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elena-mayfair · 2 years

Text

Fallout

Paring: Morpheus x f!reader, Sandman x f!reader Warnings: swearing, horror images, graphic violence, adult themes, reader discretion is advised Summary: And after night comes day, and after the storm comes peace, or does it really? A week after chaos overtook the world, Witch and Dream of the Endless find themselves in a new reality, a reality that must be rebuilt. Both must face the fallout that their actions have brought. Will they find some peace and relief? Word count: 4.4k Note: Gifs are not mine, credit to the authors

Series Masterlist Part ten: Raging storm

***

"I had forgotten what this feels like…" from Morpheus' outstretched hand glittering grains of golden sand emerged, shimmering in the light of the bright morning sun. They slowly fell to the earth only to transform the bare ground into a dense, green forest. It surrounded the foothills of majestic mountains whose snowy peaks reached all the way to the sky. The trees hummed a gentle song as the wind softly caressed their branches and leaves, they spread their arms as if welcoming an old friend. They bowed their crowns to Morpheus before greeting the mountains. The mountains responded to the greeting with a smile only to greet the river in which crystal clear water they could admire their majestic reflections. The grass dressed in green, the shrubs took on all the colors of the rainbow, and the birds and insects sang with every tone of voice given to them. From the golden grains of sand, life was created.

"My Lord," Lucienne walked up to him, "This...this is beautiful..." she gasped with admiration, "I'm so glad to see you are back, and with your full power at your command."

"I had forgotten..." Morpheus looked closely at his own hands as he rubbed grains of sand between his fingers, "I had forgotten how much of my power I had placed in that jewel. How much of it was denied to me..." he closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, "I must remake this realm, not as it once was, but as a new." he stated.

"My Lord, Dreams and Nightmares had begun to return, they will need their own settlements."

"As expected," he affirmed shortly.

"Unfortunately many of them are still in the Waking World..." she added quietly, "Especially Nightmares, they seem to thrive there."

Morpheus merely looked at her. In her eyes, he was the commanding Ruler of this realm once again. Yet, he had changed. Even though he dominated with his presence, there was a sign of something different in his eyes and in the tone of voice, something new yet old at the same time, something that had been long forgotten, something she had not seen in him in billions of years.

"Dreams and Nightmares seem to no longer recognize their Master. I will find them and bring them all home," he stated in a stern voice. "For now, I must speak with Matthew. I have a task that he shall complete for me."

He turned away from the newly created forest and directed himself towards the castle that began to renew. Yet the thought stopped him in his step.

"Something is missing..." he murmured quietly mostly to himself. Once again he disappeared into the woods. The trees, upon seeing their master, parted before him, providing him with a path. At his silent command, they gathered into a small circle shading a small clearing with their branches. With a nod of his head, he thanked the trees then looked at the clearing and gently smiled at it as it gracefully covered itself with white flower vines of fragrant jasmine. "I had forgotten how that feels..."

Lucienne only glanced silently at her Master's newly formed creation, delight painted itself on her face. With her watchful eye, she looked at him stealthily. His eyes were closed, he was deeply inhaling the sweetness of the flowers. At that moment she knew that more had changed in the being she had known for millennia than he himself was willing to admit. She saw peace on his face. The times when her Master enjoyed the scent of flowers were long forgotten, yet unexpectedly they seemed to have returned.

"My Lord...I hate to interrupt your work but there is one more thing..." Morpheus only stood there in silence, drowning himself in the beauty of the world around him, "The library had begun to return," she continued as if his silence was permission, "and along with the library the first book appeared," she hesitated for a moment, "It bares her name o the cover."

***

You stayed at the Missouri house for another week. You needed a moment of rest after everything that had happened, you needed the peace and quiet that you so easily came to find in your friend's cozy home. And you desperately needed her Asfodelus potions. You didn't have the smallest desire to go back to your normal life. It was enough that normal life, without your permission, flowed into the surrounding peacefulness through TV and radio. Scientists and the media could not clearly decide what caused the global wave of violence. Some claimed it was a collective hallucination triggered by the leak of mind-controlling biological weapons. Others, the ones who were thinking more freely, claimed that the influence of an unusual alignment of planets and stars caused people to lose their minds for 24 hours. Of course, there were also voices saying that aliens were testing humanity and their influence on human behavior, or that the hand of god himself had reached out to give humanity a foretaste of Armageddon. However, a surprising amount of people simply moved on with blissful ignorance, as if nothing had ever happened. Humans have an astonishing talent for distorting from consciousness things that cannot be explained.

Yet, on a smaller scale, one could see uncertainty and fear in their eyes. Neighbors were greeting each other on the street with surreptitious glances, smiles diminished and weakened. People, whenever they could, hid in their homes, as if their own four walls could protect them from potential danger. Conversations on the streets and in stores became quieter, more reserved. The number of people in churches and other places of worship increased. The number of people in bars and clubs also increased, with those who decided to live life to the fullest now after they survived the end of the world. Everyone reacted in their own way, and you knew it would take a long time until people completely forget what had happened.

Together with Missouri, you helped whoever you could in your neighborhood. Although you needed rest and peace, you couldn't ignore people in need. "Listen to the world in pain." John Dee's voice sounded insistently in your head every time you saw a saddened face on the street. Despite Missouri's objections, you took in and nursed the beaten dog back to health, he was now lying by the fireplace, quietly breathing and dreaming what dogs dream about. Broken ribs and paws slowly began to heal, his appetite returned, and the gratitude in his doggy eyes told you that he would live with Missouri forever. You also helped a neighbor whose husband burned himself in front of her and her children. You helped as much as you could, after all, some horrors cannot be erased with a warm word and a homemade cake. And once again the human ability to suppress facts amazed you when your neighbor, Suzan, never asked how did you put out the burning car with the will of your mind. In the look of her and her children's eyes, there was no fear, no apprehension, there was only gratitude. All of Missouri's neighbors recognized her as a medium, a good woman who supposedly could see the future and the past. There were requests for her to tell them what their future would be, there were pleading glances directed in your direction, glances that silently asked without knowing exactly what they might ask for. However, both you and Missouri had a rule not to use your abilities on civilians in situations other than necessary. People had to deal with their trauma in a natural way, no matter how long it took, magic would deprive them of this opportunity, magic was an easy escape that robbed one of the ability to heal, the ability to grieve.

"I know that this is against all the rules that we established in our relationship, and you will probably refuse, but I have a favor to ask," you started. You were sitting in the kitchen, drinking your afternoon coffee, as she was preparing dinner. Back then you didn't know that this was meant to be the last dinner that you will have together for a very long time.

"Go on!" she encouraged as she stirred in the pan.

"I would like you to look into my future..." you requested quietly and Missouris' hand froze for a second in the pan.

"I'm sorry I must have misunderstood you," she turned to you and folded her hands on her chest, her eyes were glaring at you dangerously, "You are damn right missy! I will not do that! Why on Earth would you even ask me that!!"

"Oh come on!! Just this once! With all that is happening around me lately, I think this perfectly reasonable thing to ask!" you pleaded.

"Stay away from the Sandman and you won't have to worry about your future!"

"Missouri..." you attempted a sad puppy look but you could never master it, no one ever bought it even for a second.

"I warned you once didn't I?! Despite my better judgment I told you to stay away from this one! You obviously didn't listen. People are not meant to know their future! Witches or civilians!"

"Come on!! I can handle it!!" you begged. "Please, just this once, little sneaky look! Please, do this for me." She didn't answer anything, just angrily turned back to the steaming pots and started stirring them nervously one by one. You, however, knew, you knew that she would do what you asked her to do.

***

After dinner, you sat down in a small room that Missouri treated as her office. It was much smaller than the other rooms in the house, even one tiny window was always covered by a thick maroon curtain. A small couch stood against the wall, and on the other side, a small table stood between two armchairs. On each side, you were surrounded by stacks of books, which you loved paging through and comparing with your own collection.

"Where did you get that?" you asked, holding up an extremely old volume entitled "Dreamwalking and Astral Projection - A case study"

"Oh, Bobby Singer gave it to me some time ago," she brushed off.

"I bet it was right after you told him that I'm hanging out with the Sandman..." you sneered.

"Don't you get all sassy with me, missy!" she nagged her finger, "you are walking a thin line here! Looking into one future, unbelievable..." that last part she murmured mostly to herself. "Come. Sit down," she turned the chairs in the way so you would face each other.

You sat down as she ordered, and to your surprise nervousness suddenly caused your heart to beat faster. You needed to know, with everything that had happened in your life recently you needed to know what the future held for you. In your mind, this knowledge could prepare you for anything.

"You know that no future is set in stone. Whatever I am about to see doesn't have to come true," her eyes were filled with tension as well.

"Of course, I know that!"

"You sure you want to do this?"

"I'm sure." despite nervousness speeding up your heartbeat you had not hesitated for a second.

"I can't believe that I'm doing this for you...." she muttered and shook her head in disbelief.

"That's what friends are for right?" you smirked.

"Oh hush you!" she scolded you with frowned brows, "Keep quiet and listen to me!" you nodded in agreement, "First of all I need you to take off whatever magical objects you got on you. I don't want to get any interference." you nodded again and reached under your blouse for your pentacle amulet. You hesitated as your hand traveled to your pocket to reach for a vile of sand. You placed them safely on the table, somehow without them you felt naked, unprotected. As soon as you took your hand from them Missouris' eyes darted at the vial.

"What is that..." she almost whispered.

"You know damn well what that is..." you could feel another lecture coming.

"Where did you get that?"

"Morpheus...he gave it to me..." you replied quietly.

"Gave it to you?!" her eyes widened in surprise.

"Yes. He gave it to me," you repeated, "Back when we were in Hell. I wanted to give it back but he asked me to keep it. He said it was a gift."

"Child...this is a powerful object...." she looked fearfully at the vial, "Mortals are not equipped to possess objects like this, god only knows what it can do to you! What kind of control it can place over you!"

"I can..." you started quietly, "I can hold it, and I'm pretty sure that Morpheus knows that..." Missouri gazed at you questioningly so you continued, "I can, well... sort of use it. When I hold it, it sort of amplifies my powers. But doesn't give me new ones, just amplifies the ones that I have. During last week's events, I could hear a voice in my head, the voice of the man who was doing all of it, but it wasn't speaking to me. I think he was talking to Morpheus and I sort of overheard it. It was like I heard Morpheus's thoughts. When I touched the vial, I saw him. I saw Morpheus and he saw me," in your friend's eyes you saw fear mixed with fascination, "The same thing happened while we've been in Hell. You saw images in my head. I could hear and sense things around me before I even touched the vial. But when I touched it I could see it all...I could see it all and more...it was like my eyes had suddenly opened only to reveal a whole different world hidden behind the veil."

"But you had it with you, it was in your pocket..." she interrupted.

"You're right. But I didn't have it when I ventured in my dreams to his Realm. More than once. I haven't even known him..." you lowered your voice again, "I'm telling you. For some reason, I can use it."

Missouri did not answer anything, she only looked suspiciously at the vial and after a moment pushed it further away with her hand hidden under the sleeve of her blouse. She was afraid to touch it.

"How long do you have this neckless?" She gazed at your silver neckless with a pentacle pendant.

"I had it for ages! Why?"

"It's got strange energy..." her eyes peered through the amulet in concentration, "Can't you feel it? I don't know what is it, but it's got strange energy... I've felt it since the moment you arrived."

"It is a pentacle embodied with amethyst stones infused with my own magic! Of course, it has strange energy!" you exclaimed, "Now you are just being silly! Are we doing this or not?"

Missouri only sighed heavily. One thing she knew perfectly well, stubbornness was one of your strengths, and if you refused to listen then her words were of no use.

"Close your eyes and try to relax," she instructed you, "and please, for my sake, try not to think about anything that I do not want to know!" she warned, "Just keep your mind clear, do not think about anything or anyone, breath steady."

You closed your eyes and did as instructed. For a moment, images of the previous week's events tried to invade your mind, you had to focus all your will on the all-encompassing blackness and your own breathing. Missouri waited, waited while observing as your eyes stopped twitching nervously under closed eyelids and your chest began to rise calmly and evenly.

"Good...." she gently took both your hands and closed them in her own, "just breath..."

For a moment you felt her presence in your own mind, you flinched, as your defense mechanisms automatically attempted to fight her. Missouri, however, only clenched her hands tighter on yours. It seemed as if it lasted an eternity, the darkness in front of your eyes, the silence so deafening that it began to ring in your ears, the warm touch of her hands on your own after a while began to cause an unpleasant tingling sensation.

"What do you see?" you whispered.

"I see..." she began, "I see...nothing..." she removed her hands and you opened your eyes.

"What do you mean, nothing? It didn't work?"

"No...it is not that..." her voice trembled.

"Oh my lord just tell me!!"

"I saw nothing, just darkness...I saw nothing... only darkness, all around you there was darkness, implacable, endless darkness. There were no images, no people, no places, just you and all around you endless darkness."

"Endless darkness..." you repeated in your mind, and involuntarily your thoughts led you to Morpheus. That's how it felt to be near him sometimes, that's how it felt to gaze into the universe in his eyes. Yet it was also an image of the void, the one that almost consumed him.

"What had he told you?" Missouri brought you back to reality, "You know, back then, before you threw yourself onto him," she did not pass up the opportunity to point this out to you.

"He asked me to go with him..." you whispered in contentment, "he asked me to go with him to his realm."

Only a quiet gasp escaped her lips, and she asked nothing more.

"Thank you for doing this for me," you smiled kindly, "I really appreciate that. I know that it was hard for you and I know that it was a lot to ask." you got up from a chair, and grabbed your things, the amulet was back on your neck and the sand vial was safely hidden in your pocket, "And thank you for this week. I know it wasn't exactly a vacation, but to me, it was the most precious time. I better get going. I bet my whole apartment smells like a two-week old laundry and left out trash," you smirked.

"My dear..." she stopped you by gently placing her hands on your shoulders, "I do not know what future awaits you, but I strongly implore you, to be careful. Seeing him talking with you got me thinking that perhaps I was wrong...perhaps..." she cut off the thought, "but still, please be careful. Please be smart and act on reason, not on emotions."

"I cannot promise that," you smirked again, "You know me..."

"And child...," she squizzed your arms gently and continued, "please stop blaming yourself for everything bad that happened. Turners, Jeffersons, that poor man, your parents...Y/N it is not your fault. Your parents died of natural causes, you cannot drive yourself to the grave trying to help everyone, you simply cannot help everyone. You can't save everyone..." tears shone in her concerned eyes.

"Jeffersons?" you saw regret slowly creeping onto her face, "Who are Jeffersons?"

"I thought you knew..." she mouthed apologetically.

"Poltergeist case?" a cold shiver ran through your body, a feeling you were beginning to get used to, after all, you had experienced it so often in recent weeks, "I've sent Constantine here..."

"He got here a few hours too late. They attempted to flee their house in the hurry, it was a particularly nasty ghost."

"What happened?"

"Car crash, head-on collision with a truck... no one survived."

A feeling of helplessness and anger flooded you completely. Suddenly all the good that you and Missouri had given back to the people in need had no longer mattered. For each life you saved, there were four sniffed away, four that you could not save. Four that, through your decisions, had ceased to exist. A new feeling suddenly arose in your heart, a desire, a desire to feel nothing anymore, a desire not to feel the despair that seemed to follow your every step.

"I think you should name the dog Ace, it is a good name for a Dane."

At least this life you could save, "at least he survived".

***

The moment your foot crossed the doorstep of your apartment you knew something was wrong. Your magical senses momentarily picked up strange energy in the air, a change, an energy that shouldn't be here. Without even turning on the light, you walked carefully through the entire apartment checking every room, from the bathroom to the bedroom. You found no one. Yet, your attention got drawn to the books scattered on the floor, to the candles that had been knocked over, and to the bed in disarray. You examined everything carefully as if looking for traces of someone who might have left them. "I think I'm already starting to lose my mind," you thought calmly, after all, the locks were secured, there was no sign of a break-in. After examining the front door and locks closely once more, you decided that you clearly must have left this mess when you left your apartment in a hurry more than a week ago.

The night was already deep, the hour was approaching two o'clock, so you decided that apartment cleaning will have to wait until tomorrow. You took a long relaxing shower, trying not to think about the Turners, drank a cup of vanilla tea trying not to think about the Jeffersons, smoked a couple of cigarettes trying not to think about the burning man, changed into your favorite black satin nightgown trying not to think about Hell and determined to fall asleep quickly you went to bed.

"At least Ace will have a good life now…"

***

Morpheus felt her presence the moment she entered the Dreaming. He was strolling along the riverfront talking to the wind and the mountains when suddenly his mind was pierced by that new familiar feeling, the one he couldn't name, the one he had begun to feel since he had traveled through Hell with her. He knew she was here, he knew she was dreaming. He nodded to the mountains and the river, thanked them for the conversation, then reached for his pouch of sand and disappeared into the golden swirls of grain.

He found himself in a long dark corridor, illuminated by a dimming frigid light. The metallic gray walls seemed to overwhelm as if they wanted to suffocate anyone who dared to walk through. He stopped for a moment and ran his fingers over the words scratched on them;

loser...weak...useless...powerless...hopeless...

your fault...you killed them...they died because of you...

you can't help anyone... just die already...

regret...grief...despair...

"So much pain…" words covered the walls of the entire corridor and around the doors, three doors, each hiding different grief. Yet, he knew which one she was behind. He reached out his hand and opened one of them. A wave of scents and images burst from inside and surrounded him in a rippled stream, the smells of blood and death, images of violence and despair, tried to push him away with a powerful overwhelming force. Memories that had shaped Nightmares, Nightmares that had not recognized their master. They obstructed his view, whispered to him...

leave her...leave her...she gave us shape...

leave her...she is ours...leave...

"Let me pass." he ordered, "This has gone far enough. You have exceeded your bounds.

The Nightmares had parted creating the way for him, whispering quietly in terror, cowering before their Ruler.

Morpheus stepped through the door and there he saw her. She was kneeling on the wooden floor, she was looking at her hands covered with blood, she was crying. To her left rested a headless female body, to her right a male body with its chest torn open and its heart ripped out, and in front of her on the bed, the body of a young girl was leaning against the wall. The girl who had taken her own life.

"Who are they?" he asked in a low voice.

"I should help them…" she whispered.

"Who are they?" he insisted.

"It was my job, my responsibility, and I failed them," she whimpered with her eyes fixed on her bloody hands, "their blood is on my hands. They asked for my help, and I…. instead of helping them I helped you…"

She raised her eyes and looked at him, standing a few steps behind her, watching her carefully, his heart broke when their eyes met. "So much despair…"

"I don't blame you…" she said with her eyes fixed on him, "It was my decision, I chose to help you not them, I am to blame here, their blood is on my hands."

"It is not within your power to save everyone…" his voice took on a warm tone. He had seen similar nightmares billions of times, but for some reason, he didn't quite understand, looking at this one seemed unbearable, "You must not blame yourself…"

"That's what everyone seems to be saying…" she whispered as the image of the nightmare faded and changed.

They found themselves in a cemetery. She was sitting on a bench with her head lowered in sadness, in front of her three monuments rose from the ground, Turners, Jeffersons, and her family.

"I killed them…" she wept, "my decisions…the fallout of my decisions…"

He did not agree with it, could not agree with it, "she should know that she cannot help everyone," he thought. A desire rose inside him to end this nightmare, a desire to take her away, a desire to wipe the blood from her hands and the tears from her face. But he knew he could not do that, the wounds had to heal, even if the process was painful.

"Why are you here?" she asked without looking at him, "Why did you come?"

He did not answer.

"There are seven billion people in the world, at least half of them are sleeping now…I'm sure you have something to do, so many dreams and nightmares to control. Why are you in mine?"

Morpheus remained silent.

"You don't have to bother with me Dream Lord. There are others. Leave me... leave me alone..."

"No."

Morpheus sat down on the bench next to her and held out his open hand. She hesitated only to weave her fingers between his a moment later. They said nothing, in silence mourning those who had passed away.

He stayed with her until the end of the dream...

Part twelve: Living Nightmare

~~***~~

Authors note: And here we are at the end of Chapter 11. I spoke with a friend today about this chapter knowing very well that it will not be light and happy. I thought to myself that I definitely need to write something more happy, just pure fluff. But...there will be a moment for happiness and joy, yet this is not this moment. And to be honest I really like writing these painful and horror-ish scenes that are only cut through by moments of comfort, and glimpses of hope. That's why I fell in love with a Sandman in the first place. This utterly dark story with such powerful hopeful and uplifting themes. I do hope you enjoyed this chapter and that you will follow the story. I promise, there will be light, eventually ;) Thank you so much for your constant support, for all of your reblogs, and comments, each and every one of them means the world to me. See ya in Sunday in chapter 12 ;) As for now, Dear Reader, I thank you for reading :)

~~***~~

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vulgarvixxen · 11 months

Note

Roman being a birthday whore

Tw: drugs, alcohol, suggestive drinks, sex, crying(the happy kind but it’s there), drunk/tipsy sex, orgy

It was his birthday and Roman had been invited to a concert by his twin who knew how much he wanted to see this new band but was too nervous to go alone.

The band had a masquerade theme, each member wearing a mask that hid half their face. The lead singer Emotions had a cat mask with light blue details, Logic wore a raven mask with indigo and dark blue highlights against the black feather and played the keyboard. The bassist, Anxiety, wore a mask that covered the bottom of his face in a creepy spider mouth in a deep purple, the drummer, who went by Deceit, had a snake tattoo on the left side of his face and a yellow and gold snake mask on his right half. They were really cool and their music was a mix of seductive melodies with thought provoking lyrics that got Roman’s creative side flowing.

Remus brought “Birthday Queen” and “Birthday Bitch” sashes for them to wear, they were corny but in the fun way that his brother could be when he wasn’t being a gore gremlin from work. (Being head of the special effects team for horror movies really warps one’s humor.) The club was more underground and you had to “know a guy” to get in, which both twins did but Roman had never taken advantage of the fact. Being a costume designer and inspiring actor didn’t leave him a lot of time to make friends let alone friends you’d take to a club that had a grungy “IDGAF” vibe and catered to mainly behind the scenes clientele.

The outside was a boring looking concrete structure and inside it stayed mostly concrete, the walls were graffitied in mixed of color that popped out in 3-D designs where the black lights hit them. And the floors were a checkerboard of colored concrete covered in epoxy, glitter and confetti that seemed to be mixed in or just stuck between layers. It was grungy and beautiful, Roman was blown away and so grateful that his brother brought him here at last!

When a bartender wearing shades saw Remus they waved the twins over, “Hey Babe, I got you those passes you wanted. Two VIPs and two drink bracelets, your sweet birthday asses get to meet the band and all your drinks are free.” They explained, clipping on a neon pink bracelet, reminiscent of old hospital bracelets, onto each of their wrists. Remus gave them one of his happy feral grins, “You’re the best, Remy! I’d blow you right now if you weren’t on the clock.” To that “Remy” got a devilish grin of their own, “Speaking of blow jobs, let’s start you cuties off with a bj shot.”

The drink was made with some kind of coffee liqueur that smelled way too good to be cheap, Irish cream, and a healthy squirt of whipped cream. One of the shots was topped with edible gold and the other with edible rainbow glitter, Remus pulled the shots closer to the edge of the bar, taking the gold one for himself and putting the rainbow one in front of Roman. “There’s rules for this drink Ro-bro, no hands allowed, you have to knock it back with your mouth alone.” And to show what he means, Remus leans forward and wraps his lips around the glass rising up to throw the shot back. The chaos twin winks at Remy as he sets the shot glass back down without touching it, Remy looked like he was not at all impressed but that could have been his neutral face. Taking a stance so he won’t fall over, Roman put his hands behind his back and tried to copy what his brother did. It wasn’t perfect but he was able to get his mouth around his shot eventually, the taste of sweet coffee pours over his tongue and he finds it covers any alcohol flavor. He can’t quite put it down like Remus so once the glass is empty he uses his hand to put it on the bar, “That was really good, thanks Remy.” Remy smiled at him, “No problem, Babe, go have a fun birthday.”

The first hour was full of local bands playing a song or two, never staying for long before the next one came one, most of them weren’t Roman’s taste but a few didn’t sound half bad. They ended up buying a shirt from a three person band that was called Rainbow Panic and reminded him of LaPeer, the girls all wore different pride buttons and looked pretty young to be already so talented. They asked the girls to autograph the shirts. Between bands they got more drinks and mingled with some of the regulars that Remus seemed to know, it was really feeling like a party by the time the main act, the reason they were there, The Guise!

Conversation quieted to barely a whisper as the band started playing their song ‘Façade’, a song about feeling like an imposter in your own life. It was one of Roman’s favorites and the reason he had sought out more of their music, he was mouthing along with it as he let it flow through him. He couldn’t be sure but it looked like Anxiety noticed because he was giving their table more glances than the rest…could just be the silly birthday get up though. The second on the playlist was another great song, probably their most popular, ‘Subterfuge’. This one was about how we’re lied to from childhood and how telling the truth is more deceptive in this day and age. The story is cool but the lyrics are so clever by using words with double meanings. The next few in the list are ‘Parody’, ‘Veneer, and ‘Strike A Pose’, each one was pretty good and Roman knew all the words still but he wasn’t in love with them like the first two. The last before the break was Roman’s current favorite, ‘Reproduce’, it was about how being creative could feel like making love or being screwed. It was both relatable and really sexy, Emotions and Deceit shared the microphone for this one and it did things to his insides.

The break saw Remus getting them some pretzels while Roman kept watch of their drinks, the line at the bar was long so he wasn’t expecting his brother for a while. So when someone sat next to him Roman was rightfully surprised, the guy was wearing a purple hoodie that hid most of his face in shadow that set him on edge. “Uh sorry, just wanted to say happy birthday. Hope it’s a good one.” And just as quickly as he arrived the hooded mystery man was gone back into the crowd.

Remus thankful got back in time for the last small band to still be playing and Ro could tell him everything about the mystery guy, “Ooh, sounds like you could end up having a happy ending to your happy birthday. Lucky.” Re teased, knowing that Roman wasn’t one to typically have one night stands. They ate their snack and clapped with the rest of the room when The Guise came back for their final half. ‘Four-Flush’ about a lover cheating, ‘Assume’ about assuming a persona and the assumptions made because of that persona, ‘Jubilee’ celebrating a success by aiming higher, ‘Holy Revelry’ a newer song about embracing your flaws because it makes you human, and lastly the song that cemented their popularity, ‘Masquerade’, all about coming out of the closet and facing the “red death” of being disowned. The queer community in Hollywood had fallen in love with the pure emotion that Emotion put into it, it had made Roman cry the first few times he heard it.

The show wraps up with Emotions and Deceit thanking the audience and a club worker saying that the live music for the night was over and that a DJ would be playing the rest of the night. This was when Remus nudged him and waved their VIP passes at him, “Let’s go meet the band Ro-bro!” Oh right, they had those, he had forgotten. O-M-G he was going to meet the Guise, this was the best birthday ever! Going to the door that the band went through was nerve wracking, the bouncers were super nice though and knew Re so that was comforting. In the back there was an area or closed doors probably for dressing rooms and a curtain that the bouncers had pointed them to. Behind it was the band sitting on various furniture, chilling and out of some of the more restrictive parts of their costumes. The smell of weed tickled Roman’s nose and he noticed Deceit and Logic passing a thin joint between them, Emotions was drinking a bright pink concoction that almost hurt to look at, and Anxiety was sitting on the arm of a chair wearing a familiar hoodie and fiddling with his mask.

“Hiya, you guys rock. I can see why my bro here is a huge fan.” Remus says as a way of announcing their arrival. Anxiety jolts from his task and Roman can see his eyes widen, that was the mysterious stranger! Emotions waves at them, “Hi, nice to have you here and also happy birthday!” His talking voice is higher but just as soothing to hear, it distracts Roman from his mini heart-attack realization. Remus shoves Roman onto an unoccupied couch and sits next to him, “Thanks, sorry if Roman stays quiet for a hot second, normally he’s a real talker but he’s all star struck. Give him a minute and he’ll probably have a good story about some celebrity he fitted for some movie or whatever.” Roman blushes at the mention of his work, he always forgot that he technically was around stars all the time.

Logic asks if Remus has any stories of his own, the gremlin talks about meeting the lead lady of horror herself Sigourney Weaver when he worked on the newest Halloween movie. That got Roman to speak up a little and add the part Remus had purposely left out, it was purposely because Remus would never forget a part of that story. The conversation started picking up from there and soon Roman didn’t notice Remus leaving with Remy after a drink drop-off. He did however notice when the guys started to take off their masks.

Logic and Emotions had the easiest to get off and they both switched out contacts for very similar glasses, Logic with black and Emotions with a sky blue. Anxiety had followed with his spider mask and put it in a bag by his chair, he put in a set of spider bites that shone a rainbow of colors. Deceit was the last to uncover his full face but he didn’t add anything, actually he removed something, his tattoo! It had apparently been a temporary one he used to obscure his identity. But now Roman had a new problem, they each were very pretty and giving him a lot of attention.

“You know,” Deceit purrs, “We were going to go out and unwind, you should come with us.” Emotions nods enthusiastically, causing Deceit to chuckle. Logic chimes in next, “I’m sure if you let your brother know that it won’t be a problem, he seems like the protective sort.” Roman nods, Remus had always been his physical protector while Roman stood up for Remus during conflicts of feelings. It was just how they balanced each other out. “Be sure to share your location too, safety and all that.” Anxiety adds. Could he? Should he? This was every real life horror story beginning but it’s not like he was stupid enough to not already know to share his location, not that he needed to with the twins having “track my phone” for each other. “I mean, I’d like that. Re would probably say I need to be more adventurous anyway…” he was already pulling out his phone and sending the texts.

After some late night greasy hole in the wall food the band takes him along to a coffee shop that was pretty close to his own apartment, he didn’t say anything but they all knew the menu so they must come often. It’s there he sees the signs that the guys are partners in more than just the band. Emotions is a touchy person so seeing him hang onto the others doesn’t register at first but then he kisses Deceit and that tracked, the duets had so much heat in them not to be from actual feelings. But then he kisses Logic and calls him Logie, it’s too sweet to be a nickname based on his persona so it must be from Logic’s real name. Next was Anxiety snuggling his face into Deceit’s neck, the act screamed “lovers”. So when Roman caught smaller hints it became obvious that the band was a polycule.

Emotions giggly held his hand as the group went to the apartment complex just around the block from his own, Anxiety was close enough to his other side that they bumped shoulders in a way that felt intentional. Logic led the way with Deceit bringing up the rear, Roman felt safe instead of crowded like he would have normally. Inside their place was extremely homey, lived in and filled with love, it reminds Roman of sharing a dorm with his brother and Emile in college. “I’m grabbing beers, requests?” Anxiety asks, heading to what was likely the kitchen. Logic asked for his “usual” and Emotions called for a “dark”, what’s brought in is some local brew, two light beers and two lagers. “I didn’t know what you liked so I grabbed extras of their stuff, but um, I could get you water if you want.” Anxiety offers. It was really nice of him but Roman was in the mood for a normal beer after all those mixed drinks. “Beer sounds good to me, thanks.”

After a few beers they accidentally let slip their names, Patton, Logan, Virgil, and Janus. Roman now had a lap full of Patton, the guy was playing with Roman’s sash and humming. The others were all talking quietly as not to disturb Pat’s bubble of sound, it was a surprise when suddenly there was a pair of lips kissing his neck. He must of made a noise because the other three had stopped talking, he should be stopping Pat, those were Patton’s partners and the poor guy probably was drunk enough to think he was one of them! He was going to say something when Janus chuckled, “Of course our dear Emotions would be the first to make a move.” With the silence broken Virgil adds in quickly, “You can say no, he won’t be upset, we won’t be upset. This is all so sudden and all.” Logan seems to agree with how he nods and puts a hand on Virgil’s shoulder.

“W-what if I don’t want to say no?” Roman stutters, face burning. “Please.” Patton has quit giving him hickeys to give him the sexiest pair of puppy eyes. That was just unfair. Heart hammering Roman kisses those pouting lips, the next bit is a blur but eventually the five of them are in a bedroom with a California King with far less clothes on then they had on in the living room. Patton was kissing his neck again and Virgil had claimed his lips, he could see Logan or Janus but he could feel their hands all over him. Someone was taking off his pants but he couldn’t care less who, Virgil had just made the hottest whine into his mouth and he was kinda more focused on that. Whoever was taking pants off had done the same for Patton and making rounds, Virgil was rutting his hard-on onto Roman’s own. Patton switching places with Logan and slicked fingers entered him, “Good boy, so relaxed and willing to be filled” Janus hummed the praise from close by, Roman whimpered into Virgil’s kiss.

Logan had three fingers fully inside Roman when he pulled out, they were almost immediately replaced by Virgil’s dick. Roman figured it was him from the piercing and the way Virgil sighed at the same time he was filled. The pace started slow and built up, moans were mixed with praise and kisses from the others to both of them. All too soon Virgil had finished, pulling out quickly and falling into Janus’s waiting arms. “Aww, was our spiderling that pent up that he couldn’t even make it to our guest’s first time?” It was teasing but the tone made it sound like this was normal, Virgil was just like that.

Now Patton was back in front of him and had a happy grin on his cherub face, “Ro-Ro! It’s my turn, do you want my dick or my mouth?” Roman had always been more a bottom and when it came to oral he much preferred giving than receiving, “Your dick, please.” He answered, though quietly like he wasn’t already in their bed. “Aww, no need to be coy! You’re being so good using your words, you’re a very good boy.” God, Roman didn’t know why that pet name was affecting him more than ever before, was it because of who was saying it or how they said it like it was true? He couldn’t think about it long as Patton pushed in and Roman had to keep himself from screaming in pleasure. Emotions not only had a big heart but also a huge cock, thickening as it went and it just kept going! Logan rubbed one of his hips, helping him relax again and take more.

The pace Patton set was slow, he didn’t build up like Virgil had but kept perfect rhythm as he pushed deeper each time in. As this was going on Logan had moved on to just as slowly jacking Roman off, slick fingers playing with him like they had all the time in the world. When Virgil came back into the mix it was to litter his neck in soft kisses, from what Roman could see Janus was buried in Virgil and watching as the others played their parts. Something about that seemed so romantic and loving, so private that the blush on his cheeks traveled down to his chest. Looking at Logan or Patton didn’t help, they were looking at him like something precious. He spilled over Logan’s hand with a sob, Janus and Logan coo over him thinking it was just the orgasm but he couldn’t remember the last time he felt so loved. Patton came a few thrusts later, praise and “love you”s spilling out of him like a salve on a burn.

Janus and Logan kept up the coos as Patton and Virgil cuddled, dozing in and out as they watched for now. He was lubed up again by Logan as Janus took to kissing him, deeply and hotly. He didn’t notice when they started frotting but he was very aware when Logan entered him, the pace set was in sync with him and Janus. “You have been very good, Roman. Never impatient or demanding, you were even going to remind Patton that he wasn’t kissing one of us. So honest and humble, such a good boy.” Logan whispers into his ear, it has him whimpering into the kiss again and praying he isn’t crying. Janus breaks the kiss to add his own whispers, “Virgie showed you his face but you didn’t call him out backstage, you didn’t accuse me of being fake because of the tattoo either. How are you just so lovely, hmm? You could brag about working on movie sets but you got awe-struck by us, how did we go so lucky?” Roman is definitely close to tears now, hiding his face into Janus’s shoulder to hide his wet eyes and just bask in the moment.

Logan picks up his thrusts and ends up cumming next, not that Roman and Janus are far behind. Roman is pampered with kisses and more praises as the revived Patton gets washcloths to clean up with and Virgil has water bottles at the ready. Like outside Roman is in the middle of the group as they all settle down into a calm, he’s pretty sure Patton will be asleep soon and the rest of them are not going to last long either. He wonders as he starts to drift off if this will just be for tonight and he’ll have to treasure this night or if maybe, just maybe he has a chance to be part of this relationship.

In the morning he has several texts from Remus saying he was also going out, that he was staying with Remy, don’t wait up ;). Logan is awake and in the living room as Roman heads for the door, “Roman, a moment please.” He’s not sure what to expect from this, maybe a warning to keep quiet about their identities or not to contact them again, what he doesn’t think will happen is Logan adding his number to Roman’s phone or a promise of sending the rest of their numbers later in the day. “We normally date a new person first before taking them to bed but last night was an exception. I hope you will accept the offer.” The kiss goodbye was gentle and warm and Roman can’t help but smile all the way home.

#not safe for sanders #nsfs DLAMP #nsfs logan #nsfs virgil #nsfs roman #nsfs patton #nsfs janus #m/m/m/m/m #drugs tw #alcohol tw #minors dni #anon ask

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animusbell · 1 year

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Paranatural: On Max's Possessor Being Purple

In this post, I speculated that the Sphinx who is obviously possessing Max might have purple spectral energy. Because, you know, black isn't a color of any regular light rainbow, and it's been associated with purple a couple times.

...But that's all pretty loose evidence. And it also wouldn't explain why it's possible for it to do things like possess him, since spectral energy color is pretty dang important in this comic!

First of all, why purple?

Starting with the weaker evidence, Max's spectral energy displays a (mostly) violet aura here, when he's reaching out to his bat -- notably not using his bat's powers, just using his own spectral energy, which he hasn't really learned to control yet.

2. Max glows purple when he gets possessed and levitated by a spirit inside him -- and I'm assuming it wasn't the grudge who just flung him off the train. And although it's a different style, this is also a purple aura surrounding his regular spectral energy, like above.

3. The cat-eared chair is purple... inside of his dreamscape, where we see several other hints towards sphinx-related theming.

4. Also in the dreamscape, when Max says "I don't do promises," there's a purple background when Boss Leader jolts and notices something else. It's possible that Max's words invoked his spirit, since we know Sphinx powers trend towards making words into reality, and promises are just words!

And adding to this: We don't know how well Boss Leader can see spirits who are intentionally hiding themselves, but it seems at least a little weird to only barely notice someone ostensibly connected to Max's brain, sharing his senses. But what if that being wasn't as connected to Max's brain, because of the spectral energy not quite matching?

Precedent for energy color mismatch

Mina says this in relation to using her "chartreuse" spectral energy to connect to the Ghost Train's teal.

Who's she referring to here? Could it be... her former mentor, Agent Summers, AKA June Puckett?

June is seen doing metal work, is implied to have died in a fire-related incident, and her hand has what might be scales. And we know a fire and metal guy with scales! It's Forge!

We know that people can inherit spectral energy color -- not genetically, just through exposure, like Isabel with her grandpa. So it's possible that Max inherited his color from his mom, whether as a long-delayed response to living with her for years, or if her ghost hung around him for any time afterwards...

And if June Puckett has black energy, that would make a lot of sense if she was a medium for Forge... he's got grey energy! Grey and black are similar in their lack of specific hues, but not the same color, which would explain Mina's comment.

But also...

Assuming the above is true, Forge's shade of grey is really not dark! It's a pretty mid-value grey, actually closer to white than black at its lightest parts. (I don't think grey energy has any special properties -- it's just the distance that's notable.)

Now, we know that white spectral energy "works as if it was each color simultaneously." It seems pretty likely that black energy does not share this property, or indeed have any notable special properties, because...

...those properties would probably be noted by the many people who already have them.

But maybe it does have one hidden use, even working just like every other color: if you have black spectral energy, you're still equally close to every other color! That means, although it would be a bit of a challenge, any color of spirit (or at least the darker ones) is possible for you to connect with!

(It would certainly be a useful trait for another black-energy spectral who, say, collects tools and converses with them... especially when not every spirit can hop out of their tool and re-heal as easily as Eightfold could.)

So picture this: You're a sphinx with purple spectral energy, and you need a way into Mayview. Fortunately, while on your last legs, you find a family on their way to move there. What a bounty! You possess the boy, he's gonna bloom into a purple spectral who can heal you up, and you'll be in Mayview, easy peasy.

Unfortunately, when the kid starts turning spectral in town, his energy is black. How is this gonna replenish your energy? And you're trapped - You're just gotta wait for this kid to die?

Fortunately, it turns out this kid is the son of, uhhh, Miss Prodigial Spectral Energy Medium Color Mismatch Expert herself, and through some natural inclination of either Max's or just the nature of his energy, he actually starts to heal you! And you're able to connect to his mind, at least occasionally, although he doesn't fully manifest your powers...

...At least, not in a way that anyone's noticed, yet.

#paranatural #paranatural theory #paranatural theories #mine #trying to include more pictures in these can you tell #im actually excited about the potential for this to be relevant bc ive been thinking about it since i first read this danged comic yearsago #anyway im gonna start calling this dude sphinxburger #from sphinx and berg

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kieraelieson · 3 years

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Three Times Patton Got Lost in a Market

Thomas was walking through the old store with his mom, careful to hold her hand while they shopped.

“Oh, look! There’s a wind chime! It’s just like the nice neighbor lady!” Patton said.

Thomas stopped to look, and his mom stopped too, looking at something else across the aisle.

“It isn’t exactly the same,” Logan said. “Hers has a hummingbird on top, but this one has a butterfly.”

“And anyway, this one has prettier colors when the light hits it,” Roman added.

“Oooh, the red really is pretty, Roman!” Patton said excitedly. “And the purple, and the yellow!”

“It’s exactly the colors of the most beautiful rainbow reflecting back from a pot of gold,” Roman said dreamily.

“Mom!” Virgil suddenly shrieked, alerting them all to the fact that Thomas’s mom was no longer beside them.

Instantly, there was a pandemonium of overlapping voices, all very confusing, and Virgil at the front screaming.

“Quiet!” Patton yelled, as loud as he could, and then felt a little like crying. He didn’t like yelling, but this was important!

“But we have to find Mom!”

“We should run after her!”

“If we yell someone will hear!”

“Listen to me!” Patton yelled again. “Remember what Mom said? If we get lost in the store we stay put, and if we see an employee then we ask them to call mom for us.”

Virgil bit down hard on his sleeves, and Patton took his silence for agreement.

“That is indeed what Thomas was told,” Logan admitted.

“I still think we should go find her!” Roman protested, though less pointedly than before.

Thomas plopped down on the floor.

“Ok. That settles it, we’re waiting for mom,” Patton said. “Let’s look for more pretty things while she comes to get us. Roman, what else can you see around us that looks like a rainbow?”

Roman grumpily crossed his arms. “There’s a rainbow on the lawn decoration.”

“Very good!” Patton said. “Logan, can you see anything that’s science-accurate?”

“Science-accurate is a very vague phrase, but I suppose you could be intending to direct me to the collection of decorative barometers.”

“Oooh~ yes, the water swan neck thingies~” Roman said.

Logan launched into an explanation of barometers, most of which Patton didn’t understand.

He checked on Virgil, who was scanning the aisle they were in over and over again, and chewing holes in his poor sleeves.

“She’ll be here in just a minute, don’t worry,” Patton said gently.

Virgil nodded slightly, but didn’t stop checking the ends of the aisle and staring down each person that passed.

And then his eyes went wide. Patton turned to look.

“Mom!”

“Thomas, I thought I lost you for a minute there! Stay close, ok?”

Thomas took his mother’s hand and nodded.

Patton let out a sigh of relief. They weren’t lost anymore.

••^*^••

Thomas was a bit worried about high school, and especially the test coming up, and Logan and Virgil were mostly helping him with that. But now he had to go to the store for groceries. And Roman was exhausted after being all excited over the play and was sound asleep.

So Patton was helping shop!

He smiled confidently, prompting Thomas to look at the list again. He needed to get the ingredients for tacos, and some bread, milk, eggs, and ice cream. Yum!

Now what all went into tacos?

There was meat, and sour cream, and little shredded lettuce, and cheese, and taco shells, or was he supposed to get soft tortillas?

Patton considered, wandering into the store towards the food. Maybe both? Yeah. Both. Oh! And there was the bread! That would probably have tortillas near it!

Patton hummed happily, finding the bread that looked the same as what mom had been getting, noting the brand name. Nature’s Own. Huh.

Now tortillas… what kind did they normally get?

He finally just picked the one that had blue on the label.

Virgil popped up, startling him for a moment, especially with his intense frown. “People are staring. We’re taking too long near the bread, and your humming is gonna make people think Thomas is weird.”

“Oh, it’s alright!” Patton said cheerfully, glad he hadn’t dropped the tortillas. “I didn’t get in anyone’s way, and they haven’t said anything yet about thinking Thomas is weird.”

“Yeah…” Virgil glared at the people milling around and shopping. “Well they could. Just… keep it quiet.”

“Will do!” Patton grinned, and Virgil sunk back out.

Next he had to find… well, next he had to find the next thing. Should he keep walking and hope to see them, or should he seek each one out? He’d stumbled upon the bread, surely he would stumble across the rest.

Patton hummed happily and kept walking, skipping along beside the cart as Thomas pushed it. Thomas must really be out of it, poor guy. But Patton could help him cheer up!

Pretty soon, they had almost everything! Except for taco seasoning. And Patton wasn’t sure if they were supposed to get the kind that was in packets, or the actual spices. And he also wasn’t sure whether he should look in the spices area or the Mexican food area. Or where those areas were.

Surely they’d passed those special Mexican drinks a while back. But where?

Patton encouraged Thomas to turn around and go back, but after several aisles he still couldn’t find anything he was looking for. He turned back around, and then again.

“Perhaps… I need to go from one end all the way to the other…”

Virgil popped up again, rather grumpy looking, but not as much as earlier. “That’s gonna take too long. We’re already late, and Mom is gonna need Thomas home son so she can make dinner.”

Patton sighed. “Ok. Logan, help please, I’m lost.”

Logan popped up, looked around, and then pointed. “That aisle.”

“But how do you know?” Patton asked.

“There’s a sign above it.”

Patton looked up. “Oh. Yeah.” He chuckled. “I should’ve thought to look for signs. Thanks, Logan!”

“You’re welcome. However I do suggest we attempt to make our trip home expedient. I’ll need Virgil’s full attention and assistance to prepare adequately for the test.”

“Will do!” Patton said, already spurring Thomas towards the aisle.

••^*^••

“I have created the ultimate maze!” Roman said excitedly. “It is called Infinite IKEA!”

Patton clapped excitedly, and even Logan gave a single clap.

“I really don’t see the point—“

“The point is a race, Emo Nightmare, and the winner gets to pick which old reruns Thomas watches tonight.”

Virgil tried to pretend he was still disinterested, but Patton could tell he was excited. “So what would we have to do to win the race?”

Roman grinned. “I’ve hidden a copy of each of our logos in the store somewhere, except for mine, which Logan hid by sinking in and placing it in a random place, so he doesn’t know the layout of the store yet. You have to find your own logo, and then exit the store!”

Oh, so that was why Logan had a bump on his head. He’d probably tried to rise up too close to a shelf. Ouch.

“Everybody ready! Set! Go!”

They all rushed into the store. Patton looked around excitedly, getting more excited to see that the store was full of items that came from houses where Thomas had lived or visited. He ran to the section of beds and flopped onto the biggest one.

He let out a comfy sigh, looking up at the roof which, rather than being metal supports and too-bright lights, was intricately painted with something that glowed.

It was amazing.

“You did a really great job, Roman,” Patton said, even though Roman was probably running ahead to win the race— oh! This was a race!

He jumped up and started walking, looking around for his heart with glasses.

After the bed section, where he wished he could stay and flip onto each one, he wandered into the lamps and chandeliers section. That was beautiful. He was still dazzled and in awe walking out. It even had that massive one Thomas had seen in the one hotel once.

And then came books, where Logan was!

“Hi, Logan!”

“Ah, greetings Patton.” Logan was looking through the books, just as captivated as Patton had been by the beds.

“Find your logo yet?”

“Not yet. I’m not overly concerned with winning, and Roman has certainly made this an interesting place to browse.”

“Mhmm!” Patton looked around. “Where are the kids books, I want to see if the Winnie the Pooh book is still chewed on or if Roman made it brand new.”

“That way, two shelves down,” Logan said, rather distracted by a book he’d picked off of the shelf.

“Thank you!”

Patton found the children’s section, and then found the book. It was still chewed on the corners. He smiled, and flipped through the thick cardboard pages. Thomas had loved this book.

And then, when he opened the last page, his logo fell out.

“Awww, look!” He picked it up, and found that it was a sticker. He promptly stuck the sticker to his chest and put the book back. Now all he had to do was find his way out!

He wandered into the next section, which was all dark and purples and blues and blacks and everything cozily packed together.

There was even a sign warning him away from certain aisles, because there would be spiders, and Patton was very glad Roman had thought of that.

And then he remembered the sunglasses stand sitting at the beginning of the lights aisle. That was probably for Virgil. Roman had been so thoughtful in building this! Patton hoped Roman would win. He certainly deserved the prize after putting all this together.

There was a whole section of Disney, all the movies, and posters, and any Disney themed toys and figurines, and even cardboard cut outs! It was lovely and chaotic and colorful, and it bridged Virgil’s section with Roman’s very well.

Roman had every single picture Thomas had ever seen, which was so many pictures!! Patton looked in awe until he realized that the paintbrushes weren’t just for show, some of them had been used. There was a little black cat in the corner of one painting, and a little V, and the paintbrush was in a cup of black water.

Patton found a picture of a field of flowers, and picked up the paintbrush, dabbing a bit of pink onto the picture. It turned instead into exactly the kind of flower Patton had been envisioning! He smiled wide and painted another, and another, and another, and each one turned out beautiful!

He ran to another painting and gave a little boy in the background a balloon and a smile. And then he gave the lady sitting in a rocking chair a baby to hold.

He finally had to stop himself. He could stay here forever, but he probably should get to the end of the store so he wouldn’t worry the others.

He got to the end of Roman’s section, only to find a massive blanket fort. He kept himself from exploring, and passed through, coming out at… the beds again?

Ohhhhh, right. It was a race and a maze.

Patton flopped down on the bed Thomas had grown up with, wrapping up in the blanket. He let out a happy sigh.

“Logan! Roman! Virgil! I’m lost! But I’m also gonna stay lost!”

Roman rose up and leaned against the footboard, a pleased smile on his face. “Enjoying the store?”

“I’m loving it!” Patton said happily, sitting up. “You did a really good job!”

Roman glowed. “I guess I’ll have to leave it up for you to wander in then. Once Virgil finds the exit I’ll put it somewhere more obvious so you can get out once you’re done.”

“Oh, did you and Logan already get out? Who won?”

“Logan, but only by a few minutes. He hid my logo in a hard place! How was I supposed to guess he’d put it under the makeup stash?”

Patton chuckled. “Wait, I didn’t see that.”

“It’s in Virgil’s section, in one of the spider aisles. I can un-spider it for you if you want.”

“Well, let Virgil have his fun first, but I’d really like that.” Patton smiled. He could have fun in here for a long time. “You did an amazing job with the paintings too! I loved those!”

Roman puffed up happily. “I did, didn’t I?”

There was a distant, triumphant, “Ha! I made it! Wait, Princey beat me? Aww.”

Patton giggled.

Roman patted his shoulder. “Have fun.”

“I will!” Patton said happily, eyeing the blanket fort which he now had time to explore.

—————

If you enjoyed, please reblog! And consider supporting me as I try to make a living off of writing 😊

#my own work #sanders sides #sanders sides spoilers #virgil sanders #patton sanders #roman sanders #logan sanders

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forlornmelody · 3 years

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The Fantabulous Vacation of One Harley Quinn and Her Girlfriend Poison Ivy

Rating: T (suggestive themes, cartoon violence)

Fandom(s): DC Comics

Ship: Poison Ivy/Harley Quinn

Linkage: Ao3

Summary: Harley's been burning the wick at both ends and Ivy knows just the thing to help. But it takes more than just a change of scenery to get Harley to let go.

Note: Commission for @rookie009

~*~*~*

“You’re probably wondering Mr---Watchman--”

“Tockman.” Mr. Watchman spits. “William Tockman.”

“Why I’ve brought you here today.”

Mr. Watchman rolls his eyes. “I imagine you’re going to tell me.”

“Ah! Good. You’ve stopped struggling. Progress, Mister!” Harley boops him on the nose. Maybe she made the binding too tight? “I’m not cutting off your circulation, am I?” She leans in close. “Are you comfortable? I need you comfortable.”

“I’m tied up in ropes, wench!”

“Ah, see! This is what I’m talking about!” Harley sits across from him and his fainting couch, pulling her pen from her bun and making a heading on her notepad. “You have a whore madonna complex.” Chewing her pen, she murmurs, “perhaps from the trauma of your wife’s death? Cystic Fibrosis, was it?”

Her new patient says nothing. “Mister?” Harley glances up. “Willy?”

“Help!” William Tockman dangles from his left ankle, suspended in air by a beefy vine. “She’s gonna kill me!”

“Oh please. You’re hardly worth the trouble.” Ivy steps around him and the vine, brushing the dust off her hands. “Hi Harls!” How she got the vines up this far on this abandoned apartment building, Harley has no idea. But it sure has a lot of brick to climb.

“Ivy!” Harley doesn’t so much as hug her as ram her at full speed.

Her target, used to such behavior by now, braces for impact and manages to hug back. Harley takes a big whiff. “Mm. Jasmine?”

“Lilacs.” Ivy peers over at Clock King. “You...uh, busy?”

“Mm yeah. A little tied up at the moment. Or he is, at least.”

“So I see.” Ivy chews her lip, staring out the window as if she had left a reminder there. She makes a face as the draft stirs some of the painting tarp discarded on the floor. “I was thinking maybe we could get out of town for a bit.”

“HELP.”

“Are you asking for help, Billy? Or do you prefer Willy?”

“HELP ME! THESE WOMEN ARE CRAZY.”

“Great!” Harley says brightly. “Admitting you need help is the first step towards healing!”

“Harls? Are you even listening?”

“You need help dismantling another CEO along with his company?”

“No.”

“Fundraiser for conservation efforts?”

“Harley--”

“Pride pre-game with Kitty?”

“Harleen.” That stops Harley short. Ivy never calls her that. Mostly cause she hates getting called Pamela with an undying passion. Probably childhood trauma. But Harley digresses.

Ivy sighs. “Sorry. Look. I need a vacation. We need a vacation.”

“I need help!”

“SHUT UP ALREADY.” Ivy and Harley say it together, and Ivy waves a hand, muffling Harley’s captive, er, patient with a particularly broad leaf.

“Mm... I’m a little busy--”

Ivy glances at Tockman, finally. “I can see that.”

“Lemme look at my calendar. Mmm.. maybe...next year? Definitely the one after that.”

“Harls.”

“I know, I know. But there’s my derby team, missions with Task Force X, the Birds of Prey, my day job--”

“I know.” Ivy takes her hands, gently, and squeezes them. It’s the softness that stops Harley in her tracks. “It’s why you need some time off.”

“But--”

“Shh. I already have plane tickets and a hotel booked. You don’t have to plan a thing.”

Harley can’t help the blush creeping up on her cheeks. “Aww, shucks, Ives. When are we leaving?”

“Now. The plane’s departing in--shit. We gotta go.”

“MMRPH.”

“Oh, right.” Ivy releases Clock King with a patented thud as she shoves Harley out the door. “Bye!”

-----

“So, we’re we goin’?” Harley pushes the arm rest out of the way and rests her chin on Ivy’s shoulder. She glances at Ivy’s phone as if it’ll give her some clues. She spots a sudoku puzzle. “Japan?”

“No.”

“The Amazon?”

“Nope.”

“Themyscyra?”

Ivy gives her a look. “Really?”

“Er….my mom’s? Please say it’s not my mom’s.”

“It’s not your mom’s.”

“Thank God.”

“Also, why would we fly to your mom’s house when we could easily drive? Or take a commuter bus?”

“Good point. Mm.”

Ivy smooths Harley’s hair out of her eyes. “It’s a surprise.” She snatches a quick kiss before the flight attendant rolls by. “You’ll love it.”

In this moment, Harley’s pretty sure she’d love anywhere as long Ivy’s there with her. She’s lit up by the light of the tiny window behind her, and her crimson locks glow like an angel’s. But Harley knows well enough that neither of them are anywhere close to innocent. “Say, how’d you get us past security?”

Ivy winks at her.

“No casualties?”

Her lover mockingly brushes her own chest like a scandalized church mouse. “I would never!” she snorts. “They’ll be fine. Just a little dazed and confused.”

Harley leans her head on Ivy’s shoulder. “I know the feelin’.” And really! Harley’s proud of her. Ivy’s never been one to follow rules or care for humans. But she tries for Harley. Why she bothers when Mistah J never seemed to care, Harley has no idea. But it means the world to her.

-----

The taxi drops them off in front of a large revolving door. But it’s not the gold handles that capture Harley’s attention.

It’s the lush plants growing from every nook and cranny on the place. Harley bets Ivy could spend an hour naming all of them (scientific names and personal names.) Butterflies and hummingbirds in every color of the rainbow--and the faint buzzing of bees. A solitary stream crosses their path, and a wooden bridge stretches over it. Garden terrace after garden terrace rise up from the ground to an open-air cafe at the top.

And behind the walls and the hotel proper? A waterpark.

Harley’s eyes go as big as saucers. “Ivy! You shouldn’t have!” She squeezes her into a hug.

“Thanks, sweet pea, but I can’t breathe.” Ivy manages to get out.

“Oof, sorry. Here ya go.” Harley releases her, and Ivy pecks her on the cheek.

“Best part is, they’ve a zero-carbon footprint and they’re waste free.” Harley rarely sees her grin so wide.”

“Whoa.”

“They call it The Greenhouse.”

-----

Their first day at the resort passes in a blur. Harley shows Ivy a good time in and out of their bedroom. They go snorkeling in the ocean, ride the rides so many times Harley ends up upchucking their picnic at the beach, then make love at sunset in their honeymoon suite. Harley wonders if the management thinks they’re--well, they’re as good as, aren’t they? They don’t need rings or a wedding or a place of their own or--

“Harley?”

She blinks. Ivy only calls her that when she’s worried. Harley realizes she’s been staring at the chocolates on their pillows for God knows how long. “Yeah?”

“You okay?”

“Of course!” she says automatically, pulling Ivy into another kiss.

Ivy kisses back, then runs a finger down her cheek. “You’d tell me if you weren’t, right?” The setting sun makes her hair even redder, which Harley didn’t think possible, and Harley finds herself toying with her curls.

“Hey, I’ve been wonderin’.”

If Ivy notices the change in subject, she doesn’t mention it. “Yeah?”

“How come we haven’t seen any other guests? And how come we haven’t been arrested?”

“Oh! That.” Ivy waves a hand dismissively. “I rented out the whole resort.”

“With what money??”

Ivy shoots her a wicked look that sends shivers down Harley’s spine. “Ace Chemical’s investment fund.”

“Ooooh, you’re naughty.”

Harley dives in for another kiss but Ivy puts a finger to her lips. And doesn’t let her suck on it. Rude. “So, are you going to tell me what’s bothering you?”

“Since we’ve got all this extra cash, wanna make a run at the casino? I hear they donate the proceeds to rainforest restoration.”

“Alright.” Ivy sighs and reaches for her dress. Harley has a sinking feeling that she’s going to bring this up later. Maybe if Harley’s lucky she’ll forget about it? Yeah. Ivy forgets things all the time.

“Last one there buys the first round!”

-----

Ivy and Harley sit across from each other, an immaculate brunch setting between them and two mimosas. Her lover’s plate sits almost empty, and while Harley’s lies largely untouched. She keeps playing with her veggie egg white omelet, but the next bite never seems to make it to her mouth. “And then we can go for a walk on the beach later! Have you seen those beds? Right there on the water? Mm. Do you think anyone would hear us if we--”

“Harley, wait.”

“Like, the sound of the waves would cover it up, right? Mm. Maybe not. I’m loud. Not as loud as--”

“Harley, no. Stop. Stop.” Ivy presses her hands on either side of Harley’s face, drawing her to a standstill and inches away from her. “You don’t have to do this.”

“I want to!”

Ivy gives her a sad smile, shaking her head gently. “You don’t have to impress me, Harls. I love you.”

Harley, in typical Harley fashion, vibrates with energy. “But…I want this to be special. As special as y--”

“This vacation already is special. Cause you’re here with me.”

“But--” I’m not that special, Harley wants to say. But she knows Ivy won’t let her get away with saying that out loud. She wants to crawl underneath the tablecloth and hide until Ivy leaves. They always leave in the end. Once they get what they want. Mistah J--

“I love you, Harley Quinn.” Ivy takes her hand, gently, rubbing her thumb over her knuckles. “I’m not going anywhere.”

And maybe. Maybe it’s that she doesn’t know what to do if Ivy stays. It’s easier to love someone who doesn’t love her back. It’s safe. Ahem. Emotionally safe, Dr. Quinzel says inside her head. For once, Harley has nothing to say. She’s too busy trying to keep the tears from falling.

“You don’t have to do anything. I already love you.” Ivy bites her lip--the way she always does when she’s thinking hard. Like how best to resurrect a drooping petunia or a rose bush that has a pest. She takes a deep breath, steeling herself. “And if it’s not too much--too early--to say this: I always will.”

“You proposin’ or somethin’?” The words tumble out of Harley’s mouth before she can stop them. Her cheeks feel like they’re blushing as bright as Ivy’s hair.

“I…” Ivy’s eyes widen. “I-I don’t have a ring on me.”

Shit. Fuck. ShitshitshitFuuuuuuuuuck. “I’msorryIdidn’tmeanit.” “It’s way too soon.” Harley puts on her best brave face--the same one she always put on when Bats showed up and Mistah J magically was nowhere to be found. “Marriage is so outda--”

“Harley.” Ivy puts her entire hand over her face. “Quinn.” “I never said I didn’t want to marry you.”

“Mmphwr?”

“Who wouldn’t want to marry Harley Quinn? You’re amazing.” She traces her eyebrows. “You’re the smartest person I know.” Boops her nose. “You’re impossible to kill. Holy fuck.” Runs her fingertip across her bottom lip. “You…” Ivy presses her lips together, looking down at the table. “You helped me love again when I hated everyone.”

“Pam.” Fuck, she’s getting misty eyed.

“I mean it. I was ready to wipe humanity off the map and start over.” She laughs a little, her voice rough as she wipes her cheek with the back of her hand. “But then you came along and nominated yourself my new shrink.”

“Don’t give me all the credit.” Wow, okay. Maybe she’s more than just misty-eyed. “You saved me too. From Mistah Jay. From Bats. From what woulda been a really boring life.”

Ivy’s smile slips slightly. “You’re not gonna die on me, are you Harls?”

Harley squeezes her hand. “Nah. You’re stuck with me.” Her words come out a little thick. “For richer or poorer.”

Her lover leans in close, capturing her lips in a warm kiss. “That’s usually pretty literal for you.”

“HEY.”

“It’s true! Guess I’ll have to see if Ace or maybe Lexcorp has any funds they won’t miss. I need to get that ring soon. Garnet? Spinel maybe?”

“Aww, shucks. How am I gonna be surprised now?”

Ivy scoffs. “If it’s a real surprise, it’s not a good time for a proposal.”

“But what if I want to be like those girls in those Tik Toks? Like where you propose to me but like I got my own box in my pocket?”

“Harley. A ring box wouldn’t fit in your tiny ass pockets, and you know it.”

“You know what would fit in my shorts?”

“Harleen Francis Quinzel.” Her laughter dissolves in a kiss and Harley pulls her back to their suite. They got a lot of planning to do. Though Harley has a pretty good feeling they’re not gonna get a whole lot of planning done today. But Harley’s okay with that. Pam’s always been the top of her to-do list anyway.

#harlivy #DC comics #poisonquinn #harley quinn #poison ivy #clock king #fluff isn't my usual so PLEASE tell me what you think #so sugary sweet you're gonna need to brush your teeth #melody writes #fluff

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staliaqueen · 2 years

Note

re: dialogue vs description thing

I feel like I try too hard NOT to be a real person to ever be able to imagine real people dialogue. Descriptions I excel in because they resemble my internal monologues a lot more.😂

But... if you're trying NOT to be a real person... you must know how a real person acts... right????? like. how else do you know what NOT to be????? idk I just can't relate at all 😂

My problem with descriptions is mostly with shorter ones during dialogue. Like describing how the character moves/the expressions on their faces... I just find myself repeating the same sentence over and over again. And when it comes to like environmental/character descriptions it's just that it's not that fun to write so my brain doesn't wanna try hard enough with it.

I think I am good at descriptions when they also serve another purpose, specifically to depict themes or a character's perspective/feelings. Because that's shit I'm INTERESTED in.

This is the best description I think I've ever written, and it exemplifies just that (btw this is about my oc Aria again and is part of the theme I ranted to you about, ok):

It sounded weird, but up until now, Aria’s appearance didn’t make sense to Draco. He was sure he wasn’t the first person to compare Aria to the sun. Her light honey-colored hair was bright and shiny, and her skin almost always shone with a golden-like tan, but the icing on top of the cake was of course her bright smile. Draco had a hard time imagining anyone looking at that smile and not feeling at least a little bit better. Now, with all of this in mind, it only made sense to Draco that her eyes would be bright blue, like the clearest sky on a sunny day. But Aria’s eyes weren’t blue. They were gray. And not even sleek and silver like his, but dark and stormy gray, like rainclouds, the literal opposite of a clear blue sky. This didn’t make any sense to Draco, until now. Aria wasn’t all sunshine and rainbows. There were a couple of rainclouds in her sky. She tried her best to hide them, but he could see clearly now that they were there and always had been. And he thought that must make her even more beautiful.

Like, THIS shit I'm good at.

#writing #jo tag #aria connor #njabbic #mal answers

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adventuresindolls · 3 years

Text

Meet Lexie Chapter 3: What Flying Feels Like

(Aside: I know in the story Sophie gets chocolate ice cream and this is clearly a popsicle, but it's the closest I had)

Sophie's friend did come over the next day after Sunday school, but Lexie hardly saw them. She hardly noticed anything that day. Over breakfast, Papa had announced that as a treat to make up for moving, and to forget new school anxiety, they would be going to the County Fair every day this week. Lexie hadn't heard anything said to her since then.

Fairs were thrilling. They meant rare treats and delicious smells and rows of bright booths to hop between. Sophie and Lexie had an ongoing system where they would run around as buddies between the game booths and the ones selling pretty necklaces and giving away paper fans. But when Lexie started to get overwhelmed, they would go together to the 4-H building to look at pretty dresses and pictures of flowers. It was air conditioned in there and much quieter than the rest of the fair. Sometimes Lexie would find a cool corner to sit and read the book she always carried while Sophie found a play area or other kids to talk to.

But best of all were the rides.

They usually went for one day a year. But this year was special—5 whole days of excitement! It was hard for Lexie to think about anything else all day. She read the same page 6 times, lost a Mario game badly to Sophie, and finally went for a long walk around the new neighborhood. She saw a bunch of kids outside playing in sprinklers or shooting Nerf guns at each other, all younger than her. She only got 3 blocks away before deciding it was too hot and turning around. The rest of the day was spent curled up on the couch watching her favorite magic girl anime, which the conversation at shul the day before had reminded her she liked.

She woke up way too early on Monday. By the time Papa called her for breakfast, she had finished her favorite book again and rearranged her stuffed animals. After her usual bowl of dry cereal, she put on her favorite space-themed dress and her comfiest velcro shoes and was pulling on the car door handle before Daddy even had the picnic basket closed.

Lexie had never been to these particular fairgrounds before, but they were as bright and full as she expected. The day wasn't hot yet, which was perfect for running around. They each got $5 for a snack so they didn't have to regroup until lunch.

"What about buying fair stuff?" Lexie asked.

"You can have souvenir money on Friday," Papa told her. "Otherwise you'll buy one thing today and find something better tomorrow."

They ran through the rows of stalls, stuffing Sophie's overall pockets and Lexie's narwhal purse with free pencils in every color of the rainbow and candy they definitely weren't supposed to eat yet. Lexie only had a couple chocolate kisses, but before they reached the end of the lane Sophie had eaten six.

They spent the morning looking at every single booth and spinning prize wheels until they got bored. Having pushed the absolute limit of their patience, they made it as far as 11 o'clock before heading for the games.

Lexie went straight for the ducky fishing game. They had a giant octopus as the big prize. The smiling man handed her a fishing pole and told her to go for it.

She did not immediately go for it. She thought the duck she was aiming for—the little gold one—was about three and half feet away. How hard would she have to swing to hit it without overreaching?

"Hey, are you gonna go?" The man looked a little less smiley now.

Lexie blamed him startling her for why the first time the line went flying past the entire tank. It was much closer the second time, but still plopped into the water an inch away from its goal.

"That's alright!" The man encouraged her. "Try one more time!"

"No, thanks," Lexie politely told him and dashed away before he could try to convince her. She had just remembered that she wanted to save her remaining 8 tickets for rides.

The next thing she remembered was that she hadn't heard Sophie's chatter in a long time. She would be in so much trouble if dads found her alone.

Even worse, something might happen to Sophie, who was "not the most responsible or cautious" kid.

The crowds around her seemed to double suddenly. They were mostly adults or teenagers much taller than her and she couldn't see more than three feet in any direction.

"Sophie?" She meant to call out, but it came out as barely a whisper. That happened sometimes.

Lexie ran up and down the aisles of games and all around the rides next to them. Surely her sister wouldn't be bored enough among the flashing lights and interactive booths to wander back to the ones she had no money for. She tried and failed twice more to call for Sophie, but she doubted even at her loudest she could be heard over the thousand conversations that buzzed around her.

She was about to give up and go find her fathers—who were probably listening to one of the free concerts—and enlist their help whatever the consequences (she was pretty sure by now that Sophie was being murdered or had fallen down a magically appearing manhole) when she spotted her long dark hair by a food booth in a far corner.

"Where have you been?" Lexie wanted to be angry, but instead she felt like crying.

"Right here," Sophie's voice was muffled by a bite of chocolate ice cream, "Where have YOU been?"

"You ran off! You can't do that! We have to stay together."

"I didn't run off. I stopped 'cause I wanted to play something different."

"You have to tell me that!" Lexie really wasn't about to admit that she was mostly embarrassed she hadn't made sure Sophie, who had ADHD and was known to get distracted, was with her.

"Don't yell at me!" Sophie was getting mad.

"Alright, I'm sorry," Lexie finally relented. She gave Sophie a quick hug, which was so rare for her—too much touch made her brain go staticky—that Sophie stopped arguing. "Let's go ride the rides. What's wrong?"

"I don't have any tickets left." Sophie's eyes were wide with surprise and disappointment. "I played a bunch of games, and I didn't even win anything. Can I have one of your tickets?"

Lexie looked down at her sister's tear-filled eyes and felt a sudden sense of protectiveness. She planned so Sophie didn't have to. "You can have two. But only if you tell me where you're going."

"Ok!" Sophie's face instantly brightened.

The rides were all bright colors and flashing lights and quick movements. Lexie didn't even know where to focus and let Sophie lead the way, finishing her ice cream and chattering away about how cool every ride was.

And then she saw the swings.

It had always been her dream to ride that one. It was always more pastel than neon and it looked like fun. Just like spinning on the playground swings but MORE. She had wanted to last year but got too scared at the last minute, even though Papa promised to go with her.

"Sit here and hold my purse. I'll be back." She barely glanced to make sure Sophie obeyed before skipping to wait in line. It seemed very soon that a teenager with a green mohawk took her ticket and motioned her up the metal step. Up close, the ride seemed much bigger, but no one else was hesitating to strap themselves in. Swallowing, she grabbed the chains on the closest chair and pulled herself up into it.

She was still pretty sure it was a good idea, right up until a different teenager came by and pulled the metal bar down on her lap. All of a sudden, she kind of wanted to go back to fishing for ducks. She glanced through the crowd to find Sophie, who was still on the bench and completely ignoring her, her favorite otter in one hand and the other covered in melted ice cream.

Lexie gasped and grabbed the chains with both hands at the first jerk of movement. Several people around her giggled, and she heard at least one "Oh!" of surprise. Very slowly, the ride began to spin and rise into the air. She was torn between stomach-dropping anxiety at being so high and absolute delight at all she could see. The rows of booths looked like brightly colored handkerchief squares. The people swarmed like ants—at least, she thought, there were no crowds up here. She soon lost track of Sophie. And then she could see beyond the fair, to the tiny houses of the city itself. The taller buildings downtown looked like shiny metal twigs. She forgot to be worried.

They were spinning faster. And faster. It wasn't scary up here, really, it was wonderful. It was like everything she'd always wanted to feel when she spun herself until she fell down or kicked her legs to swing as high as possible. It was impossible to describe. Like everything that was always too loud and too bright just stopped. Like there was no such thing as feeling trapped and panicked in a crowd. Like nothing existed but her and the seat and spinning. Like she could stay up here forever. She kicked her legs, making her chair wiggle.

It couldn't actually last forever, of course, and almost before she knew it they were slowing. Her stomach dropped again, this time with disappointment, and her legs nearly collapsed beneath her when she first stumbled out of the chair and through the metal gate.

She found Sophie on the same bench where she'd left her, the remainder of her ice cream staining her hands, face, and overalls, but miraculously not Elliot the Otter. Lexie briefly considered telling her to go wash up, then decided it wasn't worth it.

"Hi! I'm gonna go ride the rollercoaster!"

"Ok."

Sophie hopped up and stuffed Elliot back into her pocket. "What are you gonna ride next?"

"The swings."

"Again?" Sophie looked at her like riding the same ride twice was the weirdest thing she'd heard that day.

But Lexie couldn't help grinning at the thought of freedom and flight. "Yeah."

#American girl dolls #Our Generation #AG spinoff #Lexie's series #my dolls #Lexie #Sophie

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ineverlookavvay · 4 years

Text

bisexual-aliens-in-arms

Isobel drags Michael to Planet 7 for pride night. It goes far better than expected.

Bi Visibility Day - Day 7 of Michael Guerin Week 2020

cw: alcohol, referenced child abuse, internalized homophobia

Read it on Ao3

“No, “ Michael said, aiming for firm. “I don’t have time, Iz.”

Isobel scoffed. “What, are you going to be working on cars all night long?”

There was actually a fairly big backlog of cars to work on, and Michael found he needed the distraction more often than not recently. Life was complicated, increasingly so, and cars were simple, designed to be a certain way and logically never stray from that. People sucked a lot more than cars, objectively.

“Maybe I am.”

“Michael.” Isobel leaned down onto the hood of the car he was trying to work on, annoyingly in his way. She was giving him her ‘cut the bullshit’ look, which he was historically not very good at escaping. “It’s one night, and it’s important to me. Please come out?”

“I don’t do theme nights.”

Isobel scoffed again, rolling her eyes and trodding directly onto his ego. “Come on, Michael. This is my first pride month and you’re supposed to be my bisexual-alien-in-arms.” She changed tactic abruptly, making the most irritating pouty face he’d ever seen. “You’re not really going to make me go alone, are you?”

Michael sighed, wiping grease off his hands onto his jeans. Fucking hell. “Fine, but you gotta leave me alone for at least a few hours, okay?” Isobel clapped gleefully. “You know, some of us work.”

“Let me know if any of those people want a job,” Sanders cut in, ducking in on his way out, looking at Michael’s progress skeptically and ignoring Michael’s scowl. “Do some damn work.”

“Hell does it look like I’m doing?” Michael called out as Sanders left, still scowling. Michael fixed a tight smile on Isobel. “Later, okay?”

She shrugged. “Fine, but be ready to go at eight. And try not to look so…” she waved her hand at his general appearance, “mechanic-y.”

Michael wanted to protest that he always looked ‘mechanic-y’ on account of he was a damn mechanic, and besides, the grungy blue-collar cowboy look was still popular as far as he could tell; but seeing as he’d already caved, he would certainly end up losing this argument, too. So instead, he turned his attention back to the cars. Michael liked working with his hands, he liked fixing things. Sure, he might fuck up every relationship he’d ever had, he might break the things in his life constantly, but he could take a broken car and make it a working car, and that was something.

He was not so secretly dreading the evening, though. He let himself drift far enough into his work that he wasn’t actively panicking about going to a damn pride night at the local gay bar, which he’d never actually been to, no matter how many times Isobel tried to convince him how great it was. It’s not that Michael was ashamed, he really wasn’t—but he’d experienced enough bigots and assholes in his life to know that he didn’t need to paint an extra target on his back, either.

Who he fucked was his own business, and that was how he preferred to keep it. Isobel was reveling in her newfound sexuality, and he wasn’t about to ruin that for her, but he also knew that a rich white woman was a lot less of a target than a trailer trash cowboy. He also had an existential dread of any place that resulted in Isobel leaving at the end of the night dripping in glitter.

Michael didn’t do glitter, and he didn’t do pride month—or at least he hadn’t—and he’d much rather just spend a night with Isobel at the Wild Pony celebrating themselves quietly with a drink that didn’t have anything in it besides the liquor. Hell, they could go there and celebrate themselves raucously, as long as no one had to know the reason for the celebrating.

His attempt to distract himself resulted in successfully losing track of time, which meant Isobel was already standing in the junkyard tapping her foot when he went inside to shower and change.

“You don’t have anything cuter than that?” she asked skeptically when he emerged, clean and dressed in a black button-down. Isobel was wearing a purplish iridescent crop top that probably came out of her closet circa 2010 and incredibly tight dark blue jeans, with multiple strings of shiny necklaces around her neck.

“Sorry, I don’t own anything that shiny.”

That got him a smile at least. “Listen, Michael, the whole point of pride is to look hot,” he was pretty sure that wasn’t true, “get laid,” he was sure that one was wrong, “and be out and proud while doing it.” She looked so proud of herself right then that Michael didn’t have the heart to argue. “Plus, the bi flag has really nice colors.”

Michael smiled in spite of himself. “Iz, you got me to go with you, you really want to jeopardize that by shit talking my clothing?”

Frowning slightly, she shrugged. “Fine, but this is why no one thinks you’re the fun alien.”

“Hey! I am definitely the fun one,” he argued, striding towards her car and settling in for an inane but companionable argument.

Michael liked bars, in general. He liked the dark corners and the dirty floors and the smell of alcohol and the down home music and the bluster of it all. He liked sitting at a bar nursing a drink and feeling like a part of something just by virtue of drinking beside other people. But Michael hated Planet 7.

First of all, the whole damn place was trying too hard. It had far too many lights, all of them overly complicated and flashing stupid colors. It had a DJ instead of a jukebox, which Isobel implied was something special, that he should be pleased to be experiencing, much to his chagrin. It had more glitter and confetti littering the floor and on the bar and on the tables than Michael had ever hoped to see in one place. All the drinks were obscured by ridiculous garnishes. There was someone sitting at the end of the bar stenciling with face paint on people’s faces, another thing Isobel assured him was a fun and exciting theme night thing. But most of all, it didn’t make Michael feel safe, or comfortable, or known; this wasn’t his place.

Isobel looked like she’d just walked into her surprise birthday party, though, grinning and strutting in like she owned the place. “Come on, I’ve been dreaming about their drinks,” she said, beaming, and Michael reluctantly followed her over to the bar. Michael realized quickly that she hadn’t been dreaming about the drink so much as the bartender. Which, fair enough.

Michael let her talk and flirt and took the time to look around again, hoping to find something to be complimentary about so Isobel wouldn’t feel she had to prove how great it all was to him. It was his own fault then, when he accidentally saw Alex across the room, leaning against a wall, deep in conversation with someone that looked suspiciously like Kyle. Michael’s stomach did a flip and he turned quickly away, back to Isobel and the bar, half hoping Alex hadn’t seen him. Michael knew that Alex was single again, or at least that was the last he’d heard, but that didn’t mean he wanted to be caught staring outright.

“Here,” Isobel thrust a drink into his hand that had a little light-up rainbow color-changing cube masquerading as an ice cube at the bottom of it. Michael rolled his eyes. “So what are you feeling? Wanna dance? Or I think they’re painting pride flags on people’s faces?” She sounded giddy, her cheeks flushed and her hair already covered in a ridiculous amount of glitter.

Michael didn’t have the heart to let her down by telling her he’d rather eat sand than dance or get his face painted without at least a few drinks in his system. “Whatever you want.”

Isobel beamed at him. “See, I knew this would be fun.”

“Yep,” Michael said, plastering a smile on his fast as she led him over to the person doing the face paint, “cause I’m the fun one.”

By the time he was sitting on a bar stool with someone striping color across his face, Michael was on his second drink, and Isobel's face was already a melty palette of pink, blue, and purple.

“Isn’t this great?” Isobel said, standing over him and dancing to some unbearable pop song, shaking glitter out of her own hair all over Michael’s head and shoulders. He could feel it falling onto him like tiny raindrops, securing itself to his shirt and hair and skin with some invisible, terrible glitter power. He wondered idly how many showers it was going to take until he could walk around without constantly catching the glint of it out of the corner of his eye.

“Yeah,” Michael agreed, standing up as the face painter proclaimed he was done. His cheek felt strange, stiff and cold, and he couldn’t get the last of the alcohol out of his glass around the giant fake ice cube.

“Hey, we have to take a picture,” Isobel said, grinning wider and pulling out her phone while she dragged their faces close enough together to fit into the selfie frame. She pulled back to look at the picture, nodding with happy satisfaction. “We are hot,” she proclaimed, “and proud. Two badass bisexuals.”

Michael nodded distractedly. He needed another drink, or maybe just some fresh air, or for the DJ to turn down the goddamned bass, or something. He hated the feeling of the face paint, and he hated the selfie, he hated how unlike himself he looked, glittery and colorful and trying to smile in a crowd. Michael stumbled backwards, turning around to face the bar in what he hoped was a mostly intentional-looking maneuver. He needed another drink.

The bartender nodded at him and Isobel, bringing over two more glasses of whatever they were drinking. “Lookin’ good,” she said, and Michael’s chest felt tight.

It was too loud, and too warm, and Isobel was talking but he couldn’t make out what she was saying. He drank almost frantically, trying to get enough alcohol into his system that he stopped caring about any of this shit. Michael glanced around the bar, at all of the people laughing and smiling and looking like they fit in perfectly, and Michael had never felt more like an alien. He needed to get out, just for a moment, just to catch his breath.

“I’m, uh, I’m gonna find the bathroom,” he said, coherently enough, and pushed past Isobel towards the back hallway.

The bathroom was thankfully empty, and quiet as the door swung shut behind him, the music that was so pervasive in the bar just a tinny echo. Michael braced himself on one of the sinks, closing his eyes and resting his forehead against the scratched mirror. It was just all so much, and it should have been easy, and the fact that it wasn’t was creating a cacophony of different feelings in his mind, all of it blending together into something like panic. Michael opened his eyes, willing himself to stay in control.

He looked at himself in the mirror, and he hated the frantic look in his eyes, hated the smear of color across his cheek like a brand, hated that he could be so comfortable with himself and yet so shaken. He could feel the urge to push it all away, violently, to shove and shake and break—the only way he had now to make the noise in his head stop. Michael gripped the sink and thought about tearing the room apart. He could see it, sinks and toilets tearing out of the wall, tiles slamming against one another into dust, the mirrors cracking and shattering. The vision of destruction filled his mind, and he was in the middle of it, silent in the eye of the storm, caught in the tornado of his own making—

The door to the bathroom swung open, and Alex stepped through it, looking concerned. “Are you okay?”

The vision dropped away from Michael’s eyes, leaving him with only himself, standing in a public bathroom feeling terrified and self-destructive. He watched in the mirror as Alex twisted the lock on the door and took another cautious step forward.

“Are you okay?” Alex repeated. “Because you looked not okay.”

“I’m fine,” Michael said, even though his voice sounded thin and shaken. Alex stepped towards him again and Michael pressed himself forward, closer to the sink, like he could climb into the mirror and avoid this interaction. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to talk to Alex, because he did, badly, but he didn’t want Alex to see him in a moment where he felt weak. “You didn’t have to follow me.”

Alex shrugged, the cracks in the mirror keeping Michael from seeing the nuances of his expression. “I wanted to see if you were okay.”

It was meant kindly, but somehow it made Michael feel worse. Michael stopped watching Alex and focused on his own face, frowning when he saw the painted colors again, loosening his grip on the sink to press uneasily on the skin of his cheek. He swallowed and dropped his hand quickly, lowering his eyes to the stained white porcelain of the sink. “I think this paint might be toxic,” he said wryly. He could tell from Alex’s silence that he saw through the remark.

“It looks good,” Alex said quietly. “You look good.”

Michael looked up sharply at Alex’s reflection again. Alex had his own face painted, a rainbow of stripes adorning his cheek. “You do, too,” Michael said, meaning it. Alex did look good—happy and proud and like he wasn’t constantly looking over his shoulder. It made Michael feel boundlessly happy and endlessly sad, knowing that they’d spent their time together hiding, that they could both be here on this stupid pride night—with Alex looking secure and hot and comfortable—and yet not be together. Usually Michael would fight or fuck those maudlin feelings away, but that wasn’t really an option tonight. He sighed. “But I just don’t…maybe this isn’t my scene.”

Alex was close enough to put a hand on Michael’s shoulder, and he did so cautiously, like he wasn’t sure if Michael would let him. Michael hoped that someday Alex would be able to touch him without worrying. He let Alex turn him away from the mirror.

“Maybe,” Alex said, carefully. “Or maybe you grew up with assholes telling you this part of you was wrong, that it should be shuttered if you can’t destroy it.”

Michael’s instinct was to argue that he was fine, and none of his shitty foster parents had gotten to him like that, but he wasn’t sure it was entirely true, and he wasn’t sure that Alex wasn’t saying it for his own benefit as much as for Michael’s. Alex’s hand was still resting on Michael’s shoulder, and it felt grounding; Michael felt stable under Alex’s hand, under Alex’s unwavering gaze. He took a deep breath, and as he let it out, Alex seemed to visibly relax, too.

“You can wash it off, if you want,” Alex said, “and it wouldn’t mean anything.”

Michael shook his head slowly. “Isobel—” he started.

“We didn’t get the same ‘strong woman, love yourself’ stuff that Isobel did,” Alex interrupted, reaching around Michael to snag a paper towel from the wall dispenser. “It’s okay.”

“Isobel would be disappointed,” Michael said numbly, his chest tight with unspoken gratitude, but he didn’t take the paper towel. Then more quietly: “Everyone’s always disappointed.”

Alex looked at Michael for a moment, and then shrugged and smiled, like he didn’t know what Michael was talking about, like he wasn’t one of the people Michael kept disappointing. “This whole thing is supposed to be about celebrating yourself the way you want to, so fuck ‘em.”

Michael smiled back weakly, his hand tracing lightly over the stiff lines of the face paint on his cheek. He so badly wanted to want to leave it there.

“It looks better on you,” Michael said, impulsively, reaching out as if to touch Alex’s cheek, and then drawing his hand back at the last moment. He held his breath as Alex met his eyes and stepped carefully forward, bringing his cheek to Michael’s hand, leaning into his touch far too easily. “You’ve always looked good with stuff like this.” He was thinking of Alex as a teenager, with liner painted across his eyelids, and it made Michael ache with nostalgia. He wanted this—he wanted to be able to tell Alex how the only good memories from that summer were of Alex, to be able to say all the stupid, romantic things he had never gotten the chance to say, to be able to dance with Alex at pride night and have neither of them care who saw.

“I wish I’d been able to be this with you,” Alex said, his voice raw and quiet.

Michael let out a breath that was almost a laugh, running his fingertips lightly across Alex’s rainbow cheek. “You’re here now,” he said without thinking about it. Now was enough. Michael thought that if he leaned forward and kissed Alex, Alex might let him, that it would be okay if it only existed here, in this moment. But they owed each other more than that—more than a secret kiss in a bathroom, more than rushing in without talking, without taking enough care that neither of them got hurt, this time. God, but Michael wanted there to be a ‘this time.’

“So are you,” Alex said pointedly, licking his lips absently in a way that sent Michael’s entire internal equilibrium shifting, like his body was trying to tip him towards Alex.

The door clattered as someone tried to get into the bathroom, and both of them laughed awkwardly, aware again of their surroundings. It steadied Michael, kept him from crashing towards Alex the way he desperately wanted to. Waiting would be smarter; dropping his hand, pulling away and swallowing everything he was feeling, putting on a smile and walking out of the bathroom would be smarter, but he hesitated.

Alex met Michael’s eyes and slowly lifted his own hand and pressed his fingers lightly to the paint on Michael’s cheek, almost exploratory, a gentle caress. Michael felt his breath coming far too quickly, his earlier discomfort nearly forgotten under the soft way Alex was touching him.

“You really do look good, Guerin.” Alex said quietly. “And this place? This bar? It’s not my favorite either. And it—it isn’t home, but it’s safe. You know?”

“Where’s home?” Michael asked, somewhat facetiously, his fingertips still barely brushing Alex’s cheek, leaning his cheek into Alex’s touch, unable to stop himself. Michael knew both of them had been facing the same thing recently—the growing sense that all of the places that had felt comfortable or familiar didn’t feel that way any more, the fear of what it would take to find the places that would feel that way in the future.

Alex met Michael’s eyes, meaningfully, like he was trying to get Michael to understand something without saying it. “I think I’ve almost got that figured out,” Alex said finally, and Michael was hit by the realization that Alex wasn’t talking about the bars or the city or the buildings they lived in, but something entirely different. He thought back to every time he’d ever heard Alex say the word home, with something like longing and questions laid into it, and wondered if maybe he’d been talking about them the whole time.

Michael was trying to form a response that wouldn’t feel like a deflection, that would convince Alex to actually say what he was saying, when someone banged loudly on the door and Alex pulled away abruptly, leaving Michael’s fingers caressing only air. Alex smiled apologetically and dropped his hand away from Michael’s cheek. “You shouldn’t spend the whole night in the bathroom,” Alex said, starting to move towards the door. “I’ll save you a dance.”

“Didn’t see you dancing before,” Michael said, to take focus from the fact that the image of Alex dancing, and happy, was enough to make every bit of him openly ache with wanting.

“I wasn’t.” Alex said, raising an eyebrow. “But I will with you.”

Michael exhaled heavily, his voice stolen by the casual way Alex said it, like they’d already decided. Then again, what was there even to decide?

Alex licked his lips, hesitating between Michael and the door, then abruptly turned back and crossed to where Michael was standing. Alex pressed himself into Michael’s space, his hands cradling Michael’s cheeks as he brought their lips together in a quick but searing kiss. Michael let out a sound halfway between surprise and a moan and kissed Alex back fiercely. He’d barely gotten his bearings before Alex was pulling away.

Smiling with satisfaction, Alex unlocked the door and slipped through into the noise of the bar. Michael side-stepped out of the way as someone rushed past him to one of the stalls, watching the door like Alex might come back.

When he didn’t, Michael turned back to the mirror, staring at himself skeptically for a few minutes, trying to see himself the same way he saw Alex, like someone who was strong enough not to feel foolish, but proud. He shook his head at his reflection—it was too much, too much to ask of himself at that moment, but he realized that he still didn’t want to leave the bar. Not when Isobel wanted him there, not when Alex wanted him there.

It was Alex’s voice, Alex’s smile, in Michael’s head as he decided not to wash the face paint off. As he decided not to listen to the words in the back of his mind that he tried to pretend he’d forgotten, to brush off with bravado, the ones that came from the screaming foster parents who carried bibles and belts, the ones who told him he was nothing before he was old enough to know anything about himself. Alex didn’t see Michael that way, any more than Michael saw Alex as any of the things his asshole father had thought of him. Alex wanted to dance with Michael, wanted to kiss him, and that was reason enough to stop thinking about the colors on his face and leave the bathroom.

This bar was never going to be Michael’s place, it was never going to be less annoyingly loud and glittery, and it was never going to serve drinks that didn’t make him roll his eyes. But it could be the first place he’d let Isobel drag him to a pride event, it could be the first place he’d kissed Alex, that Alex had kissed him, since they’d tried to ignore how they would always feel. It could be that, and that could be enough, even if he hated the damn face paint.

Taking a breath, Michael left the bathroom with his breathing almost back to normal. He found Isobel quickly, dancing on the edge of a throng of people, and she brightened as soon as he appeared, beckoning him over.

“Thought you might have left,” she said close to his ear when he reached her, almost yelling to be heard above the music.

“Almost did,” Michael replied distractedly. He scanned the room, which had gotten significantly more crowded in the short time he’d been gone, until he found Alex, leaning against a wall, clearly watching Michael, too. He tilted his head, gesturing Alex over, and saw him nod and push slowly away from the wall,

“What did you say?” Isobel yelled, and Michael flipped his attention back to her, grinning. She looked happy, and tipsy, and like she actually wanted him there, and all at once Michael felt lighter.

“I said fuck you,” he said stridently, louder and closer to her ear. “Bisexuals-in-arms, right?”

Isobel’s answering smile was brilliant, and Michael realized he hadn’t made a mistake by coming here just for her, because she’d asked him, intentionally, to be there. And there wasn’t anything wrong with staying for Alex, because neither of them would usually be caught dead in a place like this, and there was something about just showing up that mattered.

Alex came up beside them, putting a hand gently on Michael’s elbow, just enough to let Michael know he was there. It felt like a lot more than that, though.

“Alex!” Isobel was clearly at the drunk stage where she was friends with everyone. “Look, we match!” She gestured happily between her face and Michael’s, and Michael hated that it made him feel even a tiny bit better about the stupid face paint.

Alex grinned. “It’s great,” he said and Isobel beamed. The song changed fluidly to something new, and Alex slid his hand down Michael’s arm until their fingers were clasped together. Michael couldn’t think of a time he and Alex had held hands in public, not ever. It felt nice.

Isobel danced next to them with abandon and Michael let himself sway awkwardly with Alex, trying to actually loosen his grip on his control instead of just slipping into the comfortable persona of someone who didn’t care. He did care. He cared that Isobel wanted them to have this connection—something that she and Max didn’t have—even if her way of celebrating it wasn’t entirely in line with his ideal evening. He cared that Alex wanted to dance with him, that he was holding Michael’s hand in public, even if it was under the guise of dancing, that he cared enough to follow him into the bathroom and knew him well enough to lock the door.

Isobel paused her dancing to give Michael a very obvious and unsubtle thumbs-up, and Michael didn’t even resent it when Alex laughed. Michael grinned up at her sparkling, painted face, his hand tightly knit with Alex’s, and let himself enjoy being part of something loudly, even if it was just for the night. Maybe, Michael reflected, this was what Alex meant by home.

#mgweek20 #guerinweek20 #malex #michael guerin #alex manes #isobel evans #my writing #happy bi visibility day!!!#this is so sappy but here it is #getting together #just a little bit of hurt mostly comfort

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callboxkat · 4 years

Note

Hiya! For the prompt perhaps #11 "I’ll try to come back before you die." with Remus and any other side. :D

Capture the Flag

Author’s note: Finally filling this prompt you sent like 12 years ago. XD I hope you like it!

Summary: Patton decides to put together a game of Capture the Flag, light sides vs. dark sides, for a bit of friendly competition. Not everything goes as planned.

Warnings: death mention, weapons mention, cheating, Remus, censored swearing

Word count: 2412

Writing Masterpost!

...

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Virgil muttered. He was sitting on the couch of the Mindscape commons area, Roman at his side. Logan and Patton stood, Logan with his arms folded. On the other side of the room, Janus stood beside the second couch, which the others sat upon. Remus was eating deodorant stick after deodorant stick, looking around at everyone else curiously.

Patton glanced at Virgil with a sympathetically reassuring expression, although Virgil of all sides could recognize the nervousness he was trying to hide. “Of course I’m sure. It’ll be good to have some friendly competition.”

Virgil gave him a doubtful look.

“Anyway.” Patton summoned a podium to the center of the room, where the coffee table had once been, and stepped up onto it. “Here are the rules of the game—“

“Why do you get to make all of the rules?” asked Janus, subtly raising one gloved hand. “Doesn’t that give your team a potential advantage?”

“Because I’m Morality!” Patton replied in a chipper tone. “Rules come with the territory. But how about we agree, if you have any complaints, we can talk about maybe changing some little things before we get going. And, I won’t be playing, so the teams will be even, and the rules will be even less biased! Does that sound good?”

Janus nodded and stepped back to stand with his team: the other “dark sides”, as Roman called them, although Virgil would rather not use that name. He’s once been one of them, after all, and the term’s connotation was undeniably villainesque.

Speaking of Roman, the creative side seemed to also have something to say. “How do we know they’ll follow the rules, anyway?”

“If they do not follow the rules, I would assume their points would no longer count,” Logan said. “Correct?”

“Correct!” said Patton. “So I guess that’s rule number one. You have to follow the rules.”

After that, he began listing off the real rules. Most of them involved basic stuff, having to do with how capture the flag was played. For example, they couldn’t hide the flags in unreasonably difficult to find places, the flags couldn’t be within ten feet of each other, they couldn’t bring back more than one of the flags at once, and if you were caught while bringing a flag back, you had to give the flag back, return to your team’s area, and wait ten minutes before trying to go back for the same one.

Other rules were more specific to their situation, as sides, and to certain sides’ tendencies. They couldn’t summon each other during the game, Janus couldn’t make people slam their hands on their mouths as an excuse to make them drop the flag, no one could use a weapon or shapeshift, and they had to walk the whole time—so, for example, if one of them was caught with a flag before crossing the border, they couldn’t simply rise up again where they remembered it being. And no one could steal back a flag that had already made it into the other team’s territory, something that Virgil suspected Janus had definitely been planning on doing had that rule not been explicitly stated.

Patton finished listing off the last few rules, counting them off on his fingers. Janus argued about wording on some of them, but soon enough, they had a list of rules everyone was (mostly) happy with.

Once that was done, all of the sides rose up in the imagination, which had been decorated specially for the day. Remy, a figment of Thomas’s imagination, not a side and therefore at least hypothetically impartial, sat in a tall chair positioned just atop a long, glowing rainbow line that stretched across the imagination, which today took the form of a large field transitioning to forest on either side.

Remy, clearly the judge of the game, took a long, loud sip of tea before leaning forward. “Ready, babes?”

“All set!” Patton replied cheerily.

“Alright, sweet. Patty, your team’s on the left“ —he gestured off in that direction with his tea—“and the rest of you losers get the right.”

“Oh, I’m not playing,” Patton said. “I’m hanging out with you!”

“Sure, doll. As for the rest of you, all your flags are in this chest, riiiight... here.”

A large wooden chest had appeared at his feet, open to reveal three silver flags and three gold flags.

“Dibs on gold!” Remus yelled, clearly to the dismay of his brother.

That was probably exactly why he wanted that color, Virgil figured. To annoy his brother.

Janus handed off two of the golden flags to his teammates, who vanished into the woods to find places for them. Meanwhile, Logan carefully picked up the silver flags, inspecting them more closely than Virgil felt was really warranted for a few imaginary pieces of fabric.

Remy looked at his wrist, where a watch had materialized. “Might want to get to hiding those flags. The game’s beginning in five minutes.”

“Yes, of course,” Logan said. “As silly as this exercise may be.”

“Says the guy whose theme song is called ‘Hilarious Comedy Monologue’!” said Roman.

“I really wish you hadn’t found that out. Nevertheless....” He handed over the flags, one to Roman, and one to Virgil. “We’d best get going. Silly or not, I do not intend to lose.”

“Nor do I,” commented Janus. He winked, stepped over the line into his team’s territory, and walked off into the trees.

…

The first part of the game went well. Surprisingly well, actually. The others had only stolen one of the silver flags, but Virgil’s team had already managed to take two of theirs.

And Virgil was getting very close to where he suspected the final golden flag was hidden.

He was almost at the edge of the playing area. It made sense, hiding the flag here—it meant Virgil’s team had to walk further to get it without being caught, and gave the others more time to catch them on the way back, as well. The trees in this area were coarser, and darker, and the sun barely reached the forest floor. Virgil almost expected spooky atmospheric music to drift through the air.

He hopped over a fallen tree, ducked under some vines, and he saw it.

The golden flag, its two foot pole stuck in the ground, just barely not hidden enough to break the rules where it stood in a clump of undergrowth.

Virgil crouched, looking around for any sides who might have been trying to guard the flag. The area was silent—eerily so, suspiciously so.

He reached down and grabbed a stone from the ground at his feet, leaned back, and threw it. It hit a tree twenty feet in the opposite direction from the flag.

A clump of undergrowth exploded.

Remus, coated in twigs, leaves, and mud and clearly not at all bothered by it, raced out of his hiding place. “GOT YOU!” he shrieked, running towards the tree the rock had hit.

Meanwhile, Virgil darted out of his own hiding place. He snatched the flag, yanking it out of the stubborn ground (which he was sure Remus would have claimed as an accidental obstacle), and raced back the way he had come.

“Hey, no fair!” Remus cried, although he was cackling the whole time. Virgil could hear him crashing through the trees, trying to catch up. “JAN! VIRGEY’S GOT THE FLAG!”

Suddenly, Janus appeared in front of Virgil, and Virgil ducked around him, still running. He could see another shape running through the trees to his left—the remaining side on their team, probably trying to keep him from making a break that way. The joke was on him, though. Virgil knew exactly where the border was: straight ahead.

Still, three on one wasn’t exactly in Virgil’s favor. He was panting, already out of breath.

Janus appeared in front of him again—okay, he was definitely cheating, whether or not Virgil could prove it—and Virgil darted off to the right.

He ran for a while, dodging through trees and trying to lose them, when he spotted something: a crack in the earth.

A hole?

Virgil darted for it, relieved to find it was the perfect size to hide in. He jumped in, snatched a few branches, and dragged them over the top.

He tried to quiet his breath, there in the dark, the rich scent of moist earth overpowering.

A few seconds passed.

“Where’d he go?”

“I don’t know.”

“He can’t have just disappeared—those goody two shoes sides wouldn’t break the rules.”

“We’d know if he made it over the border. He still has to be around somewhere. Let’s split up, find him. Janus, go that way. I’ll go this way. Remus, you stick around here, and back the way we came. He might assume we think he won’t go there again.”

Shoot, Virgil thought, holding his breath. He had been thinking of doubling back and sneaking around them.

“We do know he’s going for the border,” Janus said. “Perhaps we ought to go there. He can’t hide in the open. And that way, once we have the flag back, it’ll be even easier for one of us to head into their side. We can’t just play defense, one flag left or not.”

There was a thoughtful hum. “Okay. You and I will go do that. Remus, you look around here.”

Two sets of footsteps walked away. For a moment, there was silence, and then a loud thump! Virgil nearly jumped out of his skin. Somehow, he managed not to make any noise.

“Ah, this sure would be more fun with you, wouldn’t it?” Remus crooned. Virgil could clearly picture him caressing the morningstar that he doubtlessly held, probably with bits of tree bark pierced on the spikes.

There was a rustle of leaves, and Remus was gone, too.

Virgil counted to twenty, and then slowly pushed away the branches above him.

All three of the others were gone.

“Finally,” Virgil muttered. He grunted, dragging himself out of the hole, and reached to pull the flag out. He got to his feet, dusting himself off. A worm fell out of his hair. Gross.

“There you are!”

“F*ck,” said Virgil. He spun around, and there was Remus, grinning, his morningstar held in both hands.

Remus let out a battle cry and ran forwards, his weapon vanishing, and Virgil took off. His feet pounded on the earth, the golden flag streaming out behind him as he zigzagged through the trees and jumped over branches and rocks.

He was starting to leave Remus behind, thanks to his quick reflexes and a few stumbles on the part of the darkly creative side, when suddenly, the ground grew sticky. His feet sunk into it, the earth reluctant to let him go. It only got worse, and within seconds, Virgil felt like was dragging his limbs through wet concrete.

“Did you really just turn the ground into quicksand?” Virgil cried, outraged. He was quickly sinking, already buried nearly to his waist. Clearly, Remus was using cartoon physics in his manipulation of the Imagination. Virgil knew that real quicksand wouldn’t act this fast, or in any likelihood be this deep.

“I sure did!” Remus sing-songed. He loped up along Virgil’s side, leaned over, and snatched the flag away from him.

“Give that back and let me out of here! You’re cheating!

“Now, now, Virgil, I’m just using my natural talents! There’s nothing wrong with that! Besides, think of all the other things I could have done! I could have dropped you in a pit of snakes! Made a minefield of mousetraps and Legos! Or we could have played “the floor is lava”! Or, ooh, have you ever seen Honey I Shrunk the Kids?”

“The rules said no weapons!”

“Sand isn’t a weapon!”

Virgil glared at him, looking around for anything to grab onto and pull himself out. “I get it, I get it,” he snapped. “You’re very creative. Now let me out!”

“Hmmm, I don’t think I will,” Remus laughed, starting to walk away sassily, waving the flag over his shoulder. “Byyyye! I’ll try to come back before you die!”

“REMUS!!”

…

Virgil wasn’t sure how long he was stuck.

Something about the sand made it impossible to sink out and teleport elsewhere, however hard he tried. Virgil didn’t know how. It probably had something to do with being in the Imagination, and the higher amount of power that certain sides had while they were here. He suspected it was intended as a parting “prank” from Remus.

Thankfully, the rate at which he sank seemed to slow down drastically after Remus disappeared—but by the time he heard footsteps again, coming up from somewhere to his left, Virgil had sunk past his shoulders in the quicksand.

“Hey!” Virgil demanded, struggling harder again. “What the hell!”

“Virgil?”

Relief flooded through him. “Roman.”

The white-and-red clothed figure appeared. “There you are! Logan and I have been looking everywhere! You never came back!”

Virgil did his best to gesture at his current situation with his head. “Yeah, I got held up. Want to help me out of here, Princey?”

“Of course—here.” Roman stepped closer, the quicksand solidifying under his feet, and reached for Virgil. Virgil pulled his arms free, with difficulty, and latched onto Roman, who dragged him out.

Virgil flopped onto the ground—sweet, solid ground—and panted, looking up at the criss-crossing branches. “I really, really hate your brother,” he grunted.

“The feeling is mutual,” Roman said.

Virgil struggled to his feet, and sighed, looking down at his ruined clothes. He shook his arms, trying to dislodge some of the sandy slop that clung to his beloved hoodie.

“Here, let me get that.” Roman snapped his fingers, and the remaining quicksand on his clothes disappeared, as well as the pit of it behind them. “Good?”

“Thanks. Much better.”

“The Dark Sides got another one of our flags,” Roman told him. “Logan’s guarding the last one, so it’s you and me on getting the last flag.”

“Yeah, I almost had it,” Virgil sighed. “But I do know where it is.”

“Oh—If you got caught, don’t you have to walk back to the border first, then, and come back?”

“Who cares? Remus broke the rules first. He was going to let me drown in quicksand! The bets are off. We’re going, now.”

Roman grinned, summoning his sword. “Alright. Let’s do this, then.”

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hollyhomburg · 5 years

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What the Devil Doesn’t know

(Witch! Namjoon x Demon! Jimin x human! Reader) (Soulmate au)

Summary: when Jimin dies suddenly and mysteriously it leaves both you and namjoon devastated. But maybe Jimin’s story didn’t end there, maybe he’ll find a way to come back to you from beyond the grave.

Tags: MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH, themes of grief, depression, nightmares, night terrors, devil characters, magical au, witch! namjoon, magic shop au. soulmate au, brief mention of shapeshifter! Yoongi, brief yoonkook.

W/C: 5.1k

A/n: this was heavily inspired by a dream that I had where Tae (or something posing as Tae in my dreams) said to me “I don’t care who you love in this life-but when you die- you’re mine” so yeah! when I die I’m getting that good demon dick! happy Halloween everyone!!

Playlist: Work song - Hozier, when we all fall asleep where do we go?- Billie Eilish, Devil like me- rainbow kitten surprise.

- As with most sweet things in life, It starts with a flower.

- Namjoon’s friend, Yoongi a shapeshifter, gives him it to him early one morning. though really, Namjoon shouldn’t be surprised that yoongi arrived just after sunrise, pawing at the window in his cat form until namjoon lets him in. he doesn’t shift until namjoon has a cup of coffee poured for him. One moment a cat and the next a very grumpy human. He barely says a thing before he plops the bulb onto Namjoon’s kitchen counter and raises an eyebrow at his unkempt hair over his coffee.

- Namjoon grumbles at that, unlike Yoongi- he doesn’t have anyone to be put together for at almost 5 in the morning. And his shop won’t open for a few more hours either- he has more than enough time to shower and be presentable before then.

- “You have better luck with flowers than I do” he justifies. And he’s not wrong- but this flower- is something peculiar of note. All Namjoon has to do is pick it up before he realizes what the blub is- and more importantly why Yoongi has brought it to Namjoon instead of trying to pawn it off or keep it for himself.

- The flower is none other than the species ‘Animus Videndceus’ or the ‘soul seeing flower’, and it has the unique ability to bloom according to one’s soulmate.

- It’s pretty much the only dead giveaway beyond blood magic that’s 100% accurate at determining the day in which someone will meet their soulmate. What’s even more curious is how Yoongi found this, even more, why he’s giving something so rare to Namjoon on a whim.

- Namjoon asks as much. “I don’t have a use for it,” Yoongi says, looking down and away, and ah- that makes sense too- for Yoongi has someone waiting for him at home. At this hour, his human mate Jungkook is probably sleeping with his curly hair pushed back against the pillow- arms reaching out for the man that leans across Namjoon’s kitchen counter, pawing at a glass-like the more feline part of him wants to push it off.

- Yoongi is a good mate, and will never leave Jungkook waiting for long. and yet- he lingers at Namjoon’s counter and casts the soulmate flower a long, lingering glance.

- Sometimes you’d rather not know if the one you’re with is your soulmate. But Namjoon has no such attachments and thanks Yoongi for the generous gift before he goes.

- Namjoon is a witch, owns a magic shop of his own tucked into a narrow back alley in the middle of Seoul- almost hidden, but sometimes his human patrons inform him at the right time of day- those who need namjoon can find it. And If you stand out on the main street you can see a hazy glow- not of neon or like smoke, that tempts them in the direction of Namjoon’s magic shop.

- There is a little apartment above the shop, Namjoon’s home with too much empty space for just him, he fills it with plants though to make himself feel less lonely. Its wide windows look out onto the street below and the plants on the windowsills chat with each other (and Namjoon when he’s not on the ground floor working in his workshop or managing the storefront).

- The soulflower gets its own special spot on the ground floor in the shop by the windowsill, so that he can watch it when he works.

- Every soulflower grows a little differently, and Namjoon watches over the first few weeks as it grows to accommodate the strength of Namjoon’s soul- it’s wide silvery leaves something like cyclamen but it’s flowers look different. Maybe slightly feathery like an agapanthus. It’s hard to tell- as neither of the blooms are open yet.

- Yes, you read that correctly- there are two blooms on Namjoons plant. This means Namjoon has two soulmates out there, waiting to meet him, and likewise- he can hardly wait!

- One bloom hangs slightly under the other but both are beautiful and silken. one ruby red and the other a buttery shade of pink. Namjoon sketches them in the spare pages of his grimoire while he waits for his appointments to show up some days.

- When he walks down the stairs one day and sees that one of the blooms has opened overnight- the body of it bright red with a creamy white center, it makes him fall the rest of the way down the narrow stairs, and knock his knee against the velvet chair in the corner.

- When a man with a high collar and lovely lips walks into his shop later that day, Namjoon understands, and already kind of half loves him. He forgives himself for the slight overreaction of his thrumming heart after he takes the man’s order (sleeping draft- nothing abnormal) after all- it’s not every day you meet your soulmate. Finds out his name- Jimin- when he hands over a black Amex to pay for the draft.

- Namjoon leans over the counter to flirt at him while the dialup rings the card through. “You know I have something for that cut” he says, gesturing to the hidden wound on Jimin’s forearm (one side effect of his powers is that he can always tell when people are in pain).

- Jimin blushes and Namjoon invites him up for coffee, which becomes a promise on Jimin’s part to check in so that Namjoon can verify it’s healing alright, which becomes Jimin’s promise of dinner in payment, and then eventually Namjoon looks up and half a year has passed, and Jimin has made a home in Namjoon’s apartment and in Namjoon’s heart.

- Jimin is secretive with what he does, but Namjoon sees the angry ghosts that follow him, sees more appear the longer they love each other, and knows enough not to ask. The worst is when they linger while he sleeps waking him up and making his soulmate sleep irregularly. But it’s nothing that a careful banishing spell can’t fix. and though jimin comment’s “I always sleep so well when you’re next to me” namjoon pretends to be endeared rather than concerned

- Though he does learn little tidbits about his soulmate. His only family his mother who died a few years back- no idea who his father was or where the rest of his family is.

- Namjoon and Jimin are happy, Jimin pecks his dimples when he goes to work and when Jimin gets home with a knot working it’s way down his back namjoon carefully massages it out, making Jimin groan and Namjoon’s plant’s hiss at them to get a room.

- But there is still one more bloom on the soulflower. Still, one more soulmate left to find their way here. And Namjoon worries in those moments when he finds Jimin asleep in his bed- that whoever his other soulmate is- that they won’t get along. Afterall- Jimin might be Namjoon’s soulmate, but might not be the soulmate of his soulmate.

- Jimin reassures him. “I know I can’t stick around as long as you need me to most of the time.” This is true, Jimin leaves for ‘work’ for weeks at a time, rarely lets Namjoon know when he’ll be back (most of the time he doesn’t know) and returns to the apartment with a tan or a new bullet wound sowed up. And Namjoon is…lonely when JImin can’t be there. “if you had someone else here- I wouldn’t feel nearly as guilty,” he says, looking down at his hands and biting his lip- and it’s the truth.

- Jimin loves Namjoon so much- the thought of him in pain makes Jimin hurt just as well. And if someone could be here- and take away that pain a little bit. then Jimin will allow Namjoon that freedom.

- Namjoon meets you before he realizes that the soulflower has bloomed.

- He’s out walking when he bumps into you- really it’s just bad luck or maybe fate, you end up sprawling and spraining your ankle. Namjoon is just treating you to an apology coffee when he gets a call from Jimin.

- “Your stupid plant bloomed,” Jimin says, though a smile plays on the edge of his words he too- is giddy- if not a little tired. He was out late the night before- doing god knows what.

- Falling in love with soulmates is easier than breathing, Namjoon has nothing to worry about when it comes to you and jimin, the first time you have dinner together- drunk off of Namjoon’s enchanted moonshine. you tip your shoulder into Jimin’s laughing, and namjoon catches a look on his face, struck with sudden affection- his cheeks turning as pink as your soulflower.

- Namjoon has nothing to worry about- except maybe- acquiring a larger bed that fits you.

- You’re a human, and though you know enough about the magical world it’s still mostly a mystery to you, but you love seeing what Joonie does, the light he can conjure- full-on stars for you and Jimin in that small bedroom, and his other little magic, powerful potions for good luck- jackets that repel rain.

- Namjoon doesn’t know why it’s the simpler magic that delights you so, but he’s happy to leave glowing flowers of sugar spinning in your coffee in the morning. To turn your hair different colors (and Jimin’s too- namjoon swears he’s gone through half the rainbow since they first started dating), and enchant little messages to open themselves and speak in his voice when you open them.

- The soulflower blooms always remain shiny and new, as if they’d bloomed that morning instead of weeks or even months ago. Your pink one the twin to Jimin’s ruby red. They seem to twinkle on the windowsill when you and Jimin are out (Jimin- doing whatever he does, and you- at the school where you teach kindergarten.)

- You cook dinner in the evenings sometimes, sometimes Jimin leaves for a few weeks and then come back with a new black eye, or a mysterious tan, or some fancy trinkets for you and Namjoon from halfway across the world. Namjoon should have realized he never had anything to worry about- because of course, you would be soulmates with each other too.

- There is nothing more that he loves better, watching the two of you cuddle close by the fire on the cold winter nights, watching the two of you steal his clothing and even argue over who gets to wear Namjoon’s, particularly soft grey sweater.

- The three of you are happy…for a while.

- Togeather, you and Jimin nurse Namjoon back to health after a particularly bad flue that results in him snorting out little puffballs of grey that skitter around the room without eyes bumping into the furniture and squeaking shrilly if you step too close.

- “I never thought accidental conjuring would be a side-affect of the flue but” you shrug, making Jimin laugh as Namjoon groans. “they’re just manifestations of how shitty I’m feeling- they’ll go away once I get better I promise.” jimin cups Namjoon’s cheeks flushed with fever. “our big baby” he croons, making namjoon let out a sound that’s half a groan and half a whine, “you just worry about getting better” Jimin reassures him, pressing a kiss to his forehead with a wry smile. His eyes twinkling with life. while in the background- you use a broom to sweep some of the puffballs outside.

- You return to Namjoon’s side to pull him close after you sit back against the armrest, his cheek pillowed against your shoulder, snuggled down in between your legs under a thick blanket while Jimin retreats to the kitchen. You and Namjoon sitting by the tv, Namjoon sniffling every now and then, and just listen to the sound of Jimin’s lovely lilting hum as he cooks. Something that he only does when he’s feeling at his most gentle- at his most true version of himself. After a while- you and Namjoon just turn off the tv and listen to him sing.

- Namjoon wishes he’d had a chance to savor that more, and you do too. The day comes. Namjoon wakes up and Jimin and you have already left for work. He feels groggy and sluggish and when he goes downstairs and Jimin’s flower is starting to wilt.

- Namjoon blinks sleepily at it, the ruby petals falling limp- Jimin’s soulflower is wilting.

- Just barely. Wilting. The ends drying up turning from red to brown, at first Namjoon thinks he’s imagining it until one of the petals starts to fall and fades completely, finally turning black.

- Jimin is late coming home. You and Namjoon call his phone and it goes to voicemail.

- The police find his car pulled off on the side of the road and Jimin in the front seat of the car- His brains blown out against the steering wheel. They said he never would have seen it coming. Whoever had killed him had come up behind.

- You barely catch Namjoon when he falls to the ground, the moment he realizes that something inside of him- something integral has been cut. And maybe if you were magical you could feel it- but maybe that awareness is more a curse than a gift- to know when your soulmate has truly gone from this world.

- More questions remain that are answered when you and Namjoon and Jimin’s few friends gather for his funeral. You and namjoon cling to each other- barely feeling but still- always crying.

- Who was Jimin really? Who did he work for? Who killed him? and why was there a will left- passing on a small fortune and a separate residence to you and namjoon? You both to Jimin’s separate apartment looking for answers, and find it grey-clad and barely lived in at all despite the fact that the date on the deed says he owned it for more than 10 years.

- “I’m so jealous of you- you got 5 more months with him than I did” you sob during a fight, broken plates litter the floor of the kitchen. weeks after the funeral when finally, neither of you can pretend that your lives haven’t fallen apart.

- Namjoon’s hands bleed from shattered glass, broken in his hands by his own too sharp mind, his powers are so hard to control when he’s angry. “At least you got to kiss him goodbye” he growls back. Angry tears sparking at the corners of his eyes.

- The next morning, you wake crushed against Namjoon’s chest despite the fact that you fell asleep on the chair in the living room. And he’ll apologize for snapping at you, and you’ll likewise make amends to breaking his things. life is too short to let any sort of fight linger for long, you both understand that now. You start crying when you have to say goodbye to him and go to work- so worried that it will be the last time you’ll see him.

- The soulflower has crumpled into the pot. Your bloom looking forlorn and smaller somehow. Jimin’s flower, once ruby red- still sits where it fell. After the first few weeks, Namjoon takes the dried petals and puts them in a glass vase and sets them on the mantle upstairs, in a place where he rarely is so that he doesn’t have to see them when he works.

- If Jimin’s death makes Namjoon numb. You pretend it makes you equally as unfeeling. But most nights You wake up crying after dreaming about him dying, horrified by the fact that he died alone- and so so early when you’d barely begun.

- You’d thought you’d have years together- not just a single one with him. Namjoon is always there, always wakes up when you do (or maybe he never sleeps) to rub away your tears but it’s not enough, he’s not Jimin and even though you love Joonie- Jimin’s absence is always going to leave a hole in you.

- And really- Namjoon is the same, there is a hole in him left by Jimin’s death that sort of kills him a little more every day, Namjoon is such a ghost after Jimin dies. Forgets to eat sometimes until he stands up from his desk and gets so dizzy he shouts for you to bring him a cup of tea. greif wears down namjoon’s vibrancy until he too- feels shriveled up and a shadow of who he was.

- He even contemplates necromancy- the highest crime in magical law, just to bring Jimin back as the months drag on and he watches you get closer and closer to the deep end.

- But as it turns out, he doesn’t need too.

- Jimin is always in your dreams, whenever you close your eyes he’s back with you again. It’s the only reason why you sleep at all anymore, so you can pretend that he never died, so that you can cup his cheeks again and just hold onto his hand- just the same size as yours, and perfect for holding.

- Even if the dreams always end the same way. With the sound of that bullet, and you watch in slow motion as a faceless shadow kills Jimin. it’s still worth dreaming if only to see him again, maybe that’s why some days you can’t get out of bed anymore.

- But then one day, he comes, and it’s different this time. If you had to put your finger on it you’d call it a nightmare- but it doesn’t feel that way to you because he’s there. If anything it feels calmer, more serene, with the warm black water underneath your feet ankle-deep soaking through the pant legs of your pajamas.

- Jimin doesn’t look normal either, sitting in a chair in front of you in black silk finer than anything he would have ever worn on earth. Black Horns curl away from his head, starkly contrasted with his silver hair. His eyes are different too, bright red when they should be brown- glowing with fire.

- When his lips part and he sighs, he rests a soft cheek on a black clawed hand. You see his teeth are pointer too, and his tongue when he licks out seems longer, more serpentine. He looks at you- and you can’t imagine you ever saw him look so tired when he was alive- Even with his insomnia.

- “Who are you? Why do I keep having dreams of you?” He asks in a tongue that seems hissing but more gentle- it almost feels like he’s musing more to himself than he is at you, unsure if you can even hear him. “They told me demons weren’t supposed to dream, let alone a prince of hell- but I guess I am a special case. But it’s been months? Who are you?”

- You don’t have a chance to speak before you’re waking, consciousness tugging you up from the depths of the dream. your cheeks are wet with tears but namjoon is there and he’s warm and real and his arms a familiar safe harbor.

- You don’t tell Namjoon about the dream because You don’t talk about Jimin anymore, those memories you have with him are too much of a minefield- but this-this almost seemed too real. But when you cry- namjoon holds onto you like it’s the only thing he can do- the only thing that will make his own grief better is to care for you.

- You shrug it off, try to forget about it- don’t tell Namjoon anything about the strange dreams- even when they persist and this new version of Jimin appears again. Little do you know, when Namjoon Wakes at the first sign of your usual nightmares (you always start by tossing your head against the pillow and trembling) He sees something in the corner of your room.

- It’s just a moment- just a second of a pair of glowing red eyes staring at Namjoon and you before they blink out and you wake. Namjoon knows better than to think they’re just a figment of his imagination. But spirits and even monsters have a habit of sticking around Namjoon because of his abilities- or even seeking him out to ask for help.

- They stick around people like you too- people that are depressed have a habit of being subject to that particular kind of haunting- their energy so easy to feed off of. Namjoon is too strong magically to be at risk of that. But you-you’re so achingly human- almost a perfect meal to the right monster.

- That- Namjoon decides- is what must be drawing whatever it is with red eyes that haunt you.

- Namjoon tries every spell he knows to keep the monster away, but why doesn’t anything work on the specter? One night it lingers even after Namjoon’s woken. It’s staring at him- wide-eyed too- and only seems to pause when he throws a pillow at it in desperation. “Go away! leave her alone- we’ve been through enough already.”

-The shadow seems to pause and almost- through the shadows- Namjoon thinks he recognizes the arch of those lips turned into a frown. But convinces himself that he just misses Jimin so much that he’d see him in every face- even that of a monster.

- You know you shouldn’t linger over the dreams. But they feel so real- you never- you never tell the figment of your imagination who he is, or the face he wears but you do talk with him more. The first night you manage to shake off the sleep paralysis enough to open your mouth the first thing that tumbles out of your mouth is the question that you’d always wanted to ask Jimin and never got the chance to.

- “Were you happy?” the demon that wears your dead lovers face scoffs, and rolls his eyes, and says “of course I don’t know if I was, haven’t you been paying attention? I only keep getting sent here when I fall asleep and I just want to know why- then I’ll leave your dreams or whatever.”

- That action alone is enough to tell you that this is definitely a dream. Because nothing but your brain could have conjured up the way Jimin looks- so heartbreakingly bratty and so him, rambly in the way that he only did when he was trying to work through something.

- It makes your heartache with how much you miss him. It’s definitely not real then no matter how it might feel so- because Jimin is dead and gone and even this- strangely accurate specter of him that your own head has made to save you from your crushing fate of loving someone who is dead is not enough. Even if it does ease that weight incrementally.

- Every night- you and the Jimin in your dreams- the one that looks more like a devil than the angel your boyfriend was, talk. He tells you about the throne that he sits on- so uncomfortable- like you’d understand or the dull diatribes he has to withstand from his other siblings.

- Though that mention in it’s self is a little strange you’d never known any of Jimins family- as all of them had died before you’d met.

- You never tell him where you know him from, or give a hint that you know anything about him at all. No matter how many times this dream version of Jimin asks, you play dumb. because if the only reason why he was there was to try and figure out how he knew you, then telling him would surely make him disappear again.

- And you don’t think you could live through losing Jimin a second time.

- In your daily life, you and namjoon hold onto each other as tightly as you can. it’s horrible to say- but after the first few months- you get used to not mentioning Jimin’s name anymore. Get used to it being just you two. you go out for holiday dinners and start to go on weekly date nights just to- get to know each other again. They say greif makes you a diffrent person and though thats mostly true, the one thing that remains constant is the fact that Namjoon loves you.

- One night, after you and namjoon sleep together in the more carnal sense, more lingering, the first time in a few months that you’d both let yourself put anything other than desperate passion into making love, you wake in the dream world even as you fall asleep bare in Namjoon’s arms,

- Dimly you can feel the cushion of Namjoon’s cheek as it rests against your chest (you know that he loves being able to fall asleep to your heartbeat) but in the dream world, you can feel the anger rolling off Jimin in waves. Especially when he’s suddenly so close, tilting your jaw to get a good look at the love bites on your neck, carried over from the real world into that dream.

- He pulls you close before you have a chance to say more than his name before he noses at the marks, a terrifying growl echoing as he bites his own marks over yours and though you can feel his sharp teeth sink into your skin it doesn’t hurt at all of anything- you think if you where conscious it would make you cum on the spot at the feeling, the white-hot pleasure that instantly flares over every inch of your skin.

- And when he pulls away he laves gentle licks over the mark with his too-long tongue. His growling words are almost feral, possessively so, “You can sleep with whoever you want in this life but remember when you die sunshine- you’re mine.”

- And you’re reached out of the dream so quickly by Namjooon’s shout- “no-get off of her!” As he throws the shadow off of you. The shadow raises a clawed hand to slash at Namjoon. But you get in between them grabbing his wrist. The words slipping out before you realize what they mean “Jimin! Stop! Don’t hurt him!”

- The second your skin touches his, the shadows cloaking jimin dissipate. And Namjoon almost staggers, uttering out Jimin’s name that turns In a shattered sob. And just then- the sound of his name on Namjoon’s tongue brings back a memory.

- The image of the three of you, Jimin’s head in Namjoon’s lap, with you next to them, the elders hand combing over his forehead. sitting out on the grass by the river in a seculded spot. You smile down at him, asking if he’d like some food from the street stands, a flower tucked into your hair. puffy seeds stuck to namjoons lips from blowing away a dandelion wish, a seed that Jimin reaches up to wipe away.

- And another memory, clicking the stock closed in the gun and pulling a bandana over his mouth to hide his identity. It’s only a second- and Jimin is so perplexed by the memories that aren’t his that he varnishes immediately.

- And you and Namjoon are left standing in your bedroom. Looking at each other that the devil’s mark- black as night and curling like smoke that is inked into your neck on the same spot where Jimin bit you in the dream. marking you as his forever (the mark never really goes away, even when you live)

- Namjoon immediately makes his way to the bathroom and hurls his guts up, so shocked- the adrenaline coursing through his system- so- Jimin is alive- well not alive but at least his soul is- his soul isn’t destroyed or being tortured in hell.

- Jimin’s soul is probably doing the torturing actually- if yes what you say he is. You and namjoon have a long conversation-

-“He said he didn’t remember- and I didn’t actually think it was him and I was just so glad to not be dreaming about him dying that I guess I just- convinced myself it was nothing. I’m sorry-I should have told you- i should have” Namjoon as always, gives you a heartbreaking understanding look and shakes his head. “no it’s fine i think i was just…suprised,” because he gets it you guys- you don’t talk about Jimin at all- it brings up too many painful memories.

- But this- why does this feel so much like hope?

-“Do you think he’s going to come back?” He asks you. Because really- this Jimin is one you’re more familiar with at this point than Namjoon is. “He’s still super curious about us I think” you smile- small but there, and Namjoon doesn’t realize until later that it’s the first time he’s seen you truely smile in nearly a year.

- “What I don’t get is why he suddenly like- became a demon right?” And Namjoon’s look darkens.

- “I didn’t want to tell you- because you’ve got to understand- you where so broken after he died and I just couldn’t tell you-“

- “Joonie what is it?”

- “Jimin never told us what he did for a living, but after he died I figured it out.”

- You had no idea that your boyfriend was an assasin, but as namjoon mentions the ghosts, you think things start to fall into place. it makes sense too then- why jimin would have ended up in hell and not in heaven. (later you’ll find out- that there is more too- that Jimin and his half brothers where sired by the devil himself, which is why he has so much free reighn and also the power to walk through nightmares.)

- Sure enough- a few days later Jimin appears at the foot of your bed, shadows no longer encasing him. You sleep on next to namjoon however- Joonie is the only one who waits, knowing by now that Jimin will appear when you sleep. you seem to be linked somehow- maybe it’s Namjoon’s protective charms and own maical soul that prevents Jimin from walking into Namjoon’s dreams as easily as he would yours. one day, Namjoon will have to ask- but for now he just looks at Jimin.

- Namjoon can’t stop starring, drinking in every inch, takeing in Jimin’s horns or at his pale skin unmarked by the accident that killed him, his horns and his teeth. All of him that says demon. The aggression he’d shown before isn’t there, only a quiet shyness as Jimin sits on the edge of the bed and gently rests a clawed hand on your exposed ancle.

- “You- you have memories of me don’t you? You know whoever I was before I went to hell,” Namjoon nodds, playing with a thread on the edge of the comforter. Casting a glance at where you sleep, undisturbed. “what is she dreaming about?” Namjoon asks, and has guessed by now, that Jimin has become some sort of sleep demon, can walk into your dreams and see if he wishes.

-“She’s dreaming the same dream she always does if I don’t-” he breaks off, looking down at you, biting on a plush lip that Namjoon wishes so badly he could cross the room and kiss. How many times had he wished before- that he’d been able to kiss Jimin goodbye? And now having him so close and not feeling able too was torture for Namjoon’s soul.

- He smiles as Jimin looks down at you, his eyes and his expression is so soft. he remembers before Jimin’s death- a night when Jimin looked at you like that, you asleep between the two of them in bed. The same look that always had Namjoon run his knuckles gently over his cheek.

- “She’s so special to us, do you think she knows?” Jimin had once whispered into the same quiet bedroom, his heart aching like it was bound to break from too much love inside. “We can only hope” Namjoon had answered, smiling even as he had kissed away the tears on Jimin’s cheeks. His heart so full of love that it had felt to Jimin like it was breaking.

- That same look now, on the same face even if some things are different- Jimin is still Jimin. “She’s making tea with you while you both wait for me to get home.” He turns those fire bright eyes up to Namjoon, mirth tugging at the corner of his lip as the sadness gives way to the joke. “But she didn’t dream you right, your nose is bigger in real life.”

- Namjoon laugh shocks out of him like a crack of lightning, but you barely stir even when he stands, “well then, would you like some tea? the actual kind?” Jimin nods and follows Namjoon into the kitchen. And when namjoon gives jimin the mug that used to be his favorite when he was alive (a little red one with little bumps running down the sides) Jimin’s clawed hands linger over those ridges, running over them again and again.

- “This was mine wasn’t it?” he asks, something thick in his throat. he looks around at the apartment and wonders what elce he has yet to remember.

- “I want you to show me them- your memories, I want to remember who I was before I died and went to hell.”

- And then later, after Jimin has had a thorough tour of Namjoon’s memories, wandered and wandered and lingered, and come up with more than a few of his own. Namjoon opens his eyes and sees that same softness directed at him. Jimin’s clawed hand cups Namjoon’s chin, a thumb tugging over his lips that part.

- “This was mine too? wasn’t it?” he says softly.

- Namjoon gets his kiss that he never got the day that jimin died. more even, endless kisses that taste like happy tears, soft small kissed that litter across namjoon’s cheekbones, small and fleeting, over his dimples, under his ear- everywhere.

- Everywhere but where he needs until he’s gasping over his tears begging, “kiss me- Jimin please- just-” the grief clogging up his heart and making his words come out in barely a whisper. How many times before had Jimin made him beg and this- this is the only thing he’s ever really wanted.

- Their lips work, desperate and with the will to consume the second they meet. the second that Jimin’s hands find Namjoon’s waist Jimin knows that he will never want them to leave. He doesn’t tease, doesn’t pull back. Jimin’s hands tangle in Namjoon’s hair as he pulls him as close as they can.

- later- more of Jimin’s memories will come back, almost all of them, but for now he’s content to kiss one of his soulmates in the muted grey light of predawn in Namjoon’s kitchen- to wait until you rouse from your dream and go to find them, sitting sideways across Jimin’s lap while Namjoon hovers above, hands in his hair, swapping thankful kisses both of you nod your agreement.

- The kisses are slow and special, and taste of healing and misfireing greif and joy all in one. Confusing and emotionally exhausting but gladly, always gladly had. More asked for, and more healing given. Such is the way with soulmates.

- And even though when the first light of morning touches him- Jimin fades like a mist in the oncoming light. You don’t have to worry- because you know he will always come back to you, in whatever form he may take.

- When Namjoon goes into the living room, he finds the soulflower- Jimin’s origional one no longer dried up and cracked brown. It looks Perfectly bloomed, fleshy and as fresh as it was the first day Namjoon ever saw it, sitting in it’s jar unattached to the rest of the soulflower but still alive like it never wilted at all.

- Only now, it’s black instead of red.

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shutupandshipit · 4 years

Text

Coming Home - Part 2

Summary: When Katsuki stepped off the plane, he was greeted with the familiar heat of Musutafu in summer. Humidity like he was sitting in a sauna. He’d been all over America in the past five and a half years, but nothing was quite like the weather of home. It could be similar, primarily along the east coast, but just not quite the same. Just similar.

Breathing in deeply, he gripped the small hand in his and started down the ramp to where he could see Best Jeanist leaning against a car with illegally blacked out windows. Katsuki idly wondered if he was absolutely roasting in his hero uniform.

“Your hand is sweaty, Papa.”

“Your’s isn’t much better, little monster.”

…..

Or where Katsuki disappeared to America to find someone to make prostheses for him. He was gone for five and a half years, and returns with a little tag-a-long.

Pairing: Bakudeku

Rating: T (just for language mostly)

Chapter: 2/2

Part 1 <-Previous

Follow-on: Christmas Preemie

Part 2: what’s in the box?

Katsuki woke with a sudden start to cool sheets and aching ears. The events of the night trickled back slowly as he lay there, blinking into the sunlight peaking in at him around the edges of his curtains. No, not his curtains. They were a disgusting pea green color that had been left there by the owner who had rented the place to them. He'd have to remedy that as soon as possible.

In the confusion of the first good night's sleep he'd gotten in a long time, he could convince himself that everything had been a dream. He was still in America, miserable save for the time he spent with Katsumi. But with a rustle of sheets, Izuku's lightning storm and mint scent misted the air.

Katsuki buried his nose in the pillow Izuku had used, inhaling his scent for several long moments. He'd spent years without his mate's scent. Or he should say, the scent of the person he'd like to be his mate eventually. His alpha's scent. His Deku's scent. If scents could be made into perfumes, he would carry around a bottle of Izuku's scent just to pull out when he missed him. And he did miss him. Katsuki had gotten over the knee jerk reaction to deny any soft feeling towards the other hero a long time ago. It was hard to keep hold of them when he adored their daughter who was the spitting image of her father.

A crash and resounding laughter from the kitchen jerked him from his reverie. His hearing aids squealed, and he flinched before snapping his prostheses into place with a grunt. The palm of his prosthetic arm sparked feebly, but there was no sweat in the arm's tubes to light off. They'd be filled soon enough as he started to move around, collected from ports hooked into his armpit's sweat glands.

He took a moment to let the pain settle, running through his pre-operational checks before pushing to his feet.

His hearing aids squealed again, and with a grunt, he pulled them off. The world around him hushed into silence. He should have thought of taking them out before going to bed that night. He hadn't though, not with Izuku's hands on him. There was the very real chance he wouldn't be able to use them for the rest of the day, not with the way his ears were aching. The ringing built slowly until it was filling his head with static. Tinnitus, the worse part of anything he'd done to himself. Even worse than the prostheses. It would fade in and out throughout the day, leaving him in silence or giving him a splitting headache. There was never an in between.

In the kitchen, the counters were dusted with pancake or waffle mix. Fruit and vegetables sweat by the sink, begging for him to save them from a terrible butchering. Smoke rose damningly from a pan on the stove.

Standing over it, Izuku stood with Sumi on his hip and a spatula in his hand. They laughed in unison as Izuku failed to flip the pancake. 'I'm so bad at this. Your papa is a way better cook than me.' They looked so natural together. Izuku's curls against Sumi's. Izuku's smile matching the one of Sumi's face perfectly. Their freckles vibrant and an identical map across their faces. There was no mistaking what they were.

Katsuki couldn't hear them, obviously, but in five years, he had become passable at reading lips. And reading Izuku's had never been a problem.

'Me too,' Sumi confided, trying just as unsuccessfully to flip the pancake. When she finally got it over, they cheered together with hands raised high above their heads.

Katsuki leaned against his doorjamb, watching the pair interact until Izuku caught sight of him.

Red bloomed in his cheeks as he grinned. 'Kacchan! Good morning!' What Katsuki wouldn't have given to see those lips form his name on his worst days in America.

'Morning, Papa! We're making breakfast!' Sumi frowned down at the pan before turning serious eyes on him. 'Trying to. We burned the pancake.' When she looked back up at him, she frowned and pointed to her ear. She pointed the tips of her index fingers at each other, jerking them towards each other twice. 'Hurt?' the sign asked.

Nodding and stepping away from his room, Katsuki surveyed the destruction of his kitchen. He sighed. Raising his hands to sign to Sumi, 'That's because you two can't be trusted in the kitchen. The heat is way too high. How have you already managed to destroy my kitchen in only a day?'

Sumi grinned and translated for Izuku, but didn't actually answer. Izuku scrubbed at the back of his head, eyes darting over the area. 'We were hungry and didn't want to wake you up, so we thought we'd give it a shot. I'm going to clean up. Don't worry.'

Sighing and rounding the counter, Katsuki pulled on the apron he'd hung up the night before and bumped Izuku out of the way with his hip. 'Well, we have to finish breakfast first. Tell Deku he's eating that burnt monstrosity. Also, can you ask him to wash the dishes so you can set the table?'

Sumi nodded, and turned in Izuku's arms to hold his cheeks between her hands. As the three of them got to work, Katsuki fell into the ease of it all. Their scents mixing together in a harmonious chorus. Katsuki and Izuku orbiting around each other as if they'd never stopped. Sumi incorporated seamlessly into the movement as she worked with Izuku.

Katsuki was, fundamentally, happy for the first time in a long time. Even the usual self consciousness of his bare prostheses and deaf ears couldn't find its way into his body. When he was with Izuku, he was the most confident version of himself.

Breakfast went off without a hitch as Sumi did her best to teach Izuku a few basic ASL signs.

Across the table from them, Katsuki smiled and proceeded to say everything dirty he possibly could. He did them while Sumi's eyes were turned away, and was so lewd that Izuku didn't need to know sign language to know what he was saying.

Face red at a strawberry, he cried, 'Kacchan, stop!'

'Never.'

'Papa, stop teasing Daddy!' Sumi signed as she spoke, glaring at him.

He raised an eyebrow at her in challenge. “I do what I want, punk,” Katsuki said aloud, and though he couldn't hear himself, he knew they had come out correctly when Izuku's shoulders began to shake with laughter.

They were finishing breakfast when Katsuki's eye was caught by a light flashing by the couch. He'd completely forgotten that he'd left his phone out in the living room at the end of the night, and he stood to grab it. He groaned when he saw the name for the video chat request. Accepting the call, he held up a finger without looking at the screen as he returned to the kitchen to find something to stand his phone against. When he had it set up, he stepped back to greet his now ex-boss.

Negative was an imposing woman to say the least. Her eyes were inkwells, blending almost perfectly with her black skin. Her outrageously large Afro was starkly white and just barely being restrained with a Ground Zero themed bandanna she'd bought for the sole purpose of annoying him, but had ended up using often. She was tall and broad shouldered and took up space in a room with her mere presence. Every day he saw her, he thanked the stars that they were both gay. He'd met her wife, a teeny tiny beta woman who was the reason for the term 'lipstick lesbian', and still didn't understand their union.

'What?'

Negative signed as she spoke, mouth tight with consternation, 'You didn't call me, you punk ass bitch. I told you to call as soon as you landed no matter what time it was.'

Katsuki sighed, rolling his eyes. 'Stuff came up.'

'You're a dirty liar. Where's my goddaughter?' she demanded. Cynthia, her wife, appeared in the frame with the widest smile in the world. Her long rainbow dreads swayed as she waved at him and blew him a kiss.

“Hi, Cynthia.” He glanced away from the screen towards the table where Katsumi was waving wildly.

'Is that Shonetta? Aunt Shonetta, I'm over here! I'm over here!' Sumi was yelling, ready to crawl straight across the table to him, but Izuku had an arm around her waist to keep her in place.

Rolling his eyes back to the camera, Katsuki picked up the phone and switched the camera to show Izuku with his still rather sleep-mussed hair and Sumi look just like him. “Shonetta, Cynthia, Deku. Deku, Shonetta and Cynthia.”

Izuku waved at the camera. 'Actually, my name is Izuku. It's nice to meet you.'

Cynthia had crowded in next to Shonetta, staring intently at the screen with wide eyes. Katsuki scrambled to mute the call before she said anything that he was going to regret. 'Holy shit, that's baby daddy, isn't it!' They had always been good at talking while signing for his sake, but sometimes, he wished he couldn't understand them at all.

Which was, of course, a dirty lie. Shonetta and Cythia had singlehandedly kept him sane in America. He had a lot to thank them for. The biggest reason them guiding him through his pregnancy which had been more difficult than most for many reasons. It would take an act of god for him to give them up. Katsuki returned to the counter, glaring at the two women as they continued speculating together.

'Thought you had better taste than that, Kat. Isn't he kind of plain looking?' Shonetta asked.

Cynthia slapped at her wife's arm. 'Be nice! He's adorable! Sumi looks exactly like him! Take us off mute really quick.' Katsuki complied with her request as Shonetta squawked indignantly at not realizing he had muted them in the first place. With a roll of her eyes, Cynthia waves at the camera again. 'Good to know you made it back alright, Kat, Sumi. I've got to get to work, but hope to talk to you soon! Don't be strangers. Bye, Sumi! I love you both!'

Katsuki doesn't turn to catch Sumi's reply, just nodded to Cynthia. "Bye."

When Cynthia seemed to be completely gone, Shonetta turned a wicked grin toward him. 'So, is he... stuff? Have you already-' she signed. By the end, she wasn't even using actual words, just making hand gestures that were so lewd they even made Katsuki's face heat. She was the one he'd learned all of his sign language from, after all.

'No!' he signed aggressively, 'God, you are a menace to society! Leave my mate out of this!'

'Oooooh, mate already?' she crowed, flapping her hands instead of signing. She wrapped her arms around her belly as she began to chortle, and he could almost hear the exact sound of her laughter in his head.

He wanted to strangle every last breath out of her as he peaked at Izuku's red cheeks through the gaps in his fingers. Growling, he reached for the phone. “That's enough out of you. We're alive. You've seen us. Bye. Go die in a ditch.”

Shonetta only continued to laugh as he ended the call, and turned to the table. Without so much as he beat, he pointed at Sumi. 'Breakfast is over. You know the drill. Yoga and then a run. Chop chop. Go get changed. We've got a lot to do today, and not a lot of time to do it.'

Sumi nodded once before turning to Izuku to explain.

'I've got to start heading over to the agency anyway for patrol.' Izuku stood, smiling.

Without missing a beat, Sumi jumped from her chair to wrap her arms around his body and pressed her face into his stomach.

Izuku was taken aback, arms raised to shoulder level as his eyes flicked between Katsuki and Sumi. After a still moment, he let his arms drop around her. He lowered his head, his mouth obscured from Katsuki's views. Sumi grinned up at him before bounding off toward her room.

Izuku turned to look at Katsuki, scrubbing at the back of his head. 'Can I... see you guys again? Tonight maybe?'

“Whatever.” Katsuki pulled Izuku into his body. They tangled together, hips pressed flush, tongues twined, hands on waists and hands in hair. When they parted again, he said, “Gotta make up for five years.” He stared into Izuku's green eyes, brushing a thumb across his cheek. He dropped his eyes to Izuku's lips when he felt them brush against his, pulling back enough just to see what he said.

'Of what?'

“Everything.”

…..

Weeks passed, and things changed. Sumi started going to school. It was weird for her starting Kindergarten in the middle of the school year, but she adjusted well enough.

Katsuki started going back to work. He had more than enough to keep him busy. Relearning the streets and districts of his home city. Figuring out who was still in the city, who was new, and who he would work best with. Reestablishing himself in Japan, and painfully crawling his way up the ranks. Adjusting back to his old hero uniform with the minor adjustments he had made. When he'd gone to America, he hadn't been expecting to stay there for five and a half years, so he hadn't thought to bring his uniform. It wasn't particularly suitable for America anyway, so a uniform had to be made for him while he was there. But just like his original uniform wasn't suitable for America, his overseas uniform wasn't suitable for home.

Izuku became a constant fixture in his and Sumi's life. Every afternoon they came home, it was to Izuku standing on their doorstep. Every night when he fell asleep, it was with Izuku in his arms to soothe the nightmares. Every morning when they left, it was with Izuku beside them. He was around so often and frequently that Katsuki eventually gave him a key, a drawer in his wardrobe and a chunk of space in his closet.

After starting late night patrols again, Izuku was the only one he trusted to watch Sumi. Eventually, he started to let him take over more and more parental responsibilities until they were sharing them as equals instead of Katsuki remaining in his steadfast single parent routine.

He trusted Izuku implicitly, but even that trust was under scrutiny when it came to Sumi.

So, when Katsuki returned home one night with his heat building beneath his skin to Izuku curled on the couch alone, knees pulled to his chest while he watched hero videos, the slightest sliver of betrayal lodge in his chest. “Where's Katsumi? You were supposed to pick her up,” he growled dangerously as he stood behind Izuku, all protective omega father in his voice and stance.

Izuku tilted his head back to look at Katsuki, expression smooth and his scent doing a passable job of being calming. “With your parents and my mother.”

“Why?” Ever so slowly, he began to deflate. He wasn't exactly happy that his daughter was with her grandparents without his knowledge, but happier than if Izuku had forgotten to get her from school.

Blinking slowly, Izuku lifted his head and turned to patiently gaze at him. “We talked about this, remember? When the time came for your heat, Katsumi would stay with your parents and my mom. I know you'll start tomorrow, I could smell it on you every time I passed you on the streets today, but I thought it'd be nice to have a night for ourselves. I wanted to have a date night. Watch a movie, eat some take out, cuddle on the couch. Date nights don't normally include being accompanied by five-year-old daughters.” His expression remained pleasant, but longing crept into his voice. “We haven't spent any time alone together as a couple since you got back. I thought it'd be nice.”

Katsuki stared at him, silent for a long moment while he let his words settle in. Breathing out the spike of betrayal and anger that had stabbed him, he nodded. “Yeah. Okay. I'm going to bathe first. Did you order something already?”

Beaming, Izuku stood on his knees and beckoned Katsuki in for a chaste kiss. “I picked up food from that weird restaurant you like. That one place that has your favorite extra spicy California Roll.”

“Did you get me an extra spicy California Roll?” Katsuki asked, hands resting lightly on Izuku's hips.

Izuku scoffed. “Of course, I did. Do I look stupid to you?” When Katsuki started to open his mouth for a snarky reply, he slapped a hand over his lips. “Don't answer that. Jerk. Just go take your shower.”

Growling low and suggestively in his throat, Katsuki nipped at the soft pads of his fingers, sucking a digit into his mouth for the briefest of moments. When he pulled away, Izuku's face was flaming and he was smirking in satisfaction. “Keep it in your pants for now, Deku. You've got me for three whole days.”

Izuku whined pitifully before slumping back onto the couch in a boneless heap. He pressed his hands over his burning face. “You can't just do stuff like that, Kacchan. I'm not used to it anymore. Especially since we haven't done anything yet.”

Katsuki leaned over the couch, tugging a few fingers away from Izuku's face to look him in the eye. “Yeah, because we were waiting for my first heat together again. Well, it's here now. Prepare yourself because I've got five years of pent up sexual frustration to get out over the next three days.” He grinned viciously.

Again, Izuku whined. “Oh my god, I'm gonna have to go jerk-off or something so I don't cum the moment you touch me.”

Katsuki's smile only grew more vicious. “Do it or don't. You're going to have to figure out a way to satisfy me anyway.”

Izuku squeezed his eyes shut. “Thank god for ruts,” he whispered because when Katsuki's heat hit, Izuku would be catapulted into a rut.

Forty-five minutes later found take-out containers empty and Izuku leaned back against Katsuki's chest while they watched video after video of highlights from All Might's career. They hadn't been able to find a decent movie that they both wanted to watch, and settled for something they were always okay with. Fifteen minutes later though, Izuku turned in Katsuki's arms to face him.

Katsuki raised an eyebrow at him, but remained silent in the face of Izuku's determination.

He pressed close, nipping at Katsuki's lips, coaxing him into a slow make-out session as he crawled his way into Katsuki's laps. Knees on either side of the other hero's hips, he ground languidly down into him.

Hissing, Katsuki ripped their mouths apart as he bucked up into Izuku. “Jesus fuck, Deku, are you trying to make me come in my pants?” He could feel Izuku's smirk against his pulse point rather than see it, and shivered.

“No. But I want you to know I'm going to ride you before anything else. I haven't been filled with anything other than toys in five years. It's all I've been able to think about when we're alone since you got back,” Izuku whispered, breath husky as it ghosted across the exposed skin of Katsuki's ear around his hearing aid, “No one wants to top an alpha. Either way, no one could ever live up to you. You're the best, you always have been. I want you to fill me up. I want you to pin me down and dominate me like only you know how, Kacchan.”

Katsuki groaned deep in his throat, biting shallowly into Izuku's collar bone, fingers bruising against his hips. “And no one wants to be topped by an omega. God,” he breathed, “I've missed you. You're the only alpha I'd waste my time on. No one else could ever compare.” Once upon a time, the admission would have made him embarrassed and then angry at his own embarrassment, but now, it was simply the truth.

“I've never been able to look at anyone else,” Izuku whispered, ducking his head to catch Katsuki's lips again, “You're my only. You're my forever even if I'm not yours.”

Katsuki didn't get the chance to reply as Izuku sealed their mouths together again. They were teeth and tongues and sharp canines and blood mixed with saliva. They were rolling hips and heat and moans and needy pleasure.

“Deku-” Katsuki gasped, but Izuku swallowed down his own name.

“Bedroom, Kacchan, please. I need you,” Izuku gasped between kisses and panted breaths. He moaned into Katsuki's mouth when Katsuki gripped his ass and effortlessly lifted them from the couch. Arms twined around shoulders, legs wrapped around that ever so slender waist.

They tumbled into bed with foreheads pressed together and gasped laughter.

It was hours later, after Katsuki had taken Izuku, allowed Izuku to manhandle his protheses off and his heat had fully set in that Izuku said anything. “I want to exchange mating bites.”

Katsuki was panting, face pressed into the sheets as his body wound back up for another cresting wave of his heat. His mind was hazed with lust, muzzy and indistinct, but he understood that clearly enough. “Still?” He was just curious, but he couldn't tell what his voice sounded like. Sarcastic? Accusatory? Interested?

“I never stopped wanting to,” Izuku whispered while he gently guided Katsuki onto his back and then to sit up so he could press a water bottle to his mouth. “I've only ever wanted to be with you, Kacchan. Ever since we were little. Even when we weren't anything more than rivals.”

Katsuki accepted the water gratefully while Izuku proceeded to wipe his body down with a warm, damp cloth. “I thought you would have stopped after I disappeared without even a text. For keeping Katsumi from you. All of it.”

Leaving the cloth in the bathroom sink, Izuku climbed back onto the bed behind him. He pulled Katsuki flush against his chest, hooking his chin over his shoulder. “No, I'm a stubborn as you are.”

Katsuki pressed back into Izuku, tilting his head so their temples were pressed together. “I don't think I'm ready,” he whispered, eyes closed as he tried to think through his jumbled thoughts.

“There's no rush. You don't ever have to accept. I'll wait for a long as you need even if that means waiting forever. I'm very patient.”

“It won't be forever, idiot. Just... not yet.” Turning his head more completely towards Izuku, he growled, “Now, less talking, more kissing.”

“Needy,” Izuku said with a giggle, but gave him what he wanted all the same.

…..

Katsuki was just walking into the office after his shift -nine in the morning, no coffee since midnight, no Katsumi since the morning before- and he was frustrated. The night hadn't been a good one, and with blood still drying in crusty patches all over his uniform, he was as unhappy as they could come. He just wanted to see his daughter for the first time in what felt like days and cuddle with her and his alpha on the couch.

“Kat! Thank god!” Kirishima shouted, running towards him. He wrapped strong fingers around his bicep, dragging him towards his office. “Come with me. Have you heard?”

“Good fucking morning to you too,” Katsuki snarled, but out of pure mental exhaustion, allowed himself to be dragged into his best friend's office. The door slammed shut behind them, and Katsuki went to raid Kirishima's coffee counter when he was released. “What the fuck's up with you anyway? It's too early in your shift to be acting like a jackass.”

Standing by his door, Kirishima rung his hands, staring out the clouded glass window instead of looking at Katsuki.

When he remained silent, Katsuki snarled and stepped into his space. “What the fuck is going on, Eiji?”

Kirishima jolted, head dropping in submission.

Katsuki stomach curdled with a sudden rush of nausea. It had been a long time since he'd seen Kirishima bare the back of his neck to him, and the last time he had, Izuku had been in a coma with no chance of recovering anytime in his immediate future. He gripped Kirishima's shoulder tightly, positive that his anxiety was being transferred through every pore. “What the fuck is going on?”

Whining, Kirishima covered his hand with his own, “I'm not supposed to tell you. The boss told me to just keep you out of the way so they can handle it.”

“If you don't fucking tell me, I'm just going to go out there and find out what the fuck is going on myself!”

“The- Uh- Your-” Kirishima groaned, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “Some villains have taken a kindergarten school hostage. The call just came through a few minutes ago. The boss and some of the others have already gone-”

Shoving Kirishima aside, Katsuki tore through the door, heart beating a million miles an hour. 'Not again! Not again! Not again!' He burst into the sky towards Katsumi's school, sun bright and hot overhead. He could see the specks of other heroes moving in the same direction, then he saw a flash of green lightning disappear between the buildings.

He wanted to call out. He wanted Katsumi to be safe. He wanted Izuku to be safe. He wanted them both in his arms, and for none of this to be happening. He stumbled to a stop down the street from the school, just like he had the first time. When he saw the flames, his vision went black.

…..

When he came to, it was to the feeling of his breath wheezing in and out, warm familiar weight pressed against his chest, and Izuku staring straight at the ceiling with a far away expression. His fingers worked over something in his palm. His eyes were red, cheeks tear stained. His uniform was bloody and torn, but for once, he was whole. It felt like the first time Katsuki had ever seen him completely unbroken after a battle. Only thing was, he couldn't actually remember what had happened in this battle.

Agonizingly slow, he turned his head to look down at his chest. Katsumi laid there curled in the smallest ball possible, her own face tear stained and her legs removed. Her mane of green hair was tangled and dusted with dirt and ash.

He went to lift his arm, the one she wasn't sleeping on, but found only his stump. Frowning, he turned to glare at it. His mind was what he suspected was drug slow, and he couldn't really understand why his prostheses and hearing aids had been removed. He hadn't gotten that hurt, there was no way.

Lifting his eyes, Izuku was staring at him with a mouth all misshapen like a soft noodle and tears pouring down his face.

'Don't cry, idiot,' he wanted to say, but his hand was held captive and he wasn't sure if his voice was audible. He only knew that when he tried to speak, pain bloomed in his throat. Closing his eyes, his throat vibrated with a groan.

Fingers balled up the front of his gown, pulling the neckline taught against the back of his neck. A hard line pressed into his chest, and Izuku's fists shook against him.

'Don't. Cry. Izuku,' Katsuki tried again, and again, there was pain. He'd been expecting it this time so he was able to crack his eyes open despite the pain.

Izuku was sobbing against his body, forehead pressed to his chest. Head so close to Sumi's that their hair mingled, dirty and green and beautifully curly.

In his chest, Katsuki's heart silently swelled and burst when Sumi extracted a hand from beneath her body to pat Izuku's curls. Closing his eyes, a hot tear tracked down Katsuki's cheek with the sheer relief of having them both with him. He couldn't remember the battle, but for the second time, his daughter's school had been attacked. For the second time, he'd been close to losing her. This scene before him could have ended up as a very different one.

Katsuki could feel Izuku's lips moving against his chest, breath rapid fire with words he couldn't hear. He only opened his eyes again when he felt small fingers press to his ear.

Sumi wasn't looking at him, but instead at Izuku, tugging against his hair to get him to lift his head. When he finally complied, eyes blurry with fat tears, she tapped on Katsuki's ears before pointing to her own.

Izuku's eyes darted up to Katsuki's face. After a moment of staring, he scrubbed quickly at his eyes before stepping away towards a table that had four prosthetic limbs and three bags on it. Sitting back down, calmer than before even though his lips were still that same soft noodle shape, he handed Sumi one hearing aid.

Together, they hooked Katsuki back up. Very carefully, Sumi turned them on, staring at his face intently as she turned the volume up.

The beeping of his heart monitor faded into existence followed by Sumi's and Izuku's breathing. “Good,” he said, and his voice was barely a croak passed the pain. Wincing, he lifted his unpinned hand to his throat.

Izuku and Sumi reached for his hand at the same time, stopping him from touching his throat. “The doctor said not to touch,” Sumi told him.

Katsuki raised an eyebrow over at Izuku.

Tears crowded Izuku's eyes immediately again, and tracked down his face. His voice trembled as he whispered, “You were really hurt, Kacchan. The villain got you by the throat. You were fighting her alone while everyone else was either fighting the rest of her gang or rushing to evacuate the kids and staff. I couldn't get to you fast enough. I thought you were going to die. I felt so useless seeing you like that.”

“Now you know how it feels, dumbass.” Gritting his teeth, he breathed through the pain.

“Don't call Daddy that! It's mean!” Katsumi glared at him, lip puckered in a pout and her own big red eyes beginning to fill with tears. Her lip trembled, and then she was sniffling as her tears fell. “I-I was so scared, Papa. I thought you were gonna leave me and Daddy alone. I don't want you to die, Papa.”

Katsuki pulled her in against his chest, pressing as kiss to her forehead and holding her tight. When he looked to Izuku, he held out his stump, motioning him forward.

Izuku crowded in against his side, and the two loves of his life cried against him for long enough that their tears soaked his gown and the hard edge digging into his shoulder from Deku's palm pissed him off. “Deku, what the fuck is in your hand?” he growled through gritted teeth, “It fucking hurts.”

“Papa, you have foul language,” Katsumi whispered, but didn't pull away from him.

Izuku jumped away from him, his tears abruptly stopping as roses bloomed in his cheeks. He stammered and stammered and stammered a whole lot of nonsense until Katsumi's giggles interrupted him. “Sumi!” he cried.

“Just show him, Daddy! You don't have to be nervous!”

“Oh, yes I do!” Izuku argued back, “He could say no!”

Katsumi waved away his concern. “He's not gonna say no.”

“He might! I think I might know him just a little more after knowing him longer than you have!”

“Not in the last five years! I know him the best. He's gonna say yes.”

“How about you let 'him' decide for himself since he's sitting right here,” Katsuki interjected before the banter could continue any further, “Just spill it, Deku. My head's all fuzzy and my throat hurts, and I'm annoyed that my daughter knows more about whatever this is than I do.” Oh. Oh, he was going to regret all that talking later. He already was.

Izuku's eyes flickered between Sumi and Katsuki until he finally swallowed thickly. “Don't try to kill me. The doctors only stitched up the hole in your side a few hours ago.” He closed his eyes tightly.

Katsuki blinked rapidly at his alpha, those words sticking on repeat in his head. There had been a hole in his side? Just how much had the villains fucked him up? Well, clearly enough to land him in the hospital with some very good drugs running through his veins. Drugs that were clearly impairing his thought process.

'Not the point right now, dumbass,' Katsuki silently reprimanded himself.

'Alpha offer. Alpha wants. Give to alpha. Care for alpha,' his omega chanted, nearly prancing from one side to the other, 'Alpha offer family. Alpha offer commitment. Take. Agree.'

Izuku hadn't even opened his hand yet, so Katsuki turned a snarl inward, 'Shut the fuck up, and stop jumping to conclusions.'

'Omega conclusions. Our conclusions. Want. Take. Mate. Alpha. Family.'

Mentally rolling his eyes, Katsuki tried to ignore his omega's constant stream of consciousness in exchange for watching Izuku closely. Slowly, his fingers uncurled, and Katsuki's brain completely shut off. The monitor over his shoulder picked up its pace. His omega began to leap for joy in his chest, each jump punctuated by a beat of his heart.

When Katsuki just continued to stare, Izuku cautiously opened his eyes and with his mouth set in an uncertain line, opened the box. In a cushion of black velvet, a gold ring with two diamonds and a single emerald sat unobtrusively. “I've had it for awhile, but I was trying to get up the courage to actually ask you. I've never really thought about it, but after you came back, I couldn't stop thinking about it. And after the attack, I realized that I don't have the luxury of being afraid.” Inhaling deeply, Izuku finally met Katsuki's eyes. “I want to spend my entire life with you and Katsumi. I want to be your husband, your mate, a father to our daughter and everything in between. If you weren't in a hospital bed right now, I'd get down on one knee, but since you are, I'll just ask. Katsuki Bakugou, will you marry me?”

Completely speechless, Katsuki just continued to stare down at the ring in Izuku's hands. He realized Izuku's hands were shaking about the same time he realized that his eyes were filling with tears.

“K-Kacchan?”

“Papa! Answer Daddy!” Sumi cried, bouncing excitedly beside him on the bed, grinning from ear to ear. “Come on! Come on! Come on!”

Instead of answering aloud, Katsuki just stuck out his hand.

A sigh exploded from Izuku's chest. “Thank god,” he whispered, setting the box off to the side as he took Katsuki's hand in his mangled ones to slip the ring on his finger.

Katsuki dragged him forward, pressing their mouths together while Sumi cheered loud enough that a nurse peaked into the room. “One condition. You stop running headlong into situations that will get you killed,” he said.

“Okay, but only as long as you don't end up in situations that land you in a hospital bed. My heart can't handle it,” Izuku whispered against his lips, eyes still closed even though Katsuki's eyes were open again, “I can't go through this again. I don't want Katsumi to go through it again. You two have been through enough.”

“All three of us, but now you know how I felt every time I saw you in a hospital bed.” Izuku didn't need to open his eyes for Katsuki to see him roll them.

Sumi wiggled her way between them. “Does that mean Daddy is going to come live with us from now on?”

“I wasn't aware that he wasn't already,” Katsuki said snarkily.

“Yay!” Sumi swung around on the bed to face the nurse and Best Jeanist who was now beside her. “My Daddy and Papa are going to get married! And when Papa gets pregnant again, I'm going to have a little brother and maybe even a little sister! And Uncle Eiji is going to be Best Man, and oh! Uncle Tsu! You can be ring bearer! Wait, no! I'm going to be ring bearer, but you can walk with me!”

A thin blonde eyebrow rose, but Best Jeanist didn't say anything as Izuku and Katsuki began to splutter.

“Woah!” Katsuki croaked, pain thrumming through his neck, but he couldn't stop, “Who said I was gonna give you a brother, little monster? You're already enough. Just be happy with your cousins.”

As their banter continued between the three of them around and around, Katsuki couldn't find it in himself to be embarrassed with Best Jeanist and the nurse's eyes on them. This was his family. This was his mate and his daughter. When their wedding day came, he was going to scream that truth from the rooftops.

He'd never been happier in his life.

#my hero academia #mha #bakudeku #dekubaku #bakugou katsuki #midoriya izuku #bakugou-midoriya katsumi #omegaverse #omega!katsuki #alpha!izuku #deaf!katsuki #disabled!katsuki #my writing #coming home #two shot #christmas preemie

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kanene-yaaay-o-retorno · 3 years

Text

The Colors of my Soul(mates) [1]

[Second oneshot]

[AO3 link]

Kanene’s Notes:

Nope, I do not regret the pun. Okay, okay! I’ve plaining this AU for almost an year so I’m pretty excited to post it!! dfghjsdfrtyucfvgbhjv yaaaay!! Thank you very very much @olliedollie1204 for such a positive feedback and awesome ideas. it helped me a lot!!

Warnings, fun facts, random things and stuff:

* That fanfic has Virgil, Logan, Patton and Roman (only a brief mention of Remy) in a platonic relationship (yet), but it can be viewed as romantic, if you wish.

* Warnings: A bit of swearing and depreciative thoughts. It’s mostly fluff and hurt/comfort, tho.

* This characters do not belongs to me. They all belongs to the amazing Thomas Sanders in his series of Sanders Sides.

* Something around 4.500 words. -w-)b.

* Sorry for any spelling, pontuation and grammar mistakes! Any advice is very very welcome!

* Tô com preguiça de postar a versão em português brasileiro aaaa! Thankys for reading, my lollipops! Say to someone important how much you love them, be safe, talk with the one that you love, drink water and sleep well! Byeioo!~

[~*~]

What can do a creature if not, between creatures, love? - Carlos Drummond de Andrade

- What the fu-

Virgil only discovered he had more than one Soulmate when he was twenty years old, more specifically the exact moment he took a wrong turn and kept going even knowing he was in the wrong way because one hour it would lead him to somewhere Virgil would recognize before his mortal being inevitably starved to death in the middle of nowhere and his eyes got dragged from the visions from thousands of futures created by his mind to a Teddy Bear Store - they seemed to replicate worse than bacteria during Valentine’s Day - and two bears from the crimson shelter suddenly dyed themselves in two milliseconds as he slightly glanced at them.

Two of them. Virgil felt his entire face burn in hot shades of embarrassment with drops of disbelief, almost as if all the people running, stumbling, locked in their own worlds and swearing while walked in the sideway because ‘some stupid teenager decided to just stop and block their way’ could, by only looking at him, stare deep into his soul and realize the one staring astonished the store already carried in his fate another one more Soulmate at home.

One completely different in shape and form, even if also blue, however in a light, sky blue completely opposite shade from the new navy one staring him down - Virgil knew plentily their link wasn’t bonded yet, albeit he was equally sure that the person behind those black glooming teddy bear’s eyes were already judging him, - wondering why, between all the people, he was their soulmate. The other red one was very much likely crackling in his face when an employee came and pointedly turn the adult’s attention to the sign in big, graphed words clued in front of their store:

“You dye, you buy.”

Virgil signed, pushing his hoodie down further, wondering how much time it would take of him hitting his head on the wall to finally pass out. This option sounded much more attractive when he realized that this new ‘discovery’ about himself would cost all his month’s saves.

He asked, to the Universe, the stars, the Earth and whoever was seeing him in that exact moment: why?

Was it a kind of prank? A punishment from fate when, years and tears ago, Virgil lifted his chin up and dared the Universe to give him more soulmates as he locked all his uncolored – although never really free of some weak drops of paint from what one day they came to be – simply stuffed animals, - and nothing more, anymore, - away and promised he would never, ever allow himself to go all through this shit again?

But… That had been… years ago. Almost a decade since that soft voice he got to know so well, the impulsive acts, long conversations and warm feelings.

But…

Time has passed, that is true. Nevertheless, deep down has he really changed?

Virgil stared at the bag carried so close to his chest since his bare hands were sweating and shaking way too much for this task. Yes, he knew his Soulmates won’t feel anything until both of them decided to ‘give the First Step’, accepting to link their souls and fates, for the longest as it lasts. However, he didn’t want to risk it, because what if they felt? What if he in some way broke the Soulmate System when got two at the same time and now everything was messed up and they could already feel his touches even through the bag and the first impression Virgil would gave to them was ‘That anxious, weird boy and his creepy, sweaty hands’ and-

A girl almost hit him as she passed running at his side, making his arms protectively hug further the teddy bears closer to him, arms protectively involving them, the soft touch somehow calming his tumulted thoughts. The lost man took a deep breath.

Clear your mind. Rational thoughts. Focus on the two sides of the coin. Three people wouldn’t be able to break a millennial, unknown system, don’t matter how good he was in screwin… No, a voice that sounded suspiciously a lot like his psychologist calmly pointed, not like that. Virgil huffed, trying again. He was a magnet of problems and bad…Okay, also wrong. Neutral thoughts, focus on neutral thoughts. Come on. Come on.

It was okay.

They wouldn’t feel him until they gave the first step. Right, that… sounded like a start. He didn’t do anything. Now, what Virgil needed to do was go to his house, clean his bed in order to find a good place where he could put and ignore them and then he would get his headphones, listen his playlists and wonder where the fuck his life was going.

It was okay. Everything would stay okay as long as he didn’t give the First Step.

Virgil unconsciously hugged tighter the teddy bears, his fingers finding way and drowning themselves in the soft, cozy fur, combing them in light, soothing touches as he continued his way.

Okay. Everything was okay.

[~*~]

Plurinfanto, or Multiple Souls, it’s the nomination used for the cases when a person has diverse soulmates at the same time and in a same period.

The first known case was with Pharaoh Cleopatra when multiples of her woolen fabric started to dye themselves in various colors and shades. In Ancient Roman, it was believed that the occurrences were blessings from Venus in a sign of prosperity and abundance. Grand, longstanding parties were executed through days nonstop in order to get together those intertwined souls. When the connection broke and the colors disappeared, it meant that days of pain and foreboding were waiting forward.

It is not known for certain the exact moment when the meaning changed, albeit researchers believe it was around the fall of the Roman Empire, when all the invasions resulted in a cultural reconstruction which led to the loss from much of their costumes.

CLICK HERE TO DISCOVER HOW TO HAVE THE SOULMATE OF YOUR DREAMS!!!!

[~*~]

The computer made a soft ‘click’ as Virgil closed it and sat on his bed, adjusting slightly his position to stare the three vivid, brilliant stuffed beings contrasting to the general dark theme of his room.

Virgil growled, resting his back on the cold wall, the shivers calming his flowing thoughts about all the variants this whole thing had. No to mention that people change with time, leading to the souls who they “relate” to change as well, meaning that you can have someone in your life for years and then, one month, or weeks or the next day, you can wake up only to discover you and the said person don’t “match” anymore.

And NO ONE talked about this just because it was a freak tabu to doesn’t have ‘an only one soulmate who will be with you until the end of your existence’. Oh, for fuck sake. Virgil ran his hand through his hair, wincing when he accidently pulled some tangled strands. That sounds like a line of commercial, does anyone believe that bullshit for real?

“Hello dear, newer fellow!!” The popping thought broke his line of reasoning, jumping excitedly in his mind and automatically pulling him out of his wanders. It has a strong and full of… about everything, tune demanding attention. Virgil felt a warm kiss on his forehead, meaning one soulmate – a deep part of him turned his attention to the red colored teddy bear, - had given the First Step. The one who in some moment changed his position so now he was sitting on the floor felt his face get hot again, heart thumping strongly in his chest as his arm moved, fingers stopping inches away from the fur, questioning if he was ready to retribute the gesture.

[~*~]

Many history icons have reports of being Pluriers, as shown in the book ‘The Romance in the History of Those Who Wrote It’, by historian Henry Senyura. The subject is also beginning to gain more visibility after the protest from the teacher Joan A. in 2010, who got touched towards the situation of some of her pupils being forced to choose only one among their Soulmates for the six-month annual exchange, by the end of that period most of them lost or weakened their bonding due lack of communication, small changes of personality and continuous absence. She held a protest at the front of the school, stating that no one had the right to interfere in ‘matters of the heart’.

A lot of fiction works are beginning to address the topic more frequently, as in I’m Not One, a movie directed by Devon Stan; The Seven Colors of Rainbow, a book written by Lílian Lee and the psychological analysis Life’s Watch, recently found between drafts by the famous writer Robin Green, published after their husband’s authorization, Josué Green.

[~*~]

Logan hummed. As it seems, this was a relatively common thing, since the concept of Soul Mates surpassed the barriers of unity and time, being ‘souls who in a way or other intertwined themselves in some part of their life. Sometimes it didn’t necessarily mean a romantic relationship, as the majority of society and media pointed, but it also didn’t hold any assurance that all of them were platonic.

He massaged the bridge of his nose. Remy wasn’t in the dorm so everything was silent enough for him to hear his own thoughts.

It has been a remarkable amount of years since he got his last soulmates, - except for Remy, however they both considered this occurrence as a separate incident - well, until, of course, this day. At least it was a good thing he always carried in his bag extra easy manageable stuffed animals or else maybe the System would dye one of clothes, what would be less than ideal for him in the middle of his philosophy debate. But things got even more interesting when, after his classes, as he arrived at the small, pleasantly well-organized store next to his university, one more stuffed animal colored itself right before him.

He didn’t exactly understand why. Logan considered himself an owner of a… quite strong, strict personality, this added with his difficulty in managing his and one another emotions usually tended to bring some complex tribulations in his rela-

Anyway, that is beside the important matter. The one laying his chin on his crossed fingers undid his pose for a bite of time in order to adjust his glasses, barely fixating his gaze on the two plushies in the desk before him, his third – Pat - resting a few centimeters away, closer to Logan’s fingers, who were barely touching. Mind running. Asking, reflecting, wondering what was the exact amount of time to be acceptable to give his First Step?

‘The First Step’.

Logan never really understood from where and how that expression emerged. It didn’t come from the words’ etymology nor some semantic detour. His most concrete hypothesis consisted of the phrase being derived from old romances.

“Did you know it used to be called the ‘First Kiss’?! But that confused a lot of people who really believed that, to be able to talk and interact with their soulmates they would have to kiss each other, like the Sleeping Beauty! I always got confused in this movie when I was a child, by the way! That ended up messing with a bunch of relationships before they even started, since a lot of peeps don’t feel comfortable enough with strangers kissing them. However, they also speeded up a bunch of them as well…” Logan blinked, his attention escaping from his previous thoughts to the light sky blue plushie of Baby Yoda, for a moment surprised with the sudden input. He felt fingers carefully holding his arms and a bit of ghost movements as Pat probably moved his representation to somewhere else, a hug and warmth engulfing the one yet absolving the new information moments later.

“That was… enlightening.” His voice danced across the room. Even though he was completely aware they could chat telepathically, the childish act of saying the words out loud still comforted him, in a way. “Thank you for your contribution.”

He took a deep breath and closed the tab of research on his cellphone, internally thanking from the escaping of his turmoil of thoughts, his free hand carefully combing the Baby Yoda’s head fur, almost methodic.

“Looo, no!” The other protested with no heat in his tune, leading a toothless smile to resurface in Logan’s features. “Stop doing this. You know I end up sleeping every time!”

“Oh no, what a tragedy.” He deadpanned, already plugging his phones and changing to a most relaxed position on his chair, his eyes traveling across the countless movies on the device before him. “In which episode did we stop?”

“I’m going to fight you.” Pat sounded like he was pouting.

“How so?” Logan asked, trying to hide his amusement.

Silence followed his words.

“Pat?”

“What is the skeleton’s favorite instrument?”

“Pat, don’t you fucking da-”

“Language! It’s a xiloBONE!”

Logan audible growled, fast in his final decision. “I’m going to drop you out the window.”

“I’m going to hug you!” And immediately the one rolling his eyes felt himself being squished in a strong bear hug, huffing only half annoyed.

“You are an incorrigible heathen, let me go in this exact instant.” His answer was a ‘butterfly kiss’ – as Pat was fond in calling them – on his forehead. “Urg, affection.” Yet he smiled and mirrored the act, lightly poking the other’s side.

“We’re on episode 19.”

[~*~]

Roman stared the paper, his pencil’s tip stopped in the middle of the biggest petal’s flower, his eyes narrowing in the hope of a clearest way of how to convert the vague idea he had in transforming the night full of stars in a flower. No to tell he also would need to choose a good pallet of colors indication for it, later, and probably re-do all the process over and over and over until got the best result as possible. A yawn found its way from his lips and the designer stretched, getting up to drink a bit of water and rubbing his eyes, wondering if it was really worth it to make a black tea to help him through the night.

A glimpse of color caught his attention. The navy blue teddy bear on his couch, the main inspiration of his newest tattoo. Roman wondered why it wasn’t resting in front of him while he drew. A corner of his brain, obscured by the tiredness, telling he had a previous good reason for this choice although his actual self carried absolutely no idea of why.

Well, if he couldn’t remember it, it means the reason wasn’t THAT good, right?

Roman held the stuffed animal, spinning with it across the room for a couple of minutes, imagining who would be the person behind it. A king, a queen, a non-binary royalty? Did they like Disney? Musicals? Sing? Would they chat for hours at first with a few words exchanged or would they take a bit to warm at each other? Was navy blue their favorite color or…

Or…

Navy blue.

Oh.

He fixed his glare on the plushie, his hands feeling and slowly drawing in the soft fur of it.

Navy blue, huh? A humorless chuckled flew in the air. It could have no significance, it could be a world of it. It probably didn’t mean what he, for a moment, a so silly, stupid moment, wished it meant. Of course, one day this would happen, right? It was something normal, something expected. Not the magical, right out of the story books or his old daydreams, occurrence.

This wasn’t a second chance. The Universe doesn’t give you second chances. He wasn’t the same boy from eleven years ago, holding his own costumed teddy bear crying his eyes out, hugging he – No, it – the closest as possible, wishing with all his heart and soul for the color, the voice, the thoughts, the rambling, their bickering, the forgiveness to come back again.

No, he grew up. He moved on. He got better.

Then why did a part of him still felt this way? Like he was about to hear the excited giggles, the soft reprimand, that lovely, deep and so truly -and sometimes boring, Roman had to admit – questions? Why would a part of him still say that he could have it all again if he just… waited long enough, hoped high enough, dreamed long enough…

…If he was enough.

There aren’t more than seven billion colors in the world. Roman would be stupid if he really believed there was a path where he wouldn’t stumble in that so (un)fortunate well-known shade of blue again.

Roman growled, his forehead making a loud, dry thumping sound as hit his desk. The one who should be asleep hours ago had absolutely no energy to battle against those thoughts, again. At least for now. He rubbed his eyes and stared at the teddy bear laid on the cold tabletop before him. Well, what a better way to get rid of your own means thoughts than put some stranger’s unpredictable thoughts in the middle of it? Roman slightly pushed the bunch of flowers and some warmup sketches he had out of the way, carefully carrying the representation next to him, nodding. Honestly, that was the best idea he had for a while, why did he even put the lovely thing away?

Awake Roman was so silly, thinking that… something he couldn’t quite recall right now would be a bad idea, he pointed as snorted softly, pressing his lips on the teddy’s forehead, the quote he knew by heart flying from them in a natural flow.

“It is not immortal, since it’s flame. But let it be infinite while it lasts.”

A warm sensation rested on his own forehead moments later, leading the sleepy form to hum happily.

“Is it… poetry?” Oh shit, Roman widened his eyes. His soulmate heard that?? Oh, shit. Oh, fuck. Roman mentally facepalmed himself. So that was why he usually said it before the First Step!

“Uhh, yeah. Of course. Fidelity Sonnet by Vinícius Moraes.”

“I see. Classicism, I presume. A literature of very soundly pleasant rhymes, indeed. The first sonnet was probably created by the humanist Italian poet Francesco Petrarca, although it got even more known in the western literature after the works of Camões, who- ”

“He is from Modernism, actually.” Roman didn’t know why he suddenly sounded so defensive. Logan felt a cold feeling run his body when the other’s hands let go of him, for a piece of second wondering if it was supposed for him to do the same with the red narwhal plushie on his hold.

“A very common mistake to make due the lack of context.” He retorted, unable to formulate another answer. He had, of course, thought, balanced options and chosen the best topics to discuss with his new soulmates when they bonded. However, his fingers firmly gripped the pen, its tip tapping on the first topic written in the notebook partially forgotten in front of him, the poetry figuratively threw him out of his tracks, leading the decision to be the most impartial as possible due his… not so impartial past memories with that specific shade of red an even more difficult task than it already was.

“Yes. Sure. Sorry, I- I’m just… very tired right now.”

“You should go sleep, then.”

The other snorted with the direct, immediate response. “I should, shouldn’t I? Gotta work, though.”

Some part of Logan’s brain registered the new fact, separating and keeping it in a special place so he would remember to write it down in the new folder he bought, later.

“I see.” … poetry? That wasn’t a hard topic to talk about. The one now nervously cleaning the very clear lenses twisted his mouth. He could talk about this for hours. No, correction: he already had previously talked about this for hours non stop.

Logan strangely felt the urge to rub his face and scream. It has been years, - eleven years and 10 months to be precise – and exactly eight years since the one wearing glasses learned poetry because of him. Because of his constant habit of reciting Shakespeare before they would go to bed, until Logan brought himself to research and decorate all the poems he could muster, taking the task to now wake Prince – the name still carried a strong taste in his tongue – in the same way every single day. Before they realize, that becomes something between them. There were times when both didn’t talk, content in only reciting some verses and hear the other complete them. A part of Logan, that illogical and unfortunately full of feelings one wondered how their rap battles would be if they found each other right now.

Did Prince even maintain his liking the same things he one day did? Does he still recite poetry? Does he maintain the same dreams? The same habits? Does he even remember about him?

Highly improbable.

“You can call me Lo.”

Roman slowly blinked, getting out the fog surrounding his brain to realize he was mindless staring at the pan’s boiling water, surprised the other still there. Well, it seems like he hasn't screwed terribly everything yet.

“Lo? Like Lowrance?”

“Even though my name does contain ‘Lo’ in it, no. It’s ‘Lo’ like Logic. I came to believe it’s a good idea the nomination after a predominant characteristic, since we can’t actively exchange our real names through the Soulmate System.”

Roman’s breath hitched, a memory with yellow-ish edges and nostalgic smell unrolling in front of him.

…

‘I think we should choose you a name with more personality in it, ya know?’ He threw himself on his bed, kicking his legs on the air before immediately scoping the plushie and laying it on his stomach. ‘Like a characteristic!’

‘I don’t see what is wrong with the nickname I choose.’

‘No, no! There is nothing wrong with it! But that could be something just between us!’ Then he gasped, picturing that, if he was inside a movie there would be a lamp shining right above his hair in this moment. ‘We could call you Ro!! You wanted to be a robot, right?’

His soulmate growled and Roman felt a few pokes on his arm, the verbal protest doesn’t taking long before accompanying it. ‘I was three years old!’

‘And I’m never letting you live this down.’ He beamed, both knowing the annoyed scoff he got as response held no real heat. ‘Besides, we could even match our names!!’

‘That would be very counterproductive.’ Roman felt his hair being softly smoothed, a usual indication the other was losing himself in his thoughts. ‘Nicknames are supposed to help us. Having two equal names is not the most efficient thing.’

Roman dramatically scoffed, picking the stuffed animal and half hugging it, his free hand occupying itself in making a couple of gestures to no one, since his soulmate couldn’t exactly see them. ‘It’s not about being productive, Bear! It’s about feelings!!’

‘And since when,’ a light poke was delivered on his belly, making him squeak and mess with the teddy bear’s hair in revenge ‘Everything isn’t feelings for you, your highness?’

…

“Okay,” Roman and his self past disappearing with the fading memory said, in synchrony “You shall call me by Prince, then.”

Suddenly he felt himself falling, his hands quickly holding on the tabletop as the cold, nauseous feeling took over his stomach, more like a punch on it, his veins being filled with amounts of adrenaline for a glimpse of a second.

“Excuse me? Warn a guy next time you decide to just drop his representation, dude! Damn.” Roman shook himself, trying to bring his body to calm down.

“Sorry, I got… startled.” Logan gulped. The word ‘Prince’ echoing on his mind as a broken vinyl disc. What were the chances? That couldn’t be such a common nickname, right? Nor color. Nor interests. What were the chances? What could be the chances? Maybe he was just projecting, being played, tricked by a dangerous partnership between his own brain and emotions. Maybe he was just jumping to conclusions due the nostalgic feeling fogging his actions, his thoughts. Perhaps-

“Hey, Lo? Are you there?”

“Yes.” Logan answered, his fingertips colliding quickly with the fabric of his pants as he visualized his options. “Yes, I am.”

“Hm. Okay, then. I’m… glad to know.”

Silence. Logan took a wobbly breath.

“Time hath, my lord, a wallet at his back; Wherein he puts alms for oblivion; A great-size monster of ingratitudes:”

“Those scraps are good deeds past; which are devour'd; As fast as they are made, forgot as soon.” Roman continued without even noticing until the words danced in the air, just like the years haven’t passed.

Then he understood.

His heart stopped for a second, his eyes widening and his voice disappearing, as if his whole being was afraid to break the moment, the spell; as if this was a dream and a miscalculate step would make everything fade.

“Bear?” Roman felt a light poke on his cheek.

“Hello, Prince.”

Roman choked a laugh, quickly crawling the teddy bear next to his chest, hugging it both firmly and yet so caring, curling around its - no, him - feeling an equal warmth involve his form as he hided his face on the soft fur, giggling and hugging, feeling so happy, so alive and right and good and he would never, ever, ever again let him go.

“I missed you, bitch. Never scare me like this again.”

“I… missed you, as well.” Logan tried to not let the emotion take over his tune, his hand petting the narwhal plushie softly, the words had abandoning him, as it seems. “This reunion is a… good surprise.”

“Oh, shut up, I know you’re having a blast somewhere in that logic soul of yours, too.”

Logan huffed, grinning. “Stop crying on my hair, your troglodyte.”

“Make me, I dare you.”

“Always so dramatic.” They both rolled their eyes, letting the moment be bathed in the deep waters of a comfortable silence.

“Eleven years.”

“We have so, so much to talk about!! Oh, my goodness gracious, I’m going to get my tea. Do you remember about that play I wrote about zombie princes and a dragon witch? You will NOT fucking believe what happened with it!”

“Good thing I have you to explain to me then.” Roman stopped, a gigantic smile taking over his features as he closed his eyes to feel everything even more.

“Yeah, I agree.”

Somewhere in the world Patton and Virgil smiled during their sleep, unable to control themselves when a gigantic wave of pure joy and delight filled every corner of their hearts, coloring it on the most brilliant gleam, just like their stuffed animals resting peacefully on their grip.

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askmyboys · 3 years

Text

Circus Mafia

Here’s my latest characters that I am EXTREMELY proud of, god tho it was h e l l trying to finish making them bc i forgot like,, two of them in the process and had to go back- Uhh I guess bc it’s a mafia there’s mentions of death/violence but that’s about it!

I’ll put a keep reading on it just bc its kinda a lengthy post so yeye

| Names: Wallace Gallagher, Chester York, Dewey Bullock, Eric Fletcher, Grant Davenport, and Henry Barton

| Nicknames/Titles: Wally/Gear (The Ringmaster), He hates it but Yorky is a nickname (The Magician), Dew/Dewdrop (The Juggler), Eri/Fletch (The Acrobat), Dave (The Tightrope Walker/The Trapeze Artist), and finally Hen/Bart (The Clown/The Strongman)

| Genders: Wallace goes by He/It, Chester goes by He/Him, Dewey goes by all pronouns, Eric goes by He/They, Grant goes by He/They/It, and Henry also just goes by He/Him

| Ages: Unknown (I am NOT doing all the math that’d probs be involved with these dudes fuck that)

| Heights: Wallace is 6’7”, Chester is 5’9”, Dewey is 5’6”, Eric is 5’3”. Grant is 6ft, and finally Henry is 5’8”

| Hair Colors: Wallace has long stringy hair he usually keeps in a ponytail (his hair is a bubblegum pink color), Chester’s hair is a Cobalt Blue color (his hair is usually in a man bun), Dewey’s hair is a Tiger Orange color (his hair is a curly undercut), Eric’s hair is Black and it’s a short quiff, Grant’s hair is a Dark Brown and slicked back, and finally Henry’s hair is a Tortilla Brown color (His hairstyle is a Pushed Back Long one)

| Eye Colors: Wallace’s eyes are a light pastel pink color (he’s got a slash over his right eye but he seems to still be able to see out of it), Chester’s eyes are a Gunmetal Blue color, Dewey’s eyes are a light pastel green, Eric’s eyes are a hazel color, Grant’s eyes are Dark Brown, and Henry’s eyes are a dull gray color.

| Skin Colors/Body Types: Wallace is tall and lanky as hell p much and he’s pretty pale, Chester’s kinda average p much and he’s more so tan, same goes for Grant actually except he looks a bit more muscular than Chester does, Dewey and Eric are kinda pale as well (Eric being a bit more paler than Dewey) and both of them are chubby, and finally Henry who looks a bit stronger than even Grant (nothing TOO weird ofc) is also pale.

| Appearances: Oh god here we go… Wallace is first up- He’s got the typical Ringmaster outfit EXCEPT his is Pink and White instead of the typical red/black/white you see, even down to his boots are pink (his boots btw kinda go up his legs and they have a heeled part on em), he wears pink leather gloves and has a pink top hat as well! He also has a handlebar mustache (he dyed it to match his hair, got a bit of Wilford Energy dont he? Lmao) he also has a lot of scars on his body (Their most prominent scars are: Wallace’s is over his eye and a bullet wound that got WAY too close to his heart, Chester’s scarring is around his neck, his chest and ESPECIALLY his back area, the neck looks like a few cuts but nothing deep enough to be fatal, the chest has some deeper scarring and longer ones, and his back looked like it was caused by a whip

Dewey’s scars are a bit all over the place nothing prominent there, Eric’s scars are the same just sporadic and all over the place but he has a few similar markings to Chester’s on his back (not AS many tho), Grant doesn’t have as many scars surprisingly just a few here and there but they don’t look too serious, and finally Henry has prominent scars over his belly, his back, and his legs they look like a mixture of potentially fatal had they not been looked at and non-fatal)

Chester’s outfit is a white suit vest that has dark blue stripes going down it, he wears a dark blue collared shirt underneath the suit vest and he also has a long black cloak (it has a hood on it but he only puts it on in certain situations), he has dark blue pants that match and he seems to wear combat boots that match said outfit, he also has some silk gloves that match as well, he wears a blue quartz crystal around his neck and he has a circle beard, he also has dark blue claw nails that also has little star designs over them. (he also has a dark blue bow tie!)

Dewey’s outfit is a mint green suit vest with a white collared shirt underneath it, he also has a mint green bow tie and he wears white pants as well and some sneakers with mint green stripes going across them, he wears mint green rose earrings (it was a gift that Chester gave to Eric so the boy could give it to Dewey) and he’s cherished them ever since, he also wears gloves to match (it helps him out when juggling bc ouchie hard items hurt when they smack directly onto his bare hands) he doesn’t have a beard at all he babyfaced.

Eric’s outfit is white collared shirt with dark brown suspenders that are attached to the same colored pants, he also wears a dark brown flat cap (when he’s not performing or doing his job n such) he also has a dark brown bow tie he wears as well and his he wears dark brown sneakers as well he’s also babyfaced like Dewey is, he has a dark brown necklace with the same colored pendant on the end, it isn’t heart shaped but its round and definitely looks like a locket of some kind (he never wears it during performances in fear it’d get lost but he keeps it locked up in a secret box in his room, it was a gift from Dewey)

Grant’s outfit is a black suit jacket with a red collared shirt underneath it, he also has black pants to match said outfit and he has black and red oxford shoes and he also wears a black fedora (he looks more like the leader than Wally does tbh, then again him, Chester, and Henry ALWAYS get mistaken for the boss) he also has a long black tie he wears with the outfit btw! He has a Van Dyke type beard he also wears some rings on his fingers too hence why he looks SO much like the boss.

And finally… Henry’s outfit is well, it took a LOT of convincing but he actually wears a rainbow themed clown outfit, it's MUCH softer lighter colors (p much pastels) At first he 100% hated it but then every time an enemy came around… They laughed at him and ALWAYS underestimated him, it was always hilarious to kick their ass in said outfit, Wallace also told him just imagine his enemies having to explain to someone/their boss that they got their ass kicked by the clown! The CLOWN of all people! And Henry won’t deny, that idea grew on him so he eventually accepted it (the only thing he refused to wear really was the wig that was t o o much) and finally he has a short boxed beard!

| Personalities: Wallace is… EXTREMELY eccentric and unpredictable, there’s no true way to tell how he’s feeling or what mood he’s going to be in, he seems to bounce from mood to mood, feeling to feeling, emotion to emotion! Although it’s VERY rare to see him actually upset or angry (...Keep in mind, I said very rare, but it’s not… an IMPOSSIBLE scenario) he’s usually pretty cheerful, friendly, kind, and caring as can be! He’s a friend to those who won’t backstab him or betray him but a terrifying force to be reckoned with if you double cross him… He’s in a silly goofy mood a lot, but really, if I’m being honest, there definitely seems like there’s something… Unhinged there… Like something is not all together with him, but oh well! No time to unpack anything! If you need a helping hand he’s there to help! Just don’t double cross him and you won’t die! Don’t let his friendly and cute demeanor fool you, if he doesn’t send one of the others after you, then he’ll deal with you himself and honestly? He’s the WORST one to come after you… MUCH worse than the others.

Chester is cocky, confident, and arrogant at times- He’s EXTREMELY prideful in himself and k n o w s he’s all that and MUCH more~ He seems like he only cares for himself and thinks he’s the star and center of everything but oh no… He holds great admiration and respect for Wallace, he adores Dewey and Eric and helps them out a lot, he’s even overprotective of them actually- you mess with them you evoke papa bear and he WILL stomp you to death with his boots- He constantly pesters Grant and Henry, teasing them a LOT here and there, he makes it a game to mess with them as much as he can, heck he loves messing with his actual victims too, he loves to play the mind games and he’s much more sadistic and cruel than you see him with the other members of the circus, if it’s like someone who’s made friends with the others? ...Well he’ll be more tolerable but oh that won’t stop him from scaring them a little here and there but he won’t actually hurt them, it’s more so just him having fun.

Dewey is a sweet, kind, and loving soul- he looks like he couldn’t hurt a fly! But looks can always be deceiving you know… If he ABSOLUTELY needs to he will hurt or kill someone, if he’s ordered too he will do so- He’s actually mostly shy and anxious even around the other members of the circus but he trusts them a LOT more than anyone else, and he looks up to Wallace and Eric, speaking of Eric, he likes Eric a HELLA lot- he trusts them the MOST out of everyone here and you’ll find Dewey spends a lot more time with Eric than anyone else and he seems so much more open with the other, seems like he lets loose a lot more… And another thing to note, toward enemies he doesn’t torment or anything he just injures or kills them as quickly as possible so he’s a LOT more merciful than someone like Wallace or Chester or some of the others would be.

Eric is another sweet, kind, and loving soul- Also looks like he couldn’t hurt a fly but he can and would if he was told too- He doesn’t LIKE hurting or killing folks though at all, he considers himself much more cowardly than Dewey since Dewey seems like he can do it without any issues beforehand… Eric looks up to Dew a LOT just like the other looks up to him, Eric also looks up to Grant a lot as well even though he can be pretty intimidating to approach, he’s got a LOT more anxiety than Dewey seems to have and he doesn’t seem to have a lot of confidence in himself, he thinks he’s cowardly and sometimes it feels like he legit doesn’t even fit in here, why is such a coward like him in with a literal mafia?

He can barely kill/hurt anyone without almost breaking down p much (Wallace kinda knows this so he REALLY tries not to call upon Eric too much, not until they can sort out those issues, or well t r y too anyways)

Grant is hella cold, snarky, and honestly hot headed easily the MOST intimidating looking and speaking one outta the bunch, he hardly ever has a smile on his face and he’s mostly grumpy- hims a n g y lmao, he’s WAY more respectful when around Wallace however seeing as he’s the boss ...Grant is a bit jealous honestly and sometimes he maybe even wishes he could be leader but 1: He k n o w s better and 2: That’d make him extremely ungrateful for all Wally’s done for the others, Grant is surprisingly MUCH more warmer n kinder toward Eric, or well he tries to be but gosh that poor boy just seems so intimidated by him… He feels bad for Eric honestly, wishes the boy had a bit more confidence in himself, Grant tries to help him out but any time he approaches Eric the other seems to get pretty afraid, so he tries to be patient and wait for Eric to come to him, he respects Dewey for helping Eric out and he sees how happy the two are when together, it's a good thing… If anyone could help that boy out, it’s gotta be Dewey.

And finally… Henry, he’s pretty sarcastic, a bit cold and a bit hot headed, not, AS MUCH as Grant but still it does lead them into a lot of physical and verbal altercations with each other even then (They try not to do it around Dewey/Eric solely bc they dont wanna scare em, but also not around Wallace bc they really don’t wanna get in trouble or on his bad side…) Henry along with Grant do share solidarity with one thing! And that is their p u r e hatred for Chester! That’s one thing they have in common at least… He’s WAY more hot headed toward Chester but dear god who isn’t at this point? Toward enemies n such it’s like he’s a completely different man, he takes his jobs/tasks VERY seriously and he’s WAY more calm and collected- more so than Grant could ever be (I’ll just go ahead ALL the boys respect and or look up to Wallace in some way, he practically saved them tbh) I suppose another thing Henry shares in common with Grant and probs everyone at this point is he wishes Eric had more confidence in himself…

| Side Facts: Usually, whether it be by an injured one or even the dead bodies, an item is usually left behind as a warning- For Wallace it’s a bunch of lashings from his bullwhip (I wanna clarify, the ones with lash looking scars, Wallace would NEVER EVER hit them, he’d NEVER fucking hurt any of them which is why if one of the ones with similar scars are around, before he even d a r e s pull out the whip, he tells them to go on back to the tent, he doesn’t want them to see or hear that sound)

Chester MOSTLY leaves red roses behind (since that’s what people throw onto his stage when he’s finished performing), but he’ll leave VARIOUS other kinds of flowers as well (you’ll notice he’s very particular with each flower he leaves behind)

Dewey leaves behind whatever item he had been juggling (for example: a bowling pin, orange, balls, etc)

Even tho Eric isn’t called upon too often for his sake, he actually doesn’t leave anything behind.

Grant leaves nothing behind whatsoever, what he did to the victim alone is WARNING enough.

Henry leaves behind clown noses (he literally puts clown noses on the victims) and if he’s feeling generous enough he leaves some sarcastic little messages behind or just straight up taunting ones.

While they ARE a mafia, like I’ve said the circus part also plays a big role! They DO perform! Their circus moves from place to place, it never does stay in one spot and a BIG thing Wallace wants noted- they don’t include animals in their acts, they’d never put any kind of animal through that sorta stress and are HIGHKEY against Circuses that do use animals bc most times the animals are whipped and abused, so Wallace says none of that here!

They have had some rowdy rude customers like all businesses or events do ...But you know… They aren’t like most either, those customers were mm… I’d say when Wallace offered to have their complaint taken up, let’s just say those so called customers were never seen or heard from again (keep in mind, those weren’t valid complaints, it was basically karen type people so oofy)

Chester has once lured a victim backstage and he has a house of mirrors type situation, he once lured them back and slowly watched them struggle to try and get out of there, sometimes appearing on the mirrors to give them a fright, he’s probably driven some people to insanity with this tbh also, Chester made Wallace a necklace with an Obsidian pendant, Wallace cherishes this and thanks to Chester he knows the crystal symbolizes protection n stuff so that made him cherish it even more.

Their Circus, the tent, etc- I’ll be 100% honest with you, the fucking tent itself is pretty inhuman and fuckin unrealistic, like- SO many fucking things fit under that tent- its almost cartoonish how it works! The tent itself holds literally all their respective areas, from Chester’s stage right down to the area where the trapeze and tightrope acts are performed!

One thing I didn’t mention- Wallace seems to have two sets of fangs (I will say, he’s- he’s not a toon btw I mean, I won’t say if Wally is fully human or not but still) both top and bottom, Chester has cat-like fangs, Dewey/Eric don’t have fangs at all, Grant has some razor sharp teeth, and Henry just has normal lookin’ teeth.

One more thing! I already covered their pronouns up there so here’s their sexualities! Wallace is Pansexual, Chester is Bisexual, Dewey is Panromantic and Asexual, Eric is Gay and Asexual, Grant is more so Questioning rn as is Henry.

#original characters #my ocs #ocs #Circus Mafia #Wallace Gallagher #Chester York #Dewey Bullock #Eric Fletcher #Grant Davenport #Henry Barton #tw violence mentions #tw death mentions

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pyromania2667 · 4 years

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Proud to be Mabifica

My first commission, done for @wombatking It’s a bit of an AU with an injured Mabel and Pacfiica

Pacifica knocks onto the door to Mabel’s home, unable to shake her mind off the thought of last year. The Pride Parade is today and Mabel is excited as ever. She idly fans herself as she waits another moment for anyone to answer the door. Even in the morning, the California heat can be discomforting, at the very least her light dress isn’t hurting the situation.

She waits hardly a moment longer as footsteps approach. She is greeted with Dipper opening the door, “Oh, Hey Pacifica.”

“Hello! It’s me, I just need to get out of this heat… Thanks.” Pacifica wastes no time entering as Dipper shifts aside to make room for her, “The AC back at my place is on the fritz, this city life can be harsh.”

“What, is the fashion line not paying the bills?” Dipper mocks.

Pacifica brushes the bangs from her eyes, now locking her gaze with Dipper, “Everything is going great, I’ll have you know. It’s just that my AC broke down earlier this morning and I wanted to get out of the heat.”

“Hope everything is alright then. Mabel is in her room as per usual, I think she just finished vlogging, so you can go ahead and meet up with her.”

“Looks like I’m fashionably on time, as per usual,” She replies as she dismisses herself from Dipper.

Pacifica sashays to Mabel’s room, knocking on the closed door.

“Come in!” Mabel exclaims, “I just finished my morning vlog anyway, it was great!”

Pacifica presses open the door, it slides open with little resistance.

“Hey Mabel, I wanted to come over and say hi. We have plenty of time to prepare for the Pride parade today.”

“Pride march, pride march!” Mabel chants as she blows into the straw of her wheelchair, spinning it around to meet with Pacifica, “I can’t wait, we can finally go together as a couple, it’s going to be so great!”

Pacifica stifles a snicker, even since the accident, Mabel has not changed one bit. Waves of sorrow cascade through her mind as the memory of last year consumes her. It was at the beach and Mabel wanted to show off her “amazing swimming skills”, but she crashed into a wave and fell straight into the sandbar along the beach floor. The horror of it all and the trip to the hospital was brutal, but Mable remained strong. She broke her spinal cord and is completely paralyzed from the shoulders down. Despite everything, Mabel has not lost sight of herself or dropped an ounce of her delightful demeanor.

“Do you like my shirt?” Mable asks, shaking Pacifica back into reality.

Pacifica takes a peek at Mable, she’s wearing a violet short sleeve V-neck with the center supporting a rainbow flag with a handicapped figure in the middle of the motif.

“Of course, you definitely rock any kind of shirt you wear,” Pacifica replies.

“Ha! I knew you’d like it, so I got one FOR YOU TOO!”

“What? You did?”

“Yeah, check out my closet, silly!”

Pacifica shifts her attention to the closet door of Mabel’s room, on it is an identical copy of the shirt Mabel is currently wearing, clung onto a hook with a clothing hanger.

Pacifica rushes to the shirt, clutching the soft fabric between her fingers, “Oh my gosh, you actually went and got one for me too?”

“Uh, yeah!” Mabel exclaims, “What a ridiculous question. I would be insane NOT to get us matching shirts for the Pride march!”

Pacifica can’t help but laugh this time, unhooking the shirt from the door and laying it on Mabel’s bed. Tears begin to well up in her eyes as she gives Mabel a soft hug around the shoulder, “Mabel… I… Thank you so much for this gift, I can’t tell you how much this means to me. I’m so happy we can finally do this together.”

“Aww, it was nothing…” Mabel replies, “Afterall, it’s the least I could do, we are a couple, right?”

Pacifica begins to disentangle herself from the hug, “Yeah, we are, aren’t we?”

“And you know what couples do, ri-i-i-ight?”

Pacifica stares at Mabel briefly, “They do things together?”

“They decorate my wheelchair for the PRIDE PARADE!” Mabel exclaims, “Go to my closet! I have stored EVERYTHING we could need to decorate.”

“Alright, decorating your wheelchair sounds kinda fun,” Pacifica replies as she saunters over to the closet, “What did you think of decorating with?”

“EVERYTHING!” Mabel exclaims as Pacifica opens the closet.

Pacifica stares in awe at the array of bins stuffed within the interior. Toys, baubles, and plenty of crafts litter the closet.

Pacifica turns back to Mabel, “So… what did you want me to-”

“Everything!” Mabel exclaims once more, “Take out everything! We’re going to make this the best wheelchair ever!”

“Oh, everything? That’s… that’s just like you, alright.” Pacifica spends time taking out the bins one by one until there’s an assortment of different accessories for the chair to be decorated splayed out across the room. “That’s everything…” Pacifica states breathlessly as she drops the last bin onto the ground.

“Any idea what we should start with?” Pacifica asks.

Before Mabel can give a response, there’s a knock on the door.

Dipper’s voice rings from the other side “Is everything alright? Did something fall over?”

“Everything’s fine, thank you,” Pacifica responds.

“Pride march! Pride march!” Mabel chants, “We’re getting ready for the pride parade by decorating my wheelchair!”

“Ha, well okay then,” Dipper replies, “Happy you two are having fun then. You guys go enjoy yourselves at the parade.”

“We will!” Mabel chimes.

“Okay,” Mable says, shifting her attention back to the decorations, “I say we start with some stickers. You can never have too many stickers!”

Pacifica opens the lid to the bin filled with sticker books, “Any in mind?” She asks.

“Yeah! You already know what the answer to that is!”

“All of them?”

“ALL OF THEM!”

“Okay, let's stick to a theme, how about some rainbows, like our shirts?”

“Yeah, that works, just slap them on the back of this sucker!” Mabel states as she nods toward her wheelchair.

Pacifica peers at the book in her hand. It’s slathered in stickers of bright rainbow colors and rainbow-colored animals. Lisa Frank herself would be proud.

Pacifica sifts through the pages until she’s found stickers she’s content with before showing them to Mabel. Peeling off the sticker as it clings onto her finger, she shows it to Mabel.

“Look, it’s a little rainbow pig. Cute, right?”

“Just like Waddles! I know he’s having just as much fun as we are back at Gravity Falls,” Mabel cheers

“Alright, in memory of him, let's get to these stickers, shall we?”

After sufficiently decorating the back of Mabel’s wheelchair to her satisfaction, Pacifica moves onto the other bins.

She pops open the lid to one of the plastic bins, “Tassels,” She states

“TASSELS!” Mabel chimes, “Yes, I LOVE tassels!”

“Nice, I’m sure they’ll look great on the arms.”

Pacifica grabs hold of the rainbow-colored paper tassels. She brings them up to her eye, getting a closer look, “These definitely will do.”

“Slap those bad boys onto this baby!”

“Oh, of course, your highness…” Pacifica teases.

“It is to my decree, that my steed shall be primed and proper for the event,” Mabel replies mockingly.

Pacifica lets out a small chortle as she ties the tassels to the arms of the wheelchair. She drags her fingers along the loose strands, causing them to sway gently in the air.

“It’s nice, but what could we be missing..?” Pacifica asks.

“I got some balloons on my desk just for the occasion!” Mabel responds

Pacifica turns her attention to Mabel’s desk, there’s a handful of balloons held down by the weight of a plastic tube instead of a string.

“Balloons! Yes!” Pacifica exclaims, “That’d definitely complete the look!”

She grabs the glittery rainbow-colored balloons and ties them to the back of Mabel’s chair. Once fastened tightly, Pacifica takes a step back to admire the view.

Pacifica gives a nod of satisfaction, “Perfect, I’m going to change into this shirt and we’ll be set to go..”

Pacifica leaves for the restroom to change her dress, upon exiting she realizes that Mabel has already made her way to the main room of the home.

Mabel cheers upon catching eye of Pacifica, “I’m so ready for this! Finally!”

Pacifica grabs the keys to their van, “Alright, let me help you into the van, it’s time to get our pride on.”

After helping her into the vehicle, Pacifica fastens her phone to Mabel’s chair so she can begin streaming their journey.

“It’s time! It’s finally time!” Mabel cheers into the camera, “I can finally go to the pride parade with my beautiful girlfriend! Say hi, Pacifica!”

“Hey guys…” Pacifica responds, not taking her eyes off the road.

“Haha, yeah! Pride march! Pride march!”

“I’m definitely excited.”

The ride to the parking lot was mostly uneventful to their pleasure. Mabel never ceased her cheer nor her constant downpour of commentary into the phone.

Pacifica parks the van and helps unload Mabel from the vehicle. “It’s about time,” Pacifica states, “I’m getting so excited, I can’t believe this is actually happening!”

“Woah, calm down, Pacifica,” Mabel states, “We’re just here to… HAVE FUN! Pride March! Pride March!”

Pacifica gives Mabel a gentle grin, “Alright, let’s get this parade started!”

“Aww, c’mon,” Mabel croons, “You have to give your girlfriend a kiss before we get started…”

Pacifica smirks, shaking her head softly, “All right.” She replies before giving Mabel a quick peck on the cheek.

“That’s more like it!” Mabel cheers, “Let's get to this march!”

Pacifica waves to the phone camera as she positions herself behind Mabel, guiding her to the event.

The summer warmth isn’t overbearing at this hour as they journey deeper into the parade.

Mabel continues streaming her vlog. “Finally here! After all this waiting, I’m finally here!”

Pacifica clears her throat.

Mabel snickers, “We’re finally here! I’ll let the whole world know that we’re dating!”

As the event begins to heat up, the pair quickly find themself slowly forming a crowd. Several fans for both of them are cheering and elated to see their idols at the parade.

“Line up, people,” Pacifica commands, “Let’s get things a little in order so we can take pictures.”

“Yeah, get in line you bunch of weirdos.” Mabel mocks, “You guys need to take turns so everyone can take a pic with this weirdo.” Mabel shifts to Pacifica, “It’s okay, they can take a pic with me after they’re done with yours.”

Pacifica can’t help but laugh a little, “Yeah, yeah, but you’re my weirdo…”

“That’s the spirit!” Mabel cheers.

With the sun high above the sky, the couple spends well over an hour conversing with their fans. Pacifica goes on about her design techniques.

“Actually, it was Mabel who gave me this shirt,” She states, pulling on her shirt to give an unobstructed view of the motif, “It was such a nice gift, and it means the world to me.”

Soon enough, the Parade is taking off as the couple begins making their way down the streets of Los Angeles.

“It’s too bad I couldn’t fit a confetti cannon on this sucker...” Mabel remarks.

Pacifica gives her a gentle nudge, “I’m sure there’ll be plenty of confetti cannons in this parade.”

As if on queue, several beads are tossed along the road, along with confetti and glitter as the floats spring to life. The streets are littered with people parading around with colorful balloons and bubbles flying through the air.

“Pride march!” Mabel chants in elation, “Pride march!”

Assisted by the overwhelming emotions of her girlfriend, Pacifica can’t help but join in, “Pride march!” She shouts, raising an arm into the air.

The remainder of the afternoon is spent vlogging their experience and chatting with fans as they march with the parade.

Mabel is completely enthralled by the barrage of colors and assortment floats and gimmicks. Pacifica finds herself comforted by the fact that Mabel is enjoying every last moment of this just as much as she is. Mabel couldn’t be happier than to represent her pride along with Pacifica.

The hours fly by as the parade begins to reach its end. The couple spends a moment reveling in the afterglow of the event, meeting up with even more fans. They share in the cheer with everyone, catching up on even more fan photos and having a few members join in on the vlog.

“The night is still young Mabel,” Pacifica states as they prepare to leave.

“So much to do, but I really want ice cream!”

“You know… ice cream sounds really nice right now, we can share a cone.”

“Aww, I am blessed to have a girlfriend like you!”

#mabifica #gravity falls #writing commission #pride #gay #sfw #au

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slashhinginghasher · 4 years

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Midnight Star - Chromeskull x OFC - Part 6: I’ve Got A Game To Play If You Like To Lose

Summary: Jesse has a proposition for Marena.

Title taken from Edmund Temper by Amigo the Devil, aka my theme song for this iteration of Jesse.

This work is on Ao3!

***

Truth be told, Jesse was a little disappointed she hadn’t picked the collar. He’d already gotten himself half-hard imagining how the black leather would look around her throat, the way she’d stumble as he strung her up with a silver leash… He could always force it on her anyway, he supposed, but ultimately he decided it would be more entertaining to maintain that illusion of choice.

There was time. There was plenty of time.

He hovered just outside the doorway to the medical room, fiddling with the strap of his eyepatch as he debated his next move. It felt strange to abandon the mask so quickly. He’d worn it for months around Veronica before he even hinted at letting her see his face. But his Tiny Terror had literally ripped that option away within a day of meeting him. She’d also cracked Spann’s unbreakable composure in under a minute. Clearly, she was a formidable opponent, even if she didn’t intend to be.

That wasn’t why he hesitated, though. No, Jesse was trying to figure out how to exist in a room with her without immediately pouncing and taking everything she could give. He hadn’t jacked off this much since he was a teenager, and for the first time in his life, his libido was becoming what he would consider a problem. The gratification of a long-term game would be so much sweeter, but he was having a hell of a time convincing his cock to listen. And more than that, he needed to prove to himself that he still had some fucking control. The last time he’d acted this impulsively for this long, he’d wound up mostly dead on the floor of some shithole gas station. He could not - would not - fuck up that badly ever again. But then, what was the point of keeping the bitch alive if not for his own personal enjoyment? And why was there a hint of possessiveness that went beyond his normal predator/prey dynamic whenever he thought of her as his?

Maybe things would be easier if he just stopped thinking so goddamn much.

Frustrated in a myriad ways, Jesse glided into the room on silent feet. The girl was so still, he would’ve thought her dead were it not for the shallow rise and fall of her chest. The bruises on her face and neck had blossomed into florid reds and purples, adding a lovely rainbow of color to her otherwise bloodless complexion. He could think of a few places to add some new ones, he mused as he trailed his gaze up her legs and over the stark line of her collarbones, preferably with his mouth.

Her own gaze was oddly vacant. Jesse waved a hand in front of her eyes and she didn’t even blink. It was like she had gone away from herself, or retreated backwards into her own head. He’d seen that look on her before, in the warehouse. Maybe it was that dissociation thing the shrink talked about in her notes. He’d look into it later, but right now he wanted her to un-dissociate, or re-associate, or whatever the fuck the proper term was. He settled into the chair that had held Preston’s annoying ass a few hours earlier, then reached over and poked the scar on the side of her neck.

The reaction was almost comically instantaneous. Marena bolted upright like she’d been tasered. Her eyes darted blindly around the room, landing on Jesse but not quite seeing him as a thousand unidentifiable emotions flickered through their depths. Then, with a long, slow blink, her focus sort of… snapped into place. The tension in her muscles lessened ever so slightly, but she still looked tense enough to snap under a single touch.

Jesse gave her his most winning smile. It was a move that had lost a lot of its effectiveness along with his face, but old habits died hard.

“GOOD MORNING, KITTEN.”

“Is it?”

Marena’s voice was as cold and flat as a sheet of ice. If she was unsettled by his custom text-to-speech program, pieced together from the voices of past piggies, her face didn’t show it. Her fingers, however, were twisting at the links of the handcuffs. Whether it was a nervous tic or an “I really want to hit you but I can’t right now” tic, he couldn’t be certain. Either way, Jesse’s thoughts were quickly veering back into pouncing territory. He forced his eyes away from her hands and thoughts of how they’d feel wrapped around his cock.

She was watching him watch her, still as a statue.

I HAVE A PROPOSITION FOR YOU, he wrote, switching back to static text. A GAME.

“I don’t like games.”

OH I THINK YOU’LL LIKE THIS ONE.

Marena did not respond for a long moment.

“What sort of game?” she asked grudgingly.

I ASK YOU A QUESTION. IF YOU GIVE ME THE ANSWER I WANT YOU GET A REWARD.

“...And if I don’t?”

I’LL STILL GET THE ANSWER AND YOU GET NOTHING.

“This game feels very rigged in your favor.”

IT’S MY HOUSE DOLL.

The silence that followed was positively glacial. Marena’s jaw was clenched so tightly, Jesse swore he could hear her teeth creaking. Small crescents of red started to form where her nails dug into her palms. If looks could kill, Jesse would be rotting on the floor.

But they couldn’t, so he just got uncomfortably horny instead.

“I will play your game,” Marena finally ground out, “with one condition.”

Oh? Jesse gestured for her to continue.

“You. Will. Never. Call. Me. That. Again.”

Jesse leaned in conspiratorially and held up the phone.

ARE YOU REALLY IN A POSITION TO BE MAKING REQUESTS LITTLE GIRL?

“That was not a request,” she snapped. By this point, Jesse was grinning with unabashed delight.

I ACCEPT YOUR CONDITION. BUT YOU HAVE TO EARN IT!

“Ask your fucking question then.” Marena pulled back, breaking the intimate space between them.

It occurred to him at that moment that he didn’t actually have a question in mind. He could ask why she had such an apparent aversion to dolls, but that was obvious and therefore no fun.

While he mulled it over, Jesse finally, finally allowed himself to touch her. He started at the injection site, circling the red spot where the needle went in with a single fingertip. He kept his touch feather light as he moved along her clavicle, admiring the goosebumps that rose in its wake. Marena was watching his hand the way one would watch a spider that they were unsure was dangerous, but didn’t try to shrug him off. He traced along the strap of the silk nightgown he’d given her in lieu of a hospital gown, then pushed it aside to cup his palm over the curve where her neck met her shoulder. His hand engulfed her easily, the sight of it sending a thrill up his spine. He skimmed his hand down to her malnourished bicep, then pressed his thumb decisively into the pale, circular bullet in the soft part of her shoulder. She glanced up at him in question, and he nodded.

“I was shot.”

Jesse waited for more. When it was not forthcoming, he shot her a look that clearly said fucking really?

“I…” She swallowed hard and fixed her gaze on the far wall. She looked pained. “Can I write it? It’s… easier for me to find words that way.”

Jesse shook his head and tightened his grip on her arm. Not a fucking chance in hell, doll. He hadn’t expected to get his way so easily, and he was not about to be the stupid asshole who fell for her obvious stalling tactic by rummaging around for a pen and paper.

The girl shut her eyes and took a few slow, shuddering breaths. When she opened them, she had that distant look again, though not as far gone as she’d been when he first entered the room. It was like she was suspended halfway between Here and There, wherever (whatever) “There” was. If she thought she could space her way out of this, she was in for some unpleasant disappointment. She took one more breath, smoother and deeper than the last.

And, much to Jesse’s surprise, she answered him.

#''i'm gonna post at a reasonable hour'' i say as i apply my clown paint #chromeskull #jesse cromeans #laid to rest #midnight star #marena polunochnaya #my writing

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