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ramen-rambles · 4 years

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Quid Pro Quo

Pairing: Kirishima Eijirou x Reader

Warnings: 18+, mutual masturbation, suggestive texts

Word Count: 2.7K

Summary: From being a total stranger you met on a dead Discord server, to literally becoming one of your best friends — Kirishima was one of the most amazing things to ever happen in your life. But what happens when you accidentally screenshot his nudes?!

A/N: My first BNHarem server collab! I was really close to naming this fic Penis Pals, if I’m being honest LOL It’s a lot shorter than I wanted but I hope I did my baby justice. Thank you to my fellow Bakugou Fanclub members for hyping me up and helping me edit this piece. I literally couldn’t have done it without you guys, ILYSM! Read all the other amazing fics in this collab, here.

Taglist: @lady-bakuhoe @bratwritings @redbeanteax

♡ ⌒*ﾟ.❉・゜・。. ♡ ⌒*ﾟ.❉・゜・。. ♡ ⌒*ﾟ.❉・゜・。.

Ever since you were in high school, you had always looked up to Crimson Riot — a pro hero who’s strong, manly, and fearless. I mean, who wouldn’t like him? Now that you were in college, there have been many other heroes worthy of being called the best, but Crimson Riot was still going to be Number 1 in your eyes. So, to pay homage to your all time favorite hero, you decided to join a Crimson Riot Discord server.

You had started looking for any server invites through all platforms of social media. Google, Twitter, Tumblr, but nothing came up. You had started to lose hope, until you stumbled upon a very old server link on an equally old Reddit thread. You looked at the date it was posted and it seemed to have been made all the way back when you were in high school. You clicked on the link hesitantly, definitely not expecting it to work. However, much to your surprise, the link brought you straight to the server!

“Finally! Something that actually fucking worked!” You thought to yourself, after hours of scrolling though numerous pages of the internet.

You were a bit hesitant at first, not really knowing what to expect. Were people going to think you were weird for being such a nerd? What if people thought you were annoying? Or worse, what if no one liked you?

But that didn’t seem to be much of a problem… Considering that the server was rather dead.

You clicked through the channels — #general, #merch, #photos, #announcements; the last time anyone really said anything was nearly six months ago. “God dammit.” You should have known. All you wanted was a place to fangirl over Crimson Riot, was that too much to ask for?! You got all your hopes up, just for it to all come crashing down. Feeling a bit dejected, it seemed like you had no choice but to leave the server. Not like there was much of a point in staying anyways.

But then you saw a notification pop up on your screen.

RED RIOT [Today at 7:56 PM]

@Y/N Hey! How are you doing? I’m the admin for this Crimson Riot Discord. The name’s Kirishima. It’s nice to see a fresh face here :^)

Y/N [Today at 7:56 PM]

Oh hi! I’m doing good! I found your discord link on a really old Reddit thread so forgive me for asking but… Is this server still active? I was scrolling through the channels and everything seemed kind of dead tbh LOL

RED RIOT [Today at 7:57 PM]

Well, if I’m being honest, it’s fucking dead LMAO

Y/N [Today at 7:57 PM]

RED RIOT [Today at 7:58 PM]

It used to be pretty active before but people just kind of... stopped. I made this server back when I was in high school because I just LOVED Crimson Riot so much, ya know? He was the one person I really looked up to. Anyways, how did you even find this link? You must have looked real hard LOL

Y/N [Today at 7:58 PM]

HAHA I did, actually! Took me for-fucking-ever to find a server link that actually worked :( I’ve looked up to him since I was a kid too and so I really just wanted a place to express my gratitude for the role he played in my life. Sorry LOL I’m getting cheesy

RED RIOT [Today at 7:59 PM]

Well Y/N, I’m glad you found this server! You sound like a really great person and I’d love nothing more than to talk to you about our shared love for Crimson Riot, but this server is whack as fuck. Are you down to move to DMs instead?

Y/N [Today at 8:01 PM]

Fuck it. Why not?

You and Kirishima had been talking for a while now. Ever since you came across his Crimson Riot server, you two would talk almost every single day. You learned that he actually lived near you too. Call it fate. Exchanging phone numbers, following each other on social media, starting Snapchat streaks, meeting up with each other — the chemistry between you two made it seem like you’ve known each other your entire lives. The both of you had practically become best friends.

To you, maybe it felt a little bit more than just friends.

Currently, you were mindlessly scrolling through your Twitter feed when you saw that you had received a Snapchat notification, from, you guessed it. Kirishima. You were expecting it to just be a bland streak of his room or something but you saw something that made your fucking jaw drop.

A picture of Kirishima in a tight fitting tank top and a very noticeable bulge that was covered by a pair of dark grey sweatpants.

You felt your cheeks heat up, a red blush painting across your entire face. In a state of panic, you fumbled the phone in your hands and in the process you had heard a very audible click. You fucking screenshotted his snap.

Fuck.

You quickly went into your messages and texted him to try and explain yourself.

[Y/N]

WAIT SHIT. KIRISHIMA. I DIDN’T MEAN TO SCREENSHOT THAT. IT WAS AN ACCIDENT. I SWEAR

Replying almost immediately, you anxiously waited for what Kirishima had to say about your little mishap. You were seriously hoping that he was just going to let it go and you could both just act like nothing happened.

[Kirishima]

Wow, I didn’t think you’d be the type to screenshot people’s snaps like that, Y/N :(

[Y/N]

YOU DIPSHIT. I SAID IT WAS AN ACCIDENT. AND WHY ARE YOU SENDING ME SHIT LIKE THAT HUH?!

[Kirishima]

You telling me you didn’t like what you saw?

[Y/N]

Okay, fine, you looked good, SUE ME. Is that what you wanted to hear?

[Kirishima]

It’s only fair you send me one back, don’t you think?

You stared at your phone. What the actual fuck. Was Kirishima asking you to send him a fucking nude? You knew it shouldn’t have, but the thought of Kirishima wanting to see your body turned you on. A small shiver running down your spine at the possibility that he liked you in return.

[Y/N]

Excuse me, sir. I am NOT sending you a nude.

[Kirishima]

I didn’t ask for a nude, all I said was that you return the favor. Quid pro quo, ya know?

[Y/N]

Using big words like ‘quid pro quo’, smh. Since when did you become such a politician?

[Kirishima]

But, if you want to send a nude, who am I to say no? ;)

[Y/N]

Fucking fine. If I show you one, will you shut up?

[Kirishima]

Depends.

[Y/N]

On what, exactly?

[Kirishima]

On how good it is

Your eyes narrowed at his response. What does he even mean by that, ‘how good it is’? He should be grateful that you even considered sending him one! Based on your replies, it seemed like you were pissed, but in reality, your heart beat faster with every passing minute. You were never the type of girl to send nudes to anyone, but for Kirishima, you were willing to make a small exception.

You got up from your bed and rummaged through your closet, looking for something that was a bit more provocative. You picked out a red lace bodysuit that hugged your curves and cupped your perky breasts. Sitting in front of your mirror, you touched up your makeup and fixed your hair, checking yourself out one last time before you started taking pictures. You opened up Snapchat and tried multiple poses, making sure the camera captured your sultriness and how good your tits looked. To mock his teasing from earlier you captioned the photo, “Quid pro quo, my ass.” before hitting the ‘send’ button.

[Y/N]

Was that good enough for you?

You heard no response from him for a good five minutes. You started worrying. “Shit. Was that too much? Did I push it too far?” You chewed on the inside of your lip, anxiously waiting for any sort of reaction.

And then, your screen lit up again. Another Snapchat notification from Kirishima. But this time, it was way more revealing. He had sent you a picture of him palming his erection, and all it said was, “You’re not even here, and look what you did to me :(“

Feeling cocky and with a sudden burst of confidence, you cheekily replied, “Why don’t you come here then?”

In all honesty, Kirishima didn’t live that far from you. You two were only 15 minutes away from each other, meaning that he frequented your apartment whenever he felt like it. He came over a million times in the past, but this time was different. Very different, in fact. Anticipation was building at the pit of your stomach, but so was a familiar heat that began pooling in the middle of your underwear.

You tried denying your feelings for Kirishima but you couldn’t help it! Everything about him was perfect. His personality, his humor, his voice, his face, his body… You could go on and on about all the things you loved about Kirishima.

You would have been lying to yourself if you said that you’ve never thought about him with your hands in between your thighs. Thinking about his massive cock fucking your tight pussy, his fingers rubbing your clit in all the right places, or the way his tongue would feel sucking on your hardened nipples.

You’d always wonder if he ever felt the same way but he didn’t really seem like he was.

That was, until tonight.

You stared at the clock on your wall and saw that 10 minutes had passed, a loud knock on your door making you wake up from the dream like trance you seemed to be trapped in. You quickly turned the doorknob, letting Kirishima inside of your apartment.

Without saying a word, he pushed your back against the wall and began to roughly grab the side of your face. He captured your lips with his, meeting his kiss with the same aggressiveness, making your head spin at how good it felt to finally get a taste of him.

“Do you know how long I’ve waited for us to do this?” He panted, moving down to place sloppy kisses against the crook of your neck, leaving sharp bite marks and dark bruises littered all over your pretty skin.

“Haaaa, that should be my line” you moaned, “You know how many times I’ve touched myself to the thought of you?” You whispered teasingly, biting the soft flesh of his earlobes. “How many times I wished it was your fingers inside of me instead?” You trailed your fingers down to his, intertwining them with one another before you dragged him into your bedroom.

You pushed him down onto the mattress, gently getting on top of him and straddling his waist. Grabbing his hands, you placed them on top of your tits, giving them a rough squeeze before you began grinding your wet heat against his clothed cock.

”Fuck, Y/N, are you sure?” He groaned, “As much as I want this, I don’t want you to do anything you’re not comfortable with —“

“Eiji, shut up. If I didn’t want this, would I be this wet for you?” You slipped your panties off to the side, two of your fingers dipping into your cunt, showing off the slick that stringed in between your digits. “Here, see for yourself.” You brought your coated fingers up to his mouth, making him suck it until not a drop was left.

“Shit, you taste so fucking good,” He smirked, “Why don’t you show me how you touch yourself, princess?”

You slowly made your way off of him, leaning back to position your body against the plush sheets. Slowly spreading your legs, you made sure he got a good view, your pussy practically dripping from how aroused you had become. You snaked your hands down back against your thighs, fingers finding its way onto your throbbing clit. Kirishima was sitting in front of you, all of his clothes still on.

That didn’t seem very fair, now did it?

“Stroke your cock for me, Eijirou. Quid pro quo, right?” You said wickedly. You stood up quickly to remove the rest of your lingerie, Eijirou’s eyes glued to your body, watching your every move as you moved your hands back to their previous position.

Kirishima let out a small laugh before he finally stripped himself of his clothing, pulling down his boxers to reveal his impressive length that was already oozing precum. “Is this what you wanted to see?” You nodded desperately.

“You wanted to see me jerk off while I watch you touch that pretty pussy of yours?” Kirishima began moving his hand against his girth, gathering spit in his mouth before letting it drip onto the head. Lubricating his cock with a mix of precum and spit, he slowly started moving up and down his length. Matching your rhythm, as he watched intensely at the fingers that were still stuffed inside of your cunt.

Soft moans started escaping your plush lips, the collective sound of small whines, and frantic gasps beginning to fill the room. “Fuck, Eiji. You look so hot stroking your cock like that. Do you imagine that it was my pussy, instead?” You say, panting intensely.

“Fuuuuck. I’m gonna pound your tight little cunt so hard that you’re not going to be able to walk for days.” He sped up his pace, you quickly following suit. Your fingers pumping vigorously, you continued to rub tight circles over your sensitive clit.

You were getting closer and closer to the orgasm you craved so much, and the look that Kirishima had on his face indicated that he was too. Your cunt clenched tightly around your digits while Kirishima’s fist held a vice grip on his cock. You had been waiting for this moment for so long, the intensity of your orgasm was surely going to rip through you like a plundering tidal wave.

“A-ah, Eijirou! I’m so fucking close for you.” Your eyes squeezed shut as you felt yourself cum all over your fingers, your arousal gushing onto the bed sheets and covering the inside of your thighs.

Kirishima quickened his strokes, the sight of your pleasure the catalyst for his own release as he continued to jack hammer his cock at an animalistic pace. “Please, baby, cum for me, I wanna see you cum all over yourself.” You whined, watching closely as you patiently waited for him to reach his end. Your filthy words were the last push he needed.

“F-fuck Y/N! I love you so fucking much” he groaned loudly. A few more pumps, and ropes of his cum started painting his chest white, covering his sweaty body, as the remnants of both your orgasms stained the bed.

You both looked at each other with half lidded eyes, still trying to come down from your intense highs. Breathing heavily, you looked at him greedily and whispered, “You know, I’ve always wondered how good it would feel to fuck myself on your cock.”

“Well, I did say that I’d pound your cunt so hard you wouldn’t be able to walk for days...” Kirishima cooed as he ran his fingers along your exposed thigh,

“I’d be more than happy to show you, Princess.”

♡ ⌒*ﾟ.❉・゜・。. ♡ ⌒*ﾟ.❉・゜・。. ♡ ⌒*ﾟ.❉・゜・。.

#kirishima eijirou x reader #kirishima x reader #bnha x reader #bnha smut #bnha fanfiction #bnha #bnha kirishima

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my-arlington-academia · 3 years

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Cliffany (Claire×Tiffany) part 1

Hello there!!! It’s been a while. Yes, you’re not dreaming, this is a crackship fanfiction between Claire and Tiffany from sweet elite. I wrote this a couple of weeks ago and posted it on the Dulcet discord server. I’ve decided to post them on tumblr if anyone is interested (or not, that’s fine too.)

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"Cut the bullshit, Claire. I told you to stop sticking to me like glue!"

Tiffany was tired of it. No matter how many times she showed Claire how terrible she can be and how her words can cut deep, Claire kept coming back to her, looking for an explanation that doesn’t exist. Saying nonsensical one-liners like "are you really okay?" Or "You can talk to me if you need someone to listen." Tiffany found it pretty funny at first. Like, she could do any atrocity and this blond haired dumbass would come back to her anyway, thinking that she had some issues that needed fixing or something. After a while though, this shtick got annoying real quick. It was like Claire was completely unaware of who she was talking to and was blindly following the childish belief that everyone is kind and understanding on the inside.

"I’m just worried about you Tiffany, you keep pushing people away from you. That’s not good for your mental health. If you have troubles you can share them with someone..."

Tiffany sighed in exasperation. Was this girl senseless? Is that it?

"Listen here. I know you like to believe that everyone is good deep down but that’s not always the case. Not to mention, we’re not exactly close, you and I. If I wanted to "share" anything, it wouldn’t be with you."

"But..."

Claire’s eyes wavered for a second and she looked around, checking to see if there’s anyone nearby.

"...Honestly, the reason why I’m offering is because I don’t feel like you have anyone truly close to you. At least not in Arlington."

"Excuse me?"

One of the things that pissed Tiffany the most about Claire was that she could say the most insulting things with the best intentions, without any ounce of malice.

"Ha. And you’re the one to say this? You’re pretty much a wannabe psychiatrist who goes around being a punching bag for your classmates. People rely on you when they need you, but really? They don’t give a shit about you, honey."

Somehow, Claire’s gaze stayed on Tiffany, unchanging. This made her want to be meaner, more vicious, strike the parts she’s sensitive about. Claire was known to be patient like a saint and understanding like a mother. How nice would it be to finally put this dumb bitch in her place? Tiffany wanted to get a reaction from her, not only to make her leave but also because she was kind of interested to see what face she would make when she got upset.

"Oh, my apologies. What I told you just now, you were already aware of it, weren’t you? That you’re only needed as long as you’re useful. You might think that people like you Claire, but don’t get the wrong idea. You’re only useful, not lovable. Tell me about it sometime, how is it to be a walking doormat?"

Tiffany could feel it. Despite the fact that Claire’s expression still hasn't changed, there was a certain glow forming in her eyes. If she went on for long enough, she may be able to get the reaction she wanted.

"...Are you done, Tiffany? Can we talk like two civilized people now?"

"Hm. What was that? Do I hear some bitterness there, Miss I-Have-A-Savior-Complex? You probably got a lot of praise, huh? For your stupid speech at the department competition with your whole "people gather in front of misfortune" bullshit. Or- Ah! How could I forget, you also volunteer at the city’s hospital during weekends, right? You get all the praise and credit needed to get into Gold Tier even though all you really want is acknowledgement for your sorry existence."

Claire grabbed her skirt’s hem and kept tugging at it, looking down. In reality, Tiffany knew that there was no ill-will whatsoever behind Claire’s benevolent actions towards the people she took care of at the hospital. That was, however, the reason why she was so pissed right now. Instead of protesting against those baseless insults, Claire kept her silence, swallowing up her pride, waiting for this storm of verbal abuse to be over. At this point, Tiffany’s small conscience was telling her to stop. Yet, she couldn’t. Not now, not when she was getting closer and closer to results. And so, she kept pushing, wondering when Claire will finally talk back.

"Is that really what you think of me, Tiffany?"

"What’s wrong? Are you unable of taking any criticism, Claire? Or maybe you’re not used to being called out for your BS. You want it, don’t you? You want everyone to love you and have them keep you by their side while you’re playing the role of a perfect little girl who helps the weak but who’s just no fun to be with. The truth is that you just never learned to say no when people asked favors of you and it stayed as a habit. But instead of fixing that habit, you just went along with it, enjoying the attention."

Claire’s lips were starting to twist downward. There it was. The anger of being so blatantly insulted, the frustration of having to play nice even in front of someone who’s rude to you, the need to get all of those negative feelings out on someone and hurt them back either mentally or physically. Come hit me, yell at me and insult me. I finally get to see what you’re always hiding. No matter how ugly it is, I’ll accept it and laugh at it once you’re done pouring it out. When it comes to belittling others and making them feel worthless, I’m just the best at it.

"Honey, what’s going on? Want to turn back after coming so far? Well, I wouldn’t blame you. This is about the time when anyone would leave. Ah, by the way. Did you know that there was a certain rumor going around about the Durand family? Something like... a family member having a real nasty disease or something? So tell me who it is. Your mom, your dad? Surely not! He’s still working diligently everyday to take care of his little research facility in Florida. It would be terrible if he was actually pushing himself too hard to keep the business going, right?"

Tiffany finally went silent, grinning to herself, waiting impatiently for the crack to open and let the ocean out. Show it, Claire. Show that you can fight back so I can ridicule you even more for overselling your annoying "sweet girl" image.

However, none of that ever came.

"...Why... did you have to..."

Claire finally raised her head, showing a face full of tears. Despite that, she was trying to keep a smile on her face. "I’ve never seen anyone cry like that." Tiffany uselessly thought at first, until a wave of guilt she wasn’t even aware of went through her small conscience. There was something so upsetting about someone getting insulted to no-end and choosing to cry instead of letting their anger out. If only she exploded and hit her or yelled at her, it would’ve been better. But now, Tiffany felt like she just did something illegal. Attacked someone who didn’t have the means to defend themselves, who *didn’t* want to. Like she just robbed a homeless person who had barely any change left. It may have been the first time in her life that Tiffany truly felt pathetic for what she did. Shame, guilt, confusion. It was all welling up inside of her.

"Wh-why... *sniffle* Did you have to go so far... *sob* That was uncalled for..."

And yet you’re still not leaving? What’s wrong with this girl?! Before she even knew what was happening, Tiffany’s arms were reluctantly holding Claire into a tight embrace.

"A-are you a complete lunatic?? Why would you let me say all of this shit and cry afterwards?! That’s not how it works, you should’ve insulted me back and told me to fuck off!"

"I-I can’t... *sniff*"

"Why not?! Why can I and you can’t? You’re such a fucking moron, what the hell is wrong with you... When someone hits you, you hit them back! That’s basic knowledge every little kid has ever since kindergarten."

Claire’s hands slowly went up to return Tiffany’s hug. Through that small gesture, Tiffany felt every bit of emotion Claire was trying to communicate to her.

"Because... *sniffle* If I did you’d get sad and this conversation would end with both of us feeling sad... *sniffle* I know that you always act like you don’t care but, the truth is that you always get upset about what other people have to say about you, right? ...Especially with all of your social media accounts and the exposure you get. It must already be so hard to get so much unwanted criticism everyday even though you never asked for it..."

For some reason, before she even knew it, Tiffany’s heart rate picked up ever so slightly. To the point where neither she nor Claire even noticed it. After a relatively short amount of time, Tiffany let go of Claire, finally noticing how wet her blazer had gotten.

"Ugh. Seriously? Couldn’t you have at least- Oh God... You look like complete shit, go wash your face."

To that rude remark, Claire smiled gently, knowing that it didn’t have any malice behind it. Tiffany caught herself thinking that Claire really was an angel. She quickly erased it though. She didn’t want them to get involved in each other's business again, seeing how it can end. She didn’t want to make her cry again, no matter how weird that sounded coming from someone who never misses the chance to be a jerk. While parting ways, Claire’s crying face went through Tiffany’s mind again, filling her up with the desperate need to punch herself.

#sweet elite #claire durand #tiffany #cliffany #fanfics #this story has only 2 parts although I had planned more #I don’t think I’ll ever finish it but I might as well share

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between-two-fandoms · 3 years

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Who We Used To Be (Ray/Rose/Trevor)

As told by myself and @thesevenumbrellas tag teaming the whump in the 18+ JatP discord. Sev I swear we operate on the same braincell levels, we do be clowning. @bobbywilsonsupremacy let us know what you think of this! I know you and I both hardcore ship Raybse.

Cover was created by @thesevenumbrellas. Please don’t steal it.

This post got long so fair warning.

We wrote this in a discord server over the time span of hours so there’s some mistakes but i’m too lazy to go back and fix it all. Basically we tag teamed on a Raybse Trevor Wilson-centric whump story and can destroy a fandom with a single touch.

You’ll understand once you click the cut.

Don’t Steal Our Writing (but please reblog this to spread it around).

Trauma Time.

major whump warning

(Ren) Okay so if we're gonna be starting at 90's ot3 my children ray/bobby/Rose know that Ray is a panic bi and loves both of these humans very much with his whole ass heart.

(Ren) He takes pictures of his girlfriend and boyfriend while they’re on dates because he wants to capture the moments he was happy the most. Bobby always shed away from the camera burying his face in Rose's shoulder or leaning in for a kiss. Anyways as time goes by Ray notices Bobby's change in behavior. From being his go-happy-trauma boyf to being caught up in the music scene, often out at all hours to parties and label meetings only to come to to sleep on the couch, not even sharing the bed like he used to. It reminds Ray of the time when Bobby was grieving his boys. Ray hates it, but he loves bobby so he pushes his feelings aside to try and arrange more dates for the three of them to go on together.

(Sev) Ray waking up to only Rose in the bed and not Bobby, and it feels too cold in bed without him. So he'll try to call him, because it's 3am and he's supposed to be home and he's not. And Ray remembers what happened to Bobby's bandmates, and he can't admit it out loud but he's worried. Because what if that happens to Bobby? He knows it was a freak accident! What are the odds of it happening again?? But he can't shake that feeling when Bobby doesn't come home at night and Ray stays up all night worrying. Anyway he tries to call Bobby and Bobby doesn't answer. He'll leave loads of voicemails, trying not to be pushy because he knows Bobby doesn't respond well to that. But he's worried. He'll say "hey please call me when you get this." and then ten minutes later try again "hey just text me that you're safe okay?" He can't sleep because Bobby still isn't home. It's 5am. He has to go to work in two hours. Rose keeps telling him to go to bed but he can't.[2:58 PM]Bobby finally texts back. "I'm okay! Was playing with some friends, the gig went over time and then we went to party." Ray wants to be angry because seriously? No phone calls because he was at a party? But he knows that'll just push Bobby away more!

(Ren) And so Ray has all of these festering emotions that boil down to worry and concern at the core but he's just so scared hes losing Bobby cause he never really had his own family to begin with and then one day when Ray comes home early from a photoshoot he can hear Bobby and Rose fighting over Bobby signing the contract that says he wrote Luke's songs but Ray just hears yelling before he even opens the door with his name thrown into the mix and then he gets even more scared because what if he loses Rose and Bobby? if he lost both of them he'd be destroyed. So he doesnt knock. He doesnt go home. Instead he walks around the city until he was supposed to go home originally and he opens the door and there's a sort of eerie silence in the air.

(Sev) Trevor’s unable to shake the feeling that something terrible will happen to Rose and Ray because he's with them. His entire family were killed in 1 night because he wasn't there with them. So at first he's clingy as fuck to Rose and Ray because what if something bad happens when he's not there? What if what if what if... But as time goes on the thinking flips. Maybe it's the music industry that's the problem. It's these weird connections in his head of if he's too successful, bad things might happen. But he can't quit music like that, he can't give up on Luke's dream. He owes his boys to become successful. So instead he distances himself from Rose and Ray. That way they won't be caught up in whatever bad thing is going to happen to him. He distances himself and he waits for it all to drop. He waits for the universe to punish him again.

(Ren) And the universe punishes Bobby when the tension between him and Rose tightens so much he knows there's no going back from it but he's not admitting to stealing the songs because he didn't. He helped Luke write all of the songs more than Alex and Reggie ever did, staying up late with Luke after fights with his mom and Bobby didn’t want Luke to be alone so yeah, he wrote the songs. Maybe not as much as he claimed but he sure as hell made sure his brother wasn’t alone so that counted for something right? And it did. Until Rose kicks him out of bed because she's pissed he'd even consider stealing music and he cant tell Ray because of the NDA the label got him to sign at a party when he was drunk and the only reason Rose knows about it is because she was there when he signed the damn thing and so Bobby pulls away from Ray because isnt it going to be easier in the long run? If he doesn’t attach himself to Ray who'll just get angry at him like Rose did?

(Sev) It's the guilt that grows inside of him every passing day. They're my songs too he tells himself over and over again. But during the dark nights, three glasses of whisky in when the world is getting hazy... even he can't believe the lies he tells himself. He fucked up Sunset Curve. He fucked up his friends' memories. And now he fucked up the only good thing he'd ever had. Ray texts him nonstop. He doesn't understand why Rose kicked Bobby out and he doesn't understand why Bobby listened. Bobby can't take Ray away from Rose. He's fucked up and a terrible person, but even he can't do that. He doesn't give Ray his new address. He refuses to meet up even for Ray to give him his stuff back. All Bobby can do is hold onto Ray's sweatshirt he stole away and a bottle of perfume the same brand Rose always wears. He cradles these things in his arms and cries.

(Ren) And that's the last he sees of Ray for all of 5 years, 20yr old puppy-dog eyed loving precious ray who Bobby would run to the second Rose says its okay. But rose never does. And then Bobby meets a cute blonde and six months later the barista shows up on his doorstep shoving Carrie into his arms calling her a bastard child. Carrie is not a bastard child Carrie is his and he loves her the second he sets eyes on her and so Bobby turns into Trevor when the new year rolls around and he starts his own album. It doesn’t do as well as Luke's his first album did but it was his. And then one day Trevor signs Carrie up for dance because Trisha from first grade made fun of her for not being able to do the splits and on the way out of the dance studio Trevor bumps into Ray, a terrified looking girl clutched to his leg. Carrie doesn't miss a beat. "Hi! I'm Carrie let's be friends!" and Carrie drags Ray's daughter off and Trevor shifts awkwardly and is suddenly 17 again but Ray's eyes still twinkle like the did when they were kids and he's still wearing eyeliner so Trevor almost missed it when a flicker of recognition crosses Ray’s face and a smile quirks at the corners of his lips and he says, "hi im Ray, thats my daughter Julie. Wanna go out for a drink?" With that same mischievous glint in his eye that made Bobby fall in love with him in the first place.

(Sev) Trevor almost stops breathing. He should say no. He knows he should say no. He's an awful person. He doesn't deserve someone like Ray. He never deserved either of them. He knows that. But can't force himself to say no. Maybe it's the twinkle in Ray's eyes. Maybe it's the soul crushing loneliness he's felt ever since he left them. Or maybe it's the way Carrie and Julie are giggling in the corner like they've known each other all their lives. He says yes. The drink ends up at a family friendly restaurant with both the girls in tow.

(Ren) Rose shows up because Ray the asshole apparently texted her while he was in the car saying he met one of Julie's friend's parents and wanted to go out on a date (keeping things pg ofc) aklsdf. And when Rose does show up Trevor sees how... sick she looks. How much paler she looked than she did all those years ago how - he still knew he loved her even if she still decided she hated him.

(Sev) The mood drops quickly. Trevor wants to ask about Rose, but not in front of the kids. Ray wants to ask about their past, but not in front of the kids. Rose... Rose who holds all the answers... doesn't know where to start first. She had never regretted not telling Ray the truth. She never wanted to change Ray's perception of Bobby like that. Ray who looked at their boyfriend as if he'd hung the moon. Ray who stayed up worrying all night until Bobby came home. Ray who held Bobby through countless nightmares... But that makes the truth staring them in the face so much harder. Because she never gave Ray the choice. She realized that a few years too late after she catches Ray staring at old pictures of Bobby in their photo albums. She'd made the choice for him. And then there's Trevor... still beautiful, staring at her with so much concern her heart breaks all over again.

(Ren) The tension doesn't fly over Carrie's head like he hoped it would, she talks to Julie about My Little Pony and Pokemon and High School Musical and their mutual hatred for Trisha from school but Carrie's hand never lets go of his and he finally plucks up the courage and stretches his arm out and says "we're vegetarian for the most part, hope that's okay." And a smile quirks at the corner of her lips and she asks "for the most part?" and Trevor nods and Carrie pipes up from her seat saying "daddy hates hot dogs,” in that blatant fact kind of way kids say things without realizing how problematic it could be. It wasn’t her fault though, Trevor has yet to tell her about her uncles, about how he was in a band, about how they were going to be legends.

(Sev) Rose and Ray both freeze at Carrie's voice. He doesn't know if the girls notice, because he's too busy trying to fight back the panic in his throat. It's been a long time since anyone had brought up ... what happened. It's easy to pretend it didn't happen when his name is Trevor and no one knows him. But these two people know him. They know him more than anyone else ever has. Even the boys. The truth hits him hard at that moment. A truth he'd been avoiding for almost two decades. Ray and Rose know him better than even he knew himself. Maybe that was why Rose had been so furious with him, or why Ray continued to chase after him even months after he moved out. Trevor hides the building panic and sudden realization with a smile. "What an I say," he said as causally as he can. "I'm a picky eater." A few hours later they end up back at the Molina's house. Bobby has no idea how it happened. -No, Trevor has no idea how it happened, he scolds himself. He's Trevor. He has to be Trevor. Trevor got him this far, Trevor made the difficult choices. Bobby was the one who got his friends kill and destroyed the best relationship he ever had. Still, it becomes harder and harder to remind himself of that. To stop himself from slipping into the comfortable shoes of Bobby, boyfriend of Ray and Rose as if the past 17 years had never happened. He finds himself on their sofa, a sofa that brings back memories both good and bad... he finds himself in a familiar home, his old studio just a short walk away, his ex's giggling in the kitchen as they make his coffee the way he's always liked it without asking for a reminder.

(Ren) Trevor can remember the day he stopped drinking the coffee Ray made for him, the morning after his first fight with Rose, when he wakes up cold because Rose basically cocooned herself around Ray's body, keeping her back turned to him and as much as he wanted to reach out to Ray, to hug him and comfort him and tell him it was all going to be okay... everything was too stuffy and too tense and deciding he just had to leave because he was going to suffocate otherwise.

(Sev) He should leave, just like last time. What was he even doing here? He should take Carrie and- Then Ray's in front of him, pushing a hot cup into is hands. "The girls are playing upstairs," he says. His voice is so calm, so understanding. "We don't have to talk if you don't want to." Trevor almost laughs. Because that's so like Ray. Almost a decade without answers and he's giving Trevor the option to ignore it all. To pretend like nothing ever happened. But he can't be that selfish again. So he shakes his head. "I'd... like to talk to you... to both of you."

(Ren) And then suddenly rose is eyeing him sus but he's been putting this off for to long and honestly fuck his label because they screwed him over one too many times for him to still even consider their relationship anything other than employee-client1[4:06 PM]and so Trevor takes a sip of Ray's coffee holy shit how did go so long without it?! and he explains it. he explains everything.

(Sev) Ray doesn't speak as Trevor explains. He never interrupts or even look surprised. His face is completely unreadable. He doesn't move until Trevor's done. And then once he is, he only stands up to start pacing the room. Trevor's oddly reminded of Alex as he does so, and the memory is enough to make him flinch. "This... this is what you two have been hiding from me for so long?" he asked, voice brittle. "This is... this is what cost us... I mean..." But he can't finish. Ray just shakes his head, back to both Rose and Trevor.

(Ren) Suddenly he's seventeen again. Seventeen and a mess in Ray's arms burying his face into the man's chest finally feeling the weight of the world lift off of his shoulders and suddenly Rose is hugging him from behind, her too-skiny bone arms snaking around his chest and hugging him tightly threatening to never let him go saying "amour," and pressing a kiss to the back of his head, "amour we never stopped loving you."

(Sev)It's like no time has passed by the time he's done crying his eyes out. They're all huddled on a sofa that was always too small for three. Trevor's in the middle, clutching at them both as if they're going to disappear on him. Ray sits with his legs underneath them, his arms pulling the both of them into his chest. And then there's Rose, suddenly so much more delicate than Trevor remembers. She sits half on his lap, curled into them, her fingers knotted in his hair. "I can't believe you two kept this from me," Ray whispers. There's no anger. He doesn't think Ray's ever been capable of being angry. "I'm sorry," Trevor whispers, throat raw from tears. Ray answers with a firm kiss to his temple. "We wasted so much time..."

(Ren) Trevor just lays between them in their bed, nothing sexual and nothing tense it’s just them being together and Rose playing with his now-long hair, braiding it right down the middle despite it being too long for others to braid. Her fingers feel nice as they tug at his roots, familiar and a sense of calm washes over him. He lets ray fop on top of him like they used to, burying his head in his chest just listening to his heart beat, his steady constant breathing because Ray used to be afraid one day he'd wake up and Bobby would be dead too. Rose humming lightly, soft lullabies that chased away dark thoughts and Trevor just finds it so comforting, a feeling of home he hasn't had since the day he left and so he wraps his arms around Rose and Ray tight, promising himself he won't screw up his second time around.

(Sev) It's a few hours later when he speaks again. The girls are asleep in Julie's room (delighted at their surprise sleepover.) Ray's almost nodded off, head resting against Trevor's chest. But Rose is wide awake. She's laid out, tangled between them, eyes focused on something far away. He can see it more clearly now. The tremble in her hands, the way she's so still, the circles around her eyes. He takes her hand in his. "What is it?"

(Ren) And Trevor wants it to be a prank, he wants the sinking feeling in his gut twisting around his heart, the same feeling he had the morning of Sunset Curve's Orpheum performance coiling up his spine to go away. He wants everything to be okay, that he told the truth, that he was forgiven, that the universe was finally on his side for once but of course it's not because when has it ever been. Rose's fingers run lightly over his knuckles and Ray wraps his arm around him from behind, his hands resting against Trevor's chest, something solid for him to focus on and as a tear starts to roll down Rose's cheek he reaches up to brush it away, running his hand through her hair only to pull out a clump as he pulled away but he couldn't run when his instincts to run kick in like they always used to do when situations turned emotional, bury it in his mind and lock up his worries like he always did but this wasn't going to be something he could run from.

(Sev) Life is not the fantasy or a fairy tale. There are no happy endings, only happy moments. He'd like to say they picked up right where they left off, Rose lived until a ripe old age, and they never fought again. But he'd be lying. It was hard to fold their lives back into place again, especially with Carrie and Julie. To just pick up after their seventeen year old selves was an impossible dream. But they could do breakfast. And breakfast became dinner. Dinner became one date which became two which became many. It took trouble and care, but they slotted themselves back into each other's lives again. There were lunch dates, and movie nights. There were late night wine dates and early morning coffee dates. They found their happy moments. A decade of separation had smoothed out the rough edges. If Trevor stormed out after a harsh argument, he'd return the next day with flowers and apologies. If Rose snapped and lost her temper, she'd take herself off for a walk to cool down. If Ray was bothered by something, he'd speak up instead of pushing it all down. They found their happy moments. And when 1 month became 1 year, they celebrated with moving boxes and a new, bigger couch. When 1 year became 2, they celebrated with promise rings and whispers of a better future between light kisses. 3 years became 4, became 5, and so on... They found their happy moments. But life is not a fantasy or a fairy tale. Their story ends in a hospital. Rose dies with both her husbands at her side, with both her daughters and son clutching on her hands. She dies with a smile on her face, knowing she is not leaving them to suffer alone. Ray and Trevor grieve together.

(Ren) And this time the girls are the ones who get into the fight but Trevor and Ray are there for Julie and Carrie no matter what they're fighting over carrie told julie she liked flynn but julie said flynn was hers first and doesnt understand how she can feel squishy love for two people. And this time the girls are the ones who get into the fight but Trevor and Ray are there for Julie and Carrie no matter what they're fighting over carrie told julie she liked flynn but julie said flynn was hers first and doesnt understand how she can feel squishy love for two people. They stick to their daughters through the worst of it but they don’t let the girl’s fighting rip into them too. It’s not what Rose would’ve wanted for them, it’s not what she would’ve wanted for Julie or Carrie either.

(Sev) And when Julie plays with her ghost band, it's much earlier that Trevor recognizes who she's playing with.

(Ren) Luke’s mad at first, ofc he is but after everything is explained and out in the open Trevor finds himself at home in a building that never felt like home despite the fact he grew up in it.

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whatwashernameagain · 4 years

Text

Keep him safe - Chapter 32

You can read the previous Chapters here: Ch 1, Ch 5, Ch 10, Ch 15, Ch 20, Ch 25, Ch 30, previous chapter, Ao3 Link, Lo’s, Pat’s and Virgil’s aesthetics, You are Magical, I’m dying to be with you, The Dreamer

Pairings: Logan/Patton, Roman/Virgil

Words: 9.779

Warnings: social anxiety, cursing, arguments, Virgil’s potty mouth (let me know if I missed any)

Summary: Detective Logan Sanders and his best friend and dorky partner Roman Prince have made a dear friend in the lovely pattisier Patton. Logan however feels a lot more than friendship for the sweet man, even though he knows he cannot possibly have him. Their routine is broken abruptly when Logan finds bruises on Patton’s fair skin and slender wrists he could hardly have received from his costumary clumsiness. Meanwhile his partner Roman has his own demon to fight, which comes in the form of a little delinquent who seemed to have been pulled into a street gang quite against his will. Roman is determined to help the strange young man. It would be so much easier though if he just stopped hissing at him!

Notes: Exciting things! @ultimate-queen-of-fandoms2 sent me a Christmas gift which I am too happy about and @sebthesnipe has consented to support us with the beta reading (and she is intimidatingly good. I am in awe. So thorough, but who’s surprised by that? Thank you so much!) Also there are new people on the Keep Him Safe Discord server, so feel free to come chat with us there. It’s a fun little place and I love everyone there! Invitation: https://discord.gg/Y2WNAND

Chapter 32

“Motherf- why do you insist on sitting there, you bristly beast from hell?” Roman wailed.

For the third time, he had almost tripped over the raccoon cowering on the ground between the sofa and the corridor. He swore he had moved it aside – very carefully – with his foot. Twice. He had even bribed it to the kitchen with a few, strictly forbidden, snacks. There was no time for this! The ceremony – his ceremony – started in two hours and it would define his life, honor his entire career! It was-

“Ow! I will make a coat out of you! Or maybe even a fedora!” Roman swore, jumping on his unbitten foot. Gathering his courage, he snatched the monster around the fat middle and lifted the retching, gurgling critter high away from his body. His dearest Virgil would tame the gray and white monstrosity for him. If he would forgive him for almost throwing the thing at his face with a shrill screech.

“The fuck, man?!” Virgil yelped, catching the flying animal and immediately toppling over into Patton, who sat on the couch behind him during his attempt to wrangle the scratching raccoon that tried to swipe at his hands. True to Roman’s hopes, Virgil managed to roll it into the thick fabric of the blanket next to him and reduce it to a quivering ball of rage hissing in the general direction of the entire world.

Feeling Virgil’s glare hot on his person, Roman hunched his shoulders.

“Sorry?”

Patton, sitting quietly with his wool and kitten in his lap, drew his limbs closer to his body. He was already dressed and ready to go, as always making sure he was free to help everyone else.

After Roman’s split-second decision to attempt to save the thief, the results of his actions had taken a life of its own. His picture had been printed all over the local newspapers and had even made it to national television, though it was only a small feel-good piece after the news. He had been asked on actual interviews (which he had excelled at of course, charming as he was). Suddenly, people loved him. His pretty selfies were trending on Instagram and he even received actual handwritten fan-mail. Just yesterday, a small crowd of reporters had held him up on the way to the office, asking him questions and trying to get a good shot of his suddenly famous, and quite lovely, smile.

For the first time, perhaps in his whole life, Roman felt truly confident. He didn’t have to pretend to believe he deserved the world - he felt like he’d already held it in his hands. His laughs were filled with joy and when he looked at the mirror, he liked what he saw. He would ruffle his bright curls, giggling at his reflection before he danced around the bathroom, using his brush as a microphone singing happily. There was no need to force a smile any longer. He liked himself. If he was truly honest, the reason wasn’t the attention of his adoring fans recognizing him on the street and wanting his autograph, or the reporters flushing at his sweet smiles and charming manners. No, that was all exciting – so exciting! – but it truly was the knowledge of being loved unconditionally by the people that really mattered. It was the atmosphere at home. It was the quiet, safe feeling of evenings spent together; the knowledge that he was important to someone. It was Patton standing on his tiptoes and hugging him when he got home. It was Logan lecturing him about his fluid intake. It was Virgil, blushing and grumpily hunching his shoulders when their eyes met; the way he almost smiled at him.

The young man hadn’t taken his words back, despite Roman’s fear that he would. They hadn’t talked about the confession again, especially since Roman feared he would scare Virgil off, but something had notably changed. The barista was defensive of his reputation, growling and grumbling whenever someone so much as hinted at him needing help, but something in his demeanor towards Roman was different. Softer.

As the young detective pondered a chance at something new with Virgil with an excitedly beating heart, he finished fixing his tie and promptly made a mess of it. Groaning, he threw his hands in the air dramatically.

“This whole day shall end in disaster! It’s cursed! Fate has forsaken me!”

Virgil groaned and climbed around the growling ball buried in the blankets. “Let me, you theater nerd.” He mumbled.

Standing in front of him he was so much smaller than Roman. He could see the shadow his dark lashes cast on his moonlight pale cheeks. His hands were slender and nimble as they took hold of his mangled tie and pulled it from the taller man’s neck. Throwing it over his own shoulder, he leaned close to pull up the collar of the stark white dress shirt Roman still wore untucked, with his dark uniform slacks. The excitedly thundering heart slowed in the detective’s chest as Virgil drew closer. Obediently, he leaned his head forward to let the young man wrap the cool fabric around the back of his neck. God, he would let him do anything to him. He could not believe Virgil was here, voluntarily standing close. How he wanted to place his hands on the slender waist. The moment he had first laid eyes on him came back to him with such vivid clarity. The slim figure wrapped in stiff, cold leather; bruised, defensive and sharp toothed. He was still the most beautiful creature Roman had ever seen.

A hushed silence fell over the apartment like a heavy blanket of snow. Virgil formed the loop and pulled the end of tie through with slow, deliberate movements. He never lifted his eye to the intense gaze, focused on him as if he were the only thing worth looking at. Only the flush rising to his cheeks gave any indication that he was affected at all.

His pink lips were slightly parted. Roman couldn’t look away. He couldn’t recall a time where he felt so light as he did since Virgil had stepped close and spilled a rambling, confused confession from those lovely lips. Though he wouldn’t receive his award for a couple of hours, he already felt blessed beyond his wildest hopes by his sweet kitten. This was everything he had ever wanted.

As if hearing his sugary thoughts about him, Virgil tucked sharply at the tie, pulling it taunt. Choking a little, Roman fumbled to loosen the perfect knot. His wildcat flashed a sharp grin before ducking his head once again; his hands slipping down the sculpted chest and falling away, leaving a trail of heat.

Warmth was also rising to Virgil’s cheeks as he remembered that Patton was huddled up right behind him. Well fuck, that was embarrassing. Perhaps he should just put his head in the oven right now. In the face of his fear of losing Roman, his own courage had completely steamrolled him and truth be told, he had no idea where to go from here. This whole feelings thing was a fucking dumpster fire. He blamed that bitch of a thief.

Patton hadn’t noticed a thing, though. He was too busy leaning over the back of the couch, gaping at the man that was currently fussing over the shoulders of the freshly ironed uniform jacket he had put on a hanger. Logan, having finished dressing with plenty of time, had been forced to clean up after Roman; look for his white gloves, iron his uniform and hold the mirror for him to see the back of his head while he styled his curls. Now he’d entered the living room, dressed from head to toe in his pristine dress blues. The golden buttons and badge on his chest gleamed, as well as the elaborately stitched symbol of his department on his arm. His slacks were pressed to perfection and accentuated his long legs. He was even already wearing his polished shoes and white gloves and a rat on his shoulder. He looked entirely too attractive.

Virgil worried a little for Patton’s heart. Literally. He was growing quite red.

Even if his barista decided to tease him later and he was getting a little anxious of being caught, Patton was not missing a moment of this. He’d thought he had grown used to living with men who were this- this- well, this put together and handsome and kind and intimidatingly in control of their lives, but then something happened and he was baffled again. He didn’t know how to prepare for it either. Virgil looking cute as heck in the morning, he could deal with, even when it made him want to hug him and almost climb into his lap with love- he could just do that. And Roman was always as attractive as a model, even when he was complaining or drinking cocoa in his fluffy slippers. His adorableness just made him look soft, even moments after he would startl Patton with his dramatic outbursts. There was no reason not to tell him how pretty he was every day. But Logan? Yesterday he’d irritably dashed through the apartment in a shirt and boxer briefs looking for his trousers that Roman had abducted. Patton had felt like his heart would stop at the sight. He couldn’t just jump at him like that with his long, naked legs and socks and all! And sometimes Logan would just sit next to him opening his mail and the light would fall on his face and Patton just… he just….

He didn’t know what to do with himself. He’d never felt something like this. Especially something so confusing. His feelings were a fluctuating mess. Just when he thought he was healing and managing not to wake up in a cold sweat every night, fighting the conflicting urges to dial Trevor’s number or run to Logan for protection from him, something like this unbalanced him. The problem was - it didn’t seem to want to go away, despite Patton’s growing confusion. The more Logan got comfortable, the more he showed his real personality. It was a development Patton had expected with absolute certainty, but he hadn’t thought the older man would change quite like this. He’d expected to see more of the sides that had frightened him in the past. The quick anger. The dominance. The physical violence he was capable of. The demand to control everything. He wasn’t blind to Logan’s flaws. He’d learned the hard way, after all.

He wasn’t surprised to see those flaws now that the older man didn’t need to hide them anymore. After all, Patton had nowhere else to go.

Logan had plans for everything and needed things to go his way. When they didn’t, he’d grow irritable and even angry. This morning, Roman had given him reason to grow furious with him by losing his gloves, putting everyone in a right state looking for them. There had been screaming and wailing (all by Roman), which had made Logan grow progressively more quiet and frustrated. Tension had settled in Patton’s chest quickly. Whenever someone was angry, it felt like something lodged itself in his throat and made it hard to breathe. It made Patton feel small and frightened and guilty, no matter what he did or hadn’t done himself. He always, always expected to be punished.

Logan hadn’t hurt Roman though.

Well, he had hurt him a little by grabbing the scruff of his neck despite his complains about his hair and depositing him on the couch. Without his loud interference, he’d found the gloves in less than ten minutes.

Apparently oblivious to Patton’s fear, he had settled down next to his stressed partner and looked at him earnestly.

“Everything you need is here, Roman. There is no need to be nervous. You deserve this.”

Tension had fallen from his partner’s shoulders like a visible weight. Laughing bashfully, knowing now that the reason for his panic had turned out to be a kitten rolling up on his gloves, he scooted closer to his friend, shyly asking if he was still loved in his own way.

Without hesitation, Logan had wrapped an arm around the broad shoulders and leaned their foreheads together in a moment of quiet gentleness. Despite lecturing him about their timetable he had still ironed Roman’s jacket and de-furred the gloves before he’d finished dressing.

Those moments - where Patton expected things to go wrong, when Roman became whiny and annoying and Virgil started growling with stress and Logan began showing signs of anger, or simply when he and Virgil started talking each other into a rage over the latest failure to protect minorities or the environment - they still frightened Patton. They would keep frightening him for a long time, he feared. He couldn’t help but be aware of the powder keg that was the suddenly too small apartment where four men lived together who were all very different from each other and tended to rub each other to irritation.

Virgil was still defensive of Patton and his pride, and recently his claim on Roman. Roman was his own very special person who needed encouragement and attention and occasionally sugar followed by a hug. And Logan… well, he just needed things to work, be tidy and on time; which they never, ever were. Little conflicts were impossible to avoid, and Patton feared them turning into hurtful fights.

They never did.

Still, every time, Patton expected the blame to fall on him for being incompetent, or forgetting something, or making their situation more difficult by being there and needing space, by being in the way or simply getting in the way of Virgil’s grumpy insults or Roman’s flailing complaints or Logan’s growling lectures.

It certainly hadn’t helped that they were all a little tired after Professor Duke had rung the doorbell at four thirty this morning and had demanded they join his marching band. He’d been banging pans against each other. Logan had given him a cookie and told him to sleep before shoving him into the corridor a little harder than strictly necessary.

Patton couldn’t understand why no one was arguing with him, especially considering how stressful the time of Roman’s heroics had been. He wasn’t easy to live with, he knew that. He said silly things, or his presence became annoying, or he didn’t perform as he should – and recently, he hadn’t been performing at all. He had just been here, useless and waiting for something bad to happen. The longer he’d been sitting around doing nothing, the worse his anxiety became. He was starting to understand that he needed to get back to the café. His ankle was healed enough and his hands were almost like new. Even his bruises were barely visible anymore. He needed to make himself useful. Perhaps it would help to have something else to focus on. Something less hopeful and less likely to break his heart.

His little heart beat hard in his chest whenever he experienced Logan growing soft with Virgil or Roman, despite his stress. He couldn’t quite help quietly expecting the worst and when it didn’t happen, his heart was so full. Every time the moment where Patton expected a yell or a blow passed, he felt…Well, it was hard to explain... He felt untethered and perhaps irrationally relieved, grateful, probably and despite his shame, a little suspicious still.

Logan was affecting him most in those times when he acted so differently than how Patton had been conditioned to expect. When he untangled a purring kitten from another article of clothing and his large hands were so gentle, despite the threads coming loose, Patton felt soft; When he called the racoon a sabberndes Biest aus der Hölle and tried to wash the stolen jam off of its snapping jaws with a warm damp cloth, Patton breathed a sigh of relief, finding his chest filling with fondness; When Roman dropped into Logan’s lap while he was trying to read, ignoring the ‘oof’ of pain he elicited while loudly complaining before being deposited on the couch or carpet with nothing more than fond amusement and exasperation or Logan even indulging his partner and holding him a little (like Roman had hoped), Patton wanted to hug him with relief. He was so grateful whenever he could understandably yell at Roman or Virgil or the pets, and didn’t.

And then there was the way he treated Patton.

Every morning, he greeted him the same way. “Good morning, Patton. I hope you are well rested?” Spoken in this deep, confident voice that held a soft, warm tone to it. Every morning, he would discuss the latest news he had read with Virgil, on his tablet and then he’d drink the rest of his tea while asking Patton about his plans for the day. He would listen and look at him with his dark attentive eyes as if he were truly interested. Whenever Patton meekly tried to divert his attention from him because he had nothing interesting to say, Logan would ask follow-up questions and tried to find out if he needed anything for his day. Every evening when he got home, he would ask how Patton was feeling, if he had enjoyed himself, what he and Virgil had been doing. He checked on the progress of his healing, despite not even needing anything but two band aids anymore; he would carefully cradle Patton’s hands in his own and move his fingers this way and that to check his nerves and dexterity.

“Your hands are the basis of your profession. It is of vital importance that you are provided with optimal care to ensure the ideal conditions to regain your health.” He’d told Patton earnestly. The young baker had tried to swallow down the memories of wrapping his still bleeding hands himself, or throwing out batches of dough contaminated with his blood.

And now Logan was wearing a dress uniform.

After handing over the suit jacket, he placed the matching hat over his raven hair and straightened it critically, checking his reflection in the glass of the lion-flower picture Roman had finished. Turning to see if Virgil and Patton were at least ready to go, Logan found the baker huddled up on the couch where he usually sat in his attempt to make himself smaller. He was looking up at him with his honey brown eyes, dressed in soft, pale fabrics that accentuated his slim figure and innocent, pretty face.

Mortified, Logan found himself flushing. Roman had told him Patton would enjoy the view and he’d secretly hoped his partner was right, but now that he actually stood under the gaze of the young man he wanted, so desperately, to be close to, he felt as shy as a teenager. His thoughts rarely strayed far from Patton. He found himself wondering what he was doing; if he needed anything; if he and Virgil were safe and happy at home. He kept wondering what Patton was thinking. Now that Trevor had left their lives, he felt like they were suddenly at a crossroads where the pâtissier needed to choose his path. They hadn’t discussed long term arrangements yet and the insecurity of it was eating at Logan. He was certain attempting to seduce Patton into staying at his side was a poorly timed idea. Yet in moments like these, when he felt his body heat with diffidence and excitement due to the younger man’s attention, it was hard not to be tempted. Logan didn’t know where to go from here, but he knew he wanted to keep Patton. He wanted him to be happy and safe and to be where he could protect him. He wanted him for himself and that was a terrifying thought. Patton deserved so much, and so much could go wrong. The pâtissier was almost too precious to consider claiming for himself. He was too gentle, too fragile and deserving to belong to Logan.

Thankfully, Patton always appeared to sense when a distraction was needed. Despite flushing and huddling tightly against the pillows upon being caught staring, he cleared his throat and adopted his most cheerful smile.

“Let’s get you your medal, RoRo!”

“It is not just any medal.” Logan explained proudly. “The Medal for Valor is the department's third highest accolade. It is conferred upon police officers for acts of outstanding personal bravery intelligently performed in the line of duty at imminent personal hazard to life under circumstances evincing a disregard of personal consequences.”

“At least a few of those apply to Roman then.” Virgil grumbled.

“Hey, I did perform intelligently!” Roman cried, offended.

“No, you did not.” Both Virgil and Logan chimed simultaneously.

“You are very intelligent, though!” Patton assured his friend sweetly as Logan indulged Virgil’s raised hand for a slightly unsure high five.

Roman was a fucking snack, Virgil realized. He looked tall and regal and a little strict in his dress blues, like an authority figure; like an actor in a movie; like something Virgil would want to climb. Standing on the stage with his tall build and perfect posture and proud, sweet smile, he made cameras flash and hearts break all over the country. The ceremony would be broadcasted nationally that evening, due to the massive amount of attention that one fucking picture of him carrying that shiny bastard had gotten. Virgil was hiding it in one of his books. It was a good picture, okay? Whose business was it what he did with it?

Virgil clutched the cool rat in his hands closer to his chest, earning a small lick on the chin from the animal. Logan had given Nicodemus to him in the wise expectation of the irritation at all of the dressed up, thirsty bitches trying to seduce his man. Were his hands free, he’d have probably tried to knock out the scantily dressed, slightly orange, fake-tanned lady next to him for blowing a kiss at Roman as he beamed in their direction. Only the knowledge that it was him the attractive detective was smiling at seemed to calm him. He always did that: look at him like he was the fucking sun. It was fucking sad.

His heart fluttered.

Fuck him. Fuck him. He was too good. He was receiving a fucking Medal of Valor, for fucks sake. After receiving his medal, his speech was clear and eloquent and touching – was that bitch crying over there?! She better keep her hands to herself!

His teeth clenched with the realization that Roman could just wade into the sea of his admirers and choose whoever he wanted. They would try their hardest to give him anything he wanted. Roman looked so heroic with his uniform and the gleaming medal he’d earned. He was gorgeous and nice and fair and caring and none of those hoes knew how fucking annoying he was as well. Virgil counted himself lucky that he knew, though.

But how did one keep the attention of a man so hungry for adventure and excitement if they couldn’t even stand to look at their own body after a shower? There were things that Virgil wanted, certainly. However, he was afraid of so many things that came with becoming Roman’s lover. The mushy, emotional crap for one: Roman wanted attention and flamboyant, public displays of affection and confessions and shit. That last one had nearly killed him.

Or the fact that he would have to tolerate being seen naked and his scars being touched. Having to expose his tattoo. Possibly even having to deal with the memories of the humiliation and pain he’d experienced. He had no frame of reference for consensual, healthy sexuality and he had the feeling, unlearning all of the crap he had put himself through would be bloody painful. He would try, though; for Roman. The issue was that there would be no comfortable, romantic lovemaking like Roman probably dreamed of. There would be a Virgil with body issues and an aggressive protection of his secrets and image and- and fucking moves he learned on the street. How did one fuck someone like a boyfriend? The fuck was the difference?

And how the fucking fuck did people learn to live with each other all day anyway? Didn’t they irritate each other? How was he supposed to go from ‘don’t touch me, you son of a bitch’ to ‘I love you so much, let’s spend every waking second together skipping through a field of daisies’? He didn’t want all that. He just wanted Roman. He wanted to touch when he felt like it, be comfortable when he was close to him and know he was happy and fulfilled and that he wouldn’t go anywhere. He wanted to claim him so that he would have the right to fucking bite anyone who wanted to hurt him. He wanted. He wanted so much. For most of it, he had no words. It was just this dumb, helpless yearning he felt all. The. Fucking. Time.

How was he supposed to cool it and strategize his next move when Roman sprung a fucking uniform at him? Did he have to be such a beautiful himbo?

“They sure look good, don’t they, kiddo?” Patton asked softly, wrapping his arm around Virgil’s without taking his eyes off the clean lines of Logan’s body where he was waiting for him as his partner shook hands.

“Hmm, guess so.” Virgil mumbled, keeping his gaze a little lower than Patton’s. He had no qualms about enjoying the way those slacks hugged the curve of Roman’s backside. He was hot. He better make sure none of his fucking ‘fans’ got too close. Virgil would hate to force Roman to arrest him for punching a bitch.

None of Roman’s fans got the chance to lay their greedy hands on him though. Logan, severe, tall and very intimidating, awaited him when he bounced down the stairs catching his partner as he lunged himself into his arms with a happy cheer. Logan also glared at the waiting crowd over Roman’s shoulder. He was a real bro.

Upon releasing the older detective, Roman excitedly grabbed his friend’s hand and dashed straight towards the other two, ignoring the crowd of reporters and dressed up hyenas.

“Tell me how fabulous I was!” He demanded, beaming at them. Virgil felt faint with relief. Roman only had eyes for him.

Throughout the celebration at their favorite pub, Rosa and Logan kept a close eye on him and discreetly scared away everyone who got too close or too interested. Only Patton and - he realized with warmth – Virgil, were encouraged to be close by at all times.

There had been no need to be afraid, as it turned out. Roman was eager to talk to Virgil, to include him in all of his conversations, to share his happiness with him. He was always polite and nice to everyone, but his attention always seemed to find its way back to Virgil. He even invited him outside – away from his party - when he felt the young man had had enough of the people around him.

The evenings had grown cold lately; Roman pulled his suit jacket off without asking and tentatively draped it over the narrow shoulders of the young man that had told him he wanted him. His Virgil. His wildcat.

His green eyes were filled with more awe than they had been when he had received the highest honor he could have ever dreamed of. Virgil didn’t shrug him off; the slender shoulders under his hands relaxed as he rubbed warmth into them. The light of the pub cast flickering shadows over the sharp cheekbones that had been so flushed with possessive anger during the ceremony. Roman had been barely able to repress his giddiness. There had been no misunderstanding Virgil’s jealousy. He felt so wanted, so beautiful and precious. The thief had made him feel those things too, he couldn’t deny that he had liked their advances, but this – this feral, defensive anger – it was the truest proof of affection to Roman. Virgil made his heart come alive. His feelings were real and raw and Roman – he was so excited, so happy. So in love.

He wanted to sweep Virgil into his arms and squish him to his chest in unbridled happiness. He wanted to clutch him close and gush about his love for him.

He wanted to kiss him.

Feeling the intense gaze on him still, despite clearly hoping Roman would stop looking at him so closely, making him feel so fucking shy, Virgil dared to look directly at him. He was still so anxious, the poor darling. Roman would coax him into his arms and make him yearn for his kiss. He wanted Virgil to want to kiss him so much he would pull him close with impatient hands. He would be a gentleman. And while he waited, he would continue to enjoy the exciting, hot feelings Virgil’s possessive anger gave him. It felt so good to be wanted.

After the party, Roman was bumbling about the apartment in a happy daze, humming to himself. Virgil slouched, heading towards the kitchen and started rummaging through the fridge for some snacks, badly needing to come down from an evening of glaring at his competitors. A content, quiet atmosphere was settling over the rooms.

The kitten had started mewling as soon as the door opened and ran towards them to be picked up. It eagerly rose onto its hind legs when Patton leaned down to pet it. Cradling it close, he breathed in the warm scent of the downy fur against his face, enjoying the way it rubbed itself against his cheek.

Only Logan was looking a little lost in the middle of the living room. He had received Nicodemus from Virgil and was now holding him safely in both hands, almost compulsively petting his downy fur with his thumb.

“You alright there, Lo?” Patton asked softly. The Detective’s eyes were dark and unreadable as he focused on the baker.

“Certainly. However… there may be an issue that has caught my attention. Considering my limited social competence. I have not been entirely certain how to approach the subject. The last thing I wish to do is offend or cause stress. However, Remy has advised me to discuss it, so…” The detective rambled a little awkwardly, holding on to the rat for courage.

It had been a while since Patton had seen him this nervous. His own heart fluttered a little with discomfort. He immediately wanted to help his kind friend out somehow. He just hoped he hadn’t done something wrong.

“You can talk to me, if you like! Is there anything I can do? Did- did I do something?” He asked, his voice growing feeble and quiet. His palms suddenly sweaty against the kitten’s silky fur.

Logan’s brows furrowed with worry as he observed the obvious discomfort he had caused. Roman briefly distracted him by wailing pitifully at not being allowed to touch the cheese sandwiches Virgil was grilling. There were far too many potential interruptions around here.

“You did nothing wrong, Patton. Please do not be alarmed. Would you be comfortable with discussing the situation, as I perceived it, in the privacy of my bedroom? So we may not be interrupted?”

Oh Tesla, he was blushing! Patton would come to think he had impure intentions with him! He worried about frightening him with his request as soon as he had made it. Perhaps he should have asked Virgil to use his room.

Indeed, Patton looked taken aback. Glancing at the corridor, he seemed to need a moment to gather his courage. Logan hadn’t seen him this anxious since they had managed to somewhat soothe his fears after the first few days of healing under his roof.

“Oh, yes. For sure!” He chirped, suddenly smiling brightly. The expression was lovely on his pretty face, yet it failed to reassure the detective. After all, he now understood how much Patton covered up with his cheerful expressions.

“Are you quite certain, Patton? I will not be offended if you feel more comfortable not being alone with me. We can invite Virgil, if you would prefer having him there.” Logan offered gently. He couldn’t help hurting a little upon making the suggestion. Patton had trusted him with his vulnerability so much in the past, yet now he seemed weary once again. He was grateful for his phone calls with Remy, his friend had prepared him for the likelihood of regression into old fears and habits.

‘Recovery is no more straight than you are, babe.’ He had explained.

“Oh no, it’s all good! I just want to fix whatever makes you feel sad!” Patton promised, perhaps sensing his sadness. He stepped closer, wishing to soothe the droopy expression on his dear Logan’s face. He looked anxious and hurt. The baker had little room for his own fear when his friend was distressed. He wanted to listen and comfort the gentle detective. Upon finding himself in a position of care and protection, it was easy to remember how badly he wanted to be the cause of Logan’s happiness.

“Satisfactory. However, I must demand you promise me to alert me if you ever feel uncomfortable. I shall not take anything you say personally.” Logan implored, trying to mean what he said.

The moment Logan stepped into his bedroom he realized he was in over his head. This space was so intimate and ill equipped to have a conversation between individuals of their currently uncertain personal connection. So much could go wrong! He didn’t have the social competency to pull this off! Where would Patton even sit? There was only one chair! Sitting on the bed together was out of the question for various reasons. He didn’t even know how far apart he should sit to give him enough space. What if he sat too far away and his friend thought him angry or odd? Of course, he’d have to be the one to offer a seat to Patton, it was only polite to do so, but if he chose the bed for him, he might think Logan would try something. There was the chair for him to sit in of course. It only permitted one person to be seated and was therefore the superior choice. However, the bright orange epidendrum orchid he’d propped up against it made sitting in it awkward and uncomfortable, since it spilled its flowers all over the backrest.

Logan started sweating.

“Excuse me please, Patton. May I just…” He mumbled, hurriedly trying to squeeze past the pâtissier without touching him while Patton stood uncertainly at the foot of the bed, waiting for Logan to make a decision.

After settling Nicodemus on the bed, Logan’s suddenly clumsy hands fumbled with the orchid as he tried to free the chair for Patton’s use, almost making him drop the flowerpot. A few pebbles of the fir bark the plant was potted in tumbled to the floor as he tried to squeeze the flower into a niche on the windowsill where the blossoms were draped over another houseplant for support.

Logan was suddenly, terribly nervous. “Verdammt.” He muttered, despairing.

“Hey there, it’s okay.” Patton cooed suddenly. His voice sounded gentle. “Come on, Logan. It’s all good.”

Patton’s soft, smaller hand wrapped around Logan’s clammy one and pulled tentatively. He couldn’t look at the little baker suddenly. Surely, he was disgusted by his sweaty hands and too polite to pull away. What was the social etiquette in a situation like this? Should he pull away? Should he excuse his behavior, or should he rather not draw attention to his shortcomings? He hadn’t felt this nervous about the other man in months. Why did he have to unravel so pitifully now that Patton needed him to be strong?

Patton’s fear seemed to have melted away entirely though. Calmly, he pulled on the detective’s hand and settled them both on the edge of the bed, facing the lush plants and large windows. His attention was entirely focused on Logan.

“There’s no need to be nervous, okay? It’s just little old me. You can tell me anything.” He promised softly. His hair fell into his eyes, softening the inquisitive look. He employed just the right tone, the right amount of contact, settled them at the perfect distance from each other. Logan was simply baffled at how easy he made this terrible, messy task appear.

“I don’t know how to do this correctly.” He confessed without having consciously decided to. The words just tumbled from his lips; coaxed out by the easy, trusting atmosphere Patton created without any effort.

“Do what correctly?” The smaller man asked without judgment or impatience. He felt like he could sit here and listen to Logan for however long it took. He seemed to unlock something in the detective that made him quite helpless to uphold his strenuously built control.

“My hands are sweaty.” He mumbled, realizing too late that his statement was neither an answer to Patton’s question nor did it relay any information he didn’t already possess, since he was currently holding said sweaty hands. It wasn’t even an apology. Suddenly his jacket was far too warm over his shameful blush. The baker took his change in topic in stride.

“That’s okay. So were mine a moment ago. I rubbed them on poor Nugget.” He confessed, nodding to the gray kitten rubbing itself on the stoically seated rat on the bed behind them. “That’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

“Thank you for your considerate words, Patton. However-” Noting too late that it was probably rude to keep holding hands after acknowledging the uncomfortable condition, he pulled his hands free and wiped them on his uniform slacks with more attention than the task warranted. What had he been talking about?

“I wish to clarify- I mean - what I failed to convey is that the issue of my perspiration is only a symptom of the reason I am displeased with my shortcomings. I am afraid my request for a conversation has been worded in a way that might have caused you anxiety which is, in fact, the last thing I had wished for. My objective in asking for a private consultation has been entirely for your benefit. Yet I fear I have miserably failed, by forcing you to focus on my own needs once again.”

“Oh no! Logan, it’s fine. Please don’t be upset. I’m okay! I’m always okay. I don’t mind talking about what worries you at all. That’s what I’m here for!”

Kindly, Patton wrapped his hands around the awkwardly clenched ones of his friend, probably knowing he had been obsessing over what to do with them. After a moment of trying to pull himself together, Logan breathed a deep sigh. Patton’s hands were so soft. The pastel band aids on his fingers were covered with cute round bear shaped cupcakes. The even shape of his short nails gave his messy, anxious mind something to focus on. Roman had been cheerfully filing them yesterday after Virgil had refused him access to his bitten ones. Trying to breathe evenly, he rubbed his thumb over the back of the pale fingers rhythmically.

“Patton, would you be averse to a conversation about your constitution instead of my own? There is a … a concern I wish to address - if you would be amenable to do so. Of course, should you prefer to converse with Virgil or Roman about the topic, or not at all, I will not push you. I may not be the right person to offer an insight into emotional matters.” He rambled. He just couldn’t seem to stop showering Patton with his winding sentences and formal language even though he knew the distancing speech patterns were the exact opposite of what his friend probably needed right now.

A moment of silence made the detective’s worry skyrocket once again. Had he pushed too hard?

“What do you want to know?” Patton finally asked softly, adding “I’m fine. Honestly.”

Logan dared to risk a glance up at the baker’s lovely face, worried he had already backed him into a corner and made him defensive like both Virgil and Remy had warned him of.

‘You do come across a little strong sometimes, ya know, sweets? He trusts you. Just let your, like, nerdy, stiff charm do the work and make him feel, like, safe or whatever.’

Safe. He usually had no trouble offering safety to Patton except for the cases when he appeared to be the problem. How did he make him feel safe from himself when he didn’t even know what he had done? Virgil had noticed the issue as well. He had been so kind and respectful when voicing his own worries over Patton’s fear. He hadn’t been willing to place the blame on Logan’s shoulders, though.

‘I got that way too, sometimes.’ He had confessed. ‘Something in my head is messed up and then anything could set me off. Still does, sometimes.’

Tesla, Logan was grateful he had Remy to help Virgil deal with those issues. He couldn’t bear the thought of his little delinquent being left alone with his wounds. Unfortunately, Patton had no such professional help, so it fell to him to try.

“Are you comfortable here?”

Again, something about the way Patton made himself so accepting and approachable made Logan spill his thoughts without reflection. If the pâtissier wanted, he could play him like an instrument.

Patton stilled, looking startled. He pulled his shoulders up, immediately looking small and insecure.

“O-of course! Did I do something to make you think I’m not? I’m so sorry if I seemed ungrateful or made you antsy. I really didn’t want you to worry! You do so much for me and I’m very thankful! Everything you do is amazing and I couldn’t be happier! I’m really sorry for looking selfish! You really don’t need to do even more! I just- you can just ignore me and – and if there’s anything I can do to help or- or make you more comfortable-”

“Patton, please wait!” Logan begged, confused about the change that had come over their conversation. How had they come from his question to Patton thinking he was selfish for making Logan worry?

“I’m afraid I am not following. Please allow me to clarify. I am very pleased to have you with us. My worry is a result of my affection for you and does not inconvenience anyone in the slightest. You have no reason to apologize for being cared about. And you have never seemed ungrateful or have in fact had any need to appear grateful at all. I am not certain where I failed to communicate that my question was entirely caused by my honest wish to ensure your comfort. Your possible unhappiness is no reason to apologize at all. Your feelings are… what is the correct terminology? Your feelings are – valid, I believe. And I merely – I wish to ensure your happiness. I feel I have failed you in some way and I am not blaming you for it. Please, help me fix it.” He begged softly.

Patton seemed to need a moment to follow his long sinuous speech. Still, he tried to reassure him.

“You didn’t do anything wrong, Logan! It’s all good. Please don’t ever worry about me! I’m happy! I’m always happy!” He claimed, bravely trying to smile at the detective.

Logan’s shoulders fell upon realizing that they were back to Patton pretending he wasn’t hurting. He always had a hard time figuring out the right path to take when his friend refused to cooperate. He knew his claim to be false, but how could he make him confess to it? He was fairly certain an interrogation was the wrong path to take. It would only frighten and isolate Patton, but even using the wrong tone – something he was very prone to – could cause the same effect. Stress made his heart race irritatingly. This was not in any way close to his comfort zone.

While he groped around for words – or tried not to use too many at once – Patton watched him with the attention of a small creature waiting for the chance to escape a predator. He didn’t miss the disheartened look.

Logan looked very lost and overwhelmed, suddenly. Patton had only meant to reassure him! Trevor had always been the most easy to handle when Patton had made sure his boyfriend didn’t have to deal with his annoying feelings of loneliness or fear or the issues he wanted to discuss. Taking the problems from him had been safest. Logan however, clearly had hoped for a different outcome.

Because he was Logan, of course.

As Patton waited for signs of aggression or annoyance, the understanding of his own actions dawned on him: With Trevor, fights had come over them like the tides. There had been a certain rhythm to it, to the dissatisfaction, the feeling of insignificance, the unintentional insult that caused the tension to erupt and crash over Patton. He had been waiting for the same thing to happen. Every episode after a fight had been filled with regret and roses and vows to do better. The time of reconciliation and wooing Patton had always, always followed a fight and had also always given way to apparent peace before the slow building of new anger. He’d learned to read the signs and brace himself and he had been doing the very same thing to his friends: To him, the way Virgil kicked Roman for trying to steal food; the passionate ranting between him and Logan; the demanding, loud complaining of Roman; and especially the frightening lectures Logan gave in return. They were all signs of a culmination of fury that would inevitably and painfully blow up.

They weren’t, though, and consciously, Patton knew this.

Roman was always this way. Ever since they had met, he had been insulted easily and claimed the world was treating him with terrible injustice or he’d tried to rile Logan up with his overwhelming physical contact.

Even since Virgil had come into his life, he had been dark and brooding and easily enraged by some political decision or economical problem and he’d always had been quick to retaliate against Roman’s attempts at closeness with playful, minor violence like a hiss, or a scratch, or an elbow to the ribs, that brought them into contact.

And Logan… Logan had always, always been an obsessive, stubborn man with a need for order and a habit for lecturing and ordering Roman around. He had always glared at him and threatened to have him adopted or make him eat, or grabbed him by the back of the neck or generally complained moodily about any and all messes.

None of those things had changed; neither of those moody, loud men had ever tried to be anything else. They had never been better than they were now and they also had never been worse. There was no hidden pattern to their behavior. Their coexistence wasn’t any different than it had been a day, or a week, or a month ago. Patton was just expecting it to be. He simply noticed the little arguments more, feared the consequences of the wailing more, and expected Roman and Logan to turn on Virgil for being an aggressive little thing.

None of their interactions were as malevolent as Patton had come to conceive them to be, now that he considered them through a more objective lens. Virgil might swipe at Roman and tell him he was a greedy oaf, but he blushed when he looked up at him and was so clearly flustered by the effect of the other man that he didn’t know how else to interact with him, lest he see his vulnerability. Though he tried to push and shove at him, he actually sought contact with the excuse of his physical arguments.

Roman on the other hand wasn’t fooled for a second. He kept goading and tempting Virgil to engage in their little play-fights with him to invite him closer. Sometimes they would argue until they laughed; sometimes Virgil would howl in frustration and tackle Roman onto the couch where they would both roll around until the young man’s nervous energy was spent and he would become soft and tired.

Neither was ever truly angry.

And Logan… his tone when he condemned the latest immigration bill was passionate and frustrated and it frightened Patton. He remembered the cold grip of sudden fear as the detective had leaned over Virgil’s shoulder to read an article he had shown him. His flare of annoyance had been directed at congress, but Patton had seen Virgil – his hurt, beloved kiddo – sitting so close and so easily harmed. He just couldn’t not be afraid for him when tempers flared. But Logan hadn’t been mad at Virgil and the barista hadn’t felt threatened. His arguments had supported the older man’s. They had both ranted at the same thing, united in their feelings, comfortable in their shared views. Yet Patton’s emotions had only reacted to raised voices in the room.

When had Patton lost the ability to see past the dynamic this group had always shared? It was like he was too close, too emotionally involved to see past the immediate flares of moods and tones and failed to see what had always been glaringly obvious before.

These men loved each other.

Virgil was so enamored with Roman, he seemed utterly overwhelmed. Roman simply melted at any little bit of affection he was given. In any of their harmless fights, his eyes shone with joy. Whenever Logan complained about his partner’s habits and behavior and untidiness, the dramatic detective seemed more at ease than before, knowing his friend was focused entirely on him. He preened and played and put on a show, knowing he was being paid attention to and looked after. And Logan and Virgil… had he ever really been given reason to fear? Though Logan was plenty grumpy with Roman, who was plenty intentionally annoying with him, he was never even curt with Virgil. Every interaction between them was respectful and even affectionate. Logan always spoke to him with that soft, that polite, articulate gentleness that was so special about him. His hands would find their way into Virgil’s hair every morning to groom him, since the young man apparently refused to use a hairbrush. He would ask about his day and encourage the young man to pursue his interests. Every meal the barista made was complimented earnestly and every contribution to a conversation was listened to. Those two were comfortable with each other in a silent, calm way Patton didn’t really have anything to compare it to. They would just sit next to each other and read and still feel like they were enjoying each other’s company.

And of course, the most prominent flaw in Patton’s belief that he had to expect to be hurt, was the fact that neither of them treated him anything like they treated each other.

Virgil was soft with him. He handed him the kitten and chatted with him more than he probably would with anyone else. He watched him with dark, worried eyes and sought contact with the wish to reassure Patton. He even offered to talk, despite not enjoying emotional conversations.

Roman was very open about his affection for Patton; he liked to hug him every day, style his hair and even pick him up to twirl him around and kiss his face. His smiles were always filled with joy when he saw him. The young detective was like an overexcited puppy with him, loving his attention and wanting everything Patton had to give.

Logan was especially kind to him, actually. His touches were the most respectful he had ever been treated with. When his hands touched his back to guide him out of a dancing Roman’s way or when he would gently tap his elbow to get his attention, Patton would even describe the contact as tender. His eyes were always warm when he looked at him and his hugs… the little pâtissier was hit hard with longing. He hadn’t hugged Logan in so long, just because his expectations had made him see ghosts in every shadow. His friend must have felt so abandoned. He knew Logan had trouble reading a room or understanding certain signals, but there was no way he had missed the distance Patton had created between them.

This was what he had meant with his question.

“Oh Logan, I’m so sorry!” Patton cried out, knowing full well his sudden mood swing would terribly unsettle Logan.

Seeing the man clearly now that he was actually looking, he realized how much he wanted to be with Logan again. He had lived next to him and had protected himself from the idea of him, based on the things that he had learned Trevor would do; but he hadn’t really connected to him in the last couple of weeks. His own illusions had cost him Logan’s comfort, causing him to be more shaken and saddened, which had made his fears worse.

He was such an idiot. So much misery, for nothing.

Blessedly, a bewildered looking Logan hesitantly opened his arms with a look on his face that clearly stated he had no idea if his offer was appropriate or not. Patton dove in.

A shuddering breath made him shake.

Another made him hiccup.

Logan seemed to react on muscle memory and wrapped steadying arms around the narrow body, squishing him to his chest and almost settling him in his lap. His hugs were never casual. He pulled Patton in tight and buried his face in his hair, seeming to envelop him entirely. Logan was taller than the baker, making it easy for Patton to wrestle his glasses off half heartedly and nuzzle into Logan’s shoulder. Warm darkness deprived Patton of sights, sounds and the sensations of the outside world. He was completely wrapped up in a living, breathing hold. Squeezing his eyes shut, Patton focused on the chest he pressed his forehead against, the rising and falling, the smell of freshly washed fabric. He wished Logan was wearing the dark blue, fluffy wool sweated he had pulled on yesterday. The one Roman had promptly snuggled against it, demanding his head to be rubbed. He actually wanted that too.

Hoping for the same affectionate treatment, the smaller man rubbed his cheek against the shirt. The hand that tentatively buried itself in the lush curls made all tension flow from his softer body. Patton sagged against Logan and sighed deeply, a pleasurable shiver running down his spine. It felt like stepping under the hot spray of the shower on a cold winter day. He couldn’t get enough. The telltale sensation of Logan searching for words and shyly breaking off before he had formed them made affection course through Patton. It made him want to shake his hands in the air and hop up and down on his toes. He was giddy with it.

“Um… would you, perhaps – for the sake of ensuring your comfort - like to lay down, Patton? Not to attempt any inappropriate activities of course! I am only proposing to change to a reclining position since Roman and Virgil appeared to be comforted by a prolonged-”

“Yes, please!” Patton chirped, immediately enamored by the idea. He was clutching onto Logan’s back so hard, the other had to be uncomfortable. He couldn’t seem to get close enough. Everything else was overwhelming, with too much light and too much noise. He wanted to curl up and be held, he wanted to be protected and hidden and he wanted Logan. Before he knew it, his friend had awkwardly maneuvered him onto the bed while trying to pull off his stiff uniform jacket at the same time. The moment his head hit the pillow, Patton was ready to disappear in this man’s arms. He shuffled as close as he could and felt so, so safe. Despite his sudden fear of the world around him, every breath brought him closer to tranquility. As long as he could stay in this position, petted and hidden and held just right, he could put himself back together.

Weariness washed over him and made his limbs heavy. His constant fear had exhausted him so. A deep breath felt weighted by worry and stress, and fell away as he breathed out, relaxing more and more with every exhale.

Logan, steady and patient and solid, held onto him and evenly stroked his head. Patton knew without looking that the detective had closed his eyes. His limbs were relaxing against his waist too, becoming heavy with relief. He seemed to understand there was no space for words for once.

Both men fell into a light doze and eventually drifted off to sleep.

Patton woke hours later to the dim, respectful light of the planet nightlights. Nugget had woken him with a harrumphing mewl. It flinched in its sleep and paddled its paws before falling into a snoring doze once again. Both the little kitten and the rat had settled down above his head on the pillow. Logan was still deeply asleep, soft and unguarded. His hair was spread over the pillow on one side and his glasses were squished over his face. Gently, Patton untangled a hand and pulled them off. Had he been any less sleepy, he wouldn’t have dared to just reach out this way, but as he pulled the frame off, Logan simply grumbled in his sleep and nuzzled back into the pillow. His arm hung limp over the slender figure curled close, entirely unthreatening. Very slowly, Patton settled back down and looked up at the sleeping man. The lights seemed to soften his severe features. Seeing him this vulnerable, Patton felt so, so much. His heart was so full, he could barely contain it. He was safe here with this man who’d never asked for anything but his trust and friendship, and he knew, despite the worry he had caused, that Logan would forgive him. He had forgotten all of this, and he feared his silly head might forget again, but even if he knew it or not, he wouldn’t be hurt or pushed away. He was home.

With the tiredness of his emotional turmoil still heavy in his bones, Patton fell asleep again before he could consider leaving.

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

So this is where the boys are taking me. Interesting. I hope I’ll have the next chapter up sooner for you. It jumped me with some Logan angst, the bugger. Then, we will get where I actually wanted to go with the fancy uniforms!

ART:

We got art!!!!!! So excited I LOVE LOVE LOVE getting art!!!!!!! This lovely piece was made by my dearest @olcia46 (wonderful, beautiful human) and is utter gorgeous!!!!

Then @ravenclawunicorn1 created this amazing calligraphy of the title which I am utterly crazy about!!!!! I wanted to use it as a new header, but it turned out a little big. I am so awes by it, though. I’ll have to look as it a bunch more!

Not strictly art but super duper helpful for any readers who enjoy a visual: The comparison of the Sides’ heights in KHS (along with a post about their ages and such. Thank you @violetblossem

Next Chapter

#Sanders Sides #Logicality #Prinxiety #patton sander #Logan Sanders #Detective AU #Keep him safe #my writing #Eva writes

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chupitulpa · 4 years

Text

It's me again, permaswitch guy.

TW: depression, suicide

The same anon from the last post asked:

Hey, thanks for your reply and for uploading it so fast. I come here to answer your reply and add a little something after.

First of all thank you for your acceptance and kindness, as a tulpamancer but also as a depressed person. Come to think of it it is ridiculous how long we took to reach this point, over 6 times longer than most, but then it’s logic too because of how randomly I forced over time. To lazy or extremely lazy hosts, there is hope. I don’t encourage laziness on anyone of course, but you can still achieve progress if you give it enough time. This may sound counterproductive, but trying so badly can cause a lot of stress and doubts, while giving your brain time to accomodate to a new mindset might be helpful. Ideally hosts should find a balance between forcing and letting the mindset in.

Next let me talk about your proposed alternative solutions. I find it strange that you encourage me to step further into my comfort zone. It’s probably because I haven’t told you anything, but this is already what I’m doing as much as I can and I keep being told this is only making things worse because I have to step out of it to make changes and go anywhere in my life. However in contrast, you think more like me. I’m so much going into my comfort zone that I’m avoiding talking to anyone or leaving home ever. May expand on it later. About groups to fit in: I don’t work well on 1-to-1, leave alone on groups. That’s why I prefer being away of tulpa Discord servers. I always go unnoticed and/or misunderstood. Looking for friends or relationship outside of our system is something I’ve finally given up on, after continuous failures. May expand on it later. Lastly I’ve been to therapists for almost all my life and while this sounds like nonsense, they and medications have never proven to help me personally. I find a simple talk with my tulpa to be much better than years of medication and therapists.

Before I go with the last issue I’d like to say that unlike many would think I have morals too, so yeah, it’s probably a better idea for us to switch than for me to create another tulpa yet for the sake of switching.

Now, I’ve had this issue going on for my entire life and specially since 2020. This is not strictly related to tulpamancy but I think many tulpas will be able to relate to this, unlike most hosts. I, however, am host, and am dealing with this.

Many people like to think of themselves as something else than humans or even feel as if they were also something else. Most notably the furry community, which I’ve been interacting with for years, is full of people who besides humans would like to be a fursona, or even feel more as if they were their fursona than a human. I, however, take this to the next level. I have been both unvoluntarily and voluntarily distancing myself from the concept “human”. It is not something positive to me being one. As such I’ve been suffering of “species dysphoria”, or am trans-species. I bet many many tulpas who have fronted have had this issue if they weren’t made after humans to begin with. However I cannot say the same for hosts. Indeed I’m the only host I know so far who thinks they aren’t human and would rather be some yellow dragon drawn by a furry artist. This issue is easily fixed with a switch. Not saying I’m switching because of this, but it is something nice knowing that I can stop being trapped in a human body and just be myself. Believe me, species dysphoria can get to the same points or even worse than gender dysphoria. Fortunately I never had the latter. So maybe now you understand why I am isolating myself too.

Looking back at my old asks here now I know much more about tulpas than I used to back then. Yeah I’m happy we made progress too, but I wish things would have been different. I wish I could be more consistent and this wouldn’t have took or take nearly as long. Not only for seeing it as a chore, but also because we run out of time to survive. Some pressure to live on. Thanks to my tulpa I’m more hopeful and relaxed, and we’re trying our best to delay another suicide attempt for as long as we can. But we can’t do that forever so ultimately it’ll happen. Thanks to him I also think about it twice since now it’s two of us.

Say, may I ask if you’re religious? What do people tend to think on tulpa afterlife? It’s not a topic you hear much about in the community.

Oh I almost forgot. I want to get rid of this life, the human life, 100%. This means after switch I don’t care what happens on this side. Giving the fronter full permission to do as wanted, as opposed to other cases where the original host wanted to leave but also still cared about their human body’s life, bringing unnecessary worry and ultimately a regret of permanent switch. I think this is something important. I always think of this life as a burden that was put on me, and have been despising it since 2008. As such, I see my parents in the same eyes as you would see a tulpamancer who creates a tulpa solely to have them switch. Totally unacceptable behaviours. Of course, I understand a child can never choose to be born or not, while a tulpa can choose whether to switch or not. But my parents could have refrained from having a son in the first place, specially if they were going to be neglectful parents. This world is one unjust place.

My reply:

Don't worry about how long it took to get there. Some people barely force at all and have a talking tulpa in a day or two. Others work at it for years before hearing a peep. Laziness happens too and definitely contributes. Stress, doubts, laziness and working too hard at it can all produce slower progress. And depression contributes to all of the above as well.

As a depressed and socially awkward person, I have to say I can relate to the urge not to go out or talk to people. The current situation in 2020 has not helped either. Like you, I didn't get a whole lot out of meds or talk therapy. Tulpa stuff does help a great deal, but I keep falling off it and back into the awful depression.

I do think that full isolation isn't healthy. However, as far as I can tell, this doesn't seem to apply as much to tulpas if the host/whoever is fronting interacts with people some. Whether the tulpas are fully active and thinking or just snoozing in the background, they seem to benefit from the interaction the same way the host/fronter does. Or at least that's our experience. I don't know whether it works like that because they're in the background experiencing it to some degree, or if it affects something that's shared between all of us; my tulpas seem to think it's a combination of the two.

If the tulpa you already made is able and willing to try switching, give it a shot. I don't know how many other tulpa systems this applies to, but I think there's a special bond between the original host and their first tulpa: You discovered all the stuff you know about tulpamancy together, encountered and overcame the obstacles together, and discovered a lot about your minds together. If he's unable, doesn't want to, or tries it and decides it's not for him, you could (together!) try making another. But be sure to value them as a person and friend first and foremost, and emphasize that the switching thing is entirely optional.

I actually know more than one person who, for one reason or another, wishes that they would wake up in a world where they're a dragon, pony, canine, etc. The species dysphoria is certainly tied in with depression one way or another though I'm not sure which starts first. I can see why you won't care to interact with humans if you don't identify with or relate to them.

I am not religious. If there is an afterlife though, I would certainly want to be together with my tulpas in it. I haven't seen a lot of discussion on it, particularly since I've really just been involved with Tulpa.info which takes a secular, scientific viewpoint.

I'm curious. What would you like to do after switching? Be basically like a tulpa, doing your own thing in your wonderland and interacting with the new fronter when he has time?

Since you mention suicide, I feel obligated to mention the crisis text line. Text HOME to 741741 (US), 85258 (UK) or 686868 (Canada) to start a chat with an understanding person who can help you through your moment of crisis. I know people who have used it and they had positive experiences. Or there's 1-800-273-8255 (US) if you'd rather talk. Or a list of similar services in more countries than I can count.

#submission #question #tulpa #tulpae #tulpas

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shipmistress9 · 5 years

Text

FTLOAP - 42: What If We Rewrite The Stars?

Fandom: HTTYD

Theme: Hiccstrid - Medieval-style AU - Romance - Angst/Hurt/Comfort

Summary: Reduced to little more than a stable boy, Hiccup, despite his noble birth, has few prospects for more in life. But when he meets a girl who came to look at the horses, being a stable boy might not be enough anymore. Together, they have tough choices to make and great risks to navigate if they want to survive and be together.

Rating: Explicit

FF-net - AO3 -

Discord-server for discussions and questions

Part 1: Prologue; Chapter 1; Chapter 2; Chapter 3; Chapter 4; Chapter 5; Chapter 6; Chapter 7; Chapter 8; Chapter 9; Chapter 10; Chapter 11;

Part 2: Chapter 12; Chapter 13; Chapter 14; Interlude 1; Chapter 15; Chapter 16; Chapter 17; Chapter 18; Chapter 19; Chapter 20; Chapter 21; Chapter 22; Chapter 23; Chapter 24; Chapter 25; Chapter 26; Interlude 2; Chapter 27: Chapter 28 ; Chapter 29 ; Chapter 30; Chapter 31; Chapter 32; Interlude 3; Bonus 1; Chapter 33

Part 3: Chapter 34; Chapter 35; Chapter 36; Interlude 4; Chapter 37; Chapter 38; Chapter 39; Chapter 40; Interlude 5; Chapter 41

Alpha/Co-author: @athingofvikings

. – * – _ . o O o . _ – * – .

AN: Urgh... I don't know what to think of this chapter. I really wrote a lot in these past two weeks, but barely anything for this story. In times, the words simply flowed down into the document - but only when I wrote something else. On this story, I was entirely blocked. According to my plan, there'd been supposed to be at least twice as much plot in this chapter, maybe even more. Ah, well, but it looks like there might be a few shorter chapters to come instead. *sigh*

Anyway, thanks to the changed content of this chapter, I also had to change the title, since the one I had planned in for such a long time only fits the next part. Thankfully, someone recommended 'Rewrite The Stars' by Zac Efron and Zendaya from the movie Greatest Showman to me a while ago. That song fits these last few chapters perfectly, and I think this quote fits this chapter quite well, too.

. o O o .

Hiccup hoped with all his heart that he wasn’t dreaming again. Her lips were moving with his, he could taste her on his tongue, and he could clearly feel her soft and warm body safely encased in his arms – but it still felt too good to be true.

He’d been so sure that Astrid’s choice at the ball would seal their fate. Markor’s death had confirmed that he’d really seen a vision and had talked to a Goddess instead of only having made it all up. But to be certain that She had meant more than just holding Astrid during the ride back, Hiccup had thought that Astrid would have to ask him for her dance instead of Eret. Otherwise, the social pressure on her to stick to her choice and not switch to an impecunious squire would have been too great – or so he’d told himself. And for those few moments, when she’d slowly walked through the ballroom with her eyes fixed on his and their bond thrumming like a thousand drums, he’d believed she actually would choose him. For that handful of breaths, all the pain and longing and desperation of the previous weeks had vanished at the prospect of their dream coming true, of them dancing together in front of everyone, not caring what anyone else might think. For that short time, he’d hoped!

But then she’d turned toward Eret after all, away from him, and everything around Hiccup had fallen apart. She’d made her choice and it wasn’t him. He barely remembered how he’d made it out of the ballroom and into the dark night. Everything had hurt – be it brushing against another guest, his stumbling steps over uneven ground, or even the air itself. It had all hurt like a million shards of glass cutting into his mind, his flesh, his soul.

At that moment, dying hadn’t felt like such a bad option.

But then she’d suddenly been there. He’d felt her approach, and the sight of her, her closeness, her voice, and her words and promises had been like sweet honey on his hurting soul, and now, everything was perfect again. She was in his arms, and her hand on his skin and her lips against his were all the reassurance he needed. Hot tears of pure relief ran down his cheeks; he hadn’t thought to ever kiss her again, much less hold her with the assurance that nothing could come between them again. He wanted this moment to never end...

Of course, it felt like a dream. But it was one he intended to hold on to with everything he had. Whatever happened, he wouldn’t let go of her again.

“Well, fuck me slowly with Heimdall's mighty horn!” came like a thunderbolt, for all that it was hissed through clenched teeth.

The words cut into their blissful bubble like a knife. Hiccup was reluctant to separate from Astrid and he sensed that she felt the same, but the magic of the moment was gone. She whimpered as he drew back, quietly, barely more than a vibration rippling through her, and buried her face against his chest, unwilling to face their intruders. Despite their silent agreement to not hide but to fight this time, she was still afraid – and Hiccup couldn’t even blame her. All those months of secrecy and hiding had left their mark, and it wouldn’t go away in the blink of an eye. A spark of that fear rose inside him, too, but he forced himself to ignore it as he looked up, stern determination in his eyes as he faced the newcomers. He was ready to fight for her, ready to do whatever it would take. Nobody would be able to separate them again, not after what they’ve been through. If the last two weeks had taught him one thing, then it was that a life without her wasn’t worth it.

When he looked up, his eyes directly landed on Eret, who was at the front of the small group at the edge of the small clearing. For once, though, Hiccup couldn’t pay him the respect he deserved as his knight. This was not about who was the knight and who was the squire. This was about something so much more important, and Hiccup didn’t budge or cower, didn’t avert his eyes and bowed but instead met his cousin’s gaze straight on. However, the expression on Eret’s face didn’t tell him anything. He was calm as he took in what he saw, the woman who’d been meant to become his wife in the arms of his squire, his cousin, his friend. Hiccup had expected – no, feared there would be disappointment, hurt, and anger. But if Eret felt any of that, then he didn’t show it.

Briefly, Hiccup’s eyes flickered to those standing behind Eret – Dagur, whose disbelieving curse had interrupted them and who now stared at them with his mouth open and his eyes wide, and both of Astrid’s servants – but they didn’t really matter. Right now, everything depended on how Eret would react. Deep inside, Hiccup hoped that what he’d believed before Astrid’s birthday was still true; that Eret wouldn’t mind, would maybe even support them in some way. But since then, many things had changed, especially Eret’s relationship to his little sister, and he had every right to be furious, to demand their separation. Hiccup and Astrid might be ready to stand up for their feelings for each other… but that didn’t change that things would become very difficult if a ducal heir would be their opponent.

For some endless seconds, their gazes were locked. Hiccup’s arms around Astrid trembled and he swallowed as one scenario after the other flickered through his mind; everything from having to fight his cousin right here and now to getting thrown into the royal dungeon for his boldness within a matter of minutes.

But then, Eret closed his eyes and, letting out a deep sigh, slowly shook his head. “You two,” he snorted into the silence that encircled them all, “are unbelievable, do you know that?”

At first, his words made no sense to Hiccup, and it took for Eret’s face to twitch into something of a soft grimace before their meaning sank in.

And even then, Dagur was the first to react. “You knew?!” he sputtered, his head whipping from Hiccup and Astrid to Eret and back again at an almost comical speed. “Bu-but I thought he… he said… in that tavern! And... all this time, you–”

“Oh, be quiet!” Astrid’s warder, Tuff, hissed as he threw up his arms in exasperation. “Or do you want to draw even more attention? It’s bad enough already as it is...”

“And you knew too?” Dagur went on, though in a quieter hissing voice now as he turned to look at the twins in disbelieve. They both gave identical shrugs and nods, and Dagur groaned. “Great! So I was the only stupid one around here?”

“Isn’t that how it always is?” Tuff threw back, a mischievous grin on his face.

But their bantering got lost in the background as Ruff pushed past them. Her eyes were firmly locked onto Astrid’s back who still wouldn’t look at anyone. Hiccup wished he could shield her from all that seemed to trouble her, but he knew that, right now, he was powerless. All these people knew each other since childhood, with only him being the odd one out. Whatever happened now, he could only watch, could only try to support Astrid in case it came to some form of fight between her and those she considered her closest friends. All he could do was keep his arms tight around Astrid’s trembling shoulders, assuring her that he was here with her.

“I’m sorry, milady,” Ruff sighed. “We couldn’t keep them out any longer. And the doors to the garden stood still open, so…” she trailed off, shrugging.

Finally, Astrid stirred. She stayed as close to Hiccup as she could, but still turned her head until she could look at the others. “It’s all right, Ruff. I don’t blame you,” she whispered in a brittle voice.

Then her head turned a little more. It was clear that she was looking at Eret now, and Hiccup followed her eyes, still unsure of what to expect from his cousin. Was he angry? Disappointed? Hiccup wouldn’t even blame him… Up until about an hour ago, there had been no doubt as to who the Princess would choose as her husband, after all…

"Did you really know?" Astrid asked in a small voice, and Hiccup could feel how much she trembled. She'd been close to blacking out earlier, and all this had to be tough on her. Almost without thinking about it, his hands shifted, less holding her tight but more supporting her weight in case she needed it. His gaze stayed on Eret though, anxiously waiting for his reaction.

However, Eret's expression was unreadable as his eyes roamed from one to the other. It probably only took him a few seconds before he replied, but those seemed to stretch out forever. Then he closed his eyes and sighed. "No, I didn't know," he emphasised in a quiet voice. "I didn't want to. If I'd known about the looks you shared whenever you thought nobody was looking or how you’d make out whenever you got the chance, then I'd have been forced to lie to my best friend and future king whenever I looked him in the eye." He sighed again and shook his head. "But seriously, if it was your intention to keep what’s between you a secret, then you did a horrible job!"

In Hiccup’s arms, Astrid was trembling even harder. Hiccup felt the same, little shockwaves running through his body as the meaning of what Eret just said sank in. They’d thought they’d been so careful…

“And-and you never said anything?”

Eret’s expression turned sad. “And end up being torn between my loyalty toward you, my best friend and little sister, or Daniel, also my friend and future liege?” He shook his head, even as his lips twitched into something of a smile. “I’d thought about it,” he eventually added in a low voice. “And I tried… You know… Ever since the… the incident with Harold, I had my suspicions. And even though I didn’t want to know the truth, I was still searching for some form of… of confirmation, I guess. But every time I tried to probe for a reaction, carefully, either of you warded off my approach with some excuse or other. I have to grant you that, every time I thought to be sure, you managed to throw me off just enough so that I had doubts again. Every now and then, I also thought about simply confronting you directly, to stop all the hiding. But you apparently wanted to keep this secret, and I… well, after you’ve kept our secret for over two years now, I thought it was only fair to respect your secret as well.”

Astrid’s head dropped, though whether it was some kind of nod or simply in defeat, Hiccup couldn’t tell. A moment later, she looked up again though, and her hands on his chest tightened into fists, clinging to his tunic. “And what about these last two weeks?” she asked, her voice close to breaking.

Hiccup still felt unable to contribute anything to the conversation, but he had to admit that this was a valid question. If Eret had, well, not known but highly suspected there was more between him and Astrid… why hadn’t he said something then? Why had he let her favour him?

Eret’s expression turned pained. “After your birthday…” he whispered, “it was just the same. I saw that something was wrong with you, and understandably so. But I couldn’t be sure, didn’t know what was up, whether you had a fight or whether it was something else… Again, I tried to get a reaction, just anything that would help me understand. But you wouldn’t talk to me, just warded off my questions all over again. And when I tried to get some reaction from Hiccup, he even encouraged me to…” He shook his head. “I wanted to help you, but I just didn’t know how to do that, what exactly had happened between you two, whether you’d even want me to know, and...” He paused and threw his hands up in a helpless gesture, the pain on his face getting even more intense before he added, “I’m sorry!”

Hiccup listened to his cousin’s words with mixed feelings. On the one hand, he was still anxious and overwhelmed by the fact that so many people now seemed to know about them – and apparently had for quite a while. But on the other hand, he also felt a weird mix of relief and anger. Relief that they didn’t need to hide that desperately any more... but also the anger about how much pain both him and Astrid could have been spared if only Eret had said something!

However, it only took one look into Astrid’s eyes as she turned to him again for this anger to evaporate. In a way, they both had needed this pain to understand, to see clearly that living apart wasn’t an option, no matter the circumstances. And in the end, it was Eret who’d lost… Hiccup could see it in the reassurance that sparkled in Astrid’s eyes, felt it in how her hand pressed harder against his chest for a moment before she wriggled out of his embrace to make a step toward her brother. She’d made her choice and that meant that she would have to hurt Eret.

“I’m sorry, too,” she said in a weak voice. “But… but I can’t become your wife. A part of me wants to. I want to help you out of this awful situation you’re in. I want to help you both at once. But this, I can’t do.” She paused, taking a deep breath, then gasped, “I love him!”

Hiccup’s heart swelled at her words. She’d said it before already, to him, but this was different. This was what he’d dreamed of ever since he’d discovered that she was the Princess. It was openly declaring their feelings for each other, in front of witnesses and without holding back. And I love her too, more than anything, more than my own life, he added mentally, but didn’t dare to interrupt them.

When he looked up at Eret again, the sadness from before was almost entirely gone though. Instead, he smiled, his eyes warm as he held his arms open, inviting her into a hug.

“I know,” he murmured, barely audible, after his arms had closed around her. “And Swanja... I’m not mad. Do you remember the day we talked? Down at the lake? I meant every word I said, that day and on every other day. I’d be happy and proud to call you my wife and I do believe that a life on our stud farm would suit you. But I also want you to be happy. I told you that, if you have someone you want to choose for yourself, then do so. And…” he trailed off, shared a quick glance with Dagur, and then added, “And there’s something else I also meant when I said it. If you have a problem, you only need to say it, and we'll help you, whatever it is.”

Eret’s words had touched Hiccup, had made him feel stupid and grateful at the same time. Of course, her brothers valued Astrid’s happiness, he shouldn’t have doubted them. It took a few heartbeats before the last words fully sank in though, and when they did, they left him stunned. It was one thing to accept her choice and, hopefully, to not out them publicly. Eloping, their last resort if they wouldn’t be able to find another way, would become impossible if everyone knew about them. But Eret – and Dagur, if Hiccup had interpreted that look correctly – appeared to be willing to do so much more, to even help and support them in finding a solution. Maybe – just maybe! – they actually had a chance…

In Eret’s arms, Astrid began to cry, quietly and with tremors shaking her body, but for once, Hiccup didn’t feel the urge to go and comfort her himself. He’d thought that seeing them like this again would hurt as it had before, but it didn’t. Not with the reassurance of the past half hour. It was only Eret comforting his adopted sister – and if he was honest with himself then it had never been anything else anyway. A soft smile tugged at Hiccup’s lips as he watched them now, and he couldn’t help the warmth spreading through him at the sight in front of him. Eret cooed and murmured into her hair and rubbed her arms and back until she calmed down again. A faint memory rose to Hiccup’s mind, about how she’d once told him how she had nobody she could fully trust, how she was alone when it came to her innermost problems, and how liberating it was for her to have found him. But she’d been wrong. She’d never been alone, had always been protected and cared for.

For a minute or three, they were all silent save for Astrid’s servants murmuring in the background. Dagur had stepped closer, but, to Hiccup’s surprise, he hadn’t said anything yet. However, his hand on Astrid’s shoulder offering comfort and support said enough. Everything Eret had said was true for him, too, apparently. And when Eret eventually lifted his head to look at Hiccup standing a few steps away, he understood that this support wasn’t just aimed at their sister. Eret’s eyes were soft, his smile warm and true as he nodded at him, including him as well.

It didn’t need any other form of communication then, Hiccup stepping closer just as Eret loosened and dropped his arms. Astrid threw one last grateful smile up at Eret before she returned to Hiccup. To never leave him again.

Hiccup couldn’t really help himself then; holding her close and feeling her hand directly land over his heart again felt good, but it wasn’t enough. His hands curled around her face, her neck, and he pulled her into a kiss instead. When she was surprised, she caught herself before he noticed, melting into him, humming and smiling against his lips. It wasn’t the most passionate kiss they’d ever shared, just soft lips sliding and tugging at each other. But that didn’t demean the sense of liberty that overcame Hiccup. As simple and easy and playful as this kiss was, it still held so much more meaning, and it was overwhelming. Because they didn’t need to hide anymore, at least not from everyone. Among this group of friends, they could stop pretending, stop lying.

“Okay, but what are we supposed to do now?”

At Tuff’s sudden question, Hiccup and Astrid parted, ruefully, and everybody turned to questioningly look at the lanky man. His eyes wandered from one to the other, before he shrugged. “What?” he asked, defensively. “We can’t stay out here forever. Sooner or later someone will notice Astrid isn’t resting in that room anymore. So what’s supposed to happen now? Are you just going to go back and announce that you changed your mind?”

“Duh, of course not!” Ruff exclaimed and even swatted the back of her brother's head with her hand. “If that was possible, all this drama wouldn’t have been necessary. He’s not eligible, and you know that perfectly well.”

“Well, yes, I do,” Tuff grumbled and rubbed his head. “And you know I wasn’t serious. But my question still stands. What do we do now?”

The short exchange pulled Hiccup out of his emotional high and back into reality. Sure, it was good to know that they weren’t alone, that they had support, but what was that worth? Not even Eret and Dagur were able to elevate him to a rank that made openly courting Astrid possible. Their situation was just as hopeless as it had been before. Nothing had changed...

After a short pause, Eret sighed. “I’d say that, for now, we should continue as planned, at least act as if nothing had changed.” He raised a hand to ward off any protest before it could come up. “I’m not suggesting to go through with the betrothal and the wedding in case we can’t find a solution. Honestly, I… I know you two well enough to have an idea of what you’re planning. But maybe we can find another solution, something that won’t leave a mess in its wake. As for now though, just consider one thing: men have already been maimed and died in this competition. My rank keeps me safe from open assassination attempts, but if anyone, and you all know who I mean, even so much as suspects Astrid might prefer a certain squire, then I’m not sure we’d be able to keep Hiccup safe.”

Hiccup’s heart sank at those blunt words, and he could feel how a shudder ran through Astrid’s body. From the corner of his eye, he saw how she paled, her hand clenching in his tunic again. As much as they might prefer it otherwise, Eret was right; keeping up at least the appearance of her going to marry Eret would be the wisest thing to do for now. So Hiccup nodded when Eret’s eyes met his, agreeing if reluctantly.

“And you know I hate to admit this,” came Dagur’s voice, drawing everyone’s attention. “But I think Timothy was right.” They all looked at him. “Time’s a wasting. Get back inside posthaste or try explaining that,” he motioned with his chin towards Hiccup and Astrid holding each other, “to a patrolling guardsman. Or worse.”

Astrid’s shoulders slumped, but she nodded. “Yes, we should go back,” she whispered, hesitantly. “But… but can we meet again soon? To talk, to find a solution? Please?” Her hand in his tunic tightened even further, and Hiccup raised his hand to place it over hers, to rub her arm until she relaxed again. The look in her eyes as she gazed up at him told him enough about how she felt; anxious and unwilling to let go of him so soon. He couldn’t even blame her, but the others were right. Staying here wouldn’t get them anywhere.

“Maybe…during the hunt in a couple of days?” he suggested. “I don’t think we’ll get the chance to talk unobserved during the tournament tomorrow and the day after. But during the hunt, we can sneak away and meet somewhere else; the stables, for example, o-or somewhere else,” he added hastily when something like a small whimper escaped Astrid. He wanted to kick himself; of course, mentioning the stables wasn’t a good idea, not after what had happened this morning. But he couldn’t take his words back anymore and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t come up with something–

“Tonight,” Eret threw in, distracting Hiccup from his thoughts. “After the ball has ended. It will be late and everybody will be too tired to care much. Rachel, do you think you can smuggle her over into my rooms without anybody noticing? There, we could talk freely.”

Hiccup’s heart began to race and he could tell that Astrid faired little better. This was better than everything he could have hoped for. Maybe, they would already find a solution tonight.

Ruff snorted and rolled her eyes. “Given that she managed to sneak out of the castle and to the stables all on her own and pretty much every night without anyone noticing… Yeah, I’d say that won’t be a problem,” she said sarcastically.

Apparently, this was news to Eret as well – the looks on his and Dagur’s faces were priceless.

. o O o .

As they approached the castle again, Astrid was reminded of the fact that she would have to let go of Hiccup’s hand eventually. She didn’t want to, wanted to stay close to him for the rest of her life, wanted to never be separated from him again.

But, of course, that wasn’t possible. Eret was right after all; it was bad enough that she’d put a target on his back by choosing him over her other suitors. It wouldn’t do anyone any good if Hiccup got the same attention now.

No, all she could do as they were back in the room she’d been resting in earlier was squeeze his hand and throw him one last smile before letting go and winding her arm through Eret’s instead. He must have felt her discomfort though, because as they walked back to the busy ballroom, Hiccup, Dagur, and the others a few steps behind them, he leaned toward her and whispered, “Don’t worry, Swanja. I promise we’ll find a way out of this.“

Astrid had no idea how he wanted to pull that off, but she believed him at least so far that he would do his best to help. Maybe he’d even cover for them in case of their last resort. And even though they still had no solution, she felt lighter now. So much had changed over this past hour. She was sure of Hiccup’s and her own feelings again, was sure of their future. And the fact that she didn’t need to hide anything from Eret anymore, that he knew and was even willing to support them, to play his part to keep her soulmate safe... She would never be able to express just how relieved and how grateful she was to him. Lying to him over all this time felt so trite and stupid now, and she just hoped that there would be a way to somehow make it up to him one day.

The rest of the ball passed surprisingly fast and ended with Astrid in a much better mood than she’d ever thought she’d be. Repeating her official dance with Eret was light and fun, just like dancing with him used to be before all this madness had started. They were back to being best friends, close as siblings, and she hadn’t known how much she’d missed this easiness until she rediscovered it now.

She found herself beaming up at him as they whirled through the room, laughing and enjoying herself. Every now and then, her eyes flickered to where Hiccup stood, and the spark in his eyes told her all she needed to know. Earlier, he’d said that watching her with Eret had pained him, but it was clear that that wasn’t the case anymore. Everything was different now. Better.

“That’s it, the Swanja I want to see. I missed her,” Eret whispered once the music died down, and he leaned in to place a soft kiss on her forehead that made her giggle.

A sigh went through the watching crowd at the tender gesture even though they thoroughly drew the wrong assumptions from it. But Astrid happily let them believe what they wanted to believe. It didn’t matter as long as everyone who did matter knew the truth. She smiled up at him again, trying to express all her gratitude and love for her friend, before they parted and the ball continued as it had before.

She danced with Dagur next, and he too reassured her that they would support her and how happy he was to see her smile again. He also managed to make her – and part of the watching crowd she guessed – laugh when he made a show of not letting go of her again. Gods, it was so liberating to fool around like this again, to have her brothers back and to have fun without caring what other people might think of them.

She danced with many other men as it was the custom, men whose names she barely remembered. But where on the days before she’d dreaded this idea, it now barely bothered her. Some of them were nervous and excited, some stiff in their attempt to make an impression on her. She wondered whether these men really still held some hope now, or whether it was their fathers pushing them. Either way, she felt pity for them where before she’d hated every single one of them. Most of these boys – because some of them were barely old enough to be called more than that – probably had gotten thrown into this just as unwillingly as she had and she made an attempt to turn their dances into something enjoyable. She was just too happy to let anyone else mope around.

Eventually, she danced with Snot, and while the thought had made her uncomfortable at first, she soon realised that there seemed to be no reason for that anymore.

“I congratulate you for the choice you made,” he murmured into her ear at a quieter part of the music. “I think it’s a good one, no matter how much my old man might object.”

His words surprised her, and she didn’t know what to reply except a simple “Thanks.” These past weeks of incessant flirting on his part had alienated him to her, and Astrid wasn’t ready to forgive and forget it yet. But even though she still felt tense in his arms, certainly not as comfortable as in Dagur’s or even with all those other strangers, she had to admit to herself that dancing with him now at least felt a little more like it used to.

At some point though, she even was made to dance with Thuggory, and no matter how good she felt, this did make her uncomfortable. She didn’t want his hands on her waist, didn’t want to be this close to him, ever. But she would endure it, there was no other way anyway. And there was even some fun in it for her too, if only in knowing that all his vague threats were in vain.

“You’re going to regret choosing that horse-crazy idiot,” he sneered, his breath on her skin making her shudder. “You’ll see.”

But Astrid wasn’t feeling like giving in or even just ignoring him today. “I doubt that,” she replied with a sweet smile. “On the contrary, I’m certain that the choice I made today was the best of my life.” He couldn’t know that she wasn’t talking about Eret but instead about going after Hiccup, but that only made her rejoice even more. Thuggory was nothing but a toothless dog, barking and annoying, but unable to actually do anything.

At her words, his eyes contracted into slits, his sneer turning even more menacing. “We’ll see, Princess. We’ll see.”

But not even that was enough to darken Astrid mood tonight.

. o O o .

So, that was that...

I can't say that I'm happy with how this chapter turned out. Not that I don't like this scene, but it feels incomplete without the one that's now going to come in the next chapter. Like, the rest of the ball had been meant to be a bridge between the two main scenes... Writer's block is so annoying!

Anyway, I hope some people are calmer and more relaxed now, nothing bad will happen right away. ;)

#FTLOAP #For The Love Of A Princess #Hiccstrid #Hiccup and Astrid #hiccstrid royal au #royalty au #Hiccstrid Medieval AU #medieval au #fanfiction #romance #hiccstrid fanfiction #httyd #httyd fanfiction

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nimarasnetherworld · 5 years

Text

New fanfiction : It’s the Thing with Life, No one makes it out alive.

So this idea came to me after a conversation in a Beetlejuice the musical discord server and with @blossem12. It's going to be five chapters long! I hope you'll enjoy! Don't hesitate to leave kudos and comments if you read it on Ao3 I love hearing opinions on my work!

(you can read this on Ao3 right here!)

summary : While doing their community service in the Netherworld, Adam and Barbara finds a box of strange files. Files of people who died over two years ago. They surely didn't expect to find the file of someone they know in it. Especially since this person is still alive.

Chapter 1 : The Netherworld

Barbara hated the Netherworld. The land of the dead was always basked in that weird purple-greenish light and the fog was terrible. No wonder anyone would go back if they could. It was a chance that Adam and her had. The needed to spend only a limited amount of time each day in the strange dimension for their community service. Yes, it had been a surprise for the Maitlands too when they learned that the Netherworld had laws and that breaking some of these laws could end up in you being forced to do some community service.

Both, the couple and Beetlejuice, had been sentenced to community service for the next ten years. Of course, it technically was Beetlejuice’s fault but the dead couple had to admit that maybe they had some responsibilities in the events that occurred in the living world. Lydia had trespassed into the Netherworld. Something that living people were not supposed to do. Obviously. And of course, there was the Sandworm that ate Juno. That was probably what got them actually sentenced. Miss Argentina had told them they could be happy because it wasn’t a big sentence compare to their “crimes”. But Adam and Barbara quickly understood that it was mostly because everyone hated Juno and that they were glad to get rid of her.

So right now, Barbara and Adam were following Miss Argentine through the long corridors of the Netherworld for their next mission. They had been separated from Beetlejuice who apparently had a different mission than them. Which was both a relief and sad. Even though Beetlejuice was no longer a demon but a ghost like them, he still had immense powers that were sometimes handy in their tasks. But at the same time Beetlejuice was still a synonym of chaos which could make their task more difficult sometimes.

“Okay, so this will cover your last three hours for this week.” said the green receptionist taking a sudden left turn. The couple hurried behind her. How could she walk so fast in those heels?

Adam shivered every time a ghost passed near him. Of course, it was silly because he was a ghost himself but he couldn’t help it. The ghosts from the Netherworld seemed different. Tired by years or maybe even centuries of wandering in the dimension. Their trips to the Netherworld always reminded Adam how lucky Barbara and he were to be living with the Deetzes.

Miss Argentina stopped abruptly in front of a big red door. Adam almost bumped into her. The beauty queen turned toward them,

“This is the Netherworld’s archives. Every single file of every deceased person is in there. I want you to rearrange the files from the people who died over the last five years. Right now, they are in alphabetical order and we want them in chronological order.”

“The last five years?!” exclaimed Adam, “But more than 150 000 people die each day! It’s going to take us years!”

Beside him, Barbara nodded. Miss Argentina raised one eyebrow,

“Well good thing you’ve been sentenced to ten years then!”

And with that, she pushed the door open, letting the Maitlands in the enormous room. For a moment the couple stayed stunned in the entrance. The archives looked like a giant Library. Files covered the shelves going up against the ceiling. The room seemed to stretch to the horizon as it was impossible to see the opposite wall. They were pulled out of their thoughts by the receptionist who passed near them.

“Okay follow me instead of staying there like fishes!”

Once again, Barbara and Adam followed her until they arrived in front of the shelves containing the files of the deceased from the last five years.

“Here it is! Good luck. I’ll come back to get you in three hours.”

The beauty queen walked back from where they came from, the sound of her heels echoing around the room, followed by the sound of the door slamming shut.

Barbara sighed, “Why do we have to do this? It’s going to take so much time.”

“I know hon,” Adam wrapped an arm around her, “But at least we’re together.”

The blonde let out a small giggle at her husband’s optimism.

“Yes, we are. But I think we should get started if we don’t want to be stuck here for the next thirty years.”

So, they went to work. Taking the files one by one out the shelves and putting them by dates. The had a small debate on how to sort people who died the same day and finally agreed on putting them in alphabetical order.

“One shelf done!” exclaimed Adam happily.

“I can’t believe we only did one shelf! It seems like we’ve been doing this for five hours already! Do you think Miss Argentina forgot about us?”

When she received no response, Barbara turned to her husband, whose eyes were fixed on something she couldn’t see.

“Adam are you alright?”

“What? Oh sorry, hon, it’s just,” he moved some of the files, “I think there’s something under the shelf.”

With a frown, Barbara got on her knees, soon joined by Adam as they looked under the giant shelf.

“You’re right! It looks like a box.” Exclaimed Barbara, “Let’s get it out.”

It took them a few minutes but they finally managed to get the box out of its hiding place. Inside were several files. But they weren’t green like the one already on the shelves but red. In big bold letters the words “TO PROCESS” were stamped on the front of the box.

“Do you think they made a mistake by putting it here?” asked Adam, going through the files

“Well probably since they haven’t been processed apparently. I wonder what it means.”

Adam had suddenly stopped browsing the files. His hands clenched around one of them,

“Uh Barbara… You should see this.”

Barbara leaned over her husband’s shoulder, looking at the file in his hands.

“But… it’s not possible.” She said slowly as she read the small prints on the file.

“I don’t understand either.” Said Adam “I mean we’re living with Delia. I think we would know if she was dead. Especially since she apparently died more than two years ago!”

The file was indeed disturbing.

“Delia Schlimmer; Born: May 24, 1977; Dead: February 12, 2017.”

A picture of a smiling redhead was glued on the front page. It was unmistakably the Delia they knew. For a moment none of them said a word. Not really knowing what to do with this information.

“We should probably talk about it to Miss Argentina.” Finally said Adam.

As if she had been summoned by his words, the sounds of heels echoing suddenly filled the archives and a few minutes later, the green woman stood in front of them,

“Your three hours are up.”

Adam quickly put the file back into the box.

“Uh… We found something weird.” Began Barbara

“it’s the Netherworld, everything is weird here.” Said Argentina, rolling her eyes.

“No. We mean that we found this box,” continued Adam, gesturing to the box on the floor, “and the files in it don’t make any sense.”

This time Miss Argentina frowned, “What do you mean?”

“Well first the files are red and not green like the other and…” Barbara hesitated, “there is a file in it that says that one person we know is dead. But I’m pretty sure this person is not dead since we live with her.”

The beauty queen had paled slightly at her words.

“It’s impossible. Red files mean they haven’t been processed yet. And in the archives, all the files are processed.”

“Well apparently not these ones.” Adam regretted talking as Miss Argentina sent him a death glare. Good thing he was already dead.

She quickly took the box and immediately started walking toward the exit. Barbara and Adam stood there for a moment before running after her. Once they arrived at the reception, the couple was out of breath. Well, metaphorically. Miss Argentina put the box on her desk. She pressed a button and the door toward the Deetzes’s house opened.

“Here you go! See you on Monday!” exclaimed the green woman, clearly wanting them to go.

“But what about the…”

“I’ll tell you about it once I understand why this box was in the archives. Now shoo!”

The Maitlands didn’t question her. They went through the door, still slightly disturbed by their discovery.

They appeared back in the living room, where Delia was seating on the couch, reading a book about meditation. When she heard them coming back, she put her book aside to greet them,

“Barbara, Adam! How was your community service today?”

They looked at each other, silently agreeing on not saying anything about what they had found. They would wait for Miss Argentina’s investigation to be over before saying anything to the Deetzes.

“It was okay! We’re glad to be back!” said Barbara as lightly as she could.

Delia gave them a big smile, “Good! Beetlejuice has been back for a few minutes now. I think he went in the attic.” The life coach sat back down and went back to her book.

The Maitlands slowly made their way to the attic. Already discussing a way to evict Beetlejuice from it before he made a mess. But the files never left their thoughts as they wondered how much time Miss Argentina would need before she could give them an explanation.

Turned out they didn’t need to wait very long. Two days later, the six of them were eating dinner. Lydia was talking about her day at school to the Maitlands as Charles was talking about one of his new real-estate projects to Delia, trying not to be distracted by Beetlejuice who was floating around the room, trying to eat a spider.

They all jumped as the door to the Netherworld opened. Miss Argentina stepped out of it, a somber expression on her face and three red files under her arm.

#beetlejuice musical #Beetlejuice #beetlejuice broadway #Beetlejuice the musical #adam maitland #barbara maitland #lydia deetz #charles deetz #delia deetz #fanfiction

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fluidityandgiggles · 5 years

Text

Sleep Is For The Weak - Chapter 15

Previous Chapters: Prologue, Chapter 1, Chapter 5, Chapter 10, Last Chapter

Writing Masterlist - for previous chapters not otherwise linked, Read on AO3

Notes (I guess): Two months. It took me two months to write this chapter. I... I’m honestly kinda surprised at myself...

Umm... I didn’t intend on writing this chapter so early, it was meant to be dragged on for a while more and has kind of a big time jump in it (for plot reasons, trust me), but I mean... the fuck with it. The world deserves some BAMF Emile, we need some cuddles, and the subject of the first... three fourths of this chapter is one that I went to friends from a discord server with and told them I’m trying to make it really subtle and one of them just went, “This isn’t subtle at all, this shit is jumping off the walls and doing somersaults in front of me.”

So I mean... let’s get this over with! Let’s let the cat halfway out of the bag and have the first Emile-centered chapter of many, many others planned.

Thanks as always go to @whatwashernameagain for KHS and for not geting super extra frustrated with all my weird questions, to @broadwaytheanimatedseries for being my guinea pig most of the time and for the original idea, and to @winglessnymph and @asleepybisexual and @anony-phangirl for sticking with me and my insane ideas from the beginning (and I’m sorry I didn’t tell you shit about this chapter, but y’all knew it was coming).

Tag list (sort of): @bunny222, @ab-artist, @sweet-and-sour-shadowling, @your-username-is-unavailable, @virgilcrofters, @ilovemygaydad, @violetblossem, @maybe-i-like-the-misery, @book-of-charlie, @thatsanswitch, @thatrandomautist

Trigger warning: period appropriate transphobia (the early 00s were not exactly trans-friendly). Not as much in here, actually in this chapter it’s pretty non-existent, but this trigger warning goes in every chapter. This chapter also includes Holocaust mentions, discussion of mental health, and that’s honestly about it I think but please let me know if there’s anything I missed.

—————

Wednesday, March 19th, 2003

"Do you understand why I asked you to come here today?" Gilliam asked, clicking a pen.

Emile was frozen in his seat.

"Umm…" Emile's leg started shaking. "Is it about my last project…? I swear I really did read everything I said I—"

"Look…" Gilliam sighed. "You're a fantastic student. Really, Emile. You are one of my best students. But… I gotta say, you remind me of myself, and not in a good way."

"What do you mean…?"

"Do you mind if we went over your last test?" Emile nodded, feeling the heavy sensation in his stomach get even stronger.

"The last test I took was the implicit…"

"Your last written test," Gilliam clarified. "The one in December." He pulled out a folder labeled and decorated with a mint green marker.

‘Emile Picani - 2002/3'

"Your answers were great," Gilliam said with a sad smile as he pulled out the last test from the back of the folder. "They just didn't fit the questions. Look here, define four of the following five Gestalt Laws of Organization."

"I defined four of the following five Gestalt Laws—"

"You explained them, Emile. Define and explain are two very different instructions. I've been there too, kid. I know it's confusing." Emile wanted to vanish right then and there. It wasn't… he was trying his best! "Also, question eight, part c, why do we dream?" The doctor started underlining the question with his pen, thankfully closed. "Take one of the proposed theories and provide one way in which this may be supported."

"But… but I did—"

"Part d, take the same theory from part c and provide a way in which it might be refuted."

Well… they were going to kick him out, weren't they.

"You're a very smart kid, Emile Picani. I'll bet you so many people told you you have such potential and all that… I know it's very frustrating." Gilliam pushed Emile's glasses up, wiping his eyes from unshed tears in the process. It was… somewhat calming. "Did anyone ever suggest that you might have ADHD?"

Emile shook his head. That possibility… well, he didn't want it to be a possibility! Sure, it wasn't the end of the world if he did, but… his parents didn't have to pay for more adderall than necessary, their neighbors didn't need any more reasons to call his mom a drug addict! And… the counselor at his high school had to be right. He was stupid… wasn't he? Learning disabilities just made you stupid…

He was useless. Regardless of what his professor thought.

"Getting into university at seventeen years old is no easy fit," Gilliam kept rambling. "I remember Walter reading your essay to me—"

"Walter?"

"...oh, right! Professor Freeman." Emile's eyes darkened a bit, as if he already knew what was about to be said. Gilliam just laughed. "Yeah, he immigrated from Germany in the late forties I think… poor guy. Changed his last name and everything! Yeah… so anyway, he read your essay to me. We fought a lot of people to have you accepted! I just… I have to ask you. Have you ever had issues like that in school?"

Emile nodded.

"And not in school?"

"I… I guess, yeah… why?"

Gilliam just pulled a light purple post-it note, scribbled something on it, scribbled the same thing again after opening his pen, and handed it to the very confused Emile.

"I said it before, but this time I mean it even more than last time. Go to the psych clinic. I'll write you a referral if you find it hard to talk to them, just let me know, but in my opinion you really should get evaluated for ADHD."

As Emile got up to leave, he fiddled with the note in his hands. It was… he was…

Was he really going to do that…?

"Austria," he mumbled as he reached the door.

"Excuse me?"

"Dr. Freeman is Austrian, not German. It can be confusing, I know. His family immigrated in 1947. And his last name is Landau. He never changed it, he just goes by Freeman for teaching because nobody liked the ‘Germans' post-Holocaust."

"Did he tell you that…?"

"You said he read you my essay, I thought you guessed already."

He was sure he left Gilliam baffled. But it didn't help the sinking feeling in his stomach any.

————

"I can't have it," Emile mumbled against Remy's chest, the note semi-safely in his pocket. "I don't want to!"

"Emmy, gurl, you realize you're making a huge deal out of nothing, right?" Remy laughed. "It's ADHD. It's not terminal cancer."

That made Emile cry even harder.

"No, no… Emile, it's gonna be alright. I promise. Okay? You trust me?"

"My uncle would be so disappointed," Emile whispered. "He's the reason I'm here! And… and I'm disappointing him so much!"

"You're a legacy, sweets?"

"Kinda… I guess." He sniffled. Remy felt his heart break even more, and for what? A mental disorder, a learning disability, a small neurological difference that only made him (in Remy's opinion) even more awesome? "I don't want him to… to lose his status... especially not because of me! He worked so hard to get a teaching position and I don't want to be his downfall!"

"Who's this uncle, sweetie? If you having ADHD will be his downfall he's probably not such a good—"

"Doctor Landau— Umm, Doctor Freeman. He's my mom's uncle."

Remy was… needless to say he was speechless.

"Which Freeman are we talking about, love?"

"Head of psychology, Doctor Walter Freeman."

...his name is LANDAU?!

"...so after about six months of knowing you, you finally decide to tell me that you're the great-nephew of the head of department?!" Emile giggled against Remy's chest. He couldn't believe it! "Scandalous! Preposterous! Un-be-fucking-lievable! Emile!"

"I swear that's not how I got in," Emile muttered happily. "I wrote an essay, I swear I did!"

"Okay, but still, gurl, that's not a secret! It's too big to be called a secret."

"There's no such a thing as too big a secret," Emile said in a near-perfect imitation of Freeman's accent, and then giggled again. "And besides, it wasn't a secret. You never asked!"

"My love, when I die, I want you to tell my dad that I loved him," Remy said in an overly dramatic tone, pretending to faint right there on the couch. "Give all my possessions to Leah—"

"Stop it, you drama queen!"

"Oh, I'm a queen, alright."

The conversation was interrupted by Katherine doing as Katherine does - which today meant running from her room to the kitchen, grabbing an orange and running right back, as if not to be seen - but as soon as she disappeared, Emile broke into an even bigger giggle fit.

"My aunt would be so disappointed if she knew I was crying over this," he said at last, calming down from his laughing fit. "Caroline is the harsher one of them, and… and she used to visit Evanston every couple months when my mom was in university to help her get through her degree and raise my sister. My mom had my sister really young, you know? She and my dad were nineteen, and… okay, sorry, I'm getting sidetracked…"

"Please keep talking, love," Remy told him gently, with a soft smile and a pat on the head. "I can go make you some more tea if you'd like before we continue?"

"No, that's alright! Maybe later!" The blond almost threw himself off the couch in excitement. "I actually think… I think I should talk to them about this… I mean, Caroline would almost certainly get mad at me for thinking it'll ruin his career, and Walter would help me through the whole diagnosis thing… he did the same with Julie before we knew what she had is narcolepsy, you know? So…"

"So is there really anything to be scared of?"

Emile shook his head. Remy wiped his tear-streaked cheeks with gentle fingers, fixing his glasses right after that.

"I… I'm gonna do it. Okay? I'm gonna do it."

He was so proud of himself. It was so cute.

—————

Friday, March 21st, 2003; 15:43 p.m.

"Doctor," the resident student-psychiatrist (Thelma Grinberg, an overly boring MS student Emile already knew) called as she stretched her hand to shake his uncle's hand. "That's a surprise."

"Since Emile is still a minor, I had to accompany him," he explained sharply. "Neither of his parents could come here today."

"Caroline could've come too," Emile mumbled.

"Your aunt has a busy schedule today, Emile."

"You do too…"

Thelma seemed incredibly confused, but kept going anyway. And it took her longer than was probably necessary to get through all the questions.

Emile hated people like that. (And so did his uncle.)

He was dropped off at his dorm before his uncle had to leave, and that probably spooked Remy more than it should have. The kind "Mr. Harris, nice to see you" didn't help any.

"How did it go?" Remy asked, looking almost straight at Emile.

"Quite well, I would say." The smile looked incredibly weird on the older man's face. "Call your mother for me. Tell her everything that happened today, ja?" Emile nodded eagerly. "Thank you, Emile."

"I didn't ask—"

And with a strict "I expect to see you at my office on Monday, Mr. Harris", the professor left the dorm building, leaving behind a happy blond and his flustered best friend.

"...what was that?!"

"I have to go there again a couple days before spring break for another test, and then after Passover for a TOVA," Emile explained, rather excitedly. "You know what a TOVA is, don't y—"

"It's that test where you click a button according to instructions, I know. Mueller explained it to everyone three days ago, Emmy."

"Oh right! And… and I guess that after those tests I'll know if I have anything!"

After a long moment of awkward silence, Emile tapped Remy's shoulder again. "Care to come over for the holidays? You didn't for Hanukkah and now my parents really want you to! I mean… I do too, but my parents haven't really met you yet and they think you're pretty cool and—"

"Sure, I'll come."

Emile had to do a bit of a double take. "Seriously? Remy, I don't think you understand what you're signing up for here, it's all my cousins from three different countries, most of them don't speak English, my grandparents, uncle Walter and aunt Caroline, maybe even mom's cousins if they'd be so grateful as to—"

"No, I get it, sweetie. I have, like, twenty cousins on Linda's side alone, more or less. I'll be fine. Don't worry about it."

Remy may have known before that he'll do anything to see Emile smile, but… he's never realized it until now. Probably? Maybe? But as Emile started bouncing happily and jumped in to hug him, Remy finally accepted the reality.

Coming over to Emile's during spring break was no trouble, but… in the long run, he would do anything to see him smile.

—————

Wednesday, April 16th, 2003

This was… definitely not spring break anymore. Remy was pretty sure that the higher ups in administration would rip him a new nonexistent one when they found out why he took a week's vacation in the middle of the spring semester…

Then again, so did a lot of the other students, and some of the staff. So maybe he was exaggerating…?

Eh. Finals start the week after that and end in May. He can allow himself a week off.

And yet he still had no idea how he ended up like this, watching Prince of Egypt with his best friend and said friend's three-year old niece at nine in the morning, as said friend's mom was overworking herself in the kitchen trying to make space and food for over thirty people…

Oh, and there was a dog too. She was currently playing with a squeaky toy, but she was there.

He only processed that this is the situation he's in once Emile started trying to get his niece singing. He had no idea what was going on on screen, but… something was.

"Mom, where's everyone?" Emile called to the kitchen after failing - for the hundredth time - to engage Analiese.

"Where could everyone possibly be, Emile?"

"Walter and Caroline are in town for the things you forgot to buy, grandma and grandpa are probably at their connection…" he started mumbling, counting on his fingers in an odd fashion. "I don't know!"

"You just said so yourself," Remy laughed quietly, grabbing Emile's hands gently. "Let's go over this again. Walter and Caroline are in town, your grandparents are at their connection…"

"Yeah, I know that," he groaned, slightly frustrated. "I just… everyone… here. That's what… that's what I'm confused about. Where's everyone here."

"...where everyone is seated?" Emile nodded. "Oh gurl… do you wanna make place holders, organize the seating, do you want to…"

"I just want to make sure nobody wants to sit on both my sides. One is okay, but you have to sit on my other side and I'm worried about that."

Oh…

"Well, we're gonna make sure that nobody takes my seat, okay?" Remy asked, kissing Emile's cheek afterwards.

"I sit with Emile!" Analiese declared, her attention now directed at the boys. Emile started laughing and leaned over to pinch her chubby cheek.

"We will read together, and sing together, and if mom complains we're gonna tell her off, right Ana?"

The toddler nodded, extremely determined, and Remy felt his heart melt all over again.

This was too good to be true, and not even seeing his most feared professor walk through the door and sit down next to them in the living room could shake this feeling. For once, Remy wasn't scared of this man. Through some odd change of fate, or something like that.

"So this is your first time doing such a thing?" Doctor La— Doctor Freeman asked, smiling gently as Analiese bounced in his lap and rambled about everything she's done this week. "Participating in Passover?"

"Yes, sir."

"He's my uncle now, not our professor," Emile laughed, squeezing Remy's hand. "You don't have to be so scared of him."

It didn't work as instantly as he wanted it to, but as the night went on, Remy actually… found that he wasn't that scared of him anymore.

As he said, this was too good to be true. And nothing could ever seem to be able to shake this good feeling.

#kylo cant write #sanders sides #remy/sleep #emile picani #keep him safe #sleep is for the weak #the remy centric prequel #tw: period appropriate transphobia #tw: holocaust mention #tw: mental health discussion

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