#ill let them do whatever they want w my teeth and i will not flinch

[showrunnerihardlyknowher]

26 for the prompts? perhaps w the cat n mouse lads :3 (also look danny i did it i sent a prompt are u proud)

I...actually don't remember what the prompt was for this one, but I'm 87% sure it was "I'm not that scary, am I?"

So fine since y'all keep asking for 'em, here's more of the cat and mouse bois. Shoutout to @gabbydafurry and an anon for finally giving them names.

--

“C’mon.”

“No.”

“Please?”

“I said no.”

“I’ll make pollo asado for dinner, we can eat it together while we watch!”

Aaron sighed and rubbed his hands against his forehead, trying to ease the dull throb that had yet to wane over the past two days. His headache certainly wasn’t being helped by the constant badgering of his...roommate, for a lack of better words (as well as being a title so eagerly self bestowed by the cat in question) but much like many of their other interactions, his resolve was starting to wear thin. Usually, he was able to hold his ground for at least a week until he was bribed into giving the other some type of social interaction with the promise of his favorite foods. Today, however, the poor mouse just wanted a moment’s peace free from knocking on the walls or calling through the cracks until he answered, and if that meant watching some stupid movie then fine.

Plus, Lucas did know how to make some incredible Mexican food.

“...fine,” Aaron conceded after a pause, the pressure behind his eyes giving him a sharp pang before fading to its usual ache, almost like his own body was projecting how horrible of an idea this was.

As soon as the mouse slipped out from behind the curio, he came face to face with the massive grin of the cat mere inches away from the opening. Seeing the grin only split wider when he was fully in view of the other normally would have instinctively sent a shiver up his spine, it was kind of difficult to be intimidated seeing how Lucas had strangely contorted his body to lay on the floor between the curio and the bookcase. Most cats seemed to be fairly flexible, so it probably wasn’t too uncomfortable for him to be so bent and curled up, but he definitely lost some of that hunter’s prowess with his back twisted sideways and one leg leaning against the shelving.

In a flash, Lucas had managed to untangle his strange positioning to instead be crouched on his knees, now looming over Aaron in a way he wasn’t sure he would ever get used to. He flinched back when his hand started to reach out towards him, fully intending to scoop him up to dizzying heights without a second thought, but the appendage stopped just short of touching him at all. Instead, he dropped his hand palm side up and waited, smiling all the while. At least he was getting better at remembering Aaron’s explicit request to not be grabbed without permission, though he did always apologize with a sheepish look and some little treat whenever he forgot.

Once Aaron climbed onto the awaiting hand that radiated a delightfully intense warmth into his already aching muscles, Lucas was already jumping up a chattering a mile a minute about how much the mouse was going to love the movie he picked out, how dinner would be ready soon, how he wasn’t expecting him to actually agree to watch a scary movie with him since he never seemed like the type who would be into that sort of thing but--

“It’s a scary movie?” Aaron interrupted, the noise finally registering beyond the headache. Truthfully, he tuned a lot of what the other said out for almost every conversation, not that it ever seemed to make a difference. Yeah, sorry, I’m a bit of a chatterbox, he admitted once, but it’s less weird talking to someone who doesn’t respond than to talk to yourself, right?

Debatable.

Lucas tilted his head and snorted. “Uh, yeah? That was one of the first things I told you about. You know that one actress who’s in almost every one of those Christmas movies we watch, who’s always the jealous best friend?” Aaron has no idea who he was referring to given that he never absorbed anything from those stupid romance movies he was boarderline forced to watch, but nodded anyways, “Right, this is supposed to be her big break out role, or something. It’s the first thing she’s doing as a lead actress, and you know, good for her! I’m glad she’s getting out of that typecast she’s been in forever. Horror probably wouldn’t be my first choice for her, but I guess since she has those singing vocals it could carry over to being a scream queen. Kind of like when--”

And Aaron was out of the conversation again.

Lucas continued to drone on about the actress’s entire film career, or at least that’s what the mouse was assuming he was doing when he occasionally zoned back in to pick up a stray word here and there. The headache he had been staving off to the best of his ability was starting to come back with twice as much force as it often did in the later days. He probably could have just asked the other for some aspirin, maybe even some cold medicine as that was no doubt what this bout of illness was turning into, but asking the cat for anything was always out of the question. Of course, Lucas tried to sway him numerous times into thinking it most certainly was not and that he could always ask for whatever he needed, never to his avail. Aaron was indeed willing to prolong his suffering if it meant not having to stomach the dreadful embarrassment that would come to being indebted to the feline, no matter how insignificant.

Unfortunately, he was only setting himself up for failure in thinking this “agreement” would be providing him any sort of relief. His headache was treading dangerously close into becoming a full fledged migraine and the flashes of light and screams from the television would not be doing him any favors. His only saving grace was that, after he had been settled on the couch and Lucas scampered off to get the dinner he promised, the cat turned off every other light possible to, as he put it, really get them in the spooky mood!

The smell of the food was delicious and nauseating. His stomach both wanted and revolted at the idea of anything filling it, which would only serve to worsen his headache no doubt. Damn it all, he wanted to throttle both himself and this illness, the first for agreeing to watch this stupid movie when he was already feeling under the weather, the second for preventing him from getting his half of the deal. These movie-dinner dates deals were the only reason Aaron continued to stick around, even if he thought the torment of being forced to watch awful romcoms in exchange for a hot, homemade meal was a little unfair. No, that wasn’t entirely true, Lucas was a freaking culinary genius as far as the mouse was aware. It was a wonder why he wasn’t majoring in a cooking field.

“I’m not hungry right now,” Aaron lied when Lucas had asked why he wasn’t eating. “I’ll try some later.”

The cat looked at him strangely before shrugging. “Alright, just let me know. If you don’t like it, I can always make you something else.” There he goes again, offering things he knows the other can’t accept. At least he could let it slide this time as he had no appetite to think of any other dish.

Lucas finished his own meal in silence, completely fixed on the television as the opening scene carried on, introducing the canine main character that Aaron did, in fact, vaguely recognize. This was fine, he figured, the dark apartment coupled with a painfully slow movie, a warm body moving to curl up behind him as it so often did during these deals, he could probably get a few moments of real rest in before the credits rolled. As much as he loathed to admit it, the cat was actually rather...comfortable to be forcefully cuddled by. He wasn’t like other movie goers that needed to make a comment on every character’s decision, steady breathing and the occasional purr helping the mouse slowly relax.

That relaxation was cut short as soon as the romcom actress tore her tiny avian neighbor to shreds by the end of the first act.

Aaron had hardly been paying attention to the storyline up until this point, something to do with the girl being bitten and experiencing insatiable hunger lately. The sudden carnage of the otherwise trusting little prey creature made both of them flinch in surprise, though Lucas was quick to laugh it off. From then on the mouse’s unwavering attention was glued to the screen, but not by his choice. A chill ran through him each time she claimed another unsuspecting victim, always a prey animal, and ripped them apart with her teeth and nails like a starving animal. The way the tiny’s incredibly realistic viscera was slurped into her bloody mouth made him queasy, all too easily imagining himself in their shoes.

Eventually, her hunger became too strong and she began attacking fellow predator species as well. Ripping into throats and soft bellies was far messier than snacking on a tiny creature in three bites, making her feast all the more gory. While the violence still unsettled him, it was a touch more bearable now that he couldn’t picture his own body being mangled between the teeth of a predator he thought he could trust. Speaking of…

The mouse gulped and risked a glance behind him at the other who had hardly moved, save for a few jolts and snickers whenever a particularly good jump scare managed to startle him. It didn’t go unnoticed that every time Aaron had physically reacted to a sudden screech or attack, the cat would curl just a little bit tighter around him, hiding a laugh behind a rumbling purr. He wanted to believe this was meant to be an act of comfort and not something equally as nefarious as the canine plotting her next kill. Regardless, Lucas was equally transfixed on the movie, except he seemed to be enjoying every minute of the horror aspect. His tail would flick in interest during the high tension scenes, even more so when a chase sequence was underway. It made sense, considering that was his favorite game to make Aaron play.

Whatever the case may be, the mouse couldn’t help but be unnerved tenfold that the other had the audacity to enjoy a fictional movie he was interested in seeing. The last thing the mouse wanted was for Lucas to get any more ideas when it came to chasing him around the apartment, much less awaken any sort of primitive instinct to maim his prize after it had been captured. To this day, it remains a deep seated fear in the back of his mind that every time the cat cupped his hands over him, his teeth would be quick to follow. Natural instincts were hard to shake for a reason when it came to prey animals such as himself, he could only hope the same wasn’t true for predators.

His imagination was running rampant, enough so that he completely missed how the movie ended. Something about a cure, something about being put down, whatever. The only thing on his mind was the morbidly hilarious thought that if Lucas were to go feral like the canine, would he eat him raw or would he cook him up in another fantastic dish?

Aaron jumped when Lucas moved to sit up behind him, only now registering the credits scrolling across the screen. He stretched a bit, the quickly fading warmth that had been surrounding the mouse making him realize just how tight the other must have been snuggled around him. How did he not notice?

“Wow,” Lucas said, pursing his lips. “That...was one of the worst movies I have ever seen in my life.”

That wasn’t the reaction Aaron had been expecting him to have, but it was certainly better than to hear him go on about how it was a brilliant masterpiece. He got up to flick the lights back on, still laughing as he recounted each poorly written scene and cheesy effects. “I mean, oh my god, right? The mail man saved everyone? Seriously? I actually feel bad for making you watch that, you totally have dibs on the next movie night.”

He turned around to look at the mouse who was still huddled tight on the couch, wide eyes glued to the screen even if it was just names moving along with ominous background music. Lucas gave him another quizzical look, smirking.

“C’mon, even you have to admit those tinies had zero survival instincts. Like, who goes up to a rabid dog and asks for directions? I get suspending my disbelief and all, but they could have made it just a pinch realistic. This is so going to tank her acting career…” The cat shook his head and moved closer to the couch so that he stood right in front of the television, finally drawing the other’s attention to himself. “Hey, you hungry now?”

Oh, absolutely fucking not. An hour and a half of being tensed up gave no relief to his aching muscles and now that the lights were back on, so was his pounding headache. His stomach rolled, the nausea a mix of dizziness and disgust from the special effects. He didn’t even want to think about food, he didn’t want to be out in the open anymore, and he most certainly did not want to spend another minute in the cat’s company right now.

“S-sure…” Aaron finally squeaked out. He just needed Lucas out of the room, distracted somewhere so he could make a break for it. In some instances, he would have just darted off whether the cat saw him or not, but that always resulted in a game of chase that had a 50/50 success rate, the other loving it anyways. All he wanted was some peace and quiet to rest up and heal and not think about how easy it would be for the other to bite off his head whenever he felt like it.

Lucas stood there for a minute, studying him, and just when Aaron genuinely feared he was going to pounce, he flashed an innocent smile. “Cool, just give me a couple minutes to get it heated up.” And with that, he disappeared into the kitchen.

Aaron decided to be bold and waste a few precious seconds of his head start to collect himself. Deep down, he knew he was being ridiculous. Lucas had been nothing but kind to him. Aloof, but still kind all the same. But as a prey animal that spent the better part of his life living in walls and stealing to survive, trust was a risk he simply couldn’t take. There was hardly any benefit to keeping up this con if the end goal was simply to eat him. For all he knew, though, Lucas was nothing more than a merciless sociopath that was willing to milk every ounce of fear he could before chowing down. A sociopath obsessed with romantic comedies and wore an apron when he cooked and had begged Aaron for two months straight to tell him when his birthday was so that he could make him a miniature cake.

...okay, so maybe Lucas wasn’t a sociopath, but that didn’t mean he was trustworthy. Evolution gave him sharpened fangs and agile reflexes for a reason and the mouse was not about to find out what it was like to be on the receiving end of those one day.

With his head as clear as it was going to be for the time being, sans the dull throb behind his eyes, the mouse finally pushed himself up to make his way over to the couch arm. Slowly, as to not overwork his stiff joints, he climbed his way down to the floor and skittered under the couch for a little extra protection. Strangely, he noticed that he didn’t hear any noises coming from the kitchen just up ahead and when he stopped by the doorway, he couldn’t see anyone either. Losing track of the massive cat should not be possible, especially considering this was a one bedroom apartment and there was literally nowhere else for the feline to go without coming back through the entryway. Aaron should have taken it as a blessing, but of course he couldn’t leave well enough alone.

He proceeded to be daring and come out from under the couch completely to peek into the kitchen, confirming it was empty. Again, that shouldn’t even be possible for Lucas to slip out without having to directly pass the living room to go somewhere else. Unless he had, which would mean Aaron missed him somehow. He had been in quite a deep thought process on the couch...but he could have sworn he was only collecting himself for a minute!

The answer became glaringly obvious when the mouse took a few hesitant steps back and turned to retreat under the safety of the couch, only to come face to face with Lucas. He damn near jumped out of his skin, slamming his back against the wall in an effort to gain another inch of distance between himself and the face taking up his entire view. Really, this was nothing too out of the ordinary for the cat, he loved to sneak up and pounce whenever the opportunity presented itself and Aaron wasn’t too obviously close to heart failure. What made his heart stutter, however, was the fact that Lucas didn’t look like...well, Lucas. There was no smile, no warm eyes, no words being talked a mile a minute about nothing.

No, there was just a frowning cat with his ears pinned back and pupils slit, stalking closer with a terrifying rumble in his throat.

Instinct overtook him as soon as he saw the other’s lip twitch, trying to dart under the couch for safety and having his path immediately blocked by a hand being slammed down, claw out. Aaron couldn’t even yelp, the bile in his throat threatening to turn into vomit if he idled around too long. So, he didn’t. Instead, he turned on his heel and scampered in the opposite direction with the cat hot on his trail. He very nearly dodged a swipe, Lucas hissing that his blow didn’t land while Aaron only tried to speed up his sprinting. They circled maybe half of the living room, the mouse weaving under furniture while the cat knocked into them in an effort to jarr his prey into taking a misstep.

It worked, unfortunately, when Aaron took a sharp turn at the bookshelf and caused Lucas to clip it with his shoulder. The small bump did nothing to deter the cat on his hunt, but the two books that came tumbling down were enough to make the smaller skid and trip to avoid being squashed under the novels. He ended up twisting his ankle awkwardly, stumbling flat on his face while the momentum of his running made him roll twice until he landed on his back. Despite being winded and the additional pain in his leg, he knew there was no time to waste, trying to pull himself. It was too late, though. The cat was already on top of him, hand coming down to pin him under his palm while only his head poked free from between his fingers.

That cold, terrifying face came nearer, eyes tunnel visioned on its prize. Oh God, Aaron would give anything to have the other Lucas back right now. He’d watch a thousand sappy movies, do a date night for every meal, actually move into his bedroom like the cat had suggested he do a dozen times. He wanted...fuck, he wanted his friend back. What he thought was his friend, anyways. Not this killer, not this predator who was baring his teeth and was now mere inches away from biting off his face and--

The growling above him broke off into a snort shortly before turning into a full blown laugh. Aaron wasn’t sure when he had closed his eyes in preparation for his certain death, but when he dared to open them and blinked away the budding tears, he saw that smile he had been wishing for again. Kind and warm, just like eyes, and it was like Lucas had never even taken the form of a starving hunter in his life. Like he hadn’t been moments away from devouring his beloved roommate.

“Oh, come on,” he howled with laughter, “You can’t be serious! That movie actually scared you? I mean, I thought you looked a little freaked out by it, but wow!”

The movie...so this...this wasn’t real. Lucas was just pretending, just playing a prank on him. He thought that the movie had simply wound him up and made him jumpier than usual, no different than watching a zombie flick and popping out from behind a bush at your friend later on.

Except it was different. It was different in the fact that zombies aren't real, but predators are. Predators didn’t need an excuse to go feral and maim and consume their tiny cohabitants, they simply could by the laws of nature. And yes, it may be illegal and have several laws in place to protect prey species, but if no body was ever left behind, who could say if foul play was involved? That was the whole plot point in the otherwise dull movie they sat through together, the reason why the woman was able to avoid suspicion of her sickness by feeding on tinies that could only be reported missing at most.

Lucas’s laughter had tapered off, still clearly enjoying himself. “Alright, note to self, no more horror movies.” Finally, he released Aaron from under his hand to sit back on his haunches. “Man, I really didn’t think you would scare that easily, especially from a B-movie like that. Anyways, are you actually ready to eat now? I put your stuff in the oven so it would reheat better, but it should be done by now….Ronnie?”

Aaron hadn’t moved an inch since he was originally pinned, not even after the hand had been lifted off of him. He just stared up blankly at the cat, trembling and wide eyed, unable to do anything as the rapid succession of events sunk in. The cat’s humor died down a little, smile hesitating.

“Hey, look, I’m sorry. I just couldn’t resist, you know?” He shrugged a little sheepishly. “You didn’t even notice when I came back so I thought...I don’t know, it was funnier in my head. I almost broke character and started laughing before you ran!” With still no verbal response, Lucas reached out a hand. “Aaron? You good? Come on, I’m not that scary, am I?”

The reaction he got probably wasn’t what he was hoping for with Aaron suddenly scrambling to push himself away from the outstretched hand that might trap and tear apart his limbs. He gave a sharp squeak, managing to find his footing only to come crashing down as soon as he took the first step, his ankle noticeably swollen by this point. His cry of pain was muffled into a desperate grunt, trying so hard to drag himself away as a last ditch effort to avoid the same fate as the bird and the squirrel and the mole in the movie.

Lucas gasped. “Oh, Ronnie, your leg!” Both hands were reaching for the mouse now, aiming to cup around him and scoop him up before they surely put him out of his misery. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry! I didn’t...oh my God, I hurt you.”

Yes and no. In truth, Aaron had been the one to hurt himself by making his body move in ways it physically shouldn’t. But that didn’t change the fact that Lucas had shown his true colors. Perhaps in hindsight, that wasn’t a fair assessment, as he really did think he was playing a harmless little joke on a skittish friend. The pain came from knowing that the cat could turn feral, though, no matter how genuine he was being. There was still clearly an instinct within him, one that knew how to hunt and bare his teeth and hiss, one that knew deep down where they both ranked on the food chain. It hurt in knowing everything he thought about his friend, everything that kept him from really letting down his walls like the other so desperately wanted, was right. Cats and mice were not friends.

“Get away from me!” Aaron shrieked when the hands came too close. Though they withdrew quickly, he didn’t bother to watch if they would move again as he forced himself up to stumble back to his nook behind the bookshelf.

“Aaron, wait!” It was a fruitless request and Lucas knew it as he didn’t even try to stop the mouse from disappearing behind the furniture back into the walls. It would only make matters so much worse. “Aaron, please, you’re hurt, just...at least let me help you. Please. I...I’m so sorry! It was an accident, I promise!”

The cat shuffled closer, leaning down in hopes that the other could at least hear his pleas better, could hear how sincere he was trying to be. “I would never hurt you, Aaron. You’re one of my best friends. Look, it was a stupid prank and I’m an asshole and I’ll never do it again, just please come out. Just let me know if you’re alright?”

It didn’t matter how hard or for how long he tried, Aaron was long gone within the walls.

#g/t #fearplay #g/t writing #my writing #gianttiny #macro/micro #gt #giant/tiny #g/t angst #g/t community #hurt no comfort #remembers that anon i got a few days ago asking if i would ever write things with less angst #hopes this answers the question #also #these ocs? #they spark zero joy #so i will not be writing them again #meaning yes yall only get this sad ending oh well (: #absolutely not beta read nor edited sorry #ask #alarstar

[angstyaches]

hey! it is a rather different request this time. uh. i know you’ve been having some Mental Health Days tm too, so you absolutely do not need to write this if it’s too much or if you don’t want to. so i’ve been having some pretty fucked time lately, and that included me getting weirdly nauseous because my thoughts were too fast? if that makes sense? like. emotional motion sickness? so i was wondering, if any of your ocs suffer from depression or any other mental illness, could you write them getting sick from that w their partner comforting them? (id especially love shayne and charlie, but it’s up to you!)

i know this is a very intense request, so you can very much 100% ignore it/delete it/tell me to stfu/ whatever you need. thank you, i hope we all feel better soon <3🍄

Note: this is not the fluffy fic I was talking about yesterday.

Mild spoiler alert, but I want to give some context. While I was working on this and one other fic, I started thinking about how difficult it can be to believe someone loves you when you’re at a dark point in your mental health, and I want to explore that a bit with both Charlie and Shayne. That’s why Shayne says “Thank you” at the end of this fic; he’s not being an asshole, he’s just taking a moment to recognise and appreciate that Charlie loves him.

CW: anxiety attack, emeto, mild touch aversion and trust issues

_____

Charlie had been sitting in the single armchair with his laptop all morning, lost in the depths of the Internet. It had started off as a single scouring of his university’s website, which had ended in him lightly stalking the Facebook page for their LGBTQA+ society. From there, he’d ended up finding a Facebook group for incoming students for his course, and gotten added to a private chat with a few of them. One girl had found a copy of the semester’s reading list, and from there, Charlie had gone on a tangent of trying to find cheap copies of the books on various websites. His older brother Jonathan had warned him about how university libraries sometimes only stocked one copy of a book that sixty students would all need on the same day, and Charlie wanted to be prepared.

It wasn’t until someone in the chat said they were leaving to go get lunch that Charlie realised how long it had been since he’d looked up from the screen. He said goodbye to them and closed the lid of his laptop, stretching his arms out over his head. His legs were draped over the arm of the armchair, so he stretched those out too, almost kicking Shayne in the head since he was sitting on the sofa.

“Oh! Sorry,” he giggled, hopping up and placing his laptop on the cushion where he’d been sitting. “I hope you don’t feel like I’ve been ignoring you.”

“Nope.” Shayne had his head propped up on one hand, his eyes slightly glazed over. He sounded like he could have been in a bad mood, but those were sometimes hard to distinguish from normal moods, so Charlie tried not to read into it.

“How are you doing?” Charlie asked, slumping down on the sofa. He reached over and brushed his fingers through Shayne’s hair, his heart sinking when Shayne flinched at the contact. “Something wrong?”

Shayne shrugged, gaze dropping to the floor as he folded his arms across his middle. Charlie immediately began to analyse the situation, his heart thrumming with the frantic worry he always felt when Shayne began to clam up.

“Are you feeling sick?”

Shayne shrugged.

“If you are, I can get you some medicine.”

“No.”

“Okay.” Charlie cleared his throat. “I was thinking of having lunch soon, if you want to join me.”

“No, I don’t –” Shayne leaned forward, burying his face in his hands. “You don’t get to decide what goes in my body, Charlie.”

“Whoa.” Charlie sat forward too, wishing he could get a glimpse at Shayne’s expression. “That’s not what I was trying to do.”

Fists clenched by his sides, Shayne got up from the sofa. “Just leave me the fuck alone, okay?”

“Okay,” Charlie said in a small voice. He wrung his hands in his lap, letting his eyes follow Shayne across the living room.

He paused by the door to the hallway, like he was considering whether or not he actually wanted to storm out. In the end, he turned around again, crossing his arms.

“Shayne?” Charlie eased himself to his feet. He knew sudden movements probably wouldn’t make Shayne any worse, but it was better to be safe than sorry.

“No.” Shayne shook his head and started walking back and forth. His fingers were digging into his upper arms. “No. Don’t. Don’t.”

Charlie felt sick. He couldn’t tell if Shayne was talking to him, or to himself.

As much as it killed him to just stand and watch, he kept himself planted on the spot and let Shayne pace back and forth. It was better for him to use up some of his nervous energy for a few minutes. Charlie knew the last thing he should do was try to control him when his anxiety acted up, since it was usually the feeling of losing control that caused it.

What he wasn’t expecting was for Shayne to suddenly turn and fling himself towards him, head hitting Charlie’s shoulder with force.

He was gasping as he tried to get words out. “I-I can’t – Charlie, everything’s messed up. My stomach, my chest – I can’t fucking breathe–”

“Oh, lovely, it’s okay, it’s okay,” Charlie whispered as calmly as he could.

Shayne exhaled deeply, his body falling still for a moment. It felt like a calm before a storm. Charlie held his breath, not quite sure what kind of storm to expect. He realised he wouldn’t have been shocked if Shayne had turned around again and punched a hole in the wall.

In the end, Shayne just jerked his head back, his eyes watery and unfocused. The tension in the air changed, becoming less intense but a lot more delicate.

“Are you okay?”

Shayne shook his head.

“What’s wr–?” Charlie started to ask, cutting himself off when Shayne abruptly spun on the spot and leaned over, a weak stream of sick pouring from his lips. “Oh.”

“Fuck,” Shayne whimpered, pressing a hand over his mouth. It had landed mostly on the glass coffee table and not on the rug, at least. He gave a muffled “Sorry” from behind his hand before he sank back onto the edge of the sofa.

“Hey, don’t – don’t worry.” Charlie dragged over a metal bin that lived in the corner of the sitting room, mostly for used tissues and snack wrappers to be thrown into. Luckily, it was empty now. He knelt down in front of Shayne, who was still covering his face as he leaned on his knees. “There’s a bin, in case you feel sick again.”

Shayne just shuddered in response.

“Hey,” Charlie sighed, resting a hand on his shoulder. His breath was a serious of ragged gasps again, making his body convulse so badly that Charlie couldn’t tell if he was still retching or not. “Are you okay? What – what happened there?”

“Everything… Everything was too fast, in my head.” Shayne let out a shaky sigh, fingers clinging to his hair now. His eyes were squeezed shut. “Charlie, what the fuck’s wrong with me? What am I going to do?”

“Hey, hey, hey, look at me.”

“I can’t.”

“Look at me.”

“I can’t, Charlie!”

“Shayne, trust me, alright?” Charlie extended both arms, palms facing up. “Squeeze my hands.”

The breath shuddered out of Shayne as he took Charlie’s hands, closing his fingers tightly.

“Alright, now, count backwards from ten with me. Ten –”

“Ten…”

By the time they reached zero, Shayne’s grip on Charlie’s hands had relaxed, and there didn’t seem to be any fresh tears on his face. He was shaking, and his eyes were searching Charlie’s like he was waiting for them to spit out the meaning of life. Charlie had never felt like more of a fraud, a charlatan; he hadn’t even been sure that the counting-backwards-from-ten thing would work, but he was glad that it had.

“Okay? You with me?” Charlie whispered.

Shayne nodded distantly.

“Feeling better?”

“Yeah. No.” Shayne’s teeth chattered as he fought to compose himself. “Sorry. Physically, yes, but everything – everything else is just…”

Charlie shook his head, feeling like his heart might break from watching Shayne try and fail to find the right words. “Lovely, it’s okay.”

“Fuck. The coffee table,” Shayne groaned.

“Hey, that’ll be easy to clean up,” Charlie half-laughed. “I’m gonna go do that now, and then I’ll make us some tea, okay? Do you want to lie down while you wait?”

A short nod, a glassy gaze.

“Okay. Maybe don’t lie on your tummy, though,” Charlie said as Shayne began to move, anxious that he would resort to his preferred position for sleeping and relaxing. “It might make you sick again and make it hard to breathe.”

“’Kay,” Shayne murmured, curling up on his side with his knees almost all the way up to his chest.

Charlie stroked his shoulder and prayed to a god he didn’t believe in that he’d be able to understand what went on inside his head one day. He had a heavy feeling in his chest as he got up from the floor.

Charlie turned around at the door. He both loved and hated how tiny Shayne looked, curled up on the sofa. He drew a deep breath. “I love you.”

Looking exhausted, and also like he was about to start crying again, Shayne nodded and said something in a very low voice before letting his eyes close. He’d mumbled it – badly, even by his own standards – but Charlie was almost certain that Shayne had said, “Thank you.”

#anxiety #emeto #emeto fic #sickfic #emeto sickfic #StW Shayne #vomit fic #anxiety disorder mention #anxiety mention #fic length #if I didn't say it already #🍄 anon I hope you're doing better 🖤

[radioactivepeasant]

Fic Prompts: Revenge of the Star Wars Wednesday

Just when you thought it was safe to go back to the dashboard... (It’s an entire chapter of the same au as This Free Day Thursday I did a ways back, where a splinter cell of the Rebellion hands Luke over to Vader in a deal with the devil. The context: Vader got called away before getting a chance to tell Luke what was going on, and had to leave the poor guy in his hyperbaric egg chamber of doom. Which is air conditioned all to heck because that suit gets toasty. Unfortunately, Luke is from a very warm climate, and high powered air conditioning does not agree with him. At all. He’s having a bad day by the time Vader gets back and Many Blankets are required.)

Luke dreamed of falling.

"Alright, Skywalker. This is your stop."

He saw Leia screaming.

"You're wrong! You're wrong!"

She was calling for him. He knew that she was.

"I'm here!" He tried to call back to her, "I'm here, Leia! Help me!"

But the wind scattered his words, and he fell.

He fell past Leia's horrified face, towards a range of mountains. Faces he might have recognized formed and disintegrated in the snow around him, and the wicked looking peak directly below.

With a choked cry, Luke flailed his arms and met with stiff resistance. Well. More soft than stiff. And heavy. Very heavy. Slowly, by degrees, Luke became aware of his surroundings. He could barely move. Something was holding him down on a-

A bed.

He was on a bed.

On a Star Destroyer. 

Everything came back to Luke in a rush. Kobyvern. The handoff. The cell. The cold. 

And Vader.

Luke opened his eyes. He didn't hear the respirator, but the sense of foreboding looming over him suggested that the dark lord was somewhere near. It was imperative that Luke not be so...so vulnerable when he returned. 

Why couldn't he move?! Had he been strapped down? Panic flooded Luke's veins.

No no no, take it slow, Skywalker! Breathe in- breathe out. 

When his heart had resumed a slightly more normal pace, Luke took a slow breath and tried to sit up.

This turned out to be more difficult than he'd expected. If he craned his neck, he could just make out heavy black cloth beneath the blankets, wound around him and pinning his arms to his sides. Well, that was one way of keeping someone from escaping. Arguably more embarrassing than handcuffs, but also preferable to them. 

The amount of effort it took to free just one arm was a thorough enough distraction that Luke didn't hear the door hiss open. He pulled at the cape and blankets, already cursing the cold his free arm hinted at. It was tempting to nestle down into the pile of blankets -- there had to be at least four of them -- and let the warmth drag him back down into sleep. But that would doubtless be akin to trusting the hospitality of a Hutt. You didn't get something for nothing. There was going to be a price to pay for this, and Luke wasn't sure he'd be able to afford it.

Luke tried to push himself up into a sitting position and nearly jumped out of his skin when a hand appeared from his peripheral vision to push him back against the pillows.

"Rest easy, son. You've had a hard day."

Vader had returned.

It was difficult to know what bothered Luke more: the uncharacteristic gentleness in Vader's hands, or that he'd called him son.

Luke recoiled as far from Vader as he could.

It wasn't that far.

"You are not in danger, young one. Be still." Vader held out a placating hand.

His jaw ached from clenching and chattering, but Luke gritted his teeth again nonetheless. "I'm s- s-s s'posed to b-believe that-t-t?"

Ugh. It was still cold outside the blankets.

He did not like that he could actually hear amusement in Vader's voice when the man answered, "If I wished harm to come to you, young one, do you really think you would be here?"

Luke picked at the covers and tried to scowl. But being in close proximity to Darth Vader for an extended period of time didn’t exactly bolster one’s courage. The most he could muster was an anxious frown. Don’t let him get to you. He’s manipulating you. Waiting for you to let your guard down. Then he’ll bring in the torture droid. 

“Yeah.” He narrowed his eyes. “D-don’t trus-s-t you.”

Alright, that might’ve been a bit too blunt. 

Vader inclined his head -- helmet? How much of that was his head? Did Luke actually want to know? -- and made a sound curiously like a sigh. “That is to be expected. We were not introduced under particularly favorable circumstances.”

Luke stared at him incredulously. Introduced? As if they were diplomats crossing paths at a senator’s ball? Introduced?! 

This was the man who just...slaughtered anything and anyone that got in his way. He was there for every horrible thing that happened to Leia. He was the reason Luke was stuck trying to figure out the Force on his own. He was the reason Luke was alone! And here he was, upset that Luke didn’t trust him?

“My medical droid informs me that your core temperature has...improved. But you are still feeling ill effects.” If Vader felt as awkward as he looked, he kept it out of his voice admirably. A little too calmly, he lifted a steaming cup from somewhere behind him and held it out.

Luke shrank back. “I d-don’t want it.”

Vader’s shoulders tensed, just a fraction. “It is not poisoned, young one. Nor does it contain a truth drug, or whatever else outlandish theories you have concocted.”

“You c-could be l-l-lying.”

“I could. But I have no reason to be.”

Luke could think of a few reasons. Pure cruelty came to mind. Or lulling him into a false sense of security. After all the bluster about capturing the pilot who destroyed the Death Star, having a tea party with a dark lord wasn’t really on the agenda.

He jumped when the cup was pressed into his hands.

“You do not have to drink it. But the heat will benefit you.” Vader leaned back into a chair that most certainly had not been there before. “Transitioning from Tatooine to the climate of long-term space travel is...taxing.”

No, transitioning from getting thrown out of a ship to getting locked in the Ice Pod is “taxing”, Luke thought, glaring into the cup.

Whatever liquid was inside, it was dark, and smelled almost earthy. Not caf, some kind of tea, perhaps? The steam curled up to bathe his face, and he could begrudgingly admit that it was doing him a world of good.

“My meditation chamber is not meant to hold such low temperatures for such an extended period of time,” Vader said suddenly. “The General’s summons, I fear, did not give me adequate time to reset the cooling system. You were never meant to experience that.”

Luke didn’t care if it was childish or not. He pulled his knees slowly up to his chest -- fighting through entirely too many blankets -- and rested the cup on them. He refused to look up. He would not make eye contact with his father’s killer.

Actually, where even are his eyes under there? 

“D-didn’t exp-p-pect the Empire to ap-p-p-pologize to a p-p-risoner,” he mumbled.

His stammer was decreasing, slowly. He thought a warm drink would certainly help, but he was not brave enough to risk whatever was in that cup.

“I would rather you did not think of yourself as a prisoner, but I understand that your experiences have not given you cause to believe otherwise,” Vader answered. “But you are correct: that was intended to be an apology. I will not allow such a thing to happen again.”

The cup seemed like porcelain. Impossibly delicate. But it held up well under Luke’s grip as it tightened. This was getting ridiculous. The handoff. The fall. The pod. The blankets. The tea. 

“Just…” 

Vader stilled. He cocked his head, as if listening intently. “Luke?”

It was too much.

He broke.

“Don’t c-c-call me that!”

“It is your name.”

“It’s m-m-my! Name!” Luke’s chest heaved. “You d-d-on’t use it! Stop p-p-pretending! I’m n-n-not going to tell you anyth-th-ing!”

I can’t, I can’t do this, Father. I didn’t want to cry, don’t let me cry! 

Vader leaned forward again. “Why do you believe that I am pretending?”

Was he kidding? 

Luke finally looked up at him. “Y-you k-kill Jedi,” he spat. “Like you k-killed my father.” 

And that was what broke the facade.

“Enough.” Vader reached down and took the tea from Luke.

He set it on the tray and whirled back to face the boy.

“Listen to me,” he growled. “Whatever Kenobi told you, whatever wild fictions he spun about your past, he lied.”

Luke’s shoulders hitched. He pulled back against the wall and turned his face back to his knees. “I d-d-on’t believe you!”

“Look at me!” 

Vader took his chin in one hand and pulled it up. “Look at me, Luke. He lied to you. And he lied to me. Why do you think I wear a mask? Do you even know what he did?”

“No no no-” Luke tried to shake his head. “W-why-?”

“Why would he lie to you?” Vader asked angrily. “Why, Luke, would he be so interested in making sure that you believed I killed your father? What did you do on Cymoon, before I knew your name?”

Vader’s anger shook the room, cutting the lights into fragments as shadow overtook them. But somehow, Luke didn’t feel that the anger was directed at him as much as it was at Obi-wan. They really had hated each other, then. But why would Obi-wan lie about his father’s death? He had his lights-

The lightsaber.

Luke’s gut churned.

Vader had his lightsaber now. His father’s lightsaber. And now it was in the possession of the man who had allegedly killed him.

Allegedly.

Allegedly?

Why was he even considering Vader’s words? This was Darth Vader! He was a liar- not this time

He was a monster -- maybe so 

“W-what do you want?” Luke’s voice cracked. “I d-d-on’t understand!” 

The hand on his chin pulled away without warning. The shadows retreated sullenly to pool around the chair. “I know.”

Vader raised his hand again. He hesitated when Luke flinched, then rested it on the crown of his head. “I know you don’t. Not yet. Use the Force, Luke.”

“What?”

Vader tilted his head back with a gentle push. “I know that you can. Stretch out with your feelings. What did you intend to do on Cymoon?”

It wasn’t enough to simply tell the boy the truth. He needed him to see. He needed him to understand. He was a pawn. They had both been pawns. For a moment he almost wished Kenobi lived, so that he could run him through again.

“What did you int-”

“Kill you!” Luke burst out. It came out with a tiny, exhausted sob. “I w-was going to kill you.” 

“Because?”

“B-because you k-killed my-”

“Because you thought that I had killed your father,” Vader interrupted sternly. “Because Obi-wan sent you, untrained, untested, into battle having told you that I was your great enemy in some noble quest to avenge a father you never had the chance to meet.”

“Stop.” Luke didn’t want to hear this. This was a kind of torture after all, wasn’t it? It was emotional. Psychological. But there could be no tactical benefit in telling him these things. Why was Vader telling him these things? Why not just kill him and be done with it?

“Who took you from your mother?” Vader’s earlier question rang in Luke’s ears.

A trickle of sweat dried cold on the back of his neck. What did Darth Vader know about his mother?

Do you really want to pull on that thread, Luke? 

“What do you want?” He tried. He tried so hard to keep the tears from coming. But he was tired and afraid, and so, so overwhelmed.

Vader’s hand smoothed his hair, disturbingly gentle. “I want you to understand that you are not alone, Luke. That you were never alone.”

He raised his other hand. Held Luke’s face between them.

“Do you know why Kenobi told you that I had killed your father?”

“Don’t-” Luke whispered brokenly. He couldn’t take it. Not this. Not him.

“Luke. Look at me. What does the Force tell you?”

“I don’t know-” Luke tried to pull away. Please don’t please don’t don’t tell me don’t change things don’t let it all be lies- “I don’t know!” 

“I did not kill your father.”

It was said with such an air of finality that it rang through the Force, even with Luke’s muffled attempts to read it.

“No,” he agreed. 

His world had a little crack, right at the edge. It was small now, but just the right pressure, and-

“I am your father.”

Crack. 

#phew! that was a long one #long post #star wars wednesday #The Handoff au #The Handoff fic #star wars au #good lord that was a whole dang chapter I just threw at y'all #fic prompts #writing prompts #my aus #my fics #darth vader #luke skywalker #dangit vader #that could be a tag on its own lol #local dingus of a sith lord does not know the meaning of Tact or Subtlety

[98prilla]

Hidden Shapes

Based on This Post by @fangirltothefullest (who is awesome and amazing, go follow). This was supposed to be a simple one shot, but as always, it’s really gotten away from me, so expect three to four chapters, instead. 

...

AO3

Next

The dark sides all have animal traits. But they also have hybrid forms. Something Patton, Logan, and Roman don't realize until Janus isn't able to help it. 

....

He doesn’t feel quite right.

 He brushes it off, at first, ignoring the slight chill that comes over him, every once in a while, the mild achiness to his bones, he ignores them all.

 Then Patton comments on how his scales look pretty on his arms, when he’s doing the dishes, sleeves rolled up, and he nearly drops the plate he’s washing, before he regains his composure, letting Patton think the slip was from the unexpected compliment, as he excuses himself.

 He notices his fangs are longer, sharper, the next day, and his chills are stronger as well, he spends nearly the whole of it working at his desk, wrapped in a blanket, trying to ignore the pain taking up residence behind his temples, pounding dully against his skull, as he examines and rearranges the schedule to make sure everyone has at least a day of self care planned for the week, before sending it back to Logan for assessment. He won’t admit it out loud, but he rather enjoys the back and forth, the bargaining, the trade offs, it’s a bit of a game of wits, finding how it all can fit. But today it just makes him exhausted.

 He makes an excuse, not to come out for supper that night, saying he’s tired and plans to turn in early, which is true, he just leaves out the reason, which would lead to Patton trying to take care of him, and the last thing he wants is to force pity from Patton, so he keeps his mouth shut.

…

He’s shaking. The world is swirling and writhing around him, shadows stretching and shifting around him, forming almost figures, eyes glaring at him accusingly, whispers menacing his ears, telling him how poorly of a job he’s really doing, and he grits his teeth and bears it, even as he feels himself shifting into something different, scales blooming across the entirety of his face, his arms, coiling in on himself, as his tail forms, a ball python’s markings, in deep blacks and hazardous yellows, marking him as the venomous creature he is.

 He doesn’t want to be this monster, but he can’t stop it, can’t stop the change, so he just hisses, cursing the world, burying himself in his tail so he doesn’t have to see anything, feel anything, outside his little bubble, though he can’t seem to stop shaking, no matter how tightly he curls.

…

He sees clawed hands tearing at him, shredding him to ribbons. Dark figures laughing as they rip him limb from limb. Violet eyes and neon green grinning, as they set him aflame, burning him to ash, and somehow, he can feel every second of it, taste the smoke on his tongue, convulsing and writhing as he tries to escape the smoke, but there’s nowhere, nowhere to go. Webs, pinning him down, eight eyes, eyes he knows so well, staring into his as the pincers bite into his neck, tentacles wrapping tight around his throat, lifting him off the ground, constricting him until he can’t breathe, until his own weight suffocates him-

 Then suddenly it’s bright, far too bright, and he can’t see clearly, and he hears gasps, voices around him, hissing and flinching back at a touch to his forehead, slitted eyes flashing as his tail lashes, coiling.

 “Leave me alone!” He growls, baring his fangs, his claws, ready to spring, even as the world spins and colors blend, everything shifting as if he’s looking through a fun house mirror.

 “You’re burning up…”

 “Calm down, Janus, let us help!” He hisses, drawing back further, heart pounding with fear, pulse racing with adrenaline, but everything is too much, too loud, too bright, and he can’t focus, can’t figure out where he is or what’s going on or who is speaking, past the pounding in his ears.

 Then a hand comes into view, trying to reach him, and he snarls, letting the coils do their job, propelling himself forwards, pouncing, but the sudden movement sends a wash of lightheadedness through him, and the world goes dark.

 “Janus! Janus, are you ok?!” He groans, barely managing to register the voice, barely managing to flick open his eyes for long enough to see a flash of deep blue, to realize someone has caught him, stopped him from falling.

 “lo…gan?” He manages weakly, feeling the logical side let out a relieved breath, though he’s no less worried.

 “Yes. You’ve got a severe fever, Janus, how long have you been sick?” His mind seems to be working at half speed, his tongue feels heavy and thick, and he barely manages a shrug.

 “w-week?” He offers, already slipping away.

 “Oh honey. We’re gonna take care of you, alright? You just get some rest, and when you wake up it’ll all be better.” He doesn’t trust that voice, not completely, but he knows in this case, it’s telling the truth, so he nods, shivering at the cold air on his scales, wishing for his heating pad, before he blacks out once more.

…

Logan lets out a low breath as Janus collapses in his arms, cheeks flushed, even through the scales now peppering both sides of his face, his pulse coming in odd unsteady beats, his breathing shallow and uneven. He’s ill, extremely ill, and he doesn’t know how none of them had noticed.

 Then again, even after becoming accepted, Janus has always been the most aloof of all of them. Even now, they don’t really know much about him, he holds everything close to his chest. Which is maybe why Virgil and Remus are the only two who don’t look entirely surprised at the state of him.

 That state being a half human, half snake, commonly known as a Naga, in folklore.

 “We need to break the fever. Help me lift him, onto the couch?” Logan states, more than asks, and instantly, the twins are there, each taking half of his tail while Logan takes his torso, sliding him onto the couch, before wrapping him with blankets, trying to quell his incessant shivering, coiling tight, teeth chattering.

 “Now what?” Roman asks, uncharacteristically quiet.

 “Heated blankets, he has some, yes?” Remus nods.

 “I’ll go get them.”

 “Virgil.” He startles at Logan addressing him, his eyes had been locked on Janus’s form, huddled and so small, despite his large coils. He hadn’t realized his breath was starting speed, his heart starting pound. “Virgil, I need you to answer some questions for me. It could help in my treatment of him.” He nods, though his throat feels dry.

 “He has shifted like this before?” He nods again, forcing himself to take a deep inhale and exhale.

 “yeah. He doesn’t… he usually doesn’t. Doesn’t like to. But when he gets sick or hurt, he loses control, sometimes. Goes… goes into attack mode.” Logan nods.

 “It makes sense, that as self preservation, he would have this kind of protective mechanism. Given his scales, I’m not surprised that he would take Naga form. And Remus has his tentacles, his half animal form being an octopus-“

 “Kraken, dear Logic!” Remus trills, returning and tucking the heated blankets around Janus, making sure they aren’t set too high. They want a toasty snek, after all, not a toasted one. A minor distinction, but an important one, in this case.

 “And Virgie here is-“ Instantly, the room grows ten degrees colder, the shadows lengthening, as it grows darker, all eyes turning back to Virgil, who is shaking his head, maybe just shaking in general.

 “don’t. Remus, please… don’t.” Remus pouts, but instantly nods, coming over and rubbing his arms to dispel the chill, smiling as Virgil’s head thumps against his chest.

 “Sorry, Vee. I forget what I’m not supposed to say and what I am. I didn’t mean to spill the beans.” He feels Virgil nod, knows he understands, he’s just scared and stressed right now, and so is he, it’s why his tongue nearly slipped. He has a bit more control than the others tend to think, at least when it comes to important things, secret things, like this.

 “Virgil? You… you have animal traits too? That’s really cool, kiddo, why didn’t you tell us?” He winces at Patton’s question.

 “you wouldn’t like them. Trust me, Pat, it’s better I just keep them tucked away, where they won’t cause any problems.” He mutters, a bit of fear curdling in his chest, at what he is, fear blooming at what they would do, if they knew.

 If they knew his eyeshadow was to hide the three smaller eyes dotted underneath his normal ones, if they knew about his eight, spindly spiked legs, that could extend from his back, much like Remus’s tentacles, making him much faster and stronger than any of the rest of them, if they knew how quickly he could move, slinging web, how reflexive an action it once was, when he and Remus were young and would tussle, if they knew about his own deadly, venomous fangs, if they knew how when he was stressed, he still vanished into Remus’s imagination, to weave intricate webs, to put his hands to work so his mind would be silent.

 “Virgil. I love you kiddo, no matter what, okay? Just remember that, if you ever do want to share. Whatever it is, it won’t change that.” He looks away, nodding once, though if Janus were in working order he’d call bullshit from a mile away, there were some things that they could grow to accept about him, yes, but his half spider form? Definitely not one of them, when even curtains with cartoony spiders warranted being called “creepy crawly death dealers” and getting attacked by Roman’s sword.

 “So… now what do we do?” Roman asks breaking the silence.

 “wait. He’ll shift back, once he’s feeling better, in control, again. Until then, we should all give him plenty of space, you three especially.” Virgil answers.

 “Why is that?” Logan asks, and Remus grins.

 “Janny’s got quite a nasty bite. Those fangs aren’t just for show!”

 “He might lash out, is what he’s saying. And it’s better if no one is in reach when he does. Me and Re have a certain amount of immunity, to the venom, thanks to our… traits, but it would be really, really bad, for any of you. Plus, he isn’t used to you all being around yet, he’s less likely to lash out if it’s me or Remus, nearby.” Virgil explains, “you, um, you’ll trigger his fight reflex.” He doesn’t have to look up, to see the slightly hurt expression on Patton’s face.

 “He doesn’t trust us yet.” Logan says softly, and Remus nods, though his face is tight, with a frown.

 “That’s… understandable. We haven’t been the best of companions.” Roman murmurs, surprising both Remus and Virgil.

 “He trusts you.” Remus states, looking firmly at Logan, who’s eyes widen in surprise, hand flying to adjust his glasses. “He doesn’t trust you.” Remus states, looking at Roman, who nods minutely, a brief look of regret flashing across his face. “And none of us trust you.” He turns his sharp gaze on Patton, who winces.

 “Remus!” Virgil hisses, grabbing his arm.

 “What? It’s true, otherwise you would have told them what you are, by now! Tell me, the reason you haven’t, isn’t exclusively to do with Patton.” He flinches, drawing back, eyes glued to the floor so he doesn’t have to see the hurt on Patton’s face, though he hears the sharp inhale of breath. “Tell me you aren’t afraid, of what he will do.” He gasps, the air flooding out of him, feeling as if he’s been punched in the gut, tears welling in the corners of his eyes. He opens his mouth, ready to deny it.

 “I can’t.” he whispers instead, blanching at his own words, drawing further back, into himself. “I… I can’t.”

 “that’s ok, kiddo.” Patton’s voice is soft, trembling, and he looks up in surprise, at the words, Patton taking a step closer, though still giving him his space. “It’s ok. I’ve hurt you, a lot, in the past, unintentionally, but I still hurt you. It’s ok, that you don’t feel comfortable telling me everything, telling me anything. I don’t expect you to. I don’t need you to. I’m happy to just be here, that you’ve let me have this much with you, and it’s ok, that you don’t entirely trust me. It’s ok, Virg.” His lip trembles, then he’s in Patton’s arms, head tucked against his shoulder. “we’re ok, kiddo.” Patton hugs him tightly, rubbing circles against his back, pretending not to notice the sniffling.

 “thank you.” Virgil whispers, pulling away, Patton reluctantly letting him go.

 “Of course, Virgil. I’ll go get started on some soup and grilled cheese. Everyone needs to eat something, and hopefully we’ll be able to get some soup in him, too. Thank you, Remus. For being honest with me. It… it hurts, but I need to hear it, sometimes. It keeps me moving forwards. Keeps me getting… better.” Patton flashes him a small, tired smile, before ducking away, into the kitchen.

 “I’ll go help. He gets shaky, when he’s worried, and he’ll nick himself cutting the vegtables, otherwise.” Roman mumbles, looking back at Remus, hesitating as if he wants to say something, before shaking his head and turning away, a rueful smile on his lips, a promise in his eyes, that they’ll talk later, when he knows what he wants to say.

 “He… trusts me?” Remus rolls his eyes, sitting on the arm of the couch.

 “Um, duh? You’re the only one who accepted all of us, right of the bat. Sure, you aren’t buddy buddy with us, but you also didn’t just dismiss us. You also listened to us, took us seriously, debated, not disagreeing just because of who we are. You treat us like… equals. That’s a rare thing, around here, Logan.”

 “…oh. I… I see. Well. I will be keeping an eye on his temperature, checking in every few hours. If anything changes, fetch me immediately. I’ll get some cool water and towels, for his forehead. See if you can’t coax him into drinking something, as well, he’s likely severely dehydrated. I would suggest an IV, but I doubt his reaction to that would be ideal.”

 “Ok. Sounds good, Lo. Thanks.” Logan nods once, before leaving, dropping off a bowl and towels, before vanishing once more. Virgil slumps to the ground, back resting against the couch cushions, hands buried in his face as he lets out a long, shaking breath, trying to stave off the panic creeping up his shoulders.

 Remus frowns, brushing back Janus’s hair, dabbing the rag across his forehead, willing with all his might for the fever to go down, for his eyes to open, for him to smirk and say something bitingly sharp.

 “Come on, DeeDee. Playing coy doesn’t suit you.” He whispers, eyes flicking to Virgil at the small snort from the emo, who shoves his hands up through his hair, leaving it messy and disheveled, his eyeshadow smeared across his face. If he looks hard enough, he can spot his dark little eyes, shiny, pure pitch little things, like reflective black buttons. “you know I’ve always found your little quirks cute, right?” He asks, not mentioning specifics just in case someone came by. Virgil lets out another short laugh, though the small smile stays on his face, as he shakes his head.

 “I think you’re the only one who would describe them that way, Ree, but yeah. I know.” He mumbles, not protesting as Remus slips off the couch and onto the floor beside him, slowly and gently resting an arm around his shoulders. He scoots closer, tucking himself against Remus’s side, letting himself burrow into the warmth, safe and protected. “I’m scared.” Comes the low whisper, and Remus coos, turning to wrap his other arm around him in a warm hug.

 “I know, shadow. I know.”

#sanders sides #tss #Janus Sanders #remus sanders #virgil sanders #patton sanders #logan sanders #roman sanders #dragon witch #sympathetic janus #unsympathetic remus #sympathetic virgil #sympathetic patton #sympathetic logan #sympathetic roman #sickfic #sick janus #naga janus #spider virgil #kraken remus #dark sides have animal forms #hurt/comfort #angst #fluff #eventual happy ending #patton's trying to be a good friend #protective remus

[jetsetlife138]

Imaginary - Chapter 8

Rating: Mature for this chapter, but Explicit in future chapters

Pairing: Alastor x Fem!Reader

Summary: A mysterious device throws you into the animated world of Hazbin Hotel. Once an average human living in a three-dimensional world, you’re now transformed into a two-dimensional human that has been cast into Hell. Pentagram City’s residents are curious and most harbor ill-will towards you. Charlie and the staff of the Happy Hotel take you in and offer you protection while they try and figure out how to return you to your world. That is… until you come across a certain Radio Demon with different intentions. Chapter Warnings: Abuse, Kidnapping Attempt, Non-Consensual Touching Previous Chapters: 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 - 7

The walk to Valentino’s office… or… headquarters… or lair… or whatever you wanted to call it was uncomfortable at best. Angel guided you through the streets of Pentagram City, making sure to deviate from the main roads by taking back alleys and seedy shortcuts to ensure that you remained unnoticed by Hell’s residents. You were afraid to ask how he knew about the obscure alternate routes, but considering his profession, which you had learned was an adult film star who alternated as a hooker, you supposed that he would be well-versed in that sort of thing. 

“Listen, toots. If anyone asks, I didn’t set this up. Got it?” the spider demon urged, hustling down the alley.

“Why would that matter?”

“Because!” he snapped, slowing down so that you could keep up with his long legs. “I don’t wanna be the one who catches shit when the little princess realizes you snuck out right from under her nose. And I especially don’t wanna take the blame when Smiles discovers you’re gone.”

“What difference does it make if Alastor finds out?” you asked, perplexed. “I mean, I can understand Charlie. She’s giving you free housing, and you’re already on thin ice with Vaggie, but Alastor doesn’t have anything to do with you being there.”

He cackled maliciously. “Babe, you really are too much. Whether you wanna admit it or not, Smiles is obsessed with you. If he finds out that I took you to Big Vee, someone he’s not too fond of, I might add, he’ll probably eat me - and not in the way I’d like him to,” he added, grinning salaciously.

Much to your horror, you then began approaching a building with the words Porn Studios plastered on the front in bright red letters.

“Val… works in the porn industry?” you inquired, a hint of contempt in your voice.

“It’s a thriving business, baby. If you were looking for a ‘respectable’ establishment, you ain’t gonna find one a those in Hell. Get used to it.”

The more you thought about it, the more it made sense. Valentino ran Hell’s gritty underbelly, and if he was in charge of the porn and prostitution industries, surely he was in a place of power.

When you reached the empty lobby inside, Angel motioned for you to sit in one of the chairs. “I’ll go an’ let him know you’re here. Sit tight.”

The moment he disappeared through one of the doors, a slight sense of dread fell over you, causing you to stir uncomfortably in your seat. Wringing your hands nervously, your thoughts began to wander. Did you just make a huge mistake? Should you have put your trust in Angel? Why didn’t anyone else mention Valentino as a trusted source before? 

It was too much. You shouldn’t have gone there. A feeling in your gut was telling you to run and avoid this place at all costs.

Just as you had gotten up to leave, Angel came back through the doors. “He’s ready for you, toots. Come on back.”

“Angel… I--” you started to protest before he cut you off.

“You wanted answers, didn’t chya? He’s not known for his patience, babe. Come on, let’s go.”

Against your better judgement, you followed him back, swallowing thickly and trying to keep your nerves steady.

As you approached a large wooden door, Angel knocked twice before holding the door open for you. Hesitantly, you walked past him into a large office with tacky decor. Risque pictures lined the dark purple walls and a giant furry pink couch sat in the corner. Beneath your feet was a zebra-skin rug, which you were sure had been an inhabitant of Hell at one point.

At the very end of the room was a large and intimidating desk with a tall chair behind it that was faced away from you. Once you were just a few feet away, the chair swiveled, revealing a red-eyed demon adorned with a fancy flush coat and heart-shaped glasses. His outfit made him seem much less sinister than you were sure he probably was.

“Well, what do we have here?” he hissed, cracking a fanged smile. “Angie, when you told me that you were bringing me a living human, you didn’t say that she’d be so… delicious.”

Angel chuckled awkwardly, brushing past you to stand closer to Valentino.

“Don’t be shy, sugar. Come a little closer to Daddy and let me get a good look at you.”

Struggling to hide your grimace, you took a few more steps forward. Feeling his eyes scanning your form, you crossed your arms defensively, as if trying to physically hold yourself together.

The demon hummed thoughtfully before he stood up from his chair, gliding smoothly around his desk before he stopped directly in front of you.

Holy shit. He was tall. Even taller than Angel.

Pursing his lips, he circled you, inspecting you like a vulture honing in on its prey. Eventually, he stopped in front of you before demanding, “Sit still for me, sugar.”

He then placed a large hand over your chest, not in a sexual way, but as if he was trying to feel your heartbeat. Closing his eyes for a moment, you felt a strange tingling sensation where his hand was only briefly before he pulled it away with a smile plastered on his face.

Stepping away from you, he leaned back on his desk in a casual position before addressing you. “So, my little worker bee here tells me that you’re looking for some insight. That right?”

Unable to speak, you nodded your head.

“Walk me through what happened. Give Daddy all the intricate little details, baby. Don’t leave anything out.”

You wrinkled your nose as his use of the word daddy. It was incredibly off putting and didn’t at all appeal to you, but you went along with it anyway.

Clearing your throat, you started to speak, your voice shaking. “W-well… I-I was out shopping with my friends, and I saw a television that was a few decades old… probably from the seventies, at least. The remote control was next to the t.v. I picked it up, turned it on, and suddenly I was thrust into this place. That’s all I can remember.”

“Hmm,” he hummed aloud, tapping his index finger on his chin. “How very peculiar.”

“Whadya thinkin’, Val?” Angel Dust pressed, just as intrigued.

“Angie, baby… why don’t you run and get Vox. I’m sure he’d be interested to hear this little human’s story.”

“Y-you sure, boss?” Angel asked, hesitating.

Valentino narrowed his eyes at the spider. “Are you really going to waste my time with stupid questions?”

“But… you said this would be discreet-”

SLAP

You winced as Valentino backhanded Angel Dust, causing the spider to stumble back, holding his now tender cheek with a shocked expression on his face.

“Remember your place and do as you’re fucking told,” the demon snarled, baring his teeth at his inferior. “Now.”

Frowning, Angel Dust gave you a subtly apologetic glance before sauntering out of the room, leaving you alone with the pimp.

Even though you were genuinely upset at how Valentino treated Angel, you couldn’t bring yourself to act on your anger. When you had lost your cool with Lucifer, it was different because you were surrounded by Charlie and Alastor and you had the luxury of voicing your outrage, as foolish as it may have been. In your current predicament, however, you were utterly alone and at the mercy of Valentino. Clearly, you were out of your league. 

“Um,” you stammered, practically trembling where you stood and wanting to ease the quiet tension. “Wh-who is Vox?”

“He’s an associate of mine,” the demon purred. “Something tells me that he’ll be able to enlighten us to your little predicament.”

“Really?” you pressed, partially intrigued, partially terrified. “Why do you say that?”

Before he could respond, another voice could be heard approaching. “Seriously, Val? You’re gonna send your whore to fetch me like I’m some kind of bitch who’s at your beck and call? You can’t just-- oh.”

The new demon froze as he entered the room and laid eyes on you. The sight of him was just as alarming to you as you had been to him. Rather than a zoomorphic creature, it was like he was a cross between a human and a television set. He was about as tall as Alastor, sporting a striped tuxedo with a black and red striped shirt underneath. His red bowtie prominently stood out in comparison to grey undershirt.

On top of his flat-screen t.v. head, he had a black top hat with sound waves etched into it. His eyes were red with one of them containing black rings around the pupil. His entire appearance was unsettling to say the least. 

“And who do we have here?” Vox asked, his tone immediately changing from irritated to seductive.

You hadn’t realized that Valentino had moved next to you while you were distracted by Vox’s entrance. He entangled one of his fingers into a strand of your hair, twirling it around his lengthy digit, causing you to flinch. “This is the human that we’ve been hearing about all over the Seven Rings,” Val whispered close to your ear. “She has quite an interesting story. Why don’t you be a doll and tell my associate here what happened to you, sugar?”

Inhaling a shaky breath, you repeated your story about the television set. As you spoke, Vox’s eyes widened in shock as he exchanged glances with Valentino who had a menacing smirk on his face. As you finished your story, Vox had a similar expression to Val as he eyed you hungrily.

“Excuse us for a moment, won’t you, baby? Daddy’s gotta have a little chat,” Val snickered as he pulled Vox aside and stepped into the room adjacent to the one you were in.

You briefly wondered what had happened to Angel Dust until their whispers brought your attention back to them. Unable to stop yourself, you stepped closer to the doorway, listening in on their conversation. It was difficult to make out anything that they were saying, but you caught certain things here and there.

“...didn’t think that it would actually work! By the time I heard that there was a human…”

“...exactly what we wanted. What’s even better is that she came to us…” 

“...not going to go quietly. Her little friends at that rancid hotel…” 

“...just do it. We’ve waited too long for this…”

From what you had heard, you weren’t at all liking where this was going. Everything inside of you was telling you to run.

Just as you were looking for an escape, the demons came back into the room with venomous grins on their faces. “Going somewhere?” Vox asked, interpreting your actions.

“I-I need to get back. The others will be looking for me soon, and I--”

“Now, now,” Valentino cooed as he towered over you, running a finger down your arm. “You just got here. It would be rude to leave so soon.”

All of the courage that you had gathered over your time in hell had immediately dissipated. There was no way that you could overpower two demons. It was clear that you were at their mercy. “Please…” you begged, still looking for an exit. “I was just looking for a way home. I didn’t mean--”

“Don’t worry, fleshling,” Vox soothed with false sweetness as he also caressed your face, giving you unwanted chills. “We’re going to get you home. But first… we’re going to have a little fun with you.”

“W-what do you mean by fun ?” you asked, not really wanting to hear the answer, but trying to buy time until you could come up with a crafty escape.

“Oh, don’t you worry, sugar. We’re going to take good care of you,” the moth demon purred as he continued to fondle your clothes. “You’re ours now.”

“You know, I do really hate those who can’t show a little more respect to those of fairer means,” a familiar voice interrupted.

Relief washed over you like a tidal wave. Never did you think that you would be so relieved to hear that eerie static-filled voice.

Valentino and Vox immediately went rigid, but kept their hands where they were on your body. “It’s rather distasteful,” the Radio Demon continued, emerging from the shadows. His eyes were radiating a crimson glow and his smile was even more malevolent than you had seen it in the past. “Like bad meat.”

The tension in the room was palpable as Alastor’s antlers seemed to lengthen in height and width. The dark circles under his eyes appeared once more and his pupils turned to dials as his teeth elongated to emphasize his already terrifying grin. “If you would, kindly remove your hands from her.”

“No one asked you to intervene, Bullwinkle,” Vox snapped, tightening his grip on your arm.

“What?” Valentino asked, suddenly distracting and quirking a brow at his cohort. “Bullwinkle is a fucking moose.”

“So what? They both have antlers,” Vox countered, shrugging. “Who fucking cares?”

“I’m sorry to interrupt what I’m sure would be a fascinating lover’s quarrel,” Alastor teased, earning a growl from the other demons, “But I really must be on my way.”

“No one’s stopping you!” Vox pointed out, baring his electric blue teeth. “But you’re not taking the fleshling with you.”

“If you refuse to relinquish the human to me, I’m afraid I’ll have to take a more aggressive approach. I’m sure no one wants that,” Alastor remarked, tilting his head mockingly, his frightening appearance still in place.

“You really want to threaten us?” Valentino questioned with a chuckle, his eyes flashing from behind his heart-shaped glasses. “We’ll annihilate you.”

“Oh, ho, ho,” Alastor laughed, straightening his monocle. “As much as I would enjoy proving you wrong, I’m afraid you’re confused. You see, I’m here to ensure that the human remains safe before she is claimed by Lucifer. He has very specific plans for her, and, as I’m sure you can imagine, he won’t be thrilled if he finds out his prized possession is being held hostage in this… fine establishment,” he sneered at the last part of his statement.

The two demons exchanged worried glances with one another, hesitating before speaking. “Lucifer wants her?” Vox pressed, eyes darting between you and his partner-in-crime.

“That’s correct,” Alastor replied, not bothering to mask the smug undertone. “I wouldn’t want to be the one to tell the King of Hell that his shiny new toy is being soiled by two clueless brutes. Would you?”

“Fuck,” Valentino grumbled before gripping your shoulders and thrusting you back into Alastor, where you landed harshly aganst his chest. His arms immediately wrapped around you, his clawed fingers digging into your shoulders posessively. 

Vox glared at Val with disbelief as he stammered, “You’re just handing her over?! She’s the key--”

“Shut the fuck up, Vox,” Valentino snarled, narrowing his eyes and giving him a subtle, unspoken warning. “It’s not the last we’ll see of her.”

Fuming, Vox remained silent as his eyes flashed at Alastor. Valentino then bent down, his eyes boring into yours as he whispered, “We’ll see you soon, sugar.” Sitting up, his lip curled as he addressed Alastor once more.  “Now get out.”

With a flick of one of his ears and no other words exchanged, Alastor relinquished his hold on you and escorted you out, moving so quickly that you had to practically run in order to keep up with him. 

“Alastor,” you addressed him breathlessly, “Just… wait a minute--”

“Not here, darling,” he urged, still moving with urgent haste.

After nearly fifteen minutes of power walking, you had reached the hotel. The moment the door shut behind you in the lobby, you glared at the Radio Demon while struggling to catch your breath. After a few moments of tension, you asked, “Is that really what you think of me? A ‘shiny new toy’ for Lucifer’s entertainment?”

Alastor, who had returned to his far less threatening appearance, simply smirked while twirling his hand and summoning his microphone before leaning on it casually. “No, sweetheart. That’s not all I really think of you.”

“What the fuck, Alastor,” you blurted out, unable to stop yourself. “You’re a god damned enigma! Is this how you get your rocks off? You tormented me when I first got here by making not-so-subtle threats and touching me constantly like a weirdo. Then you suddenly became nice and supportive, and after Lucifer, it  seemed like you were actually going to help me, only to then make it seem like you’re just biding time until you can hand me over to him! What’s your game?! Is this how you drive your prey crazy before you slaughter them? Why are you such a creepy bastard?! What did I ever do to you to deserve these mind games?!”

Yikes. You didn’t mean to let all of that spill out at once, but you couldn’t help yourself. Once you started, you couldn’t stop. What’s worse was that during your rant, Alastor just gawked at you, seemingly unfazed. If anything, he was entertained, which only made you more upset.

After a few seconds of silence and him just staring at you with an amused expression, you emphasized, “Well?! Answer me!”

He then sat up straight, making his microphone disappear into a cloud of smoke before approaching you. Just as you were about to snap at him again, his long arm circled around your waist, pulling you close while cupping your face with his hand, running his thumb along your cheek. Before you could comprehend what was happening, his lips were on yours, moving against you in a deep and sensual kiss, making you forget the world around you.

Tags: @beetlewise-and-pennyjuice @edgy-drama-queen @chasingfireflies1999 @galaxy-meteor @cecidit-31 @shadowclawstudio88 @utterly-disappointing @opheliuva @trinswhimsys @skylarhedges @whogavebrynjolfpermissiontobehot @sailor-earth-1

#alastor #hazbin hotel fanfiction #hazbin angel dust #angel dust #the radio demon #hazbin vox #hazbin valentino #hazbin alastor #hazbin alastor x reader #alastor x reader

[whump-tr0pes]

Honor bound - 47

Honor bound - 47 (tortured for information) - @badthingshappenbingo​​ (requested by @worm-html, anon)

This is a series. Start here. Continued from here. 

Red X is for posted, white X is for requested.

AO3

Cw: torture, blood, death mention

Isaac was busy cutting vegetables for dinner. He had his right hand, still bound in a brace, on top of the cutting board holding the vegetables in place. He handled the knife carefully in his left. Gray had offered to do it. “The last thing you need now is to cut a finger off.” Gray had said it with a laugh. Isaac had insisted. “I want to help. You don’t need to keep me away from the pointy objects.” He’d been smiling, too.

Tori peeked past his shoulder. He moved back to show her his work. “Is this the right size?”

She smiled and nodded. “Perfect. Thank you.”

Sam came into the kitchen, hobbling skillfully on their crutches. It was almost time to get the brace of their leg. Almost. “Can I help?”

Tori moved to shoo them out of the kitchen. “Nope. Thank you, though.” She was smiling gently.

Isaac turned, knife still in hand, a smile on his face too. “Come on, Sam. Be honest. You’re here because you want a sample.”

Sam froze, eyes on the knife.

They’d been around knives in the kitchen before. They’d helped Tori peel potatoes for shepherd’s pie not even a week ago. But something was different this time. Something was wrong.

“If you think this hurts you’re essentially fucked, Sam.”

They stumbled back, losing their grip on the crutch as a hand went up in front of them. Pain lanced through their bad leg. They swallowed. It’s ok it’s ok this is stupid it’s just Isaac it’s just a knife it’s fine it’s ok he’s not here it’s over this is stupid stupid stupid stupid.

“Let me put it to you this way. I’m not going to stop unless you tell me the address of your home base. It’s entirely up to you how long this goes on.”

They started to fall backwards as they lost their balance. Why why why no this is wrong why no this shouldn’t happen I’m fine I’m fine I’m fine I’m fine.

Gavin yanked Sam’s head back, baring their throat as they sobbed. They pulled desperately at the rope binding their wrists behind them in the chair. He waved the knife in front of their face.

“You sure you have nothing to say? Not a single clue about the address of your home base?”

Hot tears poured down Sam’s face as they tried to turn their head against Gavin’s grip on their hair. “N-no…no…please…”

Gavin sighed. “You’d think by this point you’d have figured out that I’m not fucking around, Sam.” He brought the knife to their left arm, just below the shoulder. Sam flinched away from the feel of the cold metal on their skin, their whimpers turning to screams as Gavin drew the blade across their arm, leaving a line of blood as it went. They writhed away from the pain but Gavin held them steady with an iron grip on their hair.

“No! Please!” they screamed. “No no no…” The knife left their skin and they slumped in the chair, sweating and shaking with relief. They swallowed hard against the tearing feeling in their throat. It’s only been a few hours…not even a day… They cried harder as they wondered how long they would survive. It has to get worse. He’s not going to stop.

“Anything coming to mind now?” Sam gritted their teeth as tears streamed down their cheeks. “Whatever.” He brought the knife to their arm again and drew another line of blood.

Sam twisted as they cried out, biting down hard on their lip. I can’t tell him. He’ll kill them. He’ll hunt them down and kill them. Their mouth opened wide in a scream of agony.

Gavin finished with the cut. Sam moaned, gasping for breath. “Isaac will find me,” they sobbed.

Gavin rolled his eyes. “That’s the second time you’ve brought him up. Who the fuck is Isaac? Brother? Boyfriend? What?”

“He’s my friend,” they shrieked, blood rolling down their arm in a hot line. “He’ll find me, he’ll…he’ll come, he won’t let you do this…”

Gavin snorted. “Um…newsflash, buddy, but…” He waved his hand around the room in a lazy circle, knife still held tight. “…I’m kinda already doing it. How exactly do you imagine he’s going to find you? If he’s even looking. It was embarrassingly easy to take you, Sam. Are you sure this wasn’t an accident? How do you know he wasn’t ready to just shed some dead weight?”

Sam shuddered at Gavin’s words. “No…he would never…he…he’ll come for me, he will…”

“Don’t you think he would’ve been here by now if he was coming for you? I’ve given him plenty of time. Plenty of hints, too. And he just…” Gavin made an utterly perplexed face. “…hasn’t shown up. Weird.”

Sam tried to deny it, tried to say it was all a lie and Isaac was coming for them. The words caught in their throat. What if he’s telling the truth? They shoved the thought away. Isaac will save me, Isaac is coming.

“Welp, in the meantime you’re stuck with me. And I’m curious. If your team is the group that’s been hitting my satellite operations I’d love the opportunity to return the favor. So. Your home base. Tell me or the next one is deeper.”

“No! I can’t, I can’t I can’t I can’t no no no…”

“Ok, hard way it is.” The knife cut into Sam’s arm. Blood flowed immediately from the wound.

“NO! Please, no…please…it’s 37 Rockrest Drive…in…in Teston…please…”

Gavin laughed. “There, was that so hard? Now I know the first place to go once I’m done with you. Honestly not sure how long that’s gonna take, but…” He turned Sam’s head, inspecting their face as they cried. “I’m not in any hurry.”

Sam wailed in despair. He’s going to find them, he’s going to kill me and then go after them… “No…” they whimpered. “No…no, please…don’t…”

Gavin tapped the blade against Sam’s face. They flinched away, crying out weakly in terror. “Thanks so much for that. I’ll be sure to tell them who told me.”

Isaac was frozen for a split second. Then his stomach dropped as he realized what he’d done. He’d had a knife in his hand. Taken a step towards Sam. Maybe that was enough. Nobody else was able to predict their bad days, either. This day was different. This time, for Sam, something was wrong.

He saw Sam take a fumbling step back on their bad leg, knee buckling at the pain it must have caused. Then another step. Sam was going to fall. The knife fell from his hand and he was across the room in milliseconds. His good hand got a grip on Sam’s shirt as his healing one scrabbled against their arm. He didn’t feel the pain as the fingers tried to close.

They collapsed to the ground together in a heap. It took a moment for Isaac to understand what Sam was saying between their hitched sobs.

“Pl- Pl- Pl-lease I-I’m so-sor-sorry nuh- no-o-”

Isaac tried to force down what felt like icewater in his gut. “Sam?” Their eyelids fluttered, their eyes darting around the room, unseeing. “Sam?” His hands shook as he reached out to hold them.

They made no reaction, no indication they even knew Isaac was there. They trembled so violently he could barely hold on to them. He pulled them up to sitting and wrapped his arms around them. They shrunk in his embrace, weakly raising their hands to protect their head.

Tori knelt beside Isaac, Gray right behind her. Isaac swallowed hard, his eyes rising to hers, panicked. “W-what do I do?” He pressed his lips together to keep them from trembling.

“You’ve never seen them like this before?”

He numbly shook his head. “I…I don’t…I don’t think they would keep this from me, I don’t…” Tears brimmed in his eyes.

“I haven’t seen them this way, either.” Gray’s voice was strained. “What do you think -”

“It was the knife.” Isaac pressed his lips to Sam’s hair, distracted, eyes unfocused. “That has to be it. I don’t…I didn’t mean to…”

“Of course not, Isaac. Now just…gently…talk to them. Try to bring them back. Gently.”

He nodded helplessly. “Sam…” he murmured. “Sam, you’re ok…you’re safe…you’re right here with me…”

“Tell them where they are. Sometimes that helps.”

Isaac’s eyes were wide. “Do you want to…um…do it? Do you want to talk to them?”

Tori’s hand rubbed Isaac’s shoulder in soothing circles. “I think it should be you, Isaac. You’re…well…” Tori licked her lips. “They’re yours. It’s ok. You can do it.”

Isaac swallowed hard and cleared his throat. “Um. Sam. You’re in Tori’s house…in the kitchen…uh…” He rocked them gently. “You’re not with him. You’re with me. You’re safe. Sam?” He smoothed their hair away from their forehead as they whimpered. “Sam, you with me?”

The words that were falling from Sam’s lips were so strained with tears Isaac couldn’t understand them. He moved his hand lightly through their hair. He was…frightened. His arms tightened around Sam. Scared I won’t get them back.

“Sam? Sam, you’re safe. Can you tell me what’s wrong? Was it the knife? I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“N- n- no-o…no…pl-ease…”

“You’re ok, Sam. It’s ok. You’re safe.”

“H- he…G- Ga-avin…”

“He’s gone. He’s in the hospital. He’ll never hurt you again.”

Sam cowered into Isaac’s chest. “P-lease no…”

“I’ve got you, Sam. Is it ok that I’m holding you?”

They nodded weakly. “I…’m s- sorry ‘m s- sorry…”

“Shhh. You’re alright. You have nothing to be sorry for.” Tears rolled down Isaac’s cheeks and into Sam’s hair.

“I- If I had d- died if…i- if I’d ma- made him ki- ill me…he would n- never…you…never…”

“No.” The word was a growl in Isaac’s throat. “No. Don’t say that. Don’t say that to me. Ever. I’d take it all again, a hundred times, if it meant you stayed alive. Do you hear me?” He guided their chin up. Their face was swollen and red and stained with tears. “Don’t say that. Don’t start that. Please.”

Sam swallowed hard. “’m s-sorry I- I’m sorry…”

“Shh. Sam. You’re ok, you’re safe. Can you talk to me? Can you tell me what’s wrong?”

“He…c-cut me…he…hurt me, Isaac…please…”

Isaac squeezed his eyes shut. “I know. I know he did.”

“M- made me t- tell him…where to f- find you…”

“But we got away. Remember? He can’t find us here. We’re safe, at Tori’s house.”

“T- Tori…” They reached out blindly. She caught their hand between both of hers.

“I’m here, sweetheart. I’m here, too.”

“Th- thank you…T- Tori…thank you…”

Tori’s voice was husky. “Of course, sweetheart.”

“Isaac…” They huddled against his chest, hooking their fingers into his shirt and pressing their face there until the sound of their whimpers was muffled. “Isaac…”

He ran a hand through their hair and cradled their head against his chest. “I’m here, Sam.”

They trembled. “P- please…just…will y- you hold me? I’m sorry, I d- didn’t mean…I didn’t…”

“Hey.” Isaac pulled Sam into his lap as he pushed himself backwards, resting back against the wall. “I can hold you. No problem. Is this ok?”

They whimpered, pulling him close as tears burned on their cheeks. “Y-yes. It’s…it’s good. I’m s- sorry.”

Isaac’s cheek rested on the top of Sam’s head. Tori moved closer and sat cross-legged on the floor next to them, rubbing soothing circles on Sam’s back. Gray stood by, watching. They crossed their arms and tried to hold back their own tears. They turned when they heard the others walking into the kitchen.

“What happened?!” Finn practically lunged forward, hands outstretched. Their eyes dropped to the brace still on their left hand and they stopped.

Tori turned, holding out a hand to slow Finn’s approach. “It’s ok. They’re not hurt. They’re just…” She swallowed. “Something happened. They got scared, thought they were back with Gavin. They’re alright.”

Vera crouched beside Tori. Their eyes met for a moment before Vera broke the contact, cheeks flushing red. Tori’s lips quirked up. Her smile fell as she realized that among the lot of them, Isaac and Vera had the best idea of what was going on inside Sam’s head. She gave Vera’s shoulder a quick squeeze.

Finn and Ellis hovered just outside the circle surrounding Sam. Ellis put an arm around their shoulder, resting their head against Finn’s. They wound an arm around Ellis’s waist.

“’m sorry.” Sam’s voice was small. Their eyes were still squeezed shut, their head tucked under Isaac’s chin.

The room melted into a flurry of protestations. Everyone scooted closer until they were within reach of Sam.

“Sam…” Isaac’s voice was a whisper. “Is it ok if we all touch you?”

They sniffled and nodded. Hands were then on their back, their hair, their shoulders. They shivered, unraveling just a little bit and nestling closer into Isaac’s chest.

Continued here

@untilthepainstarts​, @womping-grounds, @blue-flare10, @free-2bmee, @quirkykayleetam, @walkingchemicalfire, @inpainandsuffering, @redwingedwhump, @burtlederp, @castielamigos-whump-side-blog, @insomniacscoprio, @whumpy101, @whumpywhumper

#honor bound #bad things happen bingo #tortured for information #whump #hurt/comfort #torture #flashback #now back to your regularly scheduled angst #angst #knife #begging #blood tw #death mention tw #i just realized #despite the fact that this whole thing started with Sam being tortured #I haven't actually shown that happening yet #collapse #my oc: Isaac #my oc: Sam #my oc: Gavin

[lexdrabbles]

Everything We Are

Here it is. The thing I’ve been writing for way too long. This was a gift fic for my lovely friend @ayame1212​, who got me into the angst hole that is Noragami. Enjoy your fresh, fresh pain. This features two OCs. They’re both assholes. Hope y’all like them.

Word count: 3711 Fandom: Noragami Warnings:  Non-graphic violence, armed robbery, background character death (non-graphic), nihilism, thoughts of revenge (briefly), blood mention, death mention. (Yeah... it’s basically One Big Angsty Fight Scene) Read on AO3

It was a patrol like any other. Yato and Yukine regularly went out looking for ayakashi during the night, following their pledge to rid the world of their influence (as much as they could, at least).

The streets were almost always deserted at this time of the night. Most night-time deities had no business being out and about so, other than the occasional human, only the ayakashi roamed around; hence, perfect patrol time.

They never expected to run into another god; much less one whose sword was hilt-deep in a human’s chest.

Yato had to physically restrict Yukine before he could jump at the scene without any forethought. “What the hell, man?” said Yukine. “We have to stop them!” Yato simply shoved the blond backward and stopped him with an outstretched arm. “Might want to analyze what’s going on before gettin’ yourself killed.”

Yukine huffed, “Whatever.”

They looked at the distant developments with more attention and noticed a third person. At that point, the picture came together: The man with the sword in his chest was holding a gun against the other person’s head, yelling at them to hand over all their valuables.

Normally, when you saw a god intervene in mortal affairs, it was something serious. Late night muggings would usually not be encompassed in “emergencies requiring divine intervention”, but Yato was not one to judge. After all, if anyone knew what small prayers like these did for minor gods, it was him. However, something was still strange. It took him too long to pin down why something still did not make sense, too long to notice the slight squinting of the attacked.

It took Yukine yelling at him to realize there were no ayakashi around, and this god’s blade was not leaving the man’s chest until he had succeeded; reflecting some sort of light into the victim’s eyes and effectively blinding them.

They were not trying to stop him; they were making him do this.

Yato knew exactly what kind of god this was.

And she had heard Yukine’s yell too.

She had flinched and looked in their direction, visibly disrupting her shinki’s concentration, as the beam of light faltered enough for the victim to fight back. She yanked the sword away without hesitation, finishing the man off and leaving the other shocked at the sudden death of their attacker. The god fled, leaping away; but Yato was not about to let her get away without facing consequences for her actions. He and Yukine shared a look. “Come, Sekki!” As soon as the blades were in his hands, he went after the rogue god.

They jumped on roof after roof, ran through the streets and leapt unearthly heights. He chased her with a grudge he had not felt in a long time, with a burning desire to make justice by himself; to take her apart piece by piece, to break her shinki until it knew the pain it had caused, to—

“Yato?” Yukine’s voice dragged him out of his own head. “Are you okay? You’re kind of gripping really hard…” He looked down at his paled knuckles and loosened his grip on the swords. “It’s nothing.”

“Don’t bullshit me. Putting up with your sweaty ass hands is one thing, but you better have a good reason for squeezing me.”

“I’m the one doing all the running, so shut up before I drop you right here. You’re going to make me lose track of her”

As if she had been reading their minds the whole time, the god suddenly stopped in the middle of a crossroads. Yato landed a few meters away from her. Watching, waiting.

She stared at him, too; her brown eyes calculating, dark hair settling down after the chase. After a beat of analysis, she simply uttered “Revert, Hikari”.

A flash of light later, a tall figure stood beside their master. They both donned similar clothing; skirts and dress shirts in black and white, like negative images of each other.

“What, does everyone need to have a uniform?” Yukine piped up.

“You gonna attack an unarmed god?” She finally addressed him. “Come on, put that away. Where are your manners?”

“Who are you?” Yato deadpanned, flipping Sekki around in his hand.

“The name’s Aya,” she curtsied mockingly. “This is my guidepost, Hitsuki. Who are you? That’s a very nice blade you got there.”

Yato almost felt too uncomfortable to keep Yukine in his weapon form any longer. “Revert, Yuki”. The teen stood next to him with an annoyed look on his face as Aya shamelessly eyed him up.

“Yato. He’s Yukine. What were you doing back there?”

“Yato… Yeah, I’ve definitely heard that name somewhere…” She looked thoughtful as she ignored Yato’s question. “Of course!” She finally exclaimed. “You defied heaven itself, didn’t you? Faced off against Takemikazuchi in person, right?” Her eyes glinted with mischief and her tone lowered. “That your hafuri?” A smirk settled on her face. “He looks cute, but I didn’t think he would be so young.”

“Well that’s none of your business, now is it?” Yukine snapped back, blushing.

Aya merely chuckled. “And he comes with an attitude, too! How charming…” She gestured to her own shinki, who had been quietly laughing along the whole time. “Hi-chan is a snarky one, too. Quick wit might just be something all hafuri share…” She looked Yato in the eyes as she referred to her vessel as a hafuri. His expression was transparent as the other god’s statement took him aback completely.

“Hard to come by shinki this loyal as a god of calamity, isn’t it?” Her statement felt like a punch in the gut. Yato’s expression hardened and he instinctively stepped forward and slightly in front of Yukine, as if trying to protect him. “What were you doing back there?” he pressed.

��Oh, you know, just business. Muggers are kind of my target audience, you could say. Say a little prayer and leave a tip and defenseless people with full pockets start crossing your path left and right…” She winked and gestured to the shinki beside her. “Sometimes they need a little help, a pick me up, if you will. Some are way too nervous; some can’t deal with feisty prey. That’s where this one comes in. They’re quite the charmer, really. You see, they have an edge to them that gives most ill intents a boost.” She chuckled at her own pun. “And after changing, well… Mind if I show off? Come, Kouki!”

As the tall figure dissipated into white light, Yato immediately summoned his own weapon —and Yukine was happy to oblige—. Both gods were left standing under the street light again, blades glistening.

“Calm down, man! I’m just showing you!” She seemed truly unbothered and sly. What had materialized, rather than a sword, was a black and green scabbard at the god’s waist. In an instant, Aya unsheathed a tachi with a long, polished blade. It looked sharp and made visions flash in Yato’s mind that he would rather not recall.

“Check this out,” Aya angled the weapon just so, and a spot of bright, white light shone on the pavement. It moved with the blade in a smooth, almost mesmerizing dance; running across the floor and up buildings, roaming along street signs and traffic lights, until it went back to its starting point on the pavement between the two gods. With a flick of the green handle in Aya’s hand, the dot disappeared.

“Pretty cool, right?” she bragged. “Concentrated moonlight. They could barely keep their edge consistent before changing, but now? Most precise weapon you could ask for.” She angled the blade so it reflected the streetlight, no magic required.

Yato observed her and his blood slowly boiled. The way she moved her sword and the way she had used it on the humans before made his skin crawl. He watched every turn of her wrist and every sway of the green handle in her hand.

“Why use it like that?” He finally replied. “Why influence humans’ hearts in such a profane manner?”

Aya laughed.

“Oh, look at him with the big words! Profane, ooh, that hurt!” she mocked. “A prayer is a prayer, Yato. People want me to help them make a living, get out of financial pinches… after all, that’s what us little gods’re here for, isn’t it? Answering mortals’ prayers… Surely you understand,” something glinted in her eyes, as if she knew she was pushing exactly the wrong buttons.

Yato’s face hardened. “As a matter of fact, I very specifically do not.”

She stopped dead in her tracks and looked Yato in the eyes, her expression darkening. He shifted Sekki’s blades in his hands. “Don’t be confused; I am no god of calamity.

Aya stepped toward him, resting the long, curved blade of the tachi on her shoulder, and scowled at him. “What’s with the swords, then? What are you god of, low-stakes fencing? Have I perchance run into the powerful god of war, Bishamonten?” she inspected him as she came closer. Yato did his best to stand his ground, deadpan as he tried not to grit his teeth. "Want me to give her a call so we can settle this quicker?" He threatened.

"Oh, she's your friend, right?" Aya stopped barely a meter in front of him. "Figures traitors would stick together".

Yato closed the distance between them and crossed Sekki's blades at the other god's throat.

"You sure talk a lot of shit for a creeper who takes money from predators".

Aya simply eyed Sekki up, looked Yato in the eyes and smirked. "And you talk a lot of shit for a killer".

His blood froze. His entire body was paralyzed. His pupils shrunk into specks. The single word echoed and bounced in his head.

“Yato? Yato! Snap out of it!” Yukine’s voice rang louder. He quickly withdrew his swords and leapt away onto the closest rooftop. “We need to get out of here.”

A high-pitched voice reached them from the street below, “Come on! Things were just getting fun!” They could hear she was not giving up; Yato jumped from roof to roof hoping to get away from the unrelenting footsteps of his new pursuer.

“Yato, what the hell are you doing? I thought we were the ones chasing her!” his shinki’s voice resonated in his head. A speck of moonlight ran on the floor in front of him and suddenly glared into his eyes. Blinded, he maneuvered into a flip and landed wrong on the next roof; he stumbled and fell off the side, losing Kouki’s light in the process. Sekki managed to ram into the nearest wall just before they hit the ground, and Yato used the momentum to thrust him forward.

“Stop running from yourself, Yato! You can’t escape your nature!”

He landed on the floor and got set to start running again before Yukine pleaded once again. “Yato! Stop running and confront him!” Or had he said her? Yato did not know. He was thinking too much. All of their words bounced around his head and he did not know what to do with them, or himself, or his feet that suddenly had him turning around toward the building he had just fallen from. Aya dropped to the ground to face him once again. Blades at the ready. “Ready to face our sins, are we?” She said with a smirk.

Yato looked her in the eyes; something that was not quite rage burned in his. His head was as clear as his thoughts would allow, and a single thing stood out among them.

“Do you not know?” His tone was measured and cold. He turned Sekki in his hands and swiftly readied the blades at his sides. “A god can do no wrong.”

He charged.

As their blades collided, both gods were reckoned with each other’s strength. The raw power that emanated from them ricocheted on the buildings along the street. A blaze of white light flashed between both weapons and Yato staggered backward, covering himself as Sekki bore another strike from Aya’s tachi. The swords clashed and glared and clanged against each other, bursts of light exploding between them as Yato kept dodging toward higher ground to avoid Kouki’s blinding attacks.

Aya was fast; faster than Yato was comfortable with. She wielded her sword and its abilities seamlessly, with the ease of flowing water. They coordinated, assembled and moved as one, making spare use of words to communicate; as if sharing a mind.

“I thought your kid was a hafuri, god of calamity” Aya mocked behind another flash. “Where’s your sync? What’s all that eternal loyalty good for if he ain’t protecting his master?” Another blinding light shone into Yato’s eyes. Anyone could have smelled the storms slowly but surely inching closer to them, reeking of ayakashi and bad omens. He crouched behind a roof, panting; Sekki nearly slipping from his grasp. He could feel Yukine's distress coursing through his system. “You okay, kid?” He took a moment to wipe the blades and handles on his sleeves. “What are you doing?” The shinki’s urgent voice popped into his head, “get back out there! Stop hiding, you coward, we need to kick their—” “Okay, okay, calm down. You have to focus. We don’t stand a chance here if we don’t work together.” “That must be so easy to say when you’re not the one taking all the hits. I have been holding back, you know? You always go on about how every soul has a purpose or whatever, but it’s so hard, Yato! Your life is in danger and I’m just being swung around helplessly and dulling myself because you said it’s the right thing to do! You’re way out on a limb here; they are overpowering us and we’re just taking it!.”

Yato sighed as if he had the time to ponder. He looked at Sekki’s blades, as if looking him in the eye. “Yukine—” A single beam of pure moonlight reflected off the edge, bouncing up into the sky like a beacon.

“Found you!” The yell was closer than Yato had expected; soon he found himself dodging yet another sharp swing in his direction, covering his eyes with one arm. Aya did not use her shinki’s ability sparingly, and it was a powerful move.

“I nearly thought you’d left me here all on my own!” she laughed between attacks “Can’t deny you’re having fun, can you?” She took a moment to block a strike from him and look him dead in the eye “Can’t reject your nature; you were made to fight, after all.” Another flash. Yato grew more and more aware of Kouki’s use of their light manipulation. Sure, they were powerful bursts, but they were not very directed. It seemed as if quick attacks were not their forte. “Of course,” he thought, “they don’t usually need to use it in combat. It’s a diversion tactic, not an attack.” He dodged the light, jumping up to try getting to his adversary from above. Aya leapt away, the gleam of her shinki trailing behind her. Her shots’ inaccuracy was increasingly obvious to Yato, even while still struggling to keep up with their rapid-fire nature. He saw an opening and drove in, crossed swords first. Aya harshly blocked his blades, giving him a good look at her and her own weapon: unscathed and glinting almost mockingly.

“Isn’t it so fun to cut things up?” she said, an intense look in her eyes. Yato looked away and caught a glimpse of his own reflection on Sekki’s surface: his eyes a cold blue, his hair tied back. He staggered. Before he could help it, Aya took the upper hand; swinging at him until he was against a wall, barely parrying her attacks. Panting and struggling to keep his eyes open, he was confronted with his opponent again: sharp edges, disheveled hair and clothes from the fight, her white shirt stained red and ripped in several places. Her eyes, however, were mocking as ever; they radiated a sort of feral enjoyment that made Yato’s stomach churn. He glanced at Sekki again and saw its battered, dull edges taking slash after slash from his adversary, the blight beginning to rust at the tip of one of the swords. He could feel Yukine’s frustration and anger rushing through his veins, feeding into the fire that had been burning at his core since the moment Aya opened her mouth.

“Yukine,” he started, his voice a strange mix of serene and tired “you can do it.” It was a simple statement. Not encouraging at all. It was too late for pep talks. “At least say it with some feeling next time! What the hell does that mean?” “It means some purposes aren’t worth fulfilling.”

Aya rammed her sword into the wall a centimeter away from Yato’s head, white light entirely dazzling him. “What’s that you’re going on about? Purpose? Please. Purpose is a fairy tale made up by humans to fill the void of their existence. They don’t have a purpose, and neither do we. We’re just here for the ride, and some of us choose to take full advantage of it.” Her voice was exasperated “You used to be cool, man! I used to hear tales of the fearsome Yato god, cutting down humans because it was fun! And now you want to help them? What, you think you can suddenly be a benevolent god of fortune? You wanna fart rainbows and happiness or some shit? Don’t make me laugh.” But she was not laughing. The amusement in her eyes had morphed into something bitter and resentful as she removed the blade of her shinki from the wall and angled it against Yato’s neck. “You don’t get to choose.”

“Stop holding back.” He stated plainly, readying his swords. Aya looked taken aback for the first time. “I’m flattered, really, but don’t think you—” “I wasn’t talking to you.” His cold eyes lit up in fury as Sekki glowed a blue glare that purged the blight covering it, leaving the swords looking sharper and deadlier than they had looked in a long time. Relief flooded him as he charged against her with little reserve, swinging once and again and again, through flashing attacks and counterstrikes. His opponent parried and dodged and fought back, but she was tired and thrown off. Kouki seemed not to know what to do with themself, launching random glare attacks that seemed increasingly uncoordinated with the goddess’ charges. Yato’s movements and Sekki’s edge were precise and unwavering.

“It’s freeing, right? The feeling of having someone’s life at your fingertips.” Aya prodded, laughing nervously as she barely kept the other’s swords off her. Yato’s expression didn’t budge. “This is what I’ve been saying!” she panted, tone desperate, “You can deny it all you want, but your true calling is really just cutting. Shit. Up.” She tried to use her words as a diversion and charged at Yato one more frantic time; her opponent didn’t falter. With a maneuver of both swords, Yato jerked the tachi from Aya’s hand, sending it clanging through the pavement a couple meters away. The goddess’ back hit the hard surface of a wall and one of Sekki’s blades was at her throat; the other swiftly drove into the wall, centimeters away from her face. “You’re right, in a way” Yato said flatly. His eyes still burned a bright blue and his hair stuck to the sweat on his face. “I am fulfilling my purpose with a blade, after all”. Aya’s face was unreadable; all kinds of emotions muddled on it, but she forced out a smile that was nervous and desperate and wrong. “Right! That’s all I meant, really. Now we can leave it here and call it a day, and—” Yato’s sword inched closer to her neck, grazing the skin just enough to keep her from moving. “You’re also wrong,” he continued. “The only “shit” I cut up is scum like you. Sekki didn’t draw back, and little by little cut away at the goddess’ skin. “Alright. Well, I think now she’ll understand that— Yato?” Yukine’s voice got lost somewhere in the echo chamber of his thoughts. His enemy’s whimpers filled his ears. “What are your thoughts on reincarnation, Aya-gami?” He stated more than asked, voice cold. “Yato! That’s enough!” Yukine demanded to no avail. A thick trail of blood ran down Aya’s neck. “Yato! Cut it out! You’ll kill her for real!” Yato’s sight was fixed on the blade.

“Yato, stop!” He screamed with a strength that resounded over the cries and the fog in Yato’s brain. “Line!”

The god fell forward, Sekki’s blade slicing clean through the building wall. Aya’s body slid down until she hit the floor, holding onto her head as if to confirm that it was still attached. “Hitsuki! Holy shit. Holy shit, Hi-chan, get over here”. The tachi glowed and morphed back to their human form, and the shinki ran to their goddess’ side. “Are you okay? Are you hurt? I couldn’t move. I’m so sorry—” they cried. Yato just stared at the scene, still detached. “Yukine”. He managed to call. A moment later the blond teen was slapping him across the face. “Just what the hell were you thinking?” he yelled. “You almost killed her! What’s all that edgy ‘some purposes aren’t worth fulfilling’ bullshit? I thought you were kidding!” Aya stood up with her shinki’s help, ready to make a run for it, but Yato’s stare froze both of them in place. “I hope this will serve as a warning:” he admonished. “If I ever see you hurting a human again, you won’t be so lucky.” He laid his hand on Yukine’s shoulder. “I’m sure you of all gods understand hafuri can be very protective of their masters and our wishes.” He looked Hitsuki in the eyes, as if addressing them directly. “He won’t go so easy on you next time.”

Four cold expressions collided before Aya and her shinki turned their backs.

“We’ll be sure not to get in your way, o merciful one.” Her tone was bitter and sarcastic.

“Off you go, then!” Yukine pressed.

And the two figures simply walked away until they disappeared into the shadows.

#fucking fINALLY #this took... way too long... #low-key proud of myself for sticking with it though #i kinda like how it turned out ngl #also third time trying to post this because tumblr can't be a Functional Website for once and keeps eating my tags #noragami #noragami fanfiction #noragami fanfic #noragami yato #noragami yukine #yato #yato's daddy issues #yukine #noragami oc #oc #can't even remember what i put on here tbh #my tags are all over the place but I spent 10 minutes writing coherent tags and tumblr decided to Swallow Them #lex wrote a thing??

[snowbellewells]

Face to Face in the Broad Daylight: Chapter Six

{Chapter six is here in this sequel to my werewolf, alternate season two and beyond fic. This second story in the same universe partially exists just because I wanted to revisit these couples and enjoy a bit more of their fluffy happily ever afters. However, we have definitely gotten them into some new surprises and challenges, and of course Rumplestiltskin seems bent on slipping out of their control and back to his usual scheming and plotting. I left off at an intense place, and so I didn’t want to keep you waiting too much longer for this penultimate (I think?) full chapter...}

Previous chapters: Prologue  // Chapter One  //  Chapter Two  // Chapter Three     // Chapter Four  //  Chapter Five

~~A million thanks yous once again to @branlovestowrite for the gorgeous story banner she created!

~~ And to the @cssns for the opportunity to turn this story idea into a reality!

~ chapter six: all comes down to this

The lake surface before her, over her two frightening opponents’ shoulders, continued to swirl and churn uneasily, quite obviously part of whatever rite was about to be performed. The sinister flashes of sickly greenish-yellow light drew her attention with lurid flair despite the more pressing threats standing right before her.

“W- What are you going to do?” Belle countered with as much gumption as she could manage, regardless of the reasonable fear that also gripped her. She lifted her chin, now that they were face-to-face, and she discovered - grateful for small mercies - she was free to move again and could at least stare down the man she had wasted so much hope and energy on, letting him know with all the venom a gaze could muster that she was finally aware; he was nothing more than the selfish coward he had always been. That didn’t make him any less dangerous, of course, and Belle had a stray moment of absurd pride in herself that her voice had only wavered once in speaking to him. 

Morgana for her part, seemed to have lost interest the moment she’d gathered Belle wasn’t a magical threat or some unknown foe, had released her paralyzing unnatural grip, and taken a step back when Rumple moved forward to deal with his former maid, but Belle couldn’t comfortably take her eyes off the dark-robed and frighteningly cold-eyed woman for more than a few seconds. She could see the cylinder containing Merlin’s hat, just as it had been depicted in the source she’d found, idly held in the enchantress’ hand - and the power radiating from either the talisman or the sorceress herself, or quite possibly both, was so palpable it raised the small hairs on her arms, even without possessing any magical abilities herself.

Yawning and inspecting her nails for a moment, as if the fact that her conspirator was trying to decide the fate of an innocent right beside her was so common as to bore her, the woman finally flicked startling, almost violet eyes toward Rumple, raising a dark brow in question at his hesitation. “Well, are you handling this disruption or should I?” Her hand not clutching the hat slid from within the fold of her robe once more, unfurling toward Belle in a way that signalled only malicious intent, but Rumple gave a sharp shake of his head, arm jerking out to forestall her action. “You will leave her to me,” he spoke harshly, with as much command as she had ever heard.

Morgana huffed and turned back toward the lake, stalking away with the rigid poise Belle couldn’t help but liken with a shiver to the now-deceased former mayor and Evil Queen, only saying as she did, “Well, be quick about it. We cannot lose the hour.”

Belle’s heart almost regained a normal rhythm for a moment, and she readied herself to speak, knowing she might only get one chance to convince him or get him to see reason. He was only slightly less daunting than the powerful stranger, in that she did know some of his weaknesses, the regrets and hurts that hid beneath the beastly mask, and if he had lost all desire to fight off the evil within, then she could still appeal to a different area of his self interest. He had wanted to find his son for as long as she had known him, and he had a grandson right there who would surely accept him still if he only tried; however, murderous vengeance and a spree of unstoppable destruction would endanger both of those things she knew he still wanted.

Before she could put any of those things into audible words, however, Rumple drew even nearer, his eyes glittering with an unholy light. Though his skin was far from the glittering scales she remembered in their fairy tale world, and his suit was fitted to the normal human pawnbroker he meant to portray here, Belle was struck vividly by his likeness to the mad imp she’d once shared a castle with - the Dark One’s prisoner before she had ever been the Evil Queen’s. She was struck suddenly by the real danger she had put, not only herself, but she and Graham’s child, in and the sickening knowledge that if madness and lust for ultimate power had already overtaken his reasoning, then there would be no reaching him as she had hoped.

Indeed they were so close now, he was practically in her face. The look on his stony visage, sharp and uncaring as she had ever seen it, was completely at odds with the gesture of his hand coming up to stroke her smooth, fair cheek once more almost wistfully. She flinched at the touch, and he pulled away instantly at her reaction, the strange detachment vanishing and being replaced with disgust and outrage.

Both stunned Belle, as they seemed emotions more due herself than him, but the words he spat made her blood run cold - and cemented the error in judgement she had made in coming here. It had already been much, much too late for reasoning.

“You dare to recoil from me?” he hissed, the mere elder gentleman facade sliding from his features at last and revealing the hideous green monster that did indeed resemble a crocodile with razor-sharp teeth to devour, much as Killian had always said. “When you…” his chest almost heaved with rage and indignation, “you let that cur touch you and you’re carrying his mongrel pup?”

Belle stumbled back aghast at the venom for her unborn child, as stung as if he had physically struck her. Her mind reeled at the hatred he could have for a mere fetus of no threat to him and completely innocent of any ill or wrong, and she stretched her hand in an impotent protective gesture across her midsection as she gasped and stared at the unrecognizable man before her, no longer anyone she had ever known.

“You think I don’t see what you’re about my ‘Beauty’?” he gave the fairy tale appellation an almost mocking sing-song cadence as he made up the distance she had backed away, bringing them close once again. “You came here thinking you could appeal to the poor spinner who once tried to please you, who hoped to be “good” enough to make you happy, only to spare that lot of foolish heroes, the one you’ve replaced me with, and that abomination you carry within you. Let’s be rid of that delusion now… No deal.” He spoke icily, reaching toward her as she shook her head ‘no’, pleading soundlessly as tears of shock and terror streamed down her face, “Rumple, please,” she whispered brokenly, “don’t come any closer.”

Gripping her arm so that she couldn’t back away again, his clutch like an iron shackle at her wrist, Rumple’s other hand rested on the growing swell of her stomach, just above hers that still tried to shield the gentle curve from his touch. “Perhaps,” he murmured silkily, the calm resolve of deadly intent even more appalling than the unhinged rage and hurt had been. “Perhaps I should provide a demonstration of just how little any of those things you treasure, that you would hope to preserve, matter to me in the face of receiving my due at last.”

Belle was still shaking her hand in denial, trying to pull away frantic with desperation to free herself. It was all to no avail though, as his palm contracted on her stomach briefly, pressing firmly for a horribly long moment, and then he turned and strode purposefully back to his compatriot, who had been watching the whole exchange with fiendish glee once it had turned in the Dark One’s favor - almost as if she were sated by despair and anguish.

The scene before her blurred then, the effect of whatever Rumple had done creating a slight delay before it hit her and brought Belle to her knees. Her vision swam, the ground below and sky above spinning dizzily and exchanging places. A horrible pulling, tightening ache expanded from behind her naval out through the rest of her body, until she was falling to her side and curling in upon herself, every inch of her pulsing with pain.

And then she was screaming in utter agony, knew she was but still unable to stop, as if even her own reactions were now out of her control. All she knew was that her surroundings continued to dim and focused mainly on Morgana and Rumple’s legs as they stood by the rising whirlpool the lake had become, clearly continuing with their ritual, her inconvenient interruption of no further consequence.

Just as everything was about to fade away from her, she heard the unmistakable long howl of a wolf on the night wind answering her tormented cry. For that one second, she wasn’t even sorry that Graham must have woken to find her gone and followed her. Her heart panged in recognition, hoping she could see him before everything went dark.  Her mind lamented brokenly on how foolish she had been to ever come here, and yet she waited on a held breath, still pained and terrified, but pricked more by conscience at the hurt her love would suffer if her rash actions had brought harm to their little one as well.

She knew Rumple and Morgana must have heard the warning cry as well, but her mind was too foggy and confused to focus on what they were doing from where she lay. All she saw, with grateful eyes, was a large, russet-colored wolf bursting from the brush above, near where she had been hiding not that long ago, and then plunging, teeth bared, to her side. Through her bleary, half-conscious perception, she found herself vaguely glad he was a wolf at that moment. It seemed so daunting, powerful - almost invincible to harm, even if not fully the case. True, both of these magic wielders he faced were powerful enough to be a threat to man or beast, but there was something solid, strong and intimidating, about the large lupine creature of old that Belle genuinely hoped would strike fear into the Dark One, down deep where he was still a coward at heart.

Once he reached the bottom of the slope, her wolf was at her side in seconds, a mere couple loping strides for the large animal’s ground-covering speed. Though his every quivering muscle was tensed and ready, his fur practically standing on end and a low growl rumbling constantly from the wide chest, the concern radiating off the man twined into the werewolf’s being was plain. Tawny golden eyes never left the witch and wizard before them, also braced for action - both sides seeming to gauge what the other might do - but his shaggy, reddish-brown ruffed head dipped briefly to nose at her forehead and brow, a cold, wet nose reviving her if just a bit. A concerned whine, so soft in the canine throat that Belle felt sure only she could hear it, let her know just how frightened for her he had been - and was still.

Trying valiantly, with pained and weakly uncoordinated muscles, she attempted to lift her hand and stroke his fur in reassurance, but her hand fell limp against the ground before making solid contact, and the tender way her wolf licked at the back of it resting on the dirt pained her almost as much as whatever Rumple had done to her. It was too late to stop the process they had set in motion, despite her efforts. She had tricked and hidden her intentions from him, and led Graham into danger anyway, even as she had tried to protect him from harm.

They both watched warily as Morgana turned back toward the churning body of water, lifting her hands and causing the eerily lit typhoon to rise above its banks in a menacing swirl, clearly reacting to her magical direction. “Isn’t that sweet?” Gold mocked, affording them one last cruel glance before holding up the cylinder as Morgana directed. Manic avarice lit his gaze as it turned indeed into the recognizable shape of a tall, pointed sorceror’s hat. “You will die here together, with your repulsive whelp. It was a heroic effort - foolhardy and pointless, but heroic nonetheless, dearies, I’ll give you that.”

Even as he turned back to his evil task, Graham appeared truly ready to spring and rip out the imp’s throat. The fact that one or the other of their enemies’ magic would no doubt strike him down before he could reach them, no longer seemed enough to hold the usually kind and gentle man back - not when his love and his unborn child’s lives were at stake. Belle looked up at him with tears in her eyes. If only she hadn’t thought she could handle this alone… If only she hadn’t been so stupid… If only...

Morgana’s resonant and chilling voice rose up over Rumple’s triumphant cackle of victory, her own soft sobs, Graham’s warning growl, and the whooshing of the rising waves towering over their heads now, chanting some incantation of what sounded like ancient rhyme. And then, before her spell could reach completion, everything seemed to happen at once.  Behind them, scrambling down the same embankment with more cursing and less grace, came Emma and Killian - the pirate surprisingly in human rather than wolf form. All the same, they were there, flanking she and Graham and eying their adversaries for just one chink or weakness. 

Belle wanted to stand to face them head on rather than lying in the dirt, but another blinding shock of pain ripped through her, curling her up even further and causing her to bite almost through her lip to merely whimper rather than scream in agony. Oddly, it struck her that even if they were too late to stop this ritual, if all of Rumple’s powers were unleashed again, they would still stand up to him together, and even if he took out the four - well, the five, of them her mind amended with a shudder - there were others on their side yet, and good would find a way. She had probably never sounded more like Snow or Henry, but somehow in this terrifying meeting with what might be their end, she somehow felt faith returning.

“Oh, how quaint,” Morgana simpered, “it’s the Savior herself and her own pirate knight.” She tilted her head slightly, as if considering them all like they were some sort of entertainment. With a dismissive gesture, she then levitated the cylindrical talisman, making it open and morph into the hat twirling in air. “You must know that you are too late to stop us, that soon you will be in the presence of an all-powerful Dark One, in the face of whom all attempts at resistance or control will be futile, and yet here you stand - as if it will do some good.”

As she spoke, the water crested even higher, towering over all their heads and the enchanted contents of the hat burst forth in multicolored light festooned across the sky above them like a new map of constellations.

Yet, in that unnatural glow, even as Rumple also laid the dagger on the ground beneath the levitating hat, making their preparations complete, a horrifying vision suddenly appeared before their eyes, not of Rumplestiltskin once more the cruelly green and glittering crocodile with sharp jaws wide to devour them, there is instead a terrible beauty. Morgana was the ultimate Dark One emblazoned with sudden clarity, silhouetted in unearthly flame as she reached out an unstoppable arm to crush them all. It was seconds from coming to pass, and suddenly Belle could see it unspooling with horrifying clarity. The sorceress, whatever her connection to Rumple, had never intended to aid him in cleaving himself from restraint. Instead, she meant to take his power for herself and full dominion over the realms as well. Just as her compatriot had needed the hat she could bring, she had needed his dagger to make her devious designs complete. This enchantress had somehow managed to convince the best manipulator Belle had ever known to believe she owed, or felt, some loyalty to him. Enough so that Rumplestiltskin had already laid down his jealously guarded weapon and protection in one at Morgana’s feet.

Without time to think, to plan, seemingly even to breathe, Belle knew what to do. It came to her with galvanizing certainty, a realization that rocked her to the core, even as the beams of power, like golden threads were streaming from dagger to hat to Rumple and back again over to Morgana as she chanted; a subtle, knowing gleam in her eyes now that the librarian was looking clearly.  The beams looped and re-circled back in and out between the four points of contact, both villains finally distracted by their greedy focus on the brilliant light magic and the tendrils of the dark as well, coming off of Gold and from the dagger itself, then rising in ghostly wisps to intertwine in a mantle that seemed to lie about Morgana’s shoulders.

Time moved as if strangely delayed as Belle lurched forward unsteadily, still unable to rise fully to her feet and run for her goal, still almost blinded by the pain centered in her abdomen, she soldiered on, almost rolling and then pulling herself the last few inches forward, sheerly on the desperate strength of her arms and shoulders.

Her fingertips barely grazed the now quivering hat, even as the magic seemed to sense the last strands of power from Rumple himself and the dagger, now centering over Morgana, and also to fully enliven the ancient token. Graham saw where she was going and pounced forward, practically leaping over her prone form to keep the witch away from her. Emma swung toward Gold with her own hands up, magic flickering to life between them to ward him off as well if need be. 

That proved unnecessary though, as Rumple cried out, an unearthly expression of rage, pain and bitterness when he discovered all too viscerally what Morgana had done and the extent of her betrayal. As the last vestiges of his power wreathed his former partner in crime, making her whole being glow insidiously, the hat sunk back to the ground, practically dancing upon the hard earth, shaking and moving so wildly from the amount of power thrumming between it and the Darkness’ new vessel - and it sought out more to drain from its surroundings.

“No!” the twisted imp wailed; no longer either smug pawnbroker nor controlling Dark One, but the poor, bent spinner so helpless and afraid of the world around him before magic had ever come into his life. “What have you done, you foul hag?! You’ll not even live to regret this.” Yet, even as he bellowed, his own self-maimed foot curled in again, his body bending weakly as he sought out the cane he needed not just as a dramatic embellishment any longer.

Gritting her teeth and exerting her last bit of strength, Belle managed to reach the tips of her fingers far enough to brush against the active hat. She was grasping at last chances, hoping against hope that she had timed her move correctly, that the villainess was too taken by the feeling of victory and the swell of power to notice a mere distraction as the last bits of both the Darkness and its magic settled upon her. Feeling the deceptively soft and inviting material of the hat’s wall, Belle bit her lip, said a hopeful prayer, and shoved the hat over to rest on its side, making sure to grasp the tip as she had seen detailed in her research, so that the opening, now seething as though it were a living and breathing thing, was pointed right at Morgana.

The sorceress’ unnaturally violet eyes landed on her then, widening in anger and zeroing in with a wicked shriek. “What are you doing, you measelly little girl? Haven’t you learned your lesson yet?” She made as if to stride forward and swipe the object from Belle’s grasp, but it was already too late. Belle had gotten the hat centered on their foe in time, and now Morgana was in its vortex, its sucking power already pulling at her robes and whipping her raven-dark hair about her head wildly, drawing her inexorably into itself.

“Nooooo…” the witch screeched, but she was already elongating in form, being swallowed up into the void of the Sorceror’s hat. Her final thwarted wail faded away slowly, even as Belle let her arms fall to the ground, nearly drained once more. But she couldn’t quite rest, no matter how much her body begged for it; they had to take this chance to be rid of the Darkness while they could - once and for all. 

The foreseeable immediate threat gone, she sensed almost as much as saw Graham shifting back into the man she loved, already calling her name as he ran to her side. Emma was closer, kneeling beside her and asking where she was hurt, what she could do, even as Killian still flanked them both, eyes sweeping the area as if waiting for more foes to descent. She could hear Rumple in the background, groaning and snivelling, but Belle struggled to focus just one minute more.

There! Right by Killian’s boot, near the once more nondescript looking pointed cloth hat lying calmly on the ground, was the dagger.  “Killian,” she gaped breathlessly. “The dagger, give it to me. Quick!”

Thankfully the pirate didn’t question her, merely bent, grabbed the item he had quested so long to hold in his hand, the means for his long postponed revenge at last in his grasp, and handed it over to her without even flinching.  It reiterated the difference between himself and his nemesis, Belle realized later when she thought back over the whole thing, how he could hand over the one thing he had once most desired due to the judgement that something else was better and worth the sacrifice. It was the same reason he had shown up as a human, even if his wolf was physically stronger. He wanted to support Emma, in whatever way would help her most, and so had done what allowed him to be most fully by her side. It was a sort of strength and power Rumplestiltskin had never mastered for all the magic he had held in his fingertips… the ability to share oneself fully with another and drawn strength from the bond.

Gripping the dagger’s hilt tightly, feeling the cool edges against her palm, the satisfying weight of it, now that it would finally be doing what it had been forged for, one way or another. She raised it as much as she could, and plunged the tip into the hat. Sharp steel sliced through material, piercing deep, and she waited, breath held tightly, the blade going all the way through both sides of the hat and into the ground beneath, until slowly, with a thick black cloud spewing forth before rising and evaporating into the sky, the hat disintegrated into nothingness itself. The hat was gone, and supposedly, hopefully, so was the Darkness at long last. Though it almost seemed to much to trust might finally be true after ages of battle to conquer it.

Tossing the weapon aside, Belle heaved a sigh of relief, glad she finally felt as if those around her, those she loved, were safe. As she did so however, the pain and the weakness crept back over her, making her vision swim sickly again.  Another violent throb of pain ratcheted through her, and she cried out in spite of herself, unprepared for the severity of it. She shivered, hardly registering that she felt as though she had gotten her legs in the water, even if that sensation made absolutely no sense.

“Belle!” she heard Graham’s hoarse tone call out to her in alarm, and then he was there, cradling her head and shoulder in his lap and begging Emma’s help; the only one of them who still had any sort of magic that might be able to fix whatever Rumple had done and was still wrecking havoc within her. It all seemed to be growing more distant and of less concern to her, as she let herself since back into her love’s comforting embrace. They were safe now, she thought, appeased from her own worry and self-recrimination with that knowledge. 

And then all was quiet.

Tagging a few who may enjoy: @kmomof4 @jennjenn615 @therooksshiningknight @gingerchangeling @laschatzi @spartanguard @resident-of-storybrooke @winterbaby89 @hollyethecurious @darkcolinodonorgasm @ilovemesomekillianjones @revanmeetra87 @teamhook @whimsicallyenchantedrose @searchingwardrobes 

#cssns 19 #cs au mc #ouat werewolf au #face to face in the broad daylight #chapter six #cs ff

[magioftheseas]

Day 1 - Reserve

Written for @the-hinata-project 

Prompt: Reserve Course Student Hinata

Rating: G

Warnings: Lowkey manipulation and insecurity, but other than that, not much.

Notes: Alright, so I’m still in the middle of these, but like... Here’s the first one! They’re all going to be pretty short, around 2K but I’m gonna do my best to finish all of them so wish me luck...! And this first fic is gen. No ships. Next ones won’t be so gen. It’s also pre-HPA. Kind of.

***Alternate Ao3 Link***

Commission? Donate?

The last wish he made on New Year’s was a simple one.

I want to get into Hope’s Peak.

But of course that  would never happen.

“Can’t you dream more realistically, Hajime? Do you have any idea how expensive Hope’s Peak actually is? We can’t afford that.”

“I... I know that, but...”

“If you know then why are you burdening us with this? Please. Just think about other people besides yourself for once.”

“...sorry.”

His mother sighs, but ruffles his hair in a show of affection.

“You current high school isn’t so bad, right? You can make good friends here, and it’s a fine school.”

“I guess it’s...decent,” he mumbles.

“Just don’t even worry about Hope’s Peak anymore,” she tells him. “It’s impossible, and it can’t be helped. Keep your chin up. Okay?”

“...fine...”

Because he knew, after all, that she had a point. They couldn’t afford it. And he wasn’t talented. It was a pipe dream to attend. Nothing more. Nothing less.

Still...

--

For his birthday, he was given a new laptop to replace the old. It was a fairly recent model. Pretty expensive. Likely compensation. He can’t say he didn’t like it.

He wasn’t ungrateful. He doesn’t think so.

It’s just that I admire Hope’s Peak more than anything.

So much so that he finds himself on the forums first thing.

>Does anyone have any idea who’s going to be in the upcoming batch?

>They haven’t finished scouting, right? Oh, but I just saw on the news that an actual princess was accepted! Hope’s Peak really can get in anyone!

>Wow, actual royalty?!

>There’s this photographer I follow. She’s getting in, too, I’m pretty sure.

>I just saw Saionji Hiyoko-san’s performance last week. I’m positive she’s getting in.

>I’m more interested in the princess. Can you imagine how lucky it would be to meet an actual princess?

>>They’ll be running the lottery in a month or so. What I would give to have more of a chance...

>Wow, they’re doing that again?

>With how much getting into the reserve course costs, you probably have a better chance with the lottery...

>But if you win the lottery, you’re actually considered talented. Reserves are just...y’know, reserves.

>But you’ll get to meet the princess, potentially. I think the money’s worth it, even if all I can do is steal a glance!

>Still... Seems so lame that you can just pay your way in...

>But brand name recognition is pretty powerful...

>>I heard you can actually get into the main course from the reserve course if you do well enough.

>No way! That’s a pipe dream! Maybe if you paid like, twice as much!

>Must be nice to be rich, huh...

Hinata stares, wondering what to type, but also letting the thoughts swirl around in his head.

>>I would do anything to get into Hope’s Peak. But my family just can’t afford that.

>Yeah, mine neither. Who actually can?

>You’d be surprised... They’re getting a lot of enrollments.

>You can’t like...get a scholarship or anything? It’s not like you need to go to college after attending Hope’s Peak.

>Well the golden gates can’t open that wide, I suppose...

>It’s for the best. If just about anyone could get in, it wouldn’t be that special.

Hinata bites his lip, picking at the peeling skin with his teeth.

>>Still. I want to get in more than anything.

>If you aren’t talented, it can’t be helped.

>>I would give anything.

>Pffft. No kidding. I’d give an arm and a leg, probably.

>>I would give anything.

>A lot of people would.

>You’re like a super fan, huh. Well, I am, too, but still...

>>Getting into Hope’s Peak has always been my dream.

>Everyone wants to be special, man.

>But if everyone was special then no one would be special.

>It can’t be helped. You’re either born talented or you aren’t.

>Right?! I must have spent hours drawing but there was always that one person I could just never compare to. It’s hopeless!

>You shouldn’t say hopeless on the Hope’s Peak forums!

>Haha, sorry!

>>I’ve never been talented. There’s not one thing I’m particularly good at.

>Normie...

>>But I want to get into Hope’s Peak Academy... More than anything.

>Give it up. For your own good. Wishing for the impossible isn’t healthy.

>Hey, don’t tell him that! What if he ends up winning the lottery?

>Yeah, right!

>>I’m not particularly lucky, either.

>Luck’s not a talent anyway.

>Are you sure? I’ve known people who get ridiculously lucky while gambling...

>If they gamble too much, that luck’s bound to run out. And I bet they’re not that lucky, they just brag a lot.

>That might be true... Still it would be nice just to get into Hope’s Peak by chance...

>Whoever wins that lottery probably is ridiculously lucky considering how many people are participating. We’re talking like, every high school student in their first year in the country.

>Sucks to be other countries, huh.

>Maybe someday but for now, I like not having that much competition.

>Still a ridiculous amount competing...

>I bet it’ll be someone who can afford the reserve course if they haven’t already enrolled.

>No fair! That kind of thing should disqualify you immediately!

>>I just...want to get in...

>Yeah we all do. But it’s impossible.

>Impossible.

>Totally impossible.

>Pigs will fly first.

>I heard some Ultimates actually can make some crazy shit. We might see flying pigs pretty soon.

>That’s terrifying.

>>I just want to get in.

>You should get offline.

He should. He really, really should.

Is it really impossible?

“Of course it is,” he can practically hear them murmur. “Not only are you untalented, you can’t afford it! And you’re going to win the lottery, either!”

Hinata buries his face into his hands, shuddering.

I just... I just...

--

To his surprise, he later receives a DM. Shivering, he clicks it open.

>Would you really do anything for Hope’s Peak?

He doesn’t recognize the name of the sender but...it looks official.

>>Yes. Of course. Why?

>There actually is a program you can sign up for that will get you in without having to pay a coin.

Hinata blinked once. Twice.

It’s way too good to be true.

But he’s desperate. Beyond desperate.

>>What is this program? How can I sign up?

>Here’s the information.

--

What he’s about to do is how people get themselves abducted, he’s pretty sure. But right now, he’s desperate and... If it really was someone associated with Hope’s Peak, how bad can it be? What’s the worse than can happen?

I already have no chance getting in. I know that... But...

His heart was pounding as he took the train. He stared out the window, at HPA’s towering buildings in the distance, getting closer and closer, and he sucks in his breath.

It’s so shining that it hurts to look at.

Shining like a dream...

--

“Ah, Hinata-kun, you made it after all. So you have the necessary information?”

“Uh... Yes...” Truth be told, he didn’t understand most of it. There were a lot of words that were hard to read and pretty...advanced. “I just...well you said you couldn’t explain everything in just files, so...”

The other looked pretty professional. Sharply dressed and smiling in a way that at least seemed pretty welcoming. But...still pretty intimidating, considering the circumstances. Hinata ducked his head, feeling rather flustered.

“Yes, it’s meant to be kept very tightly under wraps, you see,” they laugh. “I need to assure confidentiality before explaining, Hinata-kun. Surely you understand.”

That’s...weird.

But it made his blood thrum with excitement to be a part of.

“I... Y-Yes, of course. Absolutely... Of course...”

“Sign this form, then, promising that.”

“O-Of course...!”

He scribbles down his signature without a second thought. The other smiled more, pleased. Hinata squirmed in his seat, and tried to keep his posture straight.

With that, the other sat across from him, polite and yet...expectant.

Ah... Hah...

“So you’re willing to do anything for this school,” they say, voice almost light but also dense with significance. “Might I ask why?”

“It’s...as I said on the forums,” Hinata mumbles, fiddling with his tie. Even dressed professionally for this would-be interview, he feels underdressed. “I’ve always admired this school. Always. It’s always been my dream to...to go there...”

The other nods, expression unchanged.

“And why do you wish so badly to go there, despite not having a talent that can be cultivated?”

Hinata flinched.

“T-That’s...! I...” He hesitates, but he soon finds the words just spilling out. “I just want to be someone I can be proud of. Someone who can stand tall. Be confident. Be significant. Isn’t that what I deserve?”

“Isn’t that what everyone deserves?”

Hinata’s nails dig into his palms.

“I admire Hope’s Peak...more than anyone. I will give whatever I can...and then more than that...if I have to.” His teeth grit. “Whatever it takes... W-Whatever it takes...!”

Even though I know it’s selfish and impossible, I just...!

He just wanted to be someone. Someone other than...this.

Unimportant. Unremarkable. A faceless, meaningless part of the mass. The idea of being consumed by mediocrity and insignificance for the rest of his life, never to matter, never to even be remembered, just to disappear, just like he never even existed—

“I’ll do...w-whatever...it takes...” He’s shaking, eyes wide and crazed. “Whatever it takes... Whatever I can...and then more than that...if I have to.”

“Ah. I see.” An easy smile. And yet, the atmosphere felt so heavy that it was near suffocating. “Very well then, Hinata-kun. That’s exactly the kind of attitude we’re looking for.”

Hinata lit up.

“R-Really?” He dares to let hope slip into his tone. “D-Do you really mean it?”

A nod.

“Hinata-kun... If you could be reborn from the faceless body of a miserable nobody into the world’s hope... Would you?”

“That...sounds too good to be true...” His heart really was racing, but he was flushed with excitement. “But... Y-Yeah... I... Of course...”

“Then, allow me to tell you about how that can be possible. If you agree, you’ll be accepted into the school, free of charge, no talent necessary. In fact, it’s even essential that you be talentless.”

I...don’t understand.

He doesn’t understand but it just sounds so incredible that he can’t help but be swayed.

“...tell me.”

“Very well.”

A folder of files is placed before him. They look too important to grasp. And the stamped out letters of CONFIDENTIAL stare back into his wide-eyed, shimmering gaze.

Fingers trembling, Hinata actually slices his finger open as he flips it open.

He doesn’t even feel the sting, as engrossed as he is in the text.

“I...”

The words swirl around in his head, over and over until he drowns in them.

“Do you need time to think about it?” the other asks him kindly. So kindly that Hinata is struck cold. “Tell you what... You can still get into the reserve course. You don’t have to say yes right away, and the deadline will be in a few months from now. You can attend classes here until then...and then make your decision on whether or not you’re willing to stay. Okay?”

“I... O-Okay.” Hinata swallows. “That’s... I’m okay with that.”

I said I’d do anything. And I do...want to do anything. But...

His hands are shaking while still gripping the files.

I can’t...let this chance slip by...even if it’s something like this. This is everything I ever wanted. Why am I even hesitating?

“It’s alright,” the other says reassuringly, taking the files away with ease. “Hinata-kun, I know you’ll make the best decision for yourself.”

For...myself. Myself...

“I...yes.”

“I’ll have them send in your acceptance letter and uniform.” His hand is shook, the grip warm and calloused. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Hinata-kun.”

“A-A pleasure... Yeah.”

Just like that, Hinata was stumbling out of Hope’s Peak, trembling and falling to pieces with every shaky step.

I have to do it, he can’t help but think. I have to do it, for...for myself...

This was going to be the year his life changed irreparably. He was sure of it.

#thehinataproject #hajime hinata #hinata hajime #Magi fics #the hinata project #although it's not going to show up #I might as well #I'll probably have to message someone anyway #The tragedy of being muted

[otomeonfleek]

Request: Sick w/ Eisuke Ichinomiya

anonymous asked:

i have a request, can you write about eisuke having an affair behind mc's back but little did he know mc knew it all along. Mc didn't leave or confront him because she wants to keep her promise that eisuke makes her which is to never leave his side.But everything changes when mc was diagnosed with a terminal illness. Mc left him without telling the true reason why she left. Eisuke regretting his actions try searching for mc but maybe a little too late?? ( the stick around fic was hella good!)

-----------

Ahhh I made a fairly long fic again. It seems that I am incapable of making short ones lol. I hope you enjoy this and I apologize if it isn’t what you had in mind! Btw, there isn’t any proper dialogue until the very end as I wanted to focus on building up to it. 

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

Is there any right way to tell someone that you’re dying? You can recite it, make drafts, practice in the mirror, and it still is something neither is ready to hear. 

In your youth, you’ve envisioned a million ways your life could go. Tucked in the arms of a man that loves you in a white dress, moving into a beautiful house that you’ll spend months decorating to make it feel like home, having a darling child or two, and then spoiling your own grandchildren. That was the plan-not this. 

You stood bare in front of the bathroom mirror, burning the image into your mind of the nasty purple splotches peppering your arms, the thinning limp hair, and the gaunt hollows of your cheeks. 

It had been weeks since you found out the technical terms of what was wrong with you. The fact that a few syllables stringed together could ruin you made you bitter. Perhaps a reason why you were especially vulnerable to the negative thoughts running through was because of a certain someone. 

Lately, you were ensnared in a continuous battle of what hurt more-the sickness or the lies. As cliche as it was, one was tearing at your body and the other your actual soul. You almost felt that knowing the truth crippled you the worst. It made you passive and proved how willing you were to look the other way because of the hold he had on you. 

No, it wasn’t his money or power that kept you trailing behind him. It was worse-you stuck around because you loved him with every fiber of your being. Through the disappointments, the arguments that strained both your throats raw, the dates long-forgotten, and the supposed business calls- you were stuck in a love he considered routine. 

Regardless of whether it was his personality or his social class, he was the one calling the shots and jerking your feelings around. Knowing that you were the one that let him take advantage of you furthered how repulsed you were at the sight staring back in the mirror. Yes, the form in its bruised flesh and skeletal-figure horrified you, but you hated the person more for allowing this to continue for so long. 

It took you a while to piece it together. The first incident that caught your eye was the night of your fifth anniversary. You scrambled to finish your shift early, then spent hours fixing your appearance and nicked the price tag of a new dress that strained your budget. 

That entire week, your colleagues and friends teased you on how giddy you were. Years into the relationship and you still felt your heart flutter for the man. 

You found yourself an hour early in the penthouse and eagerly waiting for your partner to arrive. The restaurant was Michelin worthy and kept a stunning view of the city below. It was a place you had long raved about and that he had secretly made note of in that emotionally awkward way of his. 

Before you knew it, three hours has passed and you had already blowed his phone up with texts to no avail. You were a combination of concerned and furious, but knowing his background, you felt with your luck that maybe he had been kidnapped. 

Burning holes in the tiling, you had been found by the other bidders that seemed especially disturbed that you were still in the penthouse sans hotel magnate partner on the evening of your anniversary . 

You brushed them off and made an excuse of how you understood he was a busy man, but felt odd on how Soryu seemed to avoid your stare. From his nervous tic of painfully rubbing the back of his neck to his downcast eyes, something was surely eating at him. Had you not been so disappointed with the night’s turn of events, you would have approached him. If you had, maybe things would have turned out better. 

Nearly one in the morning with you curled up on a love-seat and half-asleep did your date finally arrive. You were too exhausted and emotionally-drained to respond when he gently picked you up. Cradling you in his arms, he carried you to your shared bedroom. 

You recall him softly apologizing and then making up for his absence by spending the remainder of the night entangled in another’s arms. Nothing else was strange except for the faint scent of lavender you remembered. From then on, you would smell lavender every few weeks until a hatred of the plant festered in you. 

The instance that shook your world was when you woke up in the middle of the night with murmuring faint in the other room. You crept past and felt your heart drop to your stomach when you heard his familiar baritone utter lewd phrases meant for another. 

There had to be some mistake. It was a bad dream. Perhaps, he just needed to sweet-talk someone for another shady deal. 

You had been together for years through thick and thin from attempted assassinations to blackmail and petty arguments. Promises to stay together for the long run and countless actions proving your trust in another-no, this could not be happening. 

The next morning, you kissed him on the lips as you usually did and carried on with your life. It was the cowardice and desperation inside that prevented you from confronting him and risk the life you had made together. 

You knew it was unhealthy and violated every one of your values to think that maybe if you kept your mouth shut, if you continued to play the role of the perfect girlfriend that he would marry you. The two of you could still be happy together and that he would soon tire of the other woman. 

Now as you stare in the mirror and dissect every freckle and insecurity you have harbored for the past year, you know you can’t go on. 

The young girl with an honesty like no other still exists in you, dying shell and all. With that, you make the decision to disappear. You feel bittersweet when it’s Soryu that helps you get away. 

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

Sitting on a lone park bench, you don’t react when he comes to sit beside you. You keep your eyes forward with your thin lips pressed in a tight line and wait. 

“...” The silence drags on for several moments as the chill of autumn breezes past. With a slight childhood-like innocence, you note that you can see your breath. 

He shifts and leans forward to rest his elbows on his knees before burying his face in his hands. The way he holds himself is so different from the Eisuke Ichinomiya the public knows. There is no confidence and the way his shoulders are hunched over makes him seem smaller. His designer and neatly pressed purple dress-shirt and suit is replaced with a quiet black sweater. 

For how well you are holding up, you nearly flinch when you hear him speak after going without the sound for months. “...It wasn’t easy...finding you. I was surprised.” 

Rather than wasting your breath to entertain his version of small-talk, you keep silent and focus on a grand tree with reddening branches. It would be lovely to paint it. 

“I thought I knew you better than anyone else,” He slowly rose and cocked his head to catch your eye. 

The piercing and calculating sepia was vacant, and now seemed more exhausted than anything. His features were always finely chiseled, but the hollows of his cheeks seemed sickly. In your mind, you laughed bitterly at how you were supposed to be the dying one yet his haggard appearance challenged yours. 

With a rather heavy exhale, he continued, “I once thought I could see right through you and read everything about you. I was wrong.” His tone was low and each word carried its individual weight. 

You used whatever remaining strength and furled your thin digits into fists, trying to fight back the trembles as your throat tightened. 

“I could do anything, say anything, and know that you would still be there. I could hurt you-I did hurt you, and you stayed.” The brunette male pursed his lips and glanced away with a pained expression. 

You finally gathered the bits of resentment and hurt that festered in you to air it out. “I...I really believed in you. I convinced myself that if I stuck it out that...You would forget the other woman and that we would be okay. We could just continue on, we would get married, and we would be fine.” Mustering the nerve, you properly jutted your shoulders to face him head-on and stunned him with the severity of your eyes. 

“Do you know how twisted that is-to think like that? I was so in love with you that I made myself sick,” you spat out the words with such venom that he nearly reeled back. 

Forcing a bitter laugh out, you gritted your teeth, “Now look at me! I really am sick.” Mockingly, you gestured to your frame and picked at the sweaters that swallowed your thin frame whole. 

He remained still, finally getting a proper glimpse into your perspective after all this time. Chest raising heavily, your ex-lover tried, “I can get you help. There’s a hospital in-” 

“Stop. If I really wanted, don’t you think I could have asked Soryu or any of the others?” You sent him a bitter smile, your eyes twinkling humorlessly. Oh, how the tables have turned. You were like a stonewall with cool features while he was fumbling around. 

“(Y/N), you don’t want to die. You’re not throwing your life away because of something shitty I did. I can help-” The words died in his mouth when you raised your hand to signal that he stop again. 

“I’m not throwing my life away. I just want to do things at my own pace now.” This time, your smile was much less cruel as you considered what that meant to you. You pulled at the collar of your woolen coat, noting how stiff your fingers felt from the frigid air. 

The fury and passion that was the Tres Spades King seemed to ignite as he straightened in his seat to bark out, “At your own pace? You can’t think like that and take your damned time!! This isn’t a game-you are dying!!” 

You shook your head, almost feeling oddly comforted to see him in his usual raging spirits. “You’re not listening. I spent years living at your pace, trailing after you, doing what you want. Now I want to live as I like.” 

The words seemed to finally hit him and you decided to provide that extra security for him. “I’m actually getting better. It doesn’t seem like it now, but I feel it.” 

Several long moments passed as your own (e/c) gazed into his, trying to convey every frustrated and hopeful emotion that was surging through you. 

This was your life now. 

It wouldn’t have the white dress, the giddy laughter of children running through a home that you’ve built, or the adoring spouse. Your plans had changed and your priorities altered to fit this reality. It would be one likely without Eisuke Ichinomiya and that knowledge made your heart crumble once more as you forced a smile towards him.

Being with him had been painful. 

Learning to be without him as you healed would be painful. 

The realization that you could no longer smell lavender on him was painful. 

This was your life now.   

#voltage inc #eisuke ichinomiya #kbtbb #love 365 #Soryu Oh #request #angst

[willowmcplier]

☥ Introduction - Coal ☥

Hey look, a character backstory! So this is the backstory to my character Coal Upir. Note that this contains spoilers for my Blood and Water story over on Touyhou.se

Enjoy!

.

Coal pulled his coat tighter around him as he trudged through the heavy snow covering the streets. Lamplight flickered in the darkness, casting eerie shadows on the ground. The winter sun was nearly set, even though it was only 5:00, and the boy wished it was still high, to perhaps melt some of this frigid snow.

Coal shivered and turned into an alleyway. He could cut through here, and cut a good ten minutes off his trip home. His mother was busy caring for his ill sister, and so he was made to take the long walk home from the schoolhouse.

Crouching slightly, the dark-haired pre-teen jumped to pull himself over the short wall, struggling to get a grip with the layer of snow atop and his fleece mittens slipping away with the moisture. He finally managed to clamber up, dropping to the ground on the other side, the cotton rain cushioning his fall. Just another few of these half-walls, and he’d be nearly there.

He mounted the next barricade and froze. There was a man in this alley, on all fours, hunched over something. Over a cat, fur matted and slick with snow, and the ground around it splattered with red. Coal dared not move, didn’t think he would be able to move even if he wanted, frozen in shock at the sight. A soft gasp escaped his lips in spite of himself.

The man’s head whipped towards him at the slight sound, red eyes staring right at Coal, bits of crimson trailing from lips. The two were still for what seemed like hours, the boy crouched atop a short wall, the man hunched over in the snow.

Then the man stood and moved, impossibly fast, darting towards him, and Coal fell backwards in shock, tumbling into the snow behind him. The man was atop the wall then, staring down at him from a few feet up, and Coal scrambled backwards, slipping and grabbing at handfuls of slush, trying to catch his footing. In too little time the man was atop him, a fist holding the front of his jacket, pushing him into the ground, the other hand pulling at his scarf.

Coal opened his mouth to scream but the hand was instantly at his throat, turning his face into the snow to muffle his cries. He kicked and flailed, but the man was strong, pinned him down, and he was only a child.

He felt breath against his neck, saw the man’s face right next to his own, blood-dappled lips inches away from him. He saw a glint of something and then-

The man’s face was buried in his neck, teeth biting into his skin. Coal cried out in shock and pain, but was quieted almost immediately. The man sucked at his skin, at the blood stemming from the wound, and bit harder, changing it from a trickle to a steady flow.

His body felt numb, and all he could do was lay helplessly in the snow as the man lapped at his blood.

When the man finally pulled away, it felt like hours had passed. The man stood, licking his lips, sneered, then turned to leave.

Coal tried to sit up, tried to move, but his body wouldn’t listen. Everything felt heavy, the snow beginning to seep into his clothes, his blood staining the white around him. He felt scared, and helpless, and tired. So, so tired.

Soft footsteps crunched in the snow nearby, lighter than those of the first man. Someone new.

The stranger knelt beside him, turning Coal over onto his back. Coal managed to crack open his eyes to see him, new stranger, leaning over him with concern on his face. His hand went to the boy’s neck, and he cursed.

The first man said something dismissive, and the new stranger shouted back at him angrily. The two went back and forth for a while before the first man finally left, huffing.

Flakes lazily drifted down from the sky, like millions and millions of stars falling around him. The crisp December air bit at his skin, but it didn’t hurt. Nothing hurt. It was so… peaceful.

He closed his eyes.

The brown-haired stranger tugged at his own glove and bit his wrist with a wince, tearing skin and letting a small bubble of blood form. He brought his wrist to Coal’s face and let his blood drip into his mouth.

Coal gagged, his body instantly rejecting the stranger’s blood as he coughed and retched. He felt like he would vomit, almost wished he would, as the vile liquid slid down his throat. Coal curled into himself, his body one fire, the stranger rubbing his back (for what reason, he could not discern). The cold snow nipped at his skin, his skin itself burning fiercely, and his body sluggish from blood loss.

Exhausted, Coal exhaled deeply and gave in to the darkness.

☥

Heavy blankets, and the scent of wet flora.

Coal’s eyes fluttered open. He lay on a strange bed in a strange room, a strange man steeping leaves over a hotplate. Coal sat up, and the man’s ears pricked a bit, and he turned around.

“You’re awake.”

Coal’s memory was foggy, and it took a moment to recognize the person before him. The brown-haired stranger, from the alley. The second one.

“Who…”

“My name is Alex,” the man said, taking a mug and filling it with the hot tea. “Are you… are you feeling okay?”

“I…” Coal shook his head, a hand to his forehead, trying to shake the blur away. His body felt strange, like he wasn’t quite inside it properly. His eyes hurt from the brightness of the overhead light, and everything sounded wrong, just a bit too loud. “W-where…”

“This is my home. I uh, found you out there and… you didn’t look so well, to say the least.” The stranger - Alex, brought over the mug and a chair, setting the mug down beside the boy and sitting himself in the seat. “It’s a good thing I found you when I did. Any later and… well, the frost isn’t known to be merciful to fingers.”

“There was… someone was there…” Coal murmured, trying to recall the details, or anything at all really. “He… he had a cat… a dead cat.”

“Take it easy, bud.” Alex gripped Coal’s shoulder reassuringly. Coal flinched away at first, but then relaxed, realizing it was in good faith. “You probably saw a lot of things, but you were pretty frozen. Most of what you saw could have been your mind making things up.”

“No, that’s not… that’s not…” Coal’s fingers trailed down his neck and stopped short when they brushed against a bandage. Digging his nails under it, he peeled it off and felt at the area to find two small puncture wounds in his neck. “He… he bit me…”

Alex’s brows narrowed a bit. “... I saw. It was some… some crazy hobo. I managed to scare him off, but he…” Alex paused for a moment, as if unsure of what to say. “I’m glad you’re alright.”

Coal shifted and took the mug of tea, sipping it. His throat was raw and dry, and he was grateful for the hot liquid to soothe his intense thirst.

“I… I know you don’t know me, but… you’re not well. I-if you’re okay with it, I’d rather you stay here for a few days, then I can take you home.”

Coal choked slightly at that, coughing a bit. “I… I wanna go home.”

Alex shook his head sadly. “You need to wait. We need little time to let things die down, hopefully that creep will have moved on by then.”

Coal put down the mug, though his throat begged him not to. “I… I don’t know you. I guess thank you for helping me, but I… you’re a stranger, and…”

Alex nodded. “I understand completely. And usually I’d be all for that. But right now, the storm of the century is going on outside. Even if I wanted to take you home now, it wouldn’t be a good idea, or even a safe idea, to do so. So while ‘Stranger Danger’ is very real, the blizzard out there is currently the more dangerous option of the two.” Alex thought for a bit. “If you want, I don’t even have to be in the room with you. I can get you my SNES and you can stay in here all day. But I really don’t think it’s safe to go outside, not to mention that you’re sick.”

Coal put the back of his hand to his forehead and only then realized that he was burning up. Staying outside in the cold for so long must have gotten him a cold.

“Storm should be gone by Wednesday night. That’s only three days. I know it might not mean much, but I’ll swear on whatever you want that I won’t hurt you or make you stay past then.”

Coal stared off into nowhere for a few seconds, then finally dipped his head. “If it’s really the only way…” he said begrudgingly, taking the tea again and savoring the hot liquid against his throat.

“I’m really sorry, kid, but yeah, it is.” Alex said with a sigh, then stood up. “I’ll be right back with that SNES I promised. Call if you need anything, alright?”

Then the young man left, and Coal was alone in an unfamiliar place, with a wrong-fitting body.

☥

To be fair, Alex made well on his promise. Coal barely saw him at all, except to bring in soup or tea, or when his fever rose so high he was delirious. Though Coal barely knew this man, Alex was nothing but kind to him. His body still felt wrong, and everything was still too bright and too loud and too everything, but he wasn’t miserable here, and that was something at least.

The time came when Alex knocked lightly on the doorframe, startling Coal a bit as he put down the controller that Alex had provided to help him pass the hours. “It’s time. Storm’s over.”

Coal blinked, and a smile grew quickly across his face. He jumped up from the bed, stumbled a bit, and graciously took the jacket Alex held out for him. There was a look of remorse on the older man’s face, but the boy could not tell why.

Then Coal was snug in his winter clothes and the two headed outside, through a long tunnel, and took the walk home.

☥

Coal knocked emphatically on the door, and it opened mere moments later, and Coal was swept up into the arms of his mother, crying tears of joy to see her son, hugging him tight so as to never let him go again. Alex stood on the front steps quietly, a soft smile on his face at the reunion.

The noise quickly brought Coal’s father as well, and the three of them laughed and sobbed and father scolded him for staying away so long, but mother said all that mattered was that he was back, her son had been returned to her.

It was a long while before the parents’ attention turned to the stranger at the door. Then Alex was flooded with thanks and questions and even more gratitude.

“Little guy got a bit lost in the snow, and took a tumble,” Alex explained when questioned. “I found him, but it was too heavy a storm to bring him home at that point, so I had him stay with me ‘til it died down.”

Both parents hounded the younger man with questions; was their son treated well? Was he made safe and his injuries - if any - were properly taken care of? Alex responded yes, and while they were skeptical, Coal confirmed it all, Alex had been nothing but kind.

When it had finally been decided that the young man was trustworthy, Coal’s mother quickly said “Come in! You must stay for dinner, it’s the least we can do!”

Alex winced slightly at that. “Thank you very much for the offer, but I’ll have to decline.” When pressured, he continued. “I have a lot of work that I need to catch up on, so I’m afraid I need to be heading off now.”

While both of the parents wished to thank him more, they did eventually allow him to depart. Alex knelt down to Coal, gripped his shoulder, and said “Be careful from now on, ‘kay, bud?”

Coal was confused by the seriousness in his eyes, but before he could ask, the young man had already turned and was gone.

☥

Coal’s fever returned rapidly after that day, and both mother and father declared him on bedrest for further notice. One of them was always in the room with him, not wanting to leave their son’s side for a second, but even as he took the foul-tasting medicine, his fever climbed higher and higher. Christmas was nearly upon them, and they prayed daily for their son the be cured of his illness, that he might celebrate the day of the lord to the fullest.

Coal woke suddenly one night, on the eve of. He was so hot, and so cold, and he needed to drink desperately. He stumbled his way through the dark to the bathroom turning on the sink and drinking directly from the faucet. But it didn’t help. His thirst only grew more.

He heard the faintest of sounds behind him and turned to see his younger sister peeking at him through the doorway. Her eyes were worried and wide, trying to find him in the dark. “Coal? Are you okay?”

He could see her perfectly, even in the darkness. The way each strand of hair fell in front of her face. The sound of her heart beating. The way her throat moved as she spoke each word.

He moved without thinking. He was on her suddenly, shoving her to the ground and holding her there, eyes fixated on the crook of her neck. She cried out in shock, then pain, and he dug his nails into her skin, trying to break through. He could barely contain himself. He was so thirsty. She could help him. She could help him. His nails broke skin, and he finally brought his mouth forward to drink.

Something hit him in the back of the head, and he stopped, dazed, as his sister slipped out from under him, screaming. His father was behind him, shouting at him, but he couldn’t make out the words. She was getting away. He couldn’t let her get away.

Coal lunged at her and his father only barely managed to catch him by the back of the shirt, raising him in the air. Coal wailed, flailing, trying desperately to escape his father’s grasp, to get to her, he could smell the blood trickling from the wound. His father turned him towards him, looked into his eyes, and gasped.

His mother came running down the hall, confused, and his father said something quietly that made her jaw drop. Coal still struggled in his father’s hold, frantically trying to reach his sister, hiding behind their mother. She could save him. He needed her so desperately, why were they holding him back? Why were they doing this!?

His mother took a cross off the wall and pressed it into Coal’s forehead, and instantly his skin burned like fire. He screamed, trying to move away, to get away from this thing. His father took the moment to get a better grip on him, pinning the boy against his chest, and, taking the cross in his own hands, started to move downstairs, and outside, and to the car. The whole time Coal was screeching and crying and squirming, anything to get away from the horrible burning against his skull.

His mother was in the driver’s seat, his father holding him down in the back, the cross still firmly pressed against his skin, and Coal was in more pain than he had ever felt before. He was let up for only a moment, and he tried desperately to crawl away, but his father grabbed him quickly again and dragged him out into the parking lot, towards the church doors. There was a pastor waiting for them, leading them away from the main building, where people were gathered to pray for the lord, into the graveyard nearby. Coal was forced onto one of the stone benches, his father holding him down, the cross laying on his chest. He could vaguely make out his father asking the pastor about demons, if he could expel the evil that had found home in his son. Coal screamed, pleaded with them to stop, but his cries were drowned out by the psalms of the worshippers in the church.

The pastor placed yet another cross upon his body, this body that wasn’t quite his, and his cries grew tenfold. Couldn’t they see they were hurting him? Why were they doing this!? The pastor lay a cloth over Coal’s eyes, and began to chant. The words hit him like a train, and in that moment, Coal knew for sure that he was going to die. The pain was overwhelming, and his cries faded from scream to soft sobbing. He was going to die. He was dying.

The chanting stopped suddenly with a thud, and his father was ripped from his chest. His mother screamed, and Coal suddenly felt arms around him, holding him tight to their chest, knocking away the crosses and holy water and the pastor. He wept, relieved beyond relief that it was over, he was safe, but his body still ached and burned and felt wrong, the wind whipping around them as his savior ran.

The cloth fell from his eyes, and he saw a familiar figure. “A-Alex?”

Alex glanced down at him for a moment, sadness in his eyes. He said nothing, only pulled the boy tighter to his chest and ran, the buildings passing by impossibly fast, almost a blur behind them.

Coal took handfuls of Alex’s shirt in his fists, nearly delirious with pain, and exhausted beyond comprehension. His eyes closed.

☥

It burned.

Coal sat up with a start, instantly regretting it as he cried out in pain, his body searing at the movement. Alex was beside him, a bag of ice in hand, pressing it gently against Coal’s chest as he woke.

Coal felt an instant relief where the cool touched his burning skin, gripping the cold pack tightly, shaking as tears of pain ran down his face. Alex took another ice pack and pressed it to Coal’s forehead, and the boy leaned in to the pack, relishing in the near euphoric relief it brought him. Everything was wrong, everything was hot and wrong and didn’t fit right, but the cold made him forget, just for a bit.

Alex brought a glass to his face and he drank without thinking. The rawness in his throat that had been there for days vanished, it was like honey and strawberries and everything good in the world. Coal couldn’t even discern the flavor from the instant relief it brought. He could finally, finally drink, and he trembled with satisfaction.

It was gone all too quickly, and Coal whimpered slightly in spite of himself. He needed it, he didn’t even know what it was, but his entire body craved it, it was his only reason for living.

Alex pulled away, and the burn in his skin was gone, not entirely, but manageable now. With the pain went the blur of his senses, and he finally was able to understand what Alex had been saying this entire time.

“It’s okay, bud, deep breaths. It’s okay, you’re gonna be fine.”

Coal took a deep breath, swallowed, and looked towards him. Alex sighed, relieved, then took from behind him another glass.

Coal was instantly fixated on it, and when Alex brought it towards him he snatched it away, gulping it down. Alex sighed again, gathering the cold packs and setting them aside.

When he was done, Coal let out a soft and content sigh, swallowing the last traces of the faintly metallic drink. The burn in his skin was all but gone now, and while his body still felt wrong, at the same time he felt better than he had in years.

“I suppose… you must have a lot of questions.” Alex finally said.

Coal looked up and was about to speak before the memory of it hit him like a truck. “My… they…”

Alex nodded sadly, and tears pricked at Coal’s eyes. “... why?”

Alex moved to sit on the bed and brought the boy close, pulling him into a hug. “They didn’t understand. They never understand. You weren’t trying to hurt them, but they just don’t get it.”

Coal wept softly in Alex’s arms, sadness and confusion and guilt swirling around inside him. “They-... they w-were gonna kill me…”

“They didn’t understand. They thought that what they were doing would help you. But it’s not- it’s not that simple. It’s not something you can pray away.”

“I know - I know you didn’t ask for this, but… when I saw you there, in the cold, I just… I couldn’t just let you die. And I…”

Coal sniffed and looked up, confused.

“...You’re not like them anymore, kid. We’re not like them anymore.”

“then… what are we?”

Alex sighed again and looked straight into Coal’s midnight-blue eyes. “We’re not human anymore, kid. We’re vampires.”

Coal’s eyes squinted in confusion. “B-but that’s…”

“I used to think so too.” Alex loosened his grip, then pulled at his sleeve to reveal an old scar. Two pinpricks, black lines radiating across the skin from the old wound.

“I knew that… if I turned you, then… you would live. I’d be able to get you back somewhere safe, and… maybe you could even go be with your family again. Maybe they’d understand.” Alex shook his head. “It was stupid to think that. But at least… at least you’re alive.”

Coal stared down at his hands, his pale skin and the body that wasn’t quite his. He could see everything in perfect detail, the smallest pores on his skin, and the subtlest movements of his hairs.

“If… if you want, you can stay with me. I can protect you from them, and… I can feed you.”

Coal’s head snapped up, eyes wide. “I don’t - I don’t want to hurt anybody!” He shuddered at the idea of attacking someone like that man had done to him in the alleyway - like he had nearly done to his sister. “I can’t hurt anybody!”

Alex gripped his hand. “You don’t have to. There… there is a way. I can give you my own blood, or animal blood. You won’t ever have to hurt anyone.”

Coal’s eyes closed again. “I… I hate this. I want everything to be normal. I want…” Tears sprung up again. “I miss them.”

Alex pulled him in once more, enveloping Coal in his warmth as the boy cried. “I do too, kid,” he said, mournfully. “I do too.”

#willowmcplier #character backstory #vampire #trigger warning

[selfinsertdio]

Can u do “You’ve thought about this, haven’t you?” w/ u and Niles please

HEY ANON THIS SUGGESTION WAS UHHH SO GOOD THAT I WROTE AN ENTIRE MINIFIC, THANKS. absolutely under the cut for length.

Dioniles | Heroes AU | 1.7k | PG-13 for Niles being Niles. Niles-centric POV.

“You’ve thought about this, haven’t you?”

Niles’s voice rung out low and gravelly, too quiet to echo off the thick stone walls in the grand corridors that housed the Order of Heroes and their summoned help. Pinned between him and the cold rock was Dio, ears flat against its head. The young man bit its lip, refusing to meet the piercing gaze of the archer that towered over it. Their height difference was steep, Niles being one of the taller members of the Nohrian retinue, and Dio, even with the few extra inches tacked on by its ears, was so short as to occasionally be mistaken for a child. Despite this, Niles had come to understand that it was very much an individual of its own company and care, a fact that allowed him to so easily catch it alone.

He murmured in a hushed tone, Dio trapped under his arms. Niles could nearly feel the heat that emanated off of the younger man’s face, and certainly that which came from its body as the gap between them shrunk, smaller and smaller, as the seconds passed. Being the egomaniac it was, Dio’s face contorted in discomfort as it tried to keep up the brave façade it preferred to present to others, but under the pressure of having someone so close, the mask quickly began to crack.

Niles had observed, from their first meeting, that their dear summoner had been averse to even the idea of touch. Whereas many would have offered their hand as an introductory gesture, Dio’s grip remained firm around the flashy weapon that brought Niles forth in the first place. With the other members of the Order, too, Niles had caught the split seconds in which Dio had shied away from a friendly clap on the shoulder, or a celebratory hug. When greeting him on patrol, Niles had taken to his usual routine, finding enjoyment in spitting forth words that would make anyone flush red. And Dio did fluster, in some way, but nothing near the extent he had expected, particularly given the demeanor with which the man carried himself. A lick of its lips, a nervous gesture, gave way to an excuse to carry on with its patrol, but Niles saw without a doubt in his mind the glance back over its shoulder that he had earned from the reserved summoner.

Niles’s mind had been spinning with all manner of deviant ideas since that moment. He continued to watch its interactions, its habits, its daily routine until finally he’d resolved to put a plan into action to test the little hypothesis he’d come up with. Dio tended to take the paths of least resistance around the castle, avoiding others so long as it wasn’t on patrol, and it went alone more often than not, despite the insistence of other heroes that its life was too valuable to keep unguarded. The idea of being stuck with another person at all hours of the day made Dio sick to its stomach, which came as no surprise to the former outlaw. He had no qualms, seeing an easy opportunity to strike. Perhaps his actions were just what the others feared, but he carried no genuinely ill intent - just a desire to sate his curiosity and his need for entertainment. If Dio truly objected, he’d back off, apologize and promise not to repeat the same mistake again: simple enough.

But now, Dio wasn’t pushing him away. Its fur bristled, tail fluffed to twice its size, but no words were spoken to deter Niles, no force shown to push him away. He moved his hand from the wall to its shoulder, admiring the way that it flinched at even such a small gesture. Its chest rose and fell more visibly, giving hints as to the internal conflict that blazed to life within the smaller man. With his other hand, Niles deftly slid his fingers along the edge of its jaw, fingertips thick and rough from years of pulling bowstrings taut. Heat blossomed across his palm as it came in contact with soft skin, and Dio screwed its eyes shut, breathing heavy through its nose as their lips pursed in a straight line, signs of distress clear as day on its face. Niles raised his knee against the wall beside it, capitalizing on the previous claustrophobia he had already imposed. He lowered his face, nestling his mouth and nose in the fluffy, ghost-white hair that obscured half of Dio’s face.

In some small corner of his mind, the thought occurred to him that, perhaps, just maybe, he shouldn’t be tormenting a prominent member of the leading organization in this way. Maybe Dio didn’t have the conviction to tell him off, or had frozen in fear from knowing someone so dangerous had it in such a compromising position. Perhaps something in its past had lead to the distant behavior that they displayed with such subtlety, and fearing retribution, it simply shut down under Niles’s tormenting. There were other Nohrians who were more than likely to turn up their nose at his mere existence, and dreamed-up tales of some unsavory exploit of an outlaw could have easily reached Dio’s furry ears, striking fear into the newly-appointed as rumors often did.

Niles began to pull away. He had no wish to upset anyone, and moreso, no wish to incriminate himself any further than he already had. Leo’s presence was lacking in the current lineup, and there would be few to leap to his defense if he were to get in trouble. He had nearly taken his leave of the trembling man, his head lifted and posture relaxed, before a shaken, hoarse voice caught him off-guard.

“W...Wait.”

Dio’s ears perked straight forward, a serious look on its features, crimson eyes burning bright. Niles looked down at the bristling summoner beneath him, meeting his gaze as his mouth fell open slightly, still half-buried in the haze of his thoughts.

“I…” The fleeting moment of confidence that allowed it to stop Niles in the first place faded away, and Dio suddenly shrank back again. Its tail flicked wildly, and it swallowed thickly, desperate to force down the anxiety that bubbled up in its chest. It stuttered still, unable to manage out anything more than a single word. “Y-Yes.”

Niles’s thoughts swirled, and he searched his memory desperately, trying to remember just what it was exactly that he had tormented the young man with at the beginning of their encounter. The daze he was in before filtered itself away as the current instance became clear as ever to him, and the predatory grin he had become so accustomed to flashing at his victims spread across his face. He was ultimately expecting rejection, and the revelation that their summoner wasn’t pushing him off, but rather, inviting him closer, hit him like a hammer. As luck would have it, he suddenly remembered the question he had posed to it earlier.

“Really, now? And you’ve neglected to share with me all this time? You wound me, Summoner.”

He was quick to adopt the falsetto tone he so enjoyed teasing others with. Dio’s face flushed again, and its gaze nervously darted up to Niles’s single blue eye, and then away to their surroundings, clearly avoiding him. The archer slid his hand down from Dio’s shoulder to its hip, resting his thumb in the feminine curve of its body. Carding his hand gently through its hair, he reached up and caught a furred ear between his pointer and middle fingers, watching as it twitched, and as the man beneath him winced, biting down on its lip to keep steady.

“Go on, do tell. I want to know each and every last scandalous fantasy you’ve dreamed up.”

Niles leaned down, pressing Dio back flat into the stone barrier behind it. Its ears turned away from the archer again, the lighter-colored insides obscuring themselves from view. Niles was undeterred, and each word was sounded out purposefully, whispered into the summoner’s ear, and then punctuated with a quick, but gentle bite to the thin rim that curved along the concave shape. Dio shuffled in Niles’s grip, pressing its chin flat to its collarbone as it squirmed under the ministrations of the other. The moment teeth met skin, it made a small noise through bitten lips, an unmistakable keening that was nothing short of music to Niles. Paws clapped over its mouth, and it sucked in a quick breath, looking up to Niles in the hopes that it had gone unheard. Niles simply licked his lips, a twisted sort of elation flowing through him.

Just as suddenly as he had pounced on his victim, Niles retracted himself, watching as Dio’s paws flexed as if they were lost. One eventually settled to cross its body and grip the opposite arm. Niles gave the young man another look over, and he couldn’t help but chuckle in amusement at how only a few words and a little close contact had brought their summoner to such a level of dishevelment. Dio just gaped, taking the moment to catch its breath as it stared at Niles, wary of whatever move the former outlaw was next inclined to take. The smirk drawn across his lips gave it little information, aside from the knowledge that Niles had it wrapped around his finger, and they were both clearly aware of it.

“My apologies, but I’ve just suddenly remembered a chore I forgot to take care of.” Niles slid smoothly back into the formal tone he was used to taking with his superiors, with Leo and the others of the Nohrian royalty. “Seems we’ll have to cut this short. Let’s continue this stimulating conversation another time, hm, Summoner?”

Niles quickly adjusted his gear back into its proper place, having been slightly disturbed from the ordeal. The moment he turned on his heel to leave, Dio crumpled against the wall, clutching at its chest. Eyes bored into the back of Niles’s head, and though somewhat unsatisfied, he was pleased with what he had accomplished. He knew better than to push his luck, and despite the urge to turn back and make Dio into a whining mess then and there, Niles was aware that patience would do him well. The next time he caught it alone, he’d push his limits a little further, and a little further, just to see how far he could go. With this small victory notched on his belt, Niles felt nothing short of excited to see just where this little conquest would go.

#ask games #diotxt #self-insert #self-shipping #dioniles #heroes au #what a GOOD prompt #also the first really formally written out thing i've done on here!! #thank you SO MUCH anon #Anonymous

[the-uptake]

The Uptake, The 704. 2|2|3|W. Book 1, Chapter 3. Go to previous. TWs: needles/phlegbotomy, medical diagnostics, emetophobia, forcefeeding, abusive dynamic. Revised 2019.06.28.

Galen came to in a small room with a polished concrete floor and walls and ceiling edges with simple recessed studio lighting. He attempted to roll over on his back. When the discovery of handcuffs halted him, he instead rolled onto his face to ease getting into a kneeling position. He pulled on the cuffs to guarantee they had been soundly clicked shut. He looked around the room. Whoever had brought him here had removed his tattered attire and clothed him in a dark tank top and pajama pants.

Fumbling to his bare feet, he found a locked heavy metal door in the middle of one wall, while the flimsy door in the corner led to a one-person bathroom. The layout of the room couldn’t manifest its current function at first glance. He kicked at the metal door trying to make some noise, but it didn’t get him anywhere, and it didn’t have any knob or handle anyway. He tried repeatedly to reach the cuffs to suck on them, but couldn’t manage to get his hands in his lap from behind him, and each time an exhausted derangement defeated him more and more. Eventually, he laid back down in the middle of the floor, and welcomed the cool of the concrete against his body.

He must have dozed off at some point, because two pair of dress shoes appeared in front of his face. He jerked back a ways with a hushed slaggit! under his breath. They belonged to two clean-cut older men, one a good bit taller than the other.

“Sorry to startle you, Galen.” The taller one, brunet, crouched down nearer, and rested his arms on his sprawled knees. “And we’re sorry that you had to be brought here under such circumstances. Hopefully, we can help you.”

Galen gave them a wild, sarcastic look before the fatigue wiped the expression off his face. Still, he craved the cuffs.

“--I know y’all?”

“Oh, my, no.” The shorter one, with longish swept-back pepper-blond hair, adjusted his glasses by scrunching his nose a bit, and joined his colleague in crouching. “Confirm for us, if you would: You were in an accident recently? And you believe it was chemical in nature?”

“Forgive Lyst.” The taller one shot an annoyed glance at his colleague, then motioned at him. “This is James Lyst, and my name’s Daniel O’Donnell. He’s very... task oriented, to put it mildly. Try to be patient with him, if you can.”

“How do y’all know all this-- Bell.” The stalker deflated and slumped on the concrete, recalling how poorly the exam had gone. “Must be bad, if the Good Doc thought he had to toss me into somebody else’s care. I, I, I, I. I’m dead, yeah? Thought so. Y’all must be morticians, with my luck.”

His features sympathetic, O’Donnell’s nod turned into a shake of the head.

“We’re chemists. Well, a chemical engineer and a pharmacist. And we currently have you under supervision for the sequelae of your toxic waste exposure. Between access and the square footage to house it, our facility is better suited to accommodate whatever diagnostics we determine can assess your health.”

“It’s a momentous occasion, really,” Lyst continued with a grin of large teeth, in an affected lyricism which seemed typical of him. “A new class of metahuman. Really, you’re something special, Galen.”

Galen struggled to keep up.

“Metahuman? My DNA’s all screwy now? This didn’t happen cause a street chems. This was a buncha drums a truck. They. They fell on me an’ broke an’ I was trapped to where I. I think I inhaled and swallowed a buncha it.” He flinched from trying to piece together details, and shoved down his tic as hard as he could. Something about these two felt more trustworthy and candid than Bell had, but he couldn’t place why. “If y’need me to remember the exact names of every thing that bust open an’ drowned me... you’re S.O.L. ‘cause I. I. --I wasn’t payin’ attention t’that kinda stuff at the time.”

Lyst and O’Donnell listened attentively, but it was Lyst who spoke up.

“You don’t need to remember all that right now. It’s quite all right. But yes, metahuman. I’d suspect you’d know what a metahuman is through some knowledge of Ketonamil, considering its prevalence in casual Quarter use, or perhaps through the politics of hybrids, but based on our current knowledge of your predicament, we both doubt any of either related substance was present on site where the exposure took place. And although a number of different chemicals can induce metahumanity, in the history of the one we suspect... there haven’t been any who took exposure with such resilience as you have.”

Galen balked, increasingly nettled by the metal around his wrists.

“Wouldn’t call it resilience. --Are the handcuffs necessary? Course they are. Y’all had t’drug me to get me here. No tellin’ what my reaction could’a been. Forget it.”

“We’re to understand it’s for your own protection as well.” O’Donnell frowned. “You have compulsion troubles?”

“I get hungry. Brain’s slagged.” He turned over, away from them. “It’s... hard t’get comfortable. Not for the floor. ‘Cause the cuffs. ...Can I say somethin’ weird?”

“I’m sorry to hear the restraints are making comfort difficult. We’ll work on that. Are they on too tight? What’s on your mind?”

“...These handcuffs.” Galen jammed his tongue up in the roof of his mouth and squinted. “...Metal. I get y’all not trustin’ me, but can we maybe not do metal? S’not the cuffs hurt. S’that...”

“What is it? You can speak with us without consequence.”

“...S’makin’ me hungry. Don’t get how, but it’s like I, I, can smell ‘em. Metal’s been drivin’ me loon. An’ with my hands behind me. Sure y’got cameras in here or some truck. Couldn’t sleep, for tryin’ t’get at ‘em.”

“Fascinating...!” Lyst had to sit down at this. “It’s affected your sensory acuity as well?”

O’Donnell dismissed the callous commentary with a cough.

“Trying to sleep with a loud appetite can’t be working well for you.” He ignored his colleague. “We’re going to try to make this arrangement as easy on you as possible. I’ll look into it personally this afternoon.”

“You must be ravenous.” Lyst leaned in to coax Galen’s eye contact, without succeeding. “It’s been a while since you were brought here.”

“Don’t remember last time I wasn’t. Not since--”

“A healthy appetite isn’t always a bad thing.” He patted Galen’s shoulder. “What would you like us to bring you? Within reason, of course. Our budget won’t allow for steak dinners.”

Galen just lay there for a moment, in a double-take.

“I don’t get y’sense a humor. That was a joke right? He was jokin’?”

“We’ll get you whatever you like,” O’Donnell insisted, increasingly exasperated with Lyst. “Burger Block? Chick Digs? King Pho? A pizza?”

Another long silence.

“Y’too, then. Let’s get somethin’ crystal here. Last I tried t’eat food, threw up. Out every end. Know y’all don’t wanna clean that up, an’ I ain’t inclined to it neither.”

“Do you remember the last thing you ate, out of curiosity?”

“A bottle a iodine. Buncha those lil’ funnel things the doc sticks in y’ear. I dunno, was a little stressed out at the Clinic.”

“Food, Galen. Not the compulsions. Stay with me here.”

The stalker let out a shrill bark, unmoving.

“Been weeks since I ate food, doc. ‘Fore ‘Piphany. Can we--” He fidgeted with his wrists and swallowed his saliva.

“Which of us has the smart sense of humor here again?” Lyst rolled his eyes.

“Y’think I’m slaggin’ y’all? Bring me Burger Block. Don’t say I didn’t warn ya. Can we, maybe--” More squirming.

“If not... food... then what? The offer still stands, to get you anything within reason.”

“--I want these slagGIN’ HANDCUFFS--”

Almost in tears, Galen rolled on his face and tugged at the cuffs until his wrists were raw. The two men scrambled to each take one upper arm in hand and steady the boy.

“Cool it, cool it.” O’Donnell made hushing noises as he fished the key out of his pocket. “Stop squirming and I can-- Here-- wait, that’s not--”

The instant the cuffs were off, Galen wrestled out of their grip and snatched the restraining tool from them. They vanished down his throat in a series of curled links, and he lay back and stared at the ceiling with mental clarity afterward, hands laced on his stomach. Despite having contended with the offending article, an odor still divided Galen’s attention.

The scientists failed to hide their alarm.

“...You’ve... certainly done that before,” Lyst commented.

“Told ya I wanted ‘em. Nah. If y’makin’ a point f’me not, not chewin’. Y’couldn’t chew metal neither.”

“To your understanding, do you digest it slower or the same? The metal?”

“...Faster, t’be fair. A lot fastern’ what I think makes any sense. Paint. That’s what I’m smellin’, fresh paint. I...”

Lyst and O’Donnell glanced to each other.

“The lobby was being renovated earlier this week. Do you... you want paint?” Lyst looked at O’Donnell again, making sure he’d heard Galen right. “How-- how is he able to--”

“You’re able to smell the fresh paint upstairs?”

“Y’just seen me swallow handcuffs. Wouldn’t be weird as that, bringin’ me a bucket a paint, yeah?”

“You see that look in his eye.” Lyst wagged a finger at the flightiness Galen couldn’t quite shove down. “He’s just as overwhelmed by this as we are.”

“James, shush. It’s our job to figure this out, not shrink him. Besides, don’t you think it’s fair for him to be confused and disoriented? Clearly this condition has altered his perception in some way.”

“I’m right here, y’know. ...Will y-- will y’bring it? A bucket? Or a coupla cans?”

“Will that tide you over? We won’t be coming back to check on you until tomorrow.”

Entertaining his own warping appetites felt ill-advised at best.

“Ss, somethin’ plastic, maybe? Dunno. Don’t think ahead to well with it, jus’ makes me wanna eat it all at once if I do. Y’all haven’t got any books, yeah? It’s... borin’ in here.”

O’Donnell smiled, and helped his colleague up as they both stood to leave.

“We’ll see what we can do.”

Before Galen knew it, he was alone with himself again, the inception of the commonality of intermittent solitude. He didn’t catch how the door worked.

▼▼▼▼▼▼▼▼▼▼

A rough boot to the butt jolted Galen awake, and he rolled over in anticipation for a fight, but his fists and gaze stiffened where he lay in confusion when he saw a stranger joined him. The man pulled a folding chair across the concrete floor and unfolded it with a series of rusty creaks, purposefully generating nuisance, and he sat mere feet from Galen with a big paper bag with its top rolled over. Younger than the two scientists, he had long grey-blond hair with the top half pulled back, angular features, and a white neoprene jumpsuit. Galen could tell by smell alone the bag contained fast food. Burger Block. Queasy, his fists and face drooped.

The man set down a fountain drink to one side of him, and fished out a hamburger piled up with vegetables. He tore into it with a diligent politic, seemingly less for keeping it off his uniform and more for some obligation to etiquette. After a few bites, once he was sure Galen had thought he was ignoring him, he jammed the burger right under his nose with a curious brow.

“--I, what, no.”

Galen moved to squirm away, but from where he sat the man pinned him down by the inner thigh with one foot. The man pressed down harder on Galen’s leg, until the treads of the boot dragged his flesh through the thin pajama pants. The stalker winced, and the man offered again by holding it there.

“I, I, I, I, I, I--” Galen swallowed, trying not to tremble. "--Can’t eat that.”

The man sat up straight and pulled off the bun to glance coolly back and forth between the bun and toppings.

“Educated guess whether you were a mustard or pink sauce kind of dreg.” He put the sandwich back together and took another bite. “Couldn’t exactly take your order, you know.”

“Are you... with those two guys from before? Lyst an’ O’Donnell?”

“You could say that.” The man shoved the food against Galen’s mouth this time, smearing mustard at the corner of the stalker’s mouth as he sustained unblinking eye contact. “If you don’t eat, going hungry will be the least of your worries.”

Galen grabbed him by the wrists, and the man allowed it.

“I, ii, if you were with those guys, you’d know s’got nothin’ t’do with whether I like mus--”

The man had only let Galen talk to get his mouth open, and jammed the burger in, even once the rest met Galen’s gnashed teeth. The mixture of bread, meat, lettuce, tomato, onion, and mustard elicited the same revulsion as a wad of hair in his mouth. With Galen caught off guard, the man pulled one hand away easily and used it to steady the shaven backside of Galen’s head so he could continue forcing more burger. Galen’s hands flew up to pry the salty oil and veggies away from his face, but it did little good save scatter a bit of lettuce.

“Chew. Swallow. Repeat. Stop being difficult. Didn’t anybody teach you how to eat? Don’t make me help you the entire way. I don’t get paid enough to babysit.”

Galen could smell the man’s holstered gun through the assault of fast food smells right under his nose, and opted not to argue. But these mutations, if that’s what was really going on... they’d given him such trouble stomaching anything... Still, it couldn’t be worse to resume being bathroom-ridden, than to second-guess the man’s disposition. So, he swallowed. He pulled the burger out of the man’s hands and shoved the whole thing in his mouth, and after the same level of mental preparation as taking a large pill, he swallowed whole what was left of it, just to get it over with.

Feigning he wasn’t shaking at the display, the man unstuck by letting go and offering up the soda.

“Supposin’ I can’t just say no thanks.” Without objecting beyond that, Galen popped the lid and used it to skim the ice as he chugged down the soda. He withheld comment as to the rising temperature in his gut. He ate the straw to satisfy his spite, and roll-folded the lid into his mouth too. “Don’t get what y’want.”

Rather than answer verbally, the man produced his reader from his breast pocket, and pointed in demonstration to the tiny, brightly colored cubes visible in the clear tray door on the edge of it. Heavy-lidded and matter-of-fact, he opened a recording on one of the cubes, and it lit up a pale green when he began playback.

“--Y’think I’m slaggin’ y’all? Bring me Burger Block. Don’t say I d--”

The man played it back a few times, watching contentedly as the look on Galen’s face melted from physical displeasure to disoriented grief. Galen wasn’t used to hearing his own voice, and it didn’t even click at first that it was his. Why the hell did this guy have a recording of Galen? His head ran hot and cold at once, and sweat wrought him clammy all over. Then it registered for the stalker, that this guy likely had a recording of the entire conversation he’d had with the scientists earlier. A scientist jealous of hearing of his rivals’ new work in progress? A security guard seemed the more likely explanation, but it felt like too simple of one to explain potential motives for this behavior. The more his stomach churned, the less he could focus.

Eventually, the whole thing spilled out across the floor in a charred effervescent mess. The man moved a foot aside to avoid the splatter, and his skin crawled to observe that the stomach acid actively dissolved the varnish of the polished concrete. His lip curled at the display to bare a gold incisor. He stood and pushed over the limp stalker with a small nudge, then retrieved the paper garbage to leave.

“You’re to follow all instructions to the letter. Nod if you hear me.”

A small nod, as Galen tried very hard to ignore the near-garlicky rancid stench of his stomach contents digesting the flooring beside him. He clutched his stomach, still cramping despite how much better he felt without the offending stuff inside him. Half-consciously, he felt grateful that it had come out before it had hit his intestines.

“That’s how you show gratitude for people going out of their way to extend a little kindness to you? That’s filthy, you know. Absolutely filthy.”

Galen nearly blurted out well it’s your fault, I told you exactly what’d happen. When he glanced up, he understood he’d have said it to no one: the man had already left.

“...I know.”

▼▼▼▼▼▼▼▼▼▼

The door opened and shut, and a pair of shoes approached Galen, who’d curled up into one corner, lost in doldrums over the conviction that his family would not want him back until he was stable.

“Good morning,” O’Donnell started. “I brought you the paint you requested.”

He looked up over his shoulder to see the chemist had come alone, and he rolled over to sit up. When O’Donnell sheepishly handed him the can, he readily took it, but tucked it into his lap.

“Thanks.” He shied from eye contact.

“...Oh! You must be upset because you didn’t just ask for paint. Fret not.” O’Donnell reached into the hip pocket of his lab coat, and produced a reader and held it out to him. “You asked for books. I wasn’t sure what you might like, so I just downloaded a mess of things. You’re free to download whatever you like. The reader’s registered with the Central server.”

Galen stared at the device, and didn’t know how to respond to being offered such a thing. When he’d asked for books, he’d thought asking for a book would produce the physical copy of something, not a reader. He’d never had a reader to himself--the whole family had shared one, and Vana used it more than anybody. The irony was not lost on Galen, either, that O’Donnell had outfitted the thing with an impact-resistant protective case. Maybe this had been the man in white’s idea: a test of whether Galen could keep himself from eating something, when overcoming the compulsion would reward him by providing mental stimulation and alleviating isolation.

He caught himself glaring at the dark glassy stain in the floor and took the reader from O’Donnell.

“Y’all are... too generous. Don’t deserve this kindness.”

The chemist frowned at the sentiment.

“It’s the least we can do for you. You’ve been through so much already, and we haven’t even gotten to your diagnostics screening.”

Galen tapped the power button on the side and flicked the screen on. The navigation keypad along the bottom edge befuddled him and he pecked at it.

“Can I... ask a stupid question?”

“I don’t imagine it’s very stupid.”

“Has this place got security guards?”

O’Donnell crouched to be closer to the boy’s eye level where he sat in the floor, and tried to determine how to answer based on what reason Galen could possibly have for asking such a thing.

“This building is very secure. We have several guards, and extensive surveillance.”

“An’ their uniform, it’s an all white suit? Grey edges?”

The chemist’s eyes narrowed, brow shifting from scrutiny to concern.

“Why? Did one of them come in here?”

Again, Galen glanced at the vitreous slurry-stain. Left unattended, the stomach enzymes had reduced the food to carbon, and the mess had dissipated into the melted glass before the enzymes lost their potency and let the whole thing set up like it had been there all along. A lump formed in his throat.

“Long, greyish hair? But not all that old, I guess? Gold tooth. He’s one of yours, yeah?”

The chemist’s features flattened in a squint for a moment, but he reached out to hold Galen’s shoulders to look him in the eye.

“That’s... Michael. What did he want?”

“...Dunno.”

“Galen, I meant it when I said you could speak to us without consequence. The guards aren’t permitted in here unless they’re accompanying Lyst or me. No one but James and I have clearance to get in here. Did he say anything to you?”

Follow all instructions to the letter.

Galen shook his head and opened the first book he could click on.

“Thought it was weird, is all, that he wasn’t with you guys.” He tried to look like he had gotten absorbed in the romance novel, uninterested in conversation. “Guess he wasn’t supposed to be.”

“No. No, he wasn’t. Will you be all right for another day or so? We had to rent out a lot of the machines we need to run your diagnostics, but they won’t be here until tomorrow.”

“I’m fine.”

The flat affect indicated otherwise, but O’Donnell didn’t press him further.

“Please tell Lyst or me if Michael, or anyone else, comes in here again. You don’t have to go into detail, if you don’t want. But I promise you that the two of us want to keep you safe. If Michael doesn’t make you feel safe, neither of us want that.”

Galen didn’t have a response.

▼▼▼▼▼▼▼▼▼▼

Galen flinched when Lyst and O’Donnell next visited, and withdrew into the corner before either could even greet him. The paint, can and all, had vanished, as had the reader. Balled up inside his head, he upset himself all over again over his own lack of self-control.

“I, I, I, I, I-- couldn’t help it--” He swallowed hard, trembling. “There’s gotta be a way t’make it up t’ya somehow.”

“You... how did you...” Lyst uncrossed his arms, and was looking around the room for proof he was wrong. He didn’t find any. “How did you eat the reader? --And the can?”

“I--” He looked to O’Donnell for an affirmation that it was okay to speak. “Ss, sssuck on it ‘til it melts. Like candy, or s, somethin’, I guess...”

“Incredible.” Lyst dropped all incredulity, now again fascinated. “Really, though, Galen. If you’d known you were going to eat it, you could have simply asked for an old, broken reader. It would have been fine to ask for that.”

“I-- I thought y’was gonna bring me a paper book. Know it sounds real sorry of me t’say, but... I forgot readers could even have books.”

“I don’t know that our budget could allow for antiques like that.” As tactfully as possible, O’Donnell asked, “You mean to say you don’t think you would have any compulsion to eat paper?”

“Haven’t had one so far. Not that I noticed.” Galen sighed and stared at their shoes in dejection, trying not to remember how the security guard had removed all the paper from the room on his way out when he’d been there. “I... get y’all not entrustin’ me with antiques. It was dumb of me t’even ask. Knew better. I ate my own damn e-cig, an’ Walkman, and--”

“Hey, now.” Lyst wagged a gracious finger at him. “You needn’t beat yourself up. So you had an expensive meal. It’s quite all right. Part of this is learning how your appetite works, little Galen. Galenula. Hhn.” He grinned, scrunching his nose.

“You finished off that can of paint in no time,” O’Donnell began. “We expected it to tide you over for at least a day, but that’s clearly not the case. Do we need to bring you larger, ah, servings? It’s difficult to bring things more frequently, but if we need to figure out how to schedule that, we will.”

“Metal.” Galen got doe-eyed at having blurted out the craving, envisioning what a larger serving might resemble. “Lots a metal. Computer parts if y'can.”

O’Donnell smiled, able to get their subject on a thought which seemed to calm him.

“We’ll see what we can do. In the mean time, Galen, we did come today for more than to just see you... We can start one set of tests this afternoon, if you’re up for it.”

Galen shook his head in dismissal that he could tell them no, and stood compliant.

“Whatever you need of me.”

Lyst left the room long enough to wheel in a small cart with two trays on top. In one surgical tray lay a fistful of stoppered vials, while in the other lay a variety of tubing and sterile-packaged implements. O’Donnell retrieved a pair of folding chairs once his colleague had returned, as not to leave Galen unattended with the door unlocked, and set them out opposite one another next to the cart.

“A blood panel.” The pharmacist refrained from mentioning even anecdotally that it had been since college that he’d had any phlebotomy practice. “A rather extensive one, I’m afraid. I’ll be gentle.”

“Drawin’ blood? Don’t bother me any.” Galen sat in the chair Lyst did not, and already found himself eyeing the glass on the tray. “One of y’gonna hold me?”

“If it’ll make you feel better, I’m right behind you,” O’Donnell reassured, both hands on the back of the folding chair.

“First, vitals.”

Lyst produced a sphygmomanometer from a drawer in the cart. He wrapped the cuff around Galen’s upper arm, then depressed the auto-inflate mechanism so that the gauge pressed against his antecubital fold could take the composite measure of the boy’s blood pressure. With a holographic chirp, it annotated the measurement, and Lyst let the pressure out of the instrument and put it away. He got the infrared thermometer from the drawer next, and waved it over Galen’s forehead twice, and annotated its measure as well. Then, from the bottom drawer, the pharmacist set out a scale between the two of them, and suggested Galen stand on it. The only measure Galen saw for himself, it registered 81.6kg. The stalker never really had dealt much with metric, and he sat back down.

“Hm.”

“Hmm?” Hoping for an understanding, Galen looked expectantly to Lyst, who kept tapping away at calculations and annotations, then up behind him to O’Donnell, who also watched Lyst.

“How tall are you?” Lyst asked.

“Five-five. ‘Bout 130, last I checked.”

“Closer... to 180 pounds, it seems. Bell gave us his patient chart data when we overtook your care. You weigh nearly 82 kilo today. That’s about twenty-five kilo over what you should reasonably weigh. But, clearly you’re not overweight. Just... over what you ought to weigh.”

“He means to say, that kind of weight would normally factor as fat,” O’Donnell translated, concealing how wild his mind went with speculation. “Something internal has to be denser. The chemical composition of your muscles, perhaps. Or your bone mass.”

“Diagnostics will better inform us than any speculation.” Lyst put on a pair of latex gloves with minor flourish. “Now, Galenula, offer up an arm. And ball up a fist for me.”

When Galen did as instructed, Lyst gingerly tourniqueted it with a length of yellow rubber. The bespectacled pharmacist then cradled the elbow and palpated for a good artery. He took an alcohol-soaked poly swab to sterilize the area, then tapped at the resultant blood vessels again to test them to satisfaction. He nodded to himself, and unwrapped the catheter needle. Then he looked over his glasses up at Galen, who watched attentively all the while, then proceeded to eyeball exactly where to stick.

“I’m going to count to three, and you’ll feel a pinch, all right?”

Galen nodded. He had to look away, but it didn’t hurt too badly. Bell had hurt worse, he recalled, the doctor seemingly more compelled by speed and efficiency than avoiding exacting pain in the process. The stalker only looked down again once Lyst had snapped the first vial into place over the open tip of the tubing. Something about it felt wrong, and Galen tried not to squirm.

“...Shouldn’t it... be... red...?”

Rather than blood, a bright orange substance filled the vial.

“It wasn’t this color when Dr. Bell drew it?”

“...No...”

Lyst soon switched out the first vial for the second, going down the line. Some vials already contained something with which the blood was to interact, and one of these popped within a minute of the pharmacist setting it down on the tray. The burst startled all three of them, and Galen cried out when Lyst pulled the needle out and pressed down with a fresh poly swab, rather than accidentally jam the catheter further in. They all stared at the tray, wary that the others might follow suit. Galen nudged the caster-wheeled cart with his toe, to push it further away from all of them.

“I... only got seven of the eight vials drawn, but I think it’s safe to say that one wouldn’t have been a viable test sample.” Still holding the boy’s arm to apply pressure, he chuckled at how Galen had done what all three of them had thought of doing. “It’s fine. We got almost all of them, and these will definitely give us much information to work with. I won’t terrorize you further right now.”

Eyes glazed in revulsion, Galen couldn’t stop staring at the vials, many of which had turned nearly neon.

“That... that ain’t blood. Ain’t my blood.”

“It came out of your veins, Galen,” O’Donnell soothed, putting his hands to Galen’s shoulders. “The tests will tell us whether it’s supposed to be there.”

“It’s going to be all right,” Lyst seconded. “Once I get the chance to send off this panel to the lab, we’ll be sure to come right back with something you’ll like.”

“--Hhmetal,” Galen reflexively repeated, transfixed upon the fluid in the glass.

“Yes, yes. We know. Hm! You liked paint. Would you like soap as well, perhaps?”

“Soap sounds nice,” he agreed, becalmed by the idea of eating.

Lyst applied a patch of paper tape over the poly swab, and let go finally.

“Soap. And something metal. Absolutely.”

The pharmacist collected up all the vials into a foam-lined medical-grade mailer carton. From what Galen could tell as he watched, it wasn’t at all unlike a test tube rack fitted inside there, and it seemed to have thermal insulation to keep it within a certain range, as well. He noticed the side of the carton read BF Meehl before it vanished safely into the cart drawer, and Lyst tucked all the remainder of nonsense into the sharps bin in another drawer. O’Donnell patted Galen on the shoulder reassuringly, to shake him out of his stupor enough that he’d notice them leave.

“I’ll come and check on you in about an hour, all right?”

Galen took the shoulder pat as urging to stand so the scientists could retrieve the chair, then he returned to his favored corner next to the bathroom.

“Yeah. ...Thanks, any rate.”

He watched them exit, and observed this time the door opened in a series of magnetic buzzing. Maybe the security guard was watching the whole time, and let them in and out.

Once they were gone, he stared down at the taped poly swab, and forcing himself to take a nap was the only thing that kept him from ripping it off to see if the catheter had gotten out all the orange stuff.

#biopunk #cyberpunk #dystopian #body horror #the uptake #galen miner #daniel o'donnell #two two three w #the 704 #223w #james lyst

[tyranttortoise]

classic, swap, swapfell and fell bros reaction to their s/o breaking up with them, and then finding out it was because their s/o didn't think they were good enough for their bonefriend and did it on a drunk impulse? love your writing btw you're my fav imagines blog 💕

( * Aw, thank you~!  This prompt was a lot of fun.  I really love when the skelebros provide comfort because I like to imagine someone reading it and feeling better about whatever they’re going through.  )

UT!Sans:

His world has suddenly crashed.  He flinches, but he's quick to bury the hurt behind a forced grin and a small shrug.  "heh, it's not you, it's me?  is that the line you're using?"  He means for it to come out as light, but his tone sounds sharp and chilling instead, betraying his jovial facade.  

But then, he realizes that something's amiss.. there's that waver to your voice, the way you look so vulnerable.  Why, you look just as wrecked as he feels.  "hey, what're you talking about, kiddo?  of course you're good enough.  if anyone should be saying that.."

*it's me.

His voice trails off.  He gathers you against his chest, pulling you down to lie on the couch, and opens his blue jacket wide to halfway cover your body.  You're the light in this timeline, the person that gave him the ability to feel HoPe again.  He doesn't voice that; he's too shaken to find the words.  So, instead, he just holds you on the couch, and murmurs, "please don't ever think that, ok?"

UT!Papyrus:

When you break up with him, he flinches as if he was physically struck, his bones rattling together from the jarring impact.  "O-OH, GOOD ONE!  YOU'RE TRYING OUT JOKES LIKE SANS, RIGHT?  I.. I THINK YOU GOT SOMETHING WRONG ABOUT THAT ONE, THOUGH.  OR MAYBE I MISSED THE PUNCHLINE..?"  You know he has to be rattled to admit that a joke may have gone over his head, but when he realizes you weren't joking around, his shoulders slump.  "OH...YOU CAN'T REALLY MEAN..."

His eyesockets start to tear up.  He's shaking, but trying to be strong.  If you really want to leave him, he's going to respect your decision, but.. "I..IS THIS REALLY WHAT YOU WANT?" he can't help but ask, reaching out to place a gentle hand on your shoulder.  He's prepared to accept it, but the moment you start insisting that you're not good enough for him, he realizes what's going on.  Immediately, he pulls you against his chest, bending over your form.  He places his forehead on the top of your head, and he's openly crying now.  You're hurting, and having this awful thoughts about yourself, and that hurts him.

"YOU'LL ALWAYS BE GOOD ENOUGH.  I'LL H-HAVE YOU KNOW THAT THE GREAT PAPYRUS HAS VERY HIGH STANDARDS!"  He's trying to lighten the mood, but his voice breaks a little.  So, he tightens his arms around you, holding you as close as possible.  "AND YOU EXCEED ALL OF THOSE STANDARDS JUST BY BEING YOU."  Shifting, he pulls back enough to press his teeth to your forehead, giving a soft 'muah' sound effect to punctuate his skeleton kiss.  "SO LET'S REMAIN A COUPLE! I'LL TAKE YOU OUT ON A DATE TOMORROW!  IF.. IF YOU'RE NOT TOO HUNG OVER.  IF YOU ARE, I'LL JUST BRING YOU SOUP IN BED AND WE CAN WATCH METTATON RE-RUNS!"  

UF!Sans:

Of course.  Of course you'd break up with him.  He's still for a moment, before he forces a smirk and shrugs.  "welp, that lasted longer than i expected.  i guess i'll see ya around, swee--.. uh, bud."  He turns away, trying to shrink further into his jacket, to hide his cheeks behind the floof of his fur-lined hood before he starts crying.  He thought he would feel numb, but there's a gnawing pit in the center of his chest, and his eyesockets are burning.  Stars, he's stronger than this!  

Mentally, he's running through every insult he's ever received in his life, every reason why he wasn't good enough for you, why you don't want to be with him anymore.  He's gathering his magic, preparing to shortcut right out of this nightmare and drown his sorrows at Grillby's.  There's no doubt in his mind that he's going to get wrecked tonight, and the bender's guaranteed to last for a week solid.  

But then he hears you continue, drunkenly mumbling about how you don't deserve him.  He freezes, his magic dissipating.  You, underserving of him?  What kind of Twilight Zone swap world is this?  Red turns, still trying to guard his face with his hood, his sockets glimmering with red-tinted tears.  "r..run that by me again?" he manages, his voice thick and gruff.  When you continue to babble on about your insecurities, he suddenly sees himself mirrored in you.  How could he have missed the signs?  Maybe you were both just too good at pretending, too used to doing it as second-nature.  

"oh, sweetheart."  He's on you in the next instant, so quickly that he knocks you off-balance and you both end up tumbling onto his mattress.  The impact jars the springs and causes you to bounce, but he just holds on tighter, burying his face in the side of your neck so you don't glimpse his tears.  "none of that is true, ya hear me?  you're all i want.. and if you want me.."  His voice becomes quiet, but his mouth is right by your ear, his breath warm against the cold tear-tracks on your cheeks.  

"then just stay.. ok?"

UF!Papyrus:

WHAT?  Did you really think YOU could break up with HIM?  This is an outrage.  Edgy is someone that obviously hides his feelings behind RED-HOT RAGE, so he grits his teeth and looms over you.  "NO!" he shouts firmly, his entire body tense.  He hasn't done ANYTHING to warrant this, and he's been trying his hardest to be an attentive bonefriend.  He's been paying attention to your needs, and he's even started reprimanding his brother's laziness less!  Is that not enough?  

No.  Impossible.  He's done everything right.  "I REFUSE TO ACCEPT THE BREAK-UP.  SO.. NO.  IT'S NOT OVER."  He's in serious denial, and while he knows he can't really make you stay if you want to leave (shy of sealing off the exits with bones, which is becoming more and more tempting..), he's going to be stubborn.  You're going to have to give him an explanation.. and when you do, you start tripping over your words and feelings, blurting all of your deepest, self-depreciating thoughts.  

And that's when Papyrus realizes just how drunk you are.  

He swears loudly, rolling his eyelights even as he grips your chin and forces you to look up at him.  He bends over, leaning down to your face, and says, "Stop."  The word comes out more gently than anything you've ever heard him say; for once, it's not a shouted command, but something he's urging you to do.  It shocks you into silence, your shoulders still shaking from suppressed hiccups of sobs.  He clears his throat and begins speaking in his normal tone of voice now that he has your full attention.  "ARE YOU DONE WITH THIS FOOLISHNESS NOW?  I WON'T STAND FOR ANYONE SPEAKING ILL OF YOU--NOT EVEN WHEN YOU DO IT. WE'RE NOT BREAKING UP JUST BECAUSE YOU'VE DECIDED TO DRUNKENLY SLANDER YOURSELF.  NONE OF THAT IS TRUE, DO YOU UNDERSTAND?"  He says it with such a serious intensity that all you can do is nod.  "GOOD."

And then he scoops you up bridal-style into his arms and carries you upstairs.  It's time for you to sleep off your alcohol, and he's going to keep you locked up in his arms all night.  

US!Sans:

The second you break up with him, he's crying.  

It's not even little sniffling tears that develop into sobs; no, he's immediately full-on ugly crying.  He's gasping for air with his shoulders heaving, his face is flushed a bright blue, and he looks like you just kicked a sack of puppies in front of him while laughing maniacally.

"B-B-B-BUT..! W-WH-WHHYYY?  WHAT DID.. DID I.. DOOO?"  He's wailing the words and jumping to the worst possible conclusion, but he needs to know what he did so he can fix it.  He's got to win you back!  If Papyrus is in the house, he hears the crying and teleports into the room with a murderous expression, but once he sees that you're both crying, he awkwardly pretends it never happened and blips away to Muffet's.  Blueberry grabs onto your waist, looking up at you with the most heart-broken expression you've ever seen.  You did this to him, you realize, and it only makes things worse.  

You launch into every dark thought you've ever had about yourself, every time you've ever thought that you weren't good enough, or were too flawed, or that no one could possibly stay interested in you, that you're poison and that's why they all lea--

Blueberry cuts you off by cupping your tear-streaked cheeks with both hands and forcing you to look at him.  You have his rapt attention, and he's no longer wallowing in misery; instead, he's looking at you with absolute concern.  "WHY WOULD YOU EVER THINK THAT ABOUT YOURSELF?  YOU'RE NONE OF THOSE THINGS!  I THINK YOU'RE THE GREATEST PERSON IN THE WHOLE WORLD!  THAT'S WHY I LOVE YOU SO MUCH!"  He smiles, bringing your head down to rest your forehead against his.  "MAYBE I DON'T TELL YOU THAT ENOUGH?  BUT FEAR NOT!  FROM NOW ON, I'M GOING TO TELL YOU EVERY DAY HOW GREAT AND WONDERFUL YOU ARE!  AND IF YOU EVER THINK ANYTHING BAD ABOUT YOURSELF, JUST TELL ME SO I CAN TELL YOU HOW UNTRUE IT IS, ALL RIGHT?"      

US!Papyrus:

Stretch realizes immediately (okay, immediately after the crushing pain in his chest that made his SOUL feel like it was cracking) that you're too drunk to make a decision like breaking up.  Something like that has to be done with a cool head, so while his body is tense, he tries to approach the situation delicately.  "ok.  so why break-up?"  You don't tell him right away, but he probes you carefully, asking if there's something that makes you unhappy about the relationship and casually mentioning that you've had way too much to drink tonight.  

When the floodgates finally open and you spill all your demons, Papyrus pulls you into his lap.  His arms go around you, and he guides your head to his shoulder, where he soothingly strokes his phalanges through your hair.  "honey, why are you so hard on yourself?"  You don't give him a straight answer, instead reiterating that you're not good enough for him, that he deserves better, that you should just leave.  "why don't you let me be the judge of what's good enough?  i mean, i am a pretty good judge of character, and  i think you're everything i could ever want. else i wouldn't be here right now, honey."  

If you continue, he just asks, "do you enjoy being with me?  do you want to stay like this, with me?  then ok.  stop trying to leave because i want you to stay."

SF!Sans:

HOW DARE YOU BREAK UP WITH HIM!!  YOU SHOULD BE HONORED THAT HE DEEMED YOU WORTHY OF HIS AFFECTIONS!  "WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU WANT TO BREAK UP?!  THIS IS UNACCEPTABLE!!"

His eyesockets are watering, but he tells himself they're ANGRY TEARS instead of just regular broken-hearted tears.  How could anyone refuse him?!  He's about thiiiis close to shouting for Papy to help him handle this crisis when you start to cry and admit your feelings of inadequacy.  OH.  So you were feeling unworthy!  That's makes sense, because it totally couldn't be anything HE'S done.  

Blackberry swallows back his tears and sits down on his bed, abruptly jerking you down beside him.  He latches onto your waist, his grip uncomfortably tight.. because he's trying to mask the fact that his bones are shaking.  "YOU'RE WORTHY.  HOW MANY TIMES DO I HAVE TO TELL YOU?  I'M A SKELETON OF ALMOST IMPOSSIBLE STANDARDS TO MEET, AND YOU.."  He almost lost you, so he swallows a portion of his pride, his face buried in the side of your neck.  "YOU MEET ALL OF THEM.  SO CEASE THIS FOOLISHNESS AT ONCE!"  

He's relieved that you stay, and as soon as you pass out, he cries.  

SF!Papyrus:

Welp, drunk words are sober thoughts, right?  So if you want to leave him now, it must mean you've been thinking about it.  Papyrus can't say he's surprised; he's been waiting for you to realize you could do better.  After all, who wants some pathetic mutt like him drooling after them all the time?  

"ok."

He's already walling himself off, and since he was in the process of walking you home anyway, he pulls out a cigarette from his jacket and lights it up.  He's going to chain smoke tonight, and probably not even go home.  Sans would only lecture him about the smell of smoke, and he just can't deal with that right now.  His other hand is balled into a tight fist in his pocket.  He doesn't try to press you for an explanation, even as he's running through every exchange the two of you have ever had and wondering just how many of those sweet words you actually meant.

And then he hears a tiny sob, and when he turns to you, his entire body feels cold.

He stops, staring, and as your insecurities spew out like terrible word vomit, he slowly starts to realize what this is really about.  He can relate--he can relate to every one of those feelings.  His cigarette tips from his suddenly-lax fingers, and he closes the gap in one stride to sweep you against him.  In one smooth motion, he cuts off your nonsense with his mouth, soothing your worries away with a deep kiss.  When he finally pulls back, he chuckles lightly, cupping your damp cheek with his palm.  "listen, doll.  i'm gonna let you in on the absolute truth.. and that's that whoever put that shit into your head is wrong.  dead wrong.  you'll always be enough just by being here with me.  and i don't want you to ever forget that, ok?"

#undertale imagines #undertale #underfell #underswap #swapfell #sans #papyrus #the skelebros deal with an almost break-up #and then comfort their poor drunk s/o #blueberry is my favorite reaction #but it also broke my heart

[themadcapmathematician]

A Better World (Ch. 1)

Summary: The parallel world 46'\ Stanford found was neither ideal nor easily won, but that didn't invalidate its victory.

Warnings: Over All– swearing, some graphic violence, threats of violence, abuse, manipulation. Will add warnings as fic progresses, and on each chapter.  

This Chapter– mostly swearing, and some manipulation from Bill.

Pairings: Fiddleford McGucket & Stanford Pines.

Word Count: 1941.

(Also available on Ao3.)

[fic under the cut]

“...and that's why I think we oughta quit while we're ahead.” Fiddleford says.

Ford runs his finger along the edge of the napkin. He continues staring at it, unsure of what to say.

It's a simple diagram, the y axis labeled “instability”, the x axis labeled “time.” The words “probability of failure” are scrawled hastily across the bottom of it. There are several tears in the paper along that string of words, as though the hand that wrote it could barely keep steady, digging into the thin lining of the napkin in agitation.

Ford remains silent, and he can feel the growing anxiety emanating from Fiddleford as time goes by. He hears his companion’s leg quietly pad against the table as it bounces.

He knows Fiddleford wants an answer, but he's not sure what answer he might possibly give him. A quiet voice in the back of his head hisses told ya so…

Fiddleford reaches over to his bag and takes out a stack of papers. He shoves them over to Ford.

Ford glances at it. “What is this, Fidds?”

It's a ludicrous question - the papers are self explanatory as he begins picking through them: a compilation of all of their research, even Ford’s work before Fiddleford joined the project.

The question he's really asking is why? And when? And I can't believe you'd do this (to me!) (for me...)

the voice in his head is growling now, spitting venom that makes him flinch as it washes over him. How could he HOW COULD HE WHO THE FUCK DOES HE THINK HE IS THAT MOTHERFUCKING MEDDLING BACKSTABBING PIECE OF WHITE TRASH we've worked so hard and he’d have us throw it all away

It's hard to tell if it's his thoughts or Bill’s sometimes (̶m̶o̶s̶t̶ ̶o̶f̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶ ̶t̶i̶m̶e̶)̶̶. (all the time). The anger swells in his chest just the same.

It's only after he's been staring at page 26 for several minutes, not processing what it reads, when the sound of his hands trembling against the paper becomes apparent, and soon afterward does Fiddleford’s strained, uneven voice.

“...frankly all ya’ve discovered should be more than enough to-”

“We.” Ford says. The word surprises Bill, stopping his rant dead in its tracks. The word surprises Ford himself.

“I...W-We?” Fiddleford stutters.

“Yes.” Ford says, adjusting his glasses. “All we ’ve discovered.”

There's an extended period of silence that is held between them, not so much uncomfortable as excruciating. Neither wants to be the first to speak, and neither dares, trying to gauge the other’s reaction, trying to decide where they might even begin.

“Yer angry.” Fiddleford says finally.

Ford scoffs. “Yeah Fidds, I'm fucking angry.” his jaw shifts in his mouth, his teeth raking the surface of one another. “I can't believe...I can't believe that you would do this to me...go behind my back…”

Bill is laughing, his anger joining Ford’s..he's crowing told ya so told ya so told ya so he's such a goddamned sniveling manipulative little LIAR

Fiddleford wrings his hands. “I-it...it's for yer own good…”

“Don't tell me what is and isn't good for me!” Ford snaps.

Fiddleford flinches like he's been struck.

Ford exhales. Shrill cackling echoes in his mind. Yeah that's it...let the hillbilly have it, give the little backstabber a taste of what he deserves…

Ford lays down the papers and motions to his companion, who winces again. Ford searches those hollow eyes, bags under them burrowed so deep in his skin nothing could quite fully conceal them. He looks at Fiddleford hair - it's like a threadbare, moth-eaten sweater, full of thin places and some patches...justmissing ... He grimaces inwardly.

“Look Fidds.” he says, his tone soft, despite the chorus of laughter and screaming in his head and the bubbling anger filling his veins as though scalding water has been injected directly into them...

He looks Fiddleford in the eyes again. God that shade of blue should never be so dull.

“Fidds.” he repeats. “Why don't we...why don't we hold off on activating the portal. Until we go through all the calculations...the programs and such...make sure it's safe...get some rest…”

Bill goes very silent very suddenly, as though he can't think of a single thing to say. Many of Ford’s more violent, furious thoughts and ill will turns to a more simmering, quiet anger.

Fiddleford himself only stutters. He finds his verbal footing with a scoff. “Wait, ya mean it? A break? Since when ?”

Ford chews in the inside of his cheek. He begins playing with his coat collar. “Well…” should he be honest? How can he be honest? Fiddleford hasn't been honest with him a single time since he got here… “Look. I don't want us to do something... rash …”

Fiddleford blinks. “...alright now I'm startin’ to worry. Are ya actually Stanford Pines?” he bites his lip, his knee bouncing even more, as though truly considering the possibility. Ford doesn't like that somehow. Not very much at all.

Ford snorts. “I thought I was the paranoid one.”

This retort seems to calm Fiddleford down. A bit anyway. “Ya don't take breaks. Ya don't ‘hold off.’ c’mon Ford! Ya told me ‘Icarus didn't flap hard enough’-”

“it's because he was just a stupid, weak kid.” Ford says. He's not sure where it came from or why its so angry and yet has all of the impact of a punch to a pillow, rather than a wall or a gut.

Ford twists his coat collar. He doesn't want to say it he can't say it he can't...it's so...he can’t...

“Fiddleford.” he says finally. “We've been friends for a long time, correct?”

Fiddleford is quiet for a bit, then nods slowly. “Yeah?”

“We can't be friends...if we don't...if we don't trust each other…”

Bill is confused. Ford can feel it. He's scrambling for some sort of advice, some sort of prompting, but...Ford’s chest is filled with a maelstrom of confusion and emotion...all the words in his head he's not even quite sure of are tangled up and blurring into each other, colliding together, transferring meaning and feeling until they're unrecognizable...he just can't predict what order they'll take until he says them. Even he isn't sure what he's about to do and it scares the shit out of him.

Fiddleford nods again. “Yeah.” his voice is quite fragile.

Ford digs his teeth into his tongue. “We...you…” he exhales. “Goddammit Fiddleford...I trusted you...”

Fiddleford sets his jaw. “Yeah, well the feelin’s mutual.”

Ford gestures rapidly, startling Fiddleford once more. He admonishes himself, but he can't seem to keep his emotions bottled. “Yes! Yes that's the thingFidds! What happened to us? We've been..we…” his gaze falls to the floor as he mutters. “We're partners …” he props himself up on the table and buries his face in his hands. “Fuck, what are we even doing…”

Ford pushes his hands into his hair and glances up at Fiddleford, watching him find a corner of the booth away from him and letting his gaze settle on it. “I…”

Ford gets the feeling he's angry, he's searching for his reasons for being angry...but mostly he…

He sounds...sad... scared even…

Fiddleford whispers finally. “ I don't know… ”

Stanford nods, running his fingers through his hair. “Look Fiddleford. I'm angry. I'm fucking pissed. But I hate this. I hate seeing you like this. I hate...I just...I hate this. I hate that you felt this ” he smacks the papers on the table. Fiddleford jumps again and Ford lowers his hands beneath the table, berating himself silently. “This fucking desperate! And I hate that you're keeping things from me…”

Fiddleford looks at Ford, his eyes narrowing. “Yeah, we both have.”

Ford hates thinking about it. Hates having to admit to it. You couldn't have trusted him I mean look just LOOK at all the ways he's stabbed you in the fucking back...I hate that I pushed him to this...it's my fault...I hate hate hate him (this) ME for this…

He nods. “Yeah…” he laughs bitterly. “Yeah…”

He goes back to twisting the edge of his jacket under the table. “Look...the secrets of the universe aren't going to run off as far as I can tell...We can...hold off a little bit...sort this out…”

You're WALKING when you oughta be RUNNING what the fuck is wrong with you what the fuck where the fuck is this coming from don't be an idiot you're so CLOSE-

It’s coming from the blank look in Fiddleford’s eyes when Ford was pulling the gremloblin quills out of him. Fiddleford wasn't just scared - his skin was pale, he was limp in Ford’s arms, his gaze went past whatever was in front of him and kept going. he looked dead . Its coming from realizing how that look had slowly been creeping into his friend’s face, overtaking him during the last few...months? Longer?... And Ford hasn't even noticed …

It’s coming from imagining Fiddleford doing all this work secretly, typing out each treacherous letter, drawing every disloyal little diagram, all that effort just to betray him and everything they'd worked on A TRAITOR HE’S A TRAITORand Ford being so angry burning with so much anger he can barely think straight why would he do that why wouldn't he just come to him why wouldn't he just …

He couldn't lose him. He couldn't lose him. He couldn't...lose him…

The crinkle of an empty bag of toffee peanuts being crumpled in his hand echoes in his head.

Better to have only one loyal friend in the whole world than a herd of lily-livered backstabbers. Bill’s voice whispers somewhere in his mind, and it's true, it all adds up, Fiddleford’s been nothing but two-faced ever since he arrived maybe even as far back as college…

No. No, college-age Fiddleford with his soft hair draped over his shoulders and his half-cocked grin and the easy way his fingers danced across the strings of his banjo...maybe it was always fake...but if it was, Ford didn't want to know...not that far back...not when he was so vulnerable and alone…

That's how they get ya. Like wolves, and weasels, and anything that eats something with a heartbeat. They snap you up when you're all alone...

I have you. I'm not alone.

Yeah so ditch him. He's been poisoning you...

I...need to be certain. Absolutely...certain.

You ARE. I TOLD YOU didn't I?

Well...

You don't trust me ?

Ford clutches his head. “I want. To be certain .” he growls through clenched teeth.

He feels something brush against him, and it's his turn to flinch. He glances at his arm. Fiddleford’s hand is resting on it, his touch light and soft and warm...

Fiddleford doesn't ask anymore questions. He doesn't argue or insist. He just nods his head and mutters, “I've got time, if you do.”

Ford can't seem to find any words to say. There's nothing really for him to say. He looks Fiddleford in the eyes and dips his head very slightly in return. They end the night without much more talking, but Ford swears Fiddleford’s eyes are a little less dull after that.

It's only when Ford takes off his coat when he gets home that he realizes the ring in his pocket is the shade of starless midnight, and though the churning in his mind and the sickness in his stomach haven't quelled, he hasn't heard a single bitter word from Bill since the diner, or any word at all for that matter.

#idk it just felt like time to publish this lmfao -shrugs- #parallel fiddleford #parallel stanford #stanford pines #fiddleford mcgucket #bill cipher #gravity falls #gravity falls fanfiction #A Better World Fic #fanfic #madcap writes fanfiction #fidds & ford

[vinnymauro-chenzomauro]

Can we see some of your writing? You don't have to post it if you want.

Sure, here you go. It’s from a fan fiction, if you don’t mind:“I’m Vinny. I can feel what you’re feeling right now. I can feel the feelings of this entire room. Very tense. Very, very tense. I can also influence feelings as well. The only cool thing about me is that I’m part dragon. I’m the last of my kind,” The smallest male said. He was about 5’5” with shoulder length light-ish brown hair. He had light hazel, greyish eyes that looked almost snake-like as they shifted under certain lights. He had a slight tan from being in the sun so much, as I presume. His smile was as bright as, if not brighter, than the sun. He wiggled his nose like a bunny and looked to the guy Andy introduced as Chris.“I’m Chris Cerulli or Motionless whichever you prefer. I’m a vampire,” The tallest one smiled at me and showed vampire-like teeth. He was tall and lanky with jet black hair that looked like that of a dog’s when you give it a bath, greasy and messy all at the same time. Behind him were four or five others just like him.“I’m Joshua Balz. B-A-L-Z is how you spell my last name. I know, I know, you can tease me about it but that’s my real last name. There’s no getting around it now that the government has fallen due to that douchebag president, Donald trump. All of my friends call me just plain Balz. I am just really strong,” A bald, tattooed man said, stepping out from behind Chris. A woman stepped out from behind him. She was just as tattooed as him. “This is my wife Ryan-Ashley, she’s just a normal human being.” “I’m Ryan. I’m normal too,” A man with dark black hair and piercing brown eyes told me. He smiled as a woman stepped out from behind Ryan. She was a little heavier set with straight brown hair and piercing blue eyes. She had an amazing smile and she seemed nice enough. “This is my girlfriend Samantha. But you all can call her Sammie.”“I’m just a normal person as well. My name is Richard Olson, people call me Ricky. But only my friends can call me Ricky,” This man had the same piercing blue eyes as Sammie. He was small and lanky. Ricky had dark hair with blonde roots. He looked around the warehouse and tapped his foot against the ground.“Come on Rick, stop being so nervous. This place is amazing and Phoenix seems like a nice enough woman. Come on Rick, calm down or do I have to calm you down?” Vinny shot a glare at Rick and he stopped, straightening up. I flinched at the sound of the word woman.“Phoenix is actually one of our male members. He’s an amazing warrior and can not transition because of the war. He was going to transition once but the hospital we were at was ransacked by a whole bunch of criminals on their way to Seattle a few years back. But he’ll get his transition one day. We’re sure of that. But for now, he’s an amazing, bigender soul with the body of a much more feminine person,” Jinxx wrapped an arm around my waist and I nodded lightly. The group nodded back and smiled.“I’m Devin Sola. I can see and hear ghosts. That’s why my friends call me Ghost. You guys can call me Ghost as well. Actually, I’m like Phoenix, except I want to be a female. So if you would be so kind and use feminine pronouns for me pease,” A small-ish man with a whole bunch of Tim Burton tattoos waved at me. I nodded and looked at all of them. They were all seemingly good people and I hoped for the best that they didn’t have to stay here long, a large crowd around me is never a good idea.“So, what’s your story bodyguards? It seems like all of you have a story that you want to tell,” I walked them over the a set of tables and chairs. Balz pushed the heavy-they were roughly a hundred pounds of industrial strength steel-tables together. He brought up all of the chairs necessary for my new bodyguards plus Jinxx and I. We all sat down in unison and I waited for someone to start the story. Finally Chris opened his mouth to speak. “We came here all the way from Canada, originally from Pennsylvania. We were sheltered by the Wild Ones up there. To be quite honest, I don’t know why I chose Canada, I just did. It seemed like the best option for us. We could be tracked down through CODIS and NDIS or some software like that. I couldn’t take that risk, so all of our fingerprints have been burned off. All of us escaped, and are escaping, persecution in Pennsylvania. I was going in for charges of murder. Apparently I had killed a police officer while trying to escape the psychiatric ward I was in. Balz and Ryan Ashley were going in for assault. They had apparently beat up a woman who had been calling Ryan Ashley names all night,”“She called me a cunt and a bitch what else was I supposed to do? Just walk away? I had to do something. So, I decked her in the face. There is no apparently about it. I decked her and it meant something. That whore deserved it. She even called Balz a fucking freak of nature. I didn’t need that skank bringing my baby down. He was a world champion weight lifter. He’s not a freak of nature. He’s my pumpkin and finance,” Ryan Ashley interjected and Chris rolled his eyes.“Can I continue my story hot stuff? Or do you want to tell it,” Chris bared his fangs and hissed lowly, like an angered cat. Ryan Ashley shrinked up and went quiet. Balz stood up slightly and Chris hissed at him as well. His eyes became red and snakelike. “Why do you have to talk to her like that, Chris? Do you really hate her that much,” Balz looked at Chris and Vinny made a gesture. Chris and Balz went misty eyed before they sat back down in their respective chairs. Even Ryan Ashley went momentarily misty eyed. Jinxx widened his eyes and nodded a bit. Like he was making a mental note of something.“As I was saying, Ryan was going to trial for assaulting a police officer. Both Ricky and Ghost were picked up on prostitution and murder. Vinny was picked up for some random drug charges. F.E.A.R was ready to prosecute all of us for crimes we didn’t commit,” Chris paused for a moment, looking between Ghost and Ricky. “Hey, it’s not my fault I’m fucking sexy as all hell,” Ghost licked her lips sexily and leaned forward. Her ample breasts sat on the table, spilling out of her shirt and onto the table. The were tattooed and beautiful. From my position at the table I could see that Jinxx had pitched a tent.“That you are baby, that you are. You’re gorgeous. You’re a modern day Aphrodite. Now let Chris tell his story sweetie. These kind people need to know our story,” Ricky touched her hand and smiled. She went quiet, shifting in her seat a little bit. Clearly they had some type of sexual or romantic relationship going on.“Well, all of us except for Ghost and Ricky were accused of crimes we hadn’t committed. They were actually selling their bodies to random Johns and Janes. The Janes loved watching Ghost and Ricky go at it,” Chris sighed and looked to the pair again.“It was demeaning Chris. It was absolutely disgusting. Women like that should not be fertilizing our relationship. Real male loving males do not need that in their lives. We do not need that or women loving women. We are not some fangirl’s little wet dream,” Ricky pulled Ghost to his side. “It may look like we’re straight, but when we first met, Ghost was not in the form she was now. But we were happy and those cunts used her…illness, or whatever they want to say instead of using the word transgender, as a way to jack off. It was disgusting.”“Anyways, we were a relatively good band before all of this happened. We’d like to think that we were going to become mainstream. We called ourselves Motionless In White. We were going down the drain for a while, that’s why Rick and Ghost turned to prostitution. Our entire house was raided for evidence. Luckily, we salvaged a few thousand of our CDs before the police raided the studio. We’ve been selling them on the road for money and we’ve been recording up in Canada. We’ve been working a new album up there in our spare time. It’s an album for Valentine’s Day, songs for our lovely partners. Jamie and Gaia were taken too soon from us. They were killed way too soon for any of our likings. Jamie was killed in a car crash. She was luckily killed on impact. We were so glad that she didn’t have to suffer through any pain. Gaia was trampled to death by some crazed fans. It’s not like we couldn’t control our fans. It’s just that Gaia was accidently pulled into the mosh pit and everything went downhill from there. It happened so quickly, too. I-I mean we- had no time to react. W couldn’t save her. Ricky and I wanted to honor our lost loves. Ghost wanted to honor all of those who had died for love, who died because of who they love. It was quite a nice album and concept. All we need is Vinny’s testimony of love and then we’ll be done,” Chris looked at Vinny and he blushed a bit.“There is a guy, no one really liked that I was guy who pined over a guy I saw once in another life…in another timeline. Where none of this happened and we were a huge band that was going to release an album called…Graveyard Shift, I think. But no one will believe that I actually love him so much,” Vinny smiled at me and I looked down, avoiding his glance after it had become awkward.“That’s because alternate timelines do not exist. It’s just a figment of your imagination. You made it up to relieve the pressure of being in this war. We all do it and you’ve taken it way too far. We all know it. You’ll speak his name in your sleep. You’ve gone batshit Vincenzo and that’s it,” Josh spat at Vinny as Vinny shrunk back into his seat. Vinny pulled at the edges of his torn sweatshirt. “We really did lose a lot of people on the way, sometimes our own minds. It was too big of a group I guess. We lost two of our former drummers on the way up to Canada though. Angelo Parente and Brandon Richter. We don’t know what happened to the other former members, but we assume that they’re dead or dying. We’ve had to kill a few group members because they literally lost their minds. That’s why we had to kill Angelo. I really loved him and I was pretty unsure of my feelings. So I never told him until he had a mental breakdown. He was shaky, violent and completely suicidal. I told him how much I cared for him and he became better for awhile. Then Angel literally broke and“We barely made it to Canada. We almost lost Ghost on the way. The Shadows burned down our safehouse. They chased us all the way to the border. Ghost barely made it out of the house alive. She had severe burns all of her body. They’re still there, all up and down her left side. The fire never touched her face. Though she did get blinded by one of the Shadows. We were at a loss to be honest with you. I had no idea how to lead a team after all that has happened to us. We weren’t Wild Ones, technically at least. I mean, we are powerful in our own rights, but we didn’t have the numbers to start our own chapter from where we were. No one really wanted to follow us into battle. We had lost too many people along the way to even consider having people follow us, especially me. That’s when we got picked up by the Toronto chapter of the Wild Ones. Casey, Olivia, Catherine, Justice and Tatiana have been very nice to us. But sadly, they too, have moved on. The Shadows burned down the building we were staying at and this time, they got Vinny. He was burned quite badly as well. But we were able to save him in time before any of his burns got too serious. That was about a month back and we are all still recovering from that event,” Chris sighed and looked over to Ghost an Vinny. She stood up and peeled off her shirt without any hesitation. It was like she had done this before in many different situations. Vinny, on the other hand, moved more slowly. It was like he was insecure of his own body and it made a lot of sense for him to be that way. He was a burn victim and his body was proof of the war we were still fighting to this day. We didn’t need for this war to happen and both of them were proof of why we didn’t need this war at all. They were the reason that we needed to stop fighting over stupid, little, idiotic problems.Her pale skin was contrasted by bright pink burn scars that reached up towards her neck. She twisted her head up to the light and showed a continuation of the burns on her chest. Jinxx and I looked on in awe. I never noticed that one of her eyes was paler than the other. That is what Chris must have been talking about. She looked over at Balz, who nodded. She put her shirt back on and sat down. Our eyes moved to Vinny’s smaller body. Vinny’s body was much more red than Ghost’s and showed how recently he received the burns. His burns didn’t stretch as far up as Ghost’s and his burns were more concentrated on the right side of his torso. His skin was peeling and red. Some burns were still greasy and wet looking. Soot clung to his skin in some spots and gave him an eerie, sickly glow to his skin.“The Shadows took my little brother. They killed him in cold blood. They killed my older sister too. Right after I went to join Motionless, they killed my whole family. Those damn Shadows tried killing me too. But they couldn’t really kill the last of the vampires,” Chris looked over all of us and sighed. “We needed help, specifically your help. No one actually wanted to help a bunch of misfits like us. You’re a bunch of misfits and misfits help misfits.”

#max answers #max's art