman raised a shaky hand, grasping the crown on his head and bringing it down to chest level. He held it there between shaking palms as he stared at it. Perhaps it was his imagination, too many hours spent in the theatre, but the weight of his family and host’s stares seemed so heavy they might crush his lungs, their fear so thick in the air it was stifling. He gripped the crown tightly and twisted, muscles straining and protesting, ignoring the blood that spilled as his fingers slid over the sharpened edges of the steel spires. The metal creaked and Roman strained. The crown snapped in half, the metallic ‘schlink’ echoing through the auditorium, seemingly endless. He gripped the halves in shaking hands as Pride spun around to face him, surprise etched on his face. He let them fall, the two halves falling with his blood, the hollow ‘thunk’ as it hit the wood of the stage marking the moment he met Pride’s eyes. “Some princes don’t become kings.” He meant to spit it vehemently, but it came out surreally calm and hoarse.

Pride stared, then he laughed. “You think breaking your crown makes you any less a king?!” He laughed again “You were never a prince, Roman! You only pretended to be, dressed in white, no crown on your head. Another part executed nearly perfectly.” He leaned over and picked up the edge of roman’s cloak, holding it up. “But your true colors shine through, don’t they, majesty?” The last word was taunting as he stood again, letting the edge of the cape fall, lazily through the air, settling over Roman’s bloodied hands.

Roman stared at it, watching his blood seep into the fabric, barely darkening the crimson cloak. His eyes fell to his own chest, to the black fabric there, taunting him with its symbolism. His hands lifted of their own accord, before the thought was finished, and fisted in the fabric. He pulled, the cloth tearing under the force, and he tossed it away, shirt and cloak landing a few feet away. He sat there, bare-chested, and met pride’s eyes again, expecting anger, but the other merely clicked his tongue and shook his head, seemingly amused with this all.

“Such a petulant child! Clothes don’t make the king, Roman. They aren’t part of you, they simply hide you from prying eyes, an indication of status.” He chuckled, light and airy as it was dark and terrifying. “Honestly, if perfection was always on display, lesser creatures would never get anything done!” He scoffed then, staring down his nose at Roman with disdain. “Stop being such a child.”

Roman dropped his hand to his knee, palm up and open, summing an ornate dagger to his hand. A gleaming silver blade the length of his hand melted into a golden handle, carved in intricate designs and inlaid with shining jewels. He held it up at chest level, slowly twirling it around in his hand, examining it without expression. Inwardly he snorted, ‘So dramatic. Even now.’

Pride raised a brow at him, sneering at him from where he hovered, hands folded behind his back in an almost military style. “And what are you going to do with that? Stab me? You’ll just harm yourself you fool.”

Roman pulled his lips back in a snarl, the first expression he’d shown since his outburst. “No.” He raised the blade to the side of his face, laying its side against his temple. He held the other’s gaze, tone mocking. “But then, you can’t stand imperfection, can you?” He brought the blade down swiftly, cutting a gash that ran from his forehead to his chin, cutting over the corner of his eye but barely missing the eye itself. He cried out and dropped the blade, pressing his hands to his face and curling into himself in pain as blood flowed from the wound.

Pride screeched in rage, all pretenses of grace or elegance cast aside, lunging forward with hands reaching out toward Roman in claws. “Damn you!” He broke apart as he fell, fracturing into smoke that settled over Roman’s back, seeping into him and settling under his skin.

Roman sat where he was, curled tightly into himself, shoulders shaking in quiet sobs.

It took a moment for the others to react, for them to comprehend what they had just witnessed and for them to process it. Deceit slowly uncurled himself, clutching to the back of Virgil’s hoodie as he whispered, “Is he not gone?” Virgil nodded softly, trying to calm his frantic heartbeat, “Yeah, I think he is.” The two slowly uncurled themselves from their defensive positions, adrenaline still coursing through their veins in anticipation.

Patton unlatched himself from Logan’s side and tried to run forward, but he stumbled for the tears in his eyes. Logan caught him round the waist and the moral trait held onto him, eyes not leaving Roman’s figure as he cried. “Is he alright?!”

“I believe he will be Patton, but I cannot know that without examining him.”

Patton made to move again but fear held him back and he froze with a whimper, “Is…is Pride…?”

Logan nodded curtly. “I don’t believe he will return any time soon, but I cannot be sure.”

Thomas remained silent in all of this, though it was only a mere few seconds, watching everything happen. He released the breath he was holding quietly and walked forward when the others could not on their own, luckily, he wasn’t any of them, he was all of them. He sank to his knees next to Roman softly, not wishing to startle the distraught side, and gently laid a hand on the other’s back. “Roman?”

The side in question flinched at the touch, whimpering pitifully and curling into himself more tightly.

“Roman, it’s ok.” He rubbed his thumb over Roman’s shoulder comfortingly. “Whatever just happened, we’ll figure it out, ok? It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that all of that wasn’t in your control. It’s gonna be alright.”

A whimper and a choked sob were his answer. He sighed, not wanting to push the issue, but he could see crimson blood slowly spreading over the floor and he knew he couldn’t leave this until Roman was ready, the wound couldn’t wait that long. He gently grasped Roman’s chin and lifted his face, meeting his utterly destroyed expression with one of near serenity and concern. “Roman. You have to look at me. We have to take care of that cut.”

Roman’s eyes met his briefly, but the creative side flinched, and they jerked away to land, unseeingly out at the rows of seats. Thomas didn’t sigh, he didn’t reprimand him, he didn’t react in any negative way, merely tilted his head a bit to the side, kept his eyes on Roman’s looking away from him, and spoke softly, more breathing the word than speaking it. “Ro.”

Roman whimpered quietly, eyes falling shut as he twitched, body seeming to want to fold in on itself but frozen in place under his host’s gaze. The nickname had broken something in him though, the need to hide overcome by a wish to do what was asked of him. He opened his mouth but only a choked sound came from his throat, prompting new tears. He squeezed his eyes shut in a futile attempt to stop them from falling and gritted his teeth, nodding once tersely.

Thomas sighed lightly through his nose and sat back a bit, turning his gaze to the others, taking note of each of them in turn as he curled his hand over the back of Roman’s neck, comforting and firm, grounding.

Logan’s eyes were cold as he stood at near military attention, but not emotionless. Thomas knew this was Logan’s care for the others manifesting in a protective need to understand everything, so he could defend them from harm, logic cold and unbending as steel. But where there was wariness, there was no anger.

Behind him was Patton, hunched in on himself and pressed to Logan’s shoulder, hands fisted in the polo always pristine, now rumpled under the fatherly trait’s hands. Logan’s arm was still outstretched protectively, to keep Patton back and to place himself as a barrier between the other and any potential harm, it wasn’t straight through, it was curled backward, nearly wrapped around Patton. Morality’s eyes gazed out from behind thick glasses, worry and sorrowful pain mixed with a bit of hurt shone through unshed tears, as his teeth worried his lower lip. Thomas’s gaze moved on.

Deceit’s mismatched eyes laid on Roman, clear fear overpowering everything else, though concern peaked through at the edges. While Patton was barely hidden behind Logan, Deceit was barely visible from where he hid himself at Virgil’s back, hands fisted in the other’s jacket just under his shoulder blades, his nose tucked behind Virgil’s shoulder to reveal only the top of his head and those piercing eyes. He was scared, but Thomas could see he didn’t want to abandon the others, or, he suspected, Roman. Lastly, his gaze shifted to Virgil and he almost wanted to chuckle at the dual nature of everything about the side. He stood nearly as tense as Logan, arms at his sides and hands fisted, lips pulling back ever so slightly at the corners as if he wanted to snarl, his fight reflexes more than ready to tear any threat apart. Yet he pressed back against Deceit, as if he wanted to both shield the other and curl back into his chest, his shoulders were hunched ever so slightly inward with his chin tucking towards his chest, his legs too were tense, but they were angled as if to run away, so his flight reflexes too were overwhelmed. His eyes though were the oddest bit. Fear lit their edges, but the centers focused on Roman with such intensity that, if not for Thomas’s understanding of the anxious side’s nature, he wouldn’t have known if that gaze wanted to tear roman apart or mend him.

Thomas himself was more somber than normal, a rare jaded maturity replacing his playfulness. He wasn’t angry, in fact at the moment he wasn’t even upset, rather, it was as if an unearthly calm had settled over him. A need to protect those that felt more like family than mere aspects of his personality clashing with a need to mend and heal that one that was injured, spinning round and round until they merged. He released a second deep breath and turned his gaze back to Roman for a moment.

Roman was…scared. No…he was terrified and in pain, every line of his figure screamed it. Thomas shook his head minutely and let his eyes slip shut, centering himself silently he exercised a power he knew he had but didn’t fully understand. The world seemed to tilt slowly on its axis before righting itself upside down. When he opened his eyes again they were back in his living room. The others were all standing by the stairs while he and Roman found themselves kneeling in the center of the living room.

He breathed deeply, quietly, and centered himself. Gently he grasped Roman’s shoulders and made to lift him just a bit. “Roman.” He kept his voice soft, but the other flinched all the same “Roman, Let’s get you on the couch, ok?”

Roman didn’t answer, but he did get his feet under himself and try to stand. His legs were weak, and he stumbled immediately. Thomas had anticipated this and practically picked the other up, using the prince’s momentum to set him on the couch. Roman hunched into himself once again as soon as he was seated, legs curling close to his chest and shoulders hunching as his eyes pressed shut. Thomas knelt on the floor beside him, a hand on his shoulder, and paused a moment to send a searching glance over the others. From the corner of his eye he could see Logan standing close to his normal spot, merely further forward and closer to Virgil’s, turning himself ever so slightly to let Patton lean against the wall and still remain curled into the logical man’s side. Virgil was in his normal space, and he had herded Deceit to sit on one of the steps, the lying trait having done so but remained pressed forward, every line of his body making it clear he wanted to press himself into Virgil’s side and stay there. Virgil likely would have let him, but his protective instincts and fight or flight reflexes had him half knelt half crouched in front of the stairs, easily ready to spring up and run or come up swinging if needed, so he settled with reaching back to place a hand on Deceit’s arm in comfort. One of Deceit’s hands was nearly crushing Virgil’s. Both kept their eyes on Roman and Thomas, one fearful the other tense.

Thomas looked away from them all and closed his eyes again, breathing steadily, pushing down the sudden swell of sadness in his chest. The sides were something between imagination and reality, everything about them one step from nothingness and an equal step from solid form, Thomas knew this. He understood it on a base level and knew that it was the reason he could interact with them as he did. He also understood that the games the sides played, making sweaters and sheet music and rubiks cubes appear out of thin air was a similar concept. It didn’t come as easily to him as it did to them, but he could use that ability. After a few moments, he felt a weight settled in his empty hand resting against his leg and opened his eyes to find a first aid kit in his grasp. He didn’t question it, understanding that focusing too hard on the fact that this thing was only half real would make it fade. Instead, he turned his gaze and attention back to the creative trait.

“Roman.” He sounded as if he were talking to a frightened animal, intentionally gentle and conveying steady strength, but sure enough Roman flinched inward regardless. “I need to treat that cut. I need you to move your hand and let me clean it.”

Roman’s whimper was the quietest in existence, Thomas was sure. But he remained calm, no frustration in his tone, or even his mood. “Roman, you need to move your hand.” He let his hand trail slowly down Roman’s arm from his shoulder, then up to his wrist. There he gently curled his fingers around the other’s hand and applied a gentle yet firm pressure to pull the limb away. Roman was tense, but he didn’t fight him as Thomas pressed the hand against Roman’s leg, silently nudging the other to drop his legs as well.

Thomas scanned the wound with his eyes and frowned. Starting at the inside of Roman’s temple it dangerously skirted over the outer corner of his eye, bowed outward slightly on his cheek, and fell in a sharp line down past his chin. He was lucky the momentum hadn’t made the blade hit his throat. It wasn’t deep enough to be deadly, barely going beneath the layers of skin to the muscle beneath, but it was deep enough to worry the man, and certainly deep enough to scar. Gently squeezing Roman’s hand on the prince’s lap, both for reassurance and to make sure he kept it there, he opened the medical kit and retrieved the disinfectant and a few cloths.

Gently grasping the other’s chin, he tilted his head to give himself more room to work. He kept his hand there afterward to ensure Roman wouldn’t move. Silently he started at Roman’s temple and began cleaning the cut, taking great care around his eye. For a time, they sat in silence, the others slowly relaxing the tiniest amount, but not fully, where Thomas kept an eye on them in his peripheral vision. Roman sat still and tense, silent tears slipping from his closed eyes, his lower lip no longer trembling but nearly white from the pressure where it was trapped between his teeth. Thomas worked silently and carefully. For a time, the silence reigned, but once Thomas had reached Roman’s cheek he broke it, tone even and calm.

“So that was Pride. I know who, what he is…in theory…but who is he to you, Roman?”

Roman’s eyes flew open as he flinched and tried to look away, his whole body trying to recoil but he didn’t move far before Thomas’s grip stilled him. “He…I….” He closed his eyes again, voice choking with tears. “I was him… to start with…when you were younger, still a child.”

Thomas frowned as he continued to clean the cut, wincing as Roman flinched in pain. “Then why are there two of you? You’re my creativity, aren’t you? How can you be both?”

Roman’s eyes opened halfway, focusing on the floor before him without truly seeing it. The prince smiled, but there was no humor in it, just tired weariness. “None of us have only one function. I was…him…when you were a child, before your imagination grew, back when your fantasies and dreams were fueled by the creativity of your parents. Eventually, as all children do, you began to imagine on your own, without their stories….and you were so…proud” his voice hitched in pain, “of what you created, that eventually, I became creativity too.”

The host furrowed his brows as he began closing the wound and securing it with steri-strips. “Then why are you separate now?”

A small sound of sorrow and pain broke out of roman’s throat, tears brimming at his eyes that he held back. “I am your ego, Thomas, that hasn’t changed…. but as time went by things…changed. You…you began to love Disney, and it fueled the majority of your imagination, of my new role… you loved the princes and, as a child, loathed the villains…..” His quieted with sadness. “even as I was then, it did not take long to realize that I was the opposite of what you wished to be, despite now embodying your hopes and dreams, that I was, in fact, what you despised…. I did not wish to be that way. I…. I locked it away, that part of me, buried it beneath everything you ever wished to be, the traits of every prince you admired…”

He sighed and stopped talking as Thomas started bandaging his jaw. Perhaps sensing that Roman wasn’t finished, Thomas didn’t ask anything else yet. When he was finished he sat back and waited. Roman didn’t meet his eyes, choosing instead to stare at the floor and fidget, drawing his legs back up to his chest and hugging them tightly.

“I buried him so far that it ceased to be an act, that we truly became two halves of one being…. I…I despised him. I despised how he made me think and feel, how he pushed me to act…so I pushed him as far away as I could. It was never enough though, and you’ve seen him affect me, the days when ego and harshness overcome the rest of my being…” he sighed and tightened the death grip on his legs, hugging himself. “I don’t understand it completely myself, Thomas, hell, the day I appeared in the ‘light side’ of your mind was a shock. Somehow, through mutual loathing, we became separate enough that I was no longer Pride, but merely Creativity, that he was a separate entity that only affected you subconsciously…. not entirely separate though, as you did correctly deem me to also be your ego.”

Thomas stayed silent for a moment, gaze falling to the black mark over Roman’s heart. He frowned and pulled roman’s leg down, so he could run his fingers over it. Roman flinched and chuckled dryly, without humor. “We all have our dark marks…that…he, is mine.”

Thomas lifted his gaze to Roman’s, gaze narrowed in wariness and curiosity, but not hostility. “Why is it there?” Roman barked a humorless laugh. “Over my heart you mean?” Thomas’s silence was answer enough. Roman sighed and let his eyes fall shut again, pinching the bridge of his nose as his head hung forward. His voice the clearest it had been since this began, but quiet with weariness.

“You call Patton your heart, and you are not entirely wrong. Morality and ethos are matters that deal with the soul and empathy of a person, and the heart is indeed the metaphorical seat of both soul and emotion.” He let his hand fall without care and let his gaze rest on Patton where he stood tucked into Logan’s side, for the moment the prince was nearly emotionless save for sorrow and pain. “but he is not all of your heart, that is merely where he ‘lives’, if you will.” His eyes slipped shut as he sighed heavily. “Pride is against morality, it must be.”

His gaze dropped, and he looked toward Thomas but did not yet meet his gaze, instead staring just past his shoulder. “Pride earned is one thing, but arrogance is quite another. It poisons logic into believing you can do anything you damn well please and that you can rationalize anything. It silences caution and abuses deceit, turning you against yourself until you think you are invincible.” He winced minutely but ignored the twin flinches that came from Virgil and Deceit at the rather literal explanation of what Pride had done to them. His gaze fell back on Patton, voice bitter and sad. “And once it’s done that, it destroys your morality.” Patton shuddered and shrunk back. “You think you are invincible. You lie to yourself without knowing it. You believe you can rationalize anything into being right. You believe you are right, that you know best and that only you know best. You believe that anything you do is perfect and any criticism is beneath you.” He paused and sighed deeply. “And then…then you don’t care anymore.” His gaze slid down to the floor, blurring as his voice became thick with tears again. “You don’t care about the emotions of others, nor their well-being. Your ethics disintegrate, your empathy evaporates, and your morality is gone, replaced with something…something exactly its opposite.”

Roman’s voice had already been sorrowful and oddly resigned, but it took on a bitter tone that made Thomas realize the prince wasn’t just describing what pride could do to him, the host. But what it had been doing to Roman, even from the shadows. He set his gaze back on the mark above Roman’s heart, not liking the dark blood smeared around it. Silently, he set to cleaning it off the unmarked skin. “It only covers half your heart…” Roman hummed but it sounded choked. “Yeah, well, it covers enough of it.”

Thomas looked up at him, a brief glance before returning to his task. “He never stopped affecting you, did he?” He asked it lightly, but Roman still flinched. “N..no…. he didn’t…” Roman sighed. “Is that why you acted the way you did, before…?” Roman winced and hunched forward as far as he could while Thomas was cleaning the blood from his chest, head hung low. “Yes….” He sighed and opened his eyes to set his weary gaze on the floor, the patterning of the carpet swirling hazily in his vision.

“Morality…he could tolerate…begrudgingly…didn’t find much need to worry about him” Roman snorted softly. “Too arrogant to acknowledge how bloody scary Patton can be…Logic…he could live with, not concern himself with...” He pressed his eyes shut tight, voice catching. “but Anxiety and Deceit-“ his voice choked off and pressed a hand to his mouth to muffle the sob. It passed and he rubbed at his eyes. “he could not tolerate them. Their presence, their jobs, their very existence…. they were the two most dangerous to him…to his plans…..” A shudder wracked through Roman but he kept the sob back, voice going tight. “He couldn’t kill them either…. not for lack of trying…” at that a single sob did break free, but he immediately cut it off and took in a strangled breath, then cleared his throat.

He dropped his hand and once again stared blankly at the ground. “After we separated, well, as separated as we could be, he was content enough to be silent…even if he did do his best to put me intentionally at odds with Patton and Logan. But when Virgil –“ his voice broke. “when Virgil showed up…I couldn’t stop his influence anymore…I barely kept him from becoming dominant between us again.” His voice had trailed off into a broken whimper, so he stopped to steady himself. Thomas and the others let him.

Roman raised his head and looked toward Thomas, but did not let his gaze go past the man’s neck to his face, much less his eyes. “It took more strength than I possess, and more help than I would have liked, to treat Virgil even amicably. To my shame, I could do no more, but when Deceit…” he took a deep breath, eyes staring upward, ignoring the clear tears that flowed over their edges. “when Deceit came, I couldn’t…there was nothing I could do to keep him at bay anymore…my own anger at Deceit for his tricks did not help matters…so I hid. I avoided him…” he smiled wryly, a sick twist of his lips as his gaze fell again. “But anger left unfaced festers, and when I did finally see Deceit face to face again, my anger was enough that I wasn’t even conscious of how much P-pride was affecting me.” His gaze dropped in shame to the ground. “Deceit’s charge broke what little control I had left over him….” Roman swallowed thickly and looked away, staring unseeingly at the wall, away from everyone else. “it…it wasn’t their fault…they ne-never did anything… but they were the c-catalyst that let him out…and I couldn’t stop- couldn’t stop it…” the prince’s voice broke, fully this time, and he just barely held back sobs with a hand over his own mouth.

Thomas said nothing, nor did the others, though while they were in various stages of shock, Thomas was turning everything over in his head, considering and calculating everything. Absentmindedly he stroked his thumb over the inside of Roman’s wrist where his hand still rested around the other’s arm. His brows furrowed after a minute had passed.

“Roman, you separated from him, for lack of a better term, you locked him away. Why didn’t you separate completely?” Though there was no malice in the words, the oddly cool and neutral tone made Roman shudder. He shook his head minutely. “I do not even know if we could have, completely. We started as one being…I do not know how separate we are even now. But it was not for lack of trying.” He took a shaky breath, eyes fixed on his lap now. “It was not for lack of trying that we are still connected…. Years I spent trying to tear the anchor of him out of me…but I cannot… pain notwithstanding, I am not strong enough. Regardless, I eventually came to the conclusion how…foolish it would have been if I ever succeeded.”

Thomas’s eyebrow rose, the only change in expression, indeed in demeanor at all. “How’s that?”

Roman laughed, head tilted back, twisted lips pulled back over fractured teeth. It was a broken sound filled with shattered glass that made Patton wince and caused Virgil to shrink back ever so slightly into Deceit. Roman was broken. And as they watched where they stood, though they said nothing, each and every one of the four sides hanging back in caution, came to the same conclusion: they might not be able to fix him.

For the first time Roman’s gaze strayed closer to Thomas’s, but still could not quite meet it. “You’ve seen how much damage he did to me, Thomas, what he’s done as a whisper in your subconscious.” The second laugh sounded more like that of a mad man. “What the hell do you think he’d have done on his own?!” The laughter died and Roman hunched in on himself again, shaking his head as a man resigned to hang at the gallows. “No. Better he stay trapped within me. Better he hurt me, and only me, rather than have a manifested form of his own to hurt you.”

Roman was hunched in on himself, the hand not caught in Thomas’s grip rubbing absently at his ribs, a haunted and faraway look in his eyes. As Virgil watched from the sidelines pieces started to fall into place like a long-forgotten jigsaw puzzle scattered throughout the dusty corners of an attic. He stiffened, eyes going wide, and as Deceit gasped quietly behind him, he knew his old friend had followed the same train of thought to the same conclusion. Logan looked back at them curiously, having missed the signs he wouldn’t know to look for. Virgil swallowed thickly, voice trembling but strong as he called out to his longtime nemesis. “We’re not the only ones he hurt, are we Roman?”

Roman’s flinch and quick movement to curl himself into a tight ball, arms grasping his own chest as if in protection - even at the cost of ripping his hand out of Thomas’s, to the other’s great surprise - were the only answer the anxious trait needed. Deceit whimpered and it trailed off into a hiss of unhappiness and anger. Virgil was inclined to agree with that sentiment, but his normal reactions of growling or hissing wouldn’t achieve anything right now. Eyes even wider than they were before, he swallowed past the sudden feeling of crushed glass in his throat and asked a rather insensitive question in his shock. “H-how?! He…you…you share a body. How…?”

Roman shook almost violently but barked another laugh, even more broken than the previous two, this one filled only with pain, a deep and cutting pain that made one think of the wailing of an injured dog when heard. Thomas winced just as Patton did.

“The imagination can be such a wonderful thing… it’s where I go to battle beasts to find inspiration and create ideas…I can create anything there…escape there…hide there…” his voice became strained. “A place where anything can take shape isn’t always so wonderous….”

Logan’s eyes went wide, lips parting silently in an almost gasp. Patton did gasp, but it turned into a wretched sob as the two realized just what it was Virgil and Deceit had picked up on. Those two, for their part, looked at Roman in a new light. Not as the host to their abuser - though he had certainly been that - but as a victim the same as them. Thomas caught up with the four of them pretty quickly, in truth he had already known, but he hadn’t wanted to put the pieces together into such a gruesome picture. For the first time, his expression and tone showed emotion other than neutrality, softening and straining with grief. “So every time you went into the imagination to create things and come up with ideas…?” He trailed off, and Roman nodded brokenly. “N…not every time…. there are certain areas…and I avoid them unless I have to follow a creature there…. but he doesn’t always stay in their bounds…”

He trailed off helplessly and the other five absorbed this information. That meant that every time Roman did his job - every time Thomas daydreamed, every time he created something, every time they needed a new script, every time he dreamed, every time he fantasized – Roman had walked into hell, and more often than not he had met the devil wearing his own face.

Patton clamped a hand over his mouth harshly to quiet the sobs tearing out of his throat, Logan, uncharacteristically, tried to reach back to steady and comfort him, but he barely kept his balance as this information set itself in his brain, as every possible meaning, every possible variable, and every possible outcome to the dataset played itself out for him to see. He swayed dangerously, nausea suddenly threatening to knock him over, it would have if it weren’t for the presence of Patton leaned against his back.

Deceit had pressed himself to Virgil’s side by this point, and the two of them were holding onto to each other with an arm around the other, old memories, living nightmares from the past playing through their minds, merging with the knowledge that Roman had faced the same…possibly worse, and for much longer than they had.

Thomas took all of this in without thinking about it, after all, anything and everything his sides knew or realized, he knew too, should he actually think about it. He bit back the wish to scream, or sob, or cry, or tear apart the thing that had hurt his Roman so badly, knowing it would do no good. Instead, he did the only thing he could think of and lifted himself onto the couch to sit by the creative trait, and wrapped his arms around him, drawing Roman to his chest and holding him close as the prince finally broke and began to sob.

His cries were a broken and pathetic thing, the wretchedness sounding from them cutting them all to the bone in a manner none of them- not even Logan with his literal dictionary of a mind – could describe in words. Through his sobs, they heard occasional words and sentences, broken up as they were gasped out roughly.

‘I’m sorry.’ ‘I tried.’ ‘I didn’t mean to.’ ‘my fault.’ ‘I’m sorry.’ ‘shouldn’t have let him.’ ‘I’m sorry.’ ’I’m sorry.’ ‘I’m sorry.’

Virgil and Deceit both jerked forward instinctively, a desperate wish to comfort Roman as they had once comforted each other cutting through them, but they each halted equally as instinctively, for they neither one had any idea what to do. So they held each other, taking what comfort they could from whom they had thought was the only other person in the mindscape who could understand, until now.

Patton tried to move forward as well, a sob finally breaking out of his throat, but the weight of the shock and grief he was under drove him to the ground. Logan’s stunted but still quick reflexes were the only thing that kept the man from falling completely as his friend caught him. All the same, the end result found Patton on his knees, Logan knelt beside him on one knee, arms wrapped around Patton from having caught him. The logical trait was staring, unblinking and wide-eyed at Roman, a sickness choking his throat and cutting off his usually bountiful speech.

Thomas felt all of this, but he didn’t acknowledge it. He felt it hit him like a punch to the chest, and his breath hitched in response, but he ignored it. There would be time for his own sorrow and shock, and theirs, later, for now, he took a deep breath and focused on holding the man in his arms whose whole world, and indeed being, was finally tearing apart for the first time after 29 years of being precariously stitched together.

Roman’s tears, it seemed, had no end to them. Thomas continued to hold him, a silent and steadying presence of strength and comfort. After a time, Roman’s tears did begin to dry up, even if his sorrow and pain did not, but he had exhausted himself too much to move, and so stayed where he was, curled mostly in a ball and burrowed into Thomas’s chest, head resting very nearly over the other’s heart. As the energy to cry faded he allowed the steady thrumming under his ear to lull him into a calmer state. He opened his eyes now, but rather unseeingly as his gaze did not go past Thomas’s chest and upper arm. Thomas, for his part, just kept his arms wrapped securely around the creative trait, one hand lightly running over Roman’s arm and shoulder. As he felt Roman’s breathing even out and his body start to go lax he chanced splitting his attention away from Roman to check on the others.

As he has already been aware, the other four had moved closer but had not interfered. Logan sat on the arm of the couch, his normally smooth expression roughened by furrowed brows and the slightest of frowns fueled by concern as he watched Roman. His posture too was less rigid than normal, as he was hunched forward a bit to reach out one hand to Patton’s shoulder. Patton had also moved close and had taken the open side of the couch. He had curled himself into a ball, pulling his legs up to his chest hugging himself. Though he was pressing back into Logan’s touch, he was leaned forward and edged as close to Roman as he could be without touching him. That being said, it wasn’t lost on Thomas that the fatherly trait’s arms kept twitching as he stopped himself from reaching out and pulling Roman to him. Thomas tried to ignore the twinge of hurt he felt at seeing the sad frown set in Patton’s expression, instead he looked away from them and toward the floor in front of him.

Virgil and Deceit were there. At first, they had stood before the couch awkwardly, not sure where to fit into the picture, wanting to care for Roman, but both still a little afraid and knowing from harsh experience with each other that sometimes you just had to wait for things to pass before you could approach the broken and try to mend them. They had hovered for a moment before understanding that this was not going to be a quick process, and had settled on the floor. Virgil, particularly, had sat on one of his legs, pulling the other up and hugging it to his chest. He wasn’t completely settled though and was pitched forward the same as Patton, a hair-trigger away from propelling himself up and forward to Roman. Deceit kept the same overly attentive and concerned gaze on Roman that Virgil did, and he was only minorly less tense, but he sat completely, legs hugged to his chest, curled into Virgil’s side.

The lot of them sat in silence for a time longer, but once Roman had calmed completely and was resting in a near-sleep state, they could wait no longer. Patton was the one who reached out, a hand pressed gently to Roman’s shoulder, accompanied by a soft call of the other’s name, “Ro?”

The effect was immediate, and unfortunate, as the side in question immediately tensed and his breath hitched. Virgil was up in an instant, kneeling in front of Roman and ducking to get in his field of vision, though the prince didn’t seem to see him at all.

“Princey.” Virgil was conscious not to touch the other and to keep his tone low and even. “It’s alright. You’re safe.” Roman flinched and Virgil frowned, understanding quite immediately. “And so are we, Princey. Just focus on me, ok? On my voice. Ok?” Roman didn’t move, but his breathing was labored once again. “Easy Roman. Focus on your breathing. In 4 seconds, hold 7, out 8. Alright? Again. In 4, hold 7, out 8.” This process repeated for some time, and the others did not protest letting anxiety calm Roman from the beginnings of a panic attack.

When Roman’s breathing was once again steady, though heavy and wet, Virgil risked slowly raising a hand, well within Roman’s vision, and pressing it to his thigh. Roman twitched slightly but did not panic or shy away, but he kept his gaze fixed unseeingly ahead at Thomas’s arm where it curled around him. Deceit, unsure what to do but remembering plenty of times when all he had been able to do was sit close, moved closer and sat down, leaning against the couch. One of his hands instinctively reached out and fisted in Virgil’s jacket, the anxious trait easily reaching out to settle his free hand on Deceit’s knee. Deceit pressed close to Thomas’s legs and laid his head down on the couch, looking up at Roman who met his gaze.

Roman’s face crumpled, and he whimpered tearfully but did not cry as he had no tears left. “I’m sorry.” His voice broke in a dry sob and he closed his eyes, unable to turn his head away. “I’m so fucking sorry…”

Thomas knew this wasn’t the time for all problems to be resolved, indeed it would be sometime before that point came. But he did know that right now they needed to take care of Roman. He tightened his arms around the distraught trait and ran one hand through his hair, an old trick that had calmed him as a child and had the same effect on the creative side now. “Roman.” It was a whisper, soft and strong. “It’s alright.”

Roman shook his head immediately, almost violently, but could do no more as he found himself held closer still. Left with no other choice he stilled and listened to the calm and steady voice above him. “It will be alright Roman.” The hand carded through his hair again. “We will figure this out, and it will be ok.”

He wanted to disagree, he wanted to apologize, but he knew that there was no use arguing. He took a shaky breath and nodded. His eyes though, they left no doubt that he didn’t believe it. Thomas smiled, a sad curl of his lips at the corner into the smallest grin, colored over with grief and love. “It will be aright Roman, and we will fix this, I promise.”

Roman didn’t respond, but he relaxed again. His eyes felt heavy, but he lifted his gaze to find Deceit and Virgil, a desperate need driving the action. When he found no malice or betrayal nor accusation in their eyes, but only concern and care, he finally allowed himself to stop. It wasn’t solved, not by any means, but he was so tired, had been for years, but was beyond exhaustion now. His eyes slipped shut and he allowed the comforting presence of the others around him, the surety of Thomas’s promise, and the steady beating of a heart left unstained beating under his ear lull him into the first restful sleep he’d had since he had become a separate entity. Maybe, maybe he was wrong.

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relenaonice · 4 years

Text

Ready Player One

Chu Wanning didn’t exactly know how he got into VR games, let alone ASMR ones.

Just, one day, after a bad break up, he saw a VR headset through a shop window, thought he could do with an outlet to vent about his actually-very-shitty life, and he bought it.

He had never been an impulse buyer but he hadn’t thought of asking the clerk for advice either, so after browsing fruitlessly through the online store, he still had no idea about which game would suit him the best.

He yielded and decided on playing soothing videos for the time being, at least VR should make the experience much more immersive. He had trouble sleeping, so he had recently gotten into ASMR videos: some days it was cooking videos, others guqin music or someone whispering as they read a book. As long as they let him relieve stress and distracted him from unpleasant thoughts, everything went.

It was then that he saw the ad for “Sisheng Peak’s Novelties”, the ‘best ASMR VR game out there’, according to the reviews on the net.

It was a Chinese online platform with a xianxia setting. People could choose between different routes, e.g. they could start out as disciples and grow into full-fledged cultivators as they unlocked all kinds of achievements in a highly relaxing haven. Everything was reworked so that each task and adventure was so very therapeutic and recreational. Chu Wanning looked at lots of walkthrough videos for this game and found it was simply perfect. Everything was neat, organized and thought for maximum enjoyment.

You could cook in Mengpo Hall, meditate in Yanluo Hall, plant flowers in the Red Lotus Pavillion, do some body training in the Mountain of Dagger and Sea of Flames or be rewarded for your accomplishments in the Platform of Sin and Virtue. Everything was accompanied by background music: every player could choose among a vast catalog and organize the songs in a playlist.It could be ASMR music, nature sounds or whatever they wanted to listen to at the moment.

If he had one complaint it was for the naming sense of the developers. Like, the Aaaaaaaaah peak (which, why? But you could learn to fly there, so… he guessed it made sense) or how some of the names didn’t exactly evoke peacefulness. But well, as long as it didn’t impede enjoyment, he didn’t really care. He could get used to the eccentricity of meditating in a place called ‘Yanluo Hall’, and exercising in a Mountain of Dagger and Sea of Flames.

He bought from the online store the starting package and set an account. He could choose his avatar appearance and his own name of course, but an option to randomize this features also existed, so to produce minimum stress in the account. He thought about it for a while, as he browsed through the options available. There were human avatars at every stage of life, creatures and even animals, or he could use a scan of his own face to customize his outward appearance.

In the end he settled for human form, adult stage of life, not customized after him. He chose long silky hair and white clothes and as a name, Yuheng. It wasn’t what he looked like but it was a good rendition of himself and his aloof character. As a matter of fact it would have been a waste of good looks on him to choose a lovable appearance if he couldn’t match it with a lovable character. He drove away the negative thoughts about himself and hurried to start the game.

He decided early on to avoid the disciple route and to become one of the elders. In order to play that route, he had to create a routine that encompassed teaching some classes (he just had to choose some subjects and the system would make it a viable choice for those who were on the disciple route), training, meditating, eating and occasionally repairing the barrier in the Ghost Zone behind the Mountain that hosted Sisheng Peak.

This way he wouldn’t need to leave Sisheng Peak for missions at all: he’d have all the time to explore the area as he hunted for relax. This sounded perfect for him.

—

In time Chu Wanning found a passion for what passed in the game as “mechanics”: there were sets he could put together that didn’t quite work as puzzles, they were more like sequences he had memorized that he could exercise everyday without thinking too much about them and worked well as a stress-relieving activity.

He also loved the Red Lotus Pavillion so much that he cleared all the missions related to it and moved inside a house he unlocked there on a lotus lake. He would mute the background music and listen to the sounds the wind and the rain made against the water. It was quiet and there were no disturbances, no noises and no one to answer to.

Eventually he got addicted to making some dish he could find on the menu in Mengpo Hall, a sweet variation on wontons that had haitang flowers as a filling (which he was not sure was edible at all, but he liked the ending result enough not to question things). The wontons had a rosy pink tint on them and they looked lovely on the plates.

As a plus, if you headed to Mengpo hall early enough in the morning there was also this snack item you could find in limited numbers that had the shape of a flower and it tasted really good. Everyday it would give the player different goods and he liked the element of surprise.

Chu Wanning liked indulging in all these little things.

Then, on a Sunday morning, as Chu Wanning logged expectantly into his account, everything suddenly changed.

—

Something was very wrong with his line of vision.

All around him other players were running around and Chu Wanning had to distressingly raise his chin to look at their faces. Some people were messily shouting something through the voice chat filters, superimposing each other. What even—

“We were hacked!”

Chu Wanning paled. He opened the settings in a hurry and had a quick look. All his progress on the game was still there, but he now had the appearance of a child and he couldn’t reverse the change!

He quickly changed passwords and logged out.

Not knowing what to do, he logged in again and tried changing the settings again to no avail, so he wrote to support and included some screenshots of everything that was altered without his consent. In the meantime he opened the general chat and tried fishing for information, which wasn’t helpful at all but at least calmed him down.

When the support’s answer came in, it was an automated message with a short notice added in, which said that they were aware of the hack, that the team was working on it, that the platform was now safe but it would take time to reverse some of the changes, so they advised to have patience and ignore the issue in the meantime.

Chu Wanning took a look at ‘Xia Sini’, five years old, and choked.

—

So, Xia Sini, ‘scare to death’. Ahah, the hackers were so NOT funny. Since there was no real damage done to the platform, then someone just thought it would be fun to make a mess of a place with people in search of a safe haven. So messed up.

He needed to unwind and since the platform was still functioning, why not use it? Xia Sini could still serve his purpose, there was no reason to make a fuss. He was set on the disciple route, so this was his opportunity to try something new.

He headed for Mengpo Hall hoping to find his favorite item of the day; there he saw some dog sniffing around the pantry but he gave it no mind as he reached for the last snack item available.

Just to have the dog bite into the packet at the same time as him.

Please no. Just let me have this. Chu Wanning pulled firmly on his side of the packet hoping to snatch it from the beast, which in turn growled and shook it vehemently with his fangs.

“Leave it!”

The dog—a husky, snarled. Chu Wanning was tiny in this form and the dog was almost as tall as him. Nevertheless, he had no intention to give up. This was not a real dog, this was a person that had no qualms stealing from children.

He had to do something.

Chu Wanning liked to think of himself as a man of integrity, even his real life appearance being one to elicit dread and respect in those who surrounded him. But in this place he could do as he pleased, appearances be damned. What lay behind the disguise didn’t matter, whatever mistakes he made because of his pride to end up here, didn’t matter.

So Chu Wanning, 35 yo, burst into tears.

The dog froze, the packet still half into his mouth, while the child in front of him started wailing very very loudly. Big fat tears were sliding down his face endlessly, like a downpour.

Chu Wanning didn’t remember ever crying like that, not even when his parents died. Maybe it’s that he needed to, that he unconsciously regrets not doing so. Maybe he was hurt more than he liked by the whole break up thing and that’s why he ended up here, broken, but still willing to heal.

The husky let go of the packet and inched closer, all the while emitting a low whine. They rubbed their muzzle against his cheeks and licked at his tears.

Chu Wanning broke into hiccups and raised a hand to rub that soft head. That caused the dog to rise up their ears, rear up on their hind legs and lean their front paws on the child’s shoulders while wagging their tail madly and licking his face.

“Stay down, down!”

A low whine followed as the dog let go of Chu Wanning, turned, took the snack and left it at his feet.

Chu Wanning turned a little red but he still picked it up in the end.

“You want half?”

The husky barked excitedly, so Chu Wanning opened the snack item, tore it into half and gave it to the dog, who ate it from his little hand.

“You’re a player character right?”

Another enthusiastic bark. Oh my, he really made a fool of himself in front of a stranger. And he was actually licked by this same person, yay.

“You’re like that because of the hack.”

A loud bark followed by a whine. That was a mortified ‘yes’ if he ever knew one.

“So you can’t talk at all? You’re going to bark until they reverse the changes?”

A whine. Wow, they sure got it way worse than him.

“Did you try looking into the forums? Maybe there’s an option buried somewhere.”

The husky raised their ears and twirled in excitement while panting. Seems like they didn’t think to check.

“Okay, I’ll help you sort through them, give me a minute. You’re new to the platform?”

One single decisive woof. New, then.

“I’ve got you. Wait here.”

Chu Wanning’s entire line of reasoning rested on the basis that barking all the time must be too stressful to the player for there not to be a way to communicate freely if they ever needed to. As it turned out, he was pretty spot on: there’s an option but it might not be selectable after the hacking. There was no alternative other than to try.

When he came to, the husky was sitting obediently wagging their tail and by their side lay the item of the day. They pushed it towards Chu Wanning with their snout, as a sign of gratitude. It was a mechanical piece, to go with the pieces he had already collected.

“Can I really have this?”

As an answer, the giant dog licked his face again.

“Stop it!”, exclaimed, while cleaning the drool off his face with a sleeve, “I found you a way to be able to speak, but it uses some kind of filter, so I warn you, it’s not ideal.”

But the husky erupted into a howl and started jumping and twirling around. Okay, it doesn’t matter then, it seemed. Chu Wanning promptly told them what to do and then waited for the dog to exit their suspension status.

When the dog opened their eyes, a distorted male voice coughed through and said:

“—I swear those hackers are dead meat. Wait, do you hear me now?”

Then, before Chu Wanning could answer, the voice filter kicked in: “…woof, woof!”

An absurdly cartoonish ‘woof’ by all standards too. That was like a chihuahua barking.

The husky looked at him with sheer horror in his eyes. Long seconds of silence stretched on and Chu Wanning… He couldn’t help but cover his face with both his hands and try to suppress the laughters.

“THE FUCK WAS THAT??? Woof, woof.”

The mortified dog kept howling and whining, probably too embarrassed to speak again if every sentence had to be followed by a woof. Chu Wanning couldn’t help but laugh. It wasn’t graceful and he felt shame in that. But behind Xia Sini’s appearance he felt safe to do as he wanted, so he had let it all out and that felt… liberating.

“I heard you, loud and clear.”

An offended bark made its way back to him.

“As I was saying the voice filter is annoying but it can’t be removed. At least you can talk now.”

The husky opened his jaws and closed them a few times, before steeling himself and replying sorrowfully under his breath:

“At what price though, woof, woof.”

—

In the end they stuck together. Taxian-jun, which was what the dog was randomly renamed to after the hacking, agreed on showing him the disciple route, that he never got to play since he started.

“The best missions are the ones you can find down to the city. Also, it’s best to stock up on your XPs before heading out. Is that okay for you? Woof, woof.”

Chu Wanning had never been outside Sisheng Peak. He emitted a low ‘mh’ while lost in thought. He was definitely interested, he really had wanted to try taking on a mission outside. Taxian-jun led him to the stairs and they started to go down by foot, since as a dog he couldn’t hold a sword and Xia Sini after a session of flying lessons on the Aaaaaaaaah peak decided it wasn’t for him.

“How do you replenish your XPs?”

“By eating, woof, woof.”

“We could have done that at Mengpo Hall.”

“There are better places. I have enough coins for two, let me treat you since this is a first for you, woof woof.”

Chu Wanning’s cheeks warmed up in embarrassment.

“Mh.”

The city was really lively. There were a lot of player characters but the background music had a soft and lively tone to it that ensured the crowding wouldn’t get too overwhelming. Taxian-jun dragged him to a food stall not far from the main square and there he ordered soup for two.

“Make it mild for me, I can’t stand spice.”

The husky’s gaze turned sharp for a moment, before saying so to the vendor. The soup was ready in a few minutes and it was really delicious, nothing to do with the austere version available for free at Mengpo Hall.

“It’s good.”

“Told you. Whoever came up with this game knew how to soothe even your taste buds, woof, woof.”

Taxian-jun had his own bowl placed on the ground and lapping at it, he made a mess of it. Chu Wanning turned up his nose at the sight and took a step back. Such a disgraceful way of eating, he hadn’t seen it in awhile. Some memories started flooding into his brain and he forcefully repressed them. It wasn’t the right timing to get depressed.

“Where are we getting our mission from?”

“In the main square there’s a board, you’ll see. There you can choose which one you like best and reserve it so that no one else can take it. There’s difficult and easy ones both, woof, woof.”

“Then I want to try one that’s difficult.”

The husky looked at him with disbelief.

“That depends on the amount of training you got done in Sisheng Peak, let me check, woof, woof.”

Taxian-jun put his muzzle against Chu Wanning’s raised palm and unlocked his stats.

“Wow, you mentioned that you were here much longer than me, woof, woof.”

The hackers had not erased the progress players had made in the game nor their stats but still his current height wasn’t ideal. He had no reach even with a weapon, so he could rely only on magic in case of emergency. He had a companion though: he had someone to watch his back, a giant dog at that, so yeah, that was nice.

On the board there were all kinds of missions, difficulty stated by the number of stars on the notice.

“What do you think about this one, woof woof.”

It was three stars out of five and they had to retrieve a magical flower from a cave. It was a good quest. But Chu Wanning snatched another one and showed it to the husky.

“This one.”

It had four stars and they had to search for a child. Her mother had lost sight of her in Butterfly Town and since then there had been no signs of her.

“You sure? For an ASMR VR game it’s pretty ruthless in how fast you can fail missions. Once failed it becomes available to other players and you have to spend some time training in Sisheng Peak before you can venture out again. Woof, woof.”

“I want to do it.”

After that Taxian-jun said nothing else. He reserved the mission and they were equipped by the system with all the necessary for the travel.

Luckily the town wasn’t as far away as he thought. In order to make the game realistic it could take a while to reach the outer regions but thankfully this wasn’t the case. Once there, they started asking around and unlocking achievements one after another, until they obtained a reliable info on where the lost girl could be. Apparently she was reported to be kidnapped by some forest spirits and locked up in the mountains. No one had been able to free her because the way up was riddled with traps.

They had been prepping for the hike when Taxian-jun stopped him.

“Are you okay? You’ve been kind of tense since you saw the notice for this mission, woof, woof.”

The husky was looking at him with a dark penetrating look, and Chu Wanning thought it was impressive how on the money his perceptions were. He knew of no one by his side that had ever been able to glean what’s under the surface. That’s how impassive he usually was.

Chu Wanning sighed. It was too late anyway to start on the next part of their quest; they had been gaming for the last several hours and it was time to stop. Tomorrow was a work day and he had to sleep at least a little. So he sat down and actually tried answering his question.

“It’s stupid, really. But if you want to know, my parents died when I was that girl’s age. I guess this tiny form is finally getting to me.”

“That’s tough, man. Is that why you’re playing this game? If I read you right, you’re not a gamer, you’re more the type that’s got a reason to be here, right? Woof, woof.”

“That’s not it.”

It came out bluntly, like a warning. Taxian-jun looked at him attentively, while staying a bit on the defense. He was sitting far away from him, watching his every move.

“You know, I asked because I’ve also got a reason to play this game. I just thought you were the same as me, woof, woof.”

Chu Wanning softened.

He really liked this person.

“Can you play tomorrow in the evening?”

“Yeah, I can make it. See you tomorrow then? Woof, woof”

“See you.”

Chu Wanning quickly disconnected the device and pulled his head out of the headset. He rested with his head on the chair looking at the ceiling for a long time, too many feelings in his chest to discern them all.

—

When Chu Wanning logged in again, Taxian-jun had already begun clearing the surrounding area of all the traps. Some of them must have got him and his fur was bloodied on his right side but that didn’t seem to deter him much.

“You should have waited for me”, reprimanded Chu Wanning, to which the dog replied under his breath: “Yeah, leave it all to the runt, what could go wrong, woof, woof.”

Annoyed, Chu Wanning whipped out Tianwen, his divine weapon, and got rid of some spirits about to ambush them.

“WHAT? Where the fuck did you find that now?! Woof, woof.”

“Some cultivators getting back to Sisheng Peak found it while on a mission but couldn’t get it to work. Apparently they didn’t have the right stats and the weapon deemed them unworthy.”

“You’ve got luck on your side, you know that, right? That’s rare. Woof, woof.”

“I know. There’s only another one like it, it’s red and no one has unearthed it yet.”

The husky grumbled something like “That you know”, before getting back to clear out the area once again.

By the end of the gaming session, they had fought their way up to the top of the mountain and found the caged girl. The story behind it was actually impressive: as it turned out she had not been kidnapped at all, she had been locking herself up in a cage in order to protect her adoptive mother, since she discovered she was only half human and feared cultivators would go after her mother in order to imprison her. So, the girl had been pretending to have vanished into thin air, leaving no trace of her existence; she couldn’t imagine her mother would get indebted in order to publish a notice on the city board and hire actual cultivators in order to find her. All the other players attempting this mission had actually been terminated by her.

Chu Wanning had been tearing up a little and Taxian-jun had noticed this. But Chu Wanning didn’t care, he was just glad this had a happy ending. After fighting her, since she was a spirit, she entered a contract with them, so that she wouldn’t have to worry anymore about cultivators seeking after her mother. She was a powerful weapon, so she definitely was worth the trip and all the difficulties they had encountered on the way.

“Let’s do it again.”

Taxian-jun, who was just a step away from dying of blood loss, looked at Xia Sini like he had betrayed him.

“You’ve got no right to say that, half of these injuries were me trying to protect your sorry ass! Woof, woof.”

“Oh? Were they?”, he said, while coyly looking at him through lowered lashes.

That reaction must have taken him by surprise, because Taxian-jun stared at him a beat longer than what was appropriate. Embarrassed, Chu Wanning lowered his gaze, pretending to have not noticed, when he heard the giant dog talk as if lost in thought.

“You… really remind me of someone. But at the same time you don’t. And it’s painful to me when you do, but when you do resemble them, I’m really happy too. Woof, woof.”

Chu Wanning knew those feelings well. They threatened to swallow him up if he wasn’t careful, if the lid on the box wasn’t properly sealed shut. He couldn’t sleep anymore because they were always lurking in the shadows, ready to clasp him and drown him. It hurt.

“You know, it’s really hard taking you seriously when everything you say is followed by a woof.”

This seemed enough to spite Taxian-jun out of his trance.

“Remind me, why do I even bother with you? Woof, woof.”

“Oh wait, wait, now I get it, you were talking about your master just now!”

“You deserve nothing, man, nothing! Woof, woof.”

He turned around and made to leave, when Chu Wanning called out to him once again.

“You know, I get how you feel. I get it. I was abandoned too, so that’s why I ended up here, you were right to assume that.”

“But even if it hurts, I’m still happy I came here. That I feel I can open up to someone, that I’m on the same page with them, that I don’t have to feel inferior, all that is new to me. But it’s thanks to you that I can feel this way. It’s all you.”

“So, please, let’s do it again, gege.”

Taxian-jun didn’t say anything for a very long time. Then, he just walked towards Chu Wanning, put his muzzle on his shoulder and whined until he felt better. In return Chu Wanning hugged that soft head and pet it, again and again.

—

The next day, Chu Wanning was actually looking forward to meet again with the husky. At work he botched some of his tasks and then called it a day a little early: it had been months since the last time he had felt so alive.

On the way home he looked at the notifications on his smartphone and although he usually felt a pang in his heart at how barren it was now, today it didn’t matter. Sure, people still wrote to him but that wasn’t really the point. Since the break-up he had found himself empty and useless, like something worn and thrown away.

Today though, it felt different. He had expectations. He hurried through the entrance door, undressed, found something comfortable to wear and turned on the headset. They had decided on taking on another quest, so they had to wait for one another at the city board. Chu Wanning had wanted to arrive a little early to have the time to peruse through all the notices, curious about what Taxian-jun had to say about them.

He wanted to know more about him. He had an easygoing attitude that Chu Wanning really liked about him. But at the same time, he wasn’t cool in the slightest, all mopey as he was about someone leaving him behind. He was just like Chu Wanning, human.

His ex wasn’t like that. His ex was beautiful and perfect, and not the type of person one would want to break up with. Chu Wanning had always orbited around him like a moth to a very bright light: it was always bound to end and it was a given that his ex would be the one to do it. But when it finally happened, Chu Wanning had felt betrayed. One part of him had always hoped they could work it out.

But they couldn’t and soon his ex had had enough.

Chu Wanning hadn’t even thought of asking him why. His head had been empty and the only thought swirling in his mind was: ‘you knew this day would come to pass’. So in the end he had just asked him to leave him alone.

The notices present on the board were all very varied and Chu Wanning really liked one set in the outer regions, the poorest and the most dangerous. This game was at its core an ASMR experience but it was also a video game, so if the players wanted an adventure, that they would get.

Taxian-jun finally joined him and Chu Wanning immediately showed him the mission that caught his eye. They were discussing the merits of it when a red banner invaded their sight with the words:

【 System notice: the effects of the hack have been reversed, please log out to allow for the recovery of the account 】

Chu Wanning pressed ‘OK’ and looked in the direction of Taxian-jun.

“Well, it seems like neither of us will have to suffer my barking anymore, woof, woof.”

“It suited you. It wasn’t that annoying.”

“Well, same, you know? I can’t imagine you like an adult. All this cuteness wasted, what a pity. Woof, woof.”

Taxian-jun hadn’t even finished talking that Chu Wanning had already drawn Tianwen out, ready to strike.

“I’m joking, what the hell! Let’s log out, all right? Woof, woof.”

Saying that, he entered suspension mode and then vanished. Chu Wanning sighed and did the same. When he logged in again, he found his line of vision was turned to normal. He checked his settings and yeah, everything was exactly like he left it: dark long hair, phoenix eyes and white dress, the Yuheng elder was back at it again.

He quickly resumed the game and found a man standing in Taxian-jun’s place. He turned and saw a youth in a high ponytail, blue robes and…

“Mo Ran?”

Chu Wanning couldn’t breathe.

It was his ex. Taxian-jun was his ex. He must have customized the avatar on his physical appearance, because he was a perfect carbon copy.

“How do you know…”

The man was confused for a moment, then it seemed like he connected the dots because his expression changed to one of desolation as he murmured: “Wanning.”

“Chu Wanning.”, he corrected him. ‘Why do you always do this’, he told himself.

So unnecessary.

Chu Wanning couldn’t stay there. No wonder he had liked Taxian-jun so much, how could he have been so blind? No, he knew exactly why: he had wanted Mo Ran back by his side so badly, that he had chosen to ignore the obvious. That, and the avatar the hackers randomized for him had a voice filter on, or he would have noticed.

“Wait, let’s talk—”

Chu Wanning logged out and took his head out of the headset.

He couldn’t do this. To think he had started looking forward to this, that this game was really working miracles for his anxiety and now he had not many options left beside stopping using it.

Chu Wanning lay against the backrest of his chair.

Mo Ran had his heart broken by someone he loved that had rejected him. This knowledge both angered and surprised him. When did it happen? Is that why Mo Ran left? He had been cheating on him? Or maybe it was after. This embittered him even more, so quick to fall in love with the right person.

He couldn’t imagine anyone rejecting Mo Ran, he was perfect. Even the way he had left him was fitting, given the way their relationship developed. They had jumped into it without too much of a care and it had ended the same way.

His smartphone started ringing. Wary, Chu Wanning reached for it and, yeah, it was Mo Ran. Chu Wanning panicked and didn’t answer.

Half an hour later, it rang a second time. Mo Ran, again. Chu Wanning didn’t know what to do. He didn’t want to talk about it, there was nothing to talk about! It was just an unfortunate coincidence, right? So in the end he answered.

“I am on the street outside your house.”

Chu Wanning threw himself against the windows and here he was. He was wearing such unflattering clothes, a stark contrast from the person he knew then. He must have rushed to take his car in order to be here so soon.

“I don’t… There’s nothing to talk about, just forget about it.”

He heard Mo Ran inhale sharply.

“So you weren’t talking about me in the game. I guess you can love and open up to anyone as long as that person isn’t me.”

Chu Wanning scoffed.

“What?”

“I didn’t even know your parents died!”

“What does that have to do with it? Why are you even talking about this now!”

“Wanning, who were you talking about in the game?”

He sounded angry.

“W-who were you talking about?”

“I was talking about you! Who else?!”

What?

“But you left me.”

Chu Wanning was dumbfounded.

“Hell yeah, I left you! You didn’t tell me anything, you were a wall and when I tried telling you I felt alone you even told me I was free to seek others!”

“I meant your friends! I thought you were asking me for some space! Also, I didn’t word it like that. I wasn’t asking you to break up!”

“Space? But we barely saw each other! What—Please, can we talk? Can you come down?”

Chu Wanning was frozen. Mo Ran was implying he loved him. This was absurd.

Mo Ran had really been talking about him all the while though.

“I… was talking about you too.”

Mo Ran let out a trembling breath.

“Wanning, you told me you felt you were inferior, that we weren’t on the same page. Is that true?”

“…”

“Wanning, please.”

“I’m coming down.”

“Good.”

Chu Wanning could feel the warmth in his voice. He liked that.

“You didn’t fall in love with someone else then.”

“How could I? Have you even seen yourself?”

Chu Wanning, that had just closed the entrance door and was heading down, tripped on his feet. At this pace, he wasn’t guaranteed to arrive safe and sound.

“But you’re beautiful.”

“So are you.”

“You’re easygoing.”

“Yes, but you’re kind.”

“…I’m going to miss you as a husky.”

Mo Ran laughed. What a nice sound.

“You tell me, Xia Sini was a cuteness overload. When you called me gege you nearly broke me.”

“I was supposed to be five.”

“You were not, though. And when you broke into tears after we fought for the snack, I was so agitated. To think you could cry like that. Unbelievable.”

“I’m human too.”

“Yeah, I noticed. You cried when we saved the girl too. You being so emotional while still reminding me so much of ‘you’ was painful but it gave me hope too. If you could open up to me, maybe it wasn’t me the reason the adult you couldn’t love me. That made me accept myself. It soothed me.”

Chu Wanning turned red. He hurt him so much. He was almost out in the street but he had no face to say as such to Mo Ran. He was afraid. Even if they got together again, all those months of pain and distrust would not be easy to overcome. His anxiety would project every sort of scenario where Mo Ran could leave him again and flare it up into blown-up terror and rejection.

Still, he liked him. He had loved him since the first time he had smiled at him. If Mo Ran came to hate him one day, he could always think back to this moment, when he thought he was hated but instead he was so loved.

He steeled his nerves and came out into the street.

“Wanning.”, he heard and for one moment he saw a very soft and good boy barreling into his arms. He was not so different from his furry companion, he thought. How did it miss that about Mo Ran? He was so much about a dog, so loyal, so hopelessly waiting for him to look and pet him. He wasn’t perfect at all.

Chu Wanning really really liked him.

—

“Cover me on that side!”

“There’s too many enemies, I can’t!”

“Don’t worry, just do it!”

Chu Wanning did as he was asked and saw Mo Ran summoning a new weapon.

It was a red Tianwen.

“Jiangui!” he called, and with a single lash he cleared his exposed side of all the enemies.

After the battle ended, Chu Wanning grabbed both Jiangui and Tianwen, freaked out of his mind about the unexpected development.

“How, when!”

Mo Ran was sheepishly scratching his head.

“I won it on a raffle when I first arrived. One chance in one thousand.”

What. He was gobsmacked.

“You were SO lucky.”

“Yeah, I was. But one chance in a thousand is still… roughly ten times the chance I had of running into you here. So, you see, I’m VERY lucky.”

Chu Wanning flushed red and lowered his lashes.

Smiling, Mo Ran took his face into his palms and kissed him silly, until he couldn’t take it anymore.

#source: relena #2ha #ranwan #modern au #gaming au #au #fic #prompt fic #crossposted to ao3

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amydancepants-peralta · 5 years

Text

chapter three: head over feet

(the latest instalment of we’re the fortunate ones - my entry into the 2020 Vision Challenge) ♥️🎆

Jake takes a long draft from the bottle of beer in his hand, resting his weight against the pillar in the middle of the room as he watches Amy talk to other attendees of the party in a corner.

They’d all been roped into attending a New Years Eve party at this random loft in uptown NY, hosted by somebody that Gina called an acquaintance but didn’t seem to have a name (or a face, for that matter). It was all very upscale, the widespread apartment floor decked out in hipster-luxe decorations and soft popular music streaming from the speakers installed into various points of the ceiling. The well-stocked kitchen lay claim to copious buckets of alcohol - a virtual buffet of drinks lay waiting for consumption - and the Nine-Nine has spent the majority of their evening rubbing noses with a veritable ‘who’s who’ of New York. He’s covered head to toe in a suit that - let’s be honest - makes him look way more suave than he is. And maybe Jake is completely biased (because he definitely is), but he’s certain that Amy is by far the best dressed in the room. Heck, best dressed in the CITY.

Her dress is black, covered in this mystical shimmery material that seems to catch the light whenever she moves her body, and like a moth to a flame Jake is completely drawn to it. There’s a smokiness to her eyes (and he doesn’t even know if that’s the correct term but wow those brown eyes of hers are drawing him in when they’re surrounded like that) and her lips are covered in a hot red lipstick, the kind that doesn’t seem to end up on his lips when she kisses him - a theory that he’s been oh so happy to test over and over. Her hair is soft and wavy and perfect, just as perfect as she is, and Jake genuinely still cannot believe that Amy Santiago is his girlfriend.

It had taken him less than six days of being with her to figure out that what they had was different from all his past relationships. To realise that until that kiss in the evidence lock-up, he had spent his whole life waiting for the rest of it to begin. Everything before that afternoon was Pre-Amy; where things were okay but often disappointing, and his days were best spent alone.

Now, his life was entirely with Amy: where mornings began with sleepy cuddles and regardless of whatever the day would bring, there was always going to be her at the end of it. A crazy intelligent, incredibly sexy woman with a heart of gold; whom’s opinion meant far more to him than anybody else’s.

And a life Post-Amy? Not gonna happen. Jake would rather quit the force than consider it. He’d had a gun pointed at his head a week ago, and her face had been the only thing to flash through his mind. There have been very few times in Jake’s life where he’s been grateful for Boyle’s ability to appear unannounced, but that evening at Goodwin’s was absolutely at the top of the list. Thanks to Charles, Jake had been able to wake up Christmas morning with the most beautiful woman in New York laying next to him, and that was honestly better than a thousand bottles of Heart Attack Soda.

She catches his eye from her position across the room, blushing slightly underneath his gaze before turning her attention back to the two other guests she had been talking to. Jake stands a little taller and waits, knowing that her curiosity will grow too great, and after a beat her gorgeous eyes flicker back towards him and he smiles in victory, nodding his head towards the outside balcony in a wordless invitation. Tonight has been great, but the countdown to midnight is creeping closer, and there isn’t anybody else in the world he wants to share his first moments of the new year with.

Amy turns her head back towards the woman to her left, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear before nodding vigorously, still giving the illusion of the others having her full attention because Santiago’s are nothing if not gracious guests at any party. But it’s the only signal Jake needs to rest his now empty bottle of beer on a nearby table and head towards the balcony, shifting a nearby potted plant in front of the doorway as a hopeful deterrent to others.

It only takes her a few minutes to join him, and Jake can smell her perfume before he can see her, the warm smell of spiced vanilla pulling his attention away from the glittering city lights below.

“Pot plant blockage, nice move detective.” Amy’s smile is coy, reaching out to smooth the tie he had begrudgingly put on earlier in the evening.

Jake captures her hand as it moves to leave, pulling her palm up towards his lips and leaving a soft kiss against her skin. “Do you think it’ll work?”

Her fingers curl around his, tugging him a little closer as she shrugs. “It might.” Taking a sip from her champagne glass, she winks. “That, and just before I left I mentioned how good the fireworks were going to look from that balcony on the other side.” Tipping the glass further back, she drains it all before continuing. “There’s a whole crowd heading that way as we speak.”

Jake nods in approval, taking the empty glass from Amy’s hand and sitting it on top of the heavy brick balustrade. “Genius. My girlfriend’s a genius.”

“Damn right she is.”

“And gorgeous.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Uh, YEAH.” Jake raises his eyebrows incredulously, lowering them with his voice as he wraps both hands around Amy’s waist. “And kinda amazing. Also? Brilliantly nerdy, and sexy. as. hell.”

Amy looks up at him with the softest smile on his face, a look similar to earlier today when she snoozed her alarm (something she’s begun doing with increased regularity, not that he will ever bring that to her attention), cuddled into Jake’s side and rested in the nook between his neck and his shoulders. It’s a place that has become her nook - a place that feels empty when she’s not there - and she gave him the same smile as now when the alarm blared ten minutes later, and Jake was forced to finally open his eyes.

There are a thousand things he could say right now, about how much Amy has changed his life for the better, but then her hands wander down his chest, diving underneath his jacket and wrapping around his midsection, and Jake finds himself completely lost for anything to say except the one thing that completely terrifies him.

He loves her. There’s no question about it. He’s probably been in love with her for longer than he can remember, but his heart had caught up with his head somewhere around October and for the longest time there have been three little words bubbling up to the top of his throat, threatening release every time Amy looks at him the way she does. It was different, this feeling - an all-consuming, undeniable force that has changed everything for the better, serving to remind him that whatever notion he had thought love to be before he’d started dating Amy had been completely wrong.

Emotions have never been comfortable for him; love has always seemed like a mysterious force before now, and he hates the defeated look that flashes across her face whenever she gets serious with her feelings and his doofus brain responds with a noice or a smort. Amy deserves better than smort and - in further proof that she is, in fact, incredible - being with her has made Jake begin to believe that perhaps he can be honest with her about how he feels, and not fear the response. To tell her he loves her without masking it with a joke, or adding it into a ramble that steers her away from the importance of what he’s truly saying.

Amy head rests against his chest and sighs contentedly, squeezing Jake softly. “Tonight has been fun, but this right here has been the best part by far.” He nods, throat heavy with unspoken words; letting his hands roam over the back of her dress and dipping to the small of her back before pulling her closer. The rest of the world can have all their sparklers and streamers; no amount of revelry could ever compare to this. This moment was all he could have hoped for, and he’s endlessly grateful to be able to say that it’s finally his.

In the distance Jake can hear the rest of the crowd counting down the final seconds, and as the world fades into the background with the muted sound of “eight, seven, six” he looks down to Amy, resting one finger underneath her chin and tipping her face to his. Her eyes are sparkling, catching the light from the party still happening inside, and he doesn’t know how she’s done it but it’s just further proof that she is magic and before another thought can be made, her hands are on his jawline, pulling Jake down until his lips meet hers for the kind of kiss he’s been waiting his whole life for.

The crowd cheers, the renewal of another year long forgotten as their tongues tangle sweetly, arms locked around each other. Resolutions of catching bandits and jumping from rooftops fall by the wayside as Amy’s fingers run through Jake’s hair, and the only promise he makes for the new year is make sure Amy knows how I really feel about her.

It’s a blinding bright flash of light that separates them, both blinking in confusion as they seperate and turn their heads towards the doorway it has come from. Boyle is standing there, because of course he is, his grin wider than the Hudson as he lifts a polaroid camera in glee, snatching the photograph from the front and blowing gently onto the developing film.

“Happy New Year, lovebirds!”

“Ugh, Boyle! How did you even know we were out here?!” Jake responds. He’s not ready to let go of Amy just yet, instead choosing to tighten his grip around her waist. She shuffles a little closer in kind, resting her weight against him and presenting a united front as they stare down their friend.

“I sensed there was a precious moment happening somewhere around here, Jakey, and let me tell you - I was not wrong. I am SO high on your relationship it’s ridiculous. I cannot wait to frame this photo and put it on my desk, where I can stare at always!”

“Jake!” Amy whispers, soft enough that only Jake can hear, and he flattens one hand her back.

“I’m sure it’s a great shot buddy, how bout you come over here and show it to us?” Jake calls out to Boyle, throwing him his best ‘come over here and join us, we’re not angry at ALL that you ruined our private moment’ face. It must have been convincing enough, and Charles scurries towards them, gripping the polaroid tightly in his dominant hand.

Jake waits until Charles is close enough to feel comfortable before snatching the photo from his fingers, shifting his body (and by proxy, Amy’s) towards the light of the apartment as he examines it carefully.

Admittedly, it’s a great shot - the two of them so wrapped up in each other that it’s hard to tell where Jake’s suit ends and Amy’s dress begins, save for the subtle sparkle of her outfit. Her head is tipped up where his is tipped down - the towering heels that Amy had chosen for the evening making the distance between them seem just that little bit smaller - and they are completely and totally lost in their kiss. It’s as plain as day that the two people in this photograph are in love, and Jake can’t help but smile as he takes it all in. “I’ve gotta hand it to you, Boyle. It’s a great photo.”

Charles nods eagerly, eyes widening into a mixture of confusion and horror as Jake flicks his wrist, tucking the polaroid into the inner pocket of his jacket lining, tapping the outside protectively as he goes. “Wait, no! That was going to - ” he huffs in frustration. “If you guys want me to stop staring at you in the precinct, then you need to give me an alternative, Jake!”

“How about a selfie?” Amy pipes up, pulling slightly away from Jake and resting her hand above his jacket’s breast pocket. “One of all three of us, to commemorate the evening. I think that would look great on your desk, Charles.”

Genius, Jake mouths in Amy’s direction as Boyle squeals in glee, quickly jumping into position in front of the couple and holding the camera up high. Their smiles are wide, the genuine happiness palpable through the film as they seperate, Jake linking his hand with Amy’s and letting Boyle lead them back into the party. Their friends were inside after all, waiting to celebrate the new year with them, and they could definitely sneak out of the party later once Four Drink Amy made her return appearance.

Jake had no idea what the new year would bring, but he had the strongest instinct that whatever would happen, he and Amy would face it all together.

#peraltiago fluff #b99 fanfic #NYE throughout the years #Peraltiago stylez #hooray for getting to the cute stuff #Jake x Amy fic #mine #myfic #b99 fandom events #b99 2020 vision challenge

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geewithluv · 4 years

Text

◁ Thursday in April▷

Ｐａｉｒｉｎｇ：Jung Hoseok X Fem!Reader

Ｇｅｎｒｅ：angst with a happy ending

Ｗａｒｎｉｎｇｓ：miscarriage and sadness associated with it.

Ｒａｔｉｎｇ：PG-13

ＷｏｒｄＣｏｕｎｔ：2.1k

It was just past one in the morning on a Thursday in April when the sunny persona Hoseok had been known for vanished. It was so far gone that anyone who had never met Hoseok would’ve thought he was always so cold. He had spent so long reading every pregnancy and parenting book he could get and keeping in mind the fact that after the first 12 weeks, the risk of miscarriage goes down significantly. So why at 16 weeks was he no longer a dad-to-be?

Why had life decided to be so cruel to him after being so giving? Maybe it was some form of balance. If he was allowed to live a dream life touring the world with his 6 best friends – his found family – and making people everywhere so happy then he couldn’t also have a happy family of his own. He would trade everything BTS gave him if it meant he didn’t have to sit in a hospital room watching his wife get an ultrasound and the room fill with silence. Fill with the absence of a heartbeat.

He watched, in shock, as a doctor tried to tell them that these things just happen sometimes. That there wasn’t a real reason so they couldn’t blame themselves. Y/N cried so hard she ended up hyperventilating before nurses gave her some medications to calm down and eventually fall asleep. That was the first of many nights that Hoseok spent awake just thinking.

They go home in the morning. Hoseok turned his phone on for the first time since reaching the hospital to a flood of notifications. Maybe sending a simple ‘she miscarried’ to the group chat and turning his phone off wasn’t a good idea, he thinks. Y/N didn’t turn her phone on. Her lock screen was from a maternity shoot they did, and it made her emotional on days when her hormones were acting up so there’s no telling how she’d react now. Knowing the date on the picture was just a random day and no longer a countdown to the most exciting moment of their lives.

Hoseok ignores all the messages, missed phone calls, and voicemails as he opens the group chat again. ‘We’re home’ is all he sends. He mutes all notifications and decides how to tell his parents. Y/N already told her own parents, she called from Hoseok’s phone and they were going to come over ASAP, the insisted despite her kind heart not wanting to worry them with the travel. Hoseok toyed with the idea of just pretending everything was fine and not telling his parents. He knew a vague text to his mother wouldn’t be the right choice. He had to call.

Pacing around the living room, Hoseok tries to steady his breathing. Y/N sleeping in their bedroom, far enough away that she can’t hear him walking back and forth. Under normal circumstances, she’d scold him for ‘wearing down the wood flooring’. They were told she’d be very tired as her body recovered. He’s slightly comforted by that. She isn’t crying or in pain when she’s sleeping.

He calls his mother like ripping a band-aid. It’s ringing before he knows he’s even done it.

Her voice comes through so excited and all the work he had done to calm down is worthless in a moment as he recognizes she’s expecting some good news.

“Eomma…” His voice quivers. She knew right then something was truly wrong. “Y/N miscarried.” The words he hadn’t said aloud yet. He swears he feels his heart shatter. He doesn’t really hear what his mother says to him. Something with the purpose of being comforting, laced with her own sorrow.

“Do you want us to come over?” She asks.

“No.” Yes. She knows what he means.

“I’ll arrange a trip now.”

He resists the urge to throw his phone after hanging up. Anger is part of grief, he remembers. He didn’t want to remember. But he did. Walking to his bedroom, he regrets the decision to make the nursery the room before the master bedroom and not the room after it. He stands, gazing at the closed door for a good 5 minutes as if held more than unused furniture now tainted with happy memories of a child that will never use it.

“Hoseok…” Her voice breaks his trance as she stands in the doorway of their bedroom. Her eyes are puffy, her cheeks are a blotchy red color, her hair is falling out of the lopsided bun she put it in the night before. He clears his throat before speaking.

“Do you need more Tylenol? The doctor said warm showers can help the pain.” He tries to remember everything he was told. Y/N shakes her head, a sad smile on her face as she sniffles. She could see how hard he was breaking, and she could see how hard he was trying to pretend he wasn’t. It only broke her heart more.

“Come hold me.” Her voice is soft. “Please.” Hoseok closes his eyes for a moment, trying not to cry, trying to be strong. He nods and shuffles over to her, prompting her back into the bedroom.

“Do you want –”

“I just want my husband to hold me.” She cuts him off as she gets into bed. Hoseok lays down beside her and pulls her into his side.

“My parents are coming over and yours said they’d call when they land.” He speaks softly, afraid that if he speaks any louder, he’ll scare the tears into dropping down his cheeks.

“I don’t wanna talk about it.” It. It. It. The miscarriage. The ‘it’.

He mutters an apology.

The visits from their parents come and go quickly. Y/N stayed in bed most of the time, leaving Hoseok to try and be somewhat of a host. No one expected him to be though. Their family mainly cleaned up, cooked some food, took care of whatever needed to be done. Including box up some baby-related items hanging around. They made sure to do that while the couple was not around. As moving a plush toy had sent Hoseok into a fit that ended with him crying into his mother’s shoulder.

They had a couple of dinners together, only a couple though. Both were just to force Y/N to socialize. Telling her that isolating will only hurt her further. Hoseok’s father took to constantly reminding him that he needed to be strong for Y/N. That her mind and her body were both unwell at the moment. Only a passing comment of acknowledgment for Hoseok’s own mental state during this time. ‘Please take care of yourself too.’ He reassures his father that he’s fine. But his father never saw him smile in the week he was there. Not even a fake smile to reassure his parents, the ones they always saw through but pretended not to. His lips never moved more than the few words he spoke required. Y/N’s parents stay a couple of days longer than Hoseok’s but soon the couple are alone.

The other members checkup frequently. Mostly showing up to the door since neither was very good at answering texts or calls. Bang PD even comes by a few times over the next couple of weeks. TXT even makes a couple of rounds. But quickly, it’s been a full month since that Thursday in April.

Hoseok had only had 4 full nights of sleep in the past month. All were because of medication which he decided he didn’t like. He said he hated how he felt when he woke up. When asked how it made him feel he withheld giving an extended answer. Refreshed. That’s how it felt to wake up after 8 hours of sleep. And he hated it. How could he feel refreshed when he just lost a child. When his wife began therapy. When his band was put on a break. How could he let himself feel refreshed? So, he didn’t take the meds. Said they were for tour anyway, when the jetlag was really bad. No one pushed further.

30 whole days later, Y/N was smiling. No one really knew if it was genuine. It reminded Hoseok of when they announced their relationship and through all the hate and death threats, she still smiled saying it didn’t outweigh their love. Everyone believed her until she broke down at the BigHit building when a specific death threat was too concerning to let her walk around without security.

Hoseok didn’t believe these smiles. Not for a second. He couldn’t believe she was truly enjoying the warm May sun on her face and the sound of birds singing outside their home. He couldn’t – wouldn’t – believe it.

Namjoon takes her to therapy. He hangs around the area to pick her up when it’s over. She was scared to drive herself and Hoseok wouldn’t go. Thus, Namjoon decided to take her to and from her appointments twice a week and come in to check on Hoseok after.

Hoseok didn’t appreciate it. He’d much rather everyone leave him alone. Including his wife whose smiles only infuriated him.

One and a half months after that Thursday in April, all the boys come over with food. Hoseok is in the home studio. He says he’s working on music, but Y/N has passed by a few times and only heard the sound of their baby’s heartbeat on loop. They hadn’t all come over as a group in a while. Usually individually or a couple at a time. They decided all 6 at once could be overwhelming. Y/N tries to assure them that Hoseok is still grieving, but he’ll be okay, and he’ll be back to himself soon. She says this partially for her own benefit. She’s not sure if she believes it and the guys are unsure as they see her eyes tear up before she’s even finished talking. She thanks them for coming over, making sure to go over some cooking instructions with Seokjin before they leave.

Shortly after the door closes, Hoseok comes into the kitchen. She doesn’t know if he just had good timing or if he had been lingering. She gives him a quick smile.

“The guys came over.” She tells him, but she knows he’s aware. The doorbell is very loud, and so are 6 men walking into your home. He mutters a response. “They miss you.” She sticks a dish in the fridge and starts unwrapping the warm one Seokjin made for that day. His willingness to cook is a blessing, Y/N thought every time he made sure their fridge was full.

“That’s nice.” The most common phrase over the past 6 weeks.

“I miss you.” Y/N looks up, meeting his eyes. He tilts his head slightly in confusion. It’s the most emotion she’s seen from him since that Thursday in April.

“I’ve been here.” His voice is monotone. She shakes her head, pressing her lips together in a thin line, taking a deep breath as tears already build up in her eyes.

“I miss…my husband. I miss the sunshine personified. I miss the man I fell in love with. I miss Hoseok. I want Jung Hoseok. Not this shell of a human that sits at the foot of our bed all night long.” She sobs with a bitter laugh as she thinks about how crazy she must sound. “I’m in pain, so much pain. And I know you are too. I can see it in your eyes how hard this is. But we can’t keep doing this.”

“I’m sorry.” Tears fall from his eyes. Y/N isn’t sure she’s actually seen him cry since that Thursday in April. She tells him not to be sorry. Mouthing words as she can’t get her vocal cords to make. He takes her hands. “I’m sorry I haven’t been the supportive husband I promised I’d be. You wanted a family so bad. We wanted a family so bad. And…I couldn’t give that to you. I failed.”

“All I ever wanted…is right here in front of me.” She cups his face in her hands, making sure he sees the sincerity in her eyes. “You didn’t fail. Don’t ever think you’ve failed.”

“How do we fix this?” He questions. “Tell me we can fix this…” He begs her.

“I have an appointment tomorrow. We can start there.” She suggests, he nods. “I love you.” Hoseok kisses her lips for the first time in a month and a half.

FIN. Reposted

#bts reactions #bts scenarios #bts imagines #bts fanfiction #bts fluff #bts angst #bts fanfic

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moon-ruled-rising · 4 years

Text

as the rain hides the stars

read the full story on ao3...

VII: i’ll try to talk refined

I won’t deny,

I’ve got in my mind

all the things I would do.

So, I’ll try to talk refined.

-Hozier, “Talk”

There wasn’t a formal dinner before the gala started. Baelish claimed that there were too many people to host in the grand dining room, which Jon doubted was true. Baelish also told them they were welcome to dine with the Royal Family but the Starks opted to be served in the little dining room in their guest apartments.

The whole process was unbearable. Sansa tried to get the conversation flowing but despite her natural talents no one wanted to talk about the events of the day, Jon least of all.

Their dinner was another show of wealth and pride. As the server put it, “Leg of lamb sauced with mint, honey, and cloves. Mashed yellow turnips in butter, greens dressed with apples and pine nuts, and honeyed wine with cinnamon and nutmeg on the side for choice seasoning.”

He stared at his portion of the lamb, Sansa’s voice a mere hum in the background. He had no appetite but he needed to eat. He planned on having a drink in his hand for most of the night and even nursing on an empty stomach was pushing it.

Too soon, their private dinner was carried away and they were swept to an enormous hall done up in gold and warm light meant to resemble thousands of candles. There were already hundreds of people and Jon doubted there was a limit to how many people they would pack in there.

It was uncomfortably warm, the summer heat and humidity mixing with the mass of bodies. They prefered old fashioned feasts in the North, held in the ancient great hall with low lighting. On those occasions, hundreds of people were welcome because they helped keep the hall warm. Now the same number of bodies was making him claustrophobic.

Jon and Robb stayed close to their father, observing the party from afar. Sansa, however, threw herself into the action. And the people loved her.

“Why can’t you two be that sociable?” Ned pestered.

“We’re not here to make friends,” Robb bristled.

Jon stayed silent and sipped his drink. He was ordered to stay away from alcohol for the night. It was a shame but for the best. Robb on the other hand, was playing it fast and loose with the champagne.

A loud sound brought their attention to the other end of the hall where a large staircase loomed over them all. Sansa returned to her father’s side in anticipation.

“Their Majesties, King Rhaegar I of House Targaryen and Queen Elia of House Martell of the United Kingdoms of Westeros, Prince and Princess of Dorne, Duke and Duchess of the Crownlands and Lord and Lady of King’s Landing and the Watergardens.”

Jon held in his scoff at their excessive titles. It seemed like another subtle way of establishing their power and influence over the people in their midst. The King and Queen entered the room, descending the stairs and basking in the applause of their guests.

“Her Royal Highness, Daenerys Stormborn I of House Targaryen, Princess Royal of the United Kingdoms of Westeros and Lady of Dragonstone.”

Like a vision, she appeared at the top of the stairs. There was no applause for her, only whispers.

The other guests were dressed in muted colors and tasteful cuts, keeping the possibility for scandal to a minimum. Daenerys on the other hand, seemed to like ruffling feathers. Her bold gown bared her shoulders and much of her chest, it clung to her curves and highlighted every move she made. He always thought red was a warm color but on her it was utterly cold, enhanced by the silvery jewels adorning her body.

Her eyes raked over the crowd before settling on the corner where the Starks were.

Her descent took a lifetime and no one looked away. Never once did she look down or second guess a step. She was calm and graceful. Even when she stepped onto the floor of the hall and was swallowed by courtiers, he could feel her presence.

Robb nudged Jon’s shoulder, shaking him from his reverie.

“She’s going to eat you alive,” Robb jested.

“Oh ye of so little faith.”

“Don’t kid yourself,”

It was true, Jon had no luck with women. Talking to them seemed so easy, until it was time to open his mouth. Then there was the fact that most women he found himself with weren’t what the crown would consider ‘proper’. Jon’s responsibility to keep his, and by default, the crown’s reputation clean won out over his inherently male nature. Ned’s insistence on legitimization meant Jon had much higher expectations to meet. So it was easier to avoid conversation with women whenever possible.

Sansa elbowed him in the ribs, “Now's your chance.”

The courtiers were done with her and she was surveying the table with photos of that year's charity with a girl in a yellow dress. As he approached the pair, Daenerys looked up and briskly walked away. He meant to follow her but the girl in the yellow dress stepped in his way.

“Your Highness, it’s such an honor to meet you,” she greeted.

Jon looked over her shoulder and watched the silver hair disappear into another crowd.

“It’s an honor to meet you too …”

He had never seen this girl in his life but it appeared she had a connection with the princess.

“Missandei. I’m Princess Daenerys’ best friend.” She stuck her hand out for him to shake.

There it was.

Jon shook it and chuckled, “I see.”

It was refreshing to just shake someone’s hand instead of the usual bowing and scraping.

“Is this your first time in the south?”

“It is.”

“Do you like it?”

Her question felt like a trap. She may not have been educated in the ways of the court but she had to know about Daenerys’ engagement. They were best friends.

“I haven’t seen much of it but it’s different from the North that’s for sure.”

“It’s my first time in Westeros too. I’m not sure how I feel about it. Like you said, it’s very different.”

“Where are you from originally?”

“Naath.”

“Then how did you meet the Princess?”

“University in Braavos. I think I was the only person who dared to speak to her. Everyone was terrified,” Missandei divulged.

“I can see why,” he agreed, taking a drink from his glass.

The look he received from the foreign woman was enough to make him wish he was invisible. He cleared his throat, aware of how hot his cheeks were. Missandei only laughed and Jon let out a nervous chuckle.

“It’s okay. Everyone thinks that when they first meet her.”

She lowered her voice and gave him a serious look, “Just don’t get on her bad side, it won’t end well for you.”

“I couldn’t imagine myself wanting to,” he answered.

The smirk on Missandei’s face worried Jon.

“Did you go to university?”

“No. I entered the military.”

“Right. Well, if you did go, what would you have majored in?”

“Something political, I’m sure.”

He gave her the answer he thought she wanted. That was how politics worked after all, you told people what they wanted to hear. But Jon wasn’t a politician.

“Actually, when I was younger, I wanted to be a veterinarian. My dad had this massive dog and I loved him. My father’s lords joked that the dog was more loyal to me than him.”

“Then why the military?”

Missandei wasn’t an ordinary member of the court, just a visitor. She seemed like a modern woman who was tired of the gossip and passive aggressiveness.

“The title ‘bastard’ doesn’t go away just because some papers were signed. If I went to university, the Northmen would see me as a waste of their tax paying dollars. So I went into the military. I spent four years protecting my people so they wouldn’t see me as the bastard who got lucky.”

She didn’t respond. Maybe he’d overstepped and shared too much. He couldn’t have these kinds of conversations with people at court. And Missandei was easy to talk to.

“That was probably an overshare,” he chuckled, talking a swig of his drink.

“No, it was actually really refreshing. I’ve been here for less than twenty-four hours and everyone is so formal. Nothing goes deeper than the surface. It was nice to hear someone be real for once.”

The smile on her face was genuine, Jon could tell that much. And he felt the corners of his mouth tug up too.

“If you spent four years on active duty, then you’ve been off for two. Why’s that?”

“That’s classified,”

It wasn’t true, of course, but Jon found that when faced with questions that were far too personal, employing the common saying was easier than getting too personal. There was a reason he was sent home but Jon wasn’t fond of talking about it.

Missandei laughed again but her charming smile puttered out when she saw the serious look on Jon’s face, “Oh, you were serious?”

He offered her another grin before taking another sip from his near empty glass.

They talked a little while longer about random subjects. Missandei talked about her home in Naath and Jon about the North.

“I should probably go find where Her Royal Highness has wandered off to.”

“I can come with you,” Jon offered, wanting to meet the mysterious dragon princess for himself.

“No need. It was a pleasure to meet you though.”

And with that, Missandei and her soft yellow gown weaved back into the sweltering crowd. Jon let out a sigh of relief.

He leaned against the wall and studied the bottom of his glass. Maybe it was time for a real drink. Something light that he could nurse for a while and not get into trouble with. Another survey of the crowd revealed Daenerys talking with Missandei near a statue of some political figure.

It didn’t take long for Sansa to make her way over and feign interest in the displayed photos.

“Who were you talking to?”

“The Princess’ best friend.”

“I hope you didn’t embarrass yourself.”

Jon left his wall to stand beside her and pretend to look at the photos as well.

“I don’t think I did. I tried to talk to Daenerys but she ran away when she saw me.”

“If I found out I was engaged to someone I’d never met, I’d bolt too.”

Jon sighed, “What’ve you figured out from the floor?”

“Every distinguished lady here thinks she’s fast and loose. Burning through heirs and millionaire’s sons faster than they can make them. They’re surprised she returned home after that picture went around.”

“Missandei said that people were terrified of her in university.”

“This doesn’t look good for us. The Northmen will never accept someone who causes such a scandal. We can’t afford to look bad on the world stage especially with our economy failing.”

“Not to mention the Boltons,” Robb stated as he arrived at Jon’s side, “Father says they’ve been getting testy, more vocal against our policies. I can’t wait to see what they have to say about this.”

“This is the 21st century, they couldn’t stage a coup if they wanted to. There are too many safeguards.”

“Nothing is safe from men who crave power.”

His father said those words once when Jon was younger. He assumed it was just an off hand comment but Ned started saying it more often as Jon got older.

“They’d rather have no monarchy than us in power,” Sansa remarked.

“Once the great lords see that this was done to protect our people, they won’t question it.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that.”

“Sansa, don’t be such a skeptic. This is how great dynasties survive. They adapt and overcome.” Robb threw his arm around her shoulder and gave it a tight squeeze.

Sansa hurriedly shrugged it off as another person approached them.

“You must be Princess Sansa,” the gentle, velvety voice greeted.

Draped in fabric the color of a soft sunset and a cluster of suns sitting on her head, the woman stood as tall as Sansa and possessed the same beauty and grace. The Queen smiled as Sansa curtseyed to her.

“Your Majesty, it is an honor to meet you.”

“The same to you. You are a breath of fresh air at this court.”

“Thank you.” Sansa blushed.

“If I could, I would have you moved here immediately.”

“Don’t tempt me.”

“There’s always space.” she wink before turning. “And you must be Prince Jon.”

Between the too friendly Rhaegar and Daenerys’ cold shoulder, it was the nicest greeting he’d experienced that day. He nodded and greeted her back.

“If it’s alright with you, Jon, I’d like to speak alone.”

Sansa didn’t need to be told twice. Like the socially adept woman she was, she threaded her arm through Robb’s and towed him away. She glanced back over her shoulder in a ‘goodluck’ gesture and Jon prepared himself for his conversation with the queen.

“Have you had the opportunity to talk with my sister?”

“Not yet,” he admitted. She keeps avoiding me.

“That’s a shame. I’m sure she’ll find her way to you eventually. She just returned home and everyone is excited to talk to her about university and her charity work and who knows what else,” Elia rambled, slipping her arm through Jon’s and leading him away from the display table and the crowds.

When they were away from people the queen lowered her voice, “I’m almost afraid to ask what you’ve heard.”

“About the Princess?”

“Yes.”

“It’s not all terrible. But the majority of it’s been … concerning but I’ve learned that the whispers of any court can breed lies.”

“That’s true. Daenerys is too fierce for her own good but Targaryen’s are nothing without their fire. How are you handling the announcement?”

It was the first time that night someone asked him how he felt. His family had been up in arms, weighing

“As well as I can at the moment.”

“Good. Arranged marriages have fallen out of touch but my marriage was arranged and Rhaegar and I are very much in love.” She turned her face to look out over the crowd.

Jon followed her gaze and found it rested on the tall, silver haired king engaged in conversation with several older gentlemen.

“Daenerys will come around. You know, she doesn’t act it, but she’s very much a romantic. When she was younger we would have movie nights and she only wanted to watch classic romances.”

It was hard to imagine the cold woman gliding across the floor as someone who enjoyed romance movies. There was warmth in them, not in her. He certainly didn’t see where the Queen saw the romance in an arranged marriage with the two most uninterested parties.

An assistant approached the queen and whispered something in her ear.

“I’m so sorry but I have to go catch Rhaegar before he gives his speech about this year's charity,” she apologized.

“Don’t worry about it. Duty calls.”

She laughed and gave him a knowing look before following her assistant off.

Rhaegar’s speech proved to be unnecessarily long but it gave Jon an opportunity to see Daenerys up close. As the king stood at a podium on a makeshift platform, Elia and Daenerys stood beside him.

She laughed at the jokes and smiled at the right times, her eyes sparkling. Even as the speech drew on she maintained her upright posture and never fidgeted. She’d probably experienced longer speeches and spent hours in tedious lessons with impossible teachers.

Rhaegar finished his speech to a polite round of applause and stood with his wife while the photographer snapped a photo.

That was when Daenerys looked down at Jon. Their eyes met. He expected a nice reaction, maybe a smile of sympathy to show that she understood how complicated their situation was. Instead, she clenched her jaw and hardened her eyes. Elia whispered something in her ear that drew her attention away from Jon.

The party resumed and he found himself clenching his fist with an unconscious intensity. He was wound up and starting to get desperate. The princess still evaded him at every turn and the heat of the room was starting to get to him. He knew there was a garden just outside the doors and no one from the court made an effort to talk to him. His eyes locked on the doors and he didn’t break concentration until he stepped through them.

The gallery between the courtyard and the ballroom was dark and quiet but there were people gathered on the various settees that lined the walls. And it was still too many people for Jon. The patio and gardens just beyond were occupied as well.

He continued down the hall, not even looking at the portraits of various Targaryen ancestors or idyllic scenes. He found another door and followed it out.

The fragrant smell of citrus and flowers welcomed him. The air was heavy but still cool. Wherever he was, wasn’t outside. He heard trickling water from within and followed the sound.

Trees lined the walls and life sized statues of naked water bearers and intimate scenes of lovers hid among the plants. And a man sat at the edge of a pool, smoking a cigarette with a bottle of liquor by his side.

A woman floated in the shallow fountain, wearing nothing but a white nightgown. Her silver hair fanned around her, as pale as the moonlight that fell through the glass and onto the rippling water.

Jon didn’t know what to do. He knew he should’ve left, it was a private moment, but then the woman spoke.

“Jorah?”

The man hummed, blowing the smoke from his cigarette into the air.

“Do you think they’re missing me right now?”

“I told them you were jetlagged and needed sleep. I don’t think they bought it but we’ll see.”

She sat up, pulling her hair over her shoulder and finally stood. She locked eyes with Jon and gasped. It was then that he noticed the slip was see through from the water. He should’ve run right there but his feet were heavy as lead.

“Who the hell are you?” she demanded, the edge in her voice cold as ice.

Jon wanted to respond but his mouth was dry. It was her.

#jonerys #jon snow x daenerys targaryen #jonerysfanfic #jonerys fanfiction #ao3 #ao3 link

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hugotontheonbiquiffinarians · 5 years

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Papa Roach - Arthur/Joker x Reader

Synopsis/Inspo:

@arthurfleckjoker2019 @2019jokerimagines @mijachula @riddlers-doll @arthvrfleck @rustyt33th @honking4joker

Peregrinating through Arthur Fleck’s apartment is a venture met by seasoned bewilderment. An appetiser enhanced by the sudden, inexplicable spice of insatiable curiosity. Your intrepid pilgrimage through the eccentric man’s infamous residence is one that leaves you pining with ineffable hunger. A hunger that rivals the wizened, piteous stomach of your evening host.

Infamy presides in every interstice of his univiting stretch of interior design. Bacteria conducts a chronic festival along the fridge’s neglected anatomy, teeming with generations of primitive disease, ripe and ready to infiltrate the hapless body upon negligent consumption. One would think a person who demonstrates remarkable expertise in cosmetology would adhere to less exigent appeals for basic hygiene and sanitation. Be that as it may, the emaciated dwellings, attended by its equally famished resident, was egregiously delayed in Spring cleaning.

Disposing from your addled mind the pressing matters of ‘how’ or ‘why’ you were here, ambulating about a mysterious clown’s contrasting complexion of abode, you supposed he may have had half a mind of his own to appoint you as a maid. ‘Health inspector’ would have been just as, if not more, germane to the situation, given the near squalid nature of your client’s presenting case. Fortunately, you could deduce by the relatively mild air quality and absent need to exert excess pressure on the lungs to breathe, that the verdict was not entirely on the verge of eviction or indefinite quarantine.

Evidence displayed by the subject under scrutiny seemed to suggest otherwise. Indeed, the piercing pressure of his lingering gaze might have easily conjured a sense of danger for the budding hypochondriac. Two emeralds, glinting with promise of whetted injury, threaten to puncture your vitreous humour and infect the sclera with pink eye, effectively inviting a strain of unidentified pathogens to roam free through the frequency of an unsuspecting pineal gland.

In a matter of three tense seconds, the man divorces eye contact. Instead, his measure of intensity is redirected to the seams of his pitch scarlet mouth. The crimson rivulets of blood that channel from his nose to the quirk of his philtrum tickles a twitching smile from which a single question evokes. He ponders to your affiliation with the clown crowd marauding through the streets of Gotham with fits of furor at the fore of their prefrontal cortex. His query is interrogative but not prying. The adrenaline he possessed before from energised praise was gradually dying. To the whirring motors of the fridge’s internal operations, he inquired. To the strangely suffocating expanse of oscillating shade that continues to shroud since your arrival.

Either a neglected light bill is being repurposed as a coaster or he was simply confirming your prediction of this being some cliché, if not peculiar, hostage scenario. In any case, you’re eager to notice that it’s the first he’s spoken in the approximate hour and a half you’ve spent together. Unfortunately, for him, your dissimulated speech impediment had yet to be informed to him in an effort to justify your responding silence. You had been taken to awkwardly assessing the kitchen, pretending your hand was protected by polyvinyl gloving, hovering an index to glide cautiously over the various surface of countertop, cabinet and bronzed doorknobs stripped of a once vibrant sheen.

You pretend not to acknowledge the stealthy loom of a shadow multiplying the unlit space further into nebulous obscurity. If not for the steady glow of cyan filtering from that glorified cooling unit, you’d be impersonating the blind.

“I was hoping to get that fixed soon.” There’s a monotone imposed on his voice that fails to betray any hint of malicious intent. Not the faintest trace or taint of small talk utilised as distraction.

Despite having no claim of familiarity to his lifestyle or mannerisms, you were inclined to express a modicum of disbelief to this statement. Thus, the aim of your concentration is focused instead to the appliance that, by degree of intuition, may very well be housing scores of tumescent, pus-filled larvae and wingless, constipated bloatflies in one putrid medley, prepared and served by the landlord to be weaponised towards unsuspecting visitors/victims. An entomologist’s wet dream, to be sure, but one you weren’t entirely titillated by if fate accosted your stoic face with one eldritch maggot lovechild.

Nothing could have prepared you for what you (and he) were about to witness, once the slow, steady pull of your fingers had bared the contents of the fridge in raw, unadulterated detail. Stripped bare and dissected to oblivion, there was nothing to be seen. The fridge’s anatomy was as stark and naked as Joker’s uncut cock behind that single layer of red slacks, unrestricted by the confines of strangulating underwear.

“Well, that’s odd...”

Although you agree with this guileless admission of perplexity, it isn’t the barren, peckish fridge he’s referring to.

“It’s way past your bedtime, Randall. Remember what I told you about sneaking out after curfew?” Tsking under his breath for good measure, the clown continues to speak at length about dispensing an apt taste of carnal punishment and chastisement all the while speaking in the same innocuous volume.

Randall?

Curfew?

Who is he talking t-

Posthaste, your ponderous thoughts are severed and scattered in mosaical fragments when you turn to confront (and verify) your suspicions of a schizophrenic captor. What you see instead leaves you wishing schizophrenia was actually the culprit of this bizarre course of events.

Still opting to remain « selectively mute », you simply deign to flicker your eyes cartoonishly between the insouciant clown and this infernal insect he’s taken to communicating with, bathed in a heavenly blue light, who seemingly appeared troubled and only mildly vexed by the sudden intrusion upon his nightly commute. Arthur, interpreting your muted persistence as substitute for « That’s a roach. » in the most shocked conveyance you could muster (in spite of the dithering nuisance of alexithymia), dispels your delusional musings with a simple, if not infuriating, affirmation of reality.

“Yes.” Accompanied by a furrowed stare, as if blatantly affronted by your repelled reaction. Unbeknownst to him, repulsion was actually the last thing you were experiencing. To express this with body language alone, you move to take one definitive stride before both creatures, only one of which being attracting in presence.

Being nurtured by naturalists and residing in a location where vegetation dominated the rustic landscape, handling insects and animals of any known variety was as foreign a touch as thirdhand nicotine was to the peeling paint of Arthur’s ailing, decrepit walls. But, there was just something about roaches that provoked visceral rejection. Similar in form and function to the bottom feeders of the briny ocean, there was irony to be evinced by the casual digestion of recycled parasites and dead skin cells yet a recurring odium to insect kin was unlikely to convince even the most avid of gym rats to make crickets and termites a protein supplement.

Yet, here you are, cupping this tiny critter with a latent taste of remorse coating the throat. An innocent, unassuming creature, infused with animosity from centuries of negative classical conditioning. Having been thoroughly enlightened to this perspective, you don’t know whether or not to betray your pact of silence with a revealing chuckle. Between your passive abduction by this gorgeous man dressed in clown attire, the persisting crescendo of riots outside, muffled in tenor yet no less intense in fervour, police sirens chiming closer with each measured breath and beat, the manic grin of a criminal clown widening at the sight of you and « Randall » becoming acquainted in his flea-bitten relish of home, only one fibril of thought unravels amid your exchange with the miniature alien nestled within the palm of your hand, antennas tickling the air with uncertainty.

While any other normie would have instantly truncated this narrative by the concluding statement of “Kill it with fire!” or calling Terminex while scolding and lecturing clown boy for 15 minutes straight about the importance of cleanliness (oblivious to the fact that he’s secretly aroused by it), your only concern involves playing the game of this human Twister you find yourself entangled by.

In doing so, you must first analyse exactly why the human Twister has christened a random pest as if it were a pet. And with the name “Randall", of all names. Looking once more between Arthur and the roach, you analyse and commit their images to memory, searching absurdly for any hue or tint of physical resemblance.

Which can only lead to, quite possibly, the most urgent and surrealist question of the night:

To be continued...

#arthur fleck #joker #joker 2019 #w #arthur x reader

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didotrxarchives · 5 years

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my version of the egos:

Jackieboy Man: Is the eldest (based on him being the first ego to appear on Jack’s channel). He often comes home late at night with injuries he tries to hide. Chase and Henrik are always up waiting for him and he appreciates it. He is a bit of a daredevil and sometimes forgets he’s not exactly immortal. He has super strength which is sort of a blessing and a curse. He stands at 5’10”. He is always arguing with Chase about how they should handle Anti when he does stupid shit. Is twins with Marvin.

Marvin the Magnificent: Second eldest. He is constantly creating new spells down stairs in the basement, which is where he spends most of his time. He is smart and very down to earth. He is addicted to coffee which Henrik is almost positive only has 10% actual coffee and 90% potion of some sort. He is 5’10” Just like Jackieboy as they are only a few minutes apart age wise.

Dr. Henrik Von Shneeplestien: Henrik is the third eldest and honestly the most mature along with his youngest sibling Jameson Jackson. He is the only one with a full time, paying job and feels he doesn’t get enough recognition for this fact. He mostly keeps to himself in his office. He stands at 5’8”. He is constantly getting on everyone’s case about the stupid shit that gets them hurt and has officially confiscated all of Anti’s HUGE knife collection, Much to Anti’s disapproval.

Antisepticeye: Anti is the fourth eldest the shortest at 4’9” which he can’t get Jackieboy to stop pointing out every time Anti goes off on an angry tangent of some sort. He has major anger issues and in Henrik and Chase’s opinion hangs with the wrong crowd (Dark, Blank, Wilford, Google, the Host). Anti is depressed but the only person he’s ever told is Chase. He has a huge ass knife collection that has been confiscated by Henrik. He tends to sneak out at night to go do stuff with his gang. He likes to glitch into the basement at random times and scare the shit outta Marvin.

Chase Brody: Chase is the fifth oldest and is depressed like we all know but he learned sign language and taught Jameson Jackson how to use it. He treats all his brothers like his own kids and loves them with all his heart. Even though Anti is a little shit. Anti also opens up to Chase about his depression eventually but makes Chase swear not to tell any of the others, he’s 5′6″.

Jameson Jackson: Is the youngest sibling of the egos but stands at a whopping 6’3”. He’s what you could consider a big softie or a friendly giant. He had an accident when he was young that caused him to become mute and deaf. Chase taught him sign language and Marvin has tried (and sadly failed) to try and bring back Jameson’s hearing and speech. Jameson looks up to all his brothers and tends to follow Anti around which makes it hard for Anti to sneak out (doesn’t stop him though the little shit).

@10th-no-name-person, @meisamyth, @the-unrealjacksepticboop

#jacksepticegos #jse fandom #jse egos #jse community #jse #jse pma #jacksepticeye #jacksepticeye egos #septic egos #septic fandom #septic family

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lovesickjily · 6 years

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present: me

Summary: When Lily Evans is assigned to be a stranger's Secret Santa, she has no idea that by the end of the night, she was the gift that James Potter had wanted the entire time.

give me some love on ao3 or ffn

okay hi merry christmas!!! sorry this fic may sound a bit rushed, but i really wanted to finish this by christmas and i did it? i hope you all enjoy xxx

There were, as Lily speculated, many feelings that people felt when it came to the topic of Christmastime, a time in which everyone showed their love towards friends and family through the gifting and receiving of presents that consequently caused them to end up with so little money that would bring Santa to tears.

Feelings of mirth and joy were expected on the holiday that foresaw snow, but frustration? She didn’t expect any of that days before Christmas.

It wasn’t that Lily hated watching her bank account come to a horrible decline during this season, because the one thing that she absolutely loved more than receiving gifts was buying them. She revelled in watching the eyes of such gift recipients, especially when they lit up like a Christmas tree, and it made her money deficit well worth it.

With Mary, who was known for her embodiment of the concept ‘the more the merrier,’ it was easy to find a gift for her, whether it was one based on sentimentality or one where the price tag had been taken off of it, Mary accepted anything and everything, so long as it wasn’t unattractive in design and form. With Petunia, who was one for the traditional gifts, it wasn’t difficult to find an expensive vase from online that appealed to those who prided themselves in outdoing every single one of their neighbours. She bought an expensive watch for Petunia’s husband, because it seemed like a good gift simply because of the price. Whether he decided to sell it or keep it was honestly up to him, though she hoped very well that it wouldn’t end up rotting in one of his sock drawers.

Now, shopping for a stranger was something entirely on its own.

She’d no idea what Remus had been thinking to invite her to a party where she knew only one person and was even more confused when everyone was assigned a person at random to bring a gift to. From the conversations in the group chat that she had been added to, she could tell that everyone else knew one another well enough, if one could conclude from the jabs that ‘Prongs’ and ‘Padfoot’ continuously sent towards one another.

Eventually, that chat was put on mute, and she’d told Remus— as well as Sirius Black, who was apparently the host of the party— to inform her of any updates about the party. Asking the latter, it seemed, had turned out to be a poor decision on her part, because it seemed as if his sole intent on living was to pester her to the point that she often found her finger hovering over the ‘block contact’ button, only to stop since he unfortunately was the host. There was also the fact that clicking such a simple button was probably exactly what he wanted, and she was definitely not going to let this stranger win.

The last thing that she wanted was to show up in front of his house and be greeted with an infuriatingly cocky on his face.

On the other hand, the first thing that she wanted now at this very moment was to know what exactly to get whoever this ‘James Potter’ person wanted for a gift, but asking Constellation Boy only resulted in responses such as “He wants you for Christmas” with an absurd amount of winking faces.

If she was to browse the Internet in search of gifts to give to strangers, what if there was the chance that he was also her Secret Santa and was on that very same website?

No, she was going to put her utmost creativity into this gift, whatever it may be.

The only question was how she was going to do that.

She couldn’t exactly throw some sentimental value into it, not when there was no sentimental value to be thrown in the first place, but she didn’t want to at all give him something cheaply overdone, like an expensive bottle of perfume or wine. There were rules about gifts, and there was unanimous agreement that one should never get a person such items for Christmas— that is, unless their name was Vernon Dursley.

It was in these moments that she’d taken advantage of the annoying group chat— currently named “Jingle My Balls,” and she could bet all the toys in the world on who had decided to name it that— to scour for any valuable information that could give her an idea of what James Potter had an interest in.

Deer, it seemed.

Lots and lots and lots of deer.

She couldn’t understand his obvious fixation for deer and its venison counterparts, but she sincerely hoped that Remus wasn’t acquainted with someone who prided himself in the slaughtering of deer just for the fun of it. It could help to explain his ridiculous nickname, and she’d almost roped herself into believing that Remus Lupin was the only sane one in their friend group, only to learn that he had been named for a reason that could only be related to the act of mooning.

If she were to get James some sort of food for Christmas, it surely was not going to be of the venison sort.

Perhaps she’d bake cookies for him and call it a day, but they didn’t last forever, not unless he decided to preserve it for reasons unbeknownst to her, and she wanted to create a lasting first impression on him.

James Potter, what in the world could you want?

Could he be interested in pottery, if one could go by his last name?

Obviously, she wasn’t going to put minimal effort into his gift, and he obviously was far from a Petunia, so a ceramic vase— no matter how expensive it was— was just not going to make do. There was nothing wrong with homemade items, and she’d actually greatly prefer homemade objects over the store-bought pieces.

Perhaps…?

Hopefully, he’d love what she had planned for him.

The final obstacle remaining was that she’d never in her life taken a pottery class.

+++

There was a difference between going all out and doing exactly what it was that this household had seemed to do when it came for Christmas decorations.

Lily liked to think that she fell in the former category, having decorated nearly every inch of her flat with pretty fairy lights and a giant Christmas tree in the corner of every room, and even the bathroom contained a small Christmas tree resting atop the counter. Tinsel lined the tops of the mock fireplace in their living room, and in every part of the flat, there was some Christmas decoration of some sort.

But this house— mansion?

It was on a completely different spectrum of its own.

The front lawn seemed as if it had taken everything that could be seen in the Christmas outdoor section featured at every store, and in places where snow hadn’t fallen, fake snow was used to create the illusion that the place was a magical castle in a kingdom where winter was eternal. There were, of course, a line of deer made entirely out of lights lining up the pathway, and at the very end stood a dog made of lights and a pair of antlers atop the animal.

If she had any doubts about whether or not she’d come to the right place, then these doubts were put at ease.

“This is the place,” she said to Mary, though it came out more as a question rather than anything else.

“The one and only.”

“Are you sure we aren’t— I don’t know— planning a heist? Following the plot of the Bling Ring?”

“Maybe next time,” Mary said nonchalantly, “But I don’t see why you should when you’re being offered free food here. Remember, stay safe, and please bring me a plate of whatever food they have there.”

With one last look, Mary gave her a reassuring beam as she bent down to begin her search party, as her phone had fallen off of the dashboard and slid off to who knows where. It ultimately meant that she was going to dawdle in the car for an unreasonable amount of time because she didn’t want to step out into the cold so quickly, as it was just characteristic of Mary to do stay in her comfort zone for as long as she deemed possible. It was for that reason that Lily decided to knock at the door before the frosty air could hold her captive as well.

The door thankfully opened quickly, and amidst the sweet smell of cookies and all the positivity that embodied Christmas, she caught sight of, well, reindeer. It wasn’t off-putting that it was reindeer. It was off-putting that it was reindeer. Atop each other.

She wasn’t being subjected to real-live reindeer, of course, as they were graphics that appeared on the sweater of some bloke bold enough to wear it to the party. If the sweater hadn’t had the reindeer engaged in such an illicit act, it probably could have been a lovely sweater.

They could have matched, actually, because she was wearing a sweater similar to his, the only main difference being the fact that her deer were nowhere near one another, and hers was mainly black while his was mainly blue.

She felt her eyebrows furrowing in confusion at the sight, and she blinked twice. “You must be James.”

She’d finally managed to tear her eyes away from the deer to look up at him, and she’d nearly fallen onto her knees at the fact that he was so attractive to the point that he absolutely had to know how attractive he was. It didn’t help that there was a pair of antlers atop his head, and they only served to draw attention to his messy hair, hair wild enough to make her thoughts wander off into territory that they shouldn’t have stumbled upon in the first place.

And then her gaze flickered right back to his sweater, where the reindeer seemed to be mocking her.

It was only then that he’d been able to somewhat redeem himself when he opened his mouth, and how how how could a voice be equally as attractive as his physique?

“Yeah? What gave it away?”

She raised an eyebrow at him. “You’ve got reindeer fucking on your sweater.”

He let out an embarrassed laugh, and she couldn’t help but notice the way his cheeks pinked at her observation. He let out a soft sigh. “I can’t believe the prettiest person I’ve ever seen in my life knows me as the bloke who wears sweaters with graphics of reindeer procreation. I swear I’m being forced to wear this right now.”

Her shoulders sagged in relief. “I was beginning to feel concern for you, a stranger. I still do feel concern, actually. I assume it was Sirius who put you up for that?”

He nodded grimly. “We made a bet. Signed a contract to wear it if I lose and everything.”

“I’m so sorry that he’s disgraced deer like that. No one should ever involuntarily wear clothing that display any form of animal procreation.”

Her words seemed to have some sort of a strong effect on him, and he began smiling so wide that she could make out a dimple growing on the left side of his face. He opened his mouth to respond, when a piercing voice rang through the air, as if the evil form of Father Christmas had awaken to fill all of their stockings with coal.

“Close the fucking door, you fucking—” There was, of course, only one person whose voice that could have belonged to, and her eyes met grey, comprehension growing in his eyes as he realised who she was. “Fuck. Close the door. I’ll be right back.”

“Sirius,” she said simply.

“Unfortunately,” he replied, and he looked out towards the car, “Is your friend coming in?”

Lily regarded his question with little interest and shook her head. “She’s just dropping me off.”

He nodded in acknowledgement. “You’re Lily, right?”

“Unless you were expecting the actual flower, that would be me.”

“I’d say you came to please, then. You’re just as pretty as one.”

She didn’t know what to say in response, because it wasn’t as if she was unconfident in her looks, but it was the mere fact that he’d managed to flirt with her twice in the span of a few minutes. “You can definitely do much bet—”

She was cut off by the sound of heavy footsteps once again, and Sirius returned with something green in his hand. She already knew what it was without even having to get a close look of it, if the deep sighs coming from James were of any indication.

“Padfoot, I swear if you bloody hang that over our heads—”

“That’s quite presumptuous of you to think that I’m trying to incite non-consensual kissing between strangers.”

“Then explain why you’ve got mistletoe in your hand.”

Sirius hung it over his own head. “I’m doing everyone a favour by giving all of you permission to kiss me, the one and only Sirius Black. This is a one-time offer, so I’d say you should take advantage of this opportunity.”

Lily concealed any feeling of disgust that he’d stirred up from his horrible offer, because she came to this party with absolutely no intention of kissing anybody, let alone Sirius, who she honestly thought couldn’t possibly be a horrible person and that his way of texting merely gave off strange vibes. Perhaps he wasn’t a terrible person in the sense that he was decent enough for Remus to befriend, but, as she’d already known long before, looks gave no clue of how a person was on the inside.

“Right, so where do I place this down?” she asked instead, holding up her present that she’d wrapped carefully.

“Don’t know about the box, but you could place yourself down on James’s—”

“Beneath the Christmas tree should be fine,” James had cut in, and he placed tentative fingers on her shoulders, to which she felt warmth spreading throughout her body, “Here, I’ll show you where it is.”

“It’s right there—” she began, but upon realising that he was helping to whisk her away from Sirius, who looked as if the being who he’d successfully been able to bag was Death itself— what with his pale skin and body covered head-to-toe in all black, save the small bit of his red shirt peeking out from beneath his leather jacket— she stopped herself. “Thank you.”

“It’s no problem.”

It was a problem, actually, because she thought she’d resolved every single one of her worries when she’d finally finished making his gift for him, but she’d been far too busy dwelling on making it so that he would enjoy his present that she hadn’t even stopped for a moment to consider that he might actually fall under the category of men that seemed to make her heart do backflips. And when Sirius was unsubtly running around with mistletoe in his hands, it was obvious that both her and James were to be subjected to uncomfortability, similar to the way people wanted celebrities to date one another on the basis that they were both attractive people.

She didn’t speak her thoughts, instead choosing to plaster a smile on her face, which in all honestly wasn’t at all difficult to do, not when the interior of the place was just as festive as it was outside. The tree stood taller than any tree that she could have ever put up at her flat, and it must have taken a painstaken amount of time to decorate all of it. At closer inspection, she noticed the tree had a good number of ornaments containing images of who she assumed were either James or Sirius at different stages of life making funny faces at the camera.

“Don’t judge,” he said from behind her.

“Oh, I can assure you that I’ve expected no form of normality in this household since you’ve opened the door.”

He grinned at her. “Yeah? Have my expectations been up to par, then?”

“Somewhere up there,” she allowed, “Though, I don’t think there’s too much pride you can have in how stranger perceives you, especially when it’s on the low end of the metre.”

“I take immense pride in that, for your information. I’m taking it as a good sign, since you’ve yet to pelt an ornament at me.”

“I’d say you’re going to only have good signs, then. I, contrary to popular belief, do not pelt ornaments at people.”

“I’d pelt an ornament at any idiot who would believe you more than willing to do such a thing.”

She couldn’t help the laughter bubbling from her lips at his words, and it seemed that he took great pride in getting a laugh from her, because her actions had spurred him on to smile just as widely. Somehow, he’d managed to find a way to be such a dork while still simultaneously coming off as charming.

The ring at the doorbell snapped them out of it, and he flashed her an apologetic smile. “Duty calls— rings? Dunno which word is more fitting, but I’ll have to go greet the other guests. I’ll see you later, yeah?”

“I’ll remember to not pelt any ornaments during the wait,” she smiled, and it only served to make his dimple greet her once again as he grinned.

“I knew you’d understand.”

With that, he left her to her own devices. Someone— most likely Sirius— had begun blaring Mariah Carey, the spirit of all things concerning Christmas, and if that didn’t add to the strangeness of it all, she didn’t know what did.

She placed the gift down carefully beside a red gift bag decorated with white snowflakes, and it was quite possibly the most normal sight she’d seen in the house so far— perhaps the only normal sight she’d be seeing for the night.

It was, most definitely, going to be a long night.

+++

For a place that could have possibly housed an entire army, there weren’t as many people as Lily had thought would show up.

There were so much more than she could have expected.

She’d thought that they’d only invited their inner circle of friends if she were to judge from the small number of people in the group chat, and so it would be a complete understatement if Lily said that she thought that she’d feel completely out of place in a room where inside-jokes populated the conversations. It seemed that James, who was the owner of this house— or at least one of the owners, seeing as his parents had been away on a business trip and wouldn’t return until the week of Christmas— was just as surprised as she was by the amount of people showing up.

It seemed that somebody had decided to pass on the message that anybody who learned about the details of the party was invited, and at one point, James literally had to lock the door so as to keep people out, but when Sirius had brought up the point that people could easily climb in through the windows and over the fences, his efforts were rendered futile.

It would be an absolute miracle if the neighbours didn’t call the cops on them.

Sirius, once one got over his many bouts of inappropriate behaviour, was actually a somewhat hilarious person who, in a way, seemed to understand her. It wasn’t her fault that her eyes kept wandering over to James, who’d taken to putting a pillow right over his chest so that he could cover up the cursed image of the reindeer, because she still couldn’t fully fathom how a person could be so attractive without doing anything even remotely interesting, and it definitely wasn’t her fault that Sirius was ribbing her for it.

Sure, Sirius was the conventional type of attractive, but when someone like James was there, Sirius was merely a rock and James a diamond.

It didn’t help that everyone— save for James— was painfully aware of her staring. She felt shame welling up inside of her, because she knew all too well that there was so much more in a person than their appearance, and she herself hated when people merely saw her as nothing more than how she looked. Now, though, she was doing the exact same thing she was entirely against, only, it was with James.

She didn’t even know him that well, and as much as she’d like to say that she’d spent the majority of her time conversing with him, she knew that would be an absolute lie, as she had barely talked to him since she’d greeted him at the door. She’d caught glimpses of his personality through the texts that he sent to the group chat, and she’d be an absolute liar if she wasn’t at all intrigued by his mannerism and himself as a whole.

She wanted to learn more about him, learn about his strange fixation with deer, learn everything there was to know about him, like if he was really the type of man her parents would have liked to see her walking down the aisle with: the type of man who made her completely and utterly happy.

Sirius leaned over to her, because of course she would be the one to end up sitting beside him, even if for just a short period of time. Of course he would, yet again, pick up on her stares. “You can’t fuck if you don’t talk to each other first.”

“I’d say in some extreme cases, that would be a complete lie.”

“I’m prone to agree, but since that idiot has only had unsuccessful dates this entire year, I’m obligated to step up. You’d make his entire bloody new year.”

“Unfortunately, I don’t exist for the sole purpose of making one single person happy.”

“Of course not, but we all know how you’ve been fucking James with your eyes, so spare yourself of wasted time and sit on his lap. He wouldn’t protest.”

“I’d protest,” she replied scathingly, “And he’s talking to his line of admirers.”

‘Talking’ was a word being used loosely here, because he seemed to be the only person speaking, having gone on about a story about himself from when he was younger. It seemed that he’d been engaged in a conversation with Remus earlier, but after the first three women came from nowhere, Remus had left him alone with them, and so he’d been forced to conversate with them, unless he fancied being found in a ditch the following day. She could already sense his discomfort from just the way his smile seemed permanently glued on to his face.

“To cut the conversation short,” Sirius began, feeling no sense of empathy for his mate, “You’re holding back.”

“I didn’t come here for you to play matchmaker.”

“But little do you know,” Sirius sighed.

“Pardon?”

“What?” Sirius asked, “You’re forgiven.”

“I’ve absolutely no reason to apologise—”

“There’s always a reason to apologise. For one thing, you’re stealing me away from the other guests. Everyone needs an equal share of Sirius Black—”

She blanched. “Right, well, that’s already enough incentive to walk away from you right about now.”

“That’s the spirit,” he replied, “Repulsion is the first step to a blossoming friendship. Let me be best man, if that isn’t too much to ask.”

“You didn’t even ask.”

“You didn’t offer. I’ve got to take matters into my own hands.”

She scoffed lightly at him. “It was nice meeting you formally, Sirius.”

“Not sure if that’s sarcasm or if you’re being genuine, but either way, I’ll take it as a compliment.”

She had to hand it to him; she wasn’t sure just exactly what he was capable of, but if Sirius Black was ever handed the opportunity to take over the world, he’d turn down that chance just to find his own means of world domination.

She watched as he walked over to the group with James, said a few magical words, and the next thing that she knew, Sirius had taken the women off of James’s hands as if they were moths and he was a flame.

What she hadn’t expected, however, was to see Sirius pushing James directly towards her, and it seemed as if he was a reindeer soaring through the sky, but the metaphor suddenly seemed unsuiting when she found him crashing right into her.

Or, nearly crashing, and she could already feel how awkward it would have been if he’d fallen atop of her, what with their bodies right up against one another and his face merely centimetres away from hers.

In reality, though, Sirius’s pushing was merely a light shove, because his arms just weren’t strong enough to move somebody across the room and acted only as encouragement more than anything else.

“Hello, hi,” James said, and he sent a glare towards Sirius, “We meet again. Your reindeer are still living in solitude, I see.”

She couldn’t help the smile growing on her face. “I see yours are still going at it. Do they ever stop?”

“Right? It’s quite rude to all the guests around here. They need to find their own time and place to make love.”

She nodded. “They are domestic animals. I expected much more from them. Do you want to go somewhere more quiet? Mariah’s gotten a bit annoying after the first five rounds of All I Want For Christmas Is You.”

“Sure, as long as it’s not for the purposes of love-making. I’d like to at least take you out on a date first.”

“Then, to your room?”

“If you insist,” he joked, and she felt her lips curling upwards once again.

+++

“Why the fixation with deer?” was the very first thing that she’d asked once they’d entered his room. She’d noticed that his devotion to Christmas only seemed to continue on behind the privacy of his door, as even the bedsheets had been changed to mimic Christmas. There was, of course, a Christmas tree in the corner of his room, and rather than the small ones that some people put, the tree was of average size. Beneath the tree were the gifts that were brought for the Secret Santa ceremony, which James had relocated in case any of the uninvited guests had decided that it would be a good idea to snatch them.

She made herself comfortable on his bed, patting the space beside her to motion for him to sit down, that she wouldn’t falsely made accusations at him if he got too close to her. He chuckled at her question. “Its antlers look like a crown, and we both know that I am the most majesty being in the world.”

She fought the urge to roll her eyes at him, because though she hadn’t known him for that long, seemed like such a him thing to say. “A real answer, please.”

“You’d laugh.”

“Only if it’s funny.”

She watched his lips rise at the corners. “I took a quiz about what my spirit animal would be, and I got a stag. That’s what made my interest stagnant, I’d say.”

She unceremoniously let out a huff of air. “You made that pun on purpose.”

“Ah, don’t tell me you don’t have an appreciation for puns.”

“I have an appreciation for the funny ones.”

“I’m actually so offended right now. I’m not funny?”

“Oh, I don’t doubt that you’re funny. Your puns are the ones that need some work.”

“It was hilarious.”

“For you perhaps, but since you base your pride on the beliefs of strangers, your opinions don’t seem to matter in this scenario.”

“Oi, my puns are the greatest, thank you very much. I think your opinion is skewed because you’ve been too distracted by the reindeer fornicating on my sweater.”

She laughed. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You’re laughing, which means that I am completely and utterly hilarious.”

“If you say so,” she sang, “Will you pelt an ornament at me so as to convince me otherwise?”

“Violence is never the answer. I’ve other alternatives, like begging and pleading you to please fuel my ego as it so desires.”

“I’m sure looking in the mirror gives you enough fuel to last the entire week. Month, maybe.”

“Are you calling me handsome?”

“I’m certainly not calling your puns funny.”

“I don’t know whether I should be turned on by the fact that you think I’m attractive or off because you think I’m unfunny.”

There was something in his tone that made her think that he was edging near the former option rather than the latter, and the manner in which his breaths were coming out more slowly was even more of a signal that he wanted something to happen between them just as much as she did.

“Maybe,” she started, and her fingers began moving up his thigh, inching upwards until she was cupping his chin, feeling the light stubble on his face, “We could reach a com—”

She was cut off by the sound of the door bursting open.

It was, of course, Sirius, who looked unsurprised at the sight of them on the bed together. “I’m going to assume that I interrupted you lot, but I’d say that you deserved it, because both of you were too slow to jump the other first thing when you laid eyes on each other.”

“What do you want, Padfoot?” James grumbled, and he removed a hand from her arm, which she hadn’t even noticed had been on her person.

“A lot of things, actually.” She cocked an eyebrow at him. Perhaps the eggnog that they’d served had gotten to his brain, if the alcohol that he’d dunked into the Christmas drink hadn’t done so already. “Anyway, we need to open presents. Oi, you lot. We’re opening presents, and no, that doesn’t include me.”

Sirius clapped ostentatiously to attract everyone’s attention, as if his random outburst hadn’t been heard by perhaps the entire neighbourhood. “We do not need a hearing aid for a present this Christmas,” Remus said as he walked in, and he regarded his mug of eggnog with disdain, as if it was Sirius in the form of a liquid.

It seemed that Sirius had already gathered all of the people who were involved in the ceremony, as a few other people walked in afterwards, and only Peter seemed sympathetic enough to flash them a look of apology for intruding on them.

“Never said anything about a hearing aid,” Sirius replied, “Maybe you need the hearing aid.”

“After your outbursts, I reckon we’ll all need hearing aids. Calm your arse, yeah?” James put in, and Lily felt that had the opportunity arisen, she most definitely would have paid to hear more of his lovely voice.

“He’s excited for presents,” Peter Pettigrew added, “I’m excited.”

“Don’t tell anyone, but I made sure that no one got Pete for Secret Santa,” Sirius drawled, and Lily whacked him lightly with a nearby pillow.

“That’s completely unsuitable for the occasion.”

“It’s fine, Lily,” Peter started, “He says things like that all the time. I’ve built an immunity to it.”

“You shouldn’t have to tolerate it.”

“If this helps,” James began, “I was your Secret Santa. Your present is the one with the gold wrapper, because I use only the finest materials.”

Peter scrambled up to grab the present as described, and this was more or less how it had went on, with everyone having an unspoken agreement on who could throw the most jabs at each other. Sirius was, unsurprisingly, Lily’s Secret Santa, and he’d thought it hilarious to include a gag gift in with the real gift— a pink scarf and an insanely giant framed picture of himself. It went on to show that the size of a present truly didn’t make it a good gift, and she’d have to find some open space in her closet to hang the portrait up on. It would have been quite rude of her to not put up the portrait.

Annoyingly enough, Sirius was completely and deliberately delaying her from giving her gift to James, and when the time finally came for her to give James the concrete embodiment of her hard work and effort, Sirius again was unsubtle in hiding his motives. She took her previous thoughts back. He could definitely not conquer the world, no matter how hard he tried.

“I’ve going to take a sh—”

“If you finish that last thought, I will throw you out the window,” Remus threatened.

“Remus and I will be going— actually, no, let’s all go together.”

“I am not going anywhere near the bathroom with you,” Remus interjected, looking aghast at the prospect.

“You’ve no choice—”

“I always have a choice,” Remus replied, and Lily had been looking on with such amusement that she’d been a bit surprised when he turned towards her, “I am so sorry for his behaviour.”

“I am so sorry that you’ve had to endure him for, what was it, the entirety of your life?”

“That’d be about right,” Peter cut in with a nod.

“I can’t believe you’re all ganging up on me.”

“You can’t honestly expect to intrude upon James and I for open gifts, only to unsubtly leave us alone when it’s time for James to open his present, can you?” she asked Sirius.

“That only makes it even more fun for him,” James said beside her, “And I’d rather they leave now than never.”

“You love us.”

“Yeah, yeah. Get out, and I’ll see about that.”

James, at that point, had taken to escorting them out of the room, and with one swift motion, he closed the door shut and clicked the lock in place. He walked towards the tree, picking up the very last gift that remained before seating himself right back beside her.

“You couldn’t have possibly found a way to clone yourself, have you?”

She found her cheeks growing red, and she shook her head. “Not unless I also found some way to shrink myself.”

He smiled softly at her response. “It’s only that I think that the best present I’ve gotten so far is meeting you.”

“Honestly, if you don’t think that this will be the best present you’ve ever seen in your life, I’m afraid I’ll have to cut off all contact with you. I worked too hard on this gift for it to only be second to myself.”

She watched his smile blossom into something nearly as radiant as a flower at her words, and he shook his head, looking a bit bashful. “Nothing could ever beat you.”

His hands drifted down to the bow that she’d tied on top of the box, slowly pulling it off, and she was glad to see that he was not one of those monsters that destroyed the wrapping paper in order to get to the gift faster. He did the action with some speed, though he was being awfully considerate in not tearing it either, and when he did accidentally make a small rip, he let out a small apology to the paper, as if he was hurting it.

Her heart only moved quicker at that action.

When he opened the box, pulling out the mug that she’d been putting all of her painstaking effort into creating, he let out a nearly inaudible gasp at the sight. He scrutinised every inch of it, and his face didn’t even once diverge from amazement, even when there was so clearly a mistake in the way she’d made it.

“You made this?” he said inconceivably, and she nodded, “How could anyone make something so bloody nice? Fucking— you’re so talented.”

She knew that his words were making her face turn so red that she had to be the living embodiment of the colours of Christmas now, because it was one thing for him to compliment her appearance, but it was something completely difficult when he was praising her work.

She’d made him a ceramic mug, having used so much of the patience that was a gift she could never have gotten from anyone other than her parents and the universe.

She’d done all of it herself, even going the length of digging out and cleaning her own clay in the back of her yard because it would take far too long to ship clay to her home, and on the side of the mug, she’d painted, of course, a reindeer.

He placed the mug down onto his bedside table and took her face tentatively in his. “Can I—”

“Please.”

He smiled widely at her, and with that, he pressed his lips to her, the taste of the eggnog he’d prepared filling her senses. There were so many things that she’d imagined to happen when he’d gotten his gift, which included— but was not limited to— him simply thanking her, or, had he turned out to be a malicious person, would have slammed all of her effort onto the ground, effectively splitting the mug into a million pieces.

She didn’t realise that she’d end up kissing him. She didn’t realise that she’d love kissing him.

There was something so tantalisingly sweet about the way he was holding on to her chin and something so utterly desirable about the manner in which he was kissing her. It wasn’t too slow or too fast, and it wasn’t even helping that her heart had taken to soaring throughout her body as if it was a shooting star, sending wonder towards every single one of its witnesses.

She’d found it too much of a coincidence that he’d end up being the person who she had to get a gift for, found it too much of a coincidence that she’d wind up being added to a group chat in which everyone but her was close with one another, and—

“Oh my goodness,” she said against his lips, and she pulled away, her eyes opening so that green could meet gold.

It was not a coincidence.

“Are you all right?” he asked her, and the way in which his glasses were skewed only added to his confusion.

She nodded. “It’s just— aren’t you peeved?”

“Peeved?” He looked more perplex. “About what?”

“We’ve so obviously been set up, and it took me this long to realise it.”

“We’ve been…” he repeated, and he blinked once, then once again. “What?”

“It’s so obvious now that Sirius set all of this up so that we could meet. Don’t you—” Her eyes widened slightly when his cheeks flared up, signifying that he knew something. He knew something. “James.”

“Right, yeah, I didn’t realise that this was a set up until after you were added to the chat, but I swear— I just thought that you were a cool person because you’re on the phone with Remus a lot. I didn’t think Sirius would take the initiative to do all of that. I— are you mad?”

Was she mad?

No, she didn’t think she was, or, at least she wasn’t mad at him.

“No,” she answered honestly, finding his rambling to be cute, “I’m not mad at all. I got to meet you, didn’t I? I think that’s enough compensation.”

“But we both agree that Sirius isn’t getting away with this.”

Her lips curled upwards. “After a few more rounds of kissing. And the sweater goes off.”

“I thought you were starting to warm up to it.”

“I could honestly never,” she laughed, but he complied anyway, pulling the cursed top off of himself. Her fingers lightly roamed over the exposed skin, and she found him kissing her once again.

There were many feelings that people felt when it came to the topic of Christmastime, but right now, all Lily could feel was joy.

There was also that small bit of wrath felt towards Sirius, but when joy was the dominant feeling, who cared what else she felt?

All she focused on was joy. Joy and joy and joy.

#omg i really wrote 6.5k in two days #what a los3r #jily #jily fic #jily au #jily fanfic #jily fanfiction #james and lily #james potter #lily evans #james x lily #lsj writes

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