#that offhanded comment stung

[theemporium]

[2.4k] when pictures from a past relationship come to light, the whole world decide to weigh in what they think. but it's your boyfriend who is right by your side, knowing who you are and who he loves. it's you and him against a world of scrutiny, hate and jealousy.

based of this request!

.

You were honestly surprised you hadn’t chucked up the contents of your stomach in the toilet yet, though you suspected you were close to doing so soon. 

It was meant to be a normal day. It had started off as a normal day. By some grace of a superior being above, you had the Monday off and you had spent most of the morning just lazing around the flat. You tidied, you sorted out a food shop, you did the laundry you had been holding off on for the weekend. You sorted the place out a little in preparation for Lando coming home. 

You hadn’t been able to fly out and join him due to some projects you were working on for university. You decided it would be easier to stay home to finish them off, and Lando respected it even if he pouted incessantly before he left in hopes you would change your mind. 

He had messaged you that his flight would be landing later that afternoon, so when lunchtime came and you were fighting back a yawn, you saw no harm in a nap. You had been curled up on the couch in one of his hoodies and a thick blanket over your body, slowly blinking as you tried to focus on the documentary playing on the tv but it was a losing battle.

You didn’t even know what time it was when you woke up. All you knew was that you could hear your phone buzzing and pinging and it was hard to enjoy the warm comfort of sleep when you could have sworn the whole building could hear your phone. You blindly reached for it, your vision still bleary when you peaked them open and saw more notifications than you ever had in your life. 

Your heart stopped when you saw the notifications spread across all your social media platforms. 

But it dropped to your stomach when you saw the reason behind your trending name. 

It was a series of misconceptions, twisted lies and bitter words that were overwhelming your phone screen. Every tweet was worse than the last, every insult stung a little more, every stranger thinking they had a place to say or assume anything about you absolutely fucking sucked. 

And you get it. You were dating someone in the spotlight, it was stupid to assume you could stay in the shadows. You could handle being photographed in the paddock. You could handle fans wanting to follow you on social media. You could handle people tagging you in cute edits and wholesome posts. You could even handle the offhand hate you knew most people only posted due to jealousy. 

But this? This was something else. 

SLUT. WHORE. CHEATER. CLOUT CHASER. DISGUSTING.

The words were blurred and intertwined between photos that you recognised, photos that were indeed yours. They were photos from mere months before you met Lando, making them recent in the eyes of the public. They were photos that shouldn’t be posted for someone who’s happily in a relationship. 

Your vision welled with tears, your breathing became erratic and every part of you knew you should’ve just thrown your phone across the room, but you couldn’t bring yourself to do it. You couldn’t bring yourself to stop reading all the comments. You couldn’t bring yourself to stop putting yourself through that pain. 

You felt like your whole life was being thrown in your face.

Suddenly, all your female friendships and interactions were being analysed and scrutinised. They were pulling up pictures with friends from over the years, pointing out the ‘obvious’ signs that they should have noticed before. They were pulling up comments you had left on friends’ posts, claiming that you were blindly unfaithful to Lando for everyone to see.

Suddenly, your integrity to your relationship with Lando was being questioned. They didn’t see you as a fit match for the Brit. You didn’t fit the mould of a perfect WAG. You were an anomaly, you couldn’t be trusted, you weren’t good enough for him. 

Suddenly, every piece of your life was being torn up, criticised under a microscope and judged for the whole world to voice their opinions on.

Suddenly, you weren’t a human anymore. You were just an object for them to throw their insults, judgements and abuse at. They didn’t care for an explanation or a response or a story, they had made their minds and they seemed inclined to push that narrative to anybody who would listen. And that narrative only seemed to be solidified by the fact you had missed the most recent race weekend.

Everything blurred into a mess. 

You didn’t know at what point you slid off the couch and curled up on the floor, or when the sun started to set outside. You didn’t know when your thumb started to cramp from scrolling, or when the strain behind your eyes started to become more stabbing and irritating. You didn’t know what time it was, or even acknowledge the sound of the door lock turning.

“Babe?”

It was like a distant sound, like your head was underwater.

“Baby?”

And a part of you wanted to say something, to open your mouth but you couldn’t even bring yourself to utter a word.

“Hello?!” 

And then, like the fogginess had been lifted away, he was kneeling in front of you. He was in front of you, his expression hinting confusion and his brows furrowing in concern and his touch was so soft and gentle as he reached out towards you.

“I–” A choked noise left your lips, like the words got stuck in your throat and muddled together. But it was enough for Lando to wrap his arms around you, pulling you into his chest. And as much as your mind reeled at the idea, your body sunk into his embrace.

“Hey, hey, shhhh,” he cooed in a gentle voice as his arms tightened around her even more. “It’s okay. Take your time. There’s no rush.”

And it felt twisted, in a weird sick way. Here he was, comforting you and holding you and reassuring you. Here he was doing to you what you should be doing to him as you reassure him everything wasn’t what it seemed, that they don’t have the facts—that nobody believed the truth, that you would never cheat on him in a million years.

“It—” You took in a gasping breath, your lungs burning for some fresh air. “It—It’s not….it’s not true. I-I promise. Lando—”

He pulled back, the crease between his brows deepening slightly as he looked even more discombobulated than he did moments ago. “What? Baby, what are you on about?”

You froze, your body tensed in his arms as a wave of discomfort washed over you when you realised he had no idea. He hadn’t seen the pictures. He hadn’t seen the comments. He had no idea, and somehow, that made it even worse.

Scenes flashed before your eyes of him looking through them, of him seeing them for the first time. An image played in your head of his gentle comfort quickly turning into bitter anger. You imagined him pulling away, scoffing, tearing up. You imagined him believing them instead of hearing you out.

You imagined him saying the same bullshit the rest of the world was saying.

And deep down, you knew he never would. That’s not who he was, that’s not your Lando. But for a split second where fear clouded your judgement and your stomach twisted in discomfort, you imagined that maybe your boy was capable of the same hatred that tainted the world. 

“Baby?” You heard his voice gently calling out, dragging you back into the moment as coldness seeped into your body. The concern was back again, overwhelming and engulfing and something quite like guilt bubbled inside you about the whole thing for reasons you were unsure of. 

“I was in a relationship before I met you!”

The words were blurted out, a few beats of silence passing between you before Lando even seemed to react to the outburst. He nodded, his hands still holding onto you like he was keeping you together.

“Yeah,” he murmured, nodding his head. “I know, babe. I was in a relationship before I met you too.”

“No, I—” You shook your head, letting out a shaky breath. “A few months before we met, I…was seeing someone.” 

“Okay…baby, I’m not gonna lie to you, I don’t know where this is going or what this has to do with why you’re upset,” Lando admitted, something in his chest aching at the sight of your puffy, red eyes.

“Because,” you took a moment to pause, to bask in the few moments before you felt like your life was truly about to hit the fan. “Because she was a girl. I…I was with a girl before I met you. Well, she isn’t the only one I have dated, but she was the most recent one and some pictures got leaked and the world seems to think I just used you and—”

“Deep breaths, babe, deep breaths,” he said in a soft but commanding voice, watching the way your chest heaved with the staggered breaths. “Just like that f’me.”

“Lando,” you whispered, your whole body practically shaking from the overwhelming emotions inside you whilst he remained completely calm. 

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, and this time it was your turn to be confused. 

“What?” You blinked a few times. “Why are you apologising?”

“Because being with me puts you in a spotlight you didn’t ask for. It makes people think they have some right to snoop around in your life and voice their opinions on it,” he confessed as his hands stroked down your arms before taking both your hands in his. “I’m sorry I have put you in that position. And I’m sorry they don’t value your privacy, I can understand how upsetting that is when you never asked for this kind of attention.” 

“I—” 

Yet, you cut yourself off for a short moment. His words weren’t completely false. It was a big change in your life from going as a nobody to a somebody for such a large group of people. It was weird having aspects of your life picked apart. It was weird that people felt they were so entitled to parts of your life. But out of everything you said, the fact he was holding onto that alone made you almost feel like you were going insane.

“And you’re…I just…” You shook your head, looking down at your joined hands where Lando’s thumbs were tracing random circles on your palms. “And me being with a woman is okay?”

Lando frowned a little. “Why wouldn’t it be?” 

And it was such a simple question. 

Because he was right. Why should it be such a problem? Why shouldn’t it be okay? Why should you having previously been with a woman be such a scandal or detail to latch onto?

And maybe it was the years of feeling like you needed to hide who you truly were. Or maybe it was the shifts in behaviour whenever you did open up about your sexuality to someone. Or maybe it was all the times it was held over your head that made you feel like you had to keep it a secret, that you had to hide the truth, that you had to make sure the least amount of people in the world knew that you were attracted to men and women because of the countless people who made you feel utterly shit in every being secure in that fact alone. 

Maybe it was the realisation that there were people out there—people like your Lando—who would accept you without any questions asked because whilst your sexuality is a part of you, it’s not your whole identity.

“I don’t know,” you breathed out, a shake in your voice as the overwhelming urge to cry once again washed over you. “People just said—”

In seconds, Lando pulled his hands away from your grip and raised them to hold your face, the touch gentle but comforting as his thumb swiped away the few stray tears that ran down your cheeks. He gave you a soft smile, and something about it seemed to ease some of the tightness in your chest. 

“People are gonna say a lot of things, that is an unfortunate reality I have come to learn over the years. But, the only people’s opinions who should matter to you are those of the people you love and the ones who know you,” he spoke, everything about his presence so soothing in contrast to how you were before he arrived. “I know you, baby. And I know what kind of person you are and how amazing you are. And I know that people can say what they fucking want about you, but I know the truth.”

You let out a small, breathless laugh.

“I’m sorry they made you feel like something was wrong with you,” he continued, a small frown on his face as he uttered the words. “Baby, it’s a part of who you are. And I love every part of you. And if you like men and women, then so be it. I am just grateful that I am one of the people you have decided to love,” he confessed to you, something like a cheesy grin on his face when he said it. “I am one of the luckiest fucking guys about because of it.”

“I love you,” you murmured, your eyes falling shut as he rested his forehead against yours, 

“I love you too, baby,” he murmured back, his nose brushing against your affectionately until he saw your lips twitch upwards. And just when the silence had passed for a few moments, he spoke up again. “Plus, I haven’t seen the photos but I am pretty confident in saying that I am probably way hotter than your ex—”

You snorted, the noise loud and unbashful but it made your boyfriend grin at you as you tried to stop yourself from grinning.

“You’re impossible,” you grumbled, laughing as you shook your head.

“Yeah, but I’m right,” he replied with a cheeky smile, so boyish and so Lando.

“You’re much hotter,” you reassured him, even if you rolled your eyes a bit.

“Knew it,” Lando grinned as he leaned down to kiss you, finally happy to give in to the one thing he had been craving to do since he left over a week ago, with social media and the world a distant thought in both of your heads for the time being. 

Lando knew you and loved you, and that was all that mattered.

.

#lando norris #formula one #f1 #lando norris x reader #lando norris x you #lando norris x y/n #lando norris fic #lando norris one shot #formula one x reader #formula one x you #formula one x y/n #formula one fic #formula one one shot #f1 x reader #f1 x you #f1 x y/n #f1 fic #f1 one shot

[horse-shit]

isolation of aromanticism vs deep yearning to feel wanted and loved wholly

being arospike is constantly swinging from being content and flourishing in the absence of self-applicable romance, and the deep-rooted fear that i’ll be alone forever

#someone made an offhanded comment after i joked about him being allo and going to sit inside with his bf #he said at least im not going to be alone forever and. it stung so much and hurt so bad. i told him i was aro after a beat and he was #kinda stunned and just kinda walked back inside. that was like last week and after going on the trip with my parents where they flaunted the #ir romance i feel kinda like throwing up or just being in a relationship just to get it over with so i can know i what i dont want even furt #-her #but it would be a disservice if they actually felt something romantic towards me and ive turned down 3 people previously {all friends} i jus #i want this to be over. why am i like this. i hate this #im grieving a life ill never properly have and i wanna hit myself upside the head #im gonna try and eat {hopefully with no one downstairs} and like maybe stop the sad songs #but they feel so nice and i feel seen #god i sound so fucking cringy what the fuck is wrong with me #i need to shut the fuck up #im gonna go now #eat n stuff #sigh #gonna bury this when i get down there; thanks mobile tumblr

[flowersforchoso]

Epiphany (ft. bi-han)

bi-han could be likened to a bitter winter: frigid, harsh and unforgiving. traits privy to all and sundry. his dominating presence seemed to make the air around him dense, the sheer aura of grit capable of obliterating anyone who got close.

principled. cut and dried with an indomitable will driven by his convictions. all of these contained in the physicality of an imposing figure. bi-han was a mighty man. and he communicated this self-awareness through his confident gait.

however, he faltered. somewhere along the line, a nagging gnawed his mind, one he tried to ignore at first but soon grew into a sensation surrounding the icy fort of his heart, holding it captive. he neither had the time nor desire to process emotion, it was an obstacle that needed to be nipped in the bud as soon as possible. and that he did, by suppressing them, akin to a baptism that only kept one underwater

little did he know it achieved the opposite effect, which crept up in the most unexpected ways. a stitch in time saves nine is what he practiced as soon as he perceived a trivial problem, proceeding to relegate it to the dark recesses of his mind in hopes its flames extinguished, but soon realized avoidance was no solution.

the feelings persisted, which took his mind back to the genesis, and finally recognized the petty emotion for what it was.

jealousy

yes, bi-han was jealous. of the fact that you never bade him farewell like you did the others, a treatment only reserved for him. he doesn't understand why it bothers him so much when you didn't flash your signature smile as he was leaving the inn which served as a refuge during missions. he is well aware that he is not the most friendly person in the room. yes, he was impolite. yes, he was aloof. yes, he was cold, but that shouldn't detract from your kind demeanour. a consequence he earned, which made you demure around him. something you were not with tomas or kuai liang. an intentional switch that surprisingly stung. nobody liked differential treatment, not even a cold-hearted bastard.

his mind goes further back to an offhand comment your father, the owner of the inn, made. it was a mere expression of gratitude to the lin kuei grandmaster for his protection and to strengthen relationship with the faction.

"...and if you ever need a wife, my daughter is available. the young ones need to be married off eh?" your father had jest which was only received by his stoic visage.

bi-han ruminates on the thought. a wife was something he never really considered. the lin kuei was all that he needed. every other thing was unnecessary. regardless, he couldn't deny the idea enthralled him, which he nursed in fact.

of course, the union would be retaliation since he was as petty as he was jealous.

#bi han x reader #bi han sub zero #bi han mk #bi han x you #bi han mk1 #sub zero x you #sub zero x reader #mortal kombat 1

[flokali]

Mori, I think this is an okay topic based on the rules but I'm not totally sure so I'm gonna list out key terms if I've step over a boundary. If I have, I am very sorry, please let me know so I can avoid any repetitions in the future.

Also, perhaps spoilers for the latest plot development in Genshin.

Topics: Jealousy, Scaramouche's affection for Haypasia, Avoiding as Punishment, SAGAU, mentions of betrayal (it's Scara)

I've been frothing at the mouth at this one. You know how Haypasia is Scaramouche's first follower as a god thus he has verbally expressed his affection for her? In the SAGAU, just imagining you overhearing him express his affections for another made your heart twist and your stomach drop. It wasn't as if he was your official consort but you had affections for the Balladeer and hearing him express the same affection but not towards you, stung your sweet soft heart.

Then, you decide to busy yourself from thinking about what you've heard him utter by spending time with other acolytes. You've been really enjoying the company of some residents of Inazuma. Kazuha has been doing a good job at keeping you entertained while Thoma has been nothing but a sweetheart. His meals are always impeccable.

You avoiding him wasn't as subtle as you thought it was as he immediately noticed how when he sought you out, you had always just conveniently left a minute or so before with someone else. Ever the snarky one, he just made some offhanded comments before stomping away. But snark can only last as long before worry and fear sets in. It didn't take too long before the Balladeer felt the familiar thorns and vines of betrayal prick at him.

You were his reason to continue and yet you were slipping away from him. The fear of being abandoned by you, the god that brought him warmth and acceptance, felt bone chillingly frightening. To be abandoned by his mother, his first family, and his friend, he could stomach but to be left behind by you is a fate worse than death.

His pride prevents him from grovelling on his knees for you to not abandon him but now by just tugging at your clothes and sleeves feels just as desperate and pathetic. You looking away from him as he's doing so feels like a wash of freezing water. He doesn't know how he affects you so. He self sooths by rubbing his face into the crook of your neck, placing gentle yet needly suckles and kisses on spots you could never hope to hide. He can't help the worry bubbling in his stomach. It is so unlike him but he is anything but the people's Balladeer in front of you, oh no, in front of you, he is Kunikuzushi. He lets you see through him. Every emotion, every fear, every happiness. Everything that he is or has is yours.

You can't help but feel selfish. Of course he would have affection for the first follower but you cannot help what you feel. You feel unreasonably or reasonably angry at him. You hiss out through your teeth. "I am a selfish person, Kunikuzushi. I do not share what is mine."

He sseks forgiveness wordlessly as he sooths your rage and jealousy with needy touches of his skin and lips. He does not speak. He knows better. He knows any words will not be heard no matter what but what speaks to you is actions. That is why he is so shameless with touching you despite your rage.

You are his as he is yours. He feels ecstacy coursing through his veins as you both consume eachother in your fierce, dark, and consuming love.

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

TL;DR: you get jealous of Haypasia so you avoid him by hanging out with other people, he gets jealous, so you two just fuck it out. 16/10, would probably do it again.

Sobbing and crying because this is literally so perfect ??

I have like, literally no words anon this is so good? I can’t bring myself to add anything because it’s all so good and agghhh;; I love this concept so much it’s actually insane TT;

#๋࣭. hidden devotee #๋࣭ offerings #like?? i’m screaming bcs that’s exactly what he’d do #yandere genshin #yandere genshin impact #yandere scaramouche #yandere x reader #genshin spoilers #<- since it’s still kind of new

[myinventoryisfull]

"Take a hint and back off," Fate snarled, and Bambang…

Well, he took the hint and backed off. He wasn't sure whether it was the teasing or getting her wet that set Fate off, but he understood that somewhere along the line, he'd overstepped a boundary and needed to give her space. It had stung a little, as most rebukes tended to, but Bambang knew that Fate would either come find him when she was ready and they'd sort it out, or she wouldn't, and that was okay too. He was just happy that she'd put up with him as long as she had.

And besides, something Fate had said earlier in the night had lodged into his skull and was determined to fill up his attention, pushing all potentially sad thoughts out of his mind.

"At least build a place to house your gold pile, first."

It stacked neatly on top of another conversation they'd had one day when Fate had brought him an entire mammoth's worth of meat. As he danced around his campsite preparing the meat for long-term storage, she'd made a comment about how good it was that Bambang had a talent that would be useful when they ran out of things to fight. Then there was that offhand comment about asking about eggs again in ten years…

Fate hadn't realized it, but she'd inadvertently planted a seed in Bambang's head. It had started as finding a restaurant to work in in Valdrakken and spun off into owning his own tavern. Now, sitting on the boardwalk in Booty Bay watching fireworks while Fate stewed behind him, the ideas spread out further. A tavern WOULD be a good place to start, but if he picked the RIGHT spot, maybe it could grow into a trading post where Fate could sell her skins and furs. And maybe that trading post could become a village, and that village a town, and maybe Bambang would never be King of the Dragons like he so frequently declared, but he could still have his own little kingdom if he worked hard and put in the effort.

As the fireworks died down, Bambang got to his feet and said his goodbyes to the elves and ghost lined up along the boardwalk beside him. Fate stormed off too, but that was something for future Bambang to worry about. Right now, there was only one thought in his mind; getting back to the Azure Span and finding a good spot to put down roots. He was fond of the region, even if it was a bit too cold for Fate's tastes. The tall trees were cozy, in his mind, and there were so many rivers for fishing and roads that crossed them.

Granted, all the best spots were already taken, but Bambang was sure there had to be at least one intersection of river and road that was free for the taking.

He wasted no time getting back to Valdrakken and whistled for his Wylderdrake. While the blue drake he'd been partnered with would be better for this expedition, their larger form built for endurance, Bambang didn't want to wake them, especially when he didn't know where he was going. The smaller Wylderdrake was far less opinionated and wouldn't complain if he changed his mind mid-flight to make sharp turns or doubled back over the same spot for a while.

As they dropped from Valdrakken's highest tower and flew towards the Azure Span, Bambang felt a buzzing sensation from the back of his belt; the weird comm device the only non-hostile phoenix in the area had helped him set up just the week before. He'd check it later, once the thrill of flying wore off and he got bored of looking at trees.

Sunrise on the first day of the new year found Bambang standing on a rocky outcropping overlooking a river. There were a lot of waterfalls in quick succession that meant it probably wasn't going to be a travel route any time soon, but there was also a bridge nearby and the view was absolutely stunning. Bambang's breath caught in his throat and he stood up straighter as the land before him lit up gold from the first light of dawn.

It was perfect, and when he finally got around to checking his comm, there was a single text from Fate. It was just one word, "talk?" but it filled Bambang's already full chest with hope, making his tail thump heavily on the ground. Instead of texting her anything back, he sent her a picture of the location at the edge of Big Tree Hill with a hastily made sign that read, "Kingdom."

Hopefully she'd figure out what he meant and come find him. In the meantime, he needed to go back to his actual camp and start packing up. Between his drying racks, salt barrels, and alchemical lab, Bambang had a lot of equipment to transport and he wanted to secure his claim as soon as he could.

#i don't feel like making him his own blog so! #Bambang King of the Dragons #my writing

[rubiesintherough]

9. the most hurtful thing someone has said about them / told them -> Mahia

@strawberry-barista

There's a lot of things the Hunters have yelled and jeered at her that are horrifically cruel, and could definitely count for this. But, those are expected. And, while they hurt and get under her skin, there's another one that hit her way worse. And it came from someone she trusted, and wasn't even intended to be malicious. Which was way worse.

Not long after she came to Earth, just over a year after, there was a very kind woman who took her in for a couple days. Just long enough for the poor child to catch her breath, patch up any injuries she had, and have an actual decent meal. Of course her wings ended up being seen during that time and the woman, saint that she was, took it in stride and even helped Mahia clean them a little... But, while doing this, she made one offhand comment that's stuck with the healer all these years later: " Well, with these, it's like you're not even human. More like an angel. "

It was meant to be kind and a joke. But, Mahia had no concept of angels at that time, and instead, just fixated on the first part of that... " not even human " ... for the kid who'd just been through so much, and was still coming to terms with all the trauma, and the fact that her life and humanity had been violently stripped away from her in the span of a few short months... those words stung worse than a blade, and she has experience to back up that comparison.

#(( ooc. )) #info ( mahia )

[the-letter-horror-lover]

۞

Chapter 21: Chapter Twenty One

Chapter Text

“Beast, can ya – yeah, thanks.” Joker grunted in poorly masked discomfort as she manoeuvred his mangled left arm through the sleeve of his sweatshirt. Even after Jumbo's careful tending, it was touch and go on the healing front, and the gentlest of movements could ignite a burst of agony. The jagged clump of skin at his forearm and the ropes of tendons stubbornly holding the bones together were a breeding ground for infection, exposed and vulnerable. Even though a good half a year had passed now with only a few scares, Joker still couldn't shake his fear that one morning he would wake up to find the skin darkening with rot.

“Should I get Jumbo? He's still sleepin', but –” Beast began, her delicate features haunted by an ever-lingering worry. It struck Joker then that he could no longer remember what her face looked like without that shadow of concern. The thought was not one that pleased him.

“Nah, m'fine. Much rather have a pretty girl dressin' me.” Joker grinned, dropping an eyelid in a wink that he knew would bring the colour to her cheeks. As dependable as clockwork, she flushed predictably, trying and failing to pretend that the offhand comment didn't effect her like it did. There was nothing shy about the way she went on to strip him of his pyjama bottoms, however. As clinical and detached as she could be, a bedside manner to put Angela to shame. She was trying to spare his dignity, he knew, but she failed just as badly at that as she had in trying to hide her blush.

Dignity was nothing more than a half-forgotten dream to him now. It had been stripped away with every hack of the blade, stolen as easily as the skin of his arm, well beyond his lame reach. They had rendered him a weeping child, cowering from them as an infant would the shadows beneath its bed. Beast could be as clinical and nonchalant about the entire affair as she liked, but just the fact that he even needed her help to so much as dress himself left him bristling. Twenty one years of age, yet hardly able to pull up his own pants, let alone tie the drawstring around his waist. Humiliation had him as ready to flush as Beast. The pain of his arm stung, but his inability to dress alone, to face a mirror without cringing away as though it could actually harm him, it was those things that made Joker seethe.

“So,” Beast worried her bottom lip between her teeth, bringing it to a bright red that no stick of lipgloss could hope to emulate, “Drocell has gotten worse. A fever, Snake said, when I could get him to say anything at all.”

“Oh?” Joker hummed non-committally, focusing on lacing his shoes with one hand. He heard Beast cluck her tongue impatiently, saw her hands reach over to help, and he knocked them away. More harsh than he had intended to be, if the way she jerked back was anything to go by. Instantly an apology was on his lips, the words ready to spill forth when he met her wounded gaze, but he found himself swallowing it down as his mood further soured. The lace slipped between his fingers yet again, and he found himself in no mood to apologize. “All he can do is sleep it off. We don't exactly have medicine hidden between the couch cushions, y'know.”

Her dark eyes brightened with a flash of annoyance, yet no sharp words were thrown his way. Before he had been taken, when he was everyone's untouchable defender, she would not have shied away from giving him a good hard slap around the back of the head. C'mon, I'm bein' a prick, say somethin'! But no, these days every conversation had her walking on eggshells, so afraid of saying the wrong thing. She should have known him better than that. She should have known better than to be so tentative, to measure her every word so carefully. It had him itching for a fight, lashing out to provoke a reaction. He wanted her fierce, he wanted her to call him out when he was being insufferable. If she didn't tell him off, how was he supposed to know when he was acting wrong? He couldn't stand this, being handled with kid gloves.

“I know that,” Beast replied carefully, so very carefully, doing her best to sound diplomatic, “But we've always been good at improvising. We sorted Smile out that time –”

“Staff helped, not the same,” Joker cut in, tongue peeking through his lips as he concentrated on trying to loop one of the laces around the other. Yet again the little white strings dropped away from his grip, and he growled beneath his breath. Beast reached out once more but he stopped her with a glare. She looked even more frustrated than him, if that were possible. Always so eager to help, so desperate to be useful, but he was in less a mood to play nice by the minute.

“Yeah, well … I can't see Sebastian putting himself out there for Drocell, can you?” If she kept gnawing away at her lip like that, she was going to bleed it. It was already purpling beneath her teeth. Her nails were digging in where she was clutching her arms around her too, little pink welts imprinted on her skin. Joker wanted to pull her hands away before she scratched herself again – there were already ragged red lines along her arms, her fretting was always so obvious – but he needed the only hand he had to finish tying his damn shoe. It had been five minutes now, and he still hadn't done even one. “We at least need to keep his temperature down or else he'll end up in the infirmary.”

That was playing dirty, mentioning the infirmary, and maybe Beast wasn't being careful with him so much as she was being strategic. That was better, so much better, that hint of calculation in her eyes. She knew how to play him, she always had. Play on his worry, play on his sympathies. Pluck on his strings until she got the sound she wanted. Nothing good ever came from a visit to Doctor and his little den. If he sat there, festering in his own temper, only for Drocell to disappear and not come back – well, he'd have to deal with guilt then too, and that was the last thing he needed on his plate.

Beast was fighting down a smirk. Abandoning his shoe, he reached out for her, prying one of her hands away from her arm before she could do herself any more damage, and pulled her down beside him on the bed. He couldn't help the smile pulling at his own lips. Who'd have thought emotional manipulation could ever be a good sign? At least she wasn't treating him like a landmine. Beast still had bite when she thought it mattered.

“I'll talk to Snake, make sure he knows to monitor Drocell's temp. Watch out for any sign that he's hallucinatin' – if it reaches that point, the infirmary may be the only way to go – but fingers crossed he won't be that bad. We'll take turns checkin' in on them throughout the day. Alright?”

Beast graced him with a smile, leaning her shoulder against his companionably and twining their fingers together for a brief moment before going to kneel down in front of him.

“Don't understand why you're fine with me getting your pants on but you're getting so pissy over your shoes,” she muttered as she laced them up with ease, then immediately rolled her eyes before Joker even had the chance to make a salacious comment.

In truth, Joker's poor mood could not be entirely blamed on this still foreign helplessness. Obviously that played a part – it was disarming, no pun intended, going from being able to do everything for yourself to needing assistance tying your shoes – but today it had more today with Drocell. No sooner had his name left Beast's mouth had the thought what does it have to do with me flashed through his mind. It was heartless, yes, but it was also his automatic reaction to the other patient's plights these days. After all, it had been his attempt to look out for Peter that had landed him in that mess in the first place. He'd have to be mad to go through that and not feel his self-preservation instinct more keenly.

Joker wasn't sure when or why he had become the leader of the patients. He certainly hadn't applied for the dangerous position, that was for sure. There was no doubt in his mind that that was how staff and fellow patients alike saw him, as nonsensical as it seemed to him. Unlike Smile, he was not the most knowledgeable regarding the Institute, nor was he the longest residing there. And unlike Peter and Wendy, he was not the oldest amongst them, so did not have that natural seniority that commanded respect. Yet, despite his age and years of residence not being nearly as impressive as some of the others, it had been him that the rest of the patients had fallen in line behind. Him they looked to for guidance and protection. Him they put in a position of prominence when to survive you needed to be invisible.

The truth of the matter was that he hated them for it. Most days it was only a little. Just a slight pang in his chest when he looked at them, hidden safely in his shadow. Other days, when he woke up sweating from the pain and unable to even step into the bathroom from the fear that he may glimpse his reflection, that pang became a searing burn deep inside his chest, one that threatened to scald him from the inside out. He had never asked for this and it wasn't fair. Where was his shield, when they were busy hiding behind him? Smile had come for him back then, it was true, but even then, he came too late to spare him the staff's attack. And what had the others done, his little clique, apart from sit around and fret? He knew what they would have expected him to do for them if the situation had been reversed. To come for them, of course, to save them like some knight in shining armour. Well, Joker was sorry to disappoint, but a threadbare sweatshirt made poor armour, and it had done little to protect him.

It was too easy to let himself resent them, but he was not the type of man who held grudges. For all that he wished they wouldn't depend on him so much, and for all the hate he felt in quiet moments alone, they were the closest thing he had or would ever have to a family. Intermittent hate was just a part of that, he supposed. No family was without its strife. So when they came through the other end of a bad treatment and needed comfort or entertainment, he would supply it without hesitation or even needing to be asked.

That was exactly why, he supposed, the reason they rallied behind him. The moment any of the other patients – his brothers and sisters, in bond rather than blood – were reaching their limits, his resentment at being their human shield dissolved and made way for concern. He couldn't help reaching out to them, his only allies, whether they wanted it or not. Not just his little group, the ones he surrounded himself with on a daily basis, but the stragglers too. Smile, Soma, Drocell, Snake and even Alois, they were all just as important to him, even if he didn't see as much of them as he did the others. Drocell and Snake had each other, tucked away in corners and consumed in their own joint world. Soma was impossible to fix down to a spot, to hold still long enough to have a conversation with, but he flitted in and out as he pleased. Smile, well, Smile cared more than he let on. Then there was Alois.

From the moment Alois Trancy had been led onto the ward, dull-eyed and silent, small fist clutching at Dr. Faustus' sleeve like a lifeline, Joker had known to be wary. There had been something in him that had made Joker want to recoil, an emptiness to the boy's features that spooked him. This first impression had only been confirmed over the years. Prone to sudden tempers, smiling too easily for it to be genuine and with an appalling violent streak, Joker was not too proud to admit that Alois scared him. And sometimes, as cruel as it seemed, he looked upon Alois and wondered if perhaps St. Victoria's was the perfect place for him to be. For a person who had no qualms about plunging his fingers into an innocent person's eye, these walls seemed the safest place for him, and for everybody else to be safe from him, too.

As keen as that fear was at times, it didn't change the fact that Alois was as much a victim as the rest of the patients, and Joker's brother in the asylum too. For all that Joker resented his role of leader, he did nothing to refute it, playing the part as well as he could. From that vantage point, he saw more than the other patients did regarding one another. He noticed when Wendy was staring blankly to her side, looking for someone who was no longer there. He noticed when Dagger was climbing the walls and needed to escape the group for a while. He even noticed when Freckles had missed a night of sleep, as much as she tried to hide the fact from the others. So it did not escape his watch that Alois and Smile, once joined at the hip, however reluctantly on Smile's part, were now actively avoiding one another.

It made Joker worry. A lot.

To even the blindest of people, the cause of their sudden distance would have been blatant, the eye-patch that Smile had been wearing for four years now a testament to the forever lingering tension between the two friends. To see how close they had become, nobody would have guessed that it was Alois himself who was the reason that Smile had lost his eye, but Joker had seen the attack himself. The cause was the same then as it was now; Dr. Claude Faustus.

Smile had done nothing to provoke Alois other than being the unwilling recipient of Faustus' attention. Unlike most of the other patients, Smile had not approached Alois, not extended friendship only to be met with aggression and spite. Nearly all of them had attempted to welcome Alois into their good graces, but he had done nothing to ingratiate himself into the group, and as it stood, Joker was the only one still trying to make a connection. A part of him hoped that the others would follow his lead, as futile as that was. But even Joker threw in the towel after Alois, seeing Smile returned to the ward following a session with Faustus, launched himself at the smaller boy without provocation. It didn't last long. No sooner had he knocked Smile to the ground and sunk his fingers into Smile's right eye had Soma, not frozen in shock like the rest of them, bounded over and flung Alois away.

Alois had visited The Room for the first time following that incident, and he hadn't returned quite the same person, but by that point, none of the patients were willing to show even a modicum of care. Aggression and spite were one thing, expected even, and they could have forgiven it. But to attack another patient, one of them, there should have been no forgiving that. And yet.

“If you were trying to kill me, your execution needs work.” Smile, half his face hidden by thick white bandages, had approached Alois without hesitation the moment he had seen him curled up in one of the armchairs. The Room had done a number on the blond, left him trembling and jumping at every noise, a shadow of the angry little thing he had been only a week before. He tensed when Smile stood before him, as though preparing himself for a blow, but he wasn't to know just yet that Smile never wounded with a fist when he could with a word.

“I … ” Alois began, even that small sound so weak and trembling, but he had nothing to say. He just stared at Smile warily, bracing himself for however Smile intended to get back at him. The other inhabitants of the leisure room were doing much the same, watching curiously. Even Joker wasn't sure he'd intervene if it came to blows.

“The throat would have been a better bet. This was more of an annoyance than actually life threatening,” Smile continued when Alois didn't reply, words so casual that he could have been discussing the weather rather than his near-blinding, “Relax. If I were going to do something back, I'd have done it already.”

The words obviously weren't a comfort to Alois, who only curled in upon himself more, staring at Smile with barely veiled fear. That seemed to amuse Smile, who came as close as he ever did to actually smiling, despite his namesake.

“Well, that's not entirely true,” he sneered with a mean little laugh, “I already did. I can see you enjoyed your little trip to The Room.”

Alois startled at that, finally showing something other than fear. Joker wasn't sure what it was he saw in Alois' face then, surprise certainly, but something else too. When Alois said, “You had them take me there? But … how?” Joker identified it as sounding almost admiring.

“Faustus can be accommodating, especially when he's looking to please. At least when it comes to me. But you noticed that already.” Smile's lip curled wryly. “Take it as a warning. I'm rather attached to the other eye, I'd hate to lose that one too.”

Joker wasn't sure what he had expected next, but it was not Alois breaking down into a giggling fit. For the first time since he had arrived on the ward, Alois looked exactly his age, snorting childishly as though the threat was the funniest joke he'd ever heard. Smile waited him out, annoyance becoming obvious as his threat lost its bluster, but eventually Alois subsided and Smile could speak again.

“Come on,” Smile inclined his head, a demand to be followed, “You need to get that cut cleaned. If it gets infected, you'll be sent to the infirmary. You think The Room's bad, just wait until you see there.”

Alois observed Smile with blatant mistrust, “Why … are you helping me?”

Smile rolled his eye, still managing to make it scathing despite its effectiveness being halved, “Patients have to stick together, genius,” and then turned to walk away. It was about as warm as Smile generally got, Joker knew. The now one-eyed boy had not even glanced behind him, sure in the knowledge that Alois would be following. And follow he did, however uncertainly.

If you had told Joker then how attached to Smile that Alois would become, he wouldn't have believed it. Smile was hardly kind to him, more mocking than anything else, and comfort was not in his repertoire. Yet a friendship had formed, however unlikely, and one that had endured the years. Until now. Just as it had been Faustus' favour back then that had caused Alois to snap, it was that same blatant favouritism that had driven a wedge between them now. Unlike the past few years, however, Alois was not putting it aside, and Smile no longer cared enough to make even a token effort, it would seem.

Joker couldn't say that he liked Alois. Even if Smile had put the attack behind him – Joker had no doubt in his mind that there was some ulterior motive to that, in the first place – Joker could never quite forget it. There was a feral quality to Alois' anger, and it was the sort of anger that could never quite be tamed. It put them all at risk and that frightened Joker. And yet, Joker worried now. He saw them drifting, pushing away from each other like the opposite poles of a magnet, and he couldn't shake the concern.

Smile had people. He may not have wanted them, may have acted as though his and Soma's company was irritating and undesired, that even Freckles pushed her luck, but he never put forth more than an obligatory complaint about it. Whether he wanted them or not, Smile was not alone. He never had been, really. For all his aloofness, he had a quality that drew people in, even when his sharp tongue half-succeeded in keeping them at a distance.

Alois had no such quality. He was brash and unpredictable, capable of dangerous violence, and all the patients had brushed him off as not worth the effort. Even Joker had. The only one who had given him the time of day had been Smile, but he didn't even have that any more.

Alois was alone, and Joker couldn't find it in himself to be alright with that.

Dagger's singing was grossly out of key. To compare it to strangling a cat would have perhaps been too harsh, but something less fatal certainly, like yanking the unfortunate cat's tail. It was an old nursery rhyme they had heard time and time again, to some generic tune that didn't really match the syllables, and it was getting on everybody's last nerve.

“Shut ya hole, Dagger! I've 'eard better sound from a flushin' toilet,” Wendy snapped, whipping one of the couch cushions over at him. Joker tried not to roll his eyes, but it was hard work. Of course now Dagger was only screeching louder to annoy Wendy, skipping out of reach of any projectiles launched his way.

They'd been inside too long. There was nothing new to talk about. You could almost see the restless frustration tattooed upon their skin.

“Should I break this up, or …” Joker offered half-heartedly, about as enthusiastic as the cook sounds when enquiring into an inmate's last dinner. Wendy had bolted from her seat now, given chase, but there was none of the usual playfulness.

They were jumping the walls. Scratching away inside their skulls. Sometimes Joker thought it would be the boredom of all things that would finish them off.

“Nah, leave them to it,” Beast sounded as lively as he did, picking away at one of her nails, “Either he'll shut up or Wendy'll finally calm down. She's been impossible, this week.”

Wendy was always impossible these days, but Joker didn't bother to say it.

Looking away from the Benny Hill scene in front of him, Joker glanced over his shoulder towards Alois' bedroom door, firmly closed as it had been all morning. Well past noon now, well past the time Alois usually emerged, but no sign of the younger boy.

“Be back in a minute,” Joker said, peeling himself from the couch. He'd been waiting all morning but it didn't look like Alois was coming out under his own steam. Well, if the fight wasn't coming to him then Joker would have to go to the fight.

Raising his good hand to knock on the door, a sound from within gave Joker pause. Confusion pulling his face into a frown, he lowered his hand and leaned forward instead, trying to hear better through the wood. It was the low hum of conversation, the words indistinguishable yet the voice in full flow, Alois' soft tone carrying. He turned, took note of who was in the room, whose doors were closed, who he knew to be off the ward. It was a full house, everyone accounted for, so who was Alois talking to?

The worry in the pit of Joker's stomach was becoming something altogether more sickly. He rapped sharply on the door before the voice telling him to walk away started to sound even more reasonable than it already did. Instantly, the dull murmur through the wood ceased, as though somebody had pressed the mute button.

There was a brief scuffle from within, muffled footsteps heading his way, and the door finally opened. Alois barely peered out, the door held open only a crack, just enough to see wary blue eyes watching him.

“What?” No hello, no how are you. Not that Joker was expecting a warm reception, but the open hostility coming from the boy in waves was unwarranted. He looked as ready to slam the door in Joker's face as he was to talk to him.

“Hey.” Joker threw up a grin, as warm as he could muster, and stood back half a step. He had never cut an imposing figure – too short, too scrawny, and now too visibly weak – but he was trying to dial that down even further. Hand casually in his pocket, leaning away, giving Alois space. Everything about him was screaming not a threat. “Been a while since we last saw you. Just checkin' you're not dead or anythin'.”

The look Alois gave him could only be described as scathing, a look of disdain that would have done Smile proud.

“I'm alive,” he drawled in a tone you'd be more likely to hear from Smile than him, the words dripping in scorn. His lip twitched, as though he wanted to smile, and he gave a darting glance behind him.

“Yep, I can see that,” Joker replied, trying not to sound as loathe to be having this conversation as Alois was. They were hardly the best of friends, but he couldn't help but be surprised by the degree of dislike he was finding here. Alois was hardly a prize himself.

“... Bye,” Alois said pointedly, making to close the door. Joker found himself blocking the way, jamming his foot between the door and the frame. Something wasn't right, something really wasn't right. He didn't know what, but he couldn't just leave it at that. Whether he'd wanted it or not, the fact remained that Joker had a responsibility towards the other patients. If it had been one of the others, he wouldn't walk away so easily. He couldn't treat Alois as anything less than them.

“What are you – move,” Alois huffed, pulling the door back to shove it against Joker's foot. Biting back a wince, Joker took the opportunity to look over his shoulder, to see his completely empty room.

“You've been cooped up in there all day. How about you come sit with us for a bit, kiddo?” Joker offered, ignoring the increased urgency of that voice in his head. Walk away. This one's too far gone. Leave it. It would have been so easy to listen to it, but would it be just as easy to sleep that night if he did?

It proved irrelevant, regardless, as Alois' look of mistrust only intensified. Was it that out of character, Joker wondered with a pang, for him to show an interest in Alois? Could Alois see nothing more in such an act than reason to be suspicious?

“I'd rather not,” Alois replied, edging Joker's foot out of the way and shoving the door closed before he could stop him.

For a moment, Joker just stood there and stared at the door, an uncomfortable churning in his stomach. Whether it was guilt or just concern, he didn't know, but it didn't seem to matter either way. As the murmuring behind the door started up again, Alois talking to thin air, it seemed to Joker that he had extended the olive branch that little bit too late.

Hating himself for it a little as he always did, Joker once again wondered if maybe Alois really did belong at St. Victoria's.

The chairs were designed to be just that little bit too small to effectively wedge under the door handle, but Alois tried it anyway, the illusion of a barricade good enough for him. He waited until he could no longer see the shadow through the crack under his door before he spoke again.

“Sorry about that.” Turning with a bright grin, Alois returned his attention back to Luka, sitting cross-legged on top of the sheets. His features, so similar to Alois' but softened by youth, were painted with a shock so extreme it would have seemed exaggerated on anybody else.

“Who was that?” Luka whispered. He always seemed to whisper, Alois found, as though every word was a secret just for him. It was a stark contrast to the loud exuberance he remembered, but then, death changed everyone.

“Joker,” Alois shrugged, “Don't know what he wanted though. He never talks to me usually.”

Reclaiming his spot at the head of the bed, Alois settled himself against the pillow, encouraging Luka to lie back down with his head on Alois' knee. The warmth against his leg was a comfort, grounding and real, chasing away that wicked voice at the back of his mind that said things he didn't want to hear.

“But, his arm.” Luka's eyes were wide, words so heavy with disbelief that it was a wonder they carried across the air between them. “What was wrong with it?”

It was only too easy to slip into the old habit. A story barely formed in his head before it fell from his lips, Alois concocted an explanation from thin air, a story of fantasy that would appeal to all of Luka's favourite storybook qualities.

“You have to promise not to tell,” Alois began, as he always did.

“Promise!” Luka cried, earnest.

“Because if you tell, the curse will spread.” A promise, a tantalising thread for his brother to pull at, and without fail, he did.

“What curse?” Wide-eyed, believing every word he was given. It was one of the things Alois had missed the most, the absolute single-minded attention he received, as though his words were the only truth that mattered, Alois the only thing in the world that counted. And he was, wasn't he? Right now, in that room, Luka existed solely for him. Defying all logic, Luka had come back just so that Alois wouldn't have to be alone any more, and no one could ever steal him away again.

“The demon's curse. No one knows exactly why the demon came for Joker, or what Joker did to anger it so badly, but every year since they met, the curse has taken over bit by bit. At first, no one noticed, because it was inside stuff. He'd get in real bad moods, or get sad for no reason, and no one could see it. But then the curse got more powerful, and now you can see it happening. It's burning him away. Bit, by bit, it'll go, until he's nothing but a skeleton!”

Just like Luka gave power to the lies Alois was throwing out by his faithful belief, he gave power to Alois, too. His very existence, seeing him there, hearing him, being able to touch him, it made Alois powerful in a way he had never been before at St. Victoria's. It was Alois who had brought Luka back to him through sheer force of will, by the power of his want. Why would he ever want to leave that room, give up that power he had never experienced before, lose the rapt attention he was being given for the first time in years? Outside that door, there was nothing for him. But inside, it was just him and Luka, like it had always been. Like it always should have been.

“Do you mind?”

Snake jolted as though he had been struck. Always timid, it seemed that quality had become exacerbated to its extreme, the man's eyes haunted as he looked up at Ciel. For all his usual lack of colour, there was a sickliness to him now, one that inspired the instinct to keep a distance lest whatever it was be contagious. Having already ignored that instinct and his own usual aversion to talking to people and just generally caring, Ciel stood his ground and gestured to the empty seat beside Snake's own.

After a hesitation so long that anyone else would have been insulted, Snake gave the barest incline of his head, so Ciel sunk into the armchair languidly.

It was loud in the leisure room that day. Joker and his usual lot were playing a game or arguing, difficult to tell the difference with them, while Soma shouted a colourful commentary from his perch on the other side of the room. Grell and Ronald were monitoring the ward, so naturally, they were worse than the actual patients, bickering over the artistic merit of the Titanic film. Secretly, Ciel agreed with Ronald that Leonardo Dicaprio being attractive didn't constitute a good film, but it would have taken a braver man than him to try and sail that against Grell.

With the noise being what it was, it was a wonder that Snake had braved the room at all, especially without his faithful shadow to keep him company. But then, maybe the noise was better than the silence of his empty room.

Ciel waited patiently, quiet coming easily to him. Snake was fiddling with something around his wrist, a touch-tarnished chain, with a fleur-de-lis pendant dangling perilously off its cheap clasp. The kind of trinket one would find in a supermarket goody bag, but one that Ciel knew Drocell had treated like the most valuable gold.

“Ash took him this morning,” Snake eventually murmured, voice soft and weary, “Said he might infect the rest of us.”

Ciel had assumed as much, but it was always better to hear it from the horse's mouth than to operate on assumptions. Though all it took was one look at Snake to see what was going on. Without Drocell at his side, he seemed like only half the picture, missing the broad outlines that contained his colours. He wasn't trying to hide his fragility at all, something that made Ciel uncomfortable despite himself. For all that they were broken by default, the patients usually took cares to hide it, put on fronts and appeared strong, at least to some degree. Snake was making no such effort, the one person he would have bothered to do so for now the reason he would have needed to in the first place, and when he next looked up at Ciel, it was with a plea in his pale eyes. For comfort, reassurance, neither of which Ciel knew how to give.

Instead of empty platitudes, Ciel just nodded, letting them lapse back into silence. When long enough had passed that it didn't feel like running away, he excused himself and retreated back to his bedroom. It was easy to pretend that he didn't notice Snake's disappointed gaze following him as he left.

“Grell has Ronald in a headlock,” Sebastian informed Ciel as he kicked the bedroom door shut behind him, cutting off the undignified squawking going on in the leisure room, “Something about Gangs of New York?”

“Don't ask, you don't want to know. Neither do I, for that matter.” Ciel tossed aside the dog-eared paperback, read so many times he could have recited it word for word by that point, to favour Sebastian with his attention instead. His nose wrinkled as an unpleasant but familiar smell followed Sebastian across the room. “What is that?”

“Hm?” Sebastian seemed distracted. Stretched out on Ciel's bed, he looked in almost as bad a state as Snake had done earlier, pallid and whipcord tense. His brow was wrinkled, frustration or exhaustion, or possibly both. He was in his uniform, the button down shirt and slacks now heavily creased, but he hadn't been on the ward at all. It must have been a Ward V day, then. That explained the less than talkative mood, at least.

“Never mind.” Ciel wandered over to his desk, busying himself with pretending to rearrange things, just to put some distance between him and the pungent smell. He knew that smell, that sense of deja vu dancing just beyond his memory's reach. “How did it go?”

“On a scale of one to ten? Eleven.” Even his voice sounded like it wanted to turn off the lights and go to sleep. “It was with Doctor today. Can't believe I ever thought he was decent. Tried to get me to burn them all day. No rhyme, no reason, just wanted me to scald them.”

“Did you?” Ciel asked.

That sparked a reaction.

“No,” Sebastian hissed, throwing him an affronted glare. A nerve had been hit, clearly. Not in the mood for any arguments, Ciel just shrugged, the closest thing to an apology one would get from him. “I just kept saying no, and he just kept demanding I do it. Got fed up when I didn't and started doing it himself.”

Ciel repressed the sudden urge to touch his back, hands curling into fists as the base of his spine tingled uncomfortably. He knew that smell, the smell of seared and melting flesh, the way it clung inside the nostrils sickly sweet. Now he'd recognised it, there was no trying to ignore the way it was filling the room, like water filling a glass to the brim.

“Sebastian, c'mere.” Sebastian sighed but followed him obediently into the bathroom. His eyebrows climbed up to his hairline when Ciel closed the door over behind them and said, “Clothes off, get in the bath.”

After a stunned moment of pause, Sebastian came back with a shit-eating grin, “Well, it's certainly an improvement on the lolly-pop trick, but there's something to be said for foreplay.”

“You're easy enough without foreplay,” Ciel tossed back, “But that's not what I meant. You're taking a shower. I can't have that smell around me, it's knocking me sick. Go on, get in. You can even use my soap.”

Sebastian's grin had dropped, the exhaustion back as though it had never left.” Well, aren't you good to me.” Despite his words and the less than happy tone, he did as he was told, stripping down with unnecessary flourish and climbing into the tub. His silhouette against the mucky white shower curtain looked awkward however, lacking in the usual grace Sebastian possessed, though that may have just been due to how aware he was that Ciel was making no moves to leave the bathroom. Not that he was keen on peeping, but if anyone heard his shower going and saw he wasn't in there, questions would be raised and assumptions that hit too close to the truth would be made.

True to Ciel's thoughts, Sebastian was only too aware that Ciel was still there, could probably see every move of his arms and shift of his body through the cheap plastic curtain. It was nothing like shyness he felt at that knowledge. For all the many things Sebastian was, shy had never been one of them, and he quite liked the lingering looks Ciel had begun giving him since their little liaisons had begun almost two months ago. No, not shyness, but definitely a sense of discomfort. Any other time and he would have continued the salacious comments, goading Ciel into backhanded attempts at flirtation, egging him on into climbing into the shower with him.

But not today. Today, his head was too full of the Ward V patient's screams. Any thought of touching Ciel was twisting into his hand holding a scorching metal rod against Ciel's skin instead. Sebastian may not have buckled beneath Doctor's insistence and done as ordered, but the patient's hollow eyes looked at him with unrestrained fear anyway, and even that was better than the utter emptiness of the other patients, already too far gone. He hadn't held them down and scorched their flesh, but their screams had been just as much for him as they had been for Doctor anyway.

Skin scrubbed a flushed and tender pink, Sebastian finally shut off the shower, fingers pruned and the air around him billowing with steam. He made to pull back the curtain, accept the towel he could see Ciel's shadow waiting to offer, but found himself pausing. The curtain was like a barrier, all of a sudden. A safe shield that he was hiding behind. It made it easy for the words to slip out of him, now that he didn't have to see the look on Ciel's face when he heard them.

“I thought about it.” The words were little more than a whisper, a shameful confession that barely pierced the barrier of the shower curtain. “Patient V2, it was. A woman. She must have been pretty once. She's a screamer. Loudest of the lot, even when you aren't touching her at all. I actually considered it, Ciel. Just … hurting her, for no reason at all, just so that I could get off that ward.”

Sebastian wasn't sure what to expect as a response, telling another patient something like that. Yelling, disgust, to be kicked out on his ear and told to never speak to Ciel again. They were all likely, each as justified a response as the last, but Ciel did none of those things.

Pulling back the curtain, Ciel perched on the side of the bath, paying no mind to Sebastian's bareness. He wasn't even looking at him, eye trained on the far wall with a sightless vacancy.

“Nothing wrong with considering things.” Despite the weight of the subject, Ciel's voice was casual, flippant even. “I consider things all the time. A few years ago, I seriously considered smothering Soma with one of the couch cushions, just so that he'd finally leave me alone. He was always chattering away, seemed the only way to get him to shut up. I once stole one of Faustus' pens – hid it in the waistband of my pants – and sat there for hours considering jamming it into the eye I had left. And when you first got here, I considered using you to get out of here. Didn't even care how. I would have used you as a goddamn trampoline to jump over the wall, if it came down to that. I didn't care what it would have meant for you, if they'd have locked you up in my place. Didn't consider the consequences at all.

“Thinking about things doesn't hurt anyone, Sebastian. It even helps, having a back-up plan, a safety net just in case everything goes to hell. Knowing there's an alternative keeps you sane. There's nothing wrong with it, so long as that's all it is – a thought.”

Sebastian slid down to sit in the tub, meeting Ciel's look when he finally took his eye off the wall. There was understanding there, certainly, but more than anything, it was a warning. The threat in his expression was belied by the gentleness as Ciel threaded his hand through Sebastian's hair, combing the wet strands back from his face.

“The point is, you didn't harm V2. You thought about it, yes, maybe even wanted to, but you didn't. That right there is the distinction. That's what separates you from the rest of the staff.”

Ciel's hand tightened in his hair, tugging almost painfully, and Sebastian heard the unspoken end of that sentence; keep it that way. Biting back the smirk itching at his lips, he let himself slump forward, resting his forehead against Ciel's back. He felt Ciel tense all over, a lick of satisfaction going through him when the tension was forced away and Ciel didn't move, didn't push off. He did remove his hand, twisted behind his back now that Sebastian had moved, letting it rest on his shoulder instead.

It wasn't with the same trepidation as before that Sebastian spoke again.

“This wasn't the first time I've thought about it. That place is like hell, Ciel. The heat, the smells, all that screaming. Everything about it tears at you, gets under your skin. Even though I'm out of there now, I can still hear them. I think about it, and I think about making them be quiet, that maybe then the screaming will stop. And – it scares me. That I'm capable of thinking that. And I wonder if that's how the other staff got started. Maybe they started off like me, but they wanted to stop the screaming too? And I have to wonder, how long until the thoughts become something dangerous, until what I'm considering starts to seem less monstrous?”

Ciel still didn't pull away, fingers fiddling with the collar of Sebastian's shirt restlessly, but he was silent for a while before he spoke again. The threat was gone from his words by then, and with it, worry that Sebastian hadn't even realized he was holding evaporated too.

“I can understand that. It's … difficult, to be teetering on that line. I've been wavering between the two extremes for longer than I can remember.” Ciel twisted around to look at him, something in his expression that Sebastian couldn't place. “Not being able to trust yourself, it's the worst thing these people can do to you. But it doesn't mean you've lost the game just yet. It's just a matter of finding something external to depend on, something you can trust to ground you.”

Sebastian caught Ciel's wrist, stilling his restless hand, holding it loosely enough that he could pull away if he wanted to, “I don't want to become like them, Ciel.”

“So don't,” Ciel replied, as though it could ever have been as simple as that. A pensive look flashed over his face then, something Sebastian would have called almost mischievous on anyone else, before he found himself flat on his back in the bath with Ciel straddling his naked stomach. His clothes darkened with dampness wherever their bodies met, but Ciel didn't seem to notice, scanning Sebastian's body thoughtfully before deciding on his left hand, lifting it up as though inspecting it.

Then, without so much as a token hesitation, Ciel leaned forward and bit into his hand. Sebastian had been bitten many times, in many different places, but the top of his hand was a new one. Also new was the viciousness of the bite, not the playful or flirtatious kind in the least. As Ciel's teeth sunk into his skin, Sebastian, no stranger to a bit of pain, found himself yelping in a distinctly unmanly fashion. Blood budded from the crescent welts, streaming down his arm, a concerning amount for a simple bite. The skin was well and truly broken, and some of the blood was smeared across Ciel's lips as he smiled, leaning back with an air of satisfaction. His lips stained a ghastly red, he looked downright sinister.

“You won't become one of them, Sebastian. You're not allowed to. I got to you first. And any time you think you're forgetting that, I want you to look at your hand and remember. This is my claim.”

Sebastian could do nothing but stare for a long moment, tracking the drop of blood slipping over Ciel's chin hungrily, before letting out a shaky laugh. He leaned forward, bringing their faces close enough that he could feel Ciel's breath on his skin, see the alarmed twitch when Ciel thought he was going to try and kiss him. Instead, he let a hand hover around the back of Ciel's neck, wanting to touch, to pull them together, but resisting the urge, and swiped his tongue across the blood stained lower lip.

A mockery of a kiss, the best thing for the two of them.

Chapter 22: Chapter 22

Notes:

whoops, forgot to post the chapters here too, sorry! and sorry for the chapter spam if you're subscribed. hope you like the chapters!

them.

Chapter 22: Chapter 22

Notes:

whoops, forgot to post the chapters here too, sorry! and sorry for the chapter spam if you're subscribed. hope you like the chapters!

Chapter Text

Sebastian had never experienced first hand what it was like to be led to the electric chair. An obvious statement, considering he was still breathing. Yet he fancied he knew the same anxiety, the pressure of the dread pulsing against his skin with every step he took that brought him closer to the door of Ward V. Flanked by Doctor and Ash, one rolling along in front and the other dogging his steps behind, they were like sentinels. Running away was a dramatic and not entirely tempting thought, but even if Sebastian were considering it, being surrounded such as he was would have made it impossible.

Ten steps away and he imagined he could already feel the heat of the room. Sweltering within, worse than a crowded subway train, the air stale. The way the patients moved around, staggering in circles inside their cages and pacing restlessly, the sweat clinging to them like a second skin.

Eight steps away and he could smell them. Their rank scent, weeks and months of built up filth, the dirt so congealed it may well have been part of their flesh now. Everything they touched was tainted by the stank, like a hand-print of waste. They left their mark upon the floors, upon their glass confines, upon Sebastian himself. A mark he scrubbed himself red raw trying to wash away.

Six steps and the claustrophobia was settling in already. The sound proof walls, that single door with its mechanical click that sounded so final every time he walked through it, the heat and the smell and the noise so dizzying and impossible to escape.

Breathe.

Sebastian had to remind himself to do so frequently these days, a once thoughtless action now more and more deliberate. Breathe deep and breathe slowly, the only way to keep himself from letting the panic take over. If the panic ever did take over, he dreaded to think what he would do. Like a cornered animal, he would lash out because he couldn't run, not with Ash at his heels and a locked door in his way. But who would he lash out at? Doctor, Ash, or the acceptable targets?

Breathe.

Four steps away and one of Sebastian's hands came up to hold the other, feeling the stiff cotton of the bandage. The adhesive pulled at the fine hairs there, a sharp pinch every now and then. His left hand throbbed dully, two days after Ciel's bite but no less painful just yet, and he focused on that stingingly hot pulsing. The skin was torn in a morse code crescent, stuttering marks a scabbing red, and framed by mottled purples and blues.

No masochist, the violent bite should have angered him, but Sebastian took comfort in the physical evidence of an ally. This was what Ciel had been after himself, Sebastian was certain now, when he had clumsily propositioned him all those months ago. He hadn't understood then but now it was clear, made absolute sense to him. The bite was an anchor in the tumultuous waters of Ward V.

Two steps away and Sebastian's head was clearing now. Focusing on the feel of the bandage's cotton threads catching on his overly long nails, he was able to step into the ward without the sudden wall of smell knocking him sick. The screams were an abrupt assault, no longer muted by the walls and door, and he clenched his hand tighter around the bandage. Tight enough to amp up the throb into a sharp pain, strong enough to claw his attention back and keep him cool headed as he was fully submerged into Ward V.

“I think we'll have Patient V6 today,” Doctor decided cheerily, smiling up at Ash as he passed. The more Sebastian was exposed to this man, the more he grew to loathe him, to a greater degree than the rest of the staff. He was starting to beat out even Faustus. With his perpetually sunny disposition contrasting disarmingly with his brutal actions and the enjoyment he found in the pain he inflicted, Doctor was easily the most disturbing of the staff thus far. His smile was a wicked thing, a Pavlov's trigger for Sebastian to fear what would come next.

Ash, as he always did when made to come onto the ward, was struggling to maintain a level of cleanliness despite his surroundings. He touched nothing if he could help it, and if he couldn't, only with latex gloves protecting his hands from the muck. He wore a white medical mask strung across his face, much the same as the one he had worn when Sebastian had played sick all that time ago, must have had a healthy stock of them tucked away in that sterile office of his. It was with a look of disgust that he clamped V6 around the throat with one gloved hand, pulling her out of the corner she was huddled in, and flung her onto the floor at their feet.

V6 didn't make a sound, unlike the rest of the banshees. When she looked up at them, her eyes were vacant, sunken into her dirty face. If he looked closely, Sebastian could almost make out her features – the woman appeared young, couldn't be any older than him, and looked to be Asian – but he cut those thoughts off short. The last thing he needed to start doing was differentiating between the patients, humanizing them in his thoughts. Easier to just think of them as their numbers.

“I am not an unsympathetic man, Sebastian. I know you're thinking of me as some kind of monster, and I can understand why you would think that in your current mind set, but I hope to show you one day how what we are doing in this room is beneficial, not only to those in the ward above but on a global scale,” Doctor was saying, as earnest as he always was, having eyes only for Sebastian when speaking to him, “These patients are long past any hope of rehabilitation. No family members to miss them, not enough sense of self to even recognize themselves in the mirror, they're a necessary sacrifice. But! As I said, I am not unsympathetic to your plight. You still see them as people. Our mistake was throwing you into the deep end and expecting you to swim straight away. I see now that we need to ease you in.”

V6 didn't cower away from them as all the others did. Nor did she let aggression take over, fling herself at them with mouth torn by a snarl and hands mimicking claws. It was her stillness that Sebastian found most disturbing of all. Vacant eyes stared up at him, not beseechingly or even accusingly, simply empty. The lights were on, but there was no one home. For all that Sebastian hated when the patients fought back, still having enough will buried within them to do so despite what Doctor believed, it was much better than V6 and her broken apathy.

Had she retreated somewhere within her fractured mind, Sebastian wondered as Ash retrieved a pair of scissors from Doctor's bag, somewhere she was safe from the likes of them?

“It's all about baby steps. So first thing is first; we need to correct your mistake. Ash?”

Ash obliged to the unspoken command, offering the scissors to Sebastian as though they were some grand gift. The steel tarnished and the blades crusted with some sort of muck, he dreaded to think of just what origin, it was hardly a present you would write a thank you card for. It was only after pulling on latex gloves to match Ash's that he accepted the scissors. Even through the gloves, his hands tingled, crawled with the filth of what may have been done to people with that instrument. They were heavy in his hands, a guilty weight.

“As you can see, Ward V does not exactly match the main ward in terms of hygiene. It's not as much of a priority down here. But if it would put your conscience at ease, we can make a few changes. Such as this one – I want you to cut Its hair,” Doctor instructed, not deigning to so much as glance at V6, slumped on the floor before them and staring.

Sebastian stared back, unable to look away from V6. There was a fear in him then. A groundless certainty that the moment he broke their eye contact, she would lunge for him. With more presence of mind than any of them believed her to have, she would steal the scissors away and plunge them into his throat. To protect herself, to preserve her long dark hair, and to take his life before he could shear her like a goddamn sheep.

“I don't see how that would help cleanliness,” Sebastian replied belatedly, voice a pleasant monotone. He had long since mastered the art of talking to his 'superiors' with respect he did not feel. “A bit of a mopping up might.”

Ash looked distinctly unamused but Doctor gave a booming laugh, as though Sebastian had told him the funniest joke he had ever heard. It was disconcerting how much he seemed to genuinely like Sebastian, but more troubling was how much Sebastian was sure he would have liked Doctor if the circumstances were different. How could such a monster appear so ordinary?

“True, true! But as you can see, the length is an issue. We can hardly trust them to bathe themselves and it's too risky for us to do it. All sorts of filth gets caught in there.” Doctor grimaced, finally glancing at V6, but only for a short moment. Sebastian would have liked to think that it was guilt that made him so reluctant to see her, but from the look on his face, it was more likely due to simple disgust. “Cut it, Sebastian. To the scalp, if you don't mind.”

There was no ignoring that it was an order now, not a request, and Sebastian's mind strayed once more to the empty cage in the corner of the room. V6's hair really was long, trailing along the floor where she sat, knotted and clumped, the ends frayed where it looked as though she had chewed on them. Her eyes were still on his, as vacant as ever. Yet Sebastian imagined he saw something in them. A plea to not do it, what appeared on the surface a minor act but that would only trigger increasingly awful things. There was no such thought there, of course, no thought at all left in V6, but in that moment, Sebastian wanted to see it more than anything. To know that there was still a functioning mind in there somewhere.

“It shouldn't struggle but just to be on the safe side, Ash, if you wouldn't mind?” Doctor gestured and Ash followed without question, his gloved hand forcing V6's head to the ground. Bonelessly she followed, letting herself be pressed to the floor, no resistance in her body at all. Prostate before Sebastian now, he found himself inexplicably relieved to no longer have to meet her eyes.

Without that stare into which he projected accusation and a spark of life that he knew wasn't truly there, it was only too easy for Sebastian to kneel down beside her, lift a greasy strand of hair and sever it. Scissors in his right hand and the bandaged bite on his left, he continued to cut away while clenching the injury as tightly as he could, relishing the sore burn of it. Focusing so single-mindedly on the pain, he managed to tune out Doctor's exuberant voice, the happiness that Sebastian had finally followed an order, and his own shame at that same fact.

Nimble fingers slotted the creased and ruined pages back into the grooves of the notebook's spine. With no glue to secure them, they refused to stay in place, threatening to slip beyond the reach of the leather binding with every slight movement. Only a few of the pages had actually been written on, the white now stained with his chicken-scratch handwriting, the words sparse and more illegible as the journal entries went on. Even now, as he held the tip of his pen poised over the first ruined blank page he found, his hand shook with tremors. He didn't notice his shaking, giving the pen a frown as though it were at fault for the scribbled mess his thoughts had become, and continued writing.

Curled up on the bed at Alois' side was Luka, dozing fitfully, snoring louder than anyone his size had any right to. The noise used to keep Alois up at night, but once it was gone, he hadn't been able to sleep through the night for months. With a fond smile, he smoothed Luka's hair away from his face and turned back to the ruined notebook resting on his raised knees.

It had been a gift from Claude and one he had ruined in a fit of anger. He had regretted it immediately, had destroyed nothing of Claude and Ciel's bond but all of his few belongings, and he had been trying to piece the notebook back together ever since. A fruitless effort without glue or sellotape. He knew if he asked Claude for them, Claude would probably acquiesce, but only once he knew what it was for. Letting Claude see what Alois had done to the only gift he had given him was deterrent enough, never mind the chance that he would see the things Alois had written over the past few months.

Most incriminating of all; My dead brother is back.

Just the fact that Alois acknowledged how incriminating it was meant that he wasn't too far gone, he repeated internally, not for the first time since Luka's return. If he still had the mental capability to recognize how dangerous his delusion was then there was certainly enough left of his mind to risk indulging himself for a while. It was only too easy to rationalize it; everyone else lied through their teeth to him, so why couldn't he do it himself? When Luka became common place, something that no longer made him feel wrong down to his bones, only then would he go to Claude and confess the downward spiral he felt himself plummeting upon.

MY BROTHER IS DEAD. THIS IS NOT REAL.

The reminders filled the page, the same sentence printed in capitals again and again, until the ink stained the side of his hand and his index finger was dinted from holding the pen so long. Alois had refused to let himself dwell upon that fact from the moment Luka had disappeared from his side, but now, with that warmth curled up next to him and that annoying snoring encroaching upon the silence, it didn't feel like the end of the world any more. The words were just that, facts he had to keep, even as he let himself believe the opposite.

After all, what was fake about the way Luka smiled for him? There was nothing but honesty in the words they shared, the jokes and laughs. The way Luka hung on every word of Alois' stories was as sincere today as it had been five years ago. Luka was more real than anyone beyond his bedroom door. More real than Ciel and his empty reassurances, more real than Claude and the hollow promises he gave, and certainly more real than Joker and his sudden concern.

Alois' pen paused as the thought evolved, darkened.

It was only too easy to pretend that that was the end all of it, but his mind had always been his greatest antagonist, and it refused to leave the loose thread unpulled. For all that the personality and attitude was a perfect replica of the Luka he remembered, there were discrepancies that crept upon him. Clothes that never changed or became dirtied, not wrinkling or creasing as they should have done when Luka sat a certain way or they hugged. A boyish face untouched by time, the years he had been gone leaving no mark upon him, but having changed Alois in a contrast that couldn't easily be ignored. The most disconcerting of all, the one that knocked Alois sick from the sheer reality of it, was the uncharacteristic snarls and sudden bursts of rage that would possess the boy. Of the brothers, it had never been Luka who had been prone to anger.

MY BROTHER IS DEAD. THIS IS NOT REAL.

MY BROTHER IS DEAD. THIS IS NOT REAL.

MY BROTHER IS DEAD. THIS IS NOT RE ---

Alois' eyelids drooped as he continued to scribble the same words on a clean page. A good two hours had passed since he had been doing this for the sake of the reminder. Now the monotonous action of writing was simply to chase away much needed sleep. For all the genuine concerns there were over Luka, the one that worried Alois the most was the irrational fear of falling asleep beside him and awaking alone, Luka gone once more.

One could only fight sleep for so long, however, and a short while later found the pen stilled and Alois falling into a doze. When he awoke a few hours later, the high noon sun reaching in through the curtainless window, it was with an immediate spike of alarm that made him feel nauseas. He was alone in the bed, the sheets cold beside him, no one else in the room.

“Luka?”

Rising from bed, the notebook fell from his lap carelessly, the papers scattering once more. At least four pages were covered with the reminder, front and back, a written confession that could be the noose around his neck if it fell into the wrong hands. Alois didn't give it a second thought, stepping over the papers with disregard as he darted over to the bathroom, the only place Luka could be hiding.

“Luka!”

The bathroom light was blinding. The bathroom was empty.

Just as the panic began to surge, a small voice called from the bedroom, “Jim?” Luka was there. Peering blearily over the edge of the bedsheet, his hair a rat's nest and his face still slack with sleep, Luka was there where he had not been a moment before. Alois could have cried from relief.

“What's wrong?” Luka asked as Alois pulled him into a hug, chin quivering even as he told himself actually crying would be a silly thing to do. There was nothing to cry over in that moment.

“I thought you'd gone,” Alois admitted, words shaky with a self-deprecating laugh.

Luka shared the laughter, not unkindly, and hugged him back just as hard.

“I won't leave you again, Jim, I promise.”

The skin on Sebastian's hands still itched with a persistent crawl even after he left Ward V. The skin chalky from the powder inside the gloves, it took more self-control than it should have to resist the urge to scratch away at them. There was no blood spilt, Sebastian reminded himself against, and no screams either. He had not hurt V6 at all. He had even helped her, in a way. Without such long hair, she would be much cleaner. No damage done at all, and Doctor off his back, at least for a little while. Win, win.

The excuses rang hollow.

Sebastian's time on Ward V had been much shorter than usual. Unsurprising since the hours of refusing orders and arguing with Ash, or whoever else was assigned to monitor him, had been omitted. It left him plenty of time to go to the main ward and see Ciel, but first, he decided to make a detour to the Infirmary. Absently he wondered if he would see Hannah there. She had not been a presence at the Institute for months. In fact, the last time he could remember seeing her for sure had been in the infirmary itself, having taken her there after Alois attacked her. Had she been taken to a real hospital? Knowing St. Victoria's, her absence was nothing so innocent.

The triplets were the only staff in the infirmary when Sebastian arrived. Sorting through the patient's evening doses, none of them paid him any mind when he walked in. He ignored them too, making a beeline for the one occupied bed.

Drocell gave a wet and rattling cough, a sharp and raw sound. Eyes sunken and hair hanging in greasy tendrils around his face, lips chapped and nose red, he was whiter than the walls of the infirmary itself. Go and see if he really is ill, Ciel had told him the night before, and seeing him now, there was no doubt as to the genuineness of his illness. Sebastian would be able to report back with relief. What Ciel would have done if Drocell hadn't been ill, he could only speculate, but any other rescue missions were the furthest thing from safe. Ward V had been punishment enough after their last jaunt into misguided heroics. The empty cage at the end of Ward V was only too conspicuous for its emptiness.

“Sebastian?” Drocell sounded worse than he looked, each word a razor against his tender throat. While he didn't look surprised to see Sebastian, he didn't look particularly happy either. The title of Staff was a heavy stigma to hold, despite his repeated actions to the contrary.

“Your friends are worried,” Sebastian said by way of hello, pulling a chair over to the bedside. Friend was probably a strong word, and he doubted Ciel's worry was actually over Drocell's well-being, but the guarded look he was receiving convinced him to try and play nice. “So I said I'd pop in. What's the diagnosis?”

Drocell didn't look convinced, voice clipped when he replied coldly, “Flu after a treatment.”

A treatment. Sebastian couldn't help but be curious. If what he was ordered to do on Ward V were considered treatments for the patients beyond help, what treatments were given to the patients they were supposedly trying to cure? His open curiosity was not helping Drocell's mistrust, that much was clear, but Sebastian couldn't help but inquire regardless.

“They wanted me to tell them things. Things that I know aren't true. But they didn't want the truth, they wanted me to believe their truth,” every word was grudgingly given, Drocell's gaze accusing, as though it had been Sebastian himself who had done the deed, “So they tied a cloth over my face and poured water on it. I couldn't breathe. And they kept doing it until I gave them the answer they wanted.”

Sebastian frowned, “So you told them the things they wanted to hear anyway?”

Drocell bristled at the tone, more denigrating than he had intended it to be, and reiterated, “I couldn't breathe. I would have said anything to make it stop.”

“And giving them exactly what they wanted in the process,” Sebastian shook his head as though disappointed, “What was it they were trying to get you to say?”

Sebastian could see Drocell shut down by inches and knew that he had gotten all the answers he was going to from him. He was more displeased by that than he would have expected. Did it really matter, at the end of the day, what fabrications they were making about Drocell? Sebastian had barely ever said two words to the man before today. It made no difference to him in the long run. Yet as they shared their stunted goodbyes and he left the infirmary, the persistent itch spread along his skin, inching from his hands to cover the rest of him. Restlessness, frustration and annoyance. They spread like an infection until there wasn't a bit of him not infested by them.

The bite on his hand stung as his fists clenched and he tried to focus on it, the stretch of the broken skin, the slight cracking of what little scabs there were, the pull of the bandage's adhesive on fine hairs, but it didn't work like it had last time. It only made him think.

We're not indestructible.

He was Staff, as much as any of the others. Even if he didn't take pleasure in torture and delude himself into thinking he was doing good,he still wore the uniform, still got to leave the Wards at the end of the day. He was Staff, and he was not infallible. A patient had bitten him and he had bled. He still felt the pain of it. He was human, they were all nothing but flesh and blood, so why? Why did Drocell, as big as any of the rest of them, cower and grovel instead of fighting back?

None of them were children. Ciel, at seventeen, was the youngest, and Sebastian had seen his strength. The moment he had felt cornered, all five foot seven of Ciel had taken down the bigger and physically stronger Agni without a moment's hesitation. If it hadn't been for Sebastian, he could have throttled Agni to death that night. If Ciel could do that, the youngest and so prone to illness of one kind or another, then surely they all could. For pity's sake, Alois had buried his goddamn finger in a person's eye on Sebastian's very first day, and in doing so had brought the Institute grinding to an absolute stop. Was that not power of a different kind?

They were capable. They had the strength and the motivation, without a shadow of a doubt. So why, Sebastian puzzled with mounting judgement, why did they play the victims, let themselves be bullied and broken as though there was no other option? There was another option, there always had been. A shove, a fist, a weapon at the very worst, there was always another option.

It was pathetic.

Drocell lay there, sick as a dog, blaming the people he had allowed to waterboard him. But no, it was completely out of the question that he fight against them, that he not let them hurt him. They were only humans, as temporary and damageable as him! He claimed to have told them whatever they wanted in order to make it stop, but a well-aimed punch would have had just the same effect, if he only had the good sense to do it.

The closer Sebastian drew to the main ward, letting his thought's plummet continue, the angrier he became.

It was the patients that had put him in this position. Sebastian could never have claimed to be a particularly nice man, no, but nor was he a bad one. On the black and white spectrum, he was a firm and steady grey. Even so, he didn't do bad things. He had never hurt people. He had never told anything more than a white lie. He had never stolen a thing. The only thing he had done was to accept a friend's recommendation and apply for a job. His only crime was trying to make his own way in the world, to earn honest money. What was so terrible about that, so deserving of this retribution? Yet now he was being ordered to hurt innocent people under the guise of helping them, innocent people who wouldn't make the slightest move to defend themselves, landing him with all the responsibility of what happened, while all he could think about was the overhanging threat of what had been done to Finny and that empty cage on Ward V.

By the time Sebastian arrived on the ward, he was inexplicably seething. He strode straight into Ciel's bedroom, either not noticing or ignoring the sharp look he was given by Grell, but knowing that it would make it back to Angela before the day was out. He didn't even notice that Ciel hadn't actually been in his bedroom in the first place until he trailed in after him, looking the closest to concerned that he ever came.

“What's happened?” Ciel demanded, not even scowling when Sebastian claimed the bed instead of the chair. Flopped across the mattress with his shoes on the sheets, it was usually more than enough for a reprimand, but this time, Ciel held his tongue. Picking battles was a finely tuned skill.

“Popped by the infirmary,” Sebastian announced offhandedly, “Drocell is sick but he'll probably be back in a few days time. Nothing to batten down the hatches over.”

“And?”

Sebastian looked at him from the corner of his eye, “And what?”

“And something else is clearly bothering you – did he throw up on your shoes?” Ciel asked, gesturing at Sebastian like he was pointing at a literal dark cloud above his head, “I'm not seeing why Drocell being ill has got you looking so menstrual.”

“And nothing.” Instead of snapping, Sebastian's voice was perfectly amicable, which only made Ciel more positive that something had happened to get under his skin. “Nothing's happened.”

Ciel rolled his eye, “Oh, so we're lying now. Okay.” Nodding his head, he went on in a saccharine tone, words so heavy with sarcasm that they could have been used as blunt weapons. “Did you know? You're a patient here too. Plot twist, I know. And I'm actually in leagues with the Chairmen. It's all a ruse.”

“Hysterical,” Sebastian said, deadpan, “You should have been a comedian.”

“Grell's really in love with Angela,” Ciel replied, “You're just his beard.”

Sebastian sat up straight with the beginnings of a glare battling the forced nonchalance from his face. “I hadn't pegged you as the type to want to talk about feelings. Will we be braiding each others hair soon, too?”

“I don't want to talk about feelings,” Ciel spat the word like a curse, “But what would you rather talk about, the Ashes? Are we done with this now, because you have to get out in about five minutes. So you can either carry on being a passive-aggressive bastard, or you can just tell me what happened. The hair braiding is entirely optional.”

They glared at one another for a long moment, but as it usually was, Sebastian was the first to give ground, looking away with a sigh. When he answered, it was little more than a murmur, a question to himself rather than to Ciel, “Why don't you fight?”

Ciel heard nonetheless and looked confused, prompting Sebastian to elaborate.

“I mean, I've seen you. You're not helpless, you're not weak. I have seen countless times that you are smarter than the lot of them. Yet you go to your little shrink sessions without question. You behave and keep your head down like the cowed little boy you are. I saw you overpower Agni with your bare hands yet you're terrified of a goddamn room. A room full of nothing threatening, just mirrors! Believe it or not, you're not that scary to look at, Ciel.”

Ciel's face had gone blank at the first mention of The Room, which effectively masked his confusion. There was anger in Sebastian's voice, anger at him, and he couldn't understand where it had come from. It was misplaced, he was certain. He was one of the few acceptable targets for it, one of two or three people at most that Sebastian could rant at and avoid severe consequences. Regardless, he found himself bristling, and even as a rational voice repeated to him that it was misplaced anger to be dealt with carefully, he still didn't like it being directed at him.

He managed to hold his own temper with more difficulty than he would have liked, asking calmly, “Sebastian, what do you see when you look in a mirror?”

Sebastian blew out a breath exasperatedly, “We've had this conversation before; I say my reflection, you insult my hair. We have come full circle here.”

Ciel shook his head, replying shortly, “Not this time.” He dropped into the desk chair with a sudden boneless exhaustion. Most of the time, he looked untouched by St. Victoria's, infallible in a way Sebastian could only hope to emulate. But sometimes, in moments like this, the soul deep weariness slipped through the cracks.

“You are lucky. To be able to look at your reflection and think, “Yes, that's me.” To not doubt it even for a second. I envy that certainty. I haven't had it for a long time. You can't even begin to understand how terrifying a mirror is when you don't know yourself any more. There's nowhere you can turn in The Room to escape your own eyes, and even when you close them, you just know that this … thing with your face is still looking at you, watching you, judging you. Your reflection knows everything, Sebastian, and that is horrifying to me. I don't see myself in the mirror any more. What I see... I don't even know what to call that thing that's looking back at me, but I will not let myself become It. It is not me and I won't let that change. You can laugh and make snide comments all you like, but unless you've been locked in that room with nothing but It to keep you company, you have no right to tell me it's unworthy of my fear.”

Sebastian had the good grace to drop his eyes for a moment, as though regretting bringing it up at all, and under normal circumstances, he would have let the conversation drop too. But not today. Today he was seething, today he needed to understand.

“Fine. You're right. I don't understand that and I don't particularly want to. But you still haven't answered the question – why don't you fight?”

Ciel gave a little burst of incredulous laughter.

“You don't think I'm fighting?”

“No, you're not.” Something in Sebastian snapped then, a tether pulled that bit too tight, and he raged on, “You're just letting them do whatever they want and I know you could do something, you could all do something, but you're all just sitting around and waiting for someone to save you. And I think it's pathetic. You're pathetic for letting yourselves be the victims, and they're pathetic for letting themselves become exactly what Angela and Faustus and all the rest of them wanted them to become ---”

The tirade was brought to an abrupt halt as Ciel finally had enough of it, strode over and gave Sebastian a hard slap across the face. His cheek flushed an immediate red, his silence a stunned one. Of all the reactions he had expected, a slap was not one of them.

“If you're done,” Ciel said coldly. His disdain eased as he went on, fortunately. “I get it. Feeling helpless is one of the worst feelings in the world, but getting yourself all worked up about it isn't going to help. I won't lie, your position is just as bad as mine now. You're under their thumb, you are St. Victoria's whipping boy just as much as the rest of us are, and there's not a damn thing you can do about it. But don't you dare blame us. We didn't do this to you. I understand. You want the experimental patients to fight back, right?”

The haze of red faded from Sebastian's vision and in its place was immediate regret for his outburst. He hadn't realized how tightly wound up he was until he came spinning loose. His cheek stung hotly, and while a part of him was concerned over how fond he was becoming of being assaulted, he was grateful for the grounding of it.

Sebastian was suddenly hesitant to look up. If he saw even a flash of pity on Ciel's face then, he wasn't sure he would be able to take it. He didn't need pity, not from a patient, certainly not from Ciel. After the silence was drawn out for that moment too long, he forced his head up. It was with relief that he saw nothing but impatience in Ciel then. Impatience, annoyance, the only concern there over wondering if he had slapped Sebastian so hard that the brain cells controlling speech had been knocked loose. That was more like it, that equal footing, that return to equilibrium.

Sebastian found his voice once again.

“It would make it much less … easy,” Sebastian confessed, shame in every word, “You said that I could consider hurting them all I wanted so long as I didn't actually do it. So I do and it helps. And it's not the imagining hurting them that helps. It's thinking about what it would mean for me if I did. Doctor, Ash and that lot off of my back, not having to second-guess every single thing I do and say, feeling at least a bit safer. I'm selfish, Ciel, I'll be the first to admit it. I don't want to end up like Finny, and knowing that hurting those patients is the only thing that can keep me from ending up like him is making it far too tempting. And I just think, if they don't even care enough to fight for the sake of themselves, then why shouldn't I? I still care enough about myself. I don't want to die, or worse, end up like of them.”

Ciel nodded, replying simply, “You're scared.”

“I am not scared,” Sebastian snapped, unjustly offended, “But I can't keep saying no to them, Ciel. It's not fear, it's instinct. I just know that if I keep saying no to them, it's my ass on the line. I won't let myself be the next Peter.”

Ciel replied as though he hadn't heard, obviously still stung from Sebastian's accusation, “You said I wasn't fighting. That's not remotely true. I may not be using my fists but the last thing I'm going to let myself be is the victim here. You don't have to throw punches to fight and I'd rather break a mind than a bone.”

“Yes, very poetic,” Sebastian sneered, “But I'm not really following you.”

Ciel looked prepared to give him another slap.

“What I'm trying to say is that we fight in whatever way we can here. I prefer to keep my hands clean. I can't give them any more ammunition to use against me, so strategy is all I have. But you, the fact that you can resist is your fighting. You're not helpless, you're defying them and there's not a damn thing they can do about it.”

Only yesterday that would have been enough to salve his wounds, but even before Ciel had finished speaking, Sebastian could feel the phantom weight of rusty scissors in his palm and the chalky feel of gloves that did nothing to keep his hands clean. V6 staring up at him blankly, not resisting, making it so easy to do as he was told. Ciel was so confident that Sebastian was resisting, almost trusting in his ignorance. Inexplicably, it felt like a betrayal. The guilt turned to irritation on his tongue.

“How sixties of you,” he laughed, “That sounds good in theory, Ciel, but this isn't some after-school special. I can't just stick it to the man and not end up with any consequences.”

Ciel returned the ire in spades, able to communicate so much disdain with one eye alone.

“Is that so? Because it seems to me that Agni is doing perfectly fine.”

Sebastian finally had to falter. It had been Agni who had recommended St. Victoria's to him in the first place, the only other sane staff member in the place, who had been there years longer than Sebastian himself. Considering how blatant his friendship, to say the least, with Soma was, it was unbelievable to think that Agni hadn't met similar treatment from the staff as he himself was receiving. Just as unbelievable as it was to think of Agni harming any of the patients, experimental or otherwise. He had been unwilling to so much as shove Ciel off of him even as Ciel's hands had been around his throat. Whatever change came over people working at St. Victoria's, a change Sebastian could feel closing in on him, Agni had fought it and won.

“There's nothing I can say,” Ciel continued, “Our situations aren't the same, no matter what way you look at them. But Agni, he might be able to help you. Go talk to him. Ask him how he's lasted this long. If nothing else, you know he's on your side.”

“I think there's something living in his hair,” Luka whispered conspiratorially into Alois' ear, eyeing Doctor with a suspicious frown, “Well, it was alive, at least.”

It took great effort not to laugh out loud at the words no one else could hear, a treacherous smile slipping through, one that Doctor's keen eyes did not miss. That was one more alarm bell ringing for the man since their monthly check-up had begun, yet another little discrepancy bleeding through that Alois didn't realize to hide.

Doctor was very good at what he did. While he was no psychologist, he took pride in what he did and utilized his down time for studying the areas in which he lacked. As such, it was clear to him within minutes of shutting the infirmary door that something was not right. Identifying just what was simple enough.

Alois very rarely made such determined eye contact. While his behaviour could shift from outgoing to self-contained in an instant, it had always been a constant that he had difficulty maintaining eye contact with the majority of the staff, bar Dr. Faustus, for any extended time. He masked it well usually, feigning a shift in his attention, something outside the window or anything new within the room stealing his focus. Today, however, he was meeting Doctor's eyes with a deliberate intent. Too much thought was going into it. Alarm bell one.

The way he was sitting. Alois was not a person typically at ease, no matter the situation or the location. Especially not within the infirmary, what he and his fellow patients no doubt irrationally considered to be 'enemy territory'. He always had a closed off manner, gave off the potential for aggression that kept people away like a hedgehog's spines. He would huddle into himself, curl up as small as he could, all defence, yet today was different. Today he sat with a forced relaxation, slouched down into the cushions, limbs splayed. Too sudden a change, too groundless a change. Alarm bell two.

His pupils. Not their size, that was as it should have been. However, for all that Alois was fixing such intent focus on Doctor, his stare unwavering, his pupils would not remain still. He may have been trying to keep his attention on Doctor, but the way his pupils kept flickering to his left was cause for concern. Especially since every minute shift of attention coincided with a hint of humour. A fought away smile, a smothered laugh, things of that sort. There was nothing worthy of such mirth that Doctor could see. Alarm bell three.

Doctor did not make it a habit to ignore warnings so blatant. He put away that day's dose of Zydrate and called for Dr. Faustus. He didn't take long to arrive, heeding Doctor's urgency. The moment he stepped through the infirmary door, a subtle change came over Alois, easy to miss but one that Doctor was watching for. The eye contact disappeared, his entire posture stiffened, and he no longer let his attention wander to the left of him. It was the eye contact that was most interesting to note. A complete one eighty – forcing himself to look at Doctor when he usually wouldn't, and now refusing to look at Dr. Faustus when he usually wouldn't be able to tear his eyes away – very interesting.

“I was busy,” Dr. Faustus said after gesturing Doctor aside, having yet to acknowledge Alois at all. He spoke with all the usual respect he showed to those so much as an inch below him on the pay roll. Doctor ignored it, as he always did.

“I'm sorry to have pulled you away, but I thought you'd want to deal with this first hand, y'see,” Doctor explained with cheer ill-fitting the situation, “I've noticed some abnormalities with the patient. Behavioural changes you might want to take a note of.”

“Such as?” While his expression had yet to crack, there was more interest in Dr. Faustus' voice now. As much interest as he ever deigned to display, at any rate. He gave Alois a thoughtful glance, taking note of the immediate differences he could see, but then his attention was caught by the unused syringe on the desk. “You haven't given him his dose.”

“Well, no,” Doctor paused, sensing the displeasure at that, “It didn't seem wise until we'd assessed the effects that it's already had.”

Dr. Faustus didn't look convinced, dropping the conversation without a word and moving to lean against the desk in front of Alois. Alois gave no indication that he knew he was there, staring at the ground with a stony expression.

“Alois,” Doctor almost did a double take at the change in Dr. Faustus' voice, from its usual cold indifference to an almost warm tone, “Is there anything you'd like to tell me?”

Alois shook his still lowered head, his hair falling into his eyes, “No.” It was a petulant sound, a child caught out but still trying to feign innocence. It wouldn't do.

“Alright. Then I'm going to ask some questions and I'd like you to answer them honestly, okay?” The softer manner Dr. Faustus was feigning, surely feigning, was working already. Alois was no longer tensing up quite so much, his head rising gradually. Doctor watched with interest, monitoring every slight movement Alois made.

“When was our last one-on-one?”

“Three weeks ago.” A wrinkle at the nose, a twitch at the corner of his mouth, displeasure at the fact.

“And everything was alright then, you didn't lie to me?”

“No.” Furrowing of the brow, insult at the accusation.

“And you're not going to lie to me now?”

“… No.” An obvious hesitation covered too slowly, the beginnings of discomfort.

“Since our last meeting, have you experienced any nausea?”

“No.” An immediate answer, a relieved expression, honesty.

“Since our last meeting, have you experienced any loss of sleep?”

“No.” A slight shift of tone, though the answer was as readily given, a lie.

“Alois.”

“… Yes.” The guard was slipping now, Doctor could see, and his pupils began to dart to the left once again. Was it panic, he wondered, were they straying too close to the mark for the patient's comfort?

“And since your sleep patterns have been disturbed, have you experienced any visual or auditory hallucinations?”

“No.” Both Dr. Faustus and Doctor found themselves paused then. The answer was too readily given but there was no telling change of tone, no aversion of the eyes. Truth or lie, neither of them could completely tell. With no way to move forward from that point, the interrogation ended.

“Alright. Thank you for your honesty, Alois,” Dr. Faustus said, voice soft as sin, “If anything changes, you know to ask for me and I'll come as soon as I have the time. Now, we'll give you this and then you can return to the ward.”

Dr. Faustus reached behind him to pick up the Zydrate, the neon blue liquid sloshing in its narrow tube. Doctor frowned, wheeling himself over to the desk with a polite cough.

“Dr. Faustus, perhaps it would be best to monitor the effects further before continuing this particular course of medication?” Doctor interjected in what he intended to be as non-intrusive a tone as he could manage. From the look he received, it was a wasted effort.

“I didn't ask for your opinion,” Dr. Faustus said evenly, rolling back the sleeve of Alois' proffered arm. Doctor reached forward, putting a restraining hand on Dr. Faustus' before he could bring the needle any closer to the juncture of Alois' arm. Dr. Faustus tensed under the unwelcome touch.

“We have to assume that, at this point, it will do more damage than good,” Doctor attempted to reason, throwing Alois a reassuring smile, but the boy's head was lowered once more. Abruptly, Doctor found himself pushed away, Dr. Faustus' cold amber eyes burning.

“You just concern yourself with the zoo downstairs, Doctor, and I'll take care of the patients.”

With that, he turned back to Alois and stuck the needle home with far more force than was necessary. A display clearly for Doctor's sake. Doctor saw red for a moment, his pride stung, but he reigned it in before it could get away from him. With a smile less genuine than his norm, he bid the two goodbye as Dr. Faustus returned Alois to the main ward. With the reminder of his zoo, his thoughts returned to Ward V and its inhabitants, but it was difficult to focus on them after seeing the beginnings of a blatant deterioration before his eyes. The deterioration of one still salvageable.

Concern yourself with the zoo, Doctor reminded himself, even as he itched to call Alois back. There was much he could do for the boy, only on the edge of ruin, methods of treatment that could pull him back before the rot of the mind truly set in. But no. As Dr. Faustus was only so kind as to remind him, that was not his.

Chapter 23

Chapter Text

Agni was a ghost.

There was the distant sound of him in a conversation just down the hall, or the flash of his back growing smaller as he disappeared around a corner, but outside of these brief snippets of his presence, Sebastian could not catch him at all. Like trying to grasp smoke with his fingertips, he always just missed, the annoyance growing sharper with every near encounter.

Their shifts never quite aligned any more. They either just missed each other during the switch over or one of them was entirely absent. Even in the dining hall, Sebastian couldn't seem to catch him, and knocking on Agni's bedroom door was just as fruitless an effort as all the rest.

If Sebastian were a more sensitive man, he would think that he was being avoided.

It was in only a marginally better mood than the day before that Sebastian let himself into Ciel's bedroom that evening.

“Any luck?” Ciel asked, frowning down at a weathered old book on his desk.

Sebastian wasted no time in making himself at home, kicking his shoes off and slumping down on the bed, “None. So little luck, in fact, that it's actually regressed to bad.”

“Oh dear.” Ciel sounded very concerned. “Were you on the other ward today?”

Although he knew the name, Ciel never seemed to refer to Ward V by its title, his lip always curling when he said other in a tone Sebastian could never quite manage to identify.

“No,” Sebastian replied shortly. Time off for good behaviour. He didn't share that suspicion with Ciel. Being called from his shift by Ash in the mornings had become so common place now that it had been a shock when it didn't happen. He had felt the weight of those rusty old scissors in his hand all day.

Ciel shut the book over with a sigh. “I supposed not. Ash was on the ward today, so figured you weren't down there either. You know he actually asked if I wanted to play chess tonight.”

Sebastian snorted inelegantly.

“He's missed playing with you, bless his little cotton socks,” he drawled with a shake of his head, “Are you going to grace him with your prowess?”

“The only thing worse than playing against someone with no talent is playing against someone with no talent who believes they're God's gift to the world,” Ciel replied with the sort of confidence only someone who was sure in their talent could have. Arrogance was probably more accurate a word than confidence, to be fair. “Besides, it's that time of year. He'll only want to talk at me about cricket.”

Sebastian rose an eyebrow, “Hmm, you don't like cricket? I thought it was one of those things that all English people liked, like queues and raffles and The Beatles.”

“You learned everything you know about England from TV, didn't you?” Ciel said with an impressive amount of utter disdain. “Americans.”

“Name any American city besides New York or Washington,” Sebastian challenged, eyes falling shut as he snickered, “And tell me anything it's famous for that doesn't begin with 'World's Biggest'.”

Ciel fell predictably silent, to Sebastian's joy.

“Getting back to actually important matters ---”

“Change the topic faster, sore loser ---”

“I have something for you.”

When Sebastian opened his eyes, Ciel was standing over him, hand extended between them. In his palm lay a plain black box, open, a sapphire ring resting on a bed of blue satin. The ring was a sturdy thing, a signet ring with an elegant P carved on both sides of the rock, the band of silver tarnished from much wear. It looked both old but in good condition, a treasured thing.

“Why, Ciel,” Sebastian said after a long beat of silence, waiting for an explanation that didn't come, “You didn't even go down on one knee.”

“Don't be a prick,” Ciel scolded, nudging him until there was room on the bed to sit, “This was my father's ring. His father gave it to him, and his father to him, and on and on in a wretchedly sentimental chain that is quite frankly outdated by this day and age. He,” the flow of words paused, Ciel's face contorting for a brief moment, as though having to brace himself to continue. When he did, it was in a rush, throwing the words away before he could second think them, “He gave it to me when he knew it was his last chance to, and he died a few weeks later. It was the only thing I was able to keep when they brought me here. No one knows about it or they'd have probably taken it away.”

Sebastian looked at the ring again. The scuffs on the silver. The grimy smudge of a fingerprint on the stone. How many times had Ciel taken this from its hiding place to hold in his hands, trying to fit it on too small fingers, to remember how it had come to him at all? Ciel may have dismissed any sentiment out of hand, but it was plain to see just how much he had placed in so small a thing, more a physical memory than it was an item.

Sebastian didn't understand why he was being shown this. This was a fragment of Ciel, and Ciel didn't give any of himself away to anyone.

“It's … very nice,” Sebastian said, for once at a loss for a response.

Ciel rolled his eye, “Yes, it's a shining example of beauty, that's hardly the point.”

“Then what is the point?”

“The point is, you made very clear to me yesterday that what you're most afraid of is the same happening to you as what happened to Finny,” Ciel stated impatiently, as though Sebastian should have been able to read his mind by now, “And, considering we don't actually know how that happened, who did it or … well, anything surrounding that situation really, I can hardly reassure you that it won't happen to you. So. I propose that we make a trade. I give you an important item to me. In return, you'll give me something of equal value to you. Then if anything like that does happen to either one of us, we'll each carry a reminder of the other one, like the post-it note or Finny's hat, and it'll jog our memories like it did back then.”

The ring was extended to him again, the fingers holding the box tightening possessively even as it was offered. Sebastian almost didn't want to take it. He didn't have something of equal value, nothing that he kept and treasured like Ciel had obviously done so with this. It seemed wrong to take it, for anyone out of that family to touch it. But without the post-it note, without the blood-stained hat, none of them would have remembered Finny, and what would have happened to him then? Locked in that room, losing himself, so forgotten that he may well have never existed.

Sebastian took the ring with cautious fingers. He almost expected Ciel to snatch it back, the covetous way he looked at it in someone else's grip, but he didn't. It was heavier than it looked, the silver cold. It would fit his fingers much better than Ciel's more slender ones but he didn't put it on, slipping it into his pants pocket with care.

Their eyes met. Ciel was waiting for him to say something, he thought, or maybe he just didn't want to have to say anything else. The silence drew out until Sebastian, itching to break it, simply said, “Thank you.”

The moment broke.

“You're not keeping it,” Ciel sneered, “I'll want that back, in as good a nick as it is right now, when we get out of this place.”

“Oh?” Sebastian grinned, “When, not if? You're certain we will get out of here, then.”

“Well I don't know about you, but I'm certainly not planning on sticking around long term,” Ciel rose from the bed, stretching his arms above his head. Sebastian's eyes were drawn to the strip of skin exposed as his shirt rose, “I expect you to have something for me by tomorrow. And so help me, if you lose that ---”

“I will guard it with my life,” Sebastian promised with a smirk.

“Yes, you will,” Ciel assured him with the air of an order.

The next day, Sebastian was not quite so fortunate as before. He had barely placed a foot inside the main ward before Angela was stood before him. Face twisted in what she must have thought a smile looked like, she placed a hand on his arm to stop him going any further. He managed not to cringe away from her touch, but only just.

“Today you'll be on Ward V, Sebastian, if you don't mind,” she informed him politely. It was the type of civility that was so clinical that it reversed upon itself and became rude once again. Sebastian was only too happy to respond just as courteously.

“Not at all,” he said, with a smile that ached to fall, “Will your brother be joining me?”

“Not today. He's on night shifts this week, so he'll be resting during the day,” her attention was already flickering away from him now that she deemed their conversation done, looking over her shoulder with disapproval as two of the patients – Dagger and Freckles, judging by the voices – started yelling at one another, “Off you go. You're technically already late, Michaelis.”

Thoroughly dismissed as he was, Sebastian had no choice but to turn back the way he had come. If nothing else, he was grateful for yesterday's reprieve, at least. And no Ash was always a good thing. Did that mean it would just be him and Doctor on the ward? He was unsure how to feel about that. Doctor could hardly do anything to him, but he would be lying if he claimed the man didn't send a chill through him. Evil was one thing, but evil that genuinely believed itself to be good was another thing altogether.

Sebastian fingered the ring in his pocket, almost letting it slip onto his index finger as he made his way further down the building.

The smell and the racket of Ward V no longer hit him as harshly as it used to. Sebastian didn't have to linger outside the door to build up his nerve like before, just scanned his keycard and walked into the pen. The bedlam inside was the same as always, some squealing like pigs, others weeping like children, then the one or two who were mute and staring. He didn't look at any one of them longer than he had to, brief glances enough to assure him nothing had changed since his last visit. V6's hair was just as messy as it always had been, even if it was cut close to her scalp now. Hardly a change at all.

“Sebby!”

Sebastian's attention shot forward. At the far end of the room, flanking Doctor in his chair, was Grell and Will. Grell's long hair was pulled back into a messy bun, his uniform altered from its standard style to have flared cuffs and old-fashioned lace around the buttons. He had dyed it red, a vibrant splash against the filthy white of the room, though patches were lighter where the dye had not taken as well as elsewhere. Will was much the same as usual, his face dark with disapproval as he eyed Grell's adjustments, his own uniform immaculate in its standard style. He looked about as happy to see Sebastian as he always was.

Sebastian's throat felt thick and he wondered for a moment if he was going to throw up.

“Sebastian, good morning!” Doctor greeted cheerfully, wheeling himself towards him, “Sorry about yesterday. You must have been bored upstairs, but there wouldn't have been much for you to do down here. I was running the monthly assessments. Business as usual now though! You've met Grell and William, I take it?”

Grell sauntered over to him, taking his arm with a toothy grin. Sebastian didn't even bother shaking him off. Nothing short of cutting his arm off would detach the redhead for good.

“Yes, they're my neighbours, in a sense,” Sebastian replied with a smile, “Though I haven't seen much of them in a while.”

“Did you miss me?” Grell simpered. Sebastian ignored him.

“I believe all four of us will overcrowd the room and rile the patients up,” Will stated authoritatively, addressing Doctor even as he eyed the patients with apathy, “Is this many of us really necessary?”

“Oh, yes! I'm afraid so!” Doctor hurried to assure him, “In fact, I was hoping for one more pair of hands, but Ash wasn't available. The treatment today will require some … physical handling, you see, and it's better to have too many than too few, just in case the patient gets agitated.”

Sebastian rolled the ring between his fingers, hand still hidden in his pocket. Physical handling. He didn't like the sound of that. He had never had to touch them before, never had to restrain them. Even being inside their cages had him on edge.

Neither Grell nor Will looked particularly bothered by the choice of words, however, and it made Sebastian think. Although he had been coming down to Ward V for a number of months now, the other Orderlies will have had the job before him. Grell, Will, Ronald, even Agni, if Ciel was right. This wasn't new to them. But it had only ever been Ash and Doctor on the ward with him. Was it over then, Sebastian wondered, eyes drawn to V6 and what was left of her dark hair, this bizarre initiation into Ward V? Did they consider him one of them now?

The threat of throwing up worsened.

“Our customer today is patient V8. I don't think you've dealt with this one before, Sebastian, come have a look,” Doctor instructed, leading the way over to one of the far cages, near the other electronic door that he had yet to see opened. Somehow he thought he might be seeing through that door soon enough.

V8 was a screamer. Matted platinum hair, so greasy it was darkened to brown, hung in lank strands over an emaciated but ruddy-cheeked face. The colour in his cheeks was not a healthy thing, however, the red almost purpling as he continued to screech without pausing for breath. His features may have once been attractive, but that was a long time ago, and now it was clear that his nose had been broken many times, one of his eyes cloudy and streaming with an infection, his lips riddled with open sores. Physical handling was most unappealing, but obviously necessary, as V8 threw himself against his confines as Sebastian peered in to see.

“One of our more aggressive specimens,” Doctor noted unnecessarily with a sad shake of the head, “Every effort has been made with V8 but none of our methods have had any effect. At this point, our only option is the more … radical processes. I try to avoid these. Inhumane, really, but then that's a bit of a misnomer here, isn't it?”

Doctor laughed at his own joke, but he appeared downtrodden, as though he was discouraged by what he perceived to be his failure. Grell cringed in distaste at the state of V8, but there was no pity in his eyes, only repulsion. Will barely seemed to care at all, an indifference so acute it had to have been learnt. Sebastian wasn't sure what his own expression was but he tried to mirror Will's. That lack of care was better than the other two ends of the spectrum.

“William, Grell, if you'll bring the patient. Sebastian, get the door for me.” It was no surprise when Doctor wheeled himself down towards the other door, the one Sebastian had never seen beyond, had never particularly wanted to. His keycard unlocked it and he held the door for Doctor to get through. Will and Grell had entered the cage, each armed with long rods. A claw mechanism was attached at the end, the sort that was used to catch stray or vicious animals. V8 lunged for Grell, who stepped out of the way with a twirl and a snicker, while Will caught him around the neck with the rod and pinned him to the floor. As easy as that, they had caught the writhing patient and dragged him out of his cage into the back room.

Sebastian may not have had to brace himself to enter the ward that day but he had to take a moment for himself now, clutching the ring in his pocket, before he was ready to turn and see this new room.

It thankfully stopped just short of being a torture chamber. For that, St. Victoria's would have had to stretch the budget for some Iron Maidens and a dunk tank, and given in to the realm of utter cliché.

The room was illuminated by bright fluorescent beams along the ceiling, the type that reminded him of hospitals and schools, and wide windows stretched along two of the four walls. Through one he could see outside, the institute gardens, a span of patchy grass and determinedly lingering flowers. The other window was dark, an empty room with a number of chairs pointed this way, as though to view what was going on inside. On the other two walls there were posters, health and safety warnings, hygiene instructions, an x-ray screen. At the centre of the room was a reclined chair, the sort that would be found at the dentist's, and several trolleys by its side holding various types of equipment.

Doctor caught Sebastian looking and chortled good-naturedly, “Don't worry, no surgery today! The three of you, go put a smock on, and some gloves too. Sebastian, hold V8 for William when you're done.”

There were hangers next to the poster detailing fire assembly points, stiff blue smocks dangling from them. Grell's nose wrinkled as he eyed the muted colour, its unflattering style, but surprisingly enough he put it on without voicing his obvious complaints. Sebastian followed suit, snapping on a pair of latex gloves.

V8's struggle against the rod increased when it changed hands from Will to Sebastian, as though the patient could sense his hesitance. When V8 suddenly lunged forward, he would have lost grip entirely were it not for Grell, who gave a swift kick to V8's chest and secured Sebastian's hands on the rod tighter.

“Careful, Sebby. Can't let It take you by surprise,” Grell said, without a hint of his usual flippancy, though his hands did linger on Sebastian's for a moment too long. Sebastian tried to find the double entendre in his words but couldn't. That may have been the most disturbing thing of the day so far.

“Over here!” Doctor ordered.

Sebastian was delegated to the sidelines as Will and Grell followed Doctor's instructions in preparing V8. He couldn't help eyeing the array of tools on the trolleys; scalpels, a dermatome, dental forceps, clamps. His skin crawled at the sight of them. They were in much better condition than those scissors had been, maintained and cleaned often clearly. Which was Doctor going to choose? Would it be messy, if he thought they needed the smocks? Would anyone be watching in the viewing room as though this were nothing more than some show on their television screen?

Sebastian's thoughts of mess and instruments disappeared when he saw Will wheeling in the machine. There was nothing dubious about that.

“I have no doubt in my mind that you have heard some terrible things about this sort of therapy, Sebastian,” Doctor started as soon as he saw Sebastian pale, “But that will have been from self-righteous activists with no real idea of the science of the method. ECT is proven to, in layman’s terms, 'fix the faulty wiring' in a person's brain. It has been proven in countless case studies to have completely cured depression and bi-polar disorders! You get Hollywood making it out as some sort of torture but it really doesn't hurt them at all, I assure you.”

Then why the restraints, Sebastian wondered as Grell tightened buckles around V8's arms, legs and chest. V8 had stopped screaming quite so loudly, was now letting out more of a gurgling groan, and his attention was no longer on them. His manic eyes stared through the window, to the institute garden. The effect it had on him was startling. All of a sudden, V8 was calmer, struggling only minutely against his binding, the noises he made not nearly as anguished. It was like a different person, not that wild beast from the cage.

“Of course this method doesn't really work well alone, and though we usually avoid drug treatments with the Ward V patients, if only because of the difficulty involved in giving them medication, I'm trying to get around Dr. Faustus to see what we can do for V8,” Doctor continued as Will attached electrodes to both sides of V8's forehead and Grell administered an injection to one of his restrained arm, “I'm sure you won't be surprised to hear that he is blocking me at every turn. He even went behind my back to the Chairmen! Told them there was no need to waste funding down here. Well, I've got a thing or two I'd like to say to him, I'll tell you that for free.”

“As thrilling as the interdepartmental drama is, Doctor, can we proceed?” Will interjected icily, “That small a dosage won't last long on a patient this size.”

“Oh, yes, quite right,” Doctor cleared his throat, flustered, “Apologies, gents. Well, as I was saying, don't let the misinformed masses cast a shade on this form of treatment, Sebastian. Think of it this way; if your car's engine stopped working and it turned out a necessary wire had come loose from its proper place, would you call your mechanic a monster for putting it back as it should be?”

V8 had gone limp on the table, dull violet eyes watching the clouds block out the sun, making the room that little bit duller. The sores on his mouth had torn during his screaming and a cloudy trickle oozed down his chin. Was it pity Sebastian was feeling, or some sort of disgust? Drool began to trickle from the corner of V8's mouth, mingling with the pus in a congealing puddle, and Sebastian just couldn't tell. He wanted it to be pity, he really did.

“A car doesn't have the ability to give consent, Doctor,” he replied, forgetting to hold his tongue in a moment of disgust, targeted more at himself than anyone else in the room.

Doctor just chortled, as always, “And you think these patients do, Sebastian?”

“Don't be silly, Sebby,” Grell spoke up, grabbing V8's head to roughly jam the rubber bite block into Its – his – mouth. “Would you ask a horse's permission to ride it?”

“It may seem cruel now, Sebastian, but it's the end result we strive for. In the end, it's in the patient's best interests,” Doctor insisted earnestly. It seemed to matter to Doctor that Sebastian see his way, that he be an ally. Sebastian wondered for a moment if maybe Doctor was trying to convince himself too, but dismissed the thought. Wishful thinking, and foolish to boot.

The three of them were looking at him now – Doctor, hopeful; Grell, curious; Will, calculative – and Sebastian knew this was a fork in the road. Stick to his guns and challenge them, and he may not leave that room at all. Lie, pretend to be swayed by their beliefs, and be safe for another day. The choice was simple, but he hesitated. Hesitated because their argument was too convincing. Because from the moment he had obeyed the order and cut V6's hair, he had chosen the most dangerous path he could have. Because he was already angry at the patients, all of the patients, for being so weak and making him the villain just for being stronger. It would be too easy to have his lie become reality, to pretend now to agree with them only to realize later that he was no longer pretending, that their truth had become his truth. And that scared him more than the trolley full of tools did.

But, the empty cage besides V9's, no, Peter's. The very real possibility of becoming Patient V10. He had yet to give Ciel a token of his own. He could still be forgotten. He still wasn't safe. A word here, an action against a creature that could hardly even notice a thing any more, and he could be. Safe long enough to give Ciel something of his and then not have to worry any more, not about that empty cage at least.

The three were still watching, still waiting, and the silence was becoming the answer Sebastian did not want to give.

Sebastian stepped forward, taking a definitive step at those crossroads.

“What voltage?”

“It doesn't bother you.”

Will paused at the bottom of the stairs, deigning to glance back as Sebastian strode to fall into step beside him. Where Sebastian was looking more flustered than his usual composed self, hair in a disarray and uniform rumpled, Will was pristine and untouched. Unlike Sebastian, he had had no qualms about using force to subdue V8 when trying to return the awakening patient to his cell.

Will didn't bother to ask what Sebastian was referring to, answering shortly, “Of course not.”

The treatment hadn't taken even an hour, but despite the morning being only half gone, it had felt like Sebastian had been trapped in that room all day. As soon as they were done, Doctor and Grell had disappeared, each to their own devices, and it had been left to the two of them to deal with V8. Doing so, Sebastian had once again been struck by Will's utter indifference. How was it possible to look upon such people, stripped of what had once made them human, and feel nothing?

“Did it ever?” he asked, relaxed tone not betraying how desperately he wanted the answer.

Will was loathe to spend more time with him than he had to, that much was plain to see, but he seemed to contemplate the answer before giving a begrudging reply, “I may have had reservations initially.”

Sebastian snatched at that thread, pulling it sharply with, “What changed?”

Will stopped walking, looking him in the eye. There was a pause. It was not a pause of speechlessness, of being unable to find an answer, but rather one of piecing together the words to get across the meaning without giving more away than he wanted to. This conversation was going to be heavily self-censored, Sebastian could see already, but a censored answer was better than no answer at all.

"Unlike the rest of you, I'm a professional," Will stated, straightening the cuffs of his shirt primly. Or was it fidgeting? "I signed a contract. I accept the food they feed me. I sleep under their roof. I take the money they give me. They have bought me, I'm not too proud to say it, because this is a job. What we do is no different than any other profession – we trade our services for their money. The same way that a plumber repairs a pipe, or a care worker wipes the filth from those that can't do it for themselves, it is our job to keep in check those people that are too dangerous to be allowed in normal society. Has a line been crossed at St. Victoria's?" Will's voice dropped. Not a whisper, but certainly not as loud as it had been before, no chance of anyone overhearing now. "Yes. The separation of the patients, the difference in the treatments they receive; it alarmed me at first, I'll grant you that, but I got over it. I shook off my doubts and carried on, because I had a job to do. And you do too."

Having said his piece, Will gave Sebastian a sharp nod and made to walk away, but Sebastian couldn't swallow that answer.

"They bought you – that's it? Either we're on very different wages or your humanity is a lot cheaper than mine is," Sebastian spat, though a rueful grin twisted at his lips, "The pay isn't that good. What's the real reason?" His temper was growing beyond his ability to reign it in. Money wasn't the real reason. It couldn't be the real reason. Not for the things Will must have done. Things Sebastian was going to be expected to do soon enough too. "Were you a runt growing up, is that it? Your parents didn't hug you enough. The kids at school were mean to you. But now you're the one with the power – is that it?!"

Sebastian caught the hand that went for his throat, stopping Will from getting him in a strangle hold, but Will still managed to shove him back against the wall. Faces inches apart, so close they were sharing breaths, Will almost cracked a smile.

"You're so angry," he said, voice as much a monotone as ever despite the wicked glint in his eyes, "And that's just it. We think we're better than it, but we're not. No one us. It's the anger that does it. And you're much angrier than I ever was."

Sebastian shoved him away with a snarl. He didn't even lose his footing.

"You've lasted longer than most," Will allowed with a dismissive shrug, already turning to walk away. Sebastian didn't stop him this time. "But I doubt you will much longer."

It wasn't even mocking. That was the worst of it. Any of the other staff and Sebastian could have just brushed it off as them trying to bait him, trying to frighten him. Not Will, though. Will didn't care enough about him to exert the effort. The things he had said were truth because, to Will, Sebastian was not worth the breath it would have taken to lie. Sebastian couldn't just dismiss what he had said.

It's the anger that does it. And you're much angrier than I ever was.

His hands were balled into fists at his sides, he realized, without him consciously doing so. He unclenched them with effort. Took a deep breath, and then another, and another, until the haze of red over his eyes had evaporated. He had never considered himself to be so foul-tempered, but he was sinking into bad moods at the drop of a hat more and more often. If it was really anger that broke them, as Will insisted it was, then he needed to get a handle on himself before he crossed that quickly dwindling line.

Sebastian stood in the empty stairwell for more than a few minutes, just counting his breaths and fingering the ring in his pocket. It was only just gone eleven o'clock, not even afternoon yet, so he knew he would be expected to make an appearance on the main ward at some point. Before that, however, he planned to make a couple of diversions.

First, to his bedroom.

Sebastian was not a sentimental man. He didn't place much value in belongings, beyond their obvious uses. Phones were useful for communicating, bags were useful for keeping things safe, clothes were useful for adhering to public decency laws. But that was as far as his regard went, no deep feelings attached to any of his things. They were just that - things. He owned nothing so heavy with memories and heart as Ciel's ring. Yet he had to give something to Ciel in return, something that Ciel could attach the memory of him to in case the worst happened.

His bedroom was no less sparse than it had been over a year ago, when he had first moved in. The neatly made bed, the empty bookcase, only half the available drawers occupied by clothes. The drawer rattled when he pulled it open, however, a metallic clinking of something knocking about inside.

It only served to drive home Sebastian's utter lack of sentimentality and regard for material things that he had completely forgotten about the cheap little pocket watch tucked away at the back of the drawer behind a row of balled-up socks.

He remembered it now, though. Nothing remotely special. Having just landed at Heathrow, waiting for the train that would take him to meet whichever representative St. Victoria's had sent for him, his wrist watch had stopped working. Never one to be without a watch, Sebastian had wandered around the Duty Free shops and found the pocket watch, designed to look more elegant than it really was and only five pounds. He had bought it, placed it in the drawer when he had arrived, and promptly forgotten all about it.

"That'll do," Sebastian muttered to himself, snatching it from the drawer and shoving it in the pocket with the ring.

The next stop was the gardens.

Although they had never been anything resembling beautiful, the gardens had become a barren mess since Finny's departure. Without his loyal tending, nothing lived for long. What little grass there was was more brown than green, dirt prevalent. There were no flowers at all. The trees were hulking sentinels, the sort that scratched on windows on windy nights and frightened children.

Fitting, then.

The ring and the watch knocked together with a clink with every step he took, his feet drawing him to the brick walls boxing them in. It would have been easy to throw himself up, catch the wall edge with his hands and vault over, just like Finny, Bard and Meirin had done. Just a jump, that was all it had took for them to be free. Where were they now? Had Finny recovered? It felt like it had been years since that night, but in actuality it had only been a number of months. Maybe they had been caught, if anyone cared enough to catch them.

Somehow, Sebastian doubted he would be allowed to escape unpursued.

He came upon the window a short while later. It had seemed monumentally important to see that surgery room from the other side, but now that he was here, looking into the vacant and dark room, he couldn't remember why.

Still, he lingered for a while before heading up to the main ward, staring through the glass sightlessly. Nothing was hidden. The reclined chair, stained where V8 had soiled himself during the procedure, and the trolley of tools beside it could be easily seen from where Sebastian was standing, almost a yard away. It was no secret at all.

“Oi, oi, stop that, you'll bleed yourself!” Soma admonished, slapping lightly at Ciel's hands. Ciel startled. He had been biting at his nails unconsciously and it took a moment to realize what Soma was scolding him for. He'd torn far enough down on his thumb nail for it to hurt, but it hadn't bled. Wondering at himself, Ciel shoved his hands down his sides, wedged between his body and the chair where he wouldn't be able to get at them again.

“Is something the matter?” Agni asked, soft-voiced and concerned.

It was just the three of them in the corner, the rest of the patients spread out across the room, or in the case of one patient, not there at all. Ciel glanced towards Alois' bedroom door. He hadn't seen him all day. All week, now that he thought about it. Ciel hadn't noticed he was keeping a distance until Alois had begun to do so too.

“No, nothing,” Ciel answered absently, gnawing on his lip as a substitute for his fingernails. He didn't see the glance Soma and Agni shared. If he had, he would have been more subtle in his worry. It was unlike him to be so outwardly concerned.

“Ah!” Soma exclaimed suddenly, grasping for something to say to grab Ciel's attention, “We're in the gardens tomorrow, aren't we, Agni?”

Agni was only too happy to follow Soma's lead, replying just as enthusiastically, “Yes! I'm on that shift. I checked the weather forecast and it looks like it's going to be a good day for it.”

“I hope it'll be sunny,” Soma said dreamily, “I haven't sunbathed in ages. Though the gardens are such a mess. You'd think they'd hire a gardener.”

Agni laughed, a little uncomfortably. Gardeners were a sensitive topic for St. Victoria's, he imagined.

The conversation ended as Ciel jumped to his feet, a determined look on his face. They all knew that never boded well.

“Where're you going?” Soma asked, grabbing Ciel's sleeve.

“Haven't seen Alois in a while,” Ciel answered flippantly, “Going to check he's still alive.”

Soma spluttered as Ciel strode towards Alois' bedroom door, though he didn't try to stop him. More than a few of the other patients were watching by the time Ciel knocked on the door.

“Alois?” Ciel called when his knock went unanswered. He could hear movement within the room, but it became increasingly obvious as the seconds grew into minutes that Alois had no plans to respond. Ciel frowned, irritation swelling. Being ignored was not something he was at all accustomed to. “Alois, did you hear me?”

Still no answer. His hand went to the door handle. Before he could open the door, however, another hand covered his.

“Somethin' tells me he's not much in the mood for company today, yeah?” Joker moved Ciel's hand from the handle, an apologetic look on his face. He inclined his head towards the ward door. “Besides, your mate's here.”

Ciel snatched his hand away, eyeing Joker with displeasure. He gave the door a final look before following Sebastian into his bedroom.

“What was going on there?” Sebastian asked once the door was closed, toeing off his shoes. Ciel was quick to take the bed before he could, sprawling across it to leave him no room. He opted for the chair without complaint, his shoulder cracking as he stretched.

“I think I'm in a fight with Alois,” Ciel shared, bemused, “Though I haven't the faintest idea when it started or why.”

Sebastian frowned, “Probably round about the time you started ignoring him?”

Ciel propped himself up on his elbows, genuinely confused, “What are you talking about, I haven't been ignoring him. He started getting weird once my sessions with Faustus were increased, so I gave him some space to sort himself out. That's all. I have no idea why he's being like this now. Surely he's not still sulking?”

Sebastian wrinkled his nose, fighting a laugh, “That's a really long-winded way of saying 'I ignored him and now I'm annoyed he's ignoring me back.' Not used to the silent treatment? I find it hard to believe you've never been on the receiving end of it before. I mean, as … charming as I find you, your temperament must be an acquired taste, to say the least.”

“I have no idea what you mean,” Ciel replied, deadpan, “I'm nothing less than lovely to everyone. If there's a problem, then it's them.”

“What a wonderfully balanced way of looking at things,” Sebastian snickered, “You clearly have no fault here. Alois must be shown the error of his ways. How dare he ignore you back. Who does he think he is – Ciel Phantomhive?”

Ciel rolled his eye, lip curling in amusement despite himself.

“I'll talk to him later,” he said, dismissing the situation from this thoughts for now, “So, did you bring me something?”

Sebastian obediently withdrew the watch from his pocket, spilling it into Ciel's waiting hands. Ciel turned it over between his fingers, tracing the design on the case, clicking it open to inspect the interior. There was really nothing special about it, just a bog-standard pocket watch for people who thought they liked antiques but were unwilling to actually pay for an antique. It didn't even tell the time any more, he noticed, the hands motionless beneath the glass.

Ciel was staring at him expectantly. When Sebastian remained silent, his eyebrow rose, prompting.

“What?” Sebastian asked, unsure what was being asked of him.

“So?” Ciel sighed in exasperation, spelling the request out for him, “So what's the story behind it? It has to be important or it won't work.”

“You're joking, right?” Sebastian laughed, “It just has to be a … thing. Not that I don't understand the significance of your ring, I do, but let's be honest, you remembered Finny because of some ratty post-it note with nothing but some gossip about a soap on it. If we learned anything from that, it's that it doesn't have to be some grand and treasured item ---”

“Whose to say the note wasn't a treasured item?” Ciel didn't sound angry, but he was far from pleased. “It wasn't what the note said that made it important, Sebastian, it was the fact of the note. I'm not a sentimental person, but in the situation I'm in, the regard I'm given as something somehow less human than other people, it always … it always meant something that Finny treated me like he did. There was nothing to be gained from it, but Finny was kind to me nonetheless. So it was some ratty post-it note, but it still had meaning. So this watch better have meaning or it's useless to us.”

For all that Ciel liked to drive home his lack of sentimentality, he certainly placed sentiment in a great many things. The more Ciel let down his guard around Sebastian, the more he could see what a liar Ciel made of himself, the chasm between his words and his actions. Sebastian used to fight to see those small moments of humanity in Ciel, but now it made him uncomfortable. Like the more human Ciel became to him, the less human he was becoming within St. Victoria's walls.

“It's … not a great story,” Sebastian began, propping his feet up on the desk. It was a rare thing to have Ciel's undivided attention, but he had it then. “Growing up, it was just my mother and I. We got by week by week. As soon as I was old enough, I started working, so that I could help bring money into the house. My first job was at this grocery store around the corner from our apartment. Horrible place, horrible boss, and abysmal pay. But it was a job, my first job, so when I got my first pay cheque, I wanted to do something special with it. Something to mark the moment, I suppose. And I bought that,” he gestured towards the watch in Ciel's hand, “Immediately regretted it because it stopped working a week later, and the cost of getting a battery replacement was twice as much as the watch had cost in the first place, but there you go. That's the story. Not great, but … there's some meaning there. Good enough?”

Ciel tossed the watch carelessly to the floor with a bark of laughter, “You could at least try. Good lord, don't bullshit a bullshitter. The thing is dated 2011. It'd have to be at least seven years old for that story to work.”

Sebastian shrugged, unconcerned, “You wanted a story, I gave you one. The real one? Picked it up at the airport before coming here because my wristwatch stopped working. Put it in a drawer when I got here and haven't touched it since. As you can see, that version lacked sentiment.”

“Much more in character, though,” Ciel pointed out, stretching his arms above his head, his toes curling as he yawned. His shirt rode up again. It annoyed Sebastian that he kept noticing such an unsexual thing in that way. It had to be testament to how desperate he was. “How about we give it a memory, then?”

Sebastian's face lit up, “Why, Ciel, did you just manage to come on to me without being utterly awkward about it?”

“Why, Sebastian, did you know there's a direct correlation between how annoying you are and the chances of you getting laid?”

“Then I should probably stop talking immediately.” Sebastian was already undoing the buttons on his shirt without needing to be asked, shrugging his shirt off and dropping it to the floor. He paused then, bent down and picked it up, folding it neatly over the back of the chair.

Ciel laughed, “Did I miss the part where we established points for cleanliness?”

“If there's a points system in play here, I feel I'm entitled to a fair number of points for keeping my hands to myself this long,” Sebastian replied, “But no, I just think it's better if I don't walk out of your bedroom later looking blatantly deflowered, that's all.”

Ciel latched on to the first comment as he stood up and let Sebastian sprawl across the bed in his place.

“What, you've been wanting to? You should have said. I'm not psychic.” Ciel clambered on top of him, straddling Sebastian's waist with little finesse. He fumbled then, unsure what to do next, so Sebastian took the lead, grinding his hips up into Ciel's. He took care to keep his grip on Ciel loose, non-restrictive.

“Didn't know I was allowed to. Thought it was probably against those rules of yours.”

“No, there were only three – no kissing, no anal, no nudity – outside of that, anything's free game.” Ciel's voice stuttered breathlessly as Sebastian began moving with more purpose, hand on Ciel's lower back to keep him in the right position. It took more self-control than Sebastian knew he had to resist the urge to roll them over and have Ciel under him, but for all that he said anything else was free game, he knew Ciel wouldn't like being pinned beneath him.

“So all I have to do is ask, is that what you're saying?”

“Consider this permission to tell me when you're horny,” Ciel tried to frown, but the expression was difficult to hold as they began to move faster against one another, “I'm going to regret saying that, aren't I? Tell me whenever you want, doesn't mean I'll always do anything about it.”

“Sounds like a fair enough deal to me.” Sebastian grinned, lifting his head up to nuzzle at Ciel's neck. Ciel usually flinched when he did that, assuming he was going to break rule number one, but this time he just tilted his head to the side to give Sebastian more room.

“Would you stop?” Ciel groaned abruptly, and Sebastian froze. Ciel sounded even more annoyed when he continued, “No, not that. Just … do you have to stare at me while we're doing this? It's weird.”

Ciel was flushed, and maybe it wasn't all due to the exertion of what they were doing.

Sebastian grinned again, “I'm sorry, are you forbidding eye contact now?”

Ciel put a hand to Sebastian's chest and shoved him back down to the bed, his cheeks even redder now.

“Who the hell stares at someone like that when they're fucking? It's weird. You see my face all the time. Surely you should be taking the opportunity to look at other places, given the situation.”

#black butler fanfiction

[mcyt-kalopsia]

Violent - Schlatt x Reader

Inspiration: Violent by carolesdaughter

Warnings: bit of violence, yelling, strong language, just a bit overall angsty, a bit of toxic relationship traits

Theme: Schlatt and the reader get into an argument and it almost costs the relationship.

Characters: JSchlatt, Y/N.

“Have you seen my papers?” That’s what started the horrible exchange not long after. “I need to actually do some paperwork for once. The guys are telling me I have to.” You hadn’t seen any important papers of his lately, but then again you couldn’t really find much of importance otherwise. Schlatt’s office, to be completely honest, was a mess. Papers littered the majority of the floor and made it hard to navigate across it, and empty bottles sat in the corners, empty promises of sobering up ringing in your ears over and over whenever you look at them and how they grew larger every day that passed.

“No, hun. But... it would help if you would clean your office once in a while,” you said softly, which managed to strike a nerve. He’d already been having a bad day, but how would you have known? Regardless, the next thing you knew, you were ducking to avoid the phone that was usually sat on the corner of the desk. “What the fuck, Schlatt?”

He clenches his jaw, as well as his fist, but just as soon as he did make a fist, he opened his hand again. He could never actually hit you. “Look, Y/N. It’s been... a long fucking day. I don’t wanna hear you getting on my back about trivial things.”

“You’re the one who needs the papers, Sclatt! You’re the one tossing your damn phone over papers and one offhand comment!” You stood straight again, walking over and shoving your pointer finger into the man’s chest. “You need some serious fucking help. You need therapy, Schlatt. You need to sober the fuck up like you promised, and you need to go get yourself some actual help rather than looking for help in countless bottles.”

It stung him to hear such bitterness in your voice, but the anger in him made everything else disappear. “I need help? Look who you’re dating, are you blind? I’m a fucking walking hazard! They may as well put a fucking warning sign on me!” He sighs, driving a fist against a nearby wall. You flinch, cowering from the male. “I’m angry all the time and scare you, Y/N. You should be with someone better. You should leave me. I won’t be mad if you do..” You felt panic swelling up inside you, your heart twisting painfully by his words. He’d done this before, but you couldn’t help it. You still loved him, even if he wasn’t the same person you had met and originally fell in love with.

“I... Schlatt, you know I can’t do that. I love you so much, okay...?” 

#mcyt writing #jschlatt x reader #jschlatt writing #mcyt angst #Neph's mcyt stuff #Neph's writing

[the-cult-of-russo]

Hi!! So i just read your billy headcanon about him and reader arguing and it was so good! I loved how thorough you were and i liked how the stages are so accurate to his personality! What do you think him and reader would argue about?

Once again, my brain is total chaos. It's my chaos and I understand it but trying to get it down for others to make sense of makes my head hurt lmao

First of all, I'm gonna do two sections. One for things that Billy would start a fight over, and one that you'd pick a fight over. Basically, things you do to upset him enough to cause a fight and then things he'd do that upset you enough to cause a fight.

If you haven't seen my other headcanon about how Billy acts during a fight, find it here. I reference his Stages of Rage in this so it'll make sense if you've read it.

Also remember this is my Billy.

-

Billy:

Billy can be impulsive and he has a temper. That being said, he's learnt really well over the years how to push it down. He's got good at stuffing his anger in a box and dealing with it another time somehow. Sometimes people wouldn't even know just how pissed he is. Yet with you, sometimes you do things that drive him to the brink of insanity and he finds it hard to deal with it.

The thing with Billy is, any negative emotion turns to anger. He doesn't know how to cope with it otherwise. And the things you'd do to cause him to fight with you don't actually make him genuinely angry. They've made him upset, hurt, or scared. All feelings he loathes to feel and they morph into anger instead.

The first thing that would cause him to fight with you is jealousy. Its not that he doesn't trust you because he does. He trusts you explicitly. But for all of his outward bravado and confidence, he has a lot of deep rooted self worth issues stemming from his childhood. Those disgusting feelings of not being good enough, of not being worthy of love or happiness, of not being wanted. All of those have been buried down inside of him yet you seem to bring them out kicking and screaming.

He's terrified of you leaving him. He finally has something special, worth every bit of pain he's suffered. He's finally found happiness. He feels like he's got to cling onto you desperately, fingers bloodied as he clutches you so hard like you might float away the second he let's up.

So when you and Billy are out with friends and you go up to the bar, he watches you with a dopey smile because he can't help it. But it gets wiped off his face the second some asshole approaches you. He knows it's ridiculous when the green eyed monster rears its head, he knows because although you smile at the man, it's tense. It's a polite but awkward smile as you shake your head and clearly tell him you're not interested.

Yet Billy's chest hurts. Because what if you see something in this man you don’t see in him? What if this guy is the one who steals you away from him? What if this is when you open your eyes and realise how worthless he is and you leave him?

He's aware his brain is being overdramatic yet he can't help the anger building inside of him. The defense mechanism of turning his pain and terror and sadness into something he can deal with.

And he doesn't want to cause a scene around all of your friends. So he goes the rest of the night being quiet and a little distant. You know somethings wrong and have a good idea what. But Billy suddenly feels miles away.

As soon as you get home, he let's it loose, unable not to. It sometimes starts with The Snark, passive aggressive comments about the man at the bar and how you should have gone home with him. 

But he gets angrier.

Because you don't get it. You tell him nothing happened and that he's being stupid but you don't fucking get the agonising fear that's crippling him because he's not good enough for you. So The Loudmouth stage begins because if he's wounded, he's gonna wound you right back.

But somewhere along the way you see through the anger. You see the pain in his glossy eyes, hear the tremor in his voice. Suddenly you hear everything he isn't saying. Instead of yelling at him that he's being dramatic or stupid, you switch tactics. You reassure him. You tell him he's the only one for you and you soothe his wounds by trying to get him to see that.

Although he still doesn't believe it, he likely never will, it does bring him back to earth. And of course he says sorry for the remarks he made but you know he was only lashing out because he was hurting.

-

The other thing that will get him to fight with you is also because of fear. If you put yourself in situations where you could possibly get hurt, even if it's something small like walking home in the dark, he flips his shit. He hates it, doesn't understand why you'd be so reckless. And while sometimes he's being overboard with it, too overprotective, he doesn't see it that way.

Billy's been through a lot, seen a lot of shit, done even more. He knows how dark this world gets. So if you ever put yourself in danger, even a small bit by being reckless, you're damn right he's gonna lash out at you. He goes through every stage of rage (except the last) if you try and defend your actions because he can't fathom the fact you aren't seeing his side with this. Why you won't let him just protect you. If he had his way, he'd put you in a bubble to keep you safe.

-

Other than that, there isn't much else you do that causes him to really fight with you. He's not petty. He's not the type to pick a fight over mundane stupid shit like you leaving your clothes all over the bedroom. Even if it does annoy him since he's such a neat freak.

Anything that you do that elicits those awful negative emotions are what gets to him.

-

You:

Billy's flirting is certainly a bone of contention. And while it doesn't happen often and it's never really serious since you two got together, sometimes it slips out of his mouth like it's second nature to him. Because it is. An example of this is at an event. He pays a flirty compliment to a senators daughter thats been eyeing him. He doesn't even know he's done it, doesn't seem phased until he sees your face. But he's at work, important business and schmoozing to do and he doesn't want you to cause a scene.

But waiting until you get home only annoys you more. It was an offhand comment and you know deep down he didn't mean it. But it still hurts you because he's with you. And you knew damn well if you did that to him he'd lose his shit. But you patiently wait until you get home, giving him the cold shoulder the whole way. And he knows what's coming. It's happened before.

But the thing with Billy is that he gets defensive if he feels backed into a corner. So when you whirl on him the second you get home, he pushes right back. He thinks you're blowing it way out of proportion and honestly, if you'd approached him calmly about it, he'd apologise right away and tell you he'd do better. But the fact you’re yelling at him has his back up so he can't seem to find it in himself to see it your way at all.

At first you don't tell him the real reason why it hurt you. You're just pissed. But as the argument unfolds you blurt out why it stung so much and his anger gets sucked right out of him. He watches you, devastation on his face as he realises you don't feel loved enough, that you think he'd go behind your back, that he'd find someone else. That notion is absurd to him, like he'd ever do such a thing when he has everything he ever wanted with you. But knowing he's hasn't shown you enough how much he cares wounds him deeply.

So he comforts you, promises he'll make it up up you and it won't happen again and he makes sure to make time to make you see just how much he loves you and only you.

-

Another thing that tends to get you upset at him is Anvil. Billy works a lot, too much most times. The amount of times he's coming home when you're already asleep or has to cancel plans with you starts to weigh on you. Building up until you explode about it.

But once again, Billy feels backed into a corner. Anvil is way more than just a company to him. It's a physical manifestation of how far he's come in life. It's proof that he's come all this way and he's done it all on his own. Anvil is like his baby.

And if it ever came down to picking Anvil or you, yes he'd pick you. But deep down he might end up resenting you for it. Because Anvil is an extention of him and his work makes up who he is. You knew this when you met him. It starts to feel like you're trying to change him and that gets right under his skin. Because if you want to change him, then you don't love him as he is. And that shit hurts.

He's already tried his best to placate you over Anvil. He works less, only staying late if its imperative he does and he tries his best to make time for you. He knows it's hard and he's away more than you'd like but he's fucking trying. So it feels like a smack in the face when you do this, like you can't see how much he's ready done to try and make a life where he can have both.

He works hard to keep the company the best it can be, he has to. But he also works hard for you. Because one day he wants to buy a big house and possibly fill it with children with you. He wants to show you the world and give you everything you've ever wanted. So it makes him feel unappreciated.

He feels stuck between a rock and a hard place every damn time this argument comes up because he doesn't know what else to do. He's trying his hardest to juggle Anvil and you and sometimes it feels like you're making it hard for him. He can't change who he is and if you can't handle it then it kills him. Because he knows if you can't deal with it then eventually you'll leave and he thinks he might just die if that happens.

These arguments get explosive because of all the emotions it makes him feel and sometimes you don't speak for days after. Both of you miserable as you miss the other. Deep down you know he's trying his best and you feel bad because you know how much these fights upset him. Eventually you apologise. You knew Anvil was his world before you met, knew how hard he worked. You don't want to change him and if you're honest with yourself, he's done a damn good job of making sure there's a place for you in his life. And maybe you never imagined you'd settle down with a workaholic, to miss them all the time, but it's worth it.

-

The last thing is how Billy's past seems to have a way of haunting you both. You were well aware of his nature before you met, he'd been pretty upfront about it. But sometimes it's hard when you're at an event with him and one of his past one night stands are there or you both run into one in the street.

This doesn't cause a full blown argument. If anything it's more one sided and Billy soon learns you've been taking tips from his Stages of Rage handbook when you use The Snark on him. You can't help it. The bitter jealousy that creeps in. But he doesn't fight back because for once he's a little ashamed of his past behaviour. He never wanted to settle down, didn't see the point. But that's because he hadn't met you yet. But now he sees your face everytime he's approached by a past lover and it hurts him. It makes him worry that you'll leave him one day.

So he accepts the anger and passive aggressive comments you throw at him because he feels like he deserves them. But his unwillingness to fight back has you sobering up pretty quickly. Because you know realistically it's not his fault and you can't hold his behaviour from before you even met over his head. It comes from insecurity and its not fair to lash out at him. And you hate how sad he seems when you do this to him. So you say sorry and make it up to him.

-

The last thing I'll touch on is his last Stage of Rage that mentioned in my other post. The Snowstorm. I said how this meant you'd done some really bad. Like maybe even break-up bad. This is where he turns off his emotions because you've hurt him that much. I wanted to give an example of what might cause him to do that.

The biggest one of course would be you cheating on him. It would be a knife right through his heart. He'd want to forgive you for the fact he loves you more than anything but betrayal isn't something he takes lightly. Couple that with him already having self worth issues and feeling not good enough for you and you have a very broken Billy on your hands.

Maybe in time he could move past it after some separation and a lot of thinking. But this would be the worst thing to happen to him.

#billy russo #billy russo x reader #the punisher #billy russo imagine #billy russo headcanons

[moonflowcrr]

;revels if there were one

‏‏‎ ‎ !! masterlist ‏‎ ‎ ‏‏‎ ‏‏‎ ‎ ‏‏‎ ‏‎ ‎ ‏‏‎ ‏‏‎ ‎ ‏‏‎ ‏‏‎ ‎ ‏‏‎ ‎ ‏‏‎ ‏‎ ‎ ‏‏‎ ‏‏‎ ‎ ‏‏‎ ‏‏‎ ‎ ‏‏‎ ‏‎ ‎ ‏‎ ‎ ‏‏‎ ‏‏‎ ‎ ‏‏‎ ‏‏‎‏‏‎ ‏‏‎ ‎ ‏‏‎ ‏‏‎ ‎ ‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‏‏‎ ‎ ‏‏‎ ‎ ‏‏‎ ‏‏‎ ‎ ‏‏‎ ‏‏‎ ‎ ‏‏‎ ‎

avengers x f!reader

slight nat x f!reader

no warnings ♡

➵ just sitting with the avengers after one of Tony’s parties- and the shenanigans that go along with it.

wc ┊ 1084

‏‎ ‎ ‏‏‎ ‏‏‎ ‎ ‏‏‎ ‏‏‎ ‎ ‏‏‎ ‎[ 🕊 ] ‏‎ ‎ ‏‏‎ ‏‏‎ ‎ ‏‏‎ ‏‏‎ ‎ ‏‎ ‏‏‎ ‏‏‎ ‎ ‏‏‎ ‏‏‎ ‎ ‏‏‎ ‎

“

okay so i watched black widow not that long ago and i miss them :( so have this age of ultron scene rewrite that i made a while back !! please feel free to send in a request or prompts <3‏‎ ‎ ‏‏‎ ‏‏‎ ‎ ‏‏‎ ‏‏‎ ‎ ‏‏‎ ‏‎ ‎ ‏‏‎ ‏‏‎ ‎ ‏‏‎ ‏‏‎ ‎ ‏‏‎ ‎ ‏‎ ‎ ‏‏‎ ‏‎ ‎ ‏‏‎ ‏‏‎ ‎ ‏‏‎ ‏‏‎ ‎ ‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‏‏‎ ‏‏‎ ‏‎ ‎ ‏‏‎ ‏‏‎ ‎ ‏‏‎ ‏‏‎ ‎ ‏‎ ‎ ‏‏‎ ‏‏‎ ‎ ‏‏‎ ‏‏‎ ‎ ‏‏‎ ‎ ‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‏‎ ‎ ‏‏‎ ‏‏‎ ‎ ‏‏‎ ‏‏‎ ‎ ‏‏‎ ‎ ‏‎ ‎ ‏‏‎ ‏‏‎ ‎ ‏‏‎ ‏‏‎ ‎ ‏‏‎ ‎ ‏‏‎ ‎ ‎„‏‎ ‏‏

‎ ‏‏‎ ‏‎ ‎ ‏‏‎ ‏‏‎ ‏‎ ‎ ‏‏‎ ‏‏‎ ‎ ‏‎ ‎ ‏‏‎ ‏‏‎ ‎ ‏‏‎ ‏‏‎ ‎ ‏‏‎‎ ‏‏‎ ‏‏‎ ‎ ‏‏‎ ‏‏‎ ‎- - - ┊♡ ┊ - - -‏‎ ‎ ‏‏‎ ‏‏‎ 

‎the evening had been in full swing for the better part of two hours. drinks had and music sung- a full revel if there ever was one. the mission had been long- and hard, and one of their own had taken a rather nasty hit. best to forget your worries with alcohol and a good party, a memo Tony would probably preach by. boozed avengers and guests laughed until the early hours of the morning- until people began to trail off and the party started to wind down. at long last, the final dribbles of Tony’s expensive guests bid their farewells and left in their expensive cars, and the remaining members grouped together on the couch; the heat of debate sparking them up despite the longing for sleep that turned their eyes to scratchy sandpaper.

(y/n) sat curled in a heap beside Natasha, one leg tucked beneath her, while the other stretched out and sat neatly over the other woman’s lap- though the redheads attention was anywhere but on her. a conversation bounced between the redhead and the scientist, and Bruce did a poor job of disguising his overly flirty manner. Natasha beamed, her full body turned to give the male her attention- and despite being the one who encouraged the woman to pursue this attraction; (y/n) couldn’t help the tendrils of jealousy tugging obnoxiously on her heartstrings.

she grimaced, and took another swig of her beer. liquid courage to stamp out a subtle flicker.

Thor’s hearty laugh danced across the quiet group, muting the grumbles of the man across from him- who sat rather smugly, his pride intact, as he spun a drumstick around his fingers.

“ but it’s a trick! ” Clint exclaimed, failing to hide the small smirk that crossed his face when the god joined in the squabble match.

“ no, no ” the blond started, leaning to tap his beer against Steve’s shot glass. ( a strange human tradition, he thought. something of acknowledgement and praise. why bump glasses? why not just drink? ) shaking his head he continued “ it’s much more than that. ”

from his spot on the floor, the man scoffed, earning a few hushed chuckles from the woman beside him. “ ah, whosoever be he worthy shall haveth the power! ” he spoke, arms outstretched to mock the fabled hammer. “ whatever man! it’s a trick! ”

“ well please, be my guest ” Thor laughed in reply, smugness choking his words to sound as cocky as humanly, or godly, possible. minute fear danced in Barton’s eyes momentarily; and it wasn’t missed by the blond. a challenging smile taunted the man, which only left him dumbstruck into silence, Clint only stared. 

“ come on ” Tony prompted from his side of the group. Clint threw his hands up in defeat, a nasty glare sent in Tony’s direction as he called out a simple ' really? ‘. murmurs of chuckles rippled through the group, everyone’s attention now focused on the scene.

“ this should be good ” (y/n) quipped, shuffling to untangle herself from Natasha’s lap. an equally nasty glare was shot in her direction as Clint huffed past, but the girl only laughed in response.

“ Clint, you’ve had a tough week. we won’t hold it against you if you can’t get it up ” Tony spoke, another chorus of laughter bubbling from the intoxicated group. “ i will! ” (y/n) countered. “ okay she will, but the rest of us won’t. ”

rolling his eyes, the brown haired archer stepped up to the table, making some offhand comment before his attempt. with one hand wrapped around the handle of the hammer, and a strained groan escaping his lips- he slumped back in defeat; finally laughing at his failure. “ i still don’t know how you do it! ”

thus sparked a new game- who of the Avengers could lift the mighty hammer? one after the other, they waddled up to attempt, and waddled back a failure. laughter boomed at each new turn and theory- Tony had even gone as far as to rely on the aid of his iron suit ( which had only earned him a failed attempt and a snide remark from his friends. )

at some point during the fiasco, Banner had moved to make his attempt- some lame joke about the hulk later and he returned to his seat, only more defeated and the tint of rose dusting his cheeks. (y/n), during that time, had moved yet again until she was sat with her head resting on Natasha’s shoulder. the red hair tickled her forehead, and she bit back the smile that was threatening to escape.

she almost purred with satisfaction, the greedy part of her that hadn’t been as tucked away as she’d have hoped cheering in the fact Natashas attention was no longer on the man. instead a hand was rest in (y/n)’s lap- and with all the willpower the young hero could muster, she fought the urge to tangle her fingers with the pale ones of the Russian spy.

“-and, Widow? ”

the question snapped the girl from her thoughts, and she sat back up like she’d been stung, frazzled at the thought of being caught. thankfully the attention wasn’t on her- but rather the redhead beside her.

“ oh, no no. that’s not a question i need answered. ” Natasha stated, leaning back into the plushness of the sofa as she brought her beer to her lips, head bumping against the back of the chair and the girls shoulder. Nat looked up, capturing (y/n)’s amused ( and still slightly panicked ) eyes. “ how about you? ” she asked around the rim of the glass.

the (e/c) eyed girl sucked in a quiet breath before a laugh escaped her. “ ah, why not ”. stepping up and wrapping her fingers around the handle, she began to pull.

but nothing- of course.

laughter broke out as she stepped back, Tony jumping in the fire a remark at her as she went to sit back down.

“ all deference to the Man Who Wouldnt Be King, but it’s rigged. ” Stark concluded, finalising his statement with a drink as Clint walked past and bumped shoulders with him “ bet your ass ”

“ steve! ” a voice called from somewhere to the girls left. “ he said a bad language word ”

“ did you tell everyone about this? ” was the last thing (y/n) heard as her thoughts struck up again. smiles and laughs buzzed the room like a warm glow. the alcohol sitting comfortably in her belly, head resting atop Natashas shoulder once more.

yeah, she decided, i could get used to this.

#natasha romanoff #black widow #natasha romanoff x reader #black widow x reader #the avengers #avengers x reader #mcu #wlw

[midnightseonghwa]

𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐞𝐚 𝐒𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐩𝐬 | 𝐤.𝐲𝐬

𝐖𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐇𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐀𝐮 - 𝟒

✕𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: Merman!Yeosang x Drowning!Reader  

✕𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: Mermaid, Halloween Au, fluff 

✕𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 4.5k+

✕𝐏𝐥𝐨𝐭: Arms crossed over your heart, you’re ready to fling yourself off the edge of a cliff but good thing Yeosang is there to save you.  Alternatively: “To hold a love that knows no elements.”  

✕𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: Strong langauge, mentions of death, suicide and drowning. Yeosang is shirtless (he’s a merman...). He’s quite fascinated with you, slightly obsessive themes and stalkerish themes.

✕𝐄𝐝𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐬: Unedited

✕𝐀/𝐍: Remember that this is fiction. Enjoy! Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist. Leave a comment under this post or message me! Here is the mernman Yeosang...oh boy...how exciting! I hope you like it! I watched his v live where he wore the pumpkin hat and oh my god! He looked so cute with his little ponytail. This took me wayyyyyy too long to write and I know many of you were excited and stuff but like I’m not very satisfied with how this turned out? I will revisit this once I’m done with all au-s. 

✕𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭: @pancakes-for-teddy​

✕𝐀𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐜: Here 

The waves crashed into the rocks under you as you peeked down at the sea with dried tear stains on your cheeks.

"(Y/n)," a voice called out from the back and you closed your eyes, not wanting to hear your brother's voice for a second longer.

"G-go...go away, Seonghwa," you said, your voice tight and scratchy. Hiccups escaped your mouth, each one making the bruises on your chest hurt more.

The ocean wind whipped at your hair, making it stick to your wet cheeks and the snot running down your face.

"(Y/n), you're being stupid again. Step away from there, now," he said and walked closer with his hand stretched out.

"That's all I am for you anyway. Stupid," you spat but your voice got lost in the wind, your sobs overpowering and breaking each syllable.

"Come on, (Y/n)..." Seonghwa huffed in distress and reached out further for you.

"You don't have to do this. Please, just think it through."

His words fell on deaf ears, every thought leaving your head empty and spiralling.

"I've thought about it enough, Seonghwa. It's time for me to take action."

With that, you crossed your arms over your thumping heart and threw yourself off the cliff, every regret leaving your body.

You were finally free.

Silence surrounded your shivering form as you floated through the blue abyss. It felt as if someone had stuffed cotton in your ears. The water felt smooth and silky and left every part of your skin caressed with the hands of the ocean.

The salt stung your eyes as you managed to open them. The world above you looking blue through the lens with the refracted rays of white sunlight hitting your form. Trying to desperately blink away any sort of illusion, you felt a burning feeling rise in your chest.

The fire was so great, spreading through your entire body before you started struggling, pushing yourself up with your hands but no matter how close you thought you were to the surface, you never seemed to reach it.

That's when you realised...you were going to die.

You had wanted it, standing above sea level, ignoring your brother. But now, all you really wanted was...air.

Were you really free?

Your hands thrashed around the water, trying to grab onto anything that might provide you with aid but the quiet hum of the ocean waves above you reminded you that there was nothing.

You were alone, just as you had been your entire life.

The pain in your chest started subsiding to a dull throb and you felt your eyes grow heavy, the liquid weighing down on them. Forcing them to stay open, you thrashed around with the last of your might but to no avail, you started fading.

Eyes fluttering close, you felt your throat close up, the last bit of oxygen leaving your body. With an impending sense of doom, you closed your eyes, hoping that the ocean would spit you out instead of swallowing you whole.

You coughed. Once, twice and a third time until you shot awake, salty water flooding out of your system, each hack paining your lungs and causing your body to shake. Your hair was stuck to your face, every strand, dead and dry as reached up to wring the water out of it.

The ground under your limbs was hard and cold. Icicles shooting up your legs, rendering them numb and disabled.

"You...you're awake," you heard someone call and take a breath of relief. Whipping your head around, you squinted and examined your surrounding trying to figure out if you were already dead or not.

"Purgatory sure is shit," you muttered and took a deep breath of the salty air before stopping and looking around again.

"Is purgatory under the ocean?" You asked, completely bewildered, feeling even more lost when a certain figure attracted the attention of your eyes.

"Who...?" You trailed off and rubbed at your eyes, the reminiscent salt making your eyes sting, scratching it raw.

The figure was looking at you with narrowed eyes. His skin and hair as pale as snow, the upper portion of his body completely...naked. His porcelain skin was almost glinting in contrast to the onyx rocks as he sat with his arms crossed across his chest.

"Who are you?" The question tumbled from your lips before your brain had even registered your situation.

"Kang Yeosang," he said and you heard a bit of splashing in the water below.

Curiously, you let your eyes drift down and almost screamed at the sight of a tail instead of legs. Pushing yourself against the hard rock wall, you swallowed the gasp that was threatening to bubble up your throat and clapped a hand over your mouth. Eyes roaming, you studied his tail. The rich blue scales glistened as the little light reflected off it and his fins curved in, delicately, a translucent blue. The scales looked as if they were sequins made of the finest sapphires and were sewed in by the most skilled hands.

A bit extravagant for a Halloween costume.

"You have a tail," you stuttered out and crawled forward to the edge of the rock platform you had been placed on. The water beneath you was a dark murky blue, the depths of it unfathomable as the creatures lurked underneath.

"You're stating the obvious," the male snorted and pushed himself off the rock, swimming towards you with an offhanded curiosity that glittered in his eyes.

Approaching your figure close to the jagged edge of the rocks, he held his hand out and you found yourself slowly leaning towards him, eyes wide as you got lost in his, the dark brown surrounding you with a sense of normalcy.

His touch was soft, unlike his narrowed eyes and snarky look. Dainty fingers traced your jaw as they tapped along your cheeks and played with your hair strands.

You observed all his sharp but delicate features as they matched the energy of the sea, every wave like his unflickering eyes. Before you knew it, you were leaning closer to the water, closer to where he was before he jerked you back by the shoulder, the tip of your nose almost touching the water.

"For a species that's supposed to be smart, you sure are stupid," Yeosang said and checked you over once before swimming further into the water. Resuming your position against the rock wall again, you brought your knees up to your chest, wiggling your toes to get rid of the freezing numbness was that was taking over.

"You humans have such odd features," Yeosang commented as he swam around a bit before resting his arms and head on the rock platform. His platinum blond hair stuck to his forehead as some of the strands came down into his eyes.

"And what do you know about humans?" You asked and narrowed your eyes a bit, getting oddly defensive at his careless comment.

"Nothing actually. I've always heard about them from my brothers. You're the first one I'm seeing up close."

Gulping, you crossed your legs and leaned against the rocks, the pointed edges digging into your back, making every small move uncomfortable.

"When can I go home?" You asked to no one in particular but Yeosang just snorted and flicked some water at you.

"The one I caught drowning, now wants to go home?"

There was a certain sarcasm in his voice that just didn't sit right with you. He had stabbed you right where the festering wound was and you bit your lip, swallowing every bit of abuse and inhaled the salty ocean air instead.

"Can you at least tell me where I am?"

Yeosang looked around, the moon had now risen on top of you and was visible from a tiny hole in the rocky walls.

"An island a couple kilometres from where you jumped," he said as if it was the most casual thing in the world.

You looked around once more, seeing nothing but saltwater dripping from onyx coloured rocks and more pointed edges.

"How do I get out of here?" You said Yeosang gave a bit of a sad look.

"Why would you want to leave? Just live here! You didn't want to live anyways so you can think of this as your fresh start." Yeosang rushed before his face turned a bright red and he ducked his head into the water.

The words that flew out of his mouth were fast and didn't quite register in your head until you went through every letter he had uttered.

"Huh...?" Were the only words that left your mouth until you heard a huff from Yeosang who had now begun to swim away. It was strange to you that a half fish-man would have any sort of fascination with you even if it was purely just scientific.

But then again, you are the first human he's ever seen up close.

You watched with a confused face as Yeosang's blue tail flipped on the surface before disappearing into the blue abyss again.

Yeosang swam through the reef as he came face to face with his older brother, Hongjoong.

"Where have you been?" He asked, the red scales on his tail resembling a fiery colour.

"Somewhere," Yeosang replied and tried to move past his brother when a hand caught him.

"Wooyoung said he saw you lurking by the surface again, says that you've brought a human into the ocean."

Hongjoong's voice was cold and hostile. In entire merfolk history, never has a human ever been intertwined with their kind and for good reason. Humans were simply just too extreme for their own good. See something pretty, they'll hunt it until it's extinct. See something foreign and they'll alienate it.

"And what if I have?" Yeosang bit back with a snarl in his voice getting defensive about the human he had been observing for a while now.

"What's so special about this human," Hongjoong said and Yeosang found himself thinking back to the first day he saw you.

You had been sitting on one of the rock clusters near the beach, crying. Bleeding from the strange fingers that you had attached to your lower body as you furiously wiped at the blood with seawater, only for it to sting some more.

Absolutely fascinated by your odd state, Yeosang found himself lurking by the surface often, just to catch a glimpse of you.

He heard those other humans call you by your names, (Y/n) and what a pretty name he thought it was. Prettier than any of the pearls he would collect from the sea.

And oh, how his heart almost stopped when he saw you floating alone in the empty ocean. He had seen you enough to understand that you couldn't breathe in water. You didn't have the gills he did at the side of his neck. You needed that foul-smelling air to survive.

"I saved that human," he replied watched as Hongjoong's eyes widened before narrowing distastefully.

"Where are you keeping the human?" He asked in a clipped tone and Yeosang's shoulder dropped before he told his elder brother of the small island he was keeping you on.

"Return this human to the surface, Yeosang. And make sure we never hear of this again."

With that, Hongjoong swam away, his red tail flicking aggressively as he pushed himself through the water disappearing from Yeosang's view.

Yeosang watched as his elder brother swam away with sad eyes. He had only begun to exchange a few words with you and his brother was already telling him to return you to the surface. But he knew the truth. Yeosang knew how much you hated the surface, there was nothing for you there! At least under the sea, you'd have him and maybe even his brothers after they come around.

Sinking to the ocean floor, Yeosang let out a few tears fall out of his eyes and watched as they turned to sea glass, hitting the sandy floor before getting washed away with the slow current.

He's going to have to return you to the surface.

You coughed. Once, twice and a third time until you shot awake, salty water flooding out of your system, each hack paining your lungs and causing your body to shake. Your hair was stuck to your face, every strand, dead and dry as reached up to wring the water out of it.

The ground beneath you was soft and warm and you were reminded of the warm sun that would often soak your bones as you played with Seonghwa in the backyard of your childhood home. It was different that time, the chilling cold of loneliness never cracked at your bones and you were satisfied with your, completely wholesome.

"You...you're awake," you heard a voice say as you sat up, clutching the back of your head in pain. You were half expecting the half fish-man to greet you again but instead, you saw Seonghwa's piercing gaze looking down at you with furrowed eyebrows.

"(Y/n), don't you ever do that again," he said as he collected you in his arms and held you close.

You bit back the feeling of sadness that bubbled up in the back of your throat. You never wanted to see Seonghwa again, your elder brother who had made the recent past of your life a living hell but yet, he tried to talk you down and then was also the one to find you.

You had every reason to be grateful to an extent.

"Seonghwa, just..." you trailed off and pushed your brother off you slightly, dusting the sand that clung to every crevice of your body.

A lump of green caught your eye as you moved to lift yourself up from the sand. Clutching the small parcel like thing, you unwrapped what seemed to be seaweed to find small pieces of translucent sea glass that thrummed under the sweltering sun of the beach. Each one had a blue-ish colour and the familiar blue hue of the half fish-man's tail crept into your head. Shaking your head, you wrapped the seaweed again and tucked the small parcel into drenched clothes.  

"Let's go home, (Y/n)," Seonghwa said as he pulled you forcefully towards town.

Looking back over your shoulder one last time, you blinked as you saw a mop of platinum blond hair bop in the ocean. Just as you snatched your hand out of Seonghwa's to go closer, the ocean stilled again, leaving you with nothing but the curling waves.

"You're thinking about that human," San, one of Yeosang's brothers stated with a sigh as he settled next to Yeosang on the rock.

"No..." Yeosang trailed off and watched the fragments of sea glass drift away into the ocean current that glittered under the sunlight.

"Yes, you are," San pushed and Yeosang just sighed, ripping one of the seaweeds out of its roots and tearing it apart in frustration.

"I'm just so fascinated by (Y/n). There's something about that human that calls to me, San," he said and pouted at the fish that floated through the coral reef.

"Then go to them," San concluded with a determined tone and Yeosang just looked at his brother with narrowed eyes.

"Hongjoong would never allow that," he said and flicked the end of his tail,  losing all hope and sulking.

San sighed in frustration and grabbed Yeosang by the arm, dragging him through the ocean by his arm, inching closer to the surface.

Breaking through the water surface, San and Yeosang settled near a cluster of rocks, the wind whistling and mixing with the ocean sunlight.

Human littered the shore, some walking their dogs and others just sitting on the sand. Yeosang's eyes searched for yours but in a crowd filled with strange limbs, he never saw yours.

"(Y/n)'s not here" he sighed and dived back into the ocean, San following.

As Seonghwa dragged you through town, you found yourself cowering under the gaze of all the individuals you thought you had left behind. The stares and the whispers, isolating you from the world just as they had before.

Seonghwa didn't stop until he had reached your room and pushed you inside of it.

"You're going to stay here until I deem it safe for you to go out again. What do you think mother and father would've thought if they saw you now, huh?" He demanded and you hung your head in shame.

The sound of Seonghwa exiting the room and locking the door echoed through the drab grey walls as you sat on the single bed with white bedsheets wallowing away in your self-pity and loneliness as you had in the past.

Days passed and you found yourself teetering on the edge of insanity, with nothing but the grey walls staring back at you.

Trying your luck for the fourth time today, you banged your hand against the door as the sound of footsteps shuffled closer.

"Seonghwa...please...just please let me out. I'm going to crazy in here," you cried and banged on the door one last time before your brother's face appeared in front of you.

"(Y/n)," he sighed and pushed a plate of food into your hands before closing the door again.

Only this time, you jammed your foot in between, preventing your elder brother from closing the door.

"What-" he started but wasn't able to finish as you thrust the plate of food into his hand, shoving him aside and running towards the front door and throwing yourself to the wind.

Seonghwa watched with frustration in his eyes as you ran, barefoot through the town.

This time, he'd have to let you go, his little sister.

Yeosang yelped with peaking curiosity and a racing heart as he saw a human sitting on the same cluster of rocks he had first seen you on. Said human was bleeding from their toes, scrubbing at them with saltwater furiously.

The merman found himself thinking about you again as he inched closer, hoping it was you.

Ripples formed in the water under you, causing you to look up and squint into the distance. A familiar blue tail diving into the distance caught your attention as you hurried to your feet, diving into the ocean again, trying your best to follow the tail.

The gashes on your feet stung with the salt being rubbed in the wounds but you wanted to catch the blue tail. Your lungs burned, the lack of oxygen reaching your head, making you dizzy.

Before you knew it, a hand reached to grab your ankle, pulling you close and into their chest. You opened your eyes, eyeball stinging as you saw Yeosang in front of you, his platinum blond hair sticking up in the water.

You opened your mouth in shock, a rush of bubbles leaving your mouth as Yeosang drew you close and pressed his lips to yours.

There was a sense of urgency in the kiss, desperation that you had never felt as he moulded his lips against yours, air entering your system, flooding it to life.

You pushed yourself away from him, feet kicking as you tried to reach the surface, clawing at our throat to rid the closing feeling.

Yeosang rubbed at your arms in an indication to calm down.

"(Y/n), just calm down and take deep breaths," he said and but you shook your head and continued to struggle, pulling away from him with thrashing arms.

He was trying to kill you.

"Just please, let me go. I'll find a way to go back to the island you had held me on, I don't want to die like this," you said and breathed in only for Yeosang to chuckle and stroke your cheek.

He found you so impossibly endearing that his brother's words felt like some sort of blur in his mind.

"You can breathe fine," he said and let you go, only for you to freeze up and take another breath just to make sure you weren't dreaming.

Your throat opened up and found yourself taking deeper inhales just to put Yeosang's theory to test.

"Holy shit," you whispered as you stared at the blue-tailed boy in front of you.

"How did you...what did you?" Your lack of words made Yeosang smile as he swam towards you slowly, pulling you by the arm and leading you deeper into the water,

The water shimmered under the sunlight that reached the surface as the bottom morphed into an inky blue. Fish of different colours swam by you as they tickled your skin, giggles escaping you at the sensation.

Yeosang stayed quiet as he watched you marvel at everything his world could offer.

If only he was a human or you were a mermaid, maybe he would have an actual chance at winning your heart. This thought made Yeosang frown as his heart dropped to his stomach. His sensitive scales bristled against the water due to his sudden mood change and you felt the water around you get colder.

"Are you okay, fish-man?" You asked and drew your eyebrows in with concern.

Yeosang shook his head and scoffed lightly, trying his best to change his mood and divert your attention to another topic.

"My name isn't fish-man. It's Yeosang, I've already mentioned it to you before."

There was a tone of annoyance in his voice and you couldn't help but give him a playful smile which he happily returned.

Swimming further, Yeosang led you back to the small island where you had first woken up.

Hosting yourself up onto the rocks, you looked around at the drab atmosphere and inhaled, feeling good to have some oxygen in you.

"Isn't there any vegetation here?" You asked and Yeosang just tilted his head in confusion.

"This is the only part that's connected to the water. You can try and find a way out but I won't be able to help you," he said and brought the tip of his fins out of the tail, flicking some water at you.

"Oh, alright," you said, slightly disheartened at the reminder that Yeosang wasn't human like you.

Yeosang must have seen the drop of your expression as he quickly swam up to you and hoisted himself up so that he was at the same level as you.

"You'll never be alone, though," he said and pushed some of your wet hair out of your face.

"You're still a stranger to me," you whispered back and he smiled.

"You're not one to me and I'll try my best to not be one to you either. Although now that I've saved your life twice, I would say we're past the stranger phase."

You gave a dry laugh and squeezed some of the water out of your clothes causing the seaweed wrapped sea glass fragments to fall out.

You reached up to tuck it back into your clothes when Yeosang's hand grabbed it first.

"You...you found this?" He asked and you nodded, slightly scared he was going to accuse you fo stealing something precious.

"What is it?" You asked, voice pitchy as you tried to hide your growing panic.

"My tears," he said and you found all panic fade as sadness replaced it instead.

Silence lingered in the air as you stared at the translucent blue glass pieces.

"I'm sorry," you whispered and he just shook his head.

"It's alright, I left them with you for a reason. I just didn't think you would find them, let alone keep them," he finished and pushed himself back into the water.

"They're very tragically beautiful," you said and laid them out in front of you. They had faded in colour a little but they still no doubt resembled Yeosang's blue tail.

"My brothers just don't understand my fondness for you," he sighed and pushed himself below the water before raising his eyes to meet you again.

You pushed your legs forward, just enough to dip your toes into the water.

Yeosang swam around in circles before stopping in front of you.

"Hey, (Y/n)," he said and cocked his head like a little puppy asking for a treat.

You hummed in response, completely ignoring the fact that he knew your name even though you never told him.

"Who's that human that always makes you sad? He was there when I saw you jump from the cliff."

The question made you stiffen and stare at your toes as they dipped in and out of the water.

"His name's Seonghwa...he's my elder brother," you said and Yeosang just nodded, oddly watching your legs.

"I don't like him," he concluded like a small child and you laughed, tilting your head back and Yeosang swore it was the prettiest sound that had ever graced his ears.

"I don't either," you said and rested your chin on your folded elbows that were rested on top of your knees.

"I can sacrifice him to the sirens, if you want," Yeosang suggested and you laughed again.

"That's so romantic," you said and smiled at the way Yeosang's face lit up.

"Anything for you," he said and your heart soared at the declaration. This half fish-man wore his heart on his sleeve and it seemed as if it was for you.

"Thank you, that'd be nice."

Silence once again engulfed the atmosphere as you watched Yeosang play with the water. It was comforting to hear the water drip from the jagged edges of the rock.

"Hey, (Y/n)," he asked once again and you raised your head.

"Yeah?"

"What are those strange things attached to your lower body?" He asked with a certain childlike innocence that made you want to coo and stroke his hair.

"You mean..." you sniggered and pulled your legs closer.

"My legs?" Your lips curled up into a smile as you broke out into the heartiest laughter that ever racked your body.

"Oh, they're called legs. What about those small fingers?" He said and touched one of your toes, swimming back slightly when you wiggled them in his face.

"They're called toes," you said and watched in inhumane curiosity as Yeosang inspected them, only to bring his face close and sniff them.

"What are you- no! You're not supposed to put them in your mouth! Yeosang, stop!"

The waves crashed onto the shore as you peeked down at the sea with a smile on your face.

The sun was bright above your head as the cool wind blew through your hair, making you close your eyes and reminisce in the feeling.

"(Y/n)," you heard a voice call and you giggled at the smooth tone of the voice that was calling your name.

"Are you ready?" Yeosang called and you smiled, crossing your arms over your chest and jumping into the water below, squealing due to the pure delight.

Landing in the water with a gush of bubbles, Yeosang wrapped you in his arms, pulling you close for a kiss as he gifted you with the ability to breathe underwater.

"Let's go," he said and you nodded, letting yourself be pulled by Yeosang as you watched his blue scales twinkle in the ocean and his tail flicker seamlessly along with the current.

You were finally free.

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[writingfeatherduster]

A Warm Feeling, Chapter Four

Chapter Four: Mutual Care

Part One | Part Three | Part Five Word count: 4268 Warnings for this chapter: Illness, panic attacks

Read this on Archive of Our Own and Wattpad!

“Yeah, I got him to eat a little bit when I brought him home. He just looks so… I dunno, dim? His temperature is only 317… Yeah, Al, I know that’s low, that’s why I called!”

Sans paced nervously as he glanced at the living room couch, talking to Alphys over the phone. Once again, he found Grillby laying there, but this time was much less endearing. The flames that formed his body didn’t seem to burn as brightly as usual, and he looked downright sickly. This wasn’t something that had come on suddenly, either. Sans felt like an idiot. Thinking back to the past few days, he should have noticed that Grillby was moving slower. The bartender had been having trouble keeping up with orders lately, and there were moments where he’d even spilled drinks because his hands were shaking. Sans chalked it all up to him being busier than usual, but he should have known better. The last thing Grillby needed- no the last thing Grillby deserved was for Sans to be dismissive of obvious cries for help.

Guilt gnawed at the skeleton’s bones. Why did he let Grillby go home alone the night before? Why didn’t he say anything when his food was underdone? Why didn’t he just pay more attention? If their places were reversed, Grillby would have caught on to Sans’s ailment and made him rest days ago. Grillby was observant like that. He was a good, attentive friend. Was it really that much to ask for Sans to return the favor?

Thankfully, it didn’t seem like the situation was dire. After giving Alphys a rundown of everything that had happened, she seemed optimistic. “W-well,” the scientist stuttered over the phone, “It sounds like t-t-to me that, um, that he’s just been o-overworked. When- well, um, when y-y-you work too much, it c-catches up to you eventually, right? A few days, um, a few days of r-rest should- um, it should help him perk right back up! I think, heheh, heh…”

Sans sighed in relief. “Thanks, Al. I’m just glad he’s not dying or something.”

“He’ll b-be fine,” Alphys reassured. “Just k-k-keep an eye on him, and, u-um, and call me if he gets- if anything else happens.”

“Will do. Thanks.” Sans hung up the phone, looking back at the sleeping bartender. It was nerve-wracking to see him so still. What would have happened if Sans didn’t check on him? The door was unlocked! Anyone could have come in, and that ‘anyone’ could have been a monster with way more malicious intentions than Sans! The thought made the skeleton shudder, ice settling into his bones. What if Grillby hadn’t gotten home safely the night before? What if he’d frozen to death? He should have at least walked him home. Isn’t that what Grillby did, when he was worried about Sans? He said something, he acted, he made sure that Sans was okay and safe and taken care of. Sans had noticed the bartender struggling, and what did he do? Looked the other way. Why would he do that? Grillby could have been seriously hurt! Not that he wasn’t already! What if he had a concussion from the fall? Or sprained something?

“...Sans…”

The skeleton gasped, head jerking up. Grillby was awake, weakly reaching out and putting his hand on Sans’s arm. Sans sniffled, only then realizing that he’d been crying as he spiraled. He wiped at his eye sockets with his sleeve, sitting on the edge of the couch next to the fire monster. “Y-you’re awake,” he mumbled shakily. “You really had me scared there for a second, heh.”

“Well, there’s nothing to fear,” Grillby said with a small smile, voice a little raspy from days of nonstop talking to customers. He sat up slowly, leaning back up against the pillows before opening his arms to Sans. “Come here.”

Sans hesitated for just a moment… and then he was in Grillby’s arms, hugging tightly as he started to cry again. “I thought you were dying! Or Fallen Down, or something!” Sans said through his tears. He felt silly and selfish. Grillby was the one who was sick, and yet here he was, comforting Sans again. The skeleton suddenly sat up, upset with himself. “No, cut that out. I should be taking care of you right now, not- ugh!” He pulled his hoodie up over his head, embarrassed and ashamed. “Now is not the time to be worried about me, Grillbz.”

Grillby frowned at him, adjusting his glasses. “Sans-”

“No,” Sans huffed, cutting him off. “You need to be resting. You can’t prioritize me over your own health.”

“Sans, please-”

“And you really should have taken a break days ago,” Sans interrupted once again. “I know I’m not one to talk, but you’ve gotta pay attention to yourself! I know you like your job and your customers and all but it does no one any good if you work yourself to-”

“SANS.” Grillby raised his voice a bit, reaching forward and lifting the skeleton’s chin to make him look at him. Sans immediately felt guilty for the lecture, seeing the expression on the bartender’s face. Grillby was hunched in on himself, shoulders hitched up slightly with tension. Sans could feel where the fire monster’s hand trembled slightly against his skull. What broke the skeleton, though? Tears were forming in Grillby’s eyes, shining under his glasses for a split second before disappearing in a puff of steam. Sand had never, ever seen Grillby cry, and the quickly growing trails of steam coming off the bartender’s eyes made him feel like his soul was cracking.

Grillby lowered his hand, bringing it to his chest as his gaze dropped to his lap. His voice was barely more than a whisper, vulnerable and wavering. “I know,” he said softly, “I know. I just- please… Can I have a hug?”

God, Sans was an idiot. “Of course, Grillbz, come here.” He really couldn’t do anything right, could he? He moved forward again, taking the fire monster into his arms and rubbing his back. “Shh, hey, I’m sorry, don’t cry. I didn’t mean it. I’m not mad at you, it’s okay. You’re gonna be okay. I’ve got you.” Grillby always knew what Sans needed. He knew the skeleton so well, from his schedule to his habits to his anxiety. How much did Sans know about Grillby, though? He never asked him many questions about his personal life. He didn’t ask about his family. Hell, he rarely even asked if Grillby was okay. He was starting to realize… this relationship was one-sided, wasn’t it? Well…

Sans would do everything in his power to remedy that.

Comforting his best friend on the couch, Sans made a silent promise to himself and Grillby. He was going to be a better friend, and he was going to take care of his bartender. This time, he would be the one making sure that Grillby didn’t come apart.

Grillby had stopped crying some time ago, but he stayed in Sans’s arms anyway, head resting against Sans’s shoulder as he took long, deep breaths. His head was pounding and his limbs felt like they were made of lead, a sore ache seeming to fill his body down to his soul. The past several days of unrelenting work and exercise were catching up to him, and he found himself feeling sicker than he’d ever felt before. He wasn’t sure why he pushed himself so hard. He’d been fairly good at taking periodic breaks when he needed them before, he just…

Well. He wanted to see Sans.

Business was business, but certain kinds of business could feel unwelcome and overwhelming in the moment. Customers were rude, offhanded comments stung, and the behaviors of some of his customers could get irritating. If there was one thing he could always look forward to, though, it was seeing his favorite skeleton. As soon as that familiar blue jacket came through the door, something in him would ease, and he would be able to push himself through the rest of the night with the promise of getting to talk to the one person he could consider a close friend. Recently, that desire to see Sans had been bordering on desperation. He’d considered asking Sans if he would like to meet outside of work, on Grillby’s days off, but was that overstepping? Would that be awkward?

Wrapped in Sans’s embrace, those fears felt silly. Of course Sans wouldn’t mind it. Grillby wasn’t sure what had pushed them past that line of a bartender/customer relationship, but he felt like they were suddenly much closer. Maybe it was the night Grillby had walked Sans home. Maybe it was the afternoon he’d coaxed Sans into resting, wrapping him in his coat and tucking him into bed before staying the night to make sure he didn’t feel alone.

Maybe it was the way he felt himself fluster at the soft compliments and praise Sans gave him to help him keep going. Maybe it was the familiar amusement and fondness that filled his chest when he and Sans went back and forth with their usual banter. Maybe it was because he still hadn’t mentioned his missing jacket.

Grillby felt Sans’s hand move up to the back of his head, the skeleton running his fingers through the flames that acted as Grillby’s hair. For some reason, it made the bartender want to cry again. Instead, he took a deep, shaky breath, and curled closer to Sans, seeking out that familiar comfort. For the first time in days, he was sure that he was going to be okay.

Sans wasn’t sure how long he spent comforting Grillby, but by the time the fire monster had relaxed all the way, it was nearly time for lunch. He could tell that the bartender had exhausted himself with his tears, but he needed to eat something before he went back to sleep. He had a lot of calories to catch up on, after all.

The skeleton slowly pulled away, cupping Grillby’s cheek. “Hey, I know you’re tired, but you need to eat something first. I’ll make up some ramen real quick, ‘kay?”

Grillby nodded tiredly, leaning into Sans’s touch for a moment. His hand came up to rest over Sans’s as he closed his eyes. “Thank you,” he sighed. “I… I needed that.”

“I could tell,” Sans chuckled gently. “Just try to stay awake while I whip up some grub. I’ll be right back.” He let go of the fire monster and stood, stretching before wandering to the kitchen. His soul was pounding in his ribcage. The warm, gentle way that Grillby looked at him was seared into his mind. The skeleton couldn’t quite identify what it made him feel, but he liked it way too much. He was pretty sure that if Grillby looked at him that way all the time, he would melt.

Shaking off whatever that feeling had been, Sans put a pot of water on the stove, rummaging around in the cabinets until he found a packet of instant noodles. He was glad he still had a few packs left. While there was plenty of semi-edible spaghetti in the fridge, the microwave was still sitting out in Snowdin Forest. Since, you know, Frisk hadn’t come through there yet.

The thought of Frisk made Sans drop the pack of noodles on the floor. Shit. He hadn’t been at his post once all day. What if the human had come out of the Ruins? And Sans wasn’t keeping an eye on them? How had he forgotten about them? He wasn’t sure what they were planning, but at this point, he was sure it couldn’t be good. He had to be there to make sure he was the first person they saw. He had to be keeping an eye out.

“Sans?” Grillby called out, sitting up a bit straighter. He’d heard the skeleton freeze up and drop the package, immediately worried. “Is everything alright?”

Right. Grillby needed someone to watch over him today. Sans could call Papyrus, but the taller skeleton brother could be a bit… much. Sans loved his brother, but when it came to caring for others, Papyrus’s constant energy could be overwhelming. He considered his options carefully. He could go out to his post and hope that Frisk hadn’t already come through, leaving Grillby alone, or he could stay home and just pray that today would be just like the past two weeks.

For the first time in a long time, Sans found that he had a higher priority than watching that damn door in the woods.

“Yeah, everything’s good. Just dropped something,” Sans called to Grillby as he picked up the instant noodles and opened the package, waiting for the water to boil. Even if Frisk did show up, it was unlikely that Sans would be able to do anything about it, right? Right. He could do something about Grillby’s condition, so that was what he would do.

Once Grillby had eaten something, he had enough energy left in him for Sans to get a better grasp on the bartender’s condition. Grillby admitted to having a headache, and he told Sans that he was so sore that he barely felt like he could move. He also hadn’t had much of an appetite over the last few days, but he was starting to get hungry again, so that was probably just the stress. Sans checked his temperature again and was relieved to find that it was steadily rising to normal now that the fire monster had some ‘fuel’ in him (Grillby groaned at that one). Once the little check-up was over, Sans gave Grillby some painkillers and brought a blanket for him. “You sure you don’t want me to move you somewhere more comfortable? I practically carried you to my house, I’m pretty sure I could help you up the stairs and get you into a bed…”

Grillby shook his head, regretting the action as it immediately started to throb again. “No, I’m- I’m fine here,” he managed. “The idea of moving at all is less than savory at the moment.”

“Fair,” Sans mumbled, handing him the blanket. “Well, just get some rest, okay? You need it. I’ll be right here if you need anything.”

Grillby didn’t have to be told twice. He laid back down with a sigh, covering himself with the blanket and pulling it to his chest. “Thank you,” he said softly, closing his eyes and letting himself relax.

Sans chuckled, some of his anxiety finally easing off. “Don’t mention it, Grillbz. Sleep tight.”

Over the next few days, Sans stayed home with Grillby, keeping an eye on his recovery. The fire monster was bouncing back pretty fast, though he did spend most of his time sleeping. They fell into a sort of routine. Sans would wake him- if Papyrus hadn’t already woken him up on accident- and ask him how he was feeling. Grillby would give him the rundown, then the two would have breakfast before Grillby went back to sleep. Sans would wake him up again for lunch, and at that point, the fire monster usually had a little bit more energy in him. He’d stay up for a few hours just talking with Sans before he ran out of steam and had to take another nap. Papyrus would come home in the evening and inevitably wake Grillby by accident, so Grillby would stay up for the rest of the evening, eating dinner with the skeletons and talking to Papyrus about his day.

Sans was a little surprised at how well Grillby and Paps got along. Grillby was pretty patient with him, even if he had to ask the skeleton to lower his volume a few times. He let Papyrus ramble about puzzle ideas and cooking, even throwing in a few tips of his own on how Papyrus could improve his spaghetti. People were polite enough to Paps, but Sans had seen plenty of times how other monsters could be dismissive of his brother. A few would even be downright rude, telling Papyrus that they didn’t care and asking him to just be quiet. With as composed and quiet as Grillby could be, Sans worried that he wouldn’t get along well with Paps, so it was a nice surprise to see them hitting it off so well.

The routine was nice. Grillby’s health steadily improved over the next weeks or so, to the point that Sans was comfortable leaving him home alone and going back to sentry duty. He was still nervous about the idea of Grillby going back to work, but he also had to admit, the bartender was getting restless. Sans managed to get him to agree to three more days before he opened the bar back up again.

Sans went over all of this in his head as he walked towards his station, feet crunching in the snow. It had been a long time since he felt this relaxed. He was… happy. Yeah. He was really, genuinely happy.

Of course, that wasn’t meant to last.

As the door in the woods came into sight, Sans stopped dead in his tracks. There were no footprints in the snow, no indication anyone had left the Ruins. The door was closed, undoubtedly locked tightly from the inside. Everything was as it should have been at a glance, but Sans had learned to pay careful attention to detail.

The snow at the base of the door had been moved. There was a small pile of it where the door had been pushed open slightly, as if someone had just peeked out before changing their mind and closing it again. It was a small reminder. Frisk hadn’t left the Ruins yet, but they were still there. Sans still didn’t know what they were doing, waiting all this time.

Why? Why did they have to remind Sans they were there, and why then? What the hell were they doing in the Ruins?

The skeleton teleported to the door, anxiety filling him as he did. He didn’t bother knocking, because he knew there would be no answer. Toriel never answered when Frisk was with her. She was too busy… or too dead. The thought made Sans go cold. What if Frisk hurt Toriel again? What if they were just coming up with new, crueler ways to torment them? And if they were, what could Sans do about it?

Sans sat in front of the door, trying to take deep breaths only to find his ribcage wouldn’t expand as far as he needed it to, making him gasp weakly for air. He was helpless. He was useless. Frisk had learned every trick Sans had. It didn’t matter if he confronted them in the judgment hall or the moment they left the Ruins. He would fail to protect anyone Frisk decided needed to die. Sans couldn’t breathe. Frisk could be fucking torturing Toriel and the innocent monsters of the Ruins and what could Sans do? Absolutely nothing. He couldn’t breathe. Frisk could be waiting right on the other side of that door, listening to Sans choke and laughing at him. Were they messing with him on purpose? Did it matter? No matter what they did, they never faced any real consequences. Sans did everything he could and every time, Frisk just Reset and started over.

Sans’s vision was starting to get blurry, his pupils fading out. He pulled his knees to his chest and covered his skull with his hands, shivering. Any moment, everything Sans had done in the last month could be erased. Every moment he shared with Papyrus, the friendship he found himself sharing with Grillby, all of it could be gone in a moment and the skeleton could do nothing.

The skeleton vaguely registered that he was spiraling, but he couldn’t pull himself out of it. He couldn’t protect the monsters he loved. He swore he heard Frisk laughing at him. He couldn’t protect their memories, their lives, their progress. “Sans.” He was useless. He couldn’t breathe. “Sans, look at me.” Look at who? He couldn’t see. He couldn’t calm down, panic pulling at his soul. Was he dying? “Can you hear me? Sans, you have to breathe.” He couldn’t. He was going to die. Everyone was going to die. There was nothing he could do. “Sans, stop, you’re going to hurt yourself.” Was he? It didn’t matter.

Whoever was talking to the skeleton seemed to understand what was going on, taking matters into their own hands. “Sans, I’m going to hold your wrists, alright?” Okay. Sans vaguely registered a familiar warmth envelope his wrists and pull his hands away from where he’d been digging them into his soul. “I’m going to put my arms around you, just for a moment.” Do whatever you want. The skeleton was wrapped in a gentle embrace, pulled forward so that he was sitting in someone’s lap. “I’m going to hold your hands now. Focus on your hands. Focus on my breathing and try to match it.” Sans could feel the steady rise and fall of someone’s chest against his back. He focused on the pattern as someone took both his hands and started to rub gentle lines up and down the bones. It was the same pattern as the person’s breathing, and surprisingly, it helped him focus a bit. Sans felt his ribcage start to relax as he fell into that pattern. He realized his eye sockets were closed and slowly forced them open.

Sans was facing away from the door and away from the road, staring into Snowdin Forest. He was still shaking from adrenaline, but it didn’t feel like his soul was about to be torn apart anymore. Someone had him in his lap, and after a moment he realized that someone was humming. He looked down at where they had started rubbing circles into his palms. The hands that held his so gently were made of familiar orange and yellow flames, the light reflecting off the snow in an oddly comforting way.

The skeleton looked up at Grillby, exhausted as he came down from his panic attack. Grillby smiled gently at him, letting go of one of Sans’s hands to brush away the skeleton’s tears. “There you are,” the bartender mumbled softly. “It’s alright. You’re safe. I’m here.”

And when Grillby said that with so much certainty, how could Sans not believe him?

Sans wasn’t sure how long he spent curled up in Grillby’s lap, but it was longer than he liked to admit. The bartender had carried him away from that godforsaken door and sat with him behind the skeleton’s sentry station, effectively shielding him from the world for a little while. God, what would Sans have done if Grillby hadn’t come to his rescue? Sans’s memories of the last who-knows-how-long were blurry, but he vaguely remembered Grillby warning him that he was going to hurt himself. The skeleton only had 1 HP. What if he really had hurt himself, and badly?

As grateful as the skeleton was, there was a more pressing question in the front of his mind. “Grillbz? What are you doing out here? You’re supposed to be resting…”

Grillby sighed, having expected that. “I know, I know,” he conceded, “But I got restless, and… you forgot to take lunch with you this morning.”

Sans sat up a bit, eye sockets wide. “You didn’t.”

“Well,” the bartender chuckled, “As… interesting as Papyrus’s spaghetti is, I had a feeling you might have missed this.” He shifted a bit and reached up to the counter of Sans’s sentry station, grabbing a brown paper bag that Sans had somehow missed. When Grillby set it in his lap, Sans could feel that the bar was still warm.

Sans eagerly looked in the bag, a particular craving he’d been ignoring the past few days hitting him at full force. A burger, a basket of fries, and a bottle of ketchup. He pulled the burger out and dug in, groaning through a mouthful of food. He swallowed and sighed contently, leaning back against Grillby’s chest. “God, I missed your cooking.”

“I’m glad you enjoy it,” Grillby said through another light chuckle.

“Enjoy it? I’ve been practically in withdrawal the last few days, Grillbz.” Sans took another large bite out of his burger, washing it down with a sip of ketchup. After a moment of consideration, he took a fry out of the bag and held it up towards Grillby. “Couldn’t help but notice you didn’t bring anything for yourself,” the skeleton explained.

Grillby smiled a bit. “I appreciate it, but I can eat later.”

Sans just held it up higher, insistent. “Dude. Just take the fry.”

Grillby arched an eyebrow, then gave Sans a small, mischievous smile. “Alright, fine.” He leaned forward and took it from Sans with his mouth, smirking at him.

Sans nearly choked, covering his face with his hands. “Oh my god, Grillbz, you can’t just do that.”

Grilby laughed at him. “What? I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about,” the bartender teased, wrapping his arms around Sans’s waist.

“You know what? Fine.” Two could play at that game. Sans picked up another fry, holding it to Grillby’s lips. “Eat something, you dork.”

The skeleton would never get enough of the beautiful way Grillby glowed when he blushed.

End Chapter Four

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[lonelyreputation]

Different (part four)

A/N: WOW! So much later than anticipated!! My apologies! Took me some time to write & edit! But here ya go 💫 Part ~four 🥳 There’s only one more part after this, woot woot!! 

THANKS A MILLION FOR ALL OF YOUR LOVELY WORDS AND KIND MESSAGES!!! 🤗💞🌻 I appreciate all of you to no end I love you all so much 🤧 I’d love to hear your thoughts!!

REQUEST/PROMPT: Unrequited Love

Part ONE | Part TWO | Part THREE

Let’s Chat!! | MASTERLIST | Add Yourself To My Taglist!

Warnings: Few swear words

WC: 4.1K // only a ~smidge of angst

-

It had been two months since you started walking in a different park; two months since Shawn had spilled tea on you.  Two months since your last contact with him.  And while it initially hurt seeing him, after a few days, you were starting to feel somewhat normal.

While two months felt like a blink of an eye, it had been a total of eight months since you last really saw Shawn.  Eight months since that explosive argument where you put it all on the line for him and he cut you loose.  Well, you cut yourself out from his life, but that was because you knew it was to keep your sanity above anything else.

It took some time adjusting to a new park, but all in all, you found it more peaceful than the last.  And that was probably due to the fact that you now had a walking partner.  Since Brian took you out for coffee, he weaved his way back into your life.  So for the last two months, you had spent it drinking an insane amount of caffeine, and getting some light exercise with Brian.

It felt nice rekindling your friendship with him.  While at the time, it made sense to cut anyone out of your life who connected you to Shawn, now you saw how much of a mistake that was.  Because as you walked into the frigid February air, feeling as if icicles were hitting your skin, you finally had a close enough friend you felt comfortable confiding your secrets in.

“I’m seeing someone,” you dug your mitten-clad hands further into your jacket pocket as the wind picked up.

For a second, you thought the wind had picked up your secret, but when you turned your head to look at Brian, there was a very concentrated look on his face.  You elbowed his side, and he was brought out of whatever world he found himself in, as a smile lit up his face, “That’s––Wow, Y/n, that’s great.”  

“Thanks,” you shrugged off his forced tone of excitement.

While his smile was genuine you could see it in his eyes, and hear it in his voice, that he was thinking something different.

“Who’s the lucky guy?”

Another howl of wind came through as you tilted your head down and to the side, bracing the cold impact, you almost didn’t hear the word lucky.

You waited until the wind died down to speak up, “His name’s Charlie.”  And a soft smile made its way across your face as you thought about the date he took you on two nights ago, “He’s really sweet.”

The wind picked up again when you were explaining to Brian how you met him through a mutual friend.  And while you had only been seeing him for a little over a month, things were still casual between the two of you, but you could see the relationship progressing into something more serious.  

In the past, you had been so hung up on your fantasy with Shawn––the clichè story of how the two best friends fell in love––that you brushed off every guy who tried to make an advance on you.  And it wasn’t until you had spent the whole party laughing with Charlie that you realized Shawn never held back when it came to girls around him.

So this time, you weren’t holding back.

“I’m happy for you, really,” Brian threw an arm around your shoulder to give you a quick side hug, and it was the first time he sounded genuine, “You really deserve this.”

“Yeah,” it was the first time the wind decided to stay quiet, and you spoke confidently, “I do.”

The rest of your walk was silent as the two of you enjoyed the company of each other.  There was something so soothing about not feeling pressured to fill the void of silence with noncommittal conversation.  It was something you missed about having a best friend.

When you completed your walk, about to ask Brian when the next time he would be up for a walk, he cut you off, “We’re––I’m having a little get together in a few nights,” he rocked back on his heels, “You should bring your boyfriend.”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” you quickly corrected him.

Brian rolled his eyes, “But really, I’d like to meet him.”  You nodded, keeping silent, because you knew that Brian was holding back on some key information.  And with a sigh, he answered what you already expected to be true, “Shawn might stop by, but he said he didn’t know if he would be up for socializing.”

Even after eight months of voluntarily avoiding him, there was still a sharp zip of pain that stung your chest when you heard his name.

“It’s fine if he's there,” you tried to brush it off and act nonchalant, when on the inside, you were going absolutely insane, “I’m over him.” Brian raised his eyebrows, not believing your statement, and you let out a huff, “Fine, okay.  Maybe I’m not totally over him, but…” you kicked up some dirt and whispered, “I’m really trying.”

Brian smiled and wrapped his arms around you, “That’s all that matters,” he squeezed you tight, “And if that new boy makes you happy then that’s a plus.”

“Yeah,” your voice was muffled from your head being buried into his puffy winter jacket, “I’m happy.”

///

You decided to invite Charlie to Brian’s get together.

You briefly mentioned it as an offhand comment as the two of you were doing dishes together; he was washing and you were drying.  You held your hand out, expecting to be passed another plate, but were met with air.  So when you looked up to see him stop mid-wash, with a smile on his face, you knew it was the right call to bring him and a smile instantly lightened up your face.

“So this is Brian’s place?” Charlie said as the two of you rode up the elevator.  

He couldn’t keep the smile off his face as he was practically jumping up and down in the elevator.  He was almost too excited to meet your friends while all you felt was nauseous.  All of the worst case scenarios ran through your head and everything kept circling back to Shawn.

What if Shawn was there? What would Shawn do? Would Shawn care? Did Shawn even know you were seeing someone?

But you shook your head clear of all the ‘what ifs.’  You were done focusing on those eight months ago.

When the elevator dinged onto Brian’s floor, you couldn’t help but return Charlie’s infectious smile as you grabbed a hold of his hand and walked off the elevator.

Walking down the hallway to Brian’s apartment felt like an eternity, but when you got to the door with 643 nailed onto it, you could hear the hoots and hollers of insanity.  You didn’t bother knocking as you turned the door knob and came face-to-face with Brian, down on one knee, chugging whatever he had in the red solo cup.

Once finished, he threw the cup onto the ground as people around him cheered.  You looked at Charlie with raised eyebrows and an apologetic smile, “That’s Brian––”

“Y/n!”

You weren’t able to finish your sentence as your hand was ripped away from Charlie’s and you were brought into a bone crushing hug.

“Oh, Y/n I’ve missed you,” Brain fake cried into your shoulder.

“It’s been two days,” you patted his shoulder and looked back at Charlie who had an amused smile on his face.

“Too long,” Brian laughed as he let you out of his hold and turned around, “You must be Charlie.”

He nodded his head and took Brian’s outstretched hand in his.  They exchanged pleasantries and talked for a few moments before you excused yourself to get a drink from the kitchen.  You were in the middle of making yourself a vodka coke when Charlie slid up next to you.  

Automatically a smile made its way onto your face as you handed him a sip of your drink.  He took a sip and scrunched his nose up, “Did you put any coke in that?”  You threw your head back in laughter and took the cup from his hand, “Is getting through a night with me so hard you need that much alcohol?”

From the glint in his eyes and the teasing tone he spoke with, you knew he was joking.  But you weren’t going to lie to yourself and say that you were just taking precautionary measures in case Shawn decided to show up.

Charlie tapped his fingertips on the top of your hand, and you flipped your hand over, palm facing upwards as he slotted his fingers with yours.

You smiled up at him, “I would never need that much alcohol for you.”

He let out a laugh as he reached over the counter and grabbed a regular soda can.  When you offered him alcohol to mix with his drink he shook his head and said something along the lines of being the designated driver.  

But his words were lost on you as you heard someone call out your name.

“Y/n?” The crack of the soda can wasn’t loud enough to drown out the voice you hadn’t heard since he spilled tea on you.

Your eyes widened, and your first thought was that you hadn’t had enough to drink yet to face him.  Charlie looked down at you, with a mixture of concern and amusement, as you downed half of your drink before facing your ex-best friend.

“Shawn, hey,” you tried your best to smile as he stood in front of you in the red shirt you bought him for his twenty-first birthday, “How are you?”

He looked a little shocked as he stared at the half-empty cup on the counter he saw you make just minutes before.  But then you saw his eyes glance over to your hand intertwined with Charlie’s.  It was a subtle look, but his dumbfounded expression morphed into one of confusion as he scrunched his eyebrows together.

He opened and closed his mouth like a fish, thinking he found the right words to say, but backtracking because he knew anything he said wouldn’t be good enough.

“Charlie,” you cleared your throat, “This is Shawn, and Shawn this is, Charlie, we’re––”

“Hey,” Shawn interrupted you before you could define your relationship status in front of him, “Nice to meet you.”

Charlie smiled, excited to meet another one of your friends, “Hey man, love your music.”  

There was always part of you that thought it would’ve been better if you told Charlie the whole truth about your friendship with Shawn, so that he’d understand how much you didn’t want to hear him genuinely compliment his music.  But all that you revealed to Charlie was that Shawn had been a friend for a few years; nothing less and definitely nothing more.  

A tight smile formed on Shawn’s face, but his eyes were dull, “Appreciate it.”

Charlie untangled your fingers and threw the arm around your shoulder, pulling you in close to his side, “This one always skips it when it comes on shuffle.”

Charlie was the only one laughing.  You stood frozen with your eyes wide staring at Shawn, as you felt your heart drop in your stomach.  Shawn also stood frozen, but his eyes were wide with perplexion and a hint of sadness.

“I just think it’s weird hearing a friend singing unexpectedly on my phone,” you tried to play it off with a shrug and Shawn let out a weak laugh.

“She doesn’t even eat tacos,” he let out another laugh as he pressed a kiss to the top of your head, Shawn’s eyes narrowing in on the action, “This one,” he playfully rolled his eyes as he looked down at you with an affectionate smile, “She’s different.”

Your body froze up.

Different.

Shawn froze up as his eyes widened just a smidge.  It seemed as though everyone at the party disappeared and you and Shawn were transported to the night you overheard him in the bathroom.  She’s different, he said about you, she’s just a friend.

You had no reason to be upset.  You were almost completely over your best friend who had broken your heart.  But standing in between a guy who you currently had feelings for, and the guy who you used to love…That word made your skin crawl.

You tried to lighten the situation by laughing; it was forced, Charlie didn’t seem to notice as he joined in on your laughter, but with one look at Shawn…You knew he could tell you weren’t genuinely laughing.

Shawn only stayed for a few more moments before saying he saw someone he hadn’t seen in forever.  With the pointed look in his eyes, and how he stretched out the word forever, you knew he was talking about you.  But he seemed to grasp the awkwardness of the situation and let you be with Charlie.

He took a sip of his soda, “He seems really cool, does he have a girlfriend? Maybe we could double date.”

His comment was casual, with an obvious playful tone, but you felt your hands start to sweat and bile stinging the back of your throat.  He had no idea, but that was your absolute worst nightmare.  Hearing about all of his dates when you were best friends was torture enough.  But to actually see him on a date?

“I’m just going to go to the bathroom,” you pressed a quick kiss on Charlie's lips and patted his chest, “I think Brian is in the living room?”

Charlie nodded his head enthusiastically and was already off searching for Brian before you left the kitchen.  You finished the rest of your drink, throwing the plastic cup in the trash bin, before hastily making your way to Brian’s room.  He always kept his room off limits during a party, but you knew he would let it slide for you.  

You rushed in, closing the door softly behind you, and went to sit at the bottom of his bed.  You leaned your elbows on your knees and rested your head in your hands.

You were over Shawn.  You had someone else in your life who made you laugh, brought a smile to your face, and would surprise you with takeaway food and a movie when he knew you had a rough day.  Charlie was nothing but kind and supportive of everything in your life, and you were upset with yourself because why couldn’t you love Charlie like you loved Shawn.

Charlie reciprocated your feelings; he was a good guy.  So why, just moments ago, did you feel more butterflies in your stomach when Shawn was in front of you than you ever did standing next to Charlie?

The door creaked open, and you saw a sliver of the hall light creep into the dark room, “I know I’m not supposed to be in here, Brian, but I really needed to clear my head––”

“It’s not Brian.”

Your head shot up and you were met with Shawn staring at you.  His hands were tucked into the front pockets of his black jeans, and while he tried to look as neutral as possible, he looked just as awkward as you felt moments ago.  His eyes were darting around the dimly lit room and he was chewing on his bottom lip.

You knew that he felt awkward.  You knew that he looked nervous.  And you knew, from that one sentence, that he sounded discouraged.

“So,” he rocked back on his heels and then forward on his black boots, “You have a boyfriend?”

With a scoff you rolled your eyes, “Not that it’s any of your business, but he’s not my boyfriend.”

“So you just hold hands and kiss anyone now?”

You shrugged your shoulders in annoyance and rolled your eyes, “What––Why are you so worked up about this?”

He narrowed his eyes at you, “I’m not worked up––”

You raised an eyebrow, “Uh, yes you are,” you spoke as if it was the most obvious thing, “you followed me into a room.”

Without an excuse for your matter-of-fact point, he ran his fingers through his hair, “You made tour miserable.”

You let your mouth drop open,”Me?” You couldn’t help but let out a single laugh about how ridiculous that sounded, “I made tour miserable? I wasn’t even with you, Shawn.  We weren’t talking––”

“Exactly! That’s how you made it miserable!” He said exasperatedly and threw his hands up, “How is it that you ruined touring and our friendship in the same month?”

Offended by his accusation, you stood up and pointed a finger at him, “You did that all by yourself.”

“Me?” Shawn mimicked your offended tone, “I wasn’t the one who fell in love with my best friend––”

All anger in your system left your body for a millisecond as you let your shoulders drop in sadness, “Are you really throwing that in my face right now?”

You felt crushed––absolutely shattered––that the person you once thought the world of would throw your feelings in your face in such a cruel way.  He always gave advice to fans to chase after what they want, to not be afraid to fall in love, to be honest with their feelings.  But behind closed doors with you? You couldn’t think of someone who was more hypocritical.

It took a second longer for Shawn to register the words that spewed out of his mouth.  He knew he was in the wrong, he knew he shouldn’t have said those words as maliciously as he did, but he couldn’t take them back.

But when Shawn noticed something wasn’t going his way, he changed the subject, “Do you…” The glare in his eyes disappeared and you saw just how exhausted he looked, the moon shining through the window highlighted the small bags under his eyes, “Do you really not eat tacos anymore?”

It was a typical Shawn move; trying to remove himself as the root of the problem and that only fueled back up the anger in you.

You shot him a glare, “Write a fucking song about it.” You said it in the nastiest voice you could as you purposely bumped his shoulder with yours as you stomped passed him.

But before you could reach for the door handle, Shawn caught your elbow in his hand and you felt a type of warmth you hadn’t felt in nearly a year, “I did write a song.”

“I don’t care, Shawn,” you rolled your eyes and tried yanking your elbow from his hold, but it was no use, “Let’s just go back to the party.”

“When you’re ready.”

“I am ready to go back,” you stopped struggling against him and let out a defeated sigh, “We can just pretend you never followed me here and I’ll go back to––”

“That’s a song I wrote––”

You whirled around, wanting to be done with arguing with him, “No, shit––”

“–-For you.”

His hand dropped from your elbow the same time your mouth dropped open as the two minute and forty-nine second song zipped through your mind; Every single night my arms are not around you, my mind’s still wrapped around you––I’m waiting––What if my dad is right, when he says that you’re the one––I’m waiting––I’ll wait forever––Say the word––I know your heart like the back of my hand––I’m waiting.

But he didn’t wait.

“How––” You felt your throat tighten up as your voice cracked, “How can you say that to me right now?”

It was as if Shawn hadn’t realized that revealing the inspiration behind the song would backfire on him.  You knew he didn’t think it through because he always told you stories when he told the girl what song he wrote about her and she would swoon.  

“It’s a––It’s a sweet song,” Shawn stumbled over his words as he rambled, trying to get every single one of his thoughts out before you would eventually stop listening to him, “It’s how I felt about you––How I feel––Everyone loves when a song is written about them and I––I just thought––If you knew that that song is about you––”

“I told you I was ready and you––you didn’t…” you looked up at the one person you thought you would always give the entire world up for.  The frown was evident on his face as he bit the inside of his cheek, glassy eyes looking down at you, “I‘m happy now.”

“I didn’t know that––”

You tried everything in your power to be angry at him, to throw words just as spiteful back at him that would cause him to lose sleep, just like he did with you, but all you felt was your heart breaking all over again.

“You wrote that song before I told you how I felt.”

“I know,” Shawn said exasperatedly, “I didn’t know how you felt–––”

“And you're telling me this now?” Your voice cracked as you felt the familiar sting pierce behind your eyes, “Because I have someone else in my life?”

“That’s not––”

“Do you know how manipulative that is?” You spoke on the verge of tears, feeling a lump begin to form, “I can’t keep doing this with you, Shawn.”

“Y/n, please, that wasn’t my intention,” Shawn’s voice was as desperate as the hold on your hand,  “I miss you––I––I miss us.”

“This is why I needed space,” you croaked out, and as much as you wanted to shake off his hand, you found yourself craving the warmth of his touch, “We can’t work like this––”

“I won’t be an asshole,” he pleaded with you, as if that was the only fault in your broken friendship, “I won’t come between you and your boyfriend, I won’t push you to talk to me when you don’t want to, I won’t hurt––” He cut himself off before he made a false promise, “––I’ve never missed anyone as much as you.”

You could try and rationalize all the reasons why you shouldn’t miss him––because that list outweighed the reasons why you did miss him––but you knew that you would be lying to yourself.  While your nightmares still centered around the day he let you down, your daydreams were filled with the familiar warm touches.

And holding his hand loosely in yours, now that you were reacquainted with the warmth, you didn’t know if you could live without it again.

“If––If we do become friends again,” you softly whispered, “We…” The light squeeze of your hand caused you to look up at him after your sentence drifted off.  His eyes were so full of hope, full of desire, that it killed you to say your next words, “I’ll need to think about it.”

“I’ll take it,” Shawn’s voice was small, “I just––Did you miss me at all?”

With a sad smile, you nodded your head, “Everyday.”

And with that, you dropped his hand and made your way out of Brian’s room and back to the liveliness of the party.  It didn’t take you long to find Charlie, seeing as he was standing next to Brian shouting out in excitement as he sunk a ping-pong ball into a red solo cup.  You rolled your eyes and made your way over to the rambunctious duo.

“Thought you weren’t drinking?” Your voice was directed at the boy you came to the party with, but your eyes trailed on a very tired looking Shawn as he came out from the hallway.  

His eyes met yours in a longing stare as you saw his eyes shift to the person who had just thrown an arm around you, showing you the inside of his cup, “Just water.”

You forced out a laugh as your eye contact with Shawn dropped when someone handed him a drink, “Responsible.”

Throughout the whole night, your eyes were always drawn to Shawn and the red solo cup he had only taken one sip out of.  And if your eyes weren’t on him, you felt his eyes on you.  

As you were sitting on the couch with Charlie, your head leaning on his shoulder, you closed your eyes and laughed at the funny story he told.  He was a hit with your friends, and nothing could’ve made you happier in that moment.  When you were listening to one of your other friends pitch in their funny story, Charlie gazed down at you and sneaked a quick kiss.

The kiss was sweet, not lasting more than a second, but when he pulled away and joined in on the conversation around you, your eyes automatically found the back of a red shirt as he weaved through the crowd.  Your eyes didn’t leave him until he closed the door behind him.

Maybe there was something that could’ve made you happier in that moment.

Taglist: @http-isabela, @musicalkeys, @adelaidestreets, @alina--jpeg, @fallinallincurls, @lights-on-mendes, @mendesficsxbombay, @now-that-i-saw-u, @particularnarry, @shawnmendez, @shawnsmutual, @turtoix, @vinylmendes, @5-seconds-of-mendes, @pupsandducks @musicalkeys

#Shawn Mendes fic #Shawn Mendes x reader #Shawn Mendes writing #Shawn Mendes fanfic #Shawn Mendes imagine #Shawn Mendes blurb #Shawn Mendes one shot #Shawn Mendes fics #Shawn Mendes masterlist #Shawn Mendes angst #Shawn Mendes fanfiction #Shawn Mendes x y/n #Shawn Mendes x you #smtt

[makeste]

I was originally going to send this message declaring my undying love for your metas and chapter reviews aND THEN - AND THEN MAKESTE - I READ THE ANSWER WHERE YOU SAID YOU WERE ARO AND THAT MAKES ME SOOOOO HAPPY. I'm aroace and it is SO FRUSTRATING to want to consume platonic or familial interaction between people and CONSTANTLY only get romantic or sexual. THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR EVERYTHING YOU CONTRIBUTE

woooo up top! solidarity lol.

for me it’s like... I don’t know if “frustrating” is the word I would use, but I do wish there was more gen out there. and that’s also something I’ve felt awkward about wanting in the past, because my early fandom years took place in a time where slash was much less of an everyday commonplace thing than it is now, and liking it was still a fairly controversial thing. the internet was a much more openly homophobic place than it is now. like, picture the purity police of modern day tumblr, but if they attacked any kind of non-heterosexual relationship as being sick and perverted and wrong. that was pretty much the general vibe. this was before AO3, and people who wrote slash often didn’t post it on ff.net and only posted it to their own private blogs and/or locked and moderated communities instead just so they wouldn’t be harassed. and there was absolutely no canon representation out there at all, or next to none. it was very much a “[rolls eyes] oh the yaoi fangirls are at it again” sort of thing where non-cishet relationships in fiction and fanfiction were at best not taken seriously at all, and at worst were treated with outright scorn and disgust.

and so like, with this being a common attitude at the time, I felt guilty for not always wanting to read slash myself. like, I don’t mind reading about romantic relationships at all, but for me there also has to be some other kind of element in play as well, or else it’s just not going to click for me. if a fic is just romance, just a lot of pining and slow burn stuff without anything else really going on in the plot, I just get bored and disinterested. I almost want to use the word tired, even though I’m not sure that makes much sense. I just can’t connect to the emotions, and so I disengage pretty quickly. and so I tend to steer clear of time-honored fandom staples like coffee shop AUs or And They Were Roommates, just because for me there’s rarely anything there for me to latch onto. I like angst, but I can’t relate to “so and so doesn’t feel the same way about me”, or “I want to be with them so bad but I don’t know how to confess”, or “they’re with someone else and it hurts like crazy every time I see them and know we can’t be together”, because none of those are emotions that I have ever personally felt, and I just can’t make myself feel them. what I can relate to are things like “this person makes me feel safe”, or “I feel a strong connection to this person”, or “I trust this person more than anyone else” because those feelings aren’t exclusively romantic in nature. I can relate to closeness and caring and love and affection and trust, but what I can’t relate to is the feeling of having a single person occupy all of your thoughts all the time, and very badly wanting to be the most important thing in their life as well, and feeling incomplete otherwise.

but anyway I spiraled away from the point I was trying to get to, which is that for a long time I actually felt guilty about feeling this way. because even though it’s rare to find fanworks where gen/platonic relationships are at the center, actual canon is chock full of said relationships. and so it’s like, what right do I even have to complain when I get to read all the time about so and so being friends, but the people who actually want them to be in a relationship in the actual canon so rarely get to see that actually happen. because that much has not changed in the past 20 years, even though society has become far more accepting of LGBTQ+ relationships. most canons are still far more likely to tease a non-hetero ship -- on purpose, even, hence why queerbaiting is a thing -- than actually commit to it. and so I often feel like I have no right to voice my desire for more genfic, because genfic has never faced the same kind of scrutiny as slashfic. gen has always been acceptable, and there is plenty of canon representation of platonic and non-romantic relationships, and so it’s not something I have any business whining about.

and even now I feel fairly uncomfortable voicing this lol. I write almost exclusively genfic myself, and up until very recently, I’ve always defined gen in my head as being just a lack of romantic or sexual content, rather than being its own distinct category. I think that’s one of the reasons it took me so long to realize I was aro (that, and I’d honestly never even come across the term until just a few years ago). for me, my lack of interest in romantic affection always felt more like a lack of identity rather than an identity in and of itself. I always felt like I was missing something. and for a very long time it never occurred to me that this might be a permanent thing; I just figured, okay, I just haven’t had this feeling yet. it just hasn’t happened for me yet. but eventually it would, and I just hadn’t met the right person, or whatever. but it was never anything I particularly wanted, and I never felt like I was missing out on anything by not having it. I never felt any kind of longing for it or felt incomplete without it. I was actually perfectly content!

but because society treats romantic orientation as the norm and places such a huge emphasis on it, I still had the uncomfortable feeling in the back of my head that if I never fell in love with someone and never wound up having a relationship with someone, my life would somehow be less meaningful and whole. like, we’re raised to think that romantic love is basically the pinnacle of the human experience, the purest and truest emotion that anyone can feel. and at the same time, there’s this idea that a life without that kind of love is just sad and unfulfilling and tragic. and so for a very long time my experience with my own aromanticism was characterized by me thinking of it as a lack of something that everyone else said was very important. and it took a long time to realize that that wasn’t the case, and that it was a valid orientation all its own and not just a matter of me being deficient in some way. and that was actually such a relief to finally come to terms with. I can be whole and complete on my own and still have a rich and fulfilling human experience even if I never experience romantic love, and that’s fine. I’m not missing anything. I’m not wrong for feeling like I’m not missing anything. it’s fine to be content with just me as I am. like, holy shit. and that was such a weight off my shoulders to finally get that.

I once wrote a fic which I was and still am very proud of. it was a genfic, and it had a really intricate plot with a big twist at the very end. and there was a ton of emotion in it, and it got very intense at times, because these were two characters who cared a lot about each other and would literally die for each other if they had to, and I’d put them in a situation where that possibility was very much looming over their heads at every turn. and I really put everything I had into trying to convey that kind of bond as strongly as possible. like I poured a ton of my heart and soul into that fic. and the responses were almost universally positive and kind and made me really happy.

there was one response though, that still sticks with me to this day. it was by and large very positive, just like the others. but it ended with a single sentence that, at the time, kind of just lowkey gutted me. Not gonna lie though, would have loved some slash in there.

like, that just cut me. way more than this person actually intended, I think. I’m pretty sure they just meant it as an offhanded comment, not even a concrit or anything. just “haha would have loved it if they’d kissed though lol.” but it stung. because this was something I’d put every ounce of emotion that I could conjure up into. and even though it wasn’t mean to be hurtful in any way, to me that comment read as “this is still missing something.” because there was no romance, the fic was incomplete. the characters’ feelings were incomplete. even though I’d struggled so much to convey all of these complex emotions which to me were so real and powerful, and even though the comment even acknowledged that I had by and large done so effectively, to me the single takeaway that stuck was that the feelings were less meaningful because there was no romance.

and that felt like a failing on my part. I even apologized for it. and here we are, ten years later, and that comment still pops up in my head any time I feel the urge to talk about a popular ship which I support but which I also enjoy as just a friendship. “just” a friendship. I still feel guilt over that. I still feel this urge to overexplain that I’m not trying to invalidate the actual romantic ship. I worry that I’d be perceived as ungrateful and/or a bad ally if I ever just came out and said “I wish there was more gen” like you were able to say so freely, anon. I worry about people getting offended if I were to say “I headcanon so and so as being aroace” because it might be viewed as an attack on their ships, or as latent homophobia, or something. like I have this paranoid fear that people might take it as me being puritanical and all “oh no, icky sex” or whatever, and so I end up just never bringing it up at all.

and that’s the thing about aromanticism, though; it’s so easy to just never talk about it at all, because for so many people it is just defined as a lack of something, rather than a something all on its own. it’s so easy for it to be something you just never bring up, and which just kind of quietly exists as the boring, bland, inoffensive yet uninteresting lack of a relationship; the default blank slate that most everyone is dying to fill in as soon as possible, except for you. and I’ve gone on thinking about it that way myself for so long that I’m still struggling now to sort out how to embrace it as an actual identity. it’s something I still have a lot of work to do on I guess.

anyway! so that all got very long and rambling and personal, far more so than I intended; clearly I have a lot of pent up thoughts and feelings about this lol. I guess I probably could stand to talk about it more, since the evidence would indicate that I clearly want to. but eh, baby steps. but anyways you are super valid anon and thank you so much for the love and comments. <3

#aromanticism #meta #aromanticism in fandom #personal #long post #ask #anon ask #hey um just an addendum this is a pro aroace post NOT an anti-shipping post #just to make that clear #like you can be for one thing without bashing the other #so if you want to reblog this that is awesome and I'm grateful #but please don't use it as a launching pad for any weird toxic 'shipping is bad' takes please and thanks

[punkandsnacks]

Between Wolves & Doves, Chapter Two; Outsider.

Author: @punk-in-docs​ & @adamsnackdriver​

Also on AO3-

Trigger Warnings: Implied violence, sexual thoughts and some emotional abuse.

Synopsis: Vampire!Kylo x OC love story. Inspired by BBC’s Dracula. Also inspired by Austen’s Pride & Prejudice.

He’s been stalking this earth long since civilizations can possibly fathom. Before records even began. He sneers at the fact that this pitiful young world has only just begun to see his reign of it. 

He’s dined with moguls, emperors, princes. He’s consorted with bloodthirsty ruthless Queens in their courts, and whispered into the ears of powerful King’s, whose names still echo through millennia. 

In his myriad of centuries gifted to his immortal self he’s been many many things. He’s been a lowly pauper. A crusading knight. An assassin. A sell sword. A soldier. A wanderer. A simpering suitor and a voracious unyielding lover. Aimlessly lost in time- besieging this earth. Ripping it apart and drinking what’s left. 

He was made in the hinterland between snow and dirt and pine trees. Crusted with ash and blood and gouged from battle. Born anew. Sired from the hell-mouth of war. He was made in 789 AD.

He’ll come undone, one bitter winter night, in England, in 1816.

~ ~  🥀 ~ ~ 

 Night falls dark and still over the landscape brushed with snow. Westwell’s gardens seemed crushed under the icy weight.

 It seemed the heavy blanketing of it muffled and blotted out all sound. But it’s a peaceful intrusion.

 The huge square windows of Westwell Manor are flaked with frost and each square of glass glimmers gold with the tall candle holder placed in each one. A stick of fire and gold warding off that indigo night that shrouded heavy and deep in the sky above. Trying to spill into the window.

 Iris is sat in her small bedroom. A tomb or a cell, really, was how it felt to her some days. Wall to wall draped in pretty Morris flowered wallpaper of white sprawling flowers with navy and blue birds and country vines.

 Her double bed with twisting pillars of dark mahogany twine up to the wheat thick canopy that is draped over it. The mattress is layered in a fluffy champagne coloured eiderdown and white embroidered scalloped-lace pillows. The floors are dark walnut wood, and they creak wildly. Groaning. Cold and heat seeps easily through the cracks between them in winter. Chilling her toes. And in summer the warmth of the creaking cracking house bleeds upwards.

 The walls of her bedroom are sparse but some have photo frames of embroidery or pressed flowers she’s collected over the years held neatly in small wooden frames. She has a small stool by her bed with the tapered candle lit on a brass holder. Apricot flame coming off the long drip of the Chantilly candle. Casting pools of orange up the warm-ivory-bone of the walls. A jug of dried wildflowers sat on that little stool spices up the air. Dried lavender and clary sage, wild shasta daisies and a green-pink hydrangea bulb. Her little stack of modestly worn books lay piled neatly on the floor next to her bed.

 Iris is sat at her dresser, pulled near the window. With the roaring fireplace just to her left. Above the mantel hung a gilded mirror on the chain. Candlesticks alight, set on the dresser and on the alcove of the sash window. Two candles flank the oval of the mirror she’s sat looking into.

 Mother is behind her, dressed and ready in her purple muslin gown and her white fichu. Stabbing pins into her daughters hair. Every time she sticks in another pin, Iris winces. Blinks through the stinging pain of it. She was attempting a more fashionable colonial coiffure. Easier to produce.

 “Your hair is much too thick to curl properly.” Her mother addresses her idly. Snappily. Tugging back a section back behind her ear.

 “Posy and Flora have much finer hair.” She offers.

 As ever. Iris doesn’t know what to say to that. Should she offer an apology? Should she agree? Disagree? She fails to know how to be.

 So she remains silent and watches her mother’s reflection in the looking glass as she almost crossly dresses her hair.

 Caroline Ashton was maturely beautiful woman. With skin as clear as fine porcelain - like smooth cream. Even if sporting wrinkles by her mouth and eyes belying her later age. She had hair exactly the same as Iris’s. Except her mother’s was such an opulent shade of cinnamon-black. Stroked with streaks of silver like lightning bolts had struck through. Her eyes were clear silver. Two discs of shining moonstone. Very mysterious eyes, Iris had always thought.

 Lately those eyes seemed permanently hardened over like rainstorms. Clouded over with disappointment at her eldest.

 Always wishing she could do more to see more of the love that used to linger there. Nowadays it seemed like Caroline could only look at her and see the blemishes. Only see the wrongs.

 The frown lines seemed deeper. The cutting remarks appeared more frequent. She was always telling her to sit up straighter, correcting her posture. Smoothing out the wrinkles in her dresses. Always picking. Forever finding something lacking.

 Iris likes to think she was doing it out of an abundance of love. But it’s becoming clearer and clearer to her that it’s really about the opposite. It’s not about her wanting to provide for Posy or Flora or Father.

 It’s purely selfish. It’s all about her ensuring they don’t lose any respect in the ever omnipotent eyes of society.

 If her mother thought less about their image; perhaps Iris could love her more.

 As it is. Coldness and distance lay weighty between them. Thicker and frostier than the snow outside. The ground between their geniality and affection lay strewn and twined with thick vines of barbed thorns. No way to tread such hallowed ground without drawing blood.

 “Posy and Flora have had their hair in bows all day.” She points out. She shuts her eyes and grits her teeth as another pin slams into her skull. Yanking her hair right at the roots.

 “And they’ve taken all week to fret over choosing their dresses.” Iris adds.

 She looks up to see those steel swords of mama’s eyes cutting into her in the reflection. Mouth was a grim line.

 “You should know by know what’s expected of you, Iris. And not take the matter so lightheartedly.” She warns.

 “They can take balls seriously, as real chances of finding matrimony. Why can’t you?” She asks with a cruel tone.

 “Mama. Flora and Posy haven’t taken anything seriously since they day they were born.” Iris insults plainly. Speaking truth.

 “You know they only delight in attending ball’s and assemblies because they wish to make greater spectacles of themselves in front of soldiers from the militia, and get flirted with, by any creature sporting breeches.” She adds.

 “Atleast they try.” Caroline cuts in.

 “And I do not?” Iris asks. Flatly exasperated. She huffs.

 “You only danced with three men at last months assembly. It’s simply not good enough. You must try harder. Your sisters may have prettiness and confidence in unholy abundance. And they apply it. You wither away and that will never gain you a husband. For heavens sake- What upstanding man wants to marry the silent wallflower?” She declares gruffly.

 She fiddles with her new satin gloves sloped in her lap. Her dress was ivory silk printed with frail gold flowers and embroidered scalloping on the hem.

 There’s Van Dyke pointed lacing around her neckline and the same embroidered trim on the three-quarter sleeves. White helped ‘lift’ her ash eyes apparantly. It was fresh out it’s box from the dressmakers, Madame Larousse, on Pembleton high street. Indian printed silk and Italian lace. The most expensive fabric in stock.

 Their maid, Julia, had earlier laced her stays so tightly over her cotton chemise, Iris worried she broke several ribs. Her nails stung into the wood of her bed post.

 Mother was stood getting her gown ready on the other side of the room. Watching her eldest have the breath thumped right out of her lungs. “Tighter.” She ordered. Iris clutched a hand at her stomach.

 “A man could go a long way without seeing a bust like yours Iris. We must take advantage of it.” She comments wryly. Julia tugs tighter on the strings. Iris’s jaw clenched all the more.

 By the time she’s finished her waist is tucked right in and her breasts clasped high on her chest, almost so high they hit her chin and there’s scant space between her cleavage and her areole tumbling free, this gown is so low cut.

 She tugs it up higher when mother isn’t looking. Spectacles of her fertility not quite on such prominent display now.

 She fancied this silk of it was so fine and thin - and clung so tight to her body, one breath of wind would closely reveal her wide hips. And doubtless her chemise and garters could be glimpsed through the thin sheer sheen of it.

 And here she was now, submitting to her mothers inspection and brutal torture. Laced up in her silken gown. With her best stockings, and slippers. Earlobes dropping pearls, and a head full of silver decorative pins and an ivory comb.

 Speaking of which, the latter is just being wrestled into the weave of her coiffured braided bun, at the back.

 “There...” Her mother says. Fussing with a few strays. Tucking them in where they should belong. As she picks at Iris’s mud hued hair. She idly asks her questions.

 “Will you be dancing with Armitage tonight?” She asks. Insinuated, more likely.

 Iris averts her eyes and pats the back of her hair. Checking it in the glass.

 “Will he be in attendance?” She asks offhand. As if she had no clue.

 “Of course he will. Brendol knows the Hearst’s very intimately.” Her mother shrilled.

 “You will dance the first minuet with him and I’ll hear no more fuss about the matter.” She orders. Cold eyes finding her daughters in the mirror.

 Armitage Hux was the son of a strict local army colonel. Tall, dashing, hair as brilliant as copper and eyes as cool as teal sea-foam in contrast. He was lean and willowy in stature. Always bedecked finely in his uniform. Buttons gleaming, blushing blood of a red coat brushed and pressed to within an inch of it’s life.

 He’s not a bad man - he doesn’t drink or laugh at her. Or try and fondle her in a darkened corner.

 He just strikes Iris as being incredibly vain and undeniably haughty. He thinks all the world should be owed to him. 

 He only wanted to talk medals and glory and rank. How he was a model soldier. And so admired the bravery of gunfire and glory in battle. He’d never even seen battle - his father bought him a conscription and shook hands and pulled favours to get him a high rank in the military. Sergeant Hux, he now was.

 He didn’t seem to be able to equate soldiers and uniforms and weapons with actual war or combat. But liked to boast about how deadly he was. His sharp reflexes. His skill as a swordsman and marksman. Iris felt like stuffing cotton in her ears - or sticking her eyes with pins all night - anything but listen to Armitage spew out his toy soldier reveries.

 “He is a very agreeable man. You would do well to land him, Iris. He would make a most affable husband and a good match.”

 “I barely know him, Mama.” Iris pointed out.

 “You don’t need to know him. That is no hindrance to a proposal of marriage.” She says crossly. “You need not know your husband. You merely have to do your wifely duties by him.” She reminds.

 My duty of keeping my mouth shut and my legs and womb wide open, Iris thinks.

 “I thought I heard he was courting Mary Simpson?” Iris pipes up. Uncurling two tendrils of delicate hair from in front of her ears.

 “She has barely a thousand pounds a year. Brendol would never stand for him marrying such a girl.” Caroline declares mightily. Speaking in derision of the girl who was beneath them in every sense.

 “Besides. Lord Hearst says there will apparently be a very rich gentleman from the continent in attendance tonight too. A Lord Ren, from Bavaria. It would do well to seek him out.”

 “Every matronly mama worth her salt will be throwing their daughters in his path. I do hope he doesn’t trip on the sheer number of them crushed underfoot.” Iris says lightly. Pulling on her gloves.

 “And if he is a Lord, why has he deigned in all his lofty power to grace us with his presence, and to come to a small county rather than go to vastly over stocked marriage mart in London?” Iris questions.

 “Don’t be so blockish, Iris. Maybe he has business here to attend. Mrs Wilson told me this morning that he’s bought Hellford Park out in its entirety. Now that takes an extraordinary fortune.” She corrects.

 Iris looks directly at her mother. She spies the gleam of want in her eyes. The hunger that such a sum she could snatch up in her hands.

 “Lord’s marry Heiresses to sugar mills who are poised for ten thousand pounds, or widowed old Duchesses with vast crumbling estates. Why would he in his lofty state and means, lower himself to wed a girl of simple country gentry, with a barely three thousand pound dowry?” Iris sarks.

 Mama gives her a pointed look. Like a ream of needles pressing in her skin.

 “Then you will make a even better spectacle in front of him. And show him how elegant and courteous country girls can be and see if you can’t win him over that way.” She insists direly. As if she were plotting a serious military offensive.

 “If he is a Lord, he will be titled. Titled means landed money and dignity.” Her hair is yanked yet again. “He could well be the answer to all our prayers.”

 Your prayers, Iris points out rudely inside her head.

 “He could be a hideous old letch.” Iris says, rightly.

 Mother stabs one final pin into her head. As if in revenge. “Looks aren’t everything- Money. Station, and respect? That is forever enduring.”

 So are things like love, intimacy, friendship and happiness. Those things endure too. But Iris can’t imagine her acerbic mother has ever felt happy or loved a day in her life; she likes to think her marriage, when it comes, shall be different.

 She ends the conversation on that dazzling note. Iris’s scalp is on sore-fire by now.

 The door opposite them creaks as it’s burst open. Impending footsteps barrelling down the creaking floorboards of the corridor shortly before signalled their arrival. Flora and Posy.

 Fully gowned and gloved and perfumed to high heaven, with their hair pulled in elaborate coiffures on their heads. They had perfect curls. Perfect flounces and ruffles on their dresses. Cheeks a healthy pink. Eyes wild bright with excitement.

 They look like blooming silk roses in a summer garden. Iris feels more and more like a singed daisy in her own gown.

 Flora was dressed in a cobalt muslin, with a roller print of dandelions laid in pinstripes down the fabric. Posy was in a demure blush pink cotton. With lace trim tumbling over the neckline. And Iris sees she wins the honour of wearing the rose silk slippers. Flora is in some ivory ones that have seen more mends and fixes than is earthly possible. For silk slippers didn’t come cheap.

 Both her sisters have much lighter colouring; they both still have the chowder grey Ashton eyes.

 Flora’s hair however, is darkly mousy brown. Golden like toffee leaves that come off the trees in autumn. Posy is far more chestnut red. Blazing bonfires and russet red embers. Overall more enchanting than that of Iris twigs and sticky-mud hued locks.

 They are a barrage of noise and silliness as they barge into Iris’s room. Flora flops onto the end of the well made bed and Posy nosily inspects herself in the looking glass over the fireplace. Preening. Voices overlapping.

 “Mama! Did I tell you what Fleur told me earlier today?” Posy insists. Flora speaks louder over her, in order to be heard.

 “Mama....Have you seen my pink silk shawl for I’m sure I left it in the drawing room.”

 “I haven’t seen your shawl, Flora. You should take better care. And what did Fleur say, my dear?” Caroline asks in a soft voice.

 Whilst fixing strayed hairs at Iris’s nape. Pulling and pinching. She had no softness reserved in store for Iris. She rather wants to roll her eyes at that.

 “There will be a gentleman of certain lordly magnificence at the ball tonight.” Posy sing-songs. Aiming her teasing words at Iris. Who gives her a cutting look at her bubbly behaviour. Steel daggers made of her grey eyes.

 “He’s said to be most handsome, sable haired, and devilishly tall. And he’s single. And Lord Hearst says he’s a recluse who barely leaves his castle, so we’re very honoured he’s coming and he has eighty-thousand a year.” She awards with great enthusiasm. Flora giggles.

 “Maybe you should set your cap at him, Iris.” Flora jabs teasingly. “We could all be vastly improved by such a match you know. I could finally stop wearing these hideous thin old slippers.”

 Iris wished to point out that she wasn’t being induced into matrimony merely to vastly improve the quality and state of her siblings footwear.

 And quite wondered if he sister knew all that she’d have to undertake in making such a match - all she’d have to give up to be some man’s wife. All she’d have to do-

 “She won’t. For she’s already got a suitor whose madly in love with her.” Posy insists.

 “Hux is not in love with me, Posy. Don’t be ridiculous.” Iris says. For starters she wasn’t his red uniform or his army commission. Those were the things he was resolutely enamoured with.

 Standing from the dresser as she speaks, and going to where her new slippers were laid out by the maid on the bed. Flora eyes the silk things with jealous disdain. Iris fixes her satin gloves up over her elbows. Disappearing under her sleeves. Mother is too busy fussing with Posy’s neckline - tugging it up to cover more of her second youngest’s chest. She protested so at the action.

 Iris took the opportunity to slide a small pearl hair comb into Flora’s hand. Her favourite one. The one with coral flowers and paste amber gems on it.

 Iris flickers a look over the mother and a silent understanding passes between the sisters. ‘Put it in, in the coach in the dark. So she doesn’t see.’

 Flora smiles awfully wide up at her sister. Grateful that she shared out her pretty things. Flora was the youngest - the youngest daughter deserved nice trinkets too.

 “If you’re all ready we’d best be off soon. The roads are icy. It will take an age. I won’t have us be late.” Mama orders out to all her girls.

 She turns her head to Iris “Fetch your things and the velvet cloak. And for heavens sake don’t be long. We don’t have all night.” She frets.

 Marching out the room after rearranging some of Posy’s curls. Barking at Flora as she passed to fix the wrinkle in her gloves. The door grated and whines as she shuts it, lock rattling in the frame.

 Iris savours the silence - the crackling of the fire. The owl hooting off in the tree tops outside her window. She lets it soothe her. Let’s out the deepest sigh as they’re now left alone.

 She crosses to her wooden wardrobe cabinet by the door, and opens the door to search for her blue velvet cloak. She throws it around her shoulders and ties it up. Posy hands her sister her cream silk reticule.

 “She just wants you to marry well.” Posy says with some attempt at comforting.

 Iris nods, glumly stroking her sisters hand in thanks. Looking into her earnest young face. Still so full of innocence and hope.

 Her heart shaped little face so full of impish naivety.

 “She might do not to make me feel exclusively like a breeding mare to be sold to the highest bidder for marriage at every conceivable turn.” Iris says wryly.

 Angrily shoving a meagre few possessions into her reticule from her dresser. She looks down at her empty dance card that mother would see absolutely filled with names by the end of the night.

 She wipes away an angry tear from the corner of her eye with a handkerchief that Flora gives her. Her anger crowded and crackled the room. These two didn’t deserve her ire, after all.

 She sighs yet again. Letting the churning anger eating at her bleed out. Frustration filtering away. She plasters on a smile. Posy steps forwards to her exasperated sister.

 “Can I borrow your diamond droplet earrings? They’d go very well with my dress...” She asks coyly. With her hands behind her back.

 Iris rolls her eyes. Maybe they did deserve just a little bit of ire after all-

 “You are both enormous pests.” She says. Guiding them out her room.

 “Come on. Lest we hold mother up and I don’t much fancy our chances then.”

 She corrals her pests of sisters downstairs. Makes sure they too are cloaked and ready. They have their gloves and she does uncurl Posy’s palm as they’re heading out the door, dropping the diamond and earrings into them. They sparkle in the moonlight.

 “Lose them and mother will have your head.” She whispers to her in caution as they alight the warmth of the house into the cold sting of the night air.

 Snow crushed under their slippers as they make for the coach. Slipping to step up inside the cold wooden enclave of it. Rubbing their cold hands together to create some heat.

 It was just the Ashton ladies in attendance tonight. Father cared little for balls. Something mother sniped at him for regularly. Ernest Ashton would far rather stay home of a night with his ledgers and his books and his brandy than subject himself to the silly gossip and frivolity of idiotic society people present at balls.

 Her father was a tall, quiet man. Sturdy and aged as an old oak. Strong and strapping figure even in his later years. He quietly took interest in the world where her mothers inclination was to devour it.

 He had an open broad face. With tame blue eyes and thick greying hair. He was a studious man. Often kept to his study or the gardens. He enjoyed his ornithology and his Entomology books. He collected butterflies. All pinned out in cases in his study. Lining the walls.

 It was a place she found infinite comfort in. Wandering into her fathers study. His entomology collection like dots of silken colour in their cases. Old leather books and volumes and manuscripts. Edifying proud in their papery silence. The old wood of his desk worn by years and years. The smell of the study. Of old leather and pipe tobacco. And peppermints from the little jar he kept on his desk.

 He didn’t press Iris in the same way her mother always prevails to do. But then she sees the frayed gems and worn and mended holes in his clothes. The faded material in his waistcoat. How he hasn’t bought himself new shoes in two years.

 That’s how she can put up with every snipe and every cross word that spits out her mothers mouth.

 Iris sometimes quite wondered how her parents ever stood each other for any length of time to bear any children. They were entirely separate people whose interests did not align. They agreed on very little. And settled for that.

 It’s so cold in the coach they can see their breath as they bump and shift along the icy roads. Trees make terrible dark shapes in the near distance, beyond the frosted glass of the coach door window. Iris sits, peering out. Watching the full bowl of the moon slither white off the silver and black landscape. Off the snowy fields and perched on the roofs of the hamlet of houses they pass by.

 The carriage crawls slow up the winding drive of the Hearst’s three acre estate. Horses hooves hitting the hard paved path. Clopping in the night air. Skipping over the frost. They’re but mere minutes from exiting the coach, when mother decides to speak up and issue a few last desperate words of strict orders upon her eldest;

 “Take every opportunity Iris. I won’t have it said in the gossip sheets tomorrow that you didn’t even try.” Caroline insists. Fussing with her own thick muslin cloak draped over her lap.

 Iris looked at her mother then. Across the dark carriage as she tuts at the specks of lint sullying Flora’s cloak where she’s sat next to her. Picking it away.

 She strongly suspected Caroline Ashton could have the whole world in her palm or on a string; and even then she’d find fault in it. Pluck displeasing bits of it out like loose threads.

 She has that irate frown darkening her features. Cloudy set in her eyes. Posy’s little gloved hand reached across and held her sisters tight. Squeezing it in comfort sat there in the dark. Iris turns and looks to see Posy’s heart shaped face beaming up at her.

 “You should let us introduce you to Captain Clifford’s friends Iris. They really are the most splendid fun. I’ve heard many of them say they quite fancy you, you know.” Posy grins. Whispering hushed to her sister to keep her spirits buoyant.

 Iris strokes her hand and she can’t help smiling. More at her always sunny hopes. How bright her outlook on life was. She saw ball’s for the fun they were meant to be.

 A dance, a party, a celebration.

 Posy wasn’t yet tarnished by the knowledge that her hopes for future happiness depended on her behaving well and taking things seriously. It stopped being fun and became a chore. Iris lost her starry eyed wonder about ball’s years ago.

 She hoped she could help Posy keep her gleaming eyed wonder and fun for just that bit longer. She would suffer every second of misery to keep it that way if she must.

 She squeezes her hand back. “Thankyou. That’s very sweet. But I fear I shall be otherwise engaged in dances.” She excuses.

 Besides, most of the young Militia men she met were very wet behind the ears. And all madly enamoured with exhausting dances and infatuated with every beautiful young lady in attendance. Declaring they fell head over heels with every girl they so much as walk past. She finds their overeagerness and exuberance a little trying.

 Before long, they draw up the grand old stone columns abutting the front of the huge house.

 An immense hulking beast of a thing. Lit with autumn-blaze torches in the night. The coach lurches to a creaking uneven stop. Jolting. And a helpful gold liveried footman in a powdered wig steps to and opens the door to help the ladies out.

 Caroline doesn’t even glance at the man. Looks right through him. Flora flutters a flirty smile. Posy and Iris offer a polite snippet of thanks.

 The Ashton ladies make their way up the torch lit steps and into the greatly heaving bustling foyer of the Hearst’s grand house.

 Renford Manor was one of the finest houses in the county. The gardens were splendid. There was a maze and a famed marble garden gazebo.

 A great split imperial staircase opens into the large cool foyer. All ivory marble. Hues of Eggshell and ice. Imposing, echoing and cold. Footsteps rattle like claps up to the ceiling. Distant notes of the small orchestra float through the air like zipping flapping insects.

 Everything glimmers. The chandeliers that drip with gold and crystal. The old pearl and sharp onyx pointed tiles on the floor look like they’ve been scrubbed raw. They gleam almost too brightly.

 They hand over their cloaks to more footmen to be put away. Letting their ball gown splendour come forth. Iris is almost crushed by the amount of people there are in attendance here tonight. Lady Hearst was known to stuff her parties to the seams. The whole county, and all of the two neighbouring ones, had most likely been invited.

 Mama encourages them all up the staircase. Idly smiling greetings in passing to her matrons of her acquaintance. Iris skims one hand along the smooth cold of the marble banister. Holding her skirts up as her slippered feet hit each step. Steps firm and steady.

 They come to one of the big main ballrooms. Looking through the scope of many double doors, leading onto another room and the next and the next furniture pushed aside. There was such a crush of so many ladies and numerous gentlemen packed in. Coats of all colours on the men. The spectrum of silks and cotton dresses so vast, it quite made her head spin.

 Flora excitedly giggles and slips away. A flurry of laughter erupts and she joins hands with a little gaggle of her more intimate friends.

 Iris raises a brow at her behaviour, not surprised to see that she caught a glimpse of a fair few red coated members of the militia in that particular direction. Mother huffs and gruffly tells Flora, through gritted teeth, not to linger too long.

 Iris and Posy linger by mother as they chat to an elderly companion. Mrs Bishop. An ever worrying woman, Who ventured the world was going to end if there was slightly too much rain. She was practically apoplectic about the snow. Iris shares a look of pain with Posy. Who excuses herself with a bob of a curtesy to go find Flora.

 “Pest.” Iris smiles at her as she slips away from conversing will dull matrons about the impending end of civilisation and the earth as they knew it. Anymore and Iris will be forced to rush for  a vinaigrette of smelling salts to revive the poor dear when she swoons.

 Iris stands with her hands folded demurely in front of her. Her eyes wandering over the party in full swing behind her.

 The crush of noise, music and heat and bodies. Candies flicker doomed shapes copper and black up the light walls. The tall windows are guarded with heavy emerald draperies. Cascading waterfalls of apple green. Spilling and tumbling like grassy hills.

 The windows glimmer like yellow square gemstones from the candles in their stands dotted everywhere. The dark floorboards glow with it too. Patches of orange inbetween the shadows.

 The ballrooms, of which there were three, all adjoined by French pocket doors, are kept fairly dark. Lit only by the honey slither of candles reaching apricot slithers of light at every corner. People chatter and laugh to the din of a faint violin chorus of Mozart.

 Laughter, Baritone gruff and the sparkling light of ladies chuckling delight flutters up to the ceiling. The room seems to burst at the seams with it all. Like a room full of butterflies. The heat, the noise, the voices and music. It was almost too much. Everything is palpable and it stings and rips at her eyes and ears.

 They eventually depart from the hysterical Mrs Bishop. Leaving her fanning herself on a settee. Trying not to succumb to a fit of the vapours.

 They make their way through the ballroom. Chatting and conversing and being mangled in the almost too heaving crowds. She loses count of the amount of times her toes get stepped on. Or elbows sharply prodded into the soft of her back as people pass.

 Eventually; much to her mother’s delight, Iris is propositioned by a young gentleman from the militia, into a dance. There seemed to be no sight of Hux yet. Much to Mama’s chagrin.

 He’s very polite and puppyish, delivers her safely back to her mothers side when the polka dance is through. Kisses her hand, declares her daughter a fine dancer, then is off onto the next partner.

 They are lingering on the far side of the dance floor, just idly watching. In full view of the doors and the adjacent ballroom. Through the two sets of double doors either side of a great roaring stone fireplace. It’s light casting copper over every dancer.

 “We won’t waste our time on him.” Mother harrumphed when he leaves. Looking with disdain as they watched him ask Primrose Charleston to dance the next.

 “Mama. It was merely a dance.” Iris points out with a futile smile. “Don’t tell me you were picking out wedding attire and embroidered initial pillowcases.” Iris mocks.

 That earns her a sharp look. She smiles in forbearance right back at her mother.

 Her cheeks now pinkened and her eyes bright from the exercise. She likes dancing. When her partner isn’t a clumsy one, or reeks of port or body odour, or wine, or has wandering letching hands. It’s actually rather enjoyable.

 “We should be setting our sights rather more higher than some penniless officer.” She insists. Watching the couples twirl and sway in front of them.

 “Heaven forfend I dance with a man sheerly for the joy of it.” Iris concludes.

 Caroline tuts in exasperation. Mumbles under her breath. “You do so vex me greatly sometimes, Iris. Even worse than your sisters.” She grumps.

 Deep down inside, Iris is a little proud of that accomplishment.

 A flurry of footsteps and squeaking squeals and suddenly Flora and Posy burst into view where Iris and her mother are stood.

 Their voices are high pitched and they’re panting with excitement. Flora slings her hands into Iris’s and twirls her around with elation. Iris stumbles in the circle Flora leads her in. Posy is stood by Caroline grinning up a storm.

 “Mama, Iris. He’s here! He’s here and he’s coming this way!” Posy giggles. Iris and her mother remain perplexed.

 “Who is, my dear?” Caroline seeks. Frowning a little.

 “He is surely the most handsome man I ever seen. And so tall. Did you see him Flora? That chest...” Posy flatters.

 “Taller than any man I’ve ever met. And so well built. Such stature.” Flora says back.

 “And he has dark eyes, Did you notice?” Posy asks.

 “Of course I noticed! Very dark eyes. They are positively enchanting.”

 “Bewitching.” Posy giggles.

 “And his shoulders in his coat. So large.”

 “For goodness sake, lower your voice-“ Iris chides at the both of them, glancing around the ballroom. Trying to decipher who they were so flustered and flapping about.

 Her eyes don’t make it past the door-

 The room seems to have slowed. The dancers are distracted. People around the fringes of the ballroom chatter louder. Deafening din rising. Gossip flourishing.

 For Lord Hearst is at the entrance of one of the double doors, conversing with someone, and that someone walking by his side, is one of the broadest and most strapping men Iris has ever seen in her whole life.

 He wasn’t just a man.

 He was entirely too much, man.

 “That’s Lord Ren. The handsomely rich one all the way from Bavaria.” Flora hisses to them all. “I’ve never seen a gentleman more strongly built, or beautiful.” She giggles loudly.

 “I beg of you, lower your voice.” Iris chides. Pearl earrings jitter as she moves her head. Ash eyes governed by lintels of her brows creased up in a light frown.

 Everyone’s eyes in this small stale society, is fixed solid upon the sight of this newcomer. Hungrily devouring this unfamiliar brooding man.

 Obsidian jacket. Snowy shirt. Scarlet cravat like a bloodied noose around his neck, with a seers eye of a winking diamond pin studded in the knot. He radiates charm and magnificence. And masculine appeal.

 “He’s in mourning to be wearing such dark colours.” Mother presumes. “How unusual for a man.”

 “Don’t fret, Mama. Lady Hearst assures me he’s most certainly single. Now, Iris might have her chance at him after all...” Posy cackles.

 Iris rams an elbow into the bony cradle of her sisters petite hip.

 “Do try and endeavour to behave.” She chides to Posy. Whispering harshly.

 This mysterious Lord is unfashionably attired in all black. Perhaps he is in a state of mourning? Ink black breeches cling tight to his strong thighs and wide wide hips and shining boots come to his knees - the wrong sort of footwear for a ball but he doesn’t appear to notice. Or even care.

 He had an air about him that couldn’t be ignored. The dark clothes. Sable hair. It was long too. Far too long by societal standards. It curled at his neck. Swept in tumbling waves back from his face.

 He’s scanning the room like he hates everything and everyone in it. A soured scowl on his face. The softness of his full lips are pursed and there’s a predatory quality to the way his eyes flicker around the crowds. He seems above it all. Distant. Untouchable. He was a Lord - he held himself superior as one as if a different species.

 “Fleur told me he’s quite the scandalous man....” Flora begins.

 “I heard he was married. Once before, but she turned mad and killed several servants. So he locked her in the dungeons and she’s still here raking her fingers to the bone at the stone walls to get out.”

 Iris wants to roll her eyes. Now it’s Posy’s turn for interjection;

  “And I heard that his castle is haunted and full of ghosts. And he seduces young noble women and then sacrifices and feeds them to the devil. Maybe he’s prowling for next victim?” She gasps frenziedly.

 “You two need to stay clear away from anymore novels.” Iris scoffs.

 She lets her eyes slip back over this Lord’s frightening exterior. She focuses on the dark pits that were his eyes. They seemed oddly familiar. As if she’s glimpsed them before. In a fanciful daydream, maybe- or maybe it was a dreadful nightmare.

 They’re too far away to make out their true colour. But it must be a truly dark for the way they eat up all the light and glitter like rough cut gemstones lost to shadow.

 His arms folded behind his back pulls his coat right across his chest. Exposes the musculature of him: he is big and beastly. There was no denying; his figure is redoubtably masculine. Intimidating and strong- meaty arms, no tapering away at his waist. He was entirely built of great slabs of muscles.

 A warriors figure through and through.

 Iris thought that such a body frame belonged in a previous age. A more ravening one. A cutthroat one. That stature was suited to a gigantic rampaging viking or a crusading knight in steel armour.

 Quite why she thought so she can’t fathom. That big shape of his seemed unsuited to the setting of a dainty English ballroom. It seemed more natural for him to be on a battlefield slicked up and splattered in the blood of his enemy’s.

 She watches as he boredly sizes up the room before him. An arcing sweep of his eyes and he’s done with it. Thrown aside all interest. Devouring all pitiful excuses for life. As if he’s looking or searching for something...

 Then he looks right at her-

 His eyes spear directly into her. See’s her. Meets her grey gaze and keeps it. Steals it away beyond her reckoning.

 One side of his lip curls up. His eyes churn to look nearly honey gold in the light. Trick of the mind. All in her head. It was surely just the candles malforming the shade-

 But it seemed more than him just seeing her. It was as if he could gaze right through her. Pierce her skin. Puncturing her very soul - she’s sure.

 Her whole body feels his looking at her. She thrashes and aches.

 If she has one. Some flimsy scrap of quivering human spirit in her, it is quaking and trembling now, and very much intoxicated by this man.

 Her cheeks flush and she feels that betraying annoying heat slither down her neck and flourish at her breast. She swallows and blinks and tears her eyes away. She looks at her shoes cause she’s suddenly got a spinning head and her mouth is woolly.

 That look and those savage eyes had set a flame blazing right down to her bones. There’s something she feels deep down that almost seems strange. Uncertain yet resolute. A tug on her stomach. An unknown yearning.

 She realises quickly that this was the same pair of eyes that stole her breath this very afternoon. The gentleman from the imposing black carriage. Twice now she’s locked eyes with him and stared.

 He must think her either a raving simpleton or a gawping lunatic.

 “Iris. I do believe he’s staring at you.” Posy hisses with a wide impressed smile.

 “Oh he is! He’s definitely staring.” Flora squeals. Tugging and shaking her sisters hand.

 “Iris. Stand straight. Stop stooping. Chin up for heavens sake- look decent.“ Mother shrills through a gritted smile. Smiling demurely in the intended direction of Lord Ren. Preening herself like a flustered hen.

 Iris dares another look up. Clasping her hands together delicately in front of her. At the front of her skirts. Him and Lord Hearst are mere feet away now.

 “He’s coming this way! Mama! He’s coming over...” Posy grins. Flora laughs with her.

 By now, Iris’s heart resembles a mad creature clawing at its cage, desperate to be free. Thumping and thudding her neck. Quivering nervous breaths leave her lips. Heartbeat hammering and pulsing in her ears.

 He’s looking at Posy or Flora, she thinks. He must be. They always draw men like magnets. He’s not looking at me- he’s not. Really. He’s not-

 They are closer now. Lord Hearst and Lord Ren are mere metres away. The entire room seems to be holding its breath. Another dance starts up and she’s glad for that distraction.

 Her cheeks remained flushed and she raises her eyes when the air shifts around them. She can scent the brandy and violet water coming off Lord Hearst. There is his stout waistcoat and his perfumed wig. Lord Ren appears unscented. But a fusion of aromas simply pour off his vast body.

 Sandalwood oil. Probably used on that thick rakish mane of his. There’s something else too, something earthy darkly rich, that mingles with the musky new wool of his coat. Peppermint or spices. She can’t tell. It’s damnably distracting.

 “Praise the lord in heaven. We are saved.” Her mother mumbles gladly under her breath. Smile wide and gentle. Artificial and superficial to hide her truer nature.

 Lord Hearst and Lord Ren are right before them now. Right in front of them. “Mrs Ashton.” Lord Hearst begins in greeting. Iris watches her Mama curtesy politely to the old lord.

 “Might I have the pleasure of introducing you to Lord Ren. An old acquaintance of mine...”

 Iris looks from the doddery old form of the red faced Lord Hearst, up and up up, into the face of the dark stranger. The top of her head would barely come to brush at his collarbones. His eyes are still fixed on her face. A shock jolts through her like she’s been burned.

 “Lord Ren, this is Mrs Caroline Ashton. And her daughters. Miss Posy Ashton. And Miss Flora Ashton...” Lord Hearst introduces. Flora and Posy bob demure little curtseys at him. Bowing their heads and smiling prettily like fools.

 He barely glances toward them. His eyes were fixed on Iris.

 “And this is her eldest daughter, Miss Iris Ashton.” Lord Hearst beckons to her. Stood back behind her two sisters, and almost guarded by her mother.

 She curtseys. Chin to her chest and she bows her neck in a manner she hopes comes across as graceful.

 Lord Ren smiles. It’s terrifying in its power and beauty.

 It moves the corners of his lips. And he comes in a step closer. Advancing.

 Posy and Flora flatten back a little. When one hand comes around from his back, Iris could see he had thick leather gloves on. As if entranced she reached out where his hand beckoned to hold hers.

 She slipped her satin gloved hand into his big offered dark palm. It sits right in the middle of the wide thing. So dainty in comparison.

 He brings her silken hand up. Bows down and lays a kind kiss to the back of it. His eyes hadn’t left her since he entered the room - they didn’t start shying away now.

 This is a man who is not shy. Not any bit of him.

 He draws her hand down, very slightly. Freeing his lips.

 “Enchanting to meet you, Miss Ashton.” He says.

 Iris never knew a voice could be so deep. His voice sunk right to the core of her. Right through flesh and bone. Sinking deep. She’d expected a Bavarian accent. Or a continental lilt. But his accent is precise, crystal-cut English.

 She blinks. Remembering she had a verbose vocabulary to make use of.

 “It’s an honour to make your acquaintance, Lord Ren.” She gasps out with some hint of strength in her voice. When she lets her hand slips from his, her body feels strange. Her whole arm is left tingling.

 She finds herself sighing as she pulls her hand back. He straightens his back with ease. She knows her mothers eyes are looking sharply at her so she remembers her politesse.

 She feels like the whole world is watching them converse.

 “Are you, enjoying... your time in England?” She seeks. “I understand you are recently arrived.”

 “Very much.” He looks amused. “I haven’t been on these shores in- quite an age.” He says. She can’t help but feel there is something cryptic to his meaning.

 “Do you mean to stay long, in Hampshire, your lordship?” Flora asks. Batting her long lashes up at him so much she could fan out a chandelier of candles if she’s not careful.

 His eyes calmly flick across to the smallest Ashton sister. But linger back on Iris.

 “Not long. But after tonight I think I’ve found sufficient reason to extend my stay.” His smile twitches smoothly once again.

 “Are you enjoying Hellford Park, your lordship? Surely it is the finest house in the county, is it not?” Posy enquires.

 Another flicker of those charcoal eyes to the other little Ashton. Really, there were too deuced many of them, Kylo thinks.

 “It is an immaculate house. The snowy woods are very pleasant this time of year.” He agrees.

 “Of course. The climates in Bavaria are surely similar. I imagine there is much snow on your own estate, your lordship?” Iris asks.

 He seems pleased with her interjection. As if she were the only soul whose voice he wished to hear.

 When he looked at her, it was like they were the only two people in this room. The only two that mattered. It’s just them, in the candlelight, cast by flame. As if no pairs of eyes are watching - when in reality there are hundreds looking in. 

 “Indeed. The summers are short, and the winters are long and frigid. I am somewhat familiar with the clime of snow. It falls more gently here than in Bavaria.” His eyes glare warmly across at her. Increasing her blush.

 Caroline steps in with a saccharine smile that showed far too much teeth. A leer it could rightly be called.

 “You must come and dine with us at Westwell, Lord Ren. We would be honoured to receive you. We can promise you an elegant dinner service, and cards. Why we dine with six and twenty great and fine families around the county. We would be very much favoured with your visit. I wager you won’t get finer, prettier companions or better conversation elsewhere...” Mother boasts.

 He smiles right at Iris and it spears into her hot chest like an iron poker stoked too long in the fire. Red hot.

 “Indeed. I Thankyou greatly for the invitation. Madam.” Then his eyes grow blacker. “You have very fine daughters. God has blessed you three times over.”

 Flora giggles a beaming smile. Posy bats her lashes and grins. Iris fiddles with her hands and examines the floorboards, reddening at his charm.

 “I often think so, myself.” Mother preens.

 “Of course all my girls are immensely beautiful. But, it is my Iris who is revered around these parts as a local beauty.” She lies.

 “Mama.” Iris blushes crimson. Averting her eyes.

 “A rumour well circulated indeed.” Kylo’s looking at her. And to her amazement. She bravely looks back.

 “And she deserves every such compliment I can bestow.” Kylo adds.

 “You are too kind, Lord Ren.” Iris smiles slightly at him. It makes his chest pound harder. Watching her bosom heave at the neckline of her dress.

 His mouth waters. That same scent from this afternoon hits him square in the jaw like a rounded fist. He all but moans at the erotic pleasure of it. Of her sweet scent drifting up his nose. Stoking at his eager hunger.

 He will tear something apart tonight, rip it limb from limb, and glut himself on that sweet penny-metal flush of blood spilling down his parched throat. And as he does- as he feasts and drinks and crimson drips from his maw, he will think of this moment; of her aroused scent tangled in his nose. Stirring his own lust to boiling point.

 He bids the Misses and Mrs Ashton’s a goodnight.

 Lord Hearst had more introductions for him to make. More simpering sickening people to meet. All the same. Savagely polite and viciously boring. Their superficial kindness and flattery turns his stomach.

 A bevy of swans the lot of them. Preening and pathetic. He could barely hide his disgust at the stench of rotten perfume that beat off each one of their hot pulsing throats. All the vapid girls that desperate Mother’s shoved in his chest to make introductions.

 It was like the sheep throwing their own sweet little lambs out into the slobbering wolves.

If this were a less guarded age he might have already slipped away under guise of a romantic tryst in the garden, to drink a few of them dry.

 Posy and Flora squeak and shake Iris’s arm after he passes. He is led around the ballroom, that great vast man. Introduced to all the good and the great. They gabble and squawk at their sister about how she’ll be the next Lady of Hellford Park.

 She shushes them and sees it makes Lord Ren lock eyes with her from over where he towered loftily across the ballroom crowds.

 Her heart starts beating wild again. A demure smile and she takes her eyes away elsewhere. And that heartbeat calls out to him like the pound of a war drum. A bell summoning him to worship.

 Oh yes. He thinks. She is the one.

  And she’ll do splendidly.

 ~ ~ 🥀 ~ ~

#kylo ren #kylo ren x oc #vampire!kylo #vampire au #very wolves and doves #Iris vibes 🕊 #Lord Ren vibes 🐺 #Draegan vibes 🥀 #vampirelovestory #vampire #demon #ao3 fanfic #lovestory #angst #smut #slow burn #regency era

[thecatprince]

A lil something for the himbo prince’s birthday

This was just a little thing that I wrote as a tribute of my favourite, the one and lonely only, Roman Sanders. I tried to make it fluffy and sweet, but I am a sucker for writing angst, so there is a bit of angst there. Anyway, HAPPY BIRTHDAY to my favourite side, the amazing Roman Sanders!!!

Reblogs > likes

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Roman could never describe how amazing it felt to perform. He could never find the words to describe how incredible it was to act, to put your heart and soul into a scene, to become another person altogether, to move the audience to tears, to laughter, and he could never describe how exhilarating it felt to stand on a stage and take a bow while the audience went wild with applause. It was the best feeling in the world, to be able to forget your worries and perform. He lived for the thrill of acting. It was magical to be on a stage, to have the spotlight on him and to just be another person without having to worry about any of his problems.

Roman couldn’t even begin to explain how incredible it was to go on quests. He loved nothing more than to go deep into the Imagination, through the stunning forests and peaceful clearings, to walk past flourishing fields of flowers and small towns and to feel the gentle heat of the sun and see the clear blue of the sky. It was impossible to explain the feeling of knowing all of the beauty that surrounded him he had created, the knowledge that every minute detail he had crafted with his power. He loved the rush of adrenaline that he felt every time he entered the Dragon-Witch’s cave and he lived for the fast paced action of the fight that followed. When he was fighting, he finally felt worthy, felt like the hero he was meant to be. It didn’t matter what everyone else said, because when he was in a battle he felt better than ever. He could be bleeding badly, or have a broken ankle, and still feel like a champion, hyped up on the adrenaline from the fight and the satisfying feeling of victory.

Roman could go on for hours about how magic it felt to create things, to come up with ideas for Thomas, to bring these ideas to life, to create characters and plots and stories and worlds out of nothing. He could talk for ages about how amazing it felt to get praise for his work, how much it lifted him up when Thomas’ followers complimented him or his style or his work. He could ramble on about how amazing it felt to do his role as a part of Thomas, to help him whenever possible to improve his work, to create more work, to write, to perform, to create content to make the world a better place (and maybe achieve fame, riches and a mansion behind a waterfall on the side of a mountain).

Roman always tried to show the sides how much he loved them. He loved Logan’s nerdiness, how he could obsess over astronomy the same way Roman obsessed over Disney. He loved Patton’s cheeriness, his puns, his hugs, his kind nature and how he always knew how to make him happy when skies were grey. He loved Virgil’s dry humour, the way they could banter back and forth in friendly argument and how they shared a love of Disney. He loved Janus’ sense of style and how he loved theatre and being dramatic just as much as Roman did. He loved Remus, even though he didn’t really care to admit it, because once upon a time they had been one, once upon a time he had someone to create with, to do everything together with, and even now, even though some part of him hated Remus, another part of him loved him because he was Roman’s brother. He loved all of the sides, he loved their movie nights and he loved their banter. He loved how they looked out for one another, how they were family, no matter what, and how they were all important in making Thomas the amazing person that he was.

Roman would never tell them of the pain he felt, all of the times he felt unworthy, unlovable, useless and empty. He would never tell them how their offhand comments stung like knives through his heart, how much every hate comment affected him, how he often cried himself to sleep, how every time he fought the Dragon-Witch he was trying to prove to himself to them, how every time he acted it wasn’t always on a stage, how sometimes the audience was them, and the performance was him smiling. He would never tell them because he couldn’t stand making them worry, because they might worry about him, or even worse, they might not. He didn’t want them to know how deep his self-hatred ran, how empty he felt, how he mightn’t sleep for days on end as he tried to prove how useful he was, how good he was, how worthy he was, in hope that maybe that this empty, bland feeling would just go away. He cried and worked and performed and fought and waited. He waited for the day when he was worthy, when he was right, when he was everything they wanted, but more importantly, he waited until the day when he smiled and it was genuine, for the day when, when he laughed, he didn’t feel like crying instead. And until that day, he would smile, he would fight, he would do everything they wanted, he would love and laugh louder and harder than anyone else. Until the day when the things he used to live for, the thrill of the battle, the magic of performing, the joy of creating and the pure warmth of loving, made him the happy again

HAPPY BIRTHDAY ROMAN!!!!!

#roman my beloved #cat writes #happy birthday roman #ts roman #roman angst #roman fluff #sanders sides #thomas sanders