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bowlegsandbiceps · 3 years

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Suptober Day 7: Young at Heart

i carry your heart (i carry it in my heart)

Teen / Death!Dean & Human!Cas / Destiel / 5,073 words

Read on AO3

Suptober Masterlist (A03)

It was a snowy evening in the heart of winter when Death roamed the streets of Chicago. You wouldn’t have known him from any other young man, bundled as he was in a worn leather jacket, jeans and boots but there was a certain static about him that made other pedestrians give him a wide berth. He was headed to the fire station on the corner of Hope and Clairmont, humming a Billy Joel song as he avoided slush piles and other humans alike.

He posted up against a telephone pole, making sure to breathe so any passers-by would note the cloud of air passing his lips on every exhale and assure themselves that he was human. It was the least he could do. He checked his watch, an old Timex with a cracked face, and shoved his hands in his pockets. Any minute now.

Across the street, a young girl hurried into view from around the corner, her arms full of a bundle. She looked up at the sign over the fire station door, looked down at her bundle, and swallowed hard. A tiny arm rose from the bundle, naked and red. The girl took it and tucked it back inside the blanket. She sniffled, setting the bundle gingerly down on the top step before backing away slowly. One step, then another her eyes remaining on the pile of blankets before her face crumpled and she turned to run, a dry sob echoing down the empty street.

Death pushed off the telephone pole and made his way leisurely across the street. The baby had started to cry, cold now without its mother to hold it and keep its limbs covered. Death looked down at it, feeling its little heartbeat slow. He crouched down, breathing directly onto the child, and knew he was likely making its final moments worse, a wretched thing like him, even if he was trying to provide a little warmth.

Then something unexpected happened. The baby quieted and bright blue eyes opened, holding Death captive in an intense stare. Death couldn’t feel things, he mused, but if it could, surely it would have been charmed by the babe who instead of recoiling from its impending end, raised a hand toward him, beckoning.

Death raised a cautious hand, one finger hooking in that tiny fist and he was surprised at how strong it was, despite the hypothermia. The child held his gaze still, just looking not pleading or frozen in horror and Death glanced at his watch again, noting the time. He looked up at the firehouse door, the sound of laughter dulled by the heavy metal. If only the girl had knocked before she ran. Death looked back to the child, its ethereal stare snagging his again.

Death raised his hand and knocked.

Inside the firehouse, a number of men made an uneasy circle around the strange man holding a bundled infant. Death hadn’t meant to stay but since he’d already gone and messed with the strings of Fate he figured he might as well assure that the child was taken care of.

“You found him on our stoop?”

“Yeah, you know, I figured some poor kid musta left him. Safe harbor and all.”

Death looked around then down at the babe who seemed to be transfixed by Death’s face. Death wondered what he saw, why he wasn’t scared. His little soul was a speck of shining light, strong and hearty though his body was frail with the beginnings of pneumonia settling in his lungs.

“Why didn’t you take him to a hospital?”

Death blinked and the man recoiled slightly. “Well, he was left here, and don’t you have EMTs on staff.”

One of the men seemed to shake himself out of a stupor and stepped closer. He shivered as Death transferred the baby into his arms, the brush of his hand on Death’s coat giving him a sudden vision of fire and smoke and a strange sense of vertigo as if falling through the floor. He coughed, moving to lay the child on the table and it immediately started to cry. Death hovered closer moving into the child’s line of sight and it settled down though still made discontented noises as he was poked and prodded.

“Did you see who dropped him off? A firefighter asked and Death shrugged, hands back in his pockets.

“She was young. Hurried off before I could say anything.”

The firefighter narrowed his eyes but didn’t question it. “Did she say anything? Why she was dumping him? If he had a name?”

Death paused, looking down at the boy whose eyes were on him bright blue as all newborns are but there was an electricity in them. Death laid a gentle hand on the child’s head, feeling the soft down of hair, the fragile skull.

“No,” Death said finally. “But his name,” Death smiled and the child seemed to smile back. “Is Castiel.”

“Cas-tee-what?” One of the fire fighter’s whispered to another and Death turned towards him, causing both men to step back.

“Castiel. The Angel of Thursday.” Death’s thumb swiped across the child’s forehead. “The Angel of Solitude.”

Death was a busy man, lots to attend to and never in the same place for very long. He worked mostly with children, preferring to be the one to usher them to the other side but as time passed he found himself returning to one place over and over.

The child he saved had been adopted almost immediately by a couple who’d lost many children of their own. Death may have pulled a few strings with Fate but the outcome was ideal. Castiel grew up well-loved and cherished by a mother and a father who understood the great gift they’d been given. They even decided to keep his name, something that pleased Death immensely. If he gave the grandparents a few extra years because of it, well that was his business.

It was a windy day at the beginning of spring when Fate suddenly shifted and Death lighted down in Chicago once more. Castiel, climbing around on the jungle gym at the local park, his babysitter on the phone several yards away was forty-five minutes from an untimely end. Death hung back, hands in the pockets of his leather jacket as he watched the scene play out, an older man making his way over. Death eyed the babysitter as the man approached Castiel, holding a leash and collar.

“My dog got out of her leash! Can you help me find her?” The man said, his face drawn in grief but Death saw into his heart and his rage rumbled as thunder in the distance.

“Oh no!” Castiel exclaimed, jumping down and touching the leash in the man’s hand. “I’ll help you find her. I got a dog too. His name is Marshmallow.”

The man offered his hand and Castiel took it.

Death was there in an instant, one hand on the man’s shoulder. When the man looked up, his mouth opened in surprise and he gasped his last breath. Castiel cocked his head to the side at the man crumpled on the ground before he looked up at Death. Death could only stare back.

“What happened?”

Death shifted from foot to foot. “He was a bad man. He wanted to take you.”

Castiel’s eyebrows rose and he looked down at the cooling body on the wood chips. “Is he going to be okay?”

Death fought a smile, eyes flicking to the reaper nearby before waving them away with the man’s wretched soul. “He’s gone to where he belongs.”

Castiel nodded and offered his hand. “Wanna swing with me?”

Death’s neck jerked in surprise but found himself carefully slotting his hand in the child’s and allowing himself to be lead off to the swing set.

“I’m Castiel. What’s your name?”

Death paused thinking back to a time when he had a name. “Dean, I think.”

“Hello, Dean.” Castiel looked up at him, his face dominated by large blue eyes. “Wait, you think? Don’t you know your own name?”

Death huffed. “Well, no one has used it in… a very long time.” He cleared his throat.

“I’m sorry, Dean.” Castiel grabbed onto one chain of a swing and turned to sit in it. “It must be lonely, no one knowing your name.”

Death sat in the swing next to the boy and pursed his lips. “Maybe a little, but it’s not so bad. My work keeps me busy.”

Castiel kicked off with his feet and began pumping his legs, reaching higher. Death lifted his head to watch. “‘Daddy says ‘all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy’ I asked him who Jack was.” Castiel let his feet drag along the ground, grinding to a halt and Death felt a smile quirk at his lips as the child’s head tipped to the side in confusion. “But he just laughed.” Castiel’s head righted itself. “Not at me though. Sometimes I’m funny and don’t realize it.”

Death surprised himself with a laugh, the sound carrying on the wind and making the group of people gathering around the corpse by the jungle gym shiver. The babysitter was still on the phone but the commotion was stealing her attention. Death turned to look at Castiel, rocking back and forth in his swing, his eyes on the horizon.

“Hey, just so you know, for next time, any stranger comes up to you asking you to go somewhere with them you kick em in the shin and scream your head off,” Death rested his palm atop the boy’s head and Castiel looked up at him, a small smile playing across his lips. “Capiche?”

Castiel gave a deep nod. “I capiche.” His eyes had found his babysitter who was now frantically searching for him. When her eyes landed on him, Death hid himself from her. “She looks really mad.”

“She’s just scared,” Death replied and Castiel looked over at him. “You wandered off and she didn’t know where you were.” And a guy dropped dead about six feet from where you were playing.

“Castiel!” The babysitter skidded to a halt in the gravel in front of Castiel’s swing, pulling him into her arms. “You scared me.” She picked him up, hooking him on her hip. “Come on we need to go.”

The child heaved a deep sigh as if resigned to his fate. “Okay.” He twisted in her arms, looking back at Death, and gave a small smile. “Goodbye, Dean.”

“Bye kiddo.”

The babysitter was already starting to walk away and she snorted, looking over her shoulder then at Castiel. “Who are you talking to.”

“Dean. He’s my new friend.”

Death sat smiling until they were out of sight.

Castiel was eight when his dog Marshmallow was going into his fifteenth year. Death generally let the new recruits handle the animals but on a scorching summer day, he found himself standing at the gate of the big craftsman on the corner where Castiel lived. He looked up at the second-story window, the one he knew to be the young boy’s who was getting bigger every day.

They’d met many times over since that first encounter in the park and to Death’s surprise, Castiel always remembered him and knew him by name. Now seemed to be no exception, the front door opening to release Castiel into the world. His dark hair was an unruly swirl beneath the baseball cap he wore, his matching t-shirt proclaiming he played for the Mustangs, sponsored by Nally Ford.

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel said with a small smile as he approached. Death smiled back but his eyes caught on the white ball of fluff that was attempting to make his way down the porch steps to follow the boy.

Death let himself in the gate, striding forward and they met halfway, Castiel looking up into Death’s face while Death peered down into his. There was no fear there, no anxiety. There never had been, a wonder Death never could truly comprehend. Marshmallow gave a low growl. Death glanced down at the old dog, barely any teeth left in his head but ready to bite at the smallest provocation. That was about right.

“Marshmallow. No.” Castiel looked down at the dog then back up into the face of Death. “He’s just grumpy because he doesn’t feel good.” Castiel watched as Death crouched down, hand reaching. The growl ceased as Death’s hand hovered over the dog’s head and Castiel squatted down to pet him, hands gentle around the old dog’s ears.

“Yeah, about that,” Death began softly. “This is going to be hard for you to understand, Cas, but Marshmallow is very old.” As he said it, the dog’s eyes sank closed. Castiel rubbed his ears.

“I know.”

Death swallowed hard, his hand moving to hover over the dog’s back and Marshmallow’s legs gave out, his body rolling to the side as he began to pant. Castiel rubbed his belly. “And when dogs get very old, well, they have to go.” Castiel looked up at him. “And when that happens, someone comes to get them.”

Castiel looked down at the dog who was panting, tongue lolling out the side of its mouth. He ran his fingers through the curly white fur at his side. “Not the dog catcher…”

Death chuckled. “No, no not the dog catcher. Someone who helps them make the transition to their next journey.”

Castiel continued to play with Marshmallow’s fur. “Who?”

Death licked his lips, sucked in a breath he didn’t need. “They look like ordinary folks, sometimes you can see them, other times you can’t.”

“Like you?”

Death blinked and took a moment to marvel at the feeling of surprise, something he hadn’t felt in eons. “Yes, like me.”

Castiel looked up at him, blue eyes steady but solemn. “You’re here to take him, aren’t you?”

Death swallowed hard, the sorrow in the boy’s voice cutting him deeper than tears ever could. “Yeah, Cas. I’m sorry.”

Castiel sniffled a bit as he looked down, petting down Marshmallow’s side. “You’ll look after him? Wherever you take him? He won’t be alone, right?”

Death placed a hand on the back of Castiel’s neck and waited for a shiver that never came. Finally, he spoke. “Yes, of course, Cas.”

Castiel sucked in a deep breath and sat down on his butt, folding his legs so they butted up against Marshmallow’s legs. “Can I have just a few more minutes?”

Death glanced at his watch and nodded. They sat there, young boy and ancient entity as the dog’s breath became more shallow. Castiel dug his fingers into the thick curls of Marshmallow’s side and folded himself in half, pressing his face to its chest. The dog fussed attempted to lick at Castiel’s ball cap. Castiel breathed in deep and Death found himself doing the same, smelling cut grass, sweat and the musky odor of an animal nearing its end.

“It’s time, Cas,” Death murmured, his voice low and Castiel lifted his head, face tear-stained now, but he wiped them away with the back of his hand. He placed his hands on the dog’s side, looked up at Death, and nodded.

Death allowed the dog to sniff the back of his hand, accepting the feeble lick before he carded his hand through the curls at the top of his head. Castiel’s hands that had been rising and falling with the dog’s labored breath stopped. Death curled his hand and brought it to his chest, holding it there for the feeble soul to feel safe on its journey. His other hand when to the top of Castiel’s head.

“Go get your father. He’ll help you with the ritual.”

“Can’t you stay?” Castiel asked, blue eyes shining with unshed tears and if Death had a heart it would have broken.

“I’ve gotta get Marshmallow to where he belongs.” Dean knuckled away a tear that was making its way down Castiel’s cheek.

“Okay,” Castiel lowered his head, looking at the cooling body of his beloved pet. He looked back up. “Goodbye, Dean.”

Death was unprepared for the boy to wrap his arms around him in a tight squeeze before getting up and walking back towards the house.

Castiel was twenty when his fate changed again and Death nearly didn’t make it in time. In the back seat of a car, driving way too fast down a dark winding road, Death appeared next to him, his face striated in moonlight. Castiel jumped, his reflexes slower with the alcohol in his veins.

“Dean?”

“Cover your face, kid.” Death muttered as he braced his feet against the seat in front of him and threw out an arm.

When they hit the tree at 63 miles per hour Castiel’s body slammed into his arm and Death could feel the ribs break, felt the punctured lung as if it were his own. The driver was halfway through the windshield, another reaper already there to take him. Death waved them away as blood slowly filled Castiel’s lungs.

He coughed, choking on the acrid liquid, unable to get a full breath. His hand twisted in Death’s leather jacket, tugging, blue eyes wide and for the first time Death saw fear there. He couldn’t stand it. He reached past the headrest in front of him, touched the mangled face of the boy there and he immediately stopped breathing.

“You can’t do that!” A voice sharp from outside the car and Death nearly jumped out of his skin when he turned his head to look out the window and found the small blond woman standing there with her clipboard of names. “It’s the other boy’s time, Dean.”

Death glared out at her, throwing open the door. “You got your soul. Get out of here.”

“You reaped the wrong-“

“The hell I did,” Death yelled and every animal in the forest quieted, the wind through the trees died down.

The two of them watched as headlights appeared down the road, slowing when the driver saw the wreckage. Death and Fate stood side by side on the shoulder of the road as the good Samaritan talked to Castiel through the back window, promising him everything would be alright.

“He’ll make it.” Death heaved a sigh, hearing the sirens in the distance.

“Just barely,” Fate muttered, consulting her clipboard. “One of these days you’re going to run out of favors.”

Death turned to look at her. “Not any time soon.”

It was three days later in his half-empty dorm room that Castiel attempted to take his own life. Death arrived just as Castiel kicked the chair out of the way, his body falling with an extension cord wrapped tight around his neck right into Death’s arms. A quick flick of his pocket knife and Death had freed Castiel, laying him gently down on the floor as he coughed and sobbed.

“No! Take me! I want to die!” Castiel twisted onto his knees, grabbing onto Death’s legs and hugging them tightly. “Please. I can’t take it. The guilt, it’s too much!”

Death ran his fingers through Castiel’s unruly hair. “It’s not your time.”

“It was my time,” Castiel wiped at his face, fury in his eyes as he glared up at the ancient entity. “I heard you and that lady talking. She said you reaped the wrong one!”

“You hit your head pretty hard, kid.”

Castiel wiped at his face furiously, getting his trembling legs under him. “I know what you are. What you do.”

Death brought himself to his full height, leveling Castiel with his most pensive stare. “Do you?”

“I’ve always known,” Castiel spit. “And I never cared. You were always my…” Castiel trailed swallowing hard. “My friend. But this, I can’t take this Dean.”

“Why can’t you just be grateful,” Death huffed holding out his arms.

Castiel’s face went slack with shock. “You kill the man I love instead of me and I’m supposed to be grateful?”

Death’s mouth popped open, surprised again, that made twice in a single decade now. “Your… the man you loved? Wow, how did I miss that?”

“You miss a lot of things,” Castiel spit, his eyes hard.

Death rubbed his mouth. “When-“

“Since I was a child,” Castiel heaved a sigh. “Look don’t try to change the subject. I was dying already, Dean!” Castiel’s fists were clenched at his sides. “Why didn’t you let me go? Why’d you have to take him? He was everything to me. How could you not know that?”

Death rubbed the back of his neck, “Life isn’t really under my purview, kid.”

“What about love then?” Castiel got right in his face, nose to nose, and Death stood stock still.

“I know it when I see it.”

“Then you must have been blind that night.” Castiel spun away, running his hands through his hair. “I can’t do this. Please. Take me.”

“No.”

“Why? Why not?”

“I told you. It’s not your time.”

“Are you sure it’s not because you have some weird obsession with me?” Castiel strode right up into what a human would call their personal space. “What is it about me huh? Why me? Why don’t you latch on to some other poor bastard?”

Death swallowed hard. “I can go if you’d like.”

Castiel let out a humorless laugh. “Stay. Go. What do I care?” He let himself fall onto his bed, face buried in his pillow while Death stood watch.

Death didn’t see much of Castiel after that or more like Castiel didn’t see much of him. He’d check in every now and then, saw him graduate college, move to the east coast, fall in love and get his heart broken only to fall in love again. Through it all Death stood watch, sometimes with Fate at his side, like at Castiel’s wedding.

“I could step in,” Fate murmured, an offer she wasn’t likely to make twice but Death shook his head, watching as Castiel beamed with happiness after kissing his husband.

It wasn’t long after that they met again in a hospital just north of Chicago. It was nearing midnight and no one was around. Castiel was sitting with his mother, his husband and father had gone home hours before but Castiel insisted on staying. Neither could understand why Castiel refused to leave her side but didn’t question it. Castiel was a good son who loved his mother very much.

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel said as Death hovered in the doorway. “I was wondering when you’d show up.”

“I tried to wait for you to leave,” Death mumbled, looking down at his boots as he tapped his toe on the floor.

“Why?”

Death looked up and found Castiel’s head canted to the side, and he couldn’t help but smile. “We didn’t exactly part on the best of terms when we last spoke.”

Castiel looked down at his mother’s hand, so small and frail in his own. He cleared his throat. “You were right. I should have been grateful.”

“It was a callous thing to say when you were grieving.”

Castiel snorted. “That’s true.” He huffed a sigh. “But ultimately you were right. I didn’t love him. I didn’t know what love was then. Not that kind of love anyway.” Castiel ran his thumb over the thin blue veins of his mother’s hand. “How much longer does she have?”

Death checked his watch. “We’ve got a few more minutes.”

“Then sit.”

Death did, across the bed from Castiel and took in the changes, the strands of gray in his hair, laugh lines crinkling around his eyes and mouth.

“You know you look exactly the same as I remember you when I was four.”

Death grinned. “All that clean living.”

Castiel snorted, a grin pulling at his own lips before it faded. “You’ll take care of her?”

Death nodded. “Of course.”

Castiel squinted, opening his mouth then closing it again. Death heaved a sigh. “Go ahead. Ask whatever you want to ask me.”

Castiel’s cheeks bloomed a lovely pink that Death would see in every sunrise from that moment on. “How’s Marshmallow?”

Death blinked. “I give you one question to ask me whatever you want and you ask about your damn dog?”

Castiel frowned. “I loved that dog.”

Death rolled his eyes and chuckled. “Marshmallow is doing great. Has lots of doggy friends.”

A small smile tugged at Castiel’s lips. “Good. I hope Mom gets to see him.”

“I’ll make sure she does.”

“I’m ready.”

Death gave a small nod, waiting a beat to watch Castiel breath in steadily, his eyes on his mother’s face. Death reached forward, fingers brushing a white curl from her forehead before resting his palm there gently. One of the monitors began to scream. A nurse bustled in quickly, checking in and ultimately turning off the sound, standing by as the old woman took her last breaths. Death took her soul and cradled it to his chest.

“Take care of her,” Castiel whispered and Death gave him a solemn nod before he went on his way.

It wasn’t long after that Fate dealt Castiel another bad hand and Death had arrived to do his duty. Castiel’s husband laid prone on a hospice bed, his once strong body frail and hairless, ravaged by a disease Death hated almost more than he hated himself. Death came into the room unannounced, stood by Castiel’s side as silent tears ran down his face.

Death checked his watch.

“I can feel you.”

Death nearly fell over in shock. Third time in as many decades. Damn.

“Don’t hide, Dean. I’ve been expecting you.”

“I tried.” Death placed a hand on Castiel’s shoulder. “I tried but I’m out of favors.”

“It’s okay,” Castiel sniffled, his own hand coming up to cover the cool one on his shoulder and Death felt the warmth as if it were the sun. “How much time do we have?”

“Couple minutes.”

Castiel nodded, leaning forward and placing a hand on his husband’s shoulder, giving him a light shake. He gasped awake, eyes hazy with pain and medication but something in them still blazed when they landed on Castiel.

“Honey, I want you to meet someone. Can you see him? Next to me.” Castiel turned, looking up at Death, and licked his dry lips.

“Yes,” Castiel’s husband croaked. “He’s just as handsome as you said.”

Castiel let out a watery laugh, glancing up at Death who was not blushing as he reached up to rub his ear. “He’s here for you.”

Castiel’s husband nodded solemnly. “About time.”

Castiel let out a quiet sob and immediately tried to shove it back into his mouth. His husband squeezed his hand as Death squeezed his shoulder.

“Come on now. This ain’t the end. I’ll see you. Hopefully not too soon?” Castiel’s husband lifted his brows and Death gave him a small smile.

“Not if I have anything to do with it.”

Castiel was leaning over, pressing his forehead to his husband’s and breathing slow in his nose and out his mouth, barely hanging on. Death stepped forward, hand covering the one that Castiel held. One final gasp and then the room was silent. Castiel gave a soft cry, feeling warmth rush through him, love and light and something so bright it almost burned. And then it was gone.

Death pulled the soul close to his chest, his other hand lighting on Castiel’s shoulder. Castiel glanced up into the face of Death but was immediately distracted by the small ball of light in his hand. Castiel looked up and Death nodded in answer to his question. Castiel let go of the hand in his and wrapped his arms around himself as the tears came hot and fast.

“Can you please stay?”

Death shifted from foot to foot. “I need to take care of him. But I can come back.”

“Please hurry.”

Death wasn’t really the type to hang around any one place too long but for years after Castiel’s husband’.s transition, he found himself irrevocably drawn to Castiel. He’d always been to a certain extent but the man’s grief had worn down all his defenses, all his excuses to stay away. For once Death was welcomed into a home with open arms.

They sat on the couch and watched bad television. Death had a strange obsession with Dr. Sexy that Castiel found hilarious. Death tolerated all of Castiel’s terrible nature documentaries. It was one night as Castiel was going up the stairs to bed that he paused, looking back at Death who was putting the dishes in the dishwasher.

“I love you, Dean. You know that right?”

Death stood stock still and he’d be goddamned if it hadn’t happened again. He looked up to find Castiel just standing there on the third step, gaze just as intense as it had been when he’d first laid eyes on him as an infant. He didn’t have to say it. Neither of them did so Castiel just gave him a small smile and continued his ascent up the stairs. And that night, Death followed.

It was both the worst and best day of his tenure when Castiel’s time was finally up. Fate in her fussy suit with her obnoxious clipboard arrived to stand at the end of the hospital bed where Castiel lay, Death at his side.

“No more favors. No more tricks,” Fate said softly and Death looked away from the face of his beloved, aged and creased as it was now, while his was permanently stuck as youthful and smooth.

“Can I keep him?” Death asked, staring into the eyes of Fate and daring to hope. “I know it’s not ever been done. I know this is a one-person gig but…” Death looked back upon the only face he’d ever loved, into the only eyes that had ever truly seen him. “Just this once, can I keep him?”

Fate gave him a small smile. “Yes, Dean. He’s yours to keep.”

So Death and his companion were joined at the human’s crossing, bound by Fate herself to walk through eternity together. Sure they quarreled, sometimes even spending a few decades apart but the string that tethered them was unbreakable, a fact Death loved to remind his younger counterpart of.

It’s said that when a couple dies within hours of each other they’re always accompanied by another couple, two men, handsome and young, looking more in love than any cosmic entities had a right to be.

#suptober21 #destiel #supernatural #fanfic: supernatural #deancas #character death #the dog dies sorry #writing by me

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palmett-hoes · 3 years

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what's your take on the foxes mbti?

oh buddy ur never gonna believe this but i wrote a foxes MBTI post YEARS ago

im also not into mbti anymore and haven't been for many years so that post is probably still more accurate and in-depth than what i could give you now. i’m just gonna copy the whole thing but i read it over and it still totally vibes w how i understand the characters, like way more than i was expecting it to. i only made one edit (it’s marked) and it was to add a detail not change anything

i hope you’re really really into mbti otherwise this’ll probably be gobbeldegook

i used to be obessively into mbti so here’s an analysis based on cognitive functions mostly.

SKIP IF YOU WANT. for anyone with no idea how it works, here’s a quick rundown: cognitive functions are about the way people think, process, and prioritize information, not necessarily how they act, though people who think the same way often act the same. the 8 letters that make up a type represent how people process and prioritize internal and external stimuli. every letter actually has an ‘internal’ and 'external’ form so there’s Thinking (internal(ti) and external(te)), Feeling (internal(fi) and external(fe)), Sensing (internal(si) and external(se)), and iNtuition(internal(ni) and external(ne)) t’s always go with a corresponding and opposite f (like ti and fe always go together), same with s’s and n’s (ex: si and ne always go together). a set of t, f, s, and n in a specific order makes an mbti type.

neil: intp (ti ne si fe)

neil has incredible analytical ability although it’s very programmed for survival but he’s also a fast thinker and very quick to adapt to new environments. he also approaches things from original angles that other people dont consider, all that sounds like high ti/ne. the lower functions fit well too. in times of stress, he returns to old habits and falls back on what’s familiar, that’s classic low si. his emotions are also very exterior. he’s bad with other people from lack of exposure, but he’s committed to harmony between those close to him and has an impeccable ability to read the emotional states of others while being completely oblivious of his own, and his sense of self is tied to exterior things like exy, friends, keys, and legal documents (lol) that’s fe

andrew: intj (ni te fi se)

ni is really hard to describe but it has to do with being able to draw conclusions from scattered input, which fits with andrew’s uncanny ability to spot lies and obsession with finding out the truth, especially with high te, which is about spatial order and logic, think of how prioritized he is with the physical order of things: who sits where, who wears what, etc. a lot of people want to make andrew infj i bet as like a “subversive reading” but he’s definitely not. i used to be really close to an infj and they have hyper-empathy, as in she would describe not just caring about other people and being able to read their emotional states but literally feeling the things the people around her felt. this is a common result of the ni/fe combo, and the reason why andrew is definitely not infj. tertiary fi fits very well instead because andrew is deeply attuned to his own inner emotional state. he’s self-confident and doesn’t care about other people’s perception of him, but he’s also very concerned with his own feelings and understanding them, even if they’re repressed. he’s also very aware of his physical surroundings, which plays into his deductive ability, although it’s not his focus. that’s low se

kevin: estj (te si ne fi)

kevin is a classic estj. he’s controlling, demanding, and driven. he tries to control the actions of those around him and gets very distressed when things dont run smoothly, as well as having strong feelings about improving efficiency. high te people make great managers. kevin’s whole story arc is about breaking old habits, which is a very si problem. it has to do with trusting and craving memory and familiarity, and explains kevins need for endless repetition. he’s innovative, though, coming up with new strategies and drills (ne), it’s just based on what’s already familiar, and you can see him spiral into creating all possible worst-case scenarios when he’s stressed (low ne stress reaction, they like to be prepared). finally, he’s a dick, but he cares about other people and wants to improve their lives, as well as being very reliant on other people’s perceptions of him to define his own self-image (low fe)

dan: esfj (fe si ne ti)

dan’s top priority, over everything else, is her team. she wants her team to improve, she wants her team to win, she wants her team to work together. it’s all about the collective. we also see that she’s very open with others and makes a lot of effort to both make new ties and maintain old ones, that’s high fe. she’s sentimental and attached to the past too (si) esp the photo wall, but we also see her very unwilling to let go of the past ie the monsters but eventually willing to change and grow to mend team cohesion (ne). we also see the fight in underlying logic (low ti) with her: she knows the team needs the monsters to cooperate but she cant figure out how to do it

matt: enfj (fe ni se ti)

so enfj’s experience infj hyper-empathy too, but to a slightly lesser extent (primary fe is more group cohesion, secondary fe is more understanding others), and through this we see matt’s easy-going open friendliness and ability to befriend even prickly little neil, because he has an extremely good sense of what other people are feeling and need, it also explains why he doesn’t hold a grudge against the cousins in the same way dan does, because he understands where they were coming from. se is associated with a general boisterousness for life, as it’s about experiencing the world around you, which explains matt’s happy-go-lucky disposition and puppydog behavior. the ti aspects mostly go into supporting fe/ni empathic senses

allison: entj (te ni se fi)

i mean, allison’s controlling, both in that she orders other people around and in that her physical being and space are very planned and organized (her clothes, her hair, her makeup, etc) but at the same time there isn’t much sentimentality to her, like how she doesn’t care when her car was destroyed. she easily replaces things because she cares about the object’s purpose, not its history and that all smacks of high te/ni. and i mean, the se definitely contributes to her love of designer things and killer looks, because she cares about the world immediately around her, and why live if not in luxury? and fi? is there any character more aggressively self-confident than allison reynolds?? going against her parents’ wishes for her takes a really strong, independent sense of self, but we also see the problems that can come from not worrying about other people, in how she starts fights and can be abrasive and catty

renee: infp (fi ne si te)

okay this one was really hard tbh. a list of other considerations: isfp, istp, and infj. it’s very easy to read renee as high fe because she’s kind, but i think it’s a mischaracteration of why she’s kind. it’s not because it comes naturally to her, it’s because it’s a conscious choice that makes her feel better about herself. high fi people often read as fe because they’re so comfortable with themselves and in tune with their own needs that they can then go and provide for others. i associate her religion with ne, because contemplation and acceptance of the divine later in life is a very metaphysical undertaking that undoubtedly requires a lot of abstract thought. renee’s storyline also revolves a lot around using things from her past and putting a conscious effort into leaving things from her past behind (how she still uses the skills she learned from her past in new ways ie sparring with andrew and protecting the upperclassmen v/s how she held on to her knives even when she knew it was detrimental to her moving on) this sounds like si. her protective instincts also feed into the te need for order, but it’s a looser leash than say andrew, as it’s lower on her function stack but still present

nicky: esfp (se fi te ni)

godd nicky is like a prototypical esfp. i mean nicholas “sex, drugs, and parties” hemmick cant be anything but se dominant. nicky is all about living it up and living in the moment. like he’s sporadic and ive seen it lead people to think he could be enfp but he doesn’t think enough about the meaning of things to be ne dominant (like how he makes somewhat predatory jokes and such, he’s all about the here-and-now while ne is about the past and future simultaneously). also he of all characters has incredibly prominent fi, as his whole character is about living unashamedly as himself as a gay man and the immense self-awareness and inner strength it takes not only to come out to unaccepting parents but also to leave and start a new life when they rejected him. however, fi is also indicative of his communication problems with his family, as he’s unable to tell that the cousins are fundamentally different from him in their needs and boundaries, leading him to pushing them, making them uncomfortable, and being unable to help them, because he’s unable to understand them. the rest are much more hidden, but a party boy shopaholic like nicky would probably need some amount of te order in like an organized chaos fashion (and he’s often headcanoned as liking to throw parties) and you do see him become somewhat pushy, even controlling in those scenarios. ni is the hardest but could maybe be seen in how he’s attuned to the cousins reactions for all that he cant predict them/doesn’t do anything on his own part to prevent them (the way he handles andrew is like if someone poked a rattlesnake knowing damn well what it would do and then freaked out when he got bit)

aaron: istj (si te fi ne)

im a little iffy on this one and worry it might be an analysis based on his trauma instead of complimentary to it, but aaron’s arc is about breaking out of his habit of holding on to the past. he refuses to work towards moving on from his mother’s death, refuses to listen to things that contradict his preconceived notions, and refuses to make changes in his life that could improve it. that’s unhealthy si. he’s really a very unhealthy istj, and most of his traits manifest through his unhappiness with his life. take his te. that would imply that he needs control over his surroundings, but aaron is incredibly bitter and unhappy BECAUSE he doesn’t have control of his surroundings. he doesn’t get to make his own choices, he doesn’t get to control his space, and he hates it. his relationship with katelyn is also indicative of being an istj. it’s stable, not a passionate fling, but aaron is mocked for wanting that white picket fence, married with kids in the suburbs kind of life, and his relationship, which is his primary source of happiness, is built on stability, which is a very si thing to do. in terms of fi, it is aaron that ultimately forces change between himself and andrew. he may have been pushed but he ultimately came down to him knowing what made him happy and what made him miserable and acting on that. also, he’s an ornery asshole who clearly doesn’t care what other people think of him. fi. i dont really have anything to say in terms of ne, probably because he’s so unhealthy but also because he’s not too explored. heyy istj’s make great doctors

wymack: isfj (si fe ti ne)

okay this one was genuinely the hardest to decide on but ultimately i came to the conclusion that wymack, much like renee, is such a developed person that he loses many defining traits of the functions, and can be read in many different ways. so: wymack’s primary goal is the safety and betterment of other people (ie his team). he wants to help people overcome their pasts, which is a very atypical approach to si, but is si nonetheless. on a personal level, too, he’s never able to move on from people, and specifically never moved on from kayleigh, continuing their shared dream of an exy team for abused kids long after her death. as ive said before, fe in a secondary position is about deep understanding of other people, and wymack’s ability to understand what other people are struggling through is legendary. the ti mostly serves as support to the fe, serving as the analytical backup in allowing him to understand others. as for ne: he is most definitely an innovator with unusual ideas, or the foxes wouldn’t exist

riko: estp (se ti fe ni)

riko is basically what happens when an estp goes bad down to the core. he’s obsessed with personal glory and immediate self-fulfillment (se) he has no impulse control or fear of consequences. interestingly, high se is often associated with athleticism, because high se people are intensly focused on their surroundings (exy). his ti is also super unhealthy as he gets obsessed with ideas that dont really work with objective reality, like his obsession with ownership and power dynamics despite them not actually being efficient, even backwards. the tertiary fe he uses to manipulate. he doesn’t empathize with others, but he can tell their emotional state and what’s important to them, and uses it to coerce them and destroy their sense of self, like how he knew he could get neil to the nest by threatening andrew. EDIT: /additionally, fe people especially in the lower half of the function stack tend to derive their sense of self from the perceptions of others around them, which riko very much shows in how he needs to be acknowledged as the best and won’t allow any competition for his title, as well as his desperation for acknowledgement from his family/. finally, that ni allowed him to keep multiple plans in place focused on one ultimate goal: getting kevin back. the sheer amount of schemes he sets up in order to fool and push people the way he wants is honestly kinda impressive, but he’s a toxic shithead and im glad he’s rotting. definitely not representative of all estp’s

this is honestly SO funny to read back a few years later bc HOOOOO boy was i way too into this stuff. and this was written a couple years after my Peak MBTI Obsession, which was honestly scary

#txt #the foxes #dan wilds #kevin day #andrew minyard #matt boyd #aaron minyard #allison reynolds #nicky hemmick #renee walker #neil josten #wymack #riko moriyama #my posts #im talkin #ask #anon #anonymous

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thedeaconj · 4 years

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A Cup Of Sugar Part 4

(Link to part 3: https://thedeaconj.tumblr.com/post/624738938039533568/a-cup-of-sugar-part-3

And parts 1 &2 https://thedeaconj.tumblr.com/post/624650236299821056/a-cup-of-sugar-parts-1-and-2)

Sophie awoke happy and almost carefree on another warm, sunny day in the city. Today, she got out of bed and carried out her yoga and exercises just in her new undies. She may have worn them for a day already, but they were the only cute pair she had. Everything else was frumpy and covered so much, she could always get a new pair later when Mark paid her. After her exercises, Sophie couldn’t help but once again admire herself in the mirror, although one thing did stand out to her more than the rest. Her long, black hair. It just didn’t match her new style at all, she’d need to pick up some blonde hair dye too, so she could be a nice, cute blonde. Or rather, her hair could be a nice, cute blonde, she thought. Then she giggled, her, a nice cute blonde? What a silly idea. Sophie also couldn’t help but admire her breasts more today. They were so perky, she just had to cup them, and her nipples felt far more sensitive today. Sophie ran her fingers over them in a circular motion, shivering as she did. She remembered that great technique Mark did yesterday, where he ran his thumb around her forehead. One of Sophie’s hands started to drift downwards, when she snapped out of it. What was wrong with her! Mark had been such a gentleman to her, and here she was letting all these lewd, naughty thoughts run through her brain. She went and took a shower to cool off, then laid out her outfit for the day.

She’d cut up an old white t-shirt, so it showed off part of her midriff, alongside it was her new skirt. She’d worn it yesterday though, Sophie frowned at it. It was nice, but it wasn’t quite fitting her new style. The colour was nice, but it felt so warm going all the way to her knees, did she really need that much coverage? So, Sophie got out her scissors, she took a whole layer of it off, the skirt now went to just below her thighs. She also looked down at her bra, it was a practically Victorian garment, so concealing and tight, why not just go without a bra today? She was just cleaning Mark’s and then doing some shopping afterwards, it wasn’t like she was doing anything too formal. Mark wouldn’t stare anyways, he was such a gentleman, he knew how to treat a girl properly. Sophie pulled together her outfit and put it all on, her pair of flip flops again too. She gave a twirl to the mirror, and could feel a low, constant pleasure from how her t-shirt caressed her nipples. Sophie went across to Mark’s place and knocked on the door.

He opened it, and to her surprise he was much more casually dressed than usual, a t-shirt and shorts! The heat must have been getting to him too. He also had a big smile on his face, which caused Sophie to smile back. If he was happy, she was happy, since he was so smart, he must have a good reason to be happy!

‘Hi Mark, what’s up?’ Sophie asked.

‘I’ve got great news! I found some fantastic blonde hair dye. An old friend of mine must have left it here, but I think it may be the exact colour you were looking for!’ he said.

Sophie was overjoyed! She could save money on hair dye, which meant more cute outfits! Still, she did have one question.

‘Don’t I need to ease my hair into it though through like, lighter and lighter dyes?’

Mark shook his head, he explained it was a specialist dye, quite expensive stuff that could do the job near instantly. He said he’d be happy to help and dye her hair for her, then she could get to the cleaning work. Sophie agreed, so happy he was able to help her out and provide for her like this. It would have taken her so long to get that nice, cute blonde hair she wanted, and now Mark was able to get her straight there. She’d do an extra good job at cleaning to make up for this, she just had to please him. Well, as in please him by doing a good job cleaning, she thought. As Sophie headed into the apartment now, she by instinct went to sit on the sofa, but Mark’s hand touched the small of the back.

‘I’m afraid the sofa may be too risky what with the dye, I’ve got an old chair over here in the kitchen area, I’ve set up a mirror by it so you can see how it looks,’ Mark explained.

Sophie looked up at him and nodded, a little embarrassed by how silly she’d been thinking she could sit on the sofa for this. She let Mark’s hand rest on the small of the back as he walked her over to the chair, where she took a seat in front of the mirror. Sophie kept her legs close together, so as to not flash Mark her undies. He placed a bib around her neck that covered her upper body, it felt so tight against her throat. She shivered a little as it locked into place, what a strange, yet enjoyable sensation. As if something belonged around her throat, but she wasn’t sure what. Mark put on a pair of gloves and readied the dye. As Sophie looked at herself in the mirror, with her long flowing black hair, she began to have some small doubts.

‘Mark, is this the right choice? I mean my hair’s such a part of who I am, it feels weird changing it like this,’ she said.

Mark smiled at her, he placed his hands on her shoulders in a soft, yet firm grip.

‘Please Sophie, you know your hair would look so good like this, and besides it’s what’s on the inside that makes up who we really are, right Sophie?’ Mark asked.

With his grip on her Sophie simply relaxed, smiling at herself in the mirror. It would look good like this, and it wasn’t like dyeing her hair would change who she was. She was still strong, still independent, it was so nice of Mark to remind her of that.

‘Yes, you’re right, sorry I’ll let you get on with it,’ she said.

Mark took his hands off of Sophie’s shoulders, she felt a tinge of disappointment, but then felt something far more wonderful as he started to rub the dye into her hair.

‘I’m going to be doing this all with my hands, so I may need to move your head around a little,’ Mark said as he rubbed and massaged the dye into her hair.

Sophie barely registered it, the feeling as it soaked into her hair was so wonderful, so powerful. It coated her hair and mind all at once, she saw her lips twitch into a smile, her eyelids flutter as it first hit.

‘That’s okay’ she droned out.

It wasn’t just the hair dye either having this effect on her. The way Mark rubbed it in was more like a head massage. Sophie could feel those small doubts being rubbed straight out of her head, straight out of her mind.

‘How does it feel Sophie?’ Mark asked.

‘Mmm so nice,’

Mark chuckled, so Sophie giggled.

‘Why not find something to focus on Sophie as we do this, maybe your eyes? Just stare into the mirror as you see yourself transform,’ he said.

Yes, her eyes. Her big brown eyes, she was caught in her own gaze. It was as if they pulsed and sparkled, she felt as if her whole world was getting caught up in her eyes. She didn’t notice at first that her legs drifted apart, giving Mark a full view of her undies. Once she clocked it, she snapped out of it for a moment, starting to stammer about how sorry she was.

‘Shh, it’s okay dear, you’re just relaxing and letting the dye do its work, no need to worry about it,’ Mark said.

Yes, there was no need to worry about it. Mark was right, as usual. She could just relax and let him do what ne needed. Sophie now let her legs drift open freely, her arms lay lazily by her sides. Her mouth started to drift open as her eyes glazed over. The dye was working so quickly, her hair was already turning such a nice, cute blonde. The head massage just felt so good, Mark’s hands were so perfect on her, even with the gloves on. He was telling her smart things again, but her brain was going all mushy. It was better for her to listen and accept. His words flowed through her, sometimes she’d speak them herself, although she was unsure what exactly she was saying. Why should she care? This felt too good, so good that a damp spot was forming between her legs. This time though, Sophie didn’t go out like a light, instead she went into her daydreams.

Sophie saw visions of herself in this mirror. In some she was kneeling, others bowing down. She was always naked, and always wore a pink collar with a chain heart at its centre. Words flowed out of her mouth in a constant chant, a mantra, but she couldn’t tell what they were, not yet. There was a man in these visions too, sometimes he held a leash attached to her collar, other times he caressed and played with her body from behind. She couldn’t make him out fully, but could tell he was an older man, a commanding man. He was in control, she was his to play with. Sophie then saw herself kneeling before the man, his shorts were unzipped and pulled down, she could feel the drool coming off her mouth. There it was, her object of desire, the thing that would fill her and make her whole. It started to come out as Sophie brought her head down and…A splash of water?

She felt water running over her hair, her head was tilted back, she blinked and looked up to see Mark washing her hair.

‘Alright the dye’s done, just getting the excess off, you okay there Sophie?’

‘Oh, yes, sorry just daydreaming a little,’ she said.

Mark smiled at her, which gave Sophie a warm feeling in the pit of her stomach. As Mark finished washing her hair, she raised her head, then looked into the mirror. It was so cute! Sophie smiled and giggled, running her hands through her light, blonde hair. It suited her so much now, went perfectly with her new look. She could style it too, maybe some cute little pigtails. She was now a nice, cute blonde after all, she could lean into that.

‘It’s perfect, soo cute! Thank you so much Mark, my hero hehe!’ Sophie said.

She then covered her mouth, barely able to believe what just came out of it. Maybe the dye had some fumes that made her feel funny, but Mark just laughed at what she said.

‘No problem, now are you ready to do something for me?’ he asked.

Sophie nodded, eager and ready to do her work.

‘Oh, before you do, one moment, I have something you might find amusing,’ Mark said.

He headed off to his bedroom, while Sophie undid her bib, and stood up from the chair. She couldn’t help but notice how damp she was between the legs, which was rather humiliating to her. She couldn’t even have an older man dye her hair without getting so horny, she hoped Mark hadn’t noticed, Sophie wanted him to like her and approve of her, which he might not if he saw what a mess she was. Older men were such a weakness to her though, and she did have to admit Mark looked good today in his t-shirt and shorts. Then, he returned holding up on a coat hanger, a maid uniform.

Except, maid uniform wasn’t quite the right term. It was a hot pink like the sofa, a two-piece outfit with essentially a bralet and mini skirt, and a thin mesh material that connected the two pieces. She could also see it came with pink and white striped knee-high socks.

‘Wouldn’t it be funny if you matched the sofa? It might even look less out of place then!’ Mark chuckled.

Sophie giggled, but knew she couldn’t possibly wear such an outfit. It just looked so, well so slutty and naughty. What would Mark think as she went around his apartment in that, shaking and stretching her body as she cleaned up for him?

‘It’s a little cute but maybe not my style entirely, it’s funny though!’ she said.

Mark almost looked a little disappointed, was he serious about her wearing the outfit?

‘Well, I was just thinking how you’d be such a good girl if you wore the outfit, and I mean, you mentioned when I was dyeing your hair how you wanted to be a good girl, isn’t that right Sophie?’

Yes, Sophie wanted to be a good girl. It echoed in her mind, such a catchy phrase that she couldn’t stop hearing it.

‘Yes, I want to be a good girl,’ she said.

Maybe the outfit wasn’t so bad, it wasn’t too far off what she was currently wearing. It would be a good thing to do, and Mark was nice enough to buy it for her. Sophie walked over to Mark, eyes glazed over, and took the outfit in her hands. The material felt silky, soft, pleasant to the touch. If this top was rubbing against her nipples it would take a lot of effort to hide her pleasure.

‘That’s fantastic, please change in the bathroom, then you can get to work,’

She took the outfit and headed into the bathroom. There was a bag there she could put her regular clothes in, when Sophie began to feel just how uncomfortable her damp undies were. She could always take them off with the rest of her outfit, Mark would no doubt be too busy to even notice she wasn’t wearing them. She stripped down, putting on the maids’ outfit, allowing herself to get into the mentality. She was Mark’s maid, at least for a little while, so it made sense to act and think like that. She now noticed there was a big pink bow too, which Sophie wrapped around and wore atop her head. She pulled the socks up, then pulled up the two-piece outfit itself. It felt so good against her skin, like a gentle caress, it concealed so little of her. Her nipples and breasts were just about visible through the bralet, her shoulders were entirely exposed. The mesh did little to cover her midriff and lower chest region, even giving a peek of her underboob. The skirt meanwhile left little to the imagination. Sophie was still a bit nervous about the outfit, but she did want to be a good girl, and to do so she’d clean for Mark dressed like this.

Sophie came out of the bathroom, blushing at Mark’s awestruck expression.

‘Beautiful, you look more like a princess than a maid,’ he said.

Sophie couldn’t help but blush some more. Princess, what a cute name for her.

‘Thank you, I aim to please Mark,’ Sophie replied, a smile spreading over her face.

‘Oh, one more thing, a bit odd I know, but I’d like to have some level of professionalism. Is it alright if you call me Sir while you clean for me Sophie?’

It seemed a bit odd, but what was the harm, Sophie thought.

‘Okay sir, no problem!’ Sophie said.

Mark walked over, handed her a pink feather duster, and she got to work. The place was already looking pretty good, but Sophie worked hard. She aimed to please, part of who she was, of her independence, was showing just how dependable she could be. Maybe Mark would ask her back more, it certainly beat working in the warehouse. She’d still be her independent self after all, but Mark was just someone worth listening to, he was so capable, it would be silly not to let him guide her a little. Mark himself went about some of his daily business, only catching glances at Sophie now and then, seeing how every time she bent over, everything was on display. She was trying to hide the moans, but her rock hard nipples gave away just how good the material felt on her.

‘So, have you given any more thought to coming to my gathering Sophie?’ Mark asked.

He was sat upon his black leather chair as she scrubbed down the floor on her hands and knees, with a perfect view. Sophie absentmindedly hummed a tune and shook her hips to keep her mind off just how good her nipples felt.

‘Oh yes sir! I’d love to come!’ she said.

‘That’s fantastic sweetie, I’m sure the other guests will appreciate all your hard work, you’ve been such a good girl doing this for me,’

There was something so pleasant about Mark’s words that made it harder to hold how she felt in, a low soft moan escaped Sophie’s lips.

‘Everything alright there?’ Mark asked.

‘Oh, oh yes sir not to worry, and thank you so much, I hope you’re happy with the job I do,’ she said.

‘Of course dear, it’s perfect, I’ll come with you later to the store personally and buy whatever you desire,’

Sophie let out a pleasurable sigh, what a wonderful idea, he was so nice to her, and the pair began to talk about what she had in mind. Mark had such good ideas, about tube tops, thongs, booty shorts, all fun, cute outfits Sophie could show herself off in. Sir even mentioned getting a camera and doing a photoshoot of her modelling in her new clothing. Sophie giggled, what a fun, silly idea, her as a model. When she finished the cleaning job, Sophie found herself wandering over to the mirror again. It was such hard work that she just fell to her knees, worn out. Mark came up behind her, stroking her hair with one hand. She leaned into it, enjoying the feeling.

‘You’ve been such a good girl today Sophie and done such a good job. I’m so proud of how far you’ve come,’ he said.

Sophie looked at herself, legs spread, dripping from pleasure, hair dyed blonde and nipples so hard still. She’d definitely changed the last few days, but that was okay, she was becoming who she really was, and not just trying to rebel against her parents or authority. She’d been a good girl today. Soon she’d be rewarded, but right now she had to say her thanks to Mark.

‘Thank you so much Sir, I’m eager to please,’ she said.

She was too, maybe it was the maid mindset getting to her but pleasing felt so good. She could stay on her knees having her hair played with for hours if it pleased Sir.

‘Very good sweetie, now it’s time for you to put your regular clothes back on so we can go shopping,’ Mark said.

Sophie rose to her feet as Mark patted her on the head. It felt nice to be patted like that, it was such a basic show of approval but it meant a lot to her. Then, as she was walking to the bathroom, Mark’s hand drifted lower, giving her a nice pat on the butt. She just giggled, he’d probably meant to give her a pat on the back, it felt so naughty to have his hand down there. Sophie went to the bathroom, she changed back into her normal outfit, although didn’t go for the still damp undies. Sophie walked out, simply leaving the maid outfit and underwear in the room. Mark smiled at her, and put his arm around her, resting his hand on her lower back as he guided her away. Tomorrow it would be back to the grind of the warehouse, but for today, Sophie could enjoy a nice shopping trip with Sir…or Mark, she thought, then giggled. She was still in maid mode a little, but hey, it felt good to please.

#hypnosis #erotichypnosis #hypnotized #hypnokink #brainwashing #brainwashed #brainwash #mindcontrol #mind control #oc

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cowperviolet · 4 years

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A Fantasy Writer’s Guide to Entremets

Ok - I know that fantasy worlds don’t have to be medieval-influenced. However, most do tend to have historical elements from different eras worked into them; so why not entremets, especially since they have their origins in the feasts of antiquity, and have been deployed through the Middle Ages and Renaissance both?

If anything, they fit the Rule of Cool.

So, what are the entremets? To put it very simply, they are the elements of the feast that do not, strictly speaking, belong on the menu. They can be statues, performances, automata (I guess I should put steampunk in the tags), tableaux, even edible-stuff-that’s-just-really freaky.

Here are some examples (most are drawn from the Burgundian court, because it was the most Extra one):

(Technically) edible stuff:

A lamprey burrowed into a river bottom - that is, a lamprey meat is roasted, then covered in a thick sauce made from combining its blood with spices and vinegar to create the effect of mud.

Cigne revestu - a cooked swan redressed in its skin and feathers.

Doreures - poultry is stuffed with a mixture of pork, bacon, eggs, spices, pine-nut paste, and currants, then roasted; the leftover stuffing is made into balls and roasted as well. Then everything is covered in gold and silver leaf. Because they can.

Coqz heaumez - a stuffed roasted hen is seated atop a piglet and given a helmet of glued paper and a lance. These should be covered with gold- or silver-leaf for lords, or with white, red, or green tin-leaf, depending on the hen’s station in life, I guess.

Statuary:

The portrayal of the story of the Swan Knight - a wooden box with wheels is constructed; water-filled lead coffer holding a minever-covered parchment boat and a swan sculpture tied together with a golden chain are placed within.A cloth painted to represent water is then attached to hide men who are going to move the box around underneath.

The Cleveland fountain - an octagonal Gothic tower in three tiers of gilt-silver. Liquid (can be perfumed/rosewater) rises through the central tube and issues from the mouths of the four animals at the top. Then it cascades down each level through spouts in the forms of human and animal faces. The water jets turn a series of wheels attached to bells, making everything whirl and ring.

Something I am going to leave as a direct quote, because I can’t even - ‘At a special table there was a high pillar, on which was seated an ymage of a young woman, nude except for her long blonde hair which covered her back to her waist; on her head was a rich hat; [she was] wrapped, so as to preserve propriety, in a cloth like a fluttering veil with Greek letters on it in many places, beautifully written in violet; and this ymage jetted hippocras from her breasts the entire duration of the supper. And near her, braced against the dresser, was another pillar, not as tall, but a little thicker, like a platform, on which was attached, by an iron chain, a very beautiful and entirely alive lion, as a sign to guard and defend the ymage; against his pillar was written on a charge in gold: Do not touch my lady’.

A (thank God) fake fire-breathing lion - the sculpture’s mouth is lined with brass-lined mouth, with paper teeth glued within. Camphor and a little cotton are put there, and lit just before it’s presented to the guests.

A ship - such as a miniature anchored carrack laden with various merchandise, with miniature figures of sailors to complete the picture.

Spice-carrying miniature figures of animals - these could be large elephants carrying castles, dromedaries with large baskets, unicorns, stags, etc. The animals would be bedecked with gold, silver and azure, their coverings decorated with gold thread and silk. Each of them carried the arms of a lord subject to, in one particular case, the Duke of Burgundy, with the name of the town or lordship. But really, any overlord fits.

Tableaux/mini-plays:

These are highly specific things, tailored to each occasion - whether, political, pious, marital or simply entertaining - so I’m going to describe particular instances that can be, however, easily dismembered into elements:

The entremet of the Holy Church was something presented by Philip the Good, Duke of Burgundy at his Feast of the Pheasant in 1454. It began with an armed giant in a long green silk robe with the turban on his head entering the room leading an elephant covered in silk. On the elephant’s back rode a lady wearing a white satin robe with a black coat and headdress (i.e. looking nun-like, but not quite). Addressing the noble company, the lady revealed that she was the Holy Church. As one does, she delivered a long complaint poem to those present, detailing her fallen state after the Turkish capture of Constantinople, and then asked for their aid. In the Ye Olde Photo Op, the Duke drew out a letter promising to aid his fellow Christians and had his herald read it aloud to the assembled guests. Having heard this assurance of aid, the Holy Church blessed him and was led out on her elephant. The evening culminated in the nobles offering immediate written vows to sign up for a crusade.

The wedding of Charles the Bold and Margaret of York involved a series of carefully staged entremets chock-full of symbolism, given the touchy political nature of their union:

First, a man dressed as leopard came into the room riding a ‘unicorn’ caparisoned in a cloth painted with the English royal arms. The leopard held an English banner in one paw and a daisy in the other. Charles’ maître d’hôtel took the flower and presented it to the groom, saying: “Most excellent, high and victorious prince, my awesome and sovereign lord, the proud and awesome leopard of England comes to visit the noble company; and for your consolation and the consolation of your allies, countries and subjects, makes you the present of a noble marguerite.”

The second entremet was, in turn, dedicated to Margaret. A giant ‘lion’ entered, his covering painted with the arms of Burgundy. Madame de Beaugrand, the dwarf of Margaret’s new stepdaughter Mary of Burgundy, rode upon it, accompanied by two noblemen. Madame de Beaugrand was dressed in a cloth-of-gold and violet version of a shepherdess’s garb and held a basket painted with the names of various virtues, a Burgundian banner, and a small dog on a leash. Then the ‘lion’ circled the room and sang a song welcoming the “beautiful shepherdess” who is “the source of hope, solace, strength, pride, peace, and safety for all the ruled lands.”

As a last note, possibly just to highlight the lavish and cosmopolitan nature of the court into which she has married, a highly realistic simulated camel saddled “in the Saracen manner” entered the room, with a man dressed in an Eastern fashion and two giant baskets on its back. He opened the baskets and took from them “birds strangely painted, as though they came from India,” and released them to fly around the room. They landed on various tables to the sounds of trumpets.

‘A marvellously large and beautiful stag entered the room, all white with large golden antlers, and covered in a rich covering of green and vermilion silk, as far as I could tell. A young boy twelve years old was mounted on the stag, dressed in a short robe of crimson velvet, wearing a little black slashed hat on his head, and shod in fine shoes. This child held on to the antlers of the stag with both hands. As he entered the room, he began on a song in a very high and clear voice, and the stag seemed to sing the tenor part, without there appearing to be any other person about save the child and artifice of the stag, and the song they sang was called ‘Je ne voy onques la pareille etc.’ [I have never seen her like].’ (Olivier de la Marche’s memoires, 1562).

‘A watchman on the tower made as if to carry out his watch, and recognising that the tents and pavilions represented towns that were friendly, called for a fanfare of trumpets, which was performed by four boars from the windows in the tower. Then four lifelike goats appeared at the same windows, playing a motet on sackbuts and shawms; followed by four wolves with flutes, then four donkeys singing a song in four parts. For the fifth and last entremets, the watchman asked for a ‘morisque’ dance to entertain the company. Seven lifelike monkeys emerged along a balcony rail from a door in the tower. They found a mercer asleep by his wares and proceeded to play with them. They danced a morisque; then the tables were cleared and the guests danced’. (Ibid.)

#writing reference #writing ref #fantasy #medieval history #medieval #middle ages #writing resources #writeblr #writeblr community #writers of tumblr #history #history tumblr #northernlightswriteblrs

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abused-sides · 4 years

Text

You Can’t Leave [Whumptober 2020]

Note: I’m doing whumptober as a series. Check out the tag #whumptober 2020 v on my blog to read in order. Also on ao3.

Prompt: No. 10: They Look So Pretty When They Bleed [Trail of Blood]

Synopsis: Bates reminds Virgil and Janus why they should stay.

Trigger warnings: Cults, gaslighting/manipulation, restraints, kidnapped, non-con, humiliation, treating people like property, blood, knives, violence/beatings, a person in a cage, guns, body horror/gore, reference to murder/hate crimes/child death/minor character death, vomiting, non-consensual drugging, burn scar mentions and brief descriptions, let me know if I missed anything

Word count: 1778

October 12th. 4:40 pm.

“You see what happens when you abandon us, Janus? When you infect others with the same ideas?” Bates sighed and dragged the knife over Virgil’s skin again, drawing blood and a cry from Virgil’s mouth. “People get hurt. I wouldn’t have to do this if you just… Listened.”

“Stop hurting him,” Janus begged. “I know it’s my fault, you should be hurting me!”

Bates set the knife down on the metal tray he had brought in. He looked at Janus with sad eyes. “I know you too well, sweetheart. You’d let me do anything to you. You don’t care about yourself enough for it to matter. This is the only way to get through to you.”

He picked up a syringe filled with clear liquid. Janus pulled at his chains violently. “STOP, STOP, DON’T! You got through to me, you did! I’m sorry! I won’t do it again!”

“You said that last time.”

Virgil flinched as Bates stuck the needle into his neck. He heaved for breath, hands gripping the chair he was strapped to. His arms were covered in bleeding cuts, his face swollen and bruised. He hadn’t looked at Janus once.

Bates set the empty syringe down as Janus sobbed. He came to kneel in front of Janus and take his face in his hands. “Honestly, Jannie, calm down,” he hushed. “He’ll be fine. And this isn’t a fraction of what could happen to him if you guys left. You of all people should know that, shouldn’t you? After what happened to your parents?”

Janus sniffled. “That doesn’t happen to everybody. It was bad luck.”

He wiped Janus’ tears away. “I know. But in here, it happens to nobody. Don’t you want him to be safe?” Janus nodded shakily. “Then I have to do this. You need to know why you can’t leave.”

Virgil’s head slumped to his chest. Janus gasped as Bates strolled back over. “What- What did you do to him?”

“Just a little sedative.” Bates picked Virgil’s chin up. Virgil’s eyes rolled back in his head, but he was awake. “It’ll make things easier.”

Bates untied Virgil, and he fell out of the chair and face planted onto the stone. He pressed his hands to the ground and tried to lift himself up, but his arms trembled so hard he couldn’t move. The door to upstairs was wide open, the stairs mere steps away. If Virgil could only get his strength, he could make a break for it, get out…

Bates sighed. “I know what you’re thinking, love. You say I’ve gotten through to you, but you still want to get him out of here.”

Janus dragged his eyes away from the door and shook his head. “No,” he said thickly, “no, you’re wrong. Please stop hurting him.”

“I’m not the one hurting him.” Bates flipped Virgil onto his back with his foot and held him down by his stomach. Bates crossed his arms. “Tell Virgil why he should stay.”

“What?” Janus whispered.

Bates raised an eyebrow. “Tell him why he should stay. Tell him why he would be better off with us, with our family.”

Virgil’s gaze raised, meeting Janus’ eyes. They were glassy with tears, begging Janus to get him out.

“It’s… It’s better here,” Janus managed. “They can… Protect us. They can- Bates can keep this from happening. He can keep us safe.”

Bates hauled Virgil to his feet. Virgil was completely limp, Bates’ arms under his the only thing keeping him upright. His head drooped again, chin pressed to his chest.

Janus squeezed his eyes shut for just a moment, before he swallowed and forced himself to look at Virgil. “You should be grateful I led you here. It’s better here. It is.”

“You’re right,” Virgil choked out, voice thick with sobs. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I want to stay.”

Bates dragged Virgil over and dropped him into Janus’ lap. All Janus wanted was to hold him, but as much as he pulled at his chains, they didn’t budge, and Virgil was too weak to adjust. Bates climbed the steps and shut the door, before locking it and tucking the key in his pocket. He came back down and unlocked Janus’ handcuffs.

Janus immediately lifted Virgil to sit properly in his lap, hugging him tightly. Virgil’s head dropped to Janus’ shoulder.

“You did so well,” Bates whispered, brushing their hair back. “You both did so good. Here, Janus, have some water-”

He shook his head and cupped Virgil’s face. “Him first. Please.”

Bates nodded and fit the straw between Virgil’s lips. Virgil sipped slowly, eyes lidded. Janus sipped some water after, and it was the best thing he’d ever tasted.

“I think you guys have earned some dinner,” Bates said gently. “Virgil, time to get back in your cage.”

“Can we please just have a few minutes?” Janus begged. “Please, I’ll give up my dinner, just a few more minutes?”

Bates’ eyes slipped to Virgil. “And do you agree with this?”

Janus quickly shook his head. “No, no- I’m giving up mine. He needs to eat.”

“Janus,” he sighed. “You know this. You two are a team. Either both of you eat, or neither.”

“I want to stay,” Virgil slurred.

“No, you have to eat.” Janus rested his hand on Virgil’s tummy. He’d already lost so much weight in less than two weeks. “I take it back.”

Bates raised an eyebrow and looked between the two expectantly. After a minute of no complaints, he sighed and nodded. “Okay. Virgil, get back in your cage, I’ll have Styx bring your food down.”

Janus helped Virgil off his lap and as far across the floor as he could before the chain wrapped around his waist stopped him. The blood dripping from Virgil’s arms dragged across the ground, leaving a sickly smell of copper behind. He backed into his cage and tucked his knees under him, his forehead pressed to the barred floor.

Bates locked them back up before heading up the stairs. After a few minutes of tense silence, Virgil sniffled and asked quietly, “Did you mean it?”

Janus’ eyes widened in horror. “Of course not,” he whispered. “We’re- We’re getting out of here, I promise. I’d never keep you here.”

Virgil sucked in a shuddering breath and wiped his eyes. He struggled to pull his shirt off in the tight confines. He wrapped it around his forearm, the fabric quickly growing heavy with blood, then pressed his arms together.

“I don’t care if it kills me. You’re not staying here.”

“Thank you for stopping him,” Virgil mumbled.

He opened his mouth to say something else when the door squeaked open. Styx climbed down the steps holding a tray and wearing a sick grin.

“Evening, darlings.” He set the tray on a filing cabinet and knelt in front of Virgil’s cage. It creaked and clattered as Bates slid the chain out and clipped the leash to Virgil’s collar. He tugged Virgil out and tied the leash to the pipe Janus was cuffed to. Virgil put his hands behind his back and Bates cuffed those, too. “Remus should be down here soon to take care of you, my pet.”

“Thank you, master.”

Janus hid a flinch. Virgil was becoming more obedient by the day, less vibrant, and it made Janus want to scream, and fight, and burn the entire school down with everyone inside.

Styx set Virgil’s bowl of food down in front of him. Relief spilled through Janus’ stomach like cold water when Virgil grimaced, Styx’s back turned. Styx picked up Janus’ plate and sat next to him. He scooped food onto the fork and held it up, but his attention was focused firmly on Virgil, bent over with his head buried in the bowl. Styx grinned widely.

Janus’ mouth watered. His stomach growled.

Styx’s eyes snapped to Janus and he laughed. “Where have your manners gone?”

He swallowed. “I’m sorry.”

Styx snickered and shook his head, but brought the fork closer for Janus to close his mouth around. Remus came in halfway through their meal and waited patiently to the side. When they were finished, Styx piled their dishes on the tray and kissed Virgil roughly on the mouth. He unclipped his leash and left.

Remus closed and locked the door behind him with a sigh. Janus pulled his bandages off after Remus uncuffed his wrists, and Remus knelt to wipe off Virgil’s face.

“Hopefully it at least tasted good?” He unlocked Virgil’s binds and pulled his med kit out of his bag.

Virgil cuddled into Janus’ side, nuzzling into his shoulder. “At least they stopped giving me shit I’m allergic to,” he grumbled. “They’re so fucking twisted.”

Janus held him tight. “I’m glad you’re still saying that,” he said quietly.

Virgil looked at him in confusion as Remus worked on his arms. “What does that mean?”

He buried his face in Virgil’s hair. “You seem… Tired, lately.”

“Like I’m going to give up?” He laughed. “That’s not something you have to worry about.”

“Good.” Remus finished wrapping Virgil’s arms and started rewrapping Janus’ wrists. “Because I think I have a plan.”

They both sat straight up. “What?” Virgil asked. “What is it?”

Remus shook his head and sat back. “I can’t tell you yet. You just have to trust me.”

He narrowed his eyes. “You’re one of them, and you expect us-”

“We can trust him.” Janus squeezed Virgil. “If you can trust me, you can trust him.”

Virgil hesitated. “Look, Jan, I don’t want to… Offend you or anything, but you’re not…” He bit his lip as he thought how to word it, then sighed and said, “I’ve seen you be manipulated. Quite a few times, in fact. It doesn’t take much. I trust you, but that doesn’t mean I trust your opinion.”

Janus fell silent. Part of him was relieved that Virgil knew how weak he was. It made it significantly harder for him to bring Virgil down when Virgil was on the look-out for it. But he was also… So fucking embarrassed.

“I have to go now,” Remus stood, “Bates needs me somewhere else. I’m sorry, but I have to…” He nodded to the cage awkwardly.

Virgil’s grip tightened on Janus. Janus kissed the side of his head. “It’s okay,” he murmured. “It’s okay. Go.”

Remus helped Virgil into his cage and locked the cage. He restrained Janus and headed up the stairs.

Janus almost stopped him, almost begged him to go with them when they left, told him his brother missed him and Janus did, too. But the words got stuck in Janus’ throat and the door slammed behind him.

Kofi and commissions, 1 coffee = 300 words of your prompt

#whumptober2020 #no.10 #they look so pretty when they bleed #trail of blood #sanders sides #fic #virgil sanders #janus sanders #remus sanders #anxceit #sympathetic deceit #sympathetic janus #sympathetic remus #whumptober 2020 v #virgil writes #whump #angst #hurt/comfort

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lu-undy · 4 years

Text

Chapter 25 - SBT

Here it is!

"Meow."

Lucien woke up to a soft sensation on his face. Soft, but noisy… The fluffy ball purred and purred against his cheek and mouth.

"Perle, laisse-moi dormir, s'il te plaît…"

[Perle, let me sleep, please…]

More purring and the Frenchman's eyes slowly opened. He sighed.

"Me voilà réveillé maintenant, tu es contente?"

[Here, I am woken up now, are you happy yet?]

She mewled and it mixed in with her purring. Lucien smiled at the soft sounds.

"Tu as encore dormi dans mon lit?"

[You slept in my bed again?]

"Meow."

"Tu sais que tu as ton propre lit, non?"

[You know you have your own bed, don't you?]

"Meow." She put a paw on Lucien's head in his hair and played with the salt and pepper locks. He smiled. It was such a childish and innocent thing to do.

It had been a few weeks now that he adopted her and Perle had always refused to sleep in her bed. Lucien would put her there but she would always climb on his big bed and sleep next to him, on his very pillow sometimes.

"Meow."

She played with his hair, again and again until he raised his eyes to her and she looked down. He raised his hand and took her delicate paw with his index and thumb. The pads on her toes were pink and so small…! Her paw itself was extremely soft. She let him stroke it and stared in his eyes with her deep blue ones.

Perle purred and moved to brush herself on his mouth. He smiled and kissed her.

"Oui, ma petite, moi aussi je suis content de te voir."

[Yes, my little one, I too am happy to see you.]

She loved his kisses and purred as loud as her tiny body could. Lucien chuckled.

"Maintenant que je suis réveillé, je ferais mieux de me lever. Tu viens?"

[Now that I am woken up, I had better get up and do something useful. Do you want to come along?]

Lucien got out of his bed and like a reflex, he turned and opened his hands on the bed. Perle jumped on his palms and he gently put her on his shoulder while going through his morning routine. The only part that she was not participating in was his shower.

The first few days, she would cry and mewl at the base of the shower space. She would jump in too, run to Lucien's ankle and hold on there while complaining repeatedly about the wetness of the water. But the poor little kitten would rather get soaked than be far from her master.

However now, Perle and Lucien both had developed a way for this little comedy to stop. He would leave her outside of the shower but would continuously talk to her from inside. She would answer too, and that way, she didn't feel left behind. Sometimes he would tell her about his day, others, he would just play with her.

"Perle? Je vais sortir, mon petit… et… bouh!"

[Perle? I will now come out, my little one… and… booh!]

"Meow!"

Lucien peeked his head out and Perle mewled her enthusiasm. He went back to his room with her on his shoulder again and put her on the bed to choose his suit. While he put it on, she watched him and as she soon got bored, she climbed down the bed and got closer to the mirror that Lucien was facing.

Perle tilted her head left and right trying to understand who that white kitten was and what she wanted. Hm. She raised an uncertain paw and tried to touch the other kitten's.

"Tu ne te reconnais pas? C'est toi, Perle."

[You don't recognise yourself? It's you, Perle.]

"Meow!"

Now, there were two Luciens too! What the hell was that sorcery!

Lucien smiled at her bewilderment and finished adjusting his tie around his neck.

"Allez viens, on va petit-déjeuner."

[Come along, we will have breakfast.]

Lucien exited the room and went through the corridor when he realised that he didn't hear the awkward gallop and the rhythmic tics of Perle's little claws on the tiled floor. He turned his back and looked down. She hadn't followed him.

"Perle?"

He went back to the room and found her fighting her reflection in the mirror still.

"Perle?"

He called again from the threshold but she was too absorbed in her fight with that other vicious white kitten to listen.

"Mon bébé?"

[My baby?]

She stopped sharp, pricking her ears up, and raised her eyes to him, standing at the door.

"Tu viens?"

[Are you coming?]

"Meow!"

She ran at him and he squatted down to carry her and drop her on his shoulder again before heading for the main door.

"Bastien a dit qu'il viendrait ce matin. J'ai commandé quelque chose pour toi."

[Bastien said he would come today. I have ordered something for you.]

Lucien put on his vest and jacket, and went to retrieve the plastic box that the young man had left at his door, the day before. He had tried an omelette with onions and potatoes and Lucien found the result very promising, even if a few more herbs could have enhanced the flavours. The bell rang at the door.

"Ah…"

He opened the door and Bastien was there with a package in his hands.

"Package for you, L! Oh," Bastien saw Perle on her master's shoulder. "Hello, Pearl."

The baby cat hissed.

"Doucement, Perle."

[Calm down, Perle.]

Bastien chuckled.

"She doesn't like people?" He asked.

"Non, the only one she tolerates is me as far as I know." Lucien answered. "My apologies, she is a bit aggressive."

"It's alright."

"Ah, and I have a box for you, Bastien. I have left a note with my comments inside, but it was very good."

"Oh! Thank you so much!"

"Thank you."

Bastien took his box and went away.

"Alors, ma petite Perle, regarde ce que Papa Lulu t'as commandé."

[So, my little Perle, look what Papa Lulu ordered for you.]

Lucien froze. The last time he had called himself Papa was… He took a deep breath and screwed his eyes shut, frowning. The simple word "Papa" was enough to make his stomach turn. He needed a moment.

"Meow?" Perle brushed herself on him and his shoulders relaxed.

He sighed.

"Ce n'est rien." He lied.

[It's nothing.]

Lucien went to the table and with his knife, he opened the small cardboard box neatly.

"Voilà."

[Here it is.]

He removed the paper here and there and extracted a pink collar with a silver pendant, as well as a harness and leash. Those were dark red and made of leather.

"Comme ça, tu peux aussi te dégourdir les pattes."

[With this, you will be able to follow me around on foot.]

He gently put Perle on the table and put the collar on. Her name was engraved on it and behind, his own name and a phone number, in case she got lost. The pendant itself was shaped like a heart. Lucien then helped her in her harness and attached the leash to it.

"Now, let's have some breakfast, shall we?"

"Meow!"

They exited the suite and soon, the hotel entirely. Perle hadn't complained when Lucien put all those things on her. She was quite happy about it. Now, she could walk without fearing that Lucien would abandon her. Not only had he promised, but he now was linked to her all the time via that leash. So as long as she felt some very light tension on her shoulders, she knew he was there.

"Perle, attends."

[Perle, wait.]

She stopped, sat down and looked up at him.

"Quand le petit bonhomme est rouge là-bas, on attend. On ne traverse que quand il passe au vert."

[When the little man is red over there, we have to wait. We cross the road only when he turns green.]

Lucien explained calmly. But then, it hit him. He had gone through that before. His mouth had said those words. Ha, raising Perle really felt like raising a child. Again.

"Meow?"

"Why? Because otherwise a car might pass by and hurt us. So we have to wait for them to stop."

Perle was sitting at the edge of the pavement. She raised a paw in front of her.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk…!" Lucien pushed her paw back on the pavement with the tip of his expensive, varnished, dark brown shoe. "Non, non, non, mon bébé. Tu attends sur le trottoir."

[No, no, no, my baby. You wait on the pavement.]

The light switched to red for cars and green for pedestrians.

"Maintenant, on regarde à droite et à gauche pour être sûr, et on peut y aller."

[Now, we look right and left to be sure, and we may go.]

They crossed the street. The other pedestrians half guessed what Lucien was saying and only smiled at his fatherly tone with his kitten. But the Frenchman couldn't care less about what other people thought. His entire world was at the end of that leash. His entire, fluffy, tiny, baby world.

Soon, they entered Victoria's diner.

"Hey L!"

"Bonjour, Victoria."

[Hello, Victoria.]

"Oh, hello baby Pearl!" Victoria came closer and the baby cat hissed.

"My apologies, she doesn't really like people."

"She likes you though. Weird taste she has, that baby kitty." Victoria said with a smirk as Lucien sat at his usual table.

"V…" He answered.

"What? It's true!"

"Fair enough." Lucien admitted with a smile.

"Meow!" Perle mewled. She tried to climb on the banquette to join Lucien, but the edge was in plastic and she couldn't get any grip on it to climb.

"Ah, attends, viens ici."

[Ah, wait, come here.]

Lucien scooped her and put her on his lap.

"So, what will it be for you guys?" She asked.

"Coffee and croissant for me. And if you have a bit of milk for her, as usual…?"

"Sure!"

"What will you have?" He asked her.

"Uhm, just a hot chocolate."

"Add it to my bill please, and come back quickly, she's hungry." Lucien said, seeing how Perle gnawed on his fingers.

Victoria nodded and disappeared.

"Tu as faim?"

[Are you hungry?]

Perle dug her teeth a bit deeper against Lucien's fingers.

"Aïe, d'accord, j'ai compris, tu as faim, pas la peine de mordre."

[Ouch, fine, I get it, you are hungry, no need to bite.]

"Meow!"

"Tsk, tsk, tsk." Lucien raised his index and looked at the the kitten seriously. "Pas la peine de geindre non plus. Et dis pardon, tu m'as mordu."

[No need to complain either. And say sorry, you have bitten me.]

"Meow!"

"Perle, tu veux que je me fâche?"

[Perle, do I need to tell you off?]

"Meow…"

"Je te pardonne. Mais ne recommence plus, d'accord?"

[I forgive you. But don't do it again, alright?]

Lucien put his hand flat on the table, palm facing upwards. Perle put her tiny paw in before jumping entirely in it and laying down.

"Here we are, coffee and croissant for the old man, milk for the kitty, and hot chocolate for me." Victoria laid them all on the table and sat opposite Lucien.

"Ah, many thanks, V. Perle, dis merci."

[Perle, say thank you.]

"Meow." She answered and went to the small plate with milk, to lap it.

"C'est bien, ma belle."

[Very good, my beautiful one.]

Lucien scratched her head and raised his cup to Victoria.

"Bon appétit."

"Thanks, to you too."

They both took a sip and it cleared their minds, especially Lucien's.

"So, you owe me, old man."

"Do I?" He asked.

"You got hired at the Queen Victoria or not?" She asked.

"I did. And here," Lucien put a paper on the table. "For you and your boyfriend."

Victoria blushed.

"How did you know? Did Joe tell you?"

Lucien smiled.

"Non, but I can tell when someone is in love."

"Oh, can you?" She teased.

"Mh-hm." He nodded. "Look at you, your cheeks are more pink than before, you wear clothes with brighter colours and you definitely smile more." Lucien explained.

"Oi! Are you saying I was grumpy before?" V asked.

"Well, I wasn't the one to say it." He answered with a chuckle.

"Oh yeah, you can laugh, you were grumpy too until you found Pearl, eh! And now look, you have completely adopted her, collar, leash and everything! You're even educating her as if she was a kid."

He nodded as he bit in his croissant.

"Oui, indeed, I do. She follows me almost everywhere."

They both looked at the baby cat who was lapping at the milk enthusiastically.

"Oh wait, those are actual free dinners?!" Victoria exclaimed when she read the leaflet that Lucien had given her.

"Oui, I got hired and I am the lead singer there now. I organise and manage the shows. You should come to see. The food is quite good, and the shows are the best."

"Sure, the shows are the best, eh? So much for bein' humble."

"Pardon my honesty." He said with a smirk.

"Jesus, you never stop…!"

He winked at her.

"But yeah, as much as it pains me to say it, you held your word and got hired in the poshest place in all of Oz…"

"Ha, and you had doubts…" He shook his head.

"How did you do it?" She asked.

"My usual confidence and a bit of charm."

"Christ almighty! You need to be told how to be humble!" Victoria said, exasperated.

"I don't think I need to be taught that." He arrogantly added, just for her to facepalm, and she did.

"Anyway, I'm happy you could find a job, and above all, someone to keep you company." Victoria said, looking down at Perle.

"Meow."

She was licking herself, trying to clean the milk on her face but couldn't reach it all.

"Viens, je vais te nettoyer."

[Come here, I will clean you.]

Lucien grabbed a paper towel and Perle hissed. She hated it.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk. Allons, ça ne va pas durer longtemps."

[Come on, it won't last long.]

He wiped her face and she clawed in the paper to shred it, hissing again. Lucien let go of it and let her destroy the thing. It stuck to her claws and paws, which made her even more mad. Both him and Victoria chuckled at the raging war between the kitten and the paper towel.

"Does she still cry when you leave?" Victoria asked.

"A bit, oui, I hear her mewling and clawing at the door. But when I come back home, I find her asleep on my pillow in the bed."

"Aww, such a cute baby she is."

"The most adorable, I think." Lucien said, looking at her with kind eyes.

-- Later, Lucien's suite --

Lucien had repeated the piece he wanted to play and sing for the next concert. It wasn't an easy piece, non, but he would do it. He would sing it in front of Duchemin, for her, that woman.

Perle was lying on the piano, her eyes half closed, staring at him. He stopped and took a deep breath before taking a glance at his watch. Lucien then stood up and went to put on his jacket.

Perle jumped down from the piano to the seat in front of it and finally the floor.

"Meow!"

"Je dois sortir de nouveau."

[I need to go out again.]

"Meow?"

"Non, tu ne peux pas venir, c'est pour le travail, ma belle."

[No, you can't come with me, it is for work, my beautiful one.]

Lucien pulled his trousers' legs up slightly and crouched down to scratch her head. Perle started mewling repeatedly. She knew he was about to go and leave her.

"Non, ma petite, je suis désolé, tu ne peux vraiment pas venir. Ce sont des affaires d'adultes, c'est bien trop dangereux pour un bébé comme toi."

[No, my little one, I am sorry, you really cannot come. This is adults' business, it's way too dangerous for a baby like you.]

He scooped her off her floor and kissed her head while she brushed herself against his mouth.

"Tu restes sage pour moi?"

[You keep quiet for me?]

Perle sat in his palms.

"Meow."

"Très bien. Je suis fier de toi."

[Very good. I am proud of you.]

He kissed her head again and heard her purr before dropping her on the floor again and leaving the flat. He locked the door and waited.

There was one muffled meow.

-- Maurice's street --

"Bonjour, Maurice."

"L, what do I owe the pleasure?"

"I have a matter to discuss with you. That, and a few questions."

"Do you need somewhere more calm?"

Maurice's question might have sounded idiotic as the dirty street was as calm as the air itself could be. But that was exactly why Lucien needed somewhere else. After all, one can't hear a conversation clearer than in pure silence.

"Oui, s'il te plaît."

[Yes, please.]

Mundy stood up and Lucien followed him. A few moments later, they found themselves in the beggar's hideout, underground.

"So, what can I do to help?"

"I went to the old hangar." Lucien started. "But someone showed up that ruined my plans and intentions."

"Ah?"

Lucien instantly saw the fake surprise in Maurice's eyes.

"Why didn't you tell me that there would be someone else?" The spy asked.

"I didn't think it would be relevant." Maurice answered. "But please, tell me how he managed to ruin your strategy, I am curious."

Lucien pointed to a chair. "May I?"

"Of course."

Both of them sat on wooden chairs, around the large oval table.

"Do you mind if I smoke?" Lucien asked.

"Be my guest."

"Many thanks." Lucien offered one to his host but Maurice declined. He lit his one and recounted the story.

"I intended to get myself captured so that Duchemin's men would take me straight to him. From there, I would deal with him."

"But?" Maurice anticipated.

"But, this hunter appeared and freed me from my captivity. A brilliant sharpshooter I must say. I know very few people who would have managed to pull the shots he did from such a distance. Every single bullet hit their target, not a single miss, and what bullets…? Custom made darts that I had never heard of before, a clever design."

There was the shadow of a smile on Maurice's lips.

"So I wonder." Lucien went on. "Who is he and why did you not tell me about him?"

"Ah, well, those questions both require long answers." Maurice cleared his throat. "What did he tell you about himself?"

"That he is a hunter but his preys are poachers, not beasts. If not for those outstanding shots he took, I would have taken him for a local hippie. However, there is something in his impressive accuracy that my head cannot quite understand. No simple hunter can be that skilled. Even during my time in the army there were atrociously few people who could shoot with such precision on so many shots. Non, there is more to that man."

Lucien paused to catch his breath.

"He told me he is also after Duchemin. I told him it was stupid and he would end up dead. His answer struck me."

"What did he say?" Maurice asked.

"Don't care." Lucien quoted the tall hunter.

Maurice smiled.

"Doesn't that remind you of anyone?" The beggar asked with a smirk. "Someone who wants Duchemin dead more than anything else?"

The Frenchman frowned and took a drag off of his cigarette.

"Is he my enemy?" He asked Maurice.

"Did he seem like one?" Maurice answered.

"Why do I have the feeling that you are hiding something about that man from me?" Lucien asked.

"Maybe that is because I am."

"Why not tell me?"

"Maybe that is because you have to find out for yourself."

Lucien raised his sharp eyes to Maurice. The beggar was smiling through his bushy grey beard.

#tf2 sniper #tf2 spy #sniperspy #SBT

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starlightsoulwriting · 4 years

Text

L’appel du Vide

Cliff Unger x Reader

L'appel du Vide (n.) The unexplainable desire to jump when on the edge of a cliff Call of The Void AO3 Link

Porters are going missing. You and Fragile are at each other’s throats, and you’re still reeling from your incident ten months ago. And, on top of all your shit, life decides to drop a Cliff on you.

[x][1][2]

Prologue

The first time you met Cliff was on the beach.

It had been weeks since Sam had gone after Amelie to stop the Last Stranding. Things had calmed down on the outside; Die-Hardman was establishing his presidency, not that any of you were focused on that. You, Heartman, and Mama had been searching for Sam the whole time.

Your ability was an odd one, as far as DOOMS goes. You couldn’t teleport your whole body like Fragile could, but you could send your Ka to the beach - even to other people’s beaches if you had a focus.

The day you met Cliff had been hard.

You’d had an honest to god, knock-down, drag-out fight with Fragile - it would have gone to blows had Heartman not dragged you away. You escaped to the beach after that.

You’d been doing that a lot lately.

You started at Sam’s beach, like you always did. But you wandered for hours, coming up with nothing. You were for sure in someone else’s by now. The borders between beaches were all fuzzy now - it was easy to slip into one you didn’t mean to. You could feel the change in your gut, energy shifting. There were people here, you could feel it, but the strands were so tangled you couldn’t tell them apart. So you picked one and went with it. Maybe he had wandered off this way, too. He had a hell of a head start on you, though.

You kept stumbling on until you heard whistling in the distance. You’d found someone! So you took off at a dead sprint towards the sound, even as you were telling yourself it probably wasn’t Sam.

As soon as the man came into view, you deflated. You hated when you were right.

He was tall, and handsome, and strong-looking, but you were disappointed all the same.

Because he wasn’t the porter that saved your life two.

You let out a childish huff and plopped out onto the dark sand, exhausted. You would just lay down on your back and stare at the sky for a minute. Gather your energy. Then you would go.

The guy must’ve noticed you lying like a depressed starfish, though, because you heard footsteps, and then a crunch of sand as he sat down next to you. You didn’t bother looking over, instead opting to shift upright and stare at the waves instead, arms curling around your knees. The waves were more interesting than clouds, anyway.

“I assume you’re not having the best of days, either?” His voice was warm and raspy, almost saying it like a joke as much as it was a real question.

You had to barely stop yourself from barking out a laugh, looking at him incredulously, but you were amused nonetheless. His eyes glinted with playfulness, a wry smile on his face, like your reluctant, surprised smile was exactly what he was going for. You rolled your eyes and looked back at the sea. “That’s a hell of a question to ask someone wandering around purgatory.”

“I’m not wrong though, am I?”

You sighed, wistful humor draining out of you as you came back to reality. Your day had been shit. You shrugged, curling in on yourself even more. “ I had a horrible fight with one of my only friends. She made a decision to let a bad man handle his own shit. I think she should have killed him”

Oh, god, you were such a downer.

He didn’t seem to mind though, and looked thoughtful. “I’m sure she had her reasons for doing that.”

“Yeah, she wanted him to suffer the consequences of his actions or whatever, but, like.” You took a shaky breath in. A pit of dread opened up in you - you were starting to get upset again, chest clenching painfully. The cool air began to feel hot, suddenly. “He nuked a city. The world would be safer without him.” You clench your fists to stop your fingers from trembling and squeezed your eyes shut to stop the tears. Your heart hammered in your ears and for a moment you were back in your shelter, trapped and helpless again. You could still feel the blood all over you - your stomach, your hands. His voice.

A brush on your shoulder made you flinch back with a gasp, but you opened your eyes and there was no skull mask staring back at you, only warm brown eyes and a sad, sympathetic look on his face. You were on the beach, looking for Sam. You were safe.

“You still with me, there?” He said gently, like talking to a frightened cat. You wished you knew what was going through his head, but at the same time didn’t have the courage to ask. Instead you nodded and worked on following grounding exercises, focusing on slowing your breath. “Need help?” You shook your head and stayed quiet, looking back out at the ocean.

Sand between your fingers. Salty sea air filling your lungs. The taste of the ocean. The heat of the person next to you.

Awkward silence weighed down upon you.

But you eventually calmed down.

You took one last breath and spoke, voice still unsteady. “I’m looking for my friend. He’s lost somewhere in here. I just need to find him so we can go home,” You glance at him. “You see a tired-looking dude about six feet come through here recently? Shoulder length hair, scruffy beard, porter gear on?”

He shook his head. “Can’t say that I have, sorry.”

You shrug, sighing and getting to your feet. You had expected that, but it still sucked. “Thanks anyway.” You gave one more look around the beach before you got ready to re-enter your body. “See you ‘round, I guess, if you don’t move on by the time I’m back.” You began to walk towards the water. You needed a cold shower to scrub off all your ugly feelings. You waded past the breakers, walking to hip-height. The next bit was always the trickiest - returning to your body from the seam. If you did it wrong you would wake up in the afterlife instead of your room.

A murmur from behind gave you pause, though. “I’ll be here.”

You look at him questioningly. Most souls didn’t feel like lingering on the beach for long.

“I’m waiting for my son.” He says simply and with the same resolve you had, deep in your bones, that you would find Sam.

You gave him a small smile and a wave goodbye. It wasn’t often you met people out here. And this guy was nice. He had a warm voice and soft eyes. Not to mention the fact he was handsome. You ignored that, though. You didn’t need to catch feelings for a dead guy.

You’d decided you liked him, though. “I’m Y/n.”

“Cliff.”

As you dove into the Seam and past the surf, you heard the faint sound of whistling pick up again.

You hoped he found his son soon.

You saw him three more times before Mama found Sam - and joined him for short chats each time. Only a few minutes long each, just as the first had been, but just as comfortable - he steered topics away from his family, though. You didn’t pry at obviously healing wounds, and he didn’t ask about your panic attacks. So instead you talked about the stars, and your plants back home that were probably dying, and how well the UCA was doing now that people were connecting.

You liked talking to him. It was easy, really. He drew star charts in the sand for you, telling you about constellations and their stories, about Orion and Hercules. And you told him about your greenhouse, and cheesy action movies, and your cat, Rocky, and how to make little paper cranes. He whistled just to fill the silence.

Then Mama had found Sam, and your little “We-Love-Sam” club had been all hands on deck trying to get him home.

Even after you got him back, the rest of the world was a whirlwind of activity and bureaucracy and you were just trying your best to adjust to your new nightmares that had replaced the old ones, and trying to repair your relationship with Fragile, and setting up new software systems with Lockne.

It wore you down more every day. You weren’t meant to be at Bridges, really - you were just a nerd who got pulled into this mess against your will. Being on such a short leash here in the city felt claustrophobic. And you were exhausted, barely able to sleep because every time you closed your eyes all you saw was masks and blood.

You didn’t visit the beach for three more weeks.

You needed to go home, back out west past Lake Knot City. Where you had all the breathing room you wanted. No surveillance-state wrist cuffs or shitty cafeteria food. Come to think of it, your plants had probably all died by now. At least your mom had taken care of Rocky while you were away.

Fragile was feeling better and was making runs again; she had agreed to take you home, despite how tense your friendship was. You felt bad for being so pissed at her, but every time you looked over your shoulder or thought you heard Higg’s voice, you got upset again. She wasn’t the one who hurt you but it didn’t matter. You weren’t safe and it was her fault. You didn’t know how long it would be before things were okay again.

Everyone else was staying for a while after Die-Hardman’s big speech, at least for a bit. And even though you knew to the core of your being Higgs wouldn’t dare show his face at Bridges ever again, you still had to leave before you broke completely. It was only a matter of time before you lost your shit cooped up like this. You needed your mountains back.

You had gotten Sam back and made sure he was okay. You weren’t needed here anymore. You needed to set up a new shelter, one that didn’t hurt you just to see. Maybe closer to the rest of your group this time. More secure. Better to get started now then wait.

You were on your way to meet Fragile when Deadman stopped you.

“Y/n, I know you’ll probably be busy back home, but I could really use some help. I’ve been looking into this Captain Unger figure that kept trying to take Sam’s BB, but I haven’t been able to get to the rest of his file,” He started, and you didn’t like where he was going with this. He needed something from you. “I know that it’s hiding there, somewhere in the network, but it has so many layers of encryption I can’t get through it myself.” He made a pleading motion with his hands, tilting his head and looking like a hopeful golden retriever.

This guy’s been pulling stuff like this for two months.

And you caved every damn time.

At least this time it was something interesting and not some stupid password algorithms. You sighed. “Yeah, yeah, sure, send it to me. But I’m still leaving now, Deadman.” You looked away from him as you pulled him into a hug, uncomfortable and blushing. You weren’t good with goodbyes or physical contact. “Take care of everyone, okay?” You mumbled into his blazer. Your voice almost broke.

“Of course I will.” He gave you a hard squeeze. You didn’t protest. “But you need to take care of yourself, too.”

It was bittersweet, really. You cared about everyone so much, but you were being suffocated. You needed to go home.

And so you did.

Although, later that night, after settling into your new, empty shelter, and enduring dinner with your entire family like it was Christmas, you were already missing everyone.

You settled into your bed and opened your tablet, replying to Heartman’s sappy messages, assuring him that you would absolutely message him every day and would always visit him on the beach if he needed company. That was how you’d met in the first place. Lockne had run a few ideas through your DMs, but it was mostly just her way of working out a problem. It was clever shit, too, it was hard to feel helpful with her sometimes.

By the time you got around Deadman’s message your eyes were drooping and you were fighting back yawns - but you figured you would read through what he already had before getting started in the morning. Just a quick skim-through, no big deal.

It was a big deal.

Because when you opened the file, you shot up with a gasp, eyes bulging practically out of their sockets. Your Cliff and Sam’s Cliff were the same Cliff! Holy shit!

You got up and paced restlessly, hands moving from your mouth to your head to your hips.

Fucking hell! He’d shot at Sam! Motherfucker!

But he was so nice? And made stupid jokes, and helped keep you grounded?

You sat back on your bed, Rocky staring at you like you were nuts, and you ran through everything Sam had told you about Cliff. You fished through your memory, for when he recounted what nutso things Amelie had told him.

“Apparently that Cliff guy was brought back to teach me a lesson or something? I don’t know what she meant by that, but it did seem like he was pretty out of it most of the time. I don’t know if he’ll be hanging around beaches again or not, but he shouldn’t be botherin me and Lou anymore, and that’s all that really matters.”

Ah, screw sleep, you needed answers. This was going to keep you up all night, you just knew it. So you unpacked your PC and got cracking.

By the morning, you sent Cliff’s fully recovered file to Deadman. Sam deserved to hear news like that in person. His dad was… badass, honestly.

After that you slept until three PM. Then you went to the beach.

The world lurched around you as your soul left your body.

When you got to Cliff Unger’s - Sam’s Father’s - beach, there was no one there. Just the whistling of the wind.

He was gone.

You told yourself it was for the best.

You didn’t need to catch feelings for a dead guy, after all.

#death stranding #death stranding x reader #cliff unger #death stranding cliff #mads mikkelsen #longfic #l'appel du vide

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xlady-saya · 4 years

Text

I want this touch to be familiar [Ch. 3]

Relationships: andrew/neil, side aaron/katelyn

Summary: Deep down, Andrew knew he would always reach this crossroads, a time where the thought became too strong to ignore.

Going all the way with Neil. It’s not something he can continue to avoid thinking about. When Andrew looks back to the days where he held Neil’s hands down, when he never got off with him in the same room, he’s forced to acknowledge how much he’s allowed.

Not allowed. Welcomed. Wanted.

But that’s not all there is to it, and the desire to make a decision finally makes itself known.

Tags: first time fic, p*rn with feelings, relationship study, fluff and communication, multichapter

Read on ao3!

They do in fact, kick Kevin out.

To say it's extremely satisfying is an understatement, and Andrew doesn't try to deny himself the feeling. In this case, it's deserved, and a long time coming.

Kevin's not happy about it, especially since they offer him no further explanation. They've never asked for privacy so explicitly; Andrew never realized it before, how they’re used to accommodating everyone else, used to waiting until Kevin and the Foxes aren’t around to have their time to themselves.

Rushed, heated, timed.

This had been different. This time Andrew let himself be greedy. Nicky at least reads the mood well enough to make himself scarce. Andrew doesn’t care about the teasing; he’s adamant about his reasons, the need to carve out time to navigate this new experience. Not only that...but something possessive and antsy fuels him in the moment. This is just for him and Neil.

He won't risk a walk in and a hasty cover up.

All Andrew has to do is drop Thea's name and threaten to do Neil in the locker room for Kevin to finally get the damn hint and fuck off.

Dealing with Kevin is familiar territory, even post their deal. It's nicer, letting him fend for himself while not cutting the relationship loose entirely, but Andrew's concept of friendship is one he's still exploring and definitely not something he needs to think about right now.

Right now...right now is not familiar territory.

He walks back to the bedroom as Kevin mutters about having to leave, out of Andrew's mind before he's even out of sight.

He's distracted, so focused, lost.

There are glimpses of the familiarity he craves though, remembered through his own fingertips and his memory. The promise of soft lips and scars that follow the curve of a runner's body, hips pressed down and warmth. Neil.

Neil, who is ready and fresh from an extra long shower.

As soon as he crosses into the bedroom, the presence is electric, Andrew almost thinks the static will shoot from his fingertips. He doesn't know how Neil ever survived on the run, how he ever blended in. His everything is loud. Before the slam of the front door even echoes through the dorm room, Andrew's eyes are on him. It would almost be amusing, seeing the little jump of Neil's shoulders at the intensity, if he wasn't so taken by the mere sight of him.

Of course he finds his gaze already returned by the striker, all fire and an almost beckoning quality.

Nicky would probably call the look 'fuck me eyes,' and for once Andrew is inclined to agree.

He intends to.

A shiver runs down his spine at the thought; he watches Neil bite his bottom lip, plush beneath his teeth, and Andrew licks his own from the muscle memory. He’s chased after those lips so many times…He wants to bite down, to claim them, as if he has to. Neil only ever looks at him, and the fantasy already begins to cloud Andrew's mind.

He’s it for Neil, Andrew’s brain tells him then, stroking the flame. His first. Andrew pushes that thought away, too optimistic, too ideal, and fiercely territorial. The thought he’ll have Neil forever…it’s too much to bring into the equation.

Especially when Neil won't stop rubbing his fucking thighs together.

The striker squirms in place on the bed, not subtle in the slightest as he checks Andrew out from head to toe. Neil lingers on the line of Andrew’s shoulders, swallowing a second after. Andrew revises; nothing about Neil is subtle these days, so he shouldn’t be this surprised. That smart, short-tempered mouth and looks which attract the whole crowd at Eden's.

And yet, Neil never gave a damn about anyone else.

Right then, the reminder cracks the walls around him.

Because they both think about this. They both want. Neil doesn't try to hide from him.

Nerves, excitement, and all the things Andrew cannot express are reflected back at him with how Neil leans back without thinking about it, stretching out.

When Andrew huffs the ghost of a laugh, his walls beginning to crumble, Neil's eyes brighten in interest.

This is ridiculous. It's so ridiculous, because Neil should be the farthest thing from sexy right then. He's in his armbands and one of Andrew's old ratty shirts, the one he's told Neil time and time again to throw away but to no avail. The loose threads and dulled color bring Andrew back to a time where Neil only wore old, thrifted clothes. Too big around the shoulders, neckline distorted, but Neil clings to it for comfort, not necessity. Not because he has nothing else or has to conserve his money.

'It's yours,' had been Neil's only explanation.

And can Andrew talk, with the chain around his neck?

Neil's wearing those heinous cargo shorts Matt bought him, with only one sock on his foot. The fool would dress like this everyday, with no sense of matching or cohesiveness, if Andrew didn't pick his damn outfits.

There's nothing like what's in the movies; nice suits, tailored clothes, lingerie...

It's the farthest thing from a fantasy. But this Neil, in all his mundanity, is nothing short of a wet dream to Andrew. The other end of a leash. The striker must notice the change, the darkening of Andrew's eyes, and the small whimper goes straight to Andrew's cock.

Oh yes, the only problem with Neil's clothes is the fact they're still on.

As he slams the door to the bedroom shut, it finally hits Andrew what they're about to try. Of course, they've talked about it, planned it, he's known for days. Regardless, the air around him feels like glass, making it hard to move but easy to break if he tries. This tension...it's terrible and exhilarating all at once.

Neil knows just how to push him to get him moving; he stops squirming long enough to spread his legs, leaving the perfect slot for Andrew to fit, and that's when the glass shatters.

There's a lot in his head as he stalks towards Neil, throwing off his jacket in the process. Roland's advice exchanged over texts, his own research, and countless conversations. And yet above it all is just Neil, Neil, Neil.

Andrew doesn't have time to linger on how he doesn't even hesitate to pull off his shirt, to be so exposed in front of someone without a second thought. His armbands stay; he’s not quite sure he can handle that along with what they’re about to do. Neil's sharp intake of breath at the sight of his abs, his biceps, is enough to override any of that.

Neil surges up to meet him.

Andrew's hands fly to Neil's shoulders as their lips meet, like a punch of desperation. Neil, as always pushes back against Andrew, as if to challenge him. Andrew is almost positive he does it on purpose, just so Andrew will show his strength. He pushes Neil back down onto the bed, and Neil’s excited gasp proves him right. The urge to corral all the limitless energy buzzing beneath Neil's skin is so strong Andrew doesn’t know what to do about it. He wants to expend it all, make Neil boneless and sated.

He growls and nips Neil's bottom lip, boxing him in without pressing down. Where to start? He wants to do it all.

'Don't rush into it,' Roland's voice says, and Andrew fights the urge to kick it to the curb, to force it away with such viciousness it astounds him. He doesn't want to think about anything else, just this, just Neil moaning yes for things Andrew hasn't asked yet. He just wants to have.

Neil's groan is way too filthy for just a kiss and is not helping to make his self-control any easier. Andrew coaxes Neil's tongue out slowly in response, bringing their pace down if only slightly. Slow, patient. He knows the bartender was right, he can't rush this. He needs Neil to be relaxed, feeling good...

Andrew’s brain starts to fill with all the reminders, the advice.

His brain unhelpfully states that he should be feeling that way too, should be turned on, but rigidness begins to creep into his veins anyways. No, no. He can’t fixate on that. He forces it to the back of his mind, but he knows his body language betrays him. He keeps Neil's hands pinned to the mattress with one of his own, unable to handle the touch, and he holds the strikers jaw with the other. He forgot how this feels, the need to keep Neil restrained. It's been so long...

He licks into Neil's mouth to distract him, teasingly, like he's mapping it out. He can't deny it feels so warm, burning, the whine he rips from Neil's throat for his actions. The sloppiest of kisses, just because he can, just because it makes Neil's hips twitch.

Yes, get worked up for me.

This is what needs to happen, but...

Next. Next, next--

The rustle of the condoms he laid out on the bed calls his attention, so does the new bottle next to them. Research...foreplay, slow, steady, now?

He gets lost in the kiss, but his actions lose their sense of purpose. Stalling. He pins Neil's tongue down, tries to draw out those delicious sounds so they drown out his erratic heartbeat, his thoughts.

"Andrew..."

The sound of Neil's voice is muffled, like it's underwater. Oh, this is definitely unfamiliar. Neil’s voice has never failed to be a lighthouse in the stormy bay.

He's not hard, he realizes. Andrew's not hard. Even with Neil nearly rutting against him, taken apart by just a kiss...he's...

The arousal surges only to be snuffed out by his own distraction each time, his own fixation on how he needs this to go down. Minimal damage.

But if it doesn't feel good...

It should, because it's Neil. With Neil, it's never supposed to be about a checklist.

It's just--

Andrew freezes when Neil's hands tremble beneath his, a weak, almost questioning attempt to pull free. He pulls back, staring down at Neil's eyes, already clouded and drowsy with how Andrew makes him feel.

Andrew pauses a moment, considering before he lets Neil free. Neil’s slow about it, sliding his hands out from under Andrew’s, feeling the calloused skin like it’s all he wants. Andrew lets him look his fill. The trust is no longer the issue.

And god, Neil is so damn nosy about everything. In how he tracks Andrew's face, searching again and finding...something. Neil turns his head into his shoulder, suppressing a grin.

Andrew nearly scowls. What are you smiling about?

If he's being honest, trying to get into Neil's head is one of the biggest challenges there is in his life, and it's self-created. He need only ask to receive, but Neil also doesn’t leave him waiting.

Neil's hands move purposefully, where Andrew can see and track them. They still just above Andrew's shoulders, and with a whispered ‘yes’ from Andrew’s lips, they slide down, rubbing tantalizing circles along his muscles.

He jolts from it, and Neil’s smile brightens.

Andrew’s one giant knot of tension; he hadn't even realized it, but then Neil starts undoing the chords. Andrew allows himself a slow exhale, and Neil swipes his tongue over the column of his throat. Andrew's cock twitches in interest for the first time, and Neil’s lips curve against his skin.

Someone with a penchant for starting fights should not have this calming effect.

One of Neil's hands comes to tangle in the silver chain around Andrew's neck, pulling him closer. Tease, a menace even.

Andrew is completely entranced.

Neil nips the underside of his chin before pulling back, not breaking eye contact as he hooks two fingers into his own waistband. Andrew's breathing stops, and Neil strips off his shorts and underwear in one alluring movement. Neil's not a master at seduction, he simply knows what gets under Andrew's skin.

Those damn legs.

“Hm?” Neil hums as his knee lightly brushes against Andrew's groin, pausing to apply pressure, and oh...Neil should not be so good at this.

It leaves Andrew feeling a little conflicted; where did Neil learn this?

Once, while wiping Andrew's cum from the corner of his lips, Neil had simply said 'My mind might not be the fastest learner, but the rest of me is.'

This whole thing applies. If Neil senses Andrew's nerves, he seldom comments on it, but he never hesitates to start trying to help.

'Help' even when it's him being a shit.

"Come here." Neil's words are not a soft encouragement, nor are they a command. It's like it's a fact, a prophecy, like there isn't another direction Andrew can possibly go. Andrew glares at him, thinks about defying him just because, but the rigidness from before is almost gone. There's a tightness in his abdomen, a heat. Arousal, not wariness.

Also, Neil is very naked from the waist down, and very willing.

So Andrew lets himself be led back up, standing at the side of the bed while Neil gets comfortable, situating his face right in front of Andrew's fly. He tries not to let his interest show too much, but he guesses he fails when Neil smirks up at him. With practiced movements, Neil makes sure Andrew gives him a ‘yes’ before hastily undoing his belt and pants, the hunger in his eyes nearly too much. He pulls Andrew's half-hard cock out, shoving his pants down enough to bite at the V of Andrew's hips.

Andrew grunts at the feeling of Neil's breath against him, the striker’s hand wrapping firmly around his cock and spitting on it to slick it up. Andrew's hand finds Neil's hair automatically, like he's used to doing when Neil goes to suck him off. Neil loves the encouragement, writhes from it.

When Neil hands him the bottle of lube, Andrew gets it.

The position, the request...

Andrew yanks at the underside of Neil's knee, spreading his legs and bringing him closer, the perfect angle for--

"Neil," Andrew warns as Neil starts to stroke him slow, paying way too close attention to how his cock begins to swell. Andrew's voice fills with the strain to keep down a groan.

Fast learner. Right.

With a hum, Neil guides Andrew's hand, the one holding the bottle, in between his thighs. The implication is clear, and Neil’s skin is still warm and flushed from when he probably cleaned himself.

Andrew digs his hand into Neil’s hair at the thought.

"We're sharing, remember?" Neil says, almost innocently, like he's not asking Andrew to finger him open for the first time while he drools all over his dick. Andrew won't mistake this for something else, he knows it's nothing short of consideration for him.

Andrew wants to snap that Neil doesn't need to do this, doesn't need to try and distract Andrew from the whirlwind in his head. He doesn't need help, to get him out of his weird fog so he can actually get it up--

Neil swipes his tongue over the head of Andrew's cock and his breathing stutters, cutting off all thought for a blissful second.

"I want to do this how we always do it," Neil says then, eyes dangerous as he watches precum bead on the tip, evidence of Andrew's desire. There’s a seriousness locked underneath his tone. "I want you to feel good."

How we always do it...

He isn’t wrong; there's an edge to Neil's statement, a reinforcement. This is still us. No expectations, no pressure, only...

Andrew sets the bottle down so he can squeeze the flesh of Neil's thigh, soaking in the gasp he gets for it. He tugs Neil's head up to kiss him, deep and promising, before letting him get back to what he's good at. Using his mouth.

Andrew swallows, forcing down the unnecessary noise. He rids himself of the unessentials, the countless hours of research and text conversations with Roland, clinging to what he needs and not what overwhelms. He brings himself back to the basics therapy taught him. Breathing, grounding himself.

That's all he can do. He of all people, should've known there's no exact formula for this.

It's still us.

Us.

And that...that is one of four truths. Another deep breath, and Andrew embraces their first attempt.

"Tell me if it hurts," Andrew says, demands as he massages Neil's knee, watching his cock leak all over the bed. His hand glides up, grazing Neil's balls and teasing the sensitive skin.

Neil nods, so needy, and flicks his tongue out again over Andrew's shaft. Neil always does this, and it's so annoying because Andrew can't help but be so smug about it. Neil will stroke Andrew's cock leisurely for a few seconds, watching it grow until it's heavy and thick in his hand.

Trembling, Andrew uncaps the bottle and smears some lube on his fingers, letting some drip onto Neil's inner thighs just because. "Junkie."

Neil doesn't apologize for making him wait. "I like watching," he says, almost hazy. "I like knowing I can get you this excited."

Andrew has Neil lift his leg, positioning him so he can rub his fingers over Neil's entrance. There's a moment where Neil tenses from the feeling, but then he's relaxed again, focused on Andrew.

He never stopped to think Neil attending to Andrew's needs would also help to relax him.

"I hate you," Andrew says, so resigned, and Neil's smile is smug as can be.

He gives a squeeze to the base of Andrew's cock, pressing the head to his cheek. "I think this means you like me."

Andrew burns the image into his head.

"There are better uses for your mouth," Andrew snaps, but Neil is already swallowing him whole, hollowing out his cheeks so his cock can sit heavy and warm in his mouth. Neil's eyes flutter shut, freezing in place for an agonizing second, and Andrew guesses he's not the only one who savors these things. He feels Neil swallow around him, and petulantly holds in his moan. Neil’s eyes flutter open to glare playfully before he’s moving, steady and easy, in retaliation. The feeling is enough to pull grunts out of Andrew, and he feels his stomach jump from the slide of Neil’s mouth, but not enough to make him come too fast.

Neil's hand rests against Andrew's stomach, feeling every twitch.

Andrew tugs Neil's shirt up as far as he can, the scars grounding him. He needs something else to focus on, not to get out of his own head this time, but just to stop himself from thrusting into Neil's mouth.

The idiot is already prone to making himself choke from his own enthusiasm, he doesn't need Andrew helping.

With that in mind, Andrew digs deep for the gentlest touch he can manage, and presses his finger into Neil. It's not something he's ever been good at, softness; he's a rock. Firm, rough, but something to keep Neil safe. His hands are deadly and harsh, but for this...

He tries.

His finger pushes inside slowly, thumb pressed against the underside of Neil's balls to give him some relief. He feels Neil jolt from the foreignness, but he doesn't push away. No grimace, no fear. Andrew wonders what it feels like...

A dark part of him whispers that he should know, but rationale sets in. No, he wouldn't. Not this, not something wanted and craved. Neil gasps with Andrew's cock still in his mouth, hand shaky where he strokes what his mouth can't reach. And Andrew...Andrew didn't think about this part.

Andrew isn't prepared, could've never been prepared for how warm Neil is. He sighs as he pushes in and out slowly, the slick sounds barely audible over the sounds from Neil's throat. Neil's messy when it comes to these things, and his fist is wet where it pumps Andrew. That, together with the loud swallows, is deafening.

And of course, Neil is so impatient. Andrew takes his sweet time for them both, since at this point he has to squeeze the base of his cock to keep from getting too close to the edge. The thought of his cock replacing his finger, squeezed so tight...

Neil's hips start to roll back, not familiar or sure of the touch, but more comfortable with it. And hellbent on provoking Andrew further, even if involuntarily.

He pushes Neil's damp bangs away from his hair, a silent warning to slow it down, and thankfully the striker does. He takes his mouth away, but keeps his hand stroking agonizingly slow. Andrew tears his gaze away from the line of spit connected to Neil’s mouth.

Can’t lose focus, but Neil’s always made that hard.

Andrew takes another deep breath before he pushes in another finger, and the pattern repeats. He waits for Neil's hips to start chasing the sensation, and then he stretches him, letting him feel the ghost of the real thing. He watches Neil's brow furrow, little whimpers starting to leave his mouth, unsure. They increase in volume as his hips thrust back a little more eagerly, legs trembling, choked gasps a little too close to Andrew’s name. The confusion in his eyes blends so brilliantly with the arousal.

For a moment, Andrew wonders if Neil is uncomfortable, but then the puzzle pieces line up. It doesn't take Andrew long to realize what it is. Neil feels good, likes this, and that it hasn't quite sunk in for him that he does.

Oh Neil, a fast learner huh?

Something primal stirs in Andrew's chest at knowing Neil loves being fingered open, legs spread and thighs sticky. This just means Andrew can take him apart this way now, can learn how to do it best so Neil’s eyes roll back. They won't always need to go all the way, he can do this simply because Neil will come completely undone from it. Fingering Neil against a wall, stretching him until he comes...

He maybe jumps ahead too fast. Andrew adds another digit quickly, roughly, and Neil yelps. The sound quickly dissolves into a whine and a shiver, and Andrew freezes.

As if he can't believe the feeling, Neil presses his hand against his own abdomen, feeling it jump.

"O-Oh," Neil hiccups, and Andrew refuses to move. He hates it, but despite his consideration for Neil, his mind is fogged because...

Shit, Neil feels so tight.

"Okay?" Andrew asks, and when did his voice get so low? It's throaty, drenched in barely held restraint, and Neil shivers from it.

"Y-yeah," Neil says with a nod and a ghost of a laugh. Stupid, so stupid-- "It's different but..."

Neil blinks, lost, staring at some faraway place Andrew can't reach.

Neil cannot leave him hanging like this right now. Not when Andrew is two seconds away from putting an end to it.

"Neil."

The harshness makes the striker groan, hiding his face in a rare show of embarrassment. "I'm okay. Just...your fingers...fuck Andrew, you're going to be inside me."

Andrew leans down and kisses him hard; he just needs it, needs to communicate some of the tumultuousness going on inside of him. It never gets easier, having his feelings mirrored so easily. How the hell does Neil know how he feels without realizing?

His fantasies, his desires…

Shared.

Neil, never knowing when he shut up, whispers into the kiss. "It feels so good..."

The excitement shows; Neil's legs try to lift where Andrew is keeping them apart. Briefly, he imagines smearing his come over Neil's thighs, since the striker tends to rub them together when he's excited, like he's trying to do now.

Andrew gives Neil something then, his noises, the groans he normally keeps back, if only to make Neil keen. He always did like making Andrew lose control.

"Feel good?" Andrew says, almost mocking, and decides to finally pull something else from the necessary information he kept at the front of his mind.

He hooks his fingers inside Neil, searching for the angle until--

"Holy fuck," Neil yells, with no regard for anyone who might be through the walls. That's alright; the mouthiness was never a turn off. Neil gives a full body spasm, shock and disbelief at war on his face. His jaw hangs open, and Neil brings his hand up to press the back of it to his mouth.

So reactive.

Andrew nearly smirks as he leans in; well, that wasn't so hard to find.

"Feel that?" He asks, watching Neil fist the sheets with his other hand.

The striker swallows, panting hard. "W-what--"

"Now, now," Andrew sighs, not covering up his amusement very well. "Pay attention this time."

He presses his fingers into the spot again, and Neil's back arches beautifully. Runners...Andrew guesses they're not so bad.

"Fuck--fuck yes," Neil cries out, chest heaving. It almost compels him to do it again, but with Neil so on edge, this will end before they can even try to go further. The desperation in Neil's eyes, the satisfaction, is enough to soothe some of the anxiety in the pit of Andrew's stomach.

"Do it again," Neil demands, nearly pleads, trying to roll his hips to do it himself.

It takes all of Andrew’s self-control to not obey, which is terrifying. No one tells Andrew what to do, he hates to give in, but with Neil like this it's like a siren song.

Yet, he manages. "No."

He squeezes the base of his cock again, still leaking from Neil's earlier attention.

If I watch you react like that I'll come.

As if realizing the same thing, Neil petulantly leans forward to tongue at Andrew's cock, and Andrew pulls him back by the hair.

Neil, the idiot, pushes against the hold teasingly, riling them both up.

“Antsy,” Andrew scoffs, as if part of him doesn’t burn because of it.

Andrew uses the distraction to scissor his fingers one last time inside Neil, careful to avoid his prostate. Neil winces at the stretch and Andrew waits, lets Neil adjust, and between the sounds of their heaving breaths he allows himself to give some more.

"So warm," he sighs, actually sighs, and Neil’s answering groan is too debauched, his cock twitching from the praise. Andrew files that away for later.

He’s been filing a lot of things away for later, good things.

"Yeah?" Neil challenges, because it's what he does. "Then c'mon."

And right now...a 'no' would be a lie. Andrew pulls his fingers out, and joins Neil on the bed with shaky limbs, grabbing Neil's hips to turn him over so his ass is in the air.

It's the first time Neil resists him. The striker fights the manhandling, keeping his eyes on Andrew's face. "Andrew, I want--"

"Neil--"

"But--"

"It'll hurt less this way," Andrew says, with hardly any room for argument. It would make it easier, that's what Roland said, and Andrew made sure not to lose that in the minefield of information he took in. "It'll be more comfortable for you."

Neil stares at him for a good long minute, as if that'll do anything. He's familiar enough with Andrew's tones to know there's not really room for argument here. Andrew's about to say they don't have to if Neil doesn't want to, but then Neil sighs.

"Okay," he says, nodding. "I want to see your face next time though."

The promise of next time is too much to think about right then, made worse by Neil's next request. "Kiss me?"

Like of all things, that's too much to ask. Like Andrew doesn't seal everything between them with a kiss and a firm touch. Andrew leans forward, surprisingly slow, and catches Neil's lips softly. Steadying, deep, while he grabs a handful of Neil’s ass.

Neil shivers when he pulls away, turning around and pressing his head into the mattress. He's a sight, one Andrew will never let anyone else see. Before he was comfortable enough to be this open with Neil, Andrew would never let himself admire, labeling the urge as a waste of time. Now, Andrew runs his hand over the slope of Neil's ass, thumbing the ghosts of scars and faded burns. All he sees is strong legs, and Neil's leaking cock hanging between them.

All for Andrew, only for Andrew.

With shaking fingertips Andrew coats himself in a little too much lube before lining himself up, pressing his forehead against Neil's spine.

This is it, now, next, this moment--

The dark cloud, the one which sits in the back of his head, kept mostly at bay this whole time, creeps forward...

Andrew doesn't sense it, can't think. His mind is a vault locked beneath an ocean, and he never knows how far the tide will come up to trap him further.

"I'm going to push in," he breathes into Neil's skin, as if Neil can't feel the head of his cock rubbing against his entrance, promising. Then, in a moment of remarkable rawness, Andrew doesn’t hold back what he’s thinking. "I'm going to feel all of you."

It should feel like a release, cathartic. Andrew should’ve known to pause right then, because it doesn’t. It sounds an awful lot like he's trying to convince one of them. Neil moans, doesn’t sense it, and spreads his legs further.

Andrew can't see his face but--

His vision sways, and he realizes he didn't get a verbal yes, nevermind that he doesn't always need them anymore.

He leans back, he can see the body in front of him, the headboard. He pushes the tip of his cock inside, and the heat is overwhelming, squeezing him so hard he winces.

So tight, it can't possibly feel good for Neil, it's like he's forcing his way inside and--

He sees hands fly up to scrape at the headboard, and imagines they're held there, unable to move, unable to break away, to get free.

He can't hear Neil's voice, can't see his face, can't tell.

Andrew's entire body goes rigid, and the choked noise which escapes him disgusts him beyond all belief. He moves away like he's been struck, violent and cornered on the other side of the bed.

No. No, no, no.

Neil moves into action surprisingly fast, but doesn't try to follow Andrew. He knows better. As soon as Andrew sees the ring of blue, he feels slightly better, but still far too exposed. Neil yanks the nearest blanket over Andrew, covering him before pulling down his shirt and wrapping the sheet around his waist.

Andrew wonders if that's a good thing for his mind right then. He needs to see. He searches Neil for injuries, bores his gaze into him until he finds evidence of pain or distrust. He needs to look closer, to make sure, but if he touches Neil he'll make it worse.

He’ll make all this worse.

Yet, there’s nothing on Neil but the marks of the past, not all of them bad. Andrew eyes where the faded hickies meet crisscrossing scars. He keeps staring, navigating from afar, and finds nothing of what he's expecting. There's only concern in Neil's gaze, and an adamance which keeps Andrew focused on the present.

Neil’s feet dig into the bed, keeping himself in check even though Andrew knows he’d rather be looking Andrew over too.

"Andrew," Neil says, a little loud, because he knows if Andrew is somewhere other than the present he often needs to be jolted back to reality. "Andrew it's me."

But well, Neil would be wrong.

That's the problem. It's you.

It was Neil, underneath him, it was Neil who filled the role of someone so vulnerable.

Andrew takes a slow gulp of air, and he doesn't try to soften his words. There's no way to, right then.

"I know," Andrew says, unbelievably loud in the space. Cold. And oh, he does not like this at all. The slow realization, the understanding of what happened.

Neil's chest is still heaving, and Andrew's mind begins to clear. Neil looks the farthest from scared, he was feeling good, the haze in his eyes very much there. Craving, waiting for Andrew to give him something he ultimately could not.

And isn't that rich?

Andrew, despite knowing there would most likely be setbacks, who should've seen this coming, doesn't know what to do with this. Disappointment is an old emotion he has not felt in so long, ugly and worse than any good or anxious feeling he's begun to experience more.

It's full body, and makes him want to rip his hair out. They’d been so close.

He's aware he has nothing to feel guilty for, or upset by. Calling this a mess-up is not accurate, and it would be idiotic to do so. And yet, he...

Neil’s breathing stutters when Andrew looks away from him, like he misses it already.

Andrew does too, and he’s got no fight in him left to pick that apart. He just gives in and slides his gaze back to his boyfriend, the word coming easy to him for once.

Neil opens his mouth then closes it, thinking better of it. The coldness in Andrew's eyes is directed inward, wholly at himself. But Neil sees it all, the anger and frustration, and knows it's not time for this discussion. Even when it's clear he's in the dark, doesn't know what caused it, can't get past the wall blocking Andrew's mind, he knows when a boundary needs to be enforced.

They'll talk, soon, but Andrew can't now.

He hates that he can't, that's it's not his fault he can't.

Robbed of control, always.

He fists his hands in the blankets, stretching the fabric, as if he can mimic the feeling anyways. Neil's back hits the headboard softly, letting the quiet settle between them and makes no move to break it. Those bright blue eyes drift between Andrew and the bathroom door, as if debating on leaving, giving Andrew space. There’s not an ounce of disappointment on Neil’s face.

And shit, the itch to leave is rampant. He knows Neil wouldn't mind, but Andrew does. He doesn't want to leave Neil like this, not after something so intense for them both, so new, but he needs to be alone in his own head. That's out of his control too.

But some things have changed, some things he still has the strength to challenge.

He turns towards the wall, where he can focus on the cracks and faded wallpaper instead of Neil's warm body and concern, and lies down rigidly. This isn't tension Neil will be able to rid him of, but it's okay. Andrew doesn't expect him to.

Instead, he puts his back to Neil, a small acquiescence, a show of trust. Andrew never sleeps with his face to the wall.

Andrew hopes Neil takes the gesture as 'stay, be here.'

Andrew will only be able to do this if Neil brackets him off, closed to the world.

There's a long pause of debate while Neil tenses, and Andrew closes his eyes. He’s exhausted suddenly. He wouldn't be offended if Neil left, he tells himself, but his pulse spikes in relief when he feels the mattress shift with Neil's weight as he lies down, leaving space between them.

Traitorous heart.

And through all the slog in his head, Andrew can't help but think the gaze on the back of his neck is the closest thing to comfort.

Later that night, Andrew breathes in smoke on the rooftop. He comes here more for tradition now than anything; the fear of falling is still there, but he doesn't need it to jumpstart his emotions like he used to.

There are easier ways to do it now, and he hears a foolproof method open the door behind him. Andrew doesn't flinch when Neil walks up, his head mostly cleared of its earlier fog, leaving behind annoyance and frustration.

He didn't give permission for those to remain either, but here they are. He knows it's mostly resolved, if he can call it that, because the sight of Neil makes his chest feel warm instead of worried.

It’s also unsettling, but not something he's actively trying to be rid of. Warmth, comfort. He’s too tired to lash out. Andrew quirks a brow as Neil stands there, messing with the edge of his sleeves.

Andrew's jacket.

It's then Andrew realizes the one he's wearing must be Neil's, grabbed without a second thought after it was his turn to shower. Routine; Andrew can’t remember the last time he wore his own jacket, except for when Neil asked him to.

So it would smell like him again.

With a sigh, Andrew flicks his cigarette off the side of the building, not watching it fall to its demise. Neil is much more interesting.

The striker takes a hesitant step forward, a silent question, and Andrew can’t stand him.

"Come here," Andrew mimics, a callback to earlier, and the relief on Neil's face is almost annoying. The grin which breaks out on his face is a wave, threatening to drown Andrew as Neil plops down at his side. He leaves a bit of distance, just in case, but Andrew closes it until Neil is flush against him.

It has an instantaneous result; the rest of the tension in both their bodies floods out, and Andrew thinks with some bemusement if Neil were a cat, he'd be purring.

This is familiar, but Andrew has no place for regret in regards to the new things that happened earlier. He thinks it through slowly again, for the tenth time that day, carving around the ugliness. He'd felt good, before it happened. Exhilarating, on fire. Neil, coming apart beneath him. Those are not things he'd ever take back. Neil bites his lip, and Andrew really wishes he'd stop, since it's starting to trigger a Pavlovian response. "We...don't have to talk about it," Neil says, unsure of himself.

Again, he's mistaken.

"Yes we do," Andrew mutters, because it's not what he'd like to do per say, but...

They're sharing, he figures this is kind of part of it. Talking about these things is a little easier, if not akin to pulling teeth. It was like that before too...but now, it's like he's finally being allowed anesthesia.

Neil sighs, like he knew it all along, and nods with a sheepish smile. He keeps shifting too much, torn between wanting to soak up all of Andrew's warmth and see his face at the same time.

"What happened?" Neil asks, never one to beat around the bush once the direction is clear.

Andrew's finger drums on his knee, wishing he hadn't thrown out his cigarette. How to say it...he doesn't have the patience or care to tailor it. "Seeing you like that, for a moment I thought I was hurting you."

That's the basics of it, he thinks. The memories had blurred together, conjuring up the past instead of forcing Andrew back into it. Neil in his place, hands on a headboard, trying to get away...

Neil hums beside him, considering it. Andrew notes how he doesn't refute the reason, doesn't try to remind Andrew that he specifically told the blond to not worry about hurting him. Things are seldom so simple, and the war torn canvas of Andrew's mind can't always be wiped clean with a single statement.

"Because of the position?" Neil asks a beat later, tilting his head, and Andrew suppresses his anger. So much for that position being best, of course it would come back to bite him.

"I couldn't see your face, couldn't tell," Andrew agrees without actually doing so. "I just saw your hands scrape the bed frame."

It had been enough. Nothing more to it.

Neil nods, breathing deep. Like he’s soaking up Andrew’s presence. Once, Andrew snapped at him to stop, like if he did it too much Andrew would wither into nothing. Now, it just offers infuriating stability.

"I would've told you as soon as something was off," Neil states, and it's reassurance, not exasperation or something condescending. In fact, Neil almost looks guilty. "I should've kn--"

Andrew's head whips to face him, tone harsh, so Neil doesn't finish the thought. "No, you couldn't have known. I didn't even know. Stop it."

It's not your fault.

Trial and error, they know the position doesn't work now, at least not at the moment. That's all there is to it, no point in lingering.

Andrew feels it so strongly it threatens to break him in two. If Neil doesn't get that idea out of his head, Andrew might just kill him for real.

Neil's protests die, which is a feat only Andrew has mastered. Making Neil shut up is not straightforward. The striker kicks his legs out in front of him, tapping the edges of his shoes together.

It's not cute.

"Mm," Neil hums, nodding. "We'll just have to try again then, if you want to..."

The smile fades for a moment, and Neil's shoulders tense, fearing he's jumped the gun too soon. Neil has such an idiotic way of putting things, blunt and now without the lies, it makes relief battle with frustration inside Andrew. Of course Neil would worry about this, that Andrew wouldn't want him.

After all that, as if it's even possible for Andrew to not want Neil.

"Don't ask stupid questions," he grits out predictably, overcome with the gravity of this, of how talking to Neil can feel like a warm mug of hot chocolate on a bad night.

Neil's smirk is small, not as powerful as usual, but still there enough to set Andrew on edge. "You want me then?"

Andrew can't do this. If he had the energy to roll his eyes, he would.

He leans back, staring up at the starless sky, a black void. He imagines the lights of Eden's flashing while the heavy bass bounces off the walls. "Every inch of you."

In a random act of therapy application, he brings the past up on purpose, if only to see the way Neil's eyes widen.

There, maybe that'll shut you up.

It's wishful thinking.

"Andrew..." Neil whispers, following him to the dusty floor. Neil's eyes are brighter in the dark, Andrew thinks; it's like they glow.

It pulls the last of his thoughts out of him.

"I don't know how many times I'll get it wrong," Andrew says, surprising even himself. Already, the words feel like vomit, leaving a bad aftertaste. It was a bad way to phrase it, even he knows, but he has to make Neil aware.

This could happen again.

He remembers Neil's excitement, the yearning, the abrupt cutoff of all of it.

Neil is entirely unfazed by the gloom, swatting away the veil over Andrew's mind.

Literally. Neil brings his hand up in front of Andrew’s face, waving.

Andrew really can’t do this.

"And?" Neil asks, blinking stupidly. He looks almost...amused. "Andrew there's no three strikes policy, we can try as many times as we need to."

Do not use sports references when it comes to our sex life.

Andrew shoves him, and the tightness in his chest fades away with the normalcy of it all. Neil doesn't mind, doesn't care. Andrew should've seen that coming too. "Was that a vague baseball reference? From you?"

Neil grimaces, offended. The scars under his eyes scrunch up, and Andrew digs his thumb into one.

"Shut up," Neil grumbles, burying his forehead in Andrew's shoulder.

"I'll tell Kevin you betrayed him."

Neil snorts. "I don't think he'll appreciate the context."

No, he most certainly would not. Like Andrew cares.

He scoffs, but soaks in the feeling of their usual banter, of the weight of the day bleeding out from them both.

And then Neil, in all his devastation, has to hit Andrew one more time.

"There's no getting it wrong," the striker says a moment later, head popping back up so his chin is resting on Andrew. His hair is a goddamn mess. "It always feels good, when we lose control."

Andrew doesn't refute the always for that statement.

His breathing catches, his fingers tangling in the mess of Neil's hair, and kisses him.

He lets his mind flood with the better images, of fingering Neil open, Neil's mouth on him, the moans, the touch...

"Next time," he breathes against Neil's cheek, letting his lips feel the roughness of his scars.

Neil nods, chasing Andrew's lips like he's insatiable. He is. Andrew slows him with a hand to the chest, licking into Neil's mouth teasingly. "Did it feel good?"

He wants to hear it again, he needs to know, to reinforce it.

Neil laughs into the kiss. "It felt incredible, fuck...your hands Andrew," he breathes, letting his own be guided up to Andrew's hair. With the permission clear, he tugs on the loose hairs of Andrew's nape, massaging.

And there's no rush in this, they won't be taking it any further, but they don't need to.

Yes, yes, it all must be one big dream, this life he lives with Neil. But instead of pushing it away before it can end, Andrew has decided to indulge as long as he can.

"Tell me," he says into the skin of Neil's neck, doing what he didn't have the time to before. Marking, savoring.

Neil laughs breathily, and has the audacity to point at the next spot on his neck, tapping it in a silent request for Andrew to plant one on him.

Fine then.

"It's like you're so confident," Neil rambles, unashamed as always. Andrew rolls them over so he's on top of Neil, not for the security, but just because he knows Neil likes to feel cocooned, safe. He gets to work on the spot, swirling his tongue against it. "Like taking me apart is your only goal. I was thinking if that felt so good...how would your cock feel--"

Andrew bites down hard, and Neil yelps.

Well, someone walking by definitely heard that.

Neil is right though; it is Andrew's only goal, ripping sounds out of Neil's throat and bringing him to his knees. He likes when Neil thrashes, wants more, pleads without words.

"I'd slide right in," Andrew states, like one of his facts, a promise. It makes his own head spin. He knows he would, when he can, it'll be..."When I do fuck you, I'm going to make sure it's all you can think about."

That way, they'll be in the same boat.

The smile Neil gives him is mischievous and way too proud. "Already there," he gloats, rubbing at the sore spot on his neck. He looks far too pleased about the growing bruise. "What about you?"

Andrew's about to go for the other side of Neil's neck when the question halts him. He lifts his head back up, gaze questioning.

Neil's eyes get impossibly brighter. "What felt good Andrew?"

And in an instant, Andrew understands. Neil's eyes are lidded, staring up at him expectantly. There can be no dwelling on what went wrong, only what went right.

Neil invites him to write over the past.

Andrew leans down, closes his eyes, and his forehead meets Neil's. He hopes no one ever sees them like this, it's all Andrew's, all of it.

"You took me so easy," Andrew says, and Neil tenses on instinct, as if remembering it too. Oh yes, Andrew intends to explore that, thoroughly. "You were so damn loud."

Neil doesn't point out how he's usually loud, and therefore Andrew is confessing to having a thing for his voice. They can both infer enough to see through it.

So instead, Neil leans up to slot their lips together firmly, the promise of 'next time' searing the deal into place. "Bet you I can be louder."

And Neil, with all his infuriating seduction, is a challenge Andrew can never back down from.

#andreil #aftg #all for the game #andrew minyard #neil josten

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gale-dragon-writer · 3 years

Text

Miraculous Tales of Ladybug, Chat Noir, and Canis (Disabled but Abled A/U) Future Chapter Sneak Peak: Descend into Darkness.

"Hey, guys, don't you think Max is taking a little too long to get his Sports Sensors?" Kim asked the classmates that were present as they and Ms Mendeleiev's class waited on the outside field of the school for their annual School-Wide Football Tournament.

Today’s game was Miss Bustier’s class vs Ms Mendeleiev’s class, and both sides were eager to play against one another.

The science teacher checked her watch when she said, “It should’ve taken Mr Kante approximately 7 minutes to retrieve his Sensors from his classroom and return to the field, but it has been almost 15 minutes... Something is certainly not right here...”

}i{

Miki yawns before she stretches, by chance she glanced at the doorway leading into the school. That was when she saw Barrk hovering by the door, looking very conflicted. Miki turns so she was looking at the door completely and wondered why the Kwami was out in the open like that. Barrk noticed the cat staring at her, and then started making pointing gestures at the humans before doing the same inside the school, she was very frantic when making all these gestures. Miki stared at the Kwami before she turned to Marinette, she then took her leash into her mouth and then started tugging on it.

When she felt the tugs on the leash, Marinette looked at Miki and asked, “What’s wrong?” The bluette watched as the cat turned her body towards the school and tugged her leash. “Oh, do you need to go to the bathroom?” Marinette asked innocently.

“Wait? Did you train your cat to use the toilet?” Aurora asked when she heard.

Marinette nodded when she said rather innocently, “Umm, yes, aren’t cats suppose to use the bathroom too?” The weather girl wasn’t sure how to respond to that. The bluette turned her attention to the cat, who was still tugging at her leash, and said, “She must have too if she’s tugging that much.” Tikki only poked her head out of Marinette’s purse when the bluette asked the teachers if she could use the restroom. Mireille said that she needed to go too.

Kim offered to go look for Max and see what’s holding Max up.

}i{

Miki practically pulled on her leash on the way in. “Miki, why didn’t you let me know earlier that you needed to go?” Marinette asked worriedly as she and Kim followed the cat inside.

Kim raised a brow when he asked as they walked past the doorframe, “I’m not sure if that’s why she’s so keen on getting inside.”

“But... There’s nothing else inside that Miki might ne-” Marinette said before she, Kim, Mireille, and Miki stopped right in their track at what they saw on the stairs leading to the classrooms on the floor above.

Laying half on the steps of the stairs was an unconscious Max. His legs were sprawled up the steps as the rest of his body lay motionless on the ground, his upper chest was turned to the right as his head looked like it hit his right arm, his left arm looked like it flailed as it rested behind his back, his uncovered eyes looked like they were starting to swell a bit on the left side, and the ruby liquid was pooling around Max’s head.

Mireille let out a terrified scream when Kim, Marinette, and Miki raced towards the stars as the childhood friends shouted, “MAX!!!”

}i{

Barrk watched as the events unfolded before her eyes, helpless to do anything.

The EMTs arrived at the school to take Max to the hospital.

Markov flew by Barrk’s hiding spot and the Kwami used that to her advantage. She phased through the AI’s mechanical body and hid in his storage compartment as he followed the EMTs with Max on the stretcher, explaining that he was the blind teen’s electronic eyes and that he had all his emergency contact information on hand. The EMTs allowed the AI to ride with them to the hospital.

}i{

Forensics officers arrived to document the scene. A lot of the students thought it was just a horrible accident, but the forensic team found three solid clues that proved that Max Kante didn’t fall by accident.

The location of Max’s glasses and his cane were found and an object that was deemed missing by his friends and the paramedics.

Max’s cane was found on the ground next to Miss Bustier’s classroom and his crushed glasses were found on the ground floor under the railing of the upper floor and nowhere near the stairs. The missing object was Max’s phone, something that he always kept on his person according to his friends.

There was also the position of Max’s body on the stairs, it didn’t match what would’ve happened if someone were to fall/trip/slip down a flight of stairs by accident.

}i{

Adrien just felt... Angry! “Grr! *bangs his fist against a nearby wall* Who the hell would push Max down the stairs!” the model growled out, wondering who would do such a thing to his friend.

Miss Bustier did her best to calm Adrien down so he doesn’t get Akumatized and reminded him to check his blood sugar levels.

That was when Alya said, “Well... At least we know that no one at this school did it. I mean, we were all outside when it happened...”

Alix then snapped, “Not everyone at this school is here today, Alya! We’re still missing a few students!” Jalil placed his hands on his sister’s shoulder, to try to calm her down.

That was when Alya retorted, “Come on Alix, no one at this school would ever do such a thing to Max.”

Marinette hugged Miki close, not liking the conversation one bit.

}i{

“You should’ve kept out of my way, you sightless fool,” Lila said with a smirk before she chucked a cellphone into the Seine. She then clapped her hands together as if she was just dusting herself off when she said, “And now there is absolutely no proof that I’m a liar or a bully.” Lila flipped her hair before she headed home.

Max’s cell phone sank to the bottom of the river. The phone started sparking as the words “Call Ended” flickered on the screen before it shorted out.

}i{

Until the actual chapter.

}i{

#Disabled!but!Abled!AU #disabled but abled au #miraculous marinette #marinette dupain cheng #miraculous adrien #miraculous kim #miraculous max

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supraveng · 4 years

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Agent of Shield - Chapter 3

Chapter 3

“Well, I’m finished with the recordings, and saved the transcripts but nothing really stood out as helpful, sorry” you state as you look up at Steve. He looks up from his papers and give you a reassuring smile “Thank you, there may be something in there that is helpful, but that is what Sam’s here for” he replies as he pats Sam on the back. “Do you need a lift home? I feel bad for dragging you into work again and ruining your entire weekend.” “Don’t be silly, nothings ruined and the weather is beautiful outside. I’m glad I could help” you respond with a smile. “Are you always this cheery?” Sam questioned as you started to get up from the table. You looked at him grinning “Why wouldn’t I be? I live in the best city in the world, have a job I love, and I got to hang out with the coolest Avengers this weekend. Life is good!” “Well, you are a breath of fresh air around here, that’s for sure! It was a pleasure meeting you today and I hope I see you around again soon” Sam responded. “That would be nice, have a great day” you waved as you headed out of the conference room.

Steve squinted at Sam in confusion “are you hitting on her?” “Yes Cap, I was flirting with her. I’m surprised you picked up on it, didn’t think you knew what flirting was” Sam replied with a smirk. “Come on Sam, you can’t flirt with her” Steve grumbled. “Sam can’t flirt with who?” Tony asks as he enters the conference room with a tray of bagels. “Y/N Miller, she was just here and she is something else” Sam explains as Steve turns to grab a bagel. “I think the correct word for her is beautiful, birdbrain, and she is way out of your league. And why wasn’t I notified when she got here? I wanted to test her actual translating abilities against FRIDAY” he replied with a smirk. “Well, she left a few minutes ago, but I did enjoy watching her go” Sam said as he wiggled his eyebrows. Steve rolled his eyes “how about you review her transcripts and find us some information on Demetri Makarov or where he’s going to be on the 20th. We still have a lot of work to do.” Tony chuckled and began going through the transcripts “hopefully we can convince Fury to let her join us on the mission, you know, to help with translations.” “Come on Tony” Steve groaned “you are really willing to put that girl in harms way just so you can flirt with her?” Tony gasped faking offense “First of all, I haven’t had the chance to even begin to turn on the Stark charm. Second, she’s a SHIELD agent, not some mousy librarian, although she would look hot in some glasses and her hair pulled up.” “Tony!” “Sorry, got a little sidetracked. And third, that is no girl, that is a real woman. Fury knows what she is capable of, so I will run it by him if we feel the need to have her with us on the mission”

You made your way home and hopped in the shower. Today wasn’t as embarrassing as it could have been, but who were you kidding, they weren’t thinking of you as anything other than the translator. You were a SHIELD agent, but never assisted with missions. Languages were your specialty and it didn’t make any sense for you to be needed in the field, but you still had your regular training requirements to fulfill and tomorrow was hand to hand combat and the gun range. The gun range wasn’t a problem, your dad had you comfortable around them since you were small. Combat was a whole different ball game. You were raised to know how to defend yourself, sparing with a colleague always made you uncomfortable. You never felt right trying to harm people you trusted and respected. You preferred the punching bag, but since it didn’t punch back it was not helpful for preparing for missions. Knowing what was expected of you tomorrow, you decided to make sure your less embarrassing workout gear was clean and packed in your bag to grab in the morning on your way to work. After your shower you called your dad to check in and reassure him you were still alive and that you were heading to the shelter to see if you could find a running buddy.

Walking into the shelter, you were greeted by Melissa. You knew her by name now that you came by regularly trying to find the perfect companion. She greeted you with a huge smile and was a bit more energetic that usual. “I am so glad you came in this weekend. We have someone you need to meet, come on, he’s back her!” She said as he headed towards the kennels in the back. She stopped at the first kennel and turned to look at you “This is Tobias, he’s only around a year old and just arrived on Wednesday, is in excellent health and he LOVES to run!” You looked down at the sweet face smiling up at you and almost started crying. He was adorable with big brown eyes and seemed to be waiting for you to greet him. “Hi Tobias, aren’t you just the cutest thing. Oh my gosh, he’s beautiful!” at that he jumped up with his front paws on your hips and began sniffing every inch of you. Turning to Melissa “what do I have to do to take him home?” “I’m so glad you like him, come this way, a few papers to fill out and he can go home with you today!” she responded gleefully. “Well Toby, let’s go home buddy”

The walk home with Toby was fun, he was like a kid in a candy shop. No longer cooped up in a cage and wanting to sniff and pee on everything he could find. You made your way to the closest pet store to grab some much needed supplies before heading home. Tobias was exhausted by the time you got to your apartment, but even showing him his new bed, he followed you around the every where until you settled on the couch with your phone and a beer. You snapped a pic of your new bestie and shot a text to your dad.

Y/N: Hi Colonel! Meet your granddog, Tobias Miller!

Monday morning rolled around a lot sooner than you hoped with Toby snuggled next to you it was hard to leave your warm bed. Getting up you slowly stroked his back and called his name. “Ready for a run buddy”. His ears perked up and he stretched before jumping out of bed and heading to the door. Giggling you changed your clothes and made your way to the kitchen for coffee and a muffin before grabbing his leash and out the door. A short walk and you were at the Central Park entrance, you leaned down to Toby, scratching his ear while stretching your ham strings. “Alright buddy, show me what you got!” We both took on in a light jog and I don’t think I’ve ever seen a happy dog. He stayed right next to me, but I could tell he could probably lap a greyhound if he was given the chance. You got back to your apartment after a good 45 minutes and Toby looked even happier to be slowing down. You gave him his breakfast before heading to the shower. Twenty minutes later you were drying your hair and trying to decide what to wear to the office. You fixed your travel cup of coffee before kissing Toby goodbye and grabbing your duffle bag and out the door. Having him in your normal morning routine took more time than usual so you hailed a cab and headed to SHIELD office.

You arrived at your desk to see Maria Hill sitting behind your computer, twiddling her thumbs and snooping through your photos and knickknacks on your desk. “And to what do I owe this honor darling Maria?” you said as you approached. “Good morning, I could tell you, but first I need to know who the hottie is in this picture with you” she responded pointing to your vacation picture on your desk. You laughed and rolled your eyes “That is Jacob, my gay brother.” Pointing to the next picture “but that is Joshua, the straight brother.” “Wait, I thought that was the same guy” she looked up then closer to the pictures. “They are twins and Joshua is single, he’s in the Navy, I can introduce you the next time he comes through town. Maybe fleet week?” you smile and wiggle your eyebrows. “You know I like a man in uniform, but we can talk more about that later. You are with me today for today, apparently Fury wants to make sure you don’t try to skip out” she states with a deadpan look. “Ok, that happened one, maybe two times. I don’t need a babysitter, but since I never see you, I would love to kick your ass” you say with as much glee as possible. “Good, because we are using the Avengers training area today” she responds as she stands up and you follow her out of the room.

You make your way to Stark Tower and get waived in by security. You are headed to the elevator bays when you see Tony Stark approaching you. He smiles at you and then lowers his glasses “schön dich wieder zu sehen”. You smile and respond ” Es ist immer eine Freude, in Ihrer Firma zu sein.” He grabs and kisses the back of your hand “tout le plaisir est pour moi.” “vous êtes en fait plus charmant que je ne le pensais” you respond with a slight blush. Maria clears her throat and you both break eye contact and glance at her. “I have no idea what either of you said but we are running a little late” she states and turns towards the elevators. “Nu te voi păstra” he responds releasing your hand. “ne vedem mai tarziu” you say as you wave goodbye. You enter the elevator behind Maria and she stares at you wide eyed, you smile and shrug. Maybe you can redeem yourself.

You make your way to the lockers and change into your workout gear, completely boring workout gear with absolutely no writing across your ass or chest. You emerge to find Maria waiting for you and follow her into the gym, “you want to start on cardio? Treadmill or elliptical?” “Do I have to?” I whine. “I already ran 8 miles this morning and I can’t stand treadmills, it makes me feel like a hamster on a wheel.” “Agent Miller, nice of you to finally join us. And did I hear you only did 8 miles this morning? Isn’t 10 your daily minimum?” You turn to see Nick Fury standing with his arms folded over his chest as he’s questioning your morning routine. You smirk at him as you approach “it’s a bit creepy that you keep track of my daily routine. You do that for all your agents or just your favorite?” you ask with a big smile. He glares down at you unamused as you start to notice several Avengers in the room slowing their tasks to listen to your interaction. You step closer wanting to push every button to get him to crack “well, my usual run was cut a bit short this morning. I had a new friend running with me and I didn’t want to push him to hard on our first run together, if you must know.” “A new friend?” he questions. “Yes, we met yesterday and he will be keeping me company on my morning runs.” He nods at you knowingly and winks so that no one else in the room can see. “Well then, you are all warmed up and ready to spare. Get to it agent” he states before walking out of the room. A take a breath and look at Maria “Ok, so where do you want to start?”

German translation: schön dich wieder zu sehen – lovely to see you again

Es ist immer eine Freude, in Ihrer Firma zu sein – it’s always a pleasure to be in your company

French translation: tout le plaisir est pour moi – the pleasure is all mine

vous êtes en fait plus charmant que je ne le pensais – you are actually more charming than I thought

Romanian translation: Nu te voi păstra – I won’t keep you

ne vedem mai tarziu – See you later

@farfromjustordinary @ilovesupersoldiers

#@farfromjustordinary @ilovesupersoldiers #avengers au #marvel fanfiction #marvel fandom #avengers fanfiction #avengers fandom #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers x reader #marvel au

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teaforten · 4 years

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Rabbit and the Monkey Cups - (Part 1/2)

Did you need AIW fanfic? Here is AIW fanfic.

I haven’t written in a long time for this show, but it was Rachel’s birthday and I decided to turn a little thing into a big thing. But didn’t finish it, so this is part one of two.

Here’s a preview, and the rest is under cut. Tumblr wanted to put a bunch of spaces in between every paragraph and frankly I don’t have the energy to take them all out, so sorry about that.

Preview:

Wondermart was having a huge clearance sale on Halloween stuff, so Hatter and Hare were promptly there on a crisp November afternoon, to hit two birds with one stone. You see, Rabbit’s birthday was at the end of the week. How did they know? Alice had just told them. She was tagging along right behind them, actually, mentioning it in a timid fashion, because she herself was unsure what to get the bunny, or any bunny really, let alone one of his age.

“Ahhh, there’s got to be something here,” Hatter said to the other two confidently.

“You think he might want a new cape?” Hare wondered, patting at some leftover Dracula capes at the end of a costume rack.

“It’s possible. How about a skull? You think he needs one of these?” By now, Alice was squinting as Hatter plucked up a funky glow-in-the-dark skull from a shelf of cheap yard decorations.

“No, let’s get him this candy bowl,” Hare suggested, though just as he indicated it, the plastic skeleton’s hands guarding its mouth closed around his hand and gave him a serious jolt.

“You guys...” Alice started.

“I want that for myself,” Hatter told Hare.

“Hell if you’re keeping that in your kitchen!”

“It’ll be great for my cookies!” Hatter insisted, with a scowl. “Lord knows you’re not keeping me away from them!”

“You GUYS.”

“Huh?” They both turned to her obliviously, holding each side of the bowl as the skeleton hands slapped open and closed.

“I don’t think Rabbit wants leftover Halloween stuff for his birthday,” she tried to tell them, in what was the most neutral voice she could manage.

“Are you sure?” Hatter wondered. She just rolled her eyes.

“Why don’t we try, uh, some plants at the nursery, or, or a sleep mask? Some fuzzy slippers?”

Her two companions looked to each other and shrugged like she might have a point.

So off to the Wonderland nursery they went, where Alice was plucking up pots of pansies and tulips and flashing them at Hatter and Hare, who seemed not at all impressed. “I mean they’re fine if you just want something to take up space in your window sill,” Hare told her with his eyes half closed. Alice was silent, as she really didn’t see a problem with this. “Alice. Alice Alice Alice~~” Hare drawled, looking around the nursery like he was embarrassed to have to explain this to her. “When my Grandpa December was around the Rabbit’s age, he was going through his very last existential crisis, and the last thing he needed was to fill up his window sills.”

Hatter nodded emphatically. “Mhm. Mhm. That’s a mid-life crisis kind of present.”

“What we need to get the Rabbit is something that reminds him that he’s in control of his life again.”

“Right! Something that says twilight can be just as exciting as any sunrise,” Hatter chipped in, swooping his hand into the air.

“I don’t know where you’re going with this,” Alice told them.

“Well obviously--” Hatter started... then he turned to Hare, looking for some help. “Where are we going with this?”

Hare was all shifty-eyed by now. “Come. Come, my children,” he said.

In no time, they were being led to the “restricted” section of the nursery… a shady little greenhouse shack thingy-mabob… covered with vines and thorns. And the woman helping customers there looked awfully witchy. Her wiry salt and pepper hair was stacked onto her head in a bun, almost all of her fingers had a ring, and she was walking around with a hunch. It gave Alice the creeps. Hatter, too. He was trying to hide behind her, actually, and it wasn’t working out very well.

“Do you have a membership card?” She asked Hare, also looking very shifty-eyed. Hare took out his wallet and flashed the goods. Then she jerked up her chin like a bouncer who had recognized one of their own, as if to say “a’iiiight, ya’ll’s cool to go in”...

In a very interesting turn of events, it was Hatter clutching Hare’s arm and nibbling his knuckles, and Alice trailing behind them, using his coat-tails as some kind of safety leash.

“Poisonous… carnivorous…” Alice read the signs hesitantly as they passed them.

“Cadaverous… smelly?!” Hatter screeched.

“Oh, the smelliest!” Hare flapped his hands and kept walking.

“I don’t think the Rabbit is going to want a smelly plant, Mr. Hare. After all, he’ll have to keep it at the palace, and if the Queen doesn’t like it…” Alice started.

“Well then I know! We’ll get him a guard plant!” Hare concluded. Hatter seemed both extremely terrified and extremely excited about seeing which selections of guard plant this place had.

“There are plants that can guard palaces?” Alice wondered incredulously.

“Shhh, everyone be quiet,” Hare told them. They weren’t far from an enclosure where a deep crimson light was shining on a beastly looking growth in the corner of the greenhouse. At its base was an array of spikey pads clustering around even spikier shoots and bulbs -- all more or less foaming at the mouths, or whatever it had.

“What? It can’t hear us--” Alice tried to say before Hatter’s hand fell over her mouth.

“You don’t know that,” he stage-whispered without looking at her. She almost had the nerve to bite him. Evidently, Hare had immediately forgotten to show any caution once he realized what was in the enclosure because he was bursting at the seams and hopping in place like a cheerleader without pom-poms.

“Oh, WOW. They said they were going to order it in, but I HONESTLY DIDN’T BELIEVE THEM. Look you guys, it’s a GIANT CATAPULTING FLYPAPER TRAP! And no wonder they’ve got these bars: someone could fall right into that thing and they’d be a GONER,” Hare told them, tenting his fingers and grinning from ear to ear, with every possible dimple in his face showing.

“Geez, Mr. Hare. I never realized you were so, well, morbid.” Hare looked mildly surprised for a second, then just shrugged.

“Anyway, Rabbit could never handle something like this. And look at the price. Oof!” They watched Hare take out a neon green notepad from his pocket and scribble down a note. “Reminder to myself to break open the ole piggy bank when I get home. I just might have enough!”

It was Hatter’s turn to lay down the line:

“Hell if you’re keeping that in your garden!”

“Oh, I wouldn’t put it in my garden. I’d put it in my dungeon,” Hare told him matter-of-factly.

“Ohhhhh. Well in that case… just remember to show it who’s boss.” A whole lotta eyebrow wiggling and elbow jabbing took place before Alice could no longer sit with this image. She pointed at the first thing she saw.

“Uhh, what about this? This looks exciting enough. What is it?” She asked Hare, who was even blushing by now. He cleared his throat.

“Oh, those are… I think I remember… oh yes! Monkey cups!”

“Monkey cups? That doesn’t sound too scary.”

Hatter and Hare shrugged. Their minds had clearly moved on to other things. “Nahhhh, guess not! It’d probably be perfect for Rabbit - he can feed it bugs and stuff when he’s having a bad day. Hahahahhaha!” Alice frowned just as soon as he winked at her. “What? We all know he has a sadistic side.”

@ @ @

As cool as the plant was, Alice wasn’t particularly sold on the idea that Rabbit would be satisfied with just that kind of gift on his birthday, so she begged and pleaded for them to come with her to hit the nearest convenience store. They were being absolute drama kings about it as if they were in some kind of black and white purgatory hell as she perused the greeting card section for just the right one.

“Come on, Alice. How is this watercolor pastel painting of flowers any different from the other ten that you looked at?” Hatter wondered with his eyes rolled back into his head and his giant purple body slumped up against one of the flimsy card racks. A clerk nearby could now see how precarious this situation looked and was watching them carefully.

“And they all say happy birthday!” Hare chimed in as he wandered up to Alice’s side. As he did so, she noticed that he was holding the pot of monkey cups off to one side of his chest, almost as if he had been breastfeeding them or something. He also randomly had a hiccup blanket over his shoulder. She scrunched up her face for a second before she had a response prepared.

“Yes, but they just don’t have that… oomf!” Alice told them, making sort of a “glitter exploding” gesture with her hand.

The both of them repeated the word several times to each other, also imitating the gesture.

“You know. A certain... je ne sais quoi?” She emphasized, even getting on her tippy toes. Hatter tilted his head and mimed the phrase in confusion while Hare tried to pronounce it. He even handed Hatter the plant so he could sort of pop his booty out and tip his toe, while still butchering the phrase spectacularly. Alice smiled and rolled her eyes. “It’s French. I learned it from my penpal, Yvette. It means. Well, it means that you don’t know what it means. But it’s something special.”

Hatter frowned.

“Alice, do you even know why we’re here?” He asked.

“Because we’ve been trying to figure it out for the past eternity.”

“We’ve been here for five or ten minutes tops. And yes, I know why I’m-- DUM!” She hopped when she saw a familiar face pass the glass from the outside. The Tweedles were on their way to the front doors. Hatter and Hare cranked their necks as the bell on the door jingled, while Alice went to greet the twins without a moment’s hesitation, as if they were rescuing her. It would seem they might have also been whispering their hellos and other exchanges, which was just plain rude, in Hatter’s opinion, based on the way he squished up his lips. He looked Hare in the eye and nothing further needed to be said.

Just as the Tweedles were heading back with Alice to the card section, they passed Hatter and Hare, who were on their way to the door. “Oh hey, you two!” Dee greeted, followed by some timid waving by Dum. “Hey guys, uh, we’re just gonna be going,” Hare told them, jutting his thumb out with a crooked smile. “It’s these poor little guys’ nap time.”

“Uhh yeah, and we’d hate to be a 4th and 5th wheel,” Hatter muttered, sort of coddling the monkey cups and shielding them from the Tweedles’ view. Hare was equally concerned about this and hovered around him, trying to put the hiccup blanket, which had a soft little cartoon cactus print, around Hatter’s arm and over the plant, going “sh sh sh…”

Dee cocked his brow and didn’t say a thing until they were gone.

Then, once they were:

“Why are they going around babying a patch of bright green dangling plant dicks?” Just as soon as he said it, Dum was seized by cackles… and more or less so was Alice. But hearing“Mr. Dee” talk like that was highly unusual.

She wanted to speak but couldn’t stop laughing and started sinking into herself. Dum had to pull her up before she hit the floor. “What?! What is it, Alice?! XD” He kept asking her.

“They’re not plant weeners!” She peeped into his ear, still trying to properly breathe again. “They’re m-monkey cups! They’re for the Rabbit! For his birthday!”

This started a whole new round of reeling between the Tweedles, which garnered the attention of the store clerk, who still wasn’t happy about Hatter leaning on all the card racks.

“Excuse me… do you three plan on buying anything?” He asked. He was old, uptight, and easy to dismiss.

“Oh yeah, sure,” Dee told him, swishing his hands before he let them fall on Dum and Alice’s shoulders. On their way to the cards, Alice tried to explain the meandering logic that had led her and her eccentric companions to and from the nursery today, with such an odd purchase.

“Well just make sure the Hare keeps the receipt, is all I’ve got to say!” Dum told her, earning a high-five from Dee.

“You guys wanna help me find something else?” She wondered, quite relieved just to be hearing sensible sentiments again. Dee thought about if he had any plans for the day.

“I’m game.”

“Yeah, so am I,” Dum said.

“A’ight. Let’s find something with some real je ne sais quoi around here and then hit that sleep store across from Just Add Sugar!” Dee turned up his nose with a smug smile like he knew exactly what he was doing. And he probably did.

@ @ @

It was five-thirty in the afternoon and Hatter and Hare were tipped back in their chairs with their bellies full of crumpets, cookies, and jam. And tea, of course. Lots and lots of tea. Beside the Hare was one of those bouncy baby seats that he periodically tipped with his foot. And inside of the baby seat was the pot of monkey cups, wrapped up in the cactus blanket. Several crumpet crumbs were surrounding it. “Do you think it liked the crumpets?” Hatter was busy scraping food out of his teeth and was probably in a food coma when he answered:

“I mean, it ate them, didn’t it?”

“I think so.”

Just then, they saw the Tweedles and Alice frolicking by, flailing shopping bags and sipping slurpees. It was an immediate outrage. Then they slam-dumped the empty cups into Hatter’s trash-can outside the gate. “Oh hi, Hatter and Hare!” Dum shrieked cheerily in a blur.

“Bye, Hatter and Hare!” Dee shouted, just as they were opening their mouths. Alice apparently didn’t even notice where they were or whose house they were passing. It just looked like she had been having the time of her life, or something.

“You know, sometimes, Hare… I don’t know about that girl.”

@ @ @

The day of Rabbit’s birthday, Hare was simply a sobbing mess, and Hatter was having to do a lot of bedraggled consoling that frankly he was not prepared for, in order to make this visit to the palace even possible.

“Come on, Hare,” he told him, trying to pry the plant from his needy little fingers. It was not unlike trying to pry a fly from a venus fly trap. Except this fly trap was worried about the fly and was sure that keeping it in its mouth forever was the only way to keep it safe. Just as it popped free from Hare’s desperate clasp, his arms collapsed in his chest and his knees hit the ground as he wailed:

“We shouldn’t have bought them so early in the week! Now they think I’m their ma, and they’ll miss me terribly!”

Hatter frowned, then realized that he was sort of petting one of them. “Hey, what about me?”

Hare shrugged as a tear pooled in his eye. “They’ll sort of miss you too.” Hatter turned to the fourth wall and just stared. “But every plant needs their ma!”

“Then the Rabbit can be their godmother! Their fairy-godmother! Ahhh? He’ll let you visit, I’m sure.” Hatter’s proposal wasn’t all that bad. Still, Hare was caught up in a moment and could only sniffle, so his partner gave him a heavy pat on the shoulder and walked past him. “Now, I’m gonna take these guys out for one last walk, and then we’ll head to the palace. Take a hit off the hookah, if you need.”

@ @ @

The palace courtyard was unusually quiet that day. Hatter and Hare were thinking there’d either be some sort of bash already started, or they’d have to get into an argument with the Queen about letting Rabbit have free time on his birthday. Instead, they found him kicked up on the chaise lounge, being fanned with a giant banana leaf by Alice. Totally oblivious to their presence, as he was wearing a thick cushy sleep mask and slurping up a tropical smoothie with an umbrella, Rabbit had more or less slipped into nirvana, or as close to it as an old servant would ever get. On the nearest table was a catalogue for the sleep store Alice had visited with the Tweedles, there were brand new, fuzzy wuzzy bunny slippers on the floor next to him, and even a gift basket filled with soaps, bath salts, and the most basic bitch teas Hatter had ever seen. Not that he would say anything.

But he had to say something, because poor ole Hare was still waiting for his hit off the hookah to kick in and had red eyes that could be seen from a mile away. He even forgot to stand and face their friends. Hatter grabbed him by the shoulders and turned him in the right direction.

“Rabbbitttttt!” He shouted at the bunny.

“Mmmmmmm...yyyyyesss???” Hold up a moment. The peaceful smile on the Rabbit’s face slowly fell as he realized he had heard the voice of someone he was sure in the past had never helped him achieve any sort of serenity. He snatched off the sleep mask. “Oh, hello... Hatter. Hare.” He was sort of leaning back and away from them now. Luckily, he couldn’t see that Alice was behind him, trying to hold it together.

“A little birdie told us it was your birthday today!”

“A little birdie?” Rabbit scrunched up his face, confused.

“He means me,” Alice said sweetly over his shoulder.

“Oh, but you’aaa~ not a bird!”

“Yeah, but she overhears all kinds of things, like a bird on a tree-branch!” Hatter explained, to which Alice nodded, “and that was the only way we were going to know it was your birthday, you secretive, sly, s-selectively friendly…s-senior citizen--”

“You had better get on with whatever you came here for, Hatta~...” Rabbit muttered, just as Hatter felt a tickle in his throat.

“Ahem! Yes.” He turned to Hare, who had been trying to blot a tear with the cactus blanket without anyone noticing. “Uh, Hare, why don’t you take the blanket off and show Rabbit this wondeeerfulll, spectaccuullar giftttt, ahhhh?” Hatter tried his best to sprinkle all the razzle-dazzle of two people onto the reveal, but no matter of twisting and twirling elicited much of a reaction out of Rabbit once he saw under the blanket. And he only had one thing to say.

“My, those are awfully phallic, aren’t they…”

Alice just bit her lip.

“What’s ‘phallic’?” Hatter questioned, not yet sure if he should feel validated or offended. Alice shrugged, as she didn’t know either. Rabbit immediately regretted that it had ever fallen from his mouth.

“Uhhh… Well what are they, anyway?” He diverted.

The Tweedles, meanwhile, had been oo’ing and ah’ing at all the boring af statues the Queen put up in one of her hallways, like really putting on an oscar worthy performance out of the sincerest desire for Rabbit to have some alone time with his gifts in that chair. When they were back to the courtyard with her majesty, however, they were having a really hard time keeping a straight face while a clueless Hatter and an unreasonably forlorn Hare waved around the bright green plant dicks monkey cups and pitched them like they were going to be Rabbit’s newest obsession.

All they had to do was step into Alice’s vicinity and make eye-contact with her and she was already giggling.

“So you see, Rabbit, this isn’t just some midlife-crisis window-sill filler… set these up at your table on bingo nights and you’ll have all the bunny ladies crowding around, knowing you’re up to something.”

“And what exactly am I up to?” Rabbit cocked his eyebrow, quite distracted by their striking resemblance to, well, cocks.

“Bein’ a plant daddy,” Hatter told him, smiling and nodding like he was very sure of himself, “to a hardcore plant that’ll eat all the bugs in your garden. Even frogs, too!”

“Ewwwwwwwwwwwwww!!!” Was Rabbit’s first reaction. Then he leaned forward and tapped one of the cups before the Queen belted from behind him.

“That’s BARBARIC.” Immediately, Rabbit fell right on his face on the floor beside the lounge, then had to prop himself up and heave a little when he realized she had been so close to him all along. “Why would you get Rabbit a gift like that!”

Hare had recoiled just as much as Hatter, but he looked more defeated than anything else that neither of them were impressed with his gift, especially now that they were his babies that he’d raised for a week. Once again, Hatter had to do the explaining, patting Hare’s hand, which was squeezing his arm, all the while.

“We thought he needed some excitement!”

“He has PLENTY of excitement around here!”

Rabbit darted his eyes around. He wasn’t about to disagree with her, because technically she was right, it’s just… it wasn’t the good kind of excitement. The Tweedles and Alice were feeling even surer about their gifts by now.

“Well then really, this plant can keep up with him, is all we’re saying,” Hatter told her, not even missing a beat. “Oh look, it already likes him!”

For the first time in the last five minutes, Hare had something to say: “It does?”

Hatter gave him a look. “Uhhh, of course it does, Hare. Hand it over. Wouldn’t want to keep these two parted.” Try as he may to sort of direct the pot towards the birthday bunny himself, Hare was sort of squeezing it close and didn’t know how to let go. Rabbit, meanwhile, looked completely flabbergasted as he sat there on the floor beneath those looming plant dongs. The Queen threw up her hands, which just elicited more of the Tweedles’ giggling.

“You have GOT to be kidding me!”

“Uhh, they mean well, Your Majesty!” Alice tried to step in, being the noble child among the group and all that. “I mean if you think about it… it’s just as silly as any other gift they’ve given him…”

“Hmph, you’re right… there’s no way this is a joke,” her Majesty answered back in a deep voice, with her chin tucked into her neck. Then all five of them just kept watching Hatter and Hare fuss over the pot.

“Hare, just let go! One finger at a time. Come on, now.”

“I’m trying!” Hare pouted.

“I highly doubt that!”

“You don’t know what it’s like to be a mother!”

“No, but I know what it’s like to live with one!”

“DON’T shame me for being an empath!” Hare growled through his tears, still with the cactus blanket thrown over his shoulder.

“Alright you two, listen!” Rabbit professed, just before he scurried to his feet and yanked at his vest, then patted a few fuzzballs away. “I’ll keep the plant for a few days and see how it goes, but I want He’a~ on call at all times! He obviously has a grrreener thumb than I~, but I appreciate your thinking of me on my birthdehh~, so I shall try my best. Ehh… provided her Majesty approves.”

They all slowly turned to her in suspense, looking somewhere on a spectrum between apprehensive and hopeful. And then there were the Tweedles, who were just about to whip out their popcorn bowls. The Queen squinted at them for a moment before she decided it was not her circus, not her monkeys. Well, hopefully.

“Fine. But I don’t want to hear a thing about it. Call the Hare if it gives you any trouble, and if he can’t help you, hohohhhh,” her eyes bulged as she cut her hands into the air, “it’s straight back to the nursery.”

“Of course, of course. Ehh… thank you.” Rabbit nodded to the Queen awkwardly before he turned to Hare and opened his hands to receive the plant. Hare just stared at him until Hatter leaned into him.

“Give Rabbit the plant, Hare.”

“Eheheheh! Right,” he said, his arms extending out with a tremble to relinquish his babies to his favorite frenemy. Rabbit took hold of the pot and tried not to cringe as the dongs sweeping over the side brushed his forearm. Try as he may to bring them closer to his chest, Hare came with them. He laughed and gave them a better tug, which prompted Hare to tug them back. Before everyone knew it they were bouncing back and forth. Finally, Hatter took Hare’s shoulders and held him in place, so that Rabbit could pluck the monkey cups out of his motherly smother, and inspect them with none of the same sort of affection.

“Eheheh, loveleh~ loveleh~~...” he trailed. “Well, I’d better- eh, put these somewhere. T-thank you, everyone, for the birthday wishes and gifts… You’re all too kind.”

“OH WAIT, RABBIT,” Hare screeched, wriggling out of Hatter’s grasp and pulling a baby bag out of nowhere.

“This is all of his stuff!” When Rabbit took it from him, his arm plummeted as if he had just taken a bag of bowling balls.

“Gee, thanks, I feel so prepared now~” He said through his teeth to the fourth wall. Then he fluttered his fingers and rolled away. Hare looked at least somewhat reassured as Hatter patted him on the back and he blew his nose.

Part 2 coming soon!...

#adventures in wonderland #fanfiction #fanfic #hatter and hare #rabbit #don't even know how to tag this #I wrote it #lmao #me and my meandering plots #rabbit gets a gift he wasn't prepared for #that is extremely phallic #and ruins the queen's life #PG-13 #hatter mentions a hookah #hatter and hare are definitely secretly a couple

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