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instarsandcrime · 1 month

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Tuned Out

Oh gosh it's been uh. Almost a month since I've written something??? Well, I hope you enjoy this one! I loved the idea of a sick L/uc/ifer spiraling, and being broken out of it by A/la/stor's radio show because I'm weak to the idea-- though it can be interpreted as both platonic and Ra//di//o//A//pple.

And here's a quick heads-up: Though this is still the usual fluffy fic, the spiral paragraph itself is a bit rough. So I'm going to put a trigger warning below and in the summary when I add this fic to the list. If intrusive thoughts and vague thoughts of self-harm are too much, please skip the italicized second paragraph. You can still read the fic without needing to include this part, so don't feel ANY pressure to do so if you aren't/will never be ready. Please, pleeeassseee take care of yourselves!

Otherwise, enjoy!

TW: Intrusive thoughts, vague thoughts of self-harm

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Burning. His skin felt like it was burning him alive. That was the only sensation Lucifer could feel. His tired eyes stared up at the canopy of his bed, face glowing softly with fever. Its flush spread gold across the embedded pearls above, making them sparkle like stars. He sighed, crackling sparks floating from his lips as thoughts poked and prodded at his overheated mind.

Fuck. He really was pathetic, wasn’t he? Can’t move, can’t get up, can’t get a glass of water, eat dinner, call Charlie– call. Charlie? Oh, poor Charlie. She must be so disappointed in him. He chuckled weakly, What would she even say to him that she hasn’t already thought? He could imagine it. He really could. ‘Seriously, Lucifer?! I literally meant nothing to you for years and now suddenly you waltz into my life? And instead of actually spending time with me, you’re calling from a room that could’ve gone to someone who truly needed it, ordering me to wait on you hand and foot like I’m your butler? Like our entire relationship meant nothing? You threw me away, and now you’re going to do it again?! You know what? You deserve this! You deserve to rot in your bed! Get as starving and sick as you want! At least now the inside will match the outside! You’re terrible! I hate you! No. No, you know what? I wish you got your second shot at Heaven. I wish you had at least a week of laughter, fun, and fucking fireworks so they could tear off your wings andyoucanFallalloveragai–’

A burst of static pierced the air, shattering the constricting spiral just before it could break him again– and replaced it with a new form of dread.

“Why hello there all you wayward sinners! Welcome once again to tonight’s show with your host: The Radio Demon!”

“Uuugh!” Lucifer groaned dramatically, snatching one of his many pillows to press over his head.

Right. The stupid fucking radio. From under the shadows, the sickly demon couldn't help but glare daggers at the piece of junk resting on his nightstand. Alastor had requested those old, outdated mortal inventions for every hotel room– specifically from the 1920’s era because apparently he preferred style and substance. Whatever that meant.

Regardless. He insisted that it was needed for announcements, communication, and entertainment. In other words– somewhere, somehow, Alastor was currently studying him and him alone with invisible eyes. Surgically scanning him at the seams for the slightest rip. The slightest tear. As if his prey wasn't the most powerful being here. Dramatic bastard.

“And how are you doing this fine evening, Your Majesty?” The radio sung.

“Go away.” The lump of fluff grumbled.

"Of course not! It is my duty as your hotelier to take note of every little detail of my building, no matter how tiny and insignificant. And I am ever-so-glad I have! It is quite the rare sight to watch our King of Hell lose face to a simple case of the sniffles. Truly a headline for the ages!"

An angry red blush painted over the king’s golden cheeks, immediately pushing himself upright. Towering wings puffed, pillows and blankets tossed about the bed as he went. "Now see here! Sinners get sick. Overlords get sick. Hell, Charlie and Lilith can get sick! Me? I’m just rehhh…Snff! Ugh, resti'g…"

"Resting. Of course. I suppose I will believe you for convenience’s sake--"

"Hhheh…! Het'shiew!"

"--oh! Bless you."

"Het'shhhiew!"

"Bless y--"

"Hep'shhhh! 'Etshhh! 'Tshhh! 'Tshhh-'tshh-'tch! ...HhhhehhHH...! HEH'TSSHHHIEW!"

"My goodness, bless! You sound absolutely miserable. Shall I fetch you a glass of water? Or another blanket, perhaps?"

"Nhhh– no." Lucifer protested between hitching breaths, conjuring a handkerchief with the flick of the wrist, "N-no thahhh...hhhah! Hhhh...”

He finally lowered the cloth when the tickle finally fizzled out, heaving a sigh of relief. “Ndo thadk you. Snff!" He took a deep breath before letting loose a mucky blow into the fabric, "It's fine. I'm fine."

A pause. "Ah."

"What? What is it now?"

"Oh nothing, nothing! I’ll let you get back to your rest. But before I go, could I mention one more thing?”

“Absolutely not.”

“It’s just. Well, I had my first impressions, but I assumed that the King of Hell wouldn't be so cowardly."

"Cowardly?!" Lucifer repeated incredulously, spitting a plume of smoke.

"I see your hearing is as sharp as your wit."

"I'll show you cowardly you…y-you…hhh-!" The demon’s nose twitched desperately, and he cursed between hitching gasps as it tried again and again to just get. The damned itch. Out.

"I'm sorry, I couldn't quite catch that."

"You…you self-important…hehhh…p-pompous…!"

"How flattering of you to notice my worth! And would you believe it? You're absolutely right! I am the fundraiser for this humble project, after all. The guide for these poor, misguided souls. Ones such as yourself."

"Oh, please! We both know you’re...you're no behhh...better than…hhhH–!" Lucifer's handkerchief raised to his face.

"Trying to use your infamous silver tongue through a sneeze? My word! Charlie had told me you were stubborn. But this?"

"Eshhh! Et'SCHHH! HEH'ETSCHH'HHHIEW!" He quickly twisted his head away to let loose a breath of flame, barely singeing the well-abused cloth.

"Poor, poor Lucifer Morningstar.” Alastor teased, his voice as soft and careful as a snake in the grass. The smattering of footsteps echoed across the floorboards, circling the bed. “Always choosing your own heavenly guilt over the needs of everyone else."

"HEH'ESCHH'HHHIU! Hehh! Hhh…hghh…"

"Which is a shame, considering the ill resident who requires attention. Trapped in their own feverish mind. Alone while their partner is away. Unable to move or think or even ask for help properly. But I’m sure you wouldn’t know how it feels for them, considering how indestructible you are."

"...There is?" Lucifer finally croaked, cringing to himself at another gurgling nose blow.

"Of course! While you were hiding in your room with your wings tucked between your legs, I'm afraid you've missed someone very important. Someone close to you."

Lucifer froze. He didn't mean.

"Mmm. Let's see." As the radio host thought stubby knobs spun on their own, playing flickers of songs diluted by time. "Rosy cheeks. Blonde hair. Red eyes that sparkle so damn brightly one could go blind."

Oh no.

"Puffy bow tie. Black fingernails."

Did. Did he get his little girl sick? Please, please don't let that be the case.

"The most spell-binding singing voice."

He thought back to breakfast. How Charlie had eaten less than normal. How she sniffled once or twice at the table. Wait, did her face look pale? Maybe the light didn’t catch it?

A knot formed in the pit of his stomach.

"Wh-where is she-- they, um! That. Resident right now?"

"Oh, performing the usual suffering patient routine. Lying in bed. Being miserable. Quite adament about sleeping the bug off. Reminds me of the ol’ picture books that star wealthy socialites and their sickly Victorian children. The ones who die due to their parents' neglect and mistreatment."

"I could help her." The fallen angel mumbled anxiously as he pushed himself upright. "I could help her right– …now..."

The second he dared to stand he nearly fainted, stumbling dizzily to grab the bedpost for support. From beneath a small string of black tentacles sprouted from the ground, nudging him back into place and under the covers as The Radio Demon tutted disapprovingly.

"I wouldn’t do that if I were you. If you can't partake in the complex act of resting, then what good are you to our dear, sweet Charlie?"

"Shut. Up." Lucifer hissed, "I am a grown adult--"

"--debatable--"

"--and I choose what to do with my free time! And it's my jo-- koff koff! j-job to help my daughter when she needs it!" A shaky finger waved at all six radios. Or were there seven?

"To be quite honest Sire, I would prefer to do my tasks without your meddling. Actually, I would prefer not to perceive your existence at all, thank you very much. Unless..."

"Unless?"

"Unless you'd rather call her yourself. But I know you won't." A mocking tone laced with static, “You c̴̨̮͊o̶̗̤̿ẇ̷̙á̴̼̖ȑ̶͉̕d̶̙͚͗̕.”

“I– wh–” Lucifer laughed in sheer disbelief, snatching up his phone. “Y-you’re– you’re joking, right? I’m not some– some godforsaken hermit!"

"Then by all means, prove it."

"I am!"

“I’m waiting."

"Oh, I’ll do it! I’ll do such a good call. It’ll be the– snff! goodest caller you’ve ever seen.” The King of Hell pouted like a child as he moved his claws.

“Ugh. Lord knows how he’ll act if he gets worse.” The radio mumbled quietly.

“Whassat?”

“My apologies, Your Majesty! I forgot that your company as of late are less of the civilized and more the rubber duck variety.”

"Of all the– if you weren't stuck to Charlie like a parasite I would take the sharpest end of my tail and shove it up your--"

Click!

"Dad?" A voice croaked.

"Charlie!" Lucifer's venom turned saccharine sweet, flipping on a dime. "Hey! Hi! H-how are ya, sweetie?"

"Mmrgh...what time is it?"

"It's. Um. Evening…time? Look, that doesn't matter right now. Are you feeling alright, kiddo?"

"Am I feeling alright?" His patient echoed sleepily.

"Yeah! I uh. IIIII just wanted to check in. See if you were okay."

"Oh. Um, I'm okay." A bit of rustling and a pause. "Are you okay?"

"Snff! Me?"

"Yes, you! You looked so tired at breakfast this morning, a-and you didn’t eat anything which never happens! And you were kinda glowing? It kinda seemed bad but I didn’t want to ask because maybe it was a personal thing and– wait, your voice is…are you crying?!" Rustling turned into the shuffle of pacing slippers.

"What? No! Nonononono! I just--" Lucifer froze, feeling another itch start to build, handkerchief nowhere to be found under the sea of fabric. "Jhhh-just excuse mbe for– snff! For a seggond. Keebp t-talki’g…!"

He quickly pressed his hand against the speaker, stifling into his shoulder until the scratchy wool felt damp. "Hh'ntt! Hh’ngk! Hhh’TCH! ‘TCH! Hhhhh...HT'CHNXT'hiew! Guhh..."

"Sure. A-anyway, you called me pretty early in the morning and after all that and this. Soooo…is there anything I can do to help?"

Desperate claws scrambled to craft a new handkerchief and wipe his streaming face. "N-no! No, no-- snff! absolutely not! Worry about yourself Char-Char, I'm fi--....f-fihh...!"

Hang up, pinch your nose shut, do anything but--

"HET'SHHH'HIEW!" Lucifer doubled over.

–sneeze.

"Oh geez, that sounded terrible!” Charlie gasped, “Is that why you've been in your room all day? Are you sick?"

A sudden, very obvious realization hit him. Silently the fallen king sunk into his mattress, wishing he could be swallowed by his comforter. His cheeks burned. The familiar description. The taunting.

“Can I. Call you back, Stardust?”

“What? Whoa, whoa, wait, we’re not finished here–” With a final monotone beep, the call ended.

"You.” Lucifer clenched his fangs.

“Yes?” Alastor hummed non-chalantly. “YOU.”

“Gracious! No need to shout. Even The Devil Himself should know that a sickly patient musn’t raise his voice, lest it get worse than it already is!”

“Watch your back, bellhop. Next time I see you, no ring of Hell will compare to what I-- koff! I’ll–" The threat died with a wheeze, breaking into another ill-timed fit.

"And that's all for tonight, folks!" The radio suddenly hopped back to life, "Tomorrow's show may be a little dicey schedule wise, as our guest star is feeling quite unwell. Will he finally exit his literal and proverbial cave of sorrows for once in his miserable life? Or, much like his saintly past, will pride once again be his downfall--"

"Dad! Are you– eep!"

Charlie's entrance was suddenly interrupted when a black fist rained down on the damned noise box, breaking in a fit of bouncing springs and wooden splinters. The room stilled until a meek, nervous chuckle finally broke the spell.

"Charlie, dear?"

"Y…yeah?"

"Um. Could. Could I trouble you for a glass of water?"

#snz #snz fic #ha//zb//in//ho//tel//#lu/ci/fer #a/la/stor #char/lie

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oneeyedoctogod · 5 months

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It’s been once month since you’re gone. Dead. Reduced to nothing but ashes and memories.

Grieving is weird.

For so long, I expected the breakdown. I was waiting for it, wary, both because of the way grief is portrayed in media and because of my own history.

It’s like when you’re outside in the winter. You feel the cold creeping in, seeping into your clothes, your fingers, your nose, your ears, your lungs. And it’s bearable at first; There’s some sun around you, protecting you. Not much wind. And you have your clothes, keeping you warm.

I felt almost okay, like I could go on. I felt strong and thought oh, this isn’t so bad? Maybe I can keep going. Maybe I’m weird in that way too and I’ll cope better than I thought.

It comes all the same. The sun goes down and night replaces it; your clothes can’t protect all of you; the wind picks up.

And I realized, ah, I’m standing on a lake covered in ice, and the ice is creaking and breaking and soon enough, I will fall in the lake and then nothing will protect me anymore.

(Is it still drowning if you’re the one holding your breath?)

I’m so tired. It’s that kind of tired that’s like a blanket over your brain, your head, your every single thought.

It whispers at night, my brain.

It lies and cajoles and tells me: are you even worth it? Why are you still here when your dad isn’t? Why did it take him and not you? Why are you still here?

Is it really worth it, to keep going?

I know those thoughts, I’ve had them on and off for, gods, 17 years by now. I can fight them off, for now. Took two pills to keep the breakdown at bay and another to sleep at night.

Two months ago, I was thinking boy am I glad to have survived. I wish so fucking hard it was still true. In my best moments, I know it is. I know my brain is lying, that the intrusive thoughts, and the self-harm and the suicidal ideation, that all of that is because I’m sick and grieving and that it’s going to get better. It did, once, twice, again and again and again.

(What’s that tumblr post again? Hope isn’t nice, it’s getting up again, blood on her knuckles, spitting out a tooth and getting ready for another round? Something like that. I don’t know how true it is, but I sure am bleeding for it.)

But I still look at my arms and want to (did) carve them up, I want to take a shard of glass and slit my throat, I want to go the train station or to the highest building in town, or a bridge or wherever else and jump. I want to swallow all my pills in one go and never wake up again. I want to slap myself and tear out my hair and — I want it all to stop. The pain, the grief, my whole goddamn existence.

I’m so tired.

You know what the worst part of it all is? It’s not the guilt, though that’s fairly high on the list too — that terrible, terrible guilt that’s eating at me because here fucking we go again, I’m going to worry all my loved ones, I’m going to be a burden again, I should just keep smiling and pretending everything is alright even if it’s not because at some point, any point, it’s going to become too much. I’m going to become too much.

(I remember my mother at twelve years old, telling me can’t you smile for once? Yet the guilt isn’t the worst part.

The worst part is that I can’t talk to you about it. I can’t call you or message you. I can’t tell you: “hey my therapist asked me how I felt about going back on meds again.” “hey I wonder if I’ll be hospitalized again and for how long this time.” “hey will I ever be okay?”

(I was right when I said mom would be back to her usual shenanigans) (I wish you were still here so I could bitch to you about it; I’m sure you would have a lot of things to say about her behavior) (I’m still shaking with rage, I want to scream so bad, I want to cut all contact with her and never have to see her again and I can’t and it kills me) (I remember you telling me that once, in a fit of rage, she broke your favorite camera. An expensive one and that you held dear.) (If I tell her what I think of her, what’s to stop her from doing the same to the rest of your stuff? What’s to stop her from leaving me to deal with everything alone? I depend on her so much, I need her and I hate, hate, hate, hate it)

It’s been a month and even if I know you’d hate it, I still wish death had taken me instead of you. I’m sorry.

But that’s easy to say. And you wouldn’t want that. So I keep seeing friends and talking and taking the meds and seeing a thousand doctors and maybe I’ll have to go back to the hospital but whatever it takes. You would want me to live so that’s what I’m going to do. One painful step at a time.

Two months ago I thought boy, am I glad to have survived.

So let’s try to get to that again.

#my writing #death tw #self-harm tw #suicide mention

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festeringneondistraction · 1 year

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Im trying to break out of the looping

Anyone else with obsessive tendencies, intrusive thoughts, or really just any severe anxiety disorder get super stuck in loops? Like one thought or one idea will just STAY in my brain. Sometimes its a series of thoughts. More like a small train of thought. Sometimes its really important life stuff you gotta deal with other times its super stupid shit, shit that isn't worth stressing over.

I'm constantly in an obsessive loop over the course of my life. Am I on the right path?Are the people in my life right for me? JOB?? COLLAGE??? a place to live. rent all the details allllllll the pros and cons.

Its frustrating when I go to present an idea to some one which i have meticulously thought out every.goddamn.detail. and they dont believe that i have it covered.

I dont need anyone i guess... but i do thats the thing. I want people to care about me. I want someone else to do the work sometimes. IT feels like being alive and just living with a brain takes 10 time for energy and work than it does for others. Im so exhausted and burntout. I have Covid right now... second time ever. I was careful but I got it at a funeral like a week before starting a new job. Which is like my DREAM job by the way. Im terrified of failing. im terrified im going to crack under the pressure and self sabotage. Im so so so sick of the pressure that's just naturally on me. Im also putting a lot of that pressure on my self. I hate the idea of pushing my partner because he also doesnt respond well to that

I don't know... I just need therapy and sleep i guess. BUt if the words are out they cant hurt me. I'm also on my period and i have PMDD so there's that. I think im sad... I'm not amazing at letting myself feel feelings. I can analyse them and intellectualize them alllllllll day though :)

I might be moving to colorado springs in like 6 months,,, Its definitely the best course of action and im used to having at very least one major life change per year at this rate. This isn't a new process. This isn't even my first or second move crossing state lines. I live in Albuquerque and I love New Mexico but abq kinda sucks. Super isolationing terrible economy zero social mobility. The social mobility thing is very real. It has literally plagued my family for generations. I love New Mexico I just wish that I could live here without living in poverty.

It seems like things are looking up and from an objective point of view they are looking up however im still drowning. This very well could just be the PMDD and Covid talking. IM really tired. Its 2;18 pm bf is still asleep.. that not a problem i'm just bored. My writing while a healthy coping skill can turn obsessive very quickly so i should probably stop for now.

#autism #actually mentally ill #rsd #neurodivergent memes #autism post #mental health #actually ocd #fuck pmdd

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draftsthatideletelater · 1 year

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I honestly can‘t anymore (rant)

its 11:34 pm. i tried to sleep one and a half hour ago, but i couldn’t. something has been bothering me for a while now....

actually its for more than just a while... since after all this covid lockdown thing i became more introverted than i ever have been... more than being an introvert, i became extremely shy, and to be honest, stupid. i find myself in atleast one awkward/ weird situation per week, and i hate myself for it.

i was a lot different before lockdown. i was quite active in my class, and i was one of the top students. and now, 3 years later.... past me would be so ashamed to see the present me. past me would be embarrassed to see the present me begging to god not to let myself fail the math test again. past me would be horrified to see my extremely, terribly low self esteem and social anxiety. past me would not be happy to learn that even after a whole academic year some of my teachers still do not know my name.

i remember going to my father’s home when i was 5 and while traveling, i looked at the road and the never ending white stripes on it, and for some reason a weird thought popped to my mind : is everything real? am i real? is this actually happening? am i really going to visit my grandparents?

another vivid memory of myself when i was 5 was that of myself picking on my lips so much that it started bleeding. when my parents asked how it happened i lied and told them i dont know how. they assumed it was because of the extremely hot climate. they applied oil on my lips to moisturize and heal, and forbid me from eating spicy food as it would cause pain on the injury.

in my school, we only have science and commerce for higher secondary courses. i want to be an arts student. there were only one girl othe than me who wanted to be an arts student. our principal, during a meeting decided to ask us why we decided to pick arts. while the other girl explained beautifully why she picked arts, i sat there dumbfounded thinking for the first time, why did i pick arts? the only reason i could give myself was that i hated science and math. but thats honestly not a valid reason. so itold her i wish to become a museologist. my beloved principal didnt even know what that was. later my teacher told me she assumed museology had to do something with music, and she wondered why i picked humanities just to learn music. she praised the other girl for her wonderful ambitions.

i felt so left out and my self esteem went deep underground when i picked up the mic to speak in front of 120 students and at least 10 teachers and 1 principal that i want to become a fricking museologist. thats not even true. i dont have any ambition. the future to me is very scary and im genuinely afraid that i will become a failure in my life. i remember my class teacher chuckling to herself while she retrieved the mic from me. my brain has convinced me that she was laughing at all of my wrong life decisions.

im convinced that everyone hates me. i can blame them though. im such a weird, awkward and cringe person. its very easy for me to make you dislike me. all my classmates hate me and my teachers hate me too, because im weird and i never study well.

if anyone is reading this, which no one is, but for some reason i hope someone reads this and somehow understands me but that doesnt matter, anyways, i if anyone is reading this, you might have wondered why i mentioned about my lip skin picking and derealisation, i will get to the explanation soon, but another thing i noticed in myself was my carelessness. especially when doing math.but it increased in a huge amount during the online classes. i also tend to forget a lot, zone out a little during class(sometims only) daydream way too much, have intrusive thoughts quite often, started to become self conscious and become extremely lazy.

why i talked about all the random stuff i do/ have is because i believe i have ADHD. i just think so. but i should never diognose myself. so what did i do? i told my dad about it, only to get scolded by him and mom. they told me i have a lot of potential. i should stop being lazy and be more focused. its easy right? no its not. cuz i find it difficult to focus.

its 12 40 am right now and im slowly getting sleepy now. ill most probably delete this tomorrow and also regret posting this. but it doesnt matter anymore.

#rant #long post #help #adhd

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gojoho · 3 years

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MERCY

• pairing; toji fushiguro x reader [ nsfw ]

• premise; it’s the same dance with him, a shameless game of cat and mouse in which he always win but maybe losing is equally as rewarding.

• words; 2078

• note & warning; i’m back with some toji content, he’s just been in my mind a little to long for me not the write about him. some warnings for this one is public, unprotected ( wrap it and then tap it folks ) sex, with the usual grammatical errors—I swear I try to proof read ya’ll but they just manage to find a way to stay in there. i am slowly but surely getting my mojo back.

Old habits die hard; it's easier to hate each other that way. Labeling whatever that was manifesting between the two of you as that, a bad habit. A dirty secret only an onyx sky could appreciate enough to hide. Perhaps that's what kept it alive and kicking, midnight turmoil, where even the most terrible of bad ideas are more seductive.

Though it's debatable if the alcohol left you unhinged, mindless, and bold. What other excuse did you have for allowing the bastard to enter your domain? There was no shame from the thinking without a conscience, but with the pounding music and pulsing lights, you weren't sure there was even space to think. He held a brazen stare all evening, keen to every move you made.

A man's attention was never anything to sneeze at, but when it was a straggler like Toji Fushiguro, it was intoxicating. And more than the liquor, everything seemed to be within reach under his spotlight. He held his distance, clung to the darkness, yet with such an adamant gaze he could have been right there beside you. At least, that's how you imagined it but the game wasn't that easy.

He'd stay in his dark corner, not quite able to step closer until you were ready. Until the heat underneath your skin became unbearable, leaving you an aching mess. That made it easier to devour you. Whether it meant burying his head between your thighs or hooking his arms around your waist and keeping you open. Or bottomed out inside you, mouth feasting on your chest.

The club was full, Friday night packed but it would work in your favor. You knew none of the songs, not that it mattered, it was mere fuel to your movements. A nice accessory to the sway of your hips, to suggestive temptation behind them.

It wasn't worth looking in his direction; he was always watching. At that thought alone, your clothes become a nuisance. A means to an end, that would start with him. Toji was a patient man but knew that patience didn't extend to everyone, you in particular. He was a tease, and as your dress inclined it almost felt as if he'd been the one to hike it up.

A sensation too similar to his hands moving over your bare thighs, ready to pry them open. His smug chuckle was right there feeding your imagination, and as one song faded into the next, there wasn't a spot on your body that hadn't been kissed in theory. With one thought, you were drooling over a man less than ten feet away, fantasizing about all the ways he could take you. It was more of a headache than it seems, and as the pace of the songs picks up, the conscience returns. Whilst you make your way back to the bar. You'd need a little more liquid luck to get through the rest of the night.

“That was quite a show.”

“Didn’t know I had an audience.” What else could you have done but tell a bald-faced lie? Telling him the truth didn't do anyone any good. How you envision him fucking you in the middle of the dance floor.

“Could’ve fooled me." The bar was located farther away from the DJ and next to the restrooms. The quieter end of the venue, but you're sure you'd have heard his smirk regardless.

After all this time, it's only then that you turn to him.“What are you doing here Fushiguro?”

Big mistake, ten feet away he looked the same as when you last saw him, but up close and personal, some details that had escaped memory came back to haunt you.

“Would you believe me if I told you, I’m here to see you?”

Yeah right, “Not in the slightest.”

“It’s true for the most part, had a job in the area and thought I’d pop in do some sightseeing." He shifted his weight back to the counter, his elbows well-rested on either side.

“Well you came and you saw.”

“On the contrary,” he said. The double meaning has turned your cheeks crimson, and you're thankful for the red lights underneath the counter. “Cute dress.”

Images from moments before gloss over your eyes, heating every part of your body. They burned a path down your chest before settling below your hips. “Seriously Fushiguro what do you want? You made it pretty clear we both want different things the last time you popped in.”

“Things are different.” Sincere wasn't the word you or anyone else would use to describe the guy, but his demeanor defied all expectations. He seemed to be a completely different person.

“Yeah, they are,” you mumbled, tossing back a shot you managed to order before his interruption.

“Look," he started and turned to face you. Face inches from yours, his scent enveloping both of you. "I tried the settling down thing and it doesn’t work with my kind of lifestyle.”

It wasn't the words you wanted to hear, but you probably wouldn't have had them anyway. Wishful thinking, “Then that’s clears things up doesn’t it?” Toji Fushiguro didn’t do apologies, much like he didn’t do commitment, and even as he called after you, that would never change. Something you wish your body would recognize, no matter how much it longed for him.

The corridor to the restrooms was too quiet for him being that close to you...too intimate. In the quick second you had turned you back to him, ready to sober up and head home, he’d already been behind you. Pushing you up against the wall in the far corner, his arms barricading you in.

“You’re quite stubborn, you know that.” His voice was low, quiet all to maintain the secrecy veiled in the darkness.

“Thanks, I’ll be sure to add it to my resume.” You witted, going to duck around him but he was quick and with a step forward his hips pushed yours in back place.

“Will you just listen,” he pleaded. Not that you had much of a choice, but he took your silence as obedience. “I won’t make excuses, I’m a shitty guy but it’s gotten me this far. You won’t get the white picket fence with me. That’s not who I am.”

It was true, he was a shitty person. One minute here and the next gone with the wind. All with impeccable timing, usually around when he’d finish fucking you senseless. Truthfully it wasn’t something too much of a problem, it was better if he had his life and you with your own. Though you supposed between the kisses, and that final thrust that brought you both over the edge left some vulnerability.

“If I’m stubborn, then you’re quite dense. I never asked for that Toji. I was fine with the wild sex but was a little conversation too much to ask? You’ve got baggage, newsflash so do I, but you’d think we’d handle it like two grown adults. You’ve always been on the move, please, slow down every once in a while.”

The silence is deafening, louder than the upbeat track in the distance. You were irritated, angry, and, to make it worse, aroused. What else did he expect from you but a meltdown? As he moved his head to your back, he lowered his arms, allowing them to ghost your waist. “I'm sorry,” he said softly, kissing it.

In retrospect, you should have jumped for joy, climbed to the top of the bar, and screamed at the top of your lungs like a lunatic, but you didn't. You didn't want to abandon his embrace at that moment; he had really changed.

The kiss in trial is slow and tender, responsive to not only the worries but any emotion in between. Everything you didn't think he was capable of and all rage bleeds into desire. Each of you starved and desperate to find a fill.

The stiffness of his pants condemned his hold, which found its power over your hips. You want to propose that he return the excitement to your place or whatever hotel he was staying in, but he broke the kiss to turn you around. His patience had reached its maximum for the night.

“Wait for a second,” you mumbled out. A slight moan slipped through feeling his erection firm and strong against your rear. The ends of your dress taunted by his fingertips liked how you pictured them too. “Sorry princess, no can do.”

It’s almost impressive how quickly he lifts your dress and slipping a finger past your thong. But should anyone know your body in grave detail it was him. There’s a ceremonial cheer from the crowd as the DJ lets the beat drop, Toji’s opportune moment of intrusion. Your own cry, not one in interest to the music but the long slender finger to part your folds.

“I’ve waited all night to get my hands on you,” he mumbled out, lips pressed to the back of your neck.

“Toji—”

“I’ll be quick, just the way you like it.”

It’s in your best interest to stop him there, keeping private matters just that, you should stop him...should.

“Fuck…quickly.” you cursed out in compliance. There’s a smirk on his face, you know it. Sure he’s different, but some things never change.

In the second he pulled his finger away, you whimper half expecting for it to slip back in, maybe even with a partner but a casual Friday night turns into Christmas.

“I'll take my time with you later, right now—” he started face pressed into the back of your shoulder. “I just need to be inside you.”

First was the tip of his cock, a feeble tickle before the rest of his inches followed. Stretching you full, slipping deep into your heat. Coaxing the ache that was for him, letting the world see just how easily your body welcomed his own. Yet, it was hard to care about the rest of the world when your own revolved around everything below your hips.

He gripped them tightly, anchoring you there at the hilt with a slow sure thrust before looping a hand to your front. Twisting the nerves in time with his sudden thrust. Quick like he said, but still slow enough to feel him move inside you. In and out, then over again. The excitement of having him there indulging with your body, and the anxiety of getting caught clashed. Making you even more aware of your walls around him, but in his muffled moans there are words of encouragement. Sweet nothings that make your arousal fierce, sexy, and less wrong.

“Don't stop, ” you say a little too loud for doing something taboo but you don't care, “Don't fucking stop.”

The million and one fantasy that flooded your mind on the dancefloor spirals, winding with the moment and coiled in an untamed void. Ready to snap at those trying to control it. And there, shrouded in the thin veil of privacy Toji picks up his pace, teasing it with each stroke until finally, it shudders through. Coming in waves, meeting your peek every time he pushed forward. Bolting down your legs the more sloppy and anxious his hips became.

“Fuck, ” he grunts hands shooting to your chest. Pulling you closer to him, eating up your moans with his.

Almost feral with the way he continued despite his cock’s twitches, he wasn't nearly satisfied but that was a mess neither of you was capable of cleaning up at the moment. Regrettably, you push back on his rhythm stopping it completely. Snapping him from the haze.

“We should go, ” you whisper out on his lips. Which he can only grunt back in response to, hesitant to slip from your warmth.

His hands are glued to your body, unable to null all contact as you tugged your dress back down or as he tucks himself back into his pants. You'd ask whether it was back to your place or his but the languid look on his face as the two of you shamelessly stepped into the light made it fruitful. It didn't matter where the two of you went, he'd have you crying for mercy.

#jjk #Jujutsu Kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #toji fushiguro #fushiguro toji #toji fushiguro x reader #fushiguro toji x reader #toji fushiguro x reader smut #fushiguro toji x reader smut #gojoho

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whenisitenoughtrees · 4 years

Note

If you’re still doing these, 33 with Moceit? ALL the fluff with perhaps a little dash of angst?

@thatoneloudowl i was gonna do a dash of angst but then i knocked over the angst jar and spilled a couple cups so. there is a little more than a dash. but the ending! is fluffy! don’t worry!!

for 33. Sometimes, I just want to cuddle, okay? Is that so bad?

Title: like a puzzle (we fit)

Word Count: 3,328

Content Warnings: mention of disordered eating, self-isolation as a form of self-harm

(fic masterpost w/ ao3 links)

These days, Patton wanders the mindscape like a ghost. Frankly, Janus is beginning to find it annoying.

Or at least, he would, if the sight didn’t make his heart clench, didn’t make his stomach turn, didn’t make some unidentifiable emotion rise up within him, threatening to spill out before he even lets himself acknowledge it. And he’s not acknowledging it, if only because doing so while Thomas’ mental health is in such a precarious position is a risk he’s not willing to take. But that’s not enough to stop him from watching Patton out of the corner of his eye, not enough to stop him from tracking his movements, from taking in the way he seems—

Well. Bereft seems like a good way to put it. Bereft of his usual spark, his usual joy. And bereft in another way, too, because as the time passes, Janus realizes something else: Patton is isolating himself.

It’s fairly obvious, at least to him, so he’s surprised that none of the others have picked up on it— or perhaps they have, and they’re ignoring it, but that seems like a level of maliciousness that he doesn’t think that the so-called “light” sides are capable of. Because Patton is suffering, and he can’t imagine that they would let him go on in this way if they knew, even if they are angry with him. So, they’re not cruel, just oblivious, and if the situation were any different, Janus might laugh about the fact that he of all sides is the only one to recognize that something is wrong.

But this is no laughing matter.

Patton’s face is pale and drawn, his eyes watery, his smiles wan and fake. He’s grown thinner, too, if Janus isn’t mistaken, and that is yet another cause for concern; Patton is not the best cook in the world, but that has never stopped him from trying. The fact that he’s stopped cooking, perhaps even stopped eating, is worrisome, and the worst thing about all of this is that Janus isn’t entirely sure what to do about it.

He knows self-care intimately, all of its practices, all of its uses. It’s his job, and in theory, getting Patton to take better care of himself should be easy for him. But Patton has always been particular about deserving things, and Janus doesn’t know that he’s reached the level of relationship that would allow him to persuade Patton that he doesn’t deserve to be treating himself this way. He’s not sure that he’s could convince him of it outright, and while he thinks that manipulating him to come to that point of view might be doable, the idea leaves a sour taste in his mouth.

Already, his judgment is being clouded by sentiment. He wishes that he were more upset about it than he is.

But whether he knows what to do or not, something needs to happen, and an opportunity arrives soon enough. He’s lounging in the common room— and the fact that he has the freedom to do that now is still nothing short of spectacular, frankly, not that he would ever admit as much out loud— when Patton comes down the stairs, bleary-eyed, and goes to fetch a glass of water from the kitchen. He watches, curious, as Patton passes him with barely a glance.

It is instinct to follow him. Patton doesn’t seem to notice his presence, so he leans against the doorframe, observing quietly as Patton fumbles a glass from the cabinet, almost dropping it, and sticks it under the tap to fill with water. He considers saying something when Patton gulps down half of it in one go, and again when Patton sighs, bracing himself against the counter. But it feels like an intrusion, somehow, and the words won’t come.

So, he doesn’t say anything, preparing himself to jump in the moment that Patton turns and sees him.

Patton turns and sees him.

“Hello, Pa—”

But Patton flinches violently, and Janus is cut off by the sound of glass shattering on the floor. All thoughts of having a cool, measured conversation fly out the window.

“Shit,” he says, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to— here, just let me—”

He steps forward, choreographing his movement so Patton can avoid him if he wants, but Patton is staring at the ground, his eyes wide as they flit across the glass now scattered on the tile. He doesn’t react as Janus takes his elbow, guiding him away from the glass shards, and he doesn’t react when Janus snaps his fingers, getting rid of the mess entirely.

Janus’ concern grows.

“Patton?” he asks. “Patton, are you with me?”

Slowly, Patton blinks. His gaze comes into focus, and then he smiles, a smile so clearly plastered on, so clearly fake that it sits like a physical weight in Janus’ gut.

“Janus!” he chirps. “Hi! Sorry about that, I’m not sure what came over me. Guess I’ve got a real case of butter fingers today.” He waves his hand, holding a Butterfingers bar between his fingers, and Janus frowns. He knows a deflection when he sees one, though he’s less certain that Patton realizes that he’s doing it in the first place. By now, he wouldn’t be surprised if it’s an ingrained instinct.

Look away, Patton is saying. Wasn’t that a funny joke? Pay attention to the joke, not to me. I’m alright.

“I should be the one apologizing,” he says. “I startled you.”

Patton laughs. “That’s alright,” he says. “Really, I guess I just wasn’t paying enough attention. Was there something that you needed?”

He maintains a blank face with an effort. “Do I need to have a reason to spend time with you?” he asks, and there is the first crack: a moment of bewilderment passing across Patton’s face, as if he can’t possibly believe that someone would want to be around him for the sake of his company. It’s a familiar look, a bitter one, one he would never admit aloud to having seen in his own mirror.

“Of course, I would love to talk to you,” he continues. “But only if you’re amenable.”

Patton squints at him, and this, too, is familiar ground, as Patton tries to figure out whether he’s sincere or not. He waits patiently as Patton’s expression folds into something just a little more genuine, tinged with relief.

“Sure,” he says. “I’d love to talk for a little while.”

Something sour coats Janus’ tongue; a half-truth, then, though which half, he can’t tell. Patton is almost as practiced in lying as he is, though his are so often self-directed. But for now, he will take the admission at face value, and as he walks over to the couch, Patton follows, settling on the cushions next to him, and that is what is important.

“In all honesty, I wanted to know how you were doing,” he says, keeping his voice as gentle and sincere as he possibly can. It doesn’t come naturally to him, but somehow, it is easier when it is Patton. Easier to open up, easier to express his true concerns. Easier to allow himself to care, and he wishes he didn’t have to read into that, but he knows very well what it means, even if he’s shelving it to be considered at a later date. “It’s been some time now since the wedding, but I couldn’t help but notice that you haven’t been spending much time around the others lately.”

The wince is so quick that Janus half-wonders if he imagined it. But no— it was masked quickly, but it was there.

“Well, you know how it is,” Patton says. “Everyone’s so busy lately, me included! You know, with Nico and all.”

Janus feels his chest fill with warmth at the mere mention of the name, though he keeps his infatuation off his face as well as he can. There is not a single side in the mindscape that isn’t taken with Nico, completely and utterly, and Janus is unashamed to count himself among their number. Nico is who Thomas wants at the moment, after all, and Janus is always eager to let Thomas act on his wants.

But bringing him up now is nothing more than another distraction, one that he sees through immediately.

“I don’t know at all,” he agrees, “But, Patton, I can’t help but feel as though this is something else.” He flicks through a couple of options in his mind, wondering what will get through to him the best. After a moment of consideration, he reaches out and places a hand on Patton’s arm. It’s awkward; casual physical contact is not something he’s particularly practiced in. But Patton doesn’t seem to mind it, or at least, he doesn’t move away, though he appears a bit startled. “You’ve moved past busy into outright avoidance.”

Patton’s jaw works. “I’m not avoiding—”

“Patton.”

Patton stops and looks at him for a moment. And then, he slumps in on himself, like a marionette with its strings cut. “Am I that obvious?” he asks, and he sounds so miserable that for a moment, Janus wants nothing more than to wrap him up in his arms and hold him until his pain goes away. An unusual instinct for him, but perhaps it makes sense; Patton has always liked hugs, as far as he knows, so it’s not unreasonable that his first thought would be to offer one.

His drive for self-preservation goes far beyond preserving himself, after all.

“Not really,” he says, “but you know how I’m so terribly unobservant.” He pauses, and then goes on, more quietly. “I won’t force you to talk to me if you would rather not. But we’ve had the conversation about repression before. Multiple times, if I remember correctly.”

Patton laughs, but there’s no warmth in it. Just something sad, self-deprecating.

“No, no, you’re right,” he says. “And I know it’s not good, I just—”

He waits, and Patton draws in a breath.

“I’ve been thinking,” he says, “about my mistakes a lot, lately. And I— I understand that it’s okay that I make them, and that I can’t be perfect, and as long as I try my best to fix things and do better then it’s alright, but it’s just that— Roman’s been so happy lately, you know? Because he finally got something that he wanted. And it just sort of hit me that I’ve been keeping him from having that for so long. He hasn’t been happy in so long, and I’m not even sure that anyone’s been happy in so long, and it’s all my fault because I’ve been saying that it’s wrong to want things for yourself, but it’s not really wrong at all and I know that now, but I just don’t know how to—”

“Patton,” Janus says, squeezing his arm, “please, breathe.”

Patton stops, looking at him, which isn’t exactly what he meant him to do, but he’s breathing, at least.

“Is this why you’ve been avoiding them?” he asks. “Because you’ve been worrying about this?”

Patton glances down, his hands twisting into the hem of his shirt.

“I just don’t want to hurt them again,” he says, voice small, and Janus is surprised at his own flash of anger. Who it’s directed at, he can’t say. The others, perhaps, for letting it get this bad. Himself, for not seeing it sooner.

“I understand that,” he says, “but even if you weren’t letting yourself magnify your missteps, which you are, by the way, you can’t possibly believe that they’d want you to hurt yourself instead.”

Patton jerks. “I’m not—”

“Oh, you’re not?” He breathes out sharply through his nose, trying to regain some of his composure. If this were any other side, he would feel comfortable in berating them from dawn to dusk, but Patton is too fragile for that right now. Even he can recognize as much. “Patton,” he says, softer, but firm, “when was the last time you ate?”

Patton’s brow furrows. “This morning,” he answers, “or— no. Wait. It had to have been— no, that’s not it either.” The corners of his eyes pinch as he tries to work through it, and while Janus has to admit that it is some relief to know that he hasn’t been denying himself food on purpose, the fact that the question is a difficult one at all is still very concerning.

“I—” Patton stops, stutters. “I guess I haven’t been very hungry lately. I didn’t think it had been that long—”

“It’s alright,” Janus interrupts, even though it isn’t, because there is an edge of panic beginning to creep into Patton’s voice, and he would like to avoid that if he can. “Well, we can work on it, at any rate.”

Patton’s hands are trembling. He pauses, considering for a moment, and then reaches out to take them in his. The contact is startling, despite the fact that he initiated it, and judging from the way Patton stills, the sentiment is shared. It is almost enough to make him pull away again, writing the venture off as a bad idea, but he doesn’t want to give Patton the wrong impression, doesn’t want him to assume that he stopped for any reason other than his own hangups about touch.

“That is,” he says, “if you’ll allow me to help. I can’t force you into anything. Ultimately, you’re your own person. Or rather, your own part of a whole person. But that means that the decision is up to you.”

Patton doesn’t reply. He’s staring at where their hands are connected, his face twisted into an expression that Janus can’t even begin to describe, and a horrible suspicion enters his mind.

Self-isolation can be a form of self-harm, too, and Patton has always been so tactile by nature.

“How long has it been since you last touched someone?” he asks, and Patton startles, yanking his hands out of Janus’ grip like he’s been burned. Janus tries not to let it sting.

“That’s not—” he says. “That’s not a big deal. I can— I don’t have to— and I didn’t want to bother anybody, so I—”

“Right, because asking people for a bit of physical contact is such a bother,” he says, his voice veering sharper than he intends.

“Isn’t it?” Patton asks, and Janus rears back at his tone. “Everyone’s dealing with their own things right now, so why should they have to help me on top of that? And besides, I’m clingy, and nobody—”

“Who told you that?”

Generally, he refrains from trying to murder his fellow sides, if only on the principal that they’re all needed for Thomas to function properly, but if it turns out that one of them has caused this, that one of them has called Patton clingy, made him think that seeking out affection when he needs it is somehow wrong, or a burden on others, then he refuses to be help responsible for his actions.

“No one had to tell me that,” Patton says. “But it’s true, isn’t it? I’m too much, and I’ve been trying to be better about that too, but it’s just—”

No.

No, no, no.

“No,” he says. “It’s not true. You’re not too much, not when it comes to things like this, and anyone who has ever told you otherwise is wrong. No—” He raises a hand when Patton goes to cut him off, though he doesn’t actually exercise his silencing ability. Repressing Patton now would be the exact opposite of helpful. “And that includes yourself.” He reaches out and takes Patton’s hands again, holding on tight. He can feel how tense Patton is, how every muscle in his body has stiffened.

“Please,” Janus says. “Tell me what you want.”

Patton’s eyes well up with tears. His lips quiver. The silence stretches on.

And finally:

“I— sometimes, I just want to cuddle, okay? Is that so bad?” It’s a whimper, a plea, and really, Janus is absolutely going to kill each and every last inhabitant of the mindscape for neglecting Patton like this, for allowing him to believe that something so simple as cuddling him would be a chore, would be too much. He’s going to kill them, but later, because here and now, Patton needs him more than he needs any acts of violence, no matter how well-deserved.

“Of course it’s not,” he says, and hopes that the sincerity comes through, hopes that Patton doesn’t assume he’s lying. “Come here.”

And even as he draws Patton closer, he begins to panic. He has never done this before, never been asked to do this; generally, the others have always assumed that he likes his space, and usually, that’s true enough that he’s never bothered to correct the notion. It’s had the added benefit of keeping Remus at arm’s length when he’s difficult to handle, but he would be lying— ha— if he said that he’d never considered the drawbacks before now, never let himself wonder what it would be like to have someone else so close to him.

He’s never cuddled. Never been cuddled, never cuddled someone else. So really, he is possibly the absolute worst side for Patton to be stuck with right now.

But he’s what Patton’s got, so he tugs Patton up against his chest, wrapping his arms around him. Patton makes a noise, something between a gasp and a whine, but it only takes a second for him to melt into the touch, all of his weight landing firmly against Janus’ body as he goes limp as a ragdoll.

It’s an awkward position. He doesn’t know anything about cuddling, but he’s fairly certain that it’s supposed to be more comfortable than this.

He wonders if the fact that he feels like his skin is on fire is typical, or if that’s just him. A consideration for later, maybe, though his heart is beating almost too fast to ignore.

“Here,” he says, “let’s—”

He pulls back, heart panging at Patton’s soft whimper, but he settles himself on the couch, a sprawling position halfway between sitting and lying down. He beckons, then, and Patton wastes no time before lurching forward, draping himself along Janus’ body, and this— this feels right, somehow, their limbs slotting into all the right places, curving against each other, and Janus places his hands on Patton’s back to keep him in place. Not that he needs to; Patton doesn’t seem to want to go anywhere.

Patton tucks his face underneath his chin, resting against the hollow between his neck and collarbone. Janus has to suppress a whimper of his own. He’s never been touched there. Not ever.

He feels himself melting into Patton just as much as Patton is melting into him. It’s new, and strange, and a bit terrifying, but he doesn’t want it to stop.

Patton lets out a sigh, long and low. “‘M sorry I was being dumb,” he murmurs, words barely intelligible.

“It’s not dumb to be scared, or to have self-doubt,” he replies, though it’s a struggle to make himself coherent. His brain feels mushy, his thought processes slow, like wading through knee-deep water. “You’re wrong, of course, but it’s not dumb.” He pauses. “And it’s definitely not dumb to want someone to take care of you.”

“‘M glad you’re here,” Patton mumbles. “I’m glad it’s you. Thank you, Janus.”

Something in his chest bursts, warm and brilliant, and he doesn’t think it’s the contact.

“Of course,” he says, fighting to speak past a mouth that has gone very dry. “Anytime.”

Patton shifts, snuggling closer, and he wonders if Patton realizes just how much he means it. Because he does, perhaps more than he has ever meant anything else.

He’s not ready to say it, yet, though. Not yet ready to make it known, to open himself up to that. So, for the moment, he holds Patton against him, and lets him rest. Safe, warm, and though unspoken, loved.

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#sanders sides #ts sides #moceit #janus sanders #ts janus #patton sanders #ts patton #my fic #long post #cat does prompts #they're soft your honor

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dontbipanicjonsa · 3 years

Text

Dutiful Sansa Stark

Plus some extra stuff about perceptions and POV traps

Read under the cut-

Tyrion

"No," Sansa said at once. "You . . . you are kind to offer, but . . . there are no devotions, my lord. No priests or songs or candles. Only trees, and silent prayer. You would be bored."

"No doubt you're right." She knows me better than I thought. "Though the sound of rustling leaves might be a pleasant change from some septon droning on about the seven aspects of grace." Tyrion waved her off. "I won't intrude. Dress warmly, my lady, the wind is brisk out there."

He was tempted to ask what she prayed for, but Sansa was so dutiful she might actually tell him, and he didn't think he wanted to know.

xxx

He wondered what Sansa would do if he leaned over and kissed her right now. Flinch away, most likely. Or be brave and suffer through it, as was her duty. She is nothing if not dutiful, this wife of mine. If he told her that he wished to have her maidenhead tonight, she would suffer that dutifully as well, and weep no more than she had to.

Littlefinger

A true daughter would not refuse her sire a kiss, so Alayne went to him and kissed him, a quick dry peck upon the cheek, and just as quickly stepped away.

"How . . . dutiful." Littlefinger smiled with his mouth, but not his eyes.

xxx

She hugged him dutifully and kissed him on the cheek. "I am sorry to intrude, Father. No one told me you had company."

"You are never an intrusion, sweetling. I was just now telling these good knights what a dutiful daughter I had."

"Dutiful and beautiful," said an elegant young knight whose thick blond mane cascaded down well past his shoulders.

That's a lot of dutiful.

On the surface it seems like these two situations- one with Tyrion and one with LF- parallel each other; creepy, older men interested in Sansa think she's too 'dutiful' because she suffers through their attentions. However, when we dig deeper it becomes clear that the two situations actually contrast in subtle ways.

Tyrion

Tyrion calls her dutiful, but what duty is she fulfilling? She actually fails to fulfil her biggest duty to him i.e. having his babies (ew).

Or rather, she refuses to do her duty to him.

"On my honor as a Lannister," the Imp said, "I will not touch you until you want me to."

It took all the courage that was in her to look in those mismatched eyes and say, "And if I never want you to, my lord?"

His mouth jerked as if she had slapped him. "Never?"

Cue me falling ever deeper in love

This is a powerful scene. Tyrion is willing to give her an inch, but she goes and takes a mile. She could have just said "yes, I'll let you know when I want you" and then never let him know, but instead she said that. His plan was to postpone the consummation, but now she’s taken the opportunity to tell him that if she had her way, they would never consummate their marriage. He can still go through with it, but with this one statement (knowingly or unknowingly) she's put the onus of choice on him. He can still touch her, he can still consummate the marriage- but Sansa will never want him to. It’s still her ‘duty’ to suffer through it, but now any future sexual contact between them is undoubtedly in the non-con category.

That doesn't sound like Sansa is just reluctant to do her duty, it sounds like she's rejecting it.

In fact, Sansa is basically never shown to think about her 'duties' as his wife. Eating lunch with him may be her 'duty', but she isn't doing it for that reason. She's doing it because what other choice does she have?

Honestly I'm not sure where he even gets the idea that she's oh-so-dutiful, because as far as I can tell, she's really just doing the bare minimum she can get away with doing as his political-prisoner-child-bride.

Sansa does not, for a single second, give a flying fuck about her duty to Tyrion and I love her for it.

And yet, Tyrion's my-dutiful-wife false belief is what allows her to get away with planning her escape. Tyrion fails to be suspicious of her even when he absolutely should be re: that first quote.

So-

Tyrion likes to think Sansa is dutiful (for some reason).

Sansa is not dutiful.

Sansa doesn't seem to be aware that Tyrion thinks she is, but it works to her advantage nevertheless.

Littlefinger

Now in Littlefinger's case she really is playing the dutiful daughter.

This time, fulfilling her 'duty' as his daughter is in her best interest, because it acts as an excuse to avoid what he really wants from her. It's basically the reverse of the Tyrion Situation.

So-

Littlefinger thinks Sansa is dutiful because she is.

She's acting dutiful on purpose (to diffuse his sexual attraction (ew) towards her).

Clearly, it's working to her advantage.

Now, onto the extra stuff-

We have this-

Dontos chuckled. "My Jonquil's a clever girl, isn't she?"

"Joffrey and his mother say I'm stupid."

"Let them. You're safer that way, sweetling.

xxx

"The g-g-godswood, my lord," she said, not daring to lie. "Praying . . . praying for my father, and . . . for the king, praying that he'd not be hurt."

"Think I'm so drunk that I'd believe that?" He let go his grip on her arm, swaying slightly as he stood, stripes of light and darkness falling across his terrible burnt face. "You look almost a woman . . . face, teats, and you're taller too, almost . . . ah, you're still a stupid little bird, aren't you?

xxx

"There's to be so much, my lord. I have a little tummy." She fiddled nervously with her hair and looked down the table to where Joffrey sat with his Tyrell queen.

Does she wish it were her in Margaery's place? Tyrion frowned. Even a child should have better sense.

Sansa goes under the radar so well in KL because people think she's too stupid to do anything. Again, we see Tyrion, an overall smart guy, fail to be suspicious of Sansa's very suspicious behavior nevermind that she IS a child you asshole because he thinks she's stupid.

So-

People think Sansa is stupid

She's not stupid. We also don't see Sansa actively encouraging that perception, which makes sense because-

she doesn't need to. They do that all by themselves and

she's too busy believing she really is stupid, poor kid

3. It works to her advantage anyway.

Which leads me to-

"I forgot, you've been hiding under a rock. The northern girl. Winterfell's daughter. We heard she killed the king with a spell, and afterward changed into a wolf with big leather wings like a bat, and flew out a tower window. But she left the dwarf behind and Cersei means to have his head."

xxx

"Your Grace has forgotten the Lady Sansa," said Pycelle.

The queen bristled. "I most certainly have not forgotten that little she-wolf."

xxx

"The dwarf's wife did the murder with him," swore an archer in Lord Rowan's livery. "Afterward, she vanished from the hall in a puff of brimstone, and a ghostly direwolf was seen prowling the Red Keep, blood dripping from his jaws."

So-

People thinking Sansa murdered Joffrey with her witchy wolf ways.

She didn't.

???

I am SO looking forward to see where this goes.

More extra stuff-

This entire post grew out of me obsessing over this post.

It got me thinking that out of the six core characters, Sansa is the most observed one. We see her in real time through the chapters of other POV characters the most. I counted. My count can be up or down by about one or two chapters, but I have Sansa pegged at around 15 chapters, followed by Tyrion at 11, then A*ya (around 9), then Jon (around 8), then Bran (4), and then D*ny (0). This is exacerbated by the fact that Sansa has some of the least number of POV chapters of the 'core six'. This means that-

We see Sansa more (or at more than others) from other POVs than her own. In other words, we get to be in Sansa's head less and in other characters' head thinking about her more (unlike most other main characters).

This plays a BIG ROLE in her POV trap, which is pretty much the opposite of D*ny's POV trap in terms of both what it is hiding and how

Perception and reality play a very obvious and direct part in Sansa's story, both her own perceptions and others' perceptions of her.

The Vale arc changes everything though. Now suddenly-

She's surrounded by an entirely new cast of people

She's the only POV character in the location

She has an entirely new identity with none of the same pre-conceived biases attached (though there sure are other pre-conceived biases that go with her identity)

This has happened with other characters as well (Tyrion in ADWD, Arya in every other book), but the impact it has on our perception of her is unique. It's basically reversing everything her POV trap was previously built on.

Now, she is her own worst critic. Now, the thoughts that other POV characters have of her (Tyrion, Cersei) are increasingly muddled. Is she a murderous sorcerer, or a stupid little girl? Was she dutiful, or a scheming traitor? The correct answer is-

she was none of those things. Everyone is just....trapped by their own PoV?

#sansa stark #meta #anti sanrion #anti littlefinger

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torikengel · 4 years

Text

Thomas Hewitt x Reader (Part 6)

The dinner was tranquil as Hoyt stared you down every second. You didn’t dare to make a sound, not even to refuse the meat. You were too scared, so you just made yourself think of it as a beef stew and ate.

Hoyt definitely had pleasure in making you uncomfortable as he made sexual remarks, and then when you finished eating, he gave you more of the meat.

“Thank you, Mr. Hoyt.” You stuttered nervously as you looked at your plate, your eyes wide. Even if it wasn’t human meat, you would never be able to eat so much. “But I am already full…” you said with a quiet and terrified voice.

Hoyt frowned at you and smashed his fist onto the table. You yelped and held your breath. “I should really teach ya some manners, missy.” He grabbed your hand and forced you to stand up. “No, no, no… please let me go.” You stammered with tears in your eyes.

Hoyt started dragging you upstairs to his room.

“Charlie, you didn’t even finish your dinner!” Luda shouted at him, seemingly angry.

Suddenly, Thomas stood up. He was mad.

He growled at Hoyt and walked towards him. When he was close enough, he snatched you away from him, and you decided to hide behind his big frame. “Ahh, Tommy boy, what’s got into ya? Don’t you forget that family comes first!” he snarled; however, there was fear in his eyes. He knew that Thomas is way stronger than him.

Thomas growled even louder. You realized that you could disappear as nothing was holding you, so you checked for the door.

“Look, that bitch is looking for an exit! She doesn’t like you! Are you really that stupid, Tommy?” Hoyt smirked.

Thomas looked at you with a pained expression, but you shook your head and grabbed his hand. “Don’t listen to him, Thomas...” you cried out.

Thomas didn’t know what to do. He was used to obeying all of Hoyt’s commands. Never in his life, he thought that he would do something against his uncle’s will. He scanned you with his beautiful blue eyes and then did the same with Hoyt.

Now, when Thomas looked at Hoyt, he just saw all the pain he’s been through. However, when he looked at you, he could see his dreams.

He didn’t make any other sounds to make his point. He just held your hand as tightly as he could and took you upstairs while staring down at Hoyt, who seemingly gave up for now.

Luda just stood in place, frozen. She didn’t dare to talk to Hoyt when he was angry.

He saved you, yet again. Even though you were looking for an opening to escape. You began feeling guilty about wanting your freedom. Thomas just left you in the room by yourself.

“Why me...” tears streamed down your cheeks. You honestly wished he would get rid of you on the first day. You sat on the floor and continued crying until you passed out on the floor.

Thomas was in the basement, rethinking the whole situation. He knew this would have terrible consequences for him because Hoyt wouldn’t give up that easily. After a few hours, he decided to check on you, and he found you in an awkward position, sleeping on the floor.

You had such an innocent face... so beautiful. There was a reddish tint to your skin from all the crying, and Thomas thought it was adorable. He didn’t understand his feelings at all. His instincts and what he was taught were telling him to kill you and get back to his routine. Providing for his family, listening to Hoyt.

His heart, though, something he didn’t understand, something that was sealed away since his childhood was telling him to keep you safe. He lifted you off of the floor and put you on the bed. He got scared when you turned to the side, but you kept sleeping.

He gently caressed your cheek and pushed away a few strands of your hair to see your whole face.

When you woke up, it was already late morning. You wanted to think that it was all a dream, but then you realized you are still in a stranger’s room with a cuff around your ankle. But there was something different about it... right; you were on the bed. You remembered yesterday too clearly, and you were certain that you fell asleep on the floor.

You sat up on the bed and looked around you. Something on the nightstand caught your attention; there was a cup of tea, some kind of baked goods, and a small flower.

Did he? An apology for the dinner? Your heart was racing as you felt the tingling in your stomach again. You felt the heat in your cheeks; you were blushing.

But why... did you actually... like him? No, you were definitely just startled by everything you told yourself.

“Come on, he’s a killer... a cannibal...” you whispered to yourself to remind yourself of the fact. After hesitating for a bit, you decided to inspect the flower. It was small, definitely something he found outside in the fields, to you it was the most beautiful flower you’ve ever seen. It reminded you of nature outside, of your freedom. You wondered if you will ever step outside on the grass again if you will be able to run through the fields freely.

It pained your heart, as it gave you the taste of something you might never get, so you put it back on the nightstand.

You weren’t that hungry, but you appreciated the tea to wash away the bitter taste in your mouth. You still had your needs and felt anxious to ask to visit a bathroom, it wasn't very comfortable, plus if you shouted, it could be Hoyt who would answer you.

Everything felt so surreal.

You stepped out of bed to stretch yourself. Then you noticed your suitcase on the floor. Well, when would be a better time to reflect on my past, you thought for yourself as you opened it and rummaged through your stuff. You had more clothes there, stuff for your basic hygiene, and then some pens, papers, and notebooks if you needed them. Plus, a small diary where you sometimes wrote your thoughts. Well, this definitely didn’t help your situation as it only served as a reminder of your life back home.

You just sat down and blankly stared at the ceiling, trying to get rid of the intrusive thoughts.

Footsteps close to the door brought you back into reality. You glanced at the door to see Thomas. He wasn’t pleased about you not eating breakfast, but he didn’t want to push you to do anything you didn’t want to.

“Good morning... or noon.” You said to Thomas as your sight was focused on his eyes. The mask and bloody apron still kind of creeped you out, but his eyes... those made you feel safe.

“Can I please use the bathroom? Or… well, can I please use the bathroom every morning to brush my teeth and everything?” you stuttered nervously. Thomas just nodded; he was still thinking about what happened with Hoyt.

When you came back, all cleaned up, you sat back on the bed, waiting for Thomas to cuff you again. “Oh, and thank you for the flower, I am happy that I could get closer to nature again…I love fresh air.”

Thomas looked at you, lost in thought. He wanted to do something for you because he felt bad for what you were going through. He let you stay uncuffed in the room for a while, and then returned with regular police handcuffs.

Thomas pointed at the window and grunted. “You would take me outside?” you asked, surprised. Thomas nodded and offered you the handcuff. You let him cuff your hand while he cuffed his. Now he could take you out without worrying about you running away.

“Is Hoyt still in the house… I know he is your family, but I am a bit scared of him…” you murmured, trying not to sound rude. Thomas shook his hand as he led you out of the room. You could hear the sounds of pots and pans making noise in the kitchen and voices from the TV. That meant both Luda and Monty were in the house. You looked around, carefully remembering each detail about this house. One day, maybe you would be able to get out, you thought for yourself.

Thomas led you out of the front door and into the fields around the Hewitt residence. “Wow, your house is beautiful and huge.” You gasped in amazement. You deeply inhaled the fresh air that enveloped you and closed your eyes.

Thomas was mesmerized by your beautiful features in the sun. He felt his heart skip, and he was… content, maybe even happy.

“Thank you so much for everything. I know you don’t have to do this… maybe you will get in trouble for it…” you clung to his muscular arm. “It’s beautiful here.” You cheerfully exclaimed.

Thomas used his uncuffed hand to caress your beautiful, silky hair. The way you thanked him…how you talked to him and touched him. He couldn’t believe it, he never knew that he could have something like this, but now you gave it to him. You made him feel like a human being.

This moment made you completely forget about your position as a victim. You kind of felt like it was a date or something. You looked at Thomas but looked back into the field when you realized he was looking at you too, and your eyes met for a bright moment. The tingling in your stomach intensified, and you felt like an inexperienced kid that held her crush’s hand for the first time. What you didn’t really realize was that this was exactly it for Thomas.

Thomas’s first holding hands with a girl, first hug, the first kiss… you gave him so much in these few days. Experiencing happiness for the first time in so many years. He didn’t know what dating was, what friendship or love was, but he knew he felt different about you. He saw many pretty girls in his life, those girls that became food, but you were completely different.

You were standing together in the field, letting the hot sun trail on your skin, it was so warm and comfortable. And you were finally outside after many days of your… well imprisonment.

But you were grateful… grateful that he spared your life because, in the end, you wanted to experience so much more in your lifetime.

“Thomas… do you have any dreams?” you asked him as you looked at the sky. Thomas wasn’t sure, but he nodded. “I do too. Maybe someday I can achieve them all.” You reached your free hand to the sky. Thomas’s expression saddened. He knew that he could never do that.

You sensed the change of his aura. “You can do anything you wish for, Tommy. I believe that… I know that.” You smiled and looked at him. He thought you might be mocking him, but then he saw your gentle smile, maybe if you believed that… he could start believing too?

He touched his face, well mask, and readjusted it while growling. He hated his face so much; it was the beginning of all his misfortune.

“Appearance doesn’t matter. You are beautiful in your own way Thomas. The people that mocked you are ugly. They deserve all the worst…” you noticed how uncomfortable he became when he touched the mask.

That was the last straw for him, enough. He knew it, he knew that you were lying, you had to be. If you saw his face, you would scream, and a disgusted expression would make its way onto your face. He suddenly turned to you, and then… he took it off. He wanted to end it. If he let you see, you would finally give him the reaction he expected from the very beginning of everyone. You would finally hate him, hate touching him, hate being with him… but he didn’t want you to give him false hopes and dreams. It was now or never.

You gasped, startled by his sudden movement and action. “Tommy…” you inspected his now bare face. His most vulnerable state. It was scarred, his nose was almost gone too. But you didn’t find it ugly or disgusting. His face to you was strangely appealing. It just added to his big stature and muscular appearance. He was intriguing, handsome in a way…

You raised your hand to cup his cheek. “See, I was right when I told you…” you whispered and smiled at him.

He was shocked. His eyes wide open, piercing you. But at the same time, a big weight was lifted off his chest… he was stoked. You didn’t panic or scream, didn’t gag, you didn’t show signs of disgust. He put his hand onto yours… this was the first time he let anyone touch his bare face.

“You are handsome, Tommy.” You weren’t sure if it was a lie to make him feel better, or if you actually meant it… but you said with such honesty and comfort in your voice, it surprised you.

And then you saw it, tears in Thomas’s eyes, and before you knew it, you cried too. This whole situation didn’t make any sense to you, but you honestly felt like you experienced every Thomas’s emotion.

“Come closer to me…” you whispered. Thomas hesitantly complied, he was so scared because of how vulnerable and exposed he was in front of you. He felt like that little bullied boy again… especially when he leaned towards you because you could see his disgusting face up close.

“Close your eyes, Tommy…” you said as you gently caressed his cheek. He did as you said and then felt your warm lips press against his. He melted into the kiss as he held you closer to him. Maybe you were right, his dreams could become true someday.

a/n: omg thank you for all the love and support you give me on my story <3 so, you and Tommy are getting closer... let’s just hope nothing bad happens now 3:)

#thomas hewitt x reader #thomas hewitt #thomas hewitt x oc #thomas hewitt/you #thomas brown hewitt #texas chainsaw massacre #the texas chainsaw massacre #leatherface #slashers #horror slashers #slasher #slasher x reader #slashers x you #x reader #homas hewitt x reader #story #i made an attempt #roadtrip

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cruelfeline · 4 years

Text

Agh, it got so long I had to read-more it; no one look at this; I just had to get it out of my mind, but don’t look at it just ignore this and go examine a pretty nature photo; honestly these just keep getting worse why does this keep happening? And I hate dialogue. And I hate characterization. Ugghhh... just insert a Mermista groan here.

also a more mature Catra helping Hordak on his journey provides me with happiness don’t judge me

Please consider, a concept:

A few months have passed since Prime’s demise. Reconstruction of Etheria’s damaged settlements is well underway, and all parties involved have gotten... if not entirely comfortable with one another, then at least able to interact with civility. Enough so that, when Entrapta and Bow end up delayed on one of their interplanetary trips, Hordak is only moderately uneasy about heading off to Bright Moon on his own. Oh, of course he’d rather wait for Entrapta, but certain planned meetings (dictated by Etheria’s terribly inconvenient seasons) simply cannot be delayed. So off he goes, determined to maintain decorum and dignity and uphold his end of all relevant treaties. He is received by Glimmer, Adora, and Catra. The other Princesses are all otherwise engaged (with what, he cares little, though he is admittedly amused to learn that Mermista and Perfuma are occupied with an apparently disastrous seaweed-related snafu). So it is the four of them against a whole mess of administrative work.

The girls, for their part, are equally uneasy but likewise determined to proceed as usual (Adora and Catra seeming particularly determined). They meet Hordak’s reserved politeness with a tentative poise of their own, and the group’s work commences.

And for a number of days, it goes fairly well. Even Glimmer has to admit that, whatever anyone’s misgivings about how an Entrapta-less Hordak might behave, things are running smoothly. She maintains control of the meetings, guiding them through agenda after agenda, while Adora and Catra provide input based upon their recent scouting trips to Etheria’s various corners. Hordak rounds the discussions out with whatever technological information is relevant. Their sessions run long most nights (too long, if Catra were asked her opinion on the matter, which she pointedly is not), but they are productive. The four of them get an impressive amount of work done, and all without any tense moments or uncomfortable quarrels. One might even say that they are getting along quite well, all things considered.

In fact, Catra is nearly certain that, when Adora mentions appreciating the work of some Dryl-made construction bots in a seaside village, Hordak subtly quirks his lips in what a careful observer could term a smile.

So the three girls are legitimately stunned when, about three-quarters of the way through their intended time together, Hordak’s behavior abruptly changes. His calm demeanor turns sullen and tense. Previously comprehensive explanations gain a taciturn edge, eventually devolving into clipped, half-snarled responses and sneered refusals to provide clarification. More and more often, words are accompanied by the baring of red teeth and the angry glare of red eyes.

Glimmer is... less than pleased, but between her own determination to make this treaty work and Adora’s dogged, somewhat frantic optimism, she strives to maintain civility long enough to get through the last few days. But, well... limits are limits. And limits are surpassed when, one evening, Hordak furiously declares that he has lost patience with their “embarrassing incompetence” and, with nary another word, storms out of the conference room.

“That’s it! How dare he?!”

Glimmer promptly explodes, and Catra spends the next few minutes watching Adora try to quiet what is proving to be a very loud, very angry, moderately uncouth Queenly rant. It is in the midst of this rant that Adora catches her eye and, with a quiet groan and a nod and a mental wish of good luck, Catra slips away with Melog silently following at her heels.

“I guess this is better than dealing with Sparkles,” she mutters to herself as she stands at the door to Hordak’s temporary quarters. Beside her, Melog trills encouragement, and she sighs. They’re right, of course: between the two of them, Adora has more experience dealing with an upset Glimmer. And Catra... okay, so she doesn’t have “experience dealing with an upset Hordak.” Not... not good experience. But she worked with him for nearly a year. And, given what she’s seen, what she knows... she has a fair idea of what’s been happening. She’d been quietly hoping that it would work itself out, or that it wouldn’t become enough of a problem to cause trouble before they finished their work, but alas: it seems that that sort of luck just isn’t on their side.

Which, given the fact that Hordak seems to have the worst luck of anyone she knows, probably should have been something she’d seen coming.

Melog trills again, adding a gentle headbutt this time.

“Okay, okay... give me a second.”

She takes a breath, lifts a hand to knock, grimaces, and drops said hand. She clears her throat.

“Hordak?”

Nothing. She frowns and tries again.

“Hordak? Are you-”

“Leave.”

His snarl is all-too familiar, and even muffled through a door, it causes her hackles to rise, her ears to pin back, her tail to lash.

“Look, I just-”

“Go. Away.”

She grits her teeth, clenches her fists, and turns away, ready to return downstairs with nothing to show for her efforts but a bad mood. Next to her, Melog meows in protest. She rounds on them.

“What? If he wants to be a jerk about it, then that’s his problem! Besides, what am I supposed to do? Break down the door?”

And she resumes making her way back to the staircase, ignoring Melog’s continued protest (which, come to think of it, sounds fairly alarmed, but... well, what is she to do?) and... she freezes. The world around her is starting to shimmer. She knows that shimmer: teleportation via alien cat.

“Wait! I said-!”

And just like that, they’re in his room, and though Catra’s first instinct is to make her displeasure very loudly known, said instinct quickly fades at the sight of Hordak.

“Oh, damn it.”

From his place on the floor, crumpled in a sweating, trembling heap, Hordak looks up at the intrusion. His eyes widen, face twisting with fury as he prepares to shout what Catra predicts will be his trademark “get out,” only to choke up and curl in on himself as some sort of painful spasm races through him.

Once upon a time, this sight might have spurred Catra into a bout of cruel gloating, but circumstances are vastly different today.

Today, before either of them can really take stock of what is happening, she helps him up and half-leads, half-carries him to the corner sofa, depositing him with a strained grunt before taking a step back and giving him a moment to collect himself. Which he does while glaring at her.

For some time, the only sound between them is the ugly rasp of Hordak’s panting, then: “Get. Out.”

Ah. There it is. As expected. As anticipated. Catra’s ears flick at the command.

A part of her still bristles at his snarling, at his combative ire, at his accusatory glare... but a different part notices instead how that glare comes through dull eyes, how that snarling fades into exhausted panting, how he’s still trembling, even before his very unwanted audience. As the seconds pass, this part maintains its position at the forefront of her mind, until:

“You want some water?”

“...”

“...what?”

There’s a sudden lightness to her thoughts.

“I’m gonna get you some water. Just... stay there, okay?”

Melog punctuates her words with a happy chirp before providing the necessary teleport. A minute later, they’re back from the kitchens, glass of cool water in hand. Hordak remains where they left him, though he actually gives a bit of a start when they reappear. The momentary surprise disappears under a scowl as Catra holds the glass out to him.

He curls his lip. He doesn’t take it.

Catra remains steady. Next to her, Melog sits, tail waving a constant, slow path in the air.

Hordak bares his teeth.

“I do not require your pity, Catra.”

“Good, ‘cause all I’ve got is this glass of water.”

He gapes at her.

“Which, y’know, you should take. Because my arm is getting tired.”

His expression closes off again in another scowl (he never did see the humor in her sass, did he?), but after a few more moments, Hordak relents. Slowly, clearly trying to keep his hand from trembling too much, he takes the offered glass.

Catra sighs and, suddenly drained, sits down on the ground a few feet away from him, resting her back against the arm of the sofa. Melog stretches out beside her, and Catra turns her back to Hordak to focus on providing the desired belly rub. She swivels an ear towards him, listening for him to finish draining the glass. He does so.

She can hear that his breath has lost that ugly rasp, and a tightness in her chest that she hadn’t been aware of loosens.

“So,” she begins, trying to keep her tone casual, “do you... need to call Entrapta? Is it... is it your-”

“Entrapta is currently beyond the reach of our communication modules.” She’d steeled herself for another snarled response, but his voice is calm, almost quiet. “And no; it is not my armor.”

“...oh.”

A minute passes. Two. Catra starts to tentatively turn around, wishing to steal a glance, but Melog thrusts their head into her lap and refocuses her gaze downwards. Another minute passes, then:

“It... it has proven somewhat...” He starts, stops, starts again. Stops again. Something that is not pain chokes his words, and though she wants to somehow encourage him, a soft rumble from Melog compels her to wait.

“Even with the armor, there are times that I... have difficulties.” He is breathing quicker again, she can hear; not quite panting, but definitely breathing quicker. In her lap, Melog seems attentive but otherwise unconcerned.

“Particularly during periods of higher stress, or exertion. Though,” he suddenly hisses, and Catra hears claws scrape against fabric, “hardly anything about our current work should merit this... exacerbation.”

He falls quiet, and for what feels like a long while, neither of them say anything. Melog’s soft purring fills the silence.

“Sparkles is mad,” Catra finally says, “Adora’s calming her down.”

This time, when she tries to turn her gaze back to him, Melog remains quiet. She watches Hordak nod, sees his ears droop.

“My behavior has been... unacceptable. I shall go request an audience with Queen Glimmer and make an apology-”

“Uh-uh.”

He frowns at her.

“Oh, I mean, yeah! Definitely apologize. You were a jerk. But not now; you should rest first. I’ll go tell them that you’re not feeling great, and-”

His scowl returns.

“That is not necessary.”

She matches his frown with her own and scoffs. “Uh, according to what just happened, it is. What? You’re just gonna... pretend you’re fine and keep going?”

He looks like he wishes to say something less-than-polite, scowl deepening, but instead he turns away with a quiet huff. His ears droop even further.

“The terms of the treaty are fair, and it is my duty to adhere to them. This... lapse... aside, I am entirely capable of doing so.” He sighs and seems to will his ears into a more neutral position. “So yes: I shall ‘keep going.’”

Catra blinks at him.

“That’s... really stupid.”

He blinks at her.

“...what?”

She rolls her eyes. “It’s stupid. What’s the point of it... pushing yourself like that when you’ve obviously had enough? If you need a break, then-”

Suddenly he snarls, he rounds on her, teeth and eyes glowing too-brightly, and she nearly jerks back. Melog tenses beside her but remains still.

“Then what?! I should inform the Queen, and she will suspend proceedings and accept needless delays for my comfort? That is... that is-”

He stops abruptly because she’s laughing, a dry sort of chuckle that might have infuriated him save for the fact that, when she notices his attention and stops, it’s to smile at him. Catra smiles at him, and the expression holds an honest sincerity that he’s never seen her exhibit before. His indignation fades; his aggressive posture deflates.

“Yeah. That’s exactly what she’ll do.”

At first, he only stares at her, as if uncertain that he has heard what he believes he has heard, but eventually Hordak swallows, glances away, glances back, presses his lips together.

“That is... highly illogical, given the circumstances. I am not... I do not...” His voice fades, and his ears all but wilt.

For the second time that day, Catra does something without thinking, settling herself into the seat next to him and placing a hand over one of his. It’s tense and cold to the touch; her thumb begins to stroke his knuckles without her realizing it. Hordak remains silent, lips slightly parted, transfixed. He does not even react when, on his other side, Melog presses their body gently against his leg.

“It’s a treaty, Hordak,” she begins, and her voice nearly strains for a moment when her brain catches up with her actions, but she steels her resolve and continues, “not a sentence. Not a punishment. I thought it was, at first. I figured it had to be, because of all we’ve done... all I’ve done. But it’s not.”

Catra remembers how she first felt, all those months ago, and she makes the connection between her old fears and his current ones, unconsciously pausing to squeeze his hand; her ears have pinned back, and her chest is suddenly tight again.

“It’s not supposed to... to hurt. For either of us. Y’know? I mean... I was out with the flu for a week a couple of months ago, and the worst thing that happened was having to choke down Perfuma’s gross herbal junk.” She huffs out a laugh, but there’s no amusement in it. “This...”

Now her voice does strain, and she has to stop for a moment before continuing. Beside her, Hordak is breathing quickly again and trying very hard to stop.

“This isn’t the Horde. Either Horde. How we feel matters. How... how you feel matters. So if you need a break, you get a break. ...okay?”

It takes him some time to answer, and in that time Catra realizes what her hand has been doing; she snatches it back just as he finds his voice.

“If... if you believe that your suggestion is... appropriate, then I shall agree to it.”

Catra lets out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. The smile returns to her face, and she nods. Melog trills happily and rewards each of them with a gentle headbutt.

For what had seemed such a dramatic conversation, the aftermath is anything but. Catra and Melog return downstairs and tell Glimmer and Adora of what has transpired. Their reaction is as expected: the work is postponed, and Hordak is given leave to rest as long as is necessary, no questions asked.

He spends the remainder of that day and the next in bed, rising in the late afternoon to deliver a very formal, semi-awkward apology to Glimmer. She responds with a very formal, semi-awkward acceptance. Their working session resumes, though Hordak finds that he needs to excuse himself again after only a couple of hours. That evening, Glimmer has a basket of strawberry tarts delivered to his room. She also makes a point of ensuring that their sessions no longer extend into the late night hours.

Catra remains nearby, much to Hordak’s (admittedly only half-sincere) chagrin, and between her stubbornness and Melog’s perception, he is kept well-supplied with snacks, water, extra blankets and, though both refuse to admit it, friendly company. Adora spends her time trying to contact Darla; when she succeeds, Hordak happily accepts Entrapta’s enthusiastic check-in (and assures her that, yes, he is being provided an adequate amount of soup).

A few days later, he is able to rejoin the group in full capacity, and they finish their work with little harm done by their extended schedule.

Then it is time for him to return to Dryl (Entrapta arrives the next day), but before he boards his transport, he takes a moment to do something he’d once never imagined he’d do: thank Catra. Awkwardly, as seems is his communicative style this trip, but sincerely.

She grimaces slightly, refusing to meet his eyes, and scratches absently at the back of her head. Next to her, Melog utters a noise that sounds like a warbling coo, their mane glowing a faint pink.

“Yeah... well... better than you passing out and bringing the wrath of Entrapta down on us. Bright Moon’s still rebuilding, y’know.”

This elicits an actual laugh from Hordak, sudden and rather loud, and Catra fails to keep the surprise from her face as he regains control of himself and gives his final farewell with a small, genuine smile.

Despite Melog confirming for the world that she is blushing under her fur, Catra smiles back.

#all right we are keeping this despite it making me cringe #catra #hordak #pc:ac

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shoichee · 3 years

Note

Hello! I was wondering if you could do a Hizaki Shogo X F!reader fic where Hizaki walks into his s/o holding onto a picture frame of them both and singing "Love Like you" and maybe a soft fluffy ending?🥺💕 Reader is usually hyper and happy go lucky but at that moment reader is calm and just so soft that they look at the picture frame with the softest eyes and that makes Hizaki feel warm? Hope you have a Nice Day/Night! Thank you!!

i spy a haizaki fan over here~ okay, i am very very sorry it took very long to get this out, but i hope i wrote him well D: to be honest, he’s the most complicated guy to write for by far and while i dont think its crazy toothrotting fluffy compared to my other scenarios, i hope you enjoy this too!

Haizaki x Reader

Word Count: 1990

Note: swearing, and is a LITTLE BIT risque? i mean, this is haizaki

»»—————　☼　—————««

You two were only supposed to be friends with benefits.

You definitely weren’t his type. Nope, you definitely weren’t. Not when you endlessly made so much clamoring in the hallways with your friends or bounced around like a kid on sugar. It definitely leaves a sour taste in his mouth when you are a literal carbon-copy of Kise Ryouta, someone who he absolutely despised.

Yet, it’s probably how he can render you to a completely different side of soft whimpers and gasps in every tryst for the past two months that made it all worth the effort of chasing after you. Besides, he knows you reciprocate the same level of desire for him, and it gives him a massive boost of an ego. Especially when you actually use your annoying voice for something more worthwhile than socializing with your classmates… especially when you rasp out his name in desperation in such vulnerable moments. He constantly feeds on your vulnerability like it’s his lifeline, but he will never admit that.

So why is it that he’s so taken aback when he sees, yet, another different side to you, the usual sickenly energetic side he’s secretly grown accustomed to?

“If I could begin to be… half of what you think of me…”

He doesn’t know whether to be disgusted about the fact that he feels bad for intruding on something that feels so intimate and pure or the fact that he’s craving more of this side of you, the side that he’s afraid is all an illusion in his mind that he’s somehow concocted in a fever dream. The gentle lullaby you were humming irritates him all the more, yet he’s glued in his spot, so torn about whether to rudely interrupt you to demand for another escapade or relish in the lulls that is undoubtedly soothing him.

“I could do about anything… I could even learn to love…”

Somehow, the lyrics affected him on a personal level, and he grits his teeth, hating the fact that he relates to it so deeply. Here you are, humming the soft jazz as a smile of absolute adoration spreads across your lips. Lips that he’s all too familiar with yet a complete stranger to. He doesn’t know whether to feel smug or remorse when he sees that you're admiring the selfie you took of the both of you the other day on a whim. Smug because at least he knows you’re completely whipped for him. Remorse… because it almost makes the two of you look like an actual couple… something that he’s not too keen on, yet he’s been toying with that idea recently whenever he meets up with you. It feels so wrong that someone like you is so heavily entangled with someone like him, but he wants to monopolize all of that for himself all the same.

“I always thought I might be bad…

Now I'm sure that it's true…

'Cause I think you're so good…

And I'm nothing like you…”

It was just a song, he knew it, yet it feels like you truly felt that about yourself. He never understood you even after all those times you’ve met up, all those times he’s stripped you to your most defenseless state. He thought he can figure you out like the past girls he’s been with… their games, their desires, their motives. He hates it; your entire being pisses him off and intrigues him all the same, and he wants more of you. He doesn’t understand… don’t you know what he’s capable of doing to you? Have you not heard of what he’s done to others? Why do you still treat him so… normally?

“... I wish that I knew…

What makes you think I'm so special…”

Does he think you’re special? He doesn’t know, but he can admit that you’re the longest fling he’s had so far. He scoffs and spits to ward off a stray thought that crossed his mind, the intrusive thought that you emanate the same inviting warmth like his single mother. The only warmth he’s ever sought out was the body heat of another girl in the heat of passion; such a want of intimate warmth, like the one he was experiencing right now, has always been so foreign and uncomfortable.

“E-Eek!! H-How long have you been here?!” Haizaki snaps out of his thoughts to face a mortified you clutching your phone close to your chest. There was the side of you he’s always known.

“Hah? Do you think so highly of yourself that you think anyone would fucking waste their time to eavesdrop on you?” he sneers, watching you only roll your eyes at him. You only walk closer to him while Haizaki watches your every move like a hawk with his narrow eyes.

“You’re the only one who would spit so damn loudly,” you say. “You really oughta stop doing that. It’s gross.” He only rudely scoffs at you before he turns his back on you.

“I just came to look for you for a quickie,” Haizaki says, licking his thumb like he usually does. “7 p.m. if we’re doing it.”

“Ah, before you leave!” you call out to him. “What do you want for your bento?”

“What.” Haizaki slightly halts in his place before he turns his face to you with a condescending sneer, but you can see the slight confusion swirling in his eyes. “Are you fucking shitting me right now?”

“No, I’m absolutely not!” you loudly huff. “I’m actually serious! You picked such a later time than usual, and I’m not gonna go starve myself just for sex. So do potato wedges sound good?” Haizaki only narrows his eyes at you, wondering why you go through such lengths for such a short-term relationship. He gives a mirthless chuckle.

“Whatever you’re doing won’t make me stick by your side like a loyal dog, I hope you realize that,” he says. “Don’t go crying off when you see me having fun with another girl.” In truth, he hasn’t really thought about flirting off to another female for months since he’s met you, but at least he wants to put it out on the table that if you were indeed looking for something serious… then he wasn’t the right guy for you.

“I know,” you say shrugging casually. “Everyone knows who you are after all. I figured you’d be hungry if I am too.”

“No one’s a glutton like you.”

“Yeah? Well you still find me attractive enough despite that.” You give a satisfied smirk of your own when Haizaki merely turns away to walk. “What, Haizaki? No comeback for this one?”

He stops to give a hard glare. “All your yapping made me not want to fuck you anymore. I’m gonna chill at the arcade.”

“Ooh! Ooh!” you hoot excitedly, stars shining in your eyes. It seems that his other comment completely unphased you. “Let me come too! Please?” Even despite his rebukes, you hold your own against him and even make them backfire against him. Even despite him knowing that he’s a terrible influence, you still shine so brightly.

“... You’re paying for your own tokens. Don’t expect me to give you a single dime.”

“You really think I’m a freeloader?!”

“I might just take some of your coins, too,” he leers, again licking his thumb. “Don’t go crying either if you get left behind like a dolt.”

“If you do that,” you threaten, crossing your arms, “I’m gonna steal your coins too! Plus, you stick out like a sore thumb! I can easily find you anywhere, y’know!”

Haizaki doesn’t bother to reply and keeps on walking further before you gasp and chase after him.

“H-H-Hey!! We’re going now?! I thought we're still meeting at 7?” He merely tunes you out, but you knew he slowed down his pace for you to catch up, albeit slightly. “W-Wait! But like… I won’t have time to make the bento, and—”

“Shut up, (y/n),” he says. “Fast food exists for a reason.” Why would someone like you go through so much effort to make homemade food for someone like him? He feels somewhat better that at least he wouldn’t feel the tiny guilt of taking your bento off your hands. You widen your eyes like you just realized that restaurants existed.

“Oh yeah, huh!”

“You’re paying for your own shit, too.”

“Well, duh!”

Haizaki continues to stroll with his bag slung over his shoulder, not even remotely sparing you a glance, but he knows you’re right behind him when you’re skipping around so excitedly. Was being with him that enjoyable to you? He hasn’t done anything remotely kind to you.

“Hey, hey, Haizaki!” He continues to ignore you. “Doesn’t this feel like a date to you?”

“Keep dreaming, wench.”

“You’re a royal asshole, you know that?” you sigh, still trying to match his stride. Haizaki is very much aware of who he is. What he doesn’t know is why you still keep sticking to him like a remoraid.

“Why are you so annoying?”

Translation: Why are you persistent in being with me?

You seem to know the hidden meaning of his throwaway question, and Haizaki frowns harshly at how sharp you were.

“I don’t know. You’re the more obnoxious person in everyone’s eyes anyways,” you snicker. “Still, don’t you ever get tired of hearing people talk shit about you?”

Translation: Why do you act like this?

“You really know how to get on my nerves. Shut up if you know what’s good for you. I don’t know who’s gonna break it to you, but I’m not the guy who you think so highly of.”

“I never said that about you though,” you frown. “Unless… you really did eavesdrop on me after all?!”

“Tch.” He only walks faster to try to leave you behind, and you immediately run in a panic to catch up.

“Okay, okay! I’m kidding, alright?!” you say, but both of you knew that you were secretly smug about it. He’s starting to regret bringing you along, but deep down, he thinks it’s the best decision he’s made in a long time. Still, he’s more irked when you begin to shamelessly hum the same song, the one you sung moments before, to gleefully tick him off.

Even through his nasty attitude, for the first time, you had a taste of different sides to Haizaki in the arcade. The side of him that genuinely enjoyed being competitive with you during various rounds, even with his usual jeers… the side of him who always puts himself on the outside of the sidewalks when it got dark… the side of him who tried to teach you the workings of some of the games, albeit in a condescending way… the side of him who waited for you to finish your food at the tables, even if he kept making unnecessary comments on your appetite. Haizaki doesn’t know why he’s doing these things… perhaps he wanted to feel what it’s like to be in a committed relationship? Perhaps he wanted another taste of the same feeling he had felt when he first heard you sing?

There was something so innocent about this entire “date,” that both of you couldn’t help but wanted to learn more about each other. For the first time, Haizaki lets his guard down around you, and when he's so entertained in your presence, he suddenly doesn’t care as much about it. Your relationship was far from perfect, but between the two of you being a complete mismatch, there was a spark of something undeniably genuine and pure… the intimate warmth that Haizaki had lacked and craved for so long.

Even just for now… he wants to hold the fantasy of being in a committed relationship with you close to his heart for as long as he can. He sometimes wishes he could hear you sing again, only for him, to feel the gentle lulls again.

#knb #knb x reader #kuroko no basket #knb scenarios #knb fics #knb fic #haizaki shougo #haizaki #haizaki shogo #haizaki shougo x reader #haizaki x reader #knb fluff #fluff if you squint #REALLY SQUINT

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glimmerglanger · 4 years

Text

Long Days

Written for @codywanweek, prompt #1 (hurt/comfort). Mostly emotional h/c, set at some point near the middle of the Clone Wars. So excited to get this week started!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Cody didn’t recognize the woman who snapped the question, interrupting General Kenobi’s offer of aid to the survivors of the Separatist attack. He wasn’t really considering her facial features, in any case, or even her words.

Most of his attention had snagged on the sound her hand had made, a moment ago, the noise of the slap so startling that Cody had frozen in place. There were instincts in his head, reflexes trained into muscle, all of them focused on exactly what he was supposed to do when someone threatened General Kenobi with physical harm.

None of them were appropriate when faced with a petite woman, bleeding from her nose, with eyes flat and empty.

“You’ve all done enough,” she hissed, up into Obi-Wan’s face, rage twisting her mouth into something ugly. “We don’t want any more of your help.” She turned on her heel, before either of them could answer, before Cody could sort out the clench of his hand into a fist.

She left a spatter of spit behind, on the ground, inches from Obi-Wan’s boot.

And Obi-Wan said nothing, still. Even as she marched away. He just stood there, stock-still, until Cody nudged him softly and said, “General?”

Obi-Wan shook his head, then. Turned to glance up at Cody. He said, “Organize the men. These people will need shelters before nightfall. Let’s see what we can do.”

Cody blinked at him. “They don’t want our help, sir,” he said, softly, thinking of the sound of her hand against his skin, the way she’d struck him after Cody had watched him almost die earlier, a half-dozen times, in the fight to save some portion of this misbegotten rock. They could have let everyone here die.

No one else would have cared. No one else in the entire galaxy.

Obi-Wan blinked at him. He looked tired. Exhausted. Sounded it, when he said, “Perhaps not. But they need it.”

Cody gave the orders to set up shelters before the night could close in around them all. He followed Obi-Wan through the bombed out wreckage of the city as he shut off the comm. Shadowed eyes watched them from doorways, from huddles on street corners. Glares and murmured curses dogged their heels.

A few people took a step or two towards the General, before looking at Cody, walking by his shoulder, and changing their minds. And they were fools to be more frightened of Cody. Obi-Wan might have looked softer, in his ragged robes, with his kind eyes and easy smile, but there was nothing but war in his bones.

He could have killed everyone in the city, if he wanted to, for all that Cody was the one with the armor and the blaster.

But no one seemed to recognize that. No one seemed able to look at his hands and see the calluses, the scars. They did not note the way he walked with the easy stride of a predator, despite the injuries from the earlier battle. They did not regard the way he lifted rubble away with nothing but a gesture, digging out lost souls trapped under collapsed buildings, until the Council called him away.

It was a bad end to a bad day. Cody didn’t hear much of the Council’s communique, but he happened to catch enough to know that things had gone poorly beyond their little portion of the war. Some battles they won. Some were draws.

Some days they just lost. It was a losing sort of day.

Obi-Wan disappeared into his tent, after the comm. It was late. Cody vaguely hoped that his General would sleep, but he had his doubts about such a thing. And he knew Obi-Wan hadn’t eaten. He scrounged up enough food to constitute something like a meal and made his way to the tent, ducking in, intentionally quiet.

Obi-Wan was sitting on a low cot, elbows on his knees, shoulders curled over - shaking - and

Cody froze.

He’d seen people weep before. Civilians did so frequently. His brothers wept, sometimes, especially over the bodies of the fallen. Cody had shed tears himself, more than once, after burying too many, but--

But he’d always assumed, somehow, that the Jedi didn’t.

Obi-Wan noticed his intrusion immediately, jerking to his feet, turning his shoulders to one side. Cody watched him scrub the back of his arm across his face, heard him clear his throat. Obi-Wan’s voice was still rough when he said, “Commander. I thought you’d be sleeping. We’ve got a long day tomorrow.”

All the days were long days. Cody stood there, holding a platter of rations that tasted like dirt, remembering the sound of the woman’s hand on Obi-Wan’s cheek. Obi-Wan had been weeping. Alone in his tent. He’d nearly died, and--

“That woman earlier,” Cody started, feeling that he needed to say something, not knowing what it was. “These people. They shouldn’t be treating you this way. It’s--”

“Justifiable,” Obi-Wan said, his voice still thick, his shoulders still turned to Cody. He shook his head, and Cody swore under his breath. He had his hands full of food, which seemed suddenly useless. He sat the tray hurriedly on the bed, listening to Obi-Wan continue. “She lost children, today. If I had done more, I could have--”

“No,” Cody said, unable to listen to anymore. Obi-Wan had almost died, more than once, if he’d done anymore he’d be gone, erased from the galaxy. In a world full of nightmares, the threat of Obi-Wan’s death was the most recurring horror that visited Cody.

“Yes,” Obi-Wan said, and his voice cracked, terribly. “I have a duty to these people. To you and your brothers. I am a Jedi. I’m supposed to protect people and I can’t--”

“Stop,” Cody snapped, battlefield command coming into the tone, but he couldn’t help it. He reached out, desperately, grabbing Obi-Wan’s shoulder. Maybe if he could just get Obi-Wan to look at him, everything would be better.

He pulled, and Obi-Wan turned with the movement. Cody meant to - to shake him, maybe. To make him understand. But Obi-Wan swayed forward with the tug, as though he expected it to be something else and all at once they were standing far too close.

Cody’s arms came up automatically. Hugging wasn’t something the clones did, much. He hadn’t embraced anyone since he was terribly young, but apparently the body remembered what to do.

Obi-Wan hooked an arm around the bulk of his armor, warm and smelling of blood and sweat and despair. Cody was used to those smells. They were part and parcel of the war. He curled both arms around Obi-Wan’s back, gloved fingers clenching in robes, and hung on, not knowing, entirely, what was happening.

All he really knew was that Obi-Wan’s head was resting on his shoulder. That he could feel the hitches in Obi-Wan’s breath. That they were close and touching and this was not how Cody had imagined such closeness, in his desperate dreams, but…

But maybe the acts he’d imagined weren’t what Obi-Wan needed, anyway. He leaned his head against Obi-Wan’s, unwinding his fingers from fabric, rubbing a hand up and down his back. “You’re not responsible for what the Separatists do,” he said, quietly.

Obi-Wan made a little sound, a protesting scoff, and Cody squeezed him, just a little. “You’re not,” he said.

Obi-Wan sighed, shifting as though to pull back. Cody tightened his hold. “Commander--”

“We’re all doing everything we can,” Cody said, holding him there, close and firm, wishing he were in his blacks, wishing Obi-Wan weren’t having to press all against cold, hard armor. “You saved my life today.”

He felt Obi-Wan sigh, some of the tension going out of him. “Of course I did,” he said, as though there’d never been any doubt that he would, as though his own injuries in return had been worth it, as though Cody mattered to him.

Cody shivered. Those thoughts weren’t helpful. Not right at the moment. Not with Obi-Wan in his arms. He said, shaking them away. “Come on. You need to eat.” He sighed. “We have a long day tomorrow.”

#codywanweek #codywanweek2020 #codywan #my fic #one shot

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averykedavra · 4 years

Text

alright, you asked. Cue Sanders Sides Swap AU number Five Billion! (original post here)

Morality!Remus:

He is...chaos.

Always has a huge smile on his face.

Changes his outfit every other week, but it always has a lot of flower prints and loud color schemes.

Pure energy.

Owns the room whenever he’s in it.

Has very little self-control and can sometimes come off as rude.

Makes a lot of snap judgments.

Lowkey willing to fuck up anyone who messes with his best buds.

LOVES disney

Pretends to be innocent, but makes a lot of dirty jokes while batting his eyes.

Misleading compliments for days!

“Boy, what an ass...et to your personality, am I right?” is completely him.

He’s actually really afraid of being hurt and takes things really personally.

The breakup hit him hard. He tried his best to move on but he still blamed himself for being Too Much and ruining things.

He’s more self-aware than people give him credit for. He knows sometimes he’s overbearing and hurts his friends but he doesn’t know how to stop.

On the morality side of things, he’s really loose about it. Always asking what Thomas thinks. He’s kind of afraid to be too harsh.

Best friends with Creativity!Logan and Anxiety!Roman. Argues with Logic!Janus a lot.

Intrusive Thoughts!Virgil kind of scares him from a morality perspective. And a personal perspective. He sees a lot of himself in Virgil’s exuberance and wonders if he’s really as rude and insensitive as Virgil is.

As for Deceit!Patton...things are complicated.

Creativity!Logan

Cue engineering montage from Big Hero Six.

Wears a science lab coat, his fingers are always stained with grease, his hair is ruffled from running his fingers through it.

Builds stuff. Loves robots and exploding beakers.

Gets very passionate about everything he creates.

Is lowkey the mechanic of the friendgroup and always fixes broken fridges or washing machines.

If you get him talking, he will NOT shut up. He’ll just jump from tangent to tangent for hours.

Owns a million bajillion books.

Has trouble making a good balance between his friendships and his work

Can come off as cold or disinterested when he’s really just thinking through a problem

Is a huge perfectionist.

Always tries to please everyone and reach their expectations for him. He wants everything to be nice enough for Morality!Remus, safe enough for Roman!Anxiety, and make enough sense for Logic!Janus.

Plus it has to meet his OWN standards, which means it has to be original and flawless and the best it can possibly be. And if it’s bad, then he’s failed as a person and Thomas will lose his job and die in the streets.

He may be a little OCD.

But he tears himself apart trying to meet these standards, sacrificing sleep and food, and it’s only after he finally cracks that his friends catch on.

He’s on good terms with Logic!Janus, although sometimes they argue. He’s best friends with Morality!Remus and is warming to Anxiety!Roman, though they sometimes argue. (Logan argues with a lot of people, he has a temper, especially if he hasn’t slept.)

His relationship with Intrusive Thoughts!Virgil is not great. Virgil represents all the chaos and unhinged energy he tries to avoid, and he feels that if he lets Virgil win, it’ll destroy the rules and boundaries he created. And without the limitations and expectations he’s surrounded in, he doesn’t really know who he is.

Kind of likes Deceit!Patton, though. His jokes are funny.

Anxiety!Roman

Ohhh boy.

Always has two hooked silver swords in his cloak.

‘Cause he’s ready for a fight at the slightest provocation.

Has absolutely almost taken Morality!Remus’ whole face out when he was startled.

Thomas probably has a severe anxiety disorder bc Roman has absolutely no chill.

Thinks up really imaginative scenarios in which Thomas dies or is hated by the entire world.

Insomniac.

Focuses a lot on Thomas being a Terrible Person and Hated By Everyone and Should Just Hide Before He Ruins Everything Else.

He’s accepted now, which is cool, but he’s still kinda insecure about his place in the group.

And before he was accepted? He made Thomas’ life a living nightmare.

Thomas still hasn’t fully recovered from some of the stuff Roman did.

Roman has apologized, and Thomas forgave him, but nobody can forget.

Roman has regular panic attacks. He tries not to let them affect Thomas, but it’s hard. Logic!Janus is the best at calming him down and Morality!Remus is the worst, just because he’s so overwhelming.

Jumps to all of the conclusion. He’s like a freaking frog with all the jumping he does.

Still a huge Disney nerd. Loves all the hero songs and wishes he was a hero, instead of the person born to be the villain.

Lowkey hates himself on a daily basis.

Nickname king.

He’s pretty good friends with Logic!Janus. Morality!Remus would die for him without hesitation and Roman thinks he’s a lot of fun. Him and Creativity!Logan have reached a tentative truce, but Roman always finds himself snapping at Logan. It doesn’t help that he just increases Logan’s perfectionist tendencies.

Thoughts on the Dark Sides are complicated for him. They used to be his best friends.

Now Intrusive Thoughts!Virgil is okay, kind of funny. Deceit!Patton? Can die in a fire for all he cares.

Logic!Janus.

You know that ‘um, actually’ friend? That’s Janus.

He will deliver all the knowledge with the most sass and panache possible.

Always looking for an opportunity to make the others look stupid.

Sarcasm central over here.

Can and will throw down with a bitch.

Self-care is his priority, because it’s logical to take care of yourself. This puts him in direct opposition with the others a lot, but he can handle it.

(No he can’t.)

Gladly plays devil’s advocate at every opportunity.

Debates. For. Days.

Don’t bring up paradoxes or his brain short-circuits.

Makes a million puns with a deadpan expression. No one’s quite sure how to respond to it.

Inside, he is a huge, massive dork. (And not the penis kind, Virgil.)

He really loves Disney, onesies, and fun turns of phrase.

Is really select with what he says. Always poised and ready to roll.

The few times he’s been caught off guard, nobody mentions again.

When he told his name after Morality!Remus did, Thomas laughed, and Janus is still salty about it.

He’s not that concerned with morality, so sometimes his logical suggestions include murder, arson, theft, or blackmail. They’re mostly jokes.

He’s not joking when he actually sides with Deceit!Patton on multiple occasions. Morality!Remus forgives him for it, but Janus thinks he hasn’t actually done anything wrong, and they have yet to actually talk through the growing resentment between them.

He can be a real asshole sometimes, blunt and straightforward. This makes friendship...hard.

But it’s fine. He doesn’t need friends anyway. All he needs is to keep Thomas and the others alive and successful.

He gets listened to--he wouldn’t allow anyone to ignore him--but they discount his advice more often than not.

It’s three against one, after all.

And Janus is the one nobody can stand.

(Even though he counts none of them as friends, he’s actually quite close with Anxiety!Roman and Morality!Remus. Even Creativity!Logan thinks he’s funny.)

As for the Dark Sides? They tolerate him, listen to him (especially Patton) and sometimes he wonders if he’d be better off with them instead.

Intrusive Thoughts!Virgil

Just vibing, let’s be real.

The epitome of Style (tm.) Piercings for days and always rocking killer eyeshadow.

Quotes memes on a daily basis.

Appears on top of the fridge randomly.

Way more relaxed than canon Virgil. Just having fun and living his life.

Loves conspiracies and cold cases, and reminds Thomas of them at one in the morning.

A force of chaos and does whatever he wants.

Can and will drink milk straight from the container, sit on whatever surface he wants, and respond to any complaints with “It do be like that sometimes.”

Societal conventions can go fuck themselves. If he wants to dress in fishnets and commit arson, no one can stop him.

“Vibe check,” he says and knocks Creativity!Logan out with a baseball bat.

Feral goblin child.

Wishes Logan would lighten up and give him more creative control.

His ideas are actually good! Just...not conventional. And kind of creepy sometimes. He likes horror stories.

And he does wreak havoc with intrusive thoughts, mostly the anxious and/or nihilistic kind, so Thomas isn’t inclined to let him stick around.

Deadpan and will slice into peoples’ insecurities with a glare if they try to threaten him.

“Big talk from the guy no one likes,” he says to Logic!Janus after Janus dismantles his claim that reality is an illusion.

“Why don’t you do everyone a favor and think for a fucking second about what you’re saying?” he asks Morality!Remus after Remus condemns Virgil’s ideas as mean.

“Nice to see you again,” he says with a smirk when Anxiety!Roman tries to get him to leave. “But knowing you, you’ll be back soon.”

Basically he tears into anyone who tries to force him into a mold or shut him up.

Except for Creativity!Logan. He’s always begging Logan for more power and Logan always shuts him down. Because he’s afraid of what Virgil means, afraid of how boundless creativity could affect his friends, afraid of the way Virgil can easily smash his carefully constructed standards.

Virgil really just wants the freedom to create what he wants.

And deep down, he kind of wants his brother back.

But he’s got Deceit!Patton, who thinks he’s the best thing since sliced bread, so he’s alright.

Deceit!Patton

Okay so...this is not unsympathetic Patton. But this is maybe morally grey Patton. Fair warning here. I get it if you’re uncomfortable with that. He cares deeply about the people in his life but advocates some harmful coping mechanisms and...yeah.

He’s sunny. He’s bouncy. He’s always smiling and makes the best jokes.

He’s also fucking terrifying.

He’ll silence someone with a smile. He’ll say the most terrible things in the sweetest voice. He’s outwardly kind and supportive of everyone, but there’s steel underneath that.

He can impersonate people, although he doesn’t do it very often. He prefers to simply state his objective and convince Thomas.

And Thomas isn’t used to a Side that is so nice. That takes what he says into account. That doesn’t argue with the others or call anyone names. He loves his main Sides, but Patton makes him feel heard.

So he ends up almost giving Patton way more control than he should have.

‘Cause yeah, Patton is self-preservation. But he takes that in an, um, different direction than Janus would?

He’s the lies you tell yourself to make yourself feel better.

Small stuff. “It’ll be fine. Everything’s okay. It’s not a big problem. It’ll solve itself. I don’t need to study.”

Well, it seems like small stuff. Until it piles up.

Patton creates a facade around Thomas. He doesn’t want to solve problems. He doesn’t even think himself capable of that. Instead, if he hides the problems they have to go away, right?

He’s basically King of Repression.

He’s less about preserving Thomas’ health than preserving Thomas’ happiness.

And preserving happiness isn’t helpful when someone actually needs to work through their feelings.

Patton’s pretty damn terrified of negative emotions. And although he kind of knows that Thomas can’t hide from stuff forever, he’d scraped out a fragile status quo. This stuff gets worse before it gets better, and the kind of painful honesty that Thomas would need to confront this stuff...he’s scared of that.

He doesn’t want Thomas to get hurt. He doesn’t understand that hurt is natural and a part of life. He doesn’t understand that sometimes you need to hurt in order to grow.

He’s deceptively good, kind, and alluring. It’s only after you’ve taken his route that you realize how poisonous his ideas are.

He’s working on being better. And he’s got people inclined to help. Logic!Janus disagrees with him, but enjoys his company. (Patton’s the only one who never insults him.) Creativity!Logan tolerates him. Morality!Remus disagrees with him vocally, though. And Anxiety!Roman would gladly run him through.

Thomas admits that Patton is a valid part of him. However, Patton still needs to understand the difference between protection and suffocation. Repression is bad for you, and right now, so is Patton.

However, everyone’s growing and learning. So maybe Patton has a chance to be...better.

If anyone’s interested, I could write what I think the episodes would be and how they would play out!

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taxicabinmemphis · 4 years

Note

“I’m exhausted” Logan and whatever side you want (can be platonic or romantic), Logan's experiencing emotions he's not used to and it's draining

so i’m a sucker for analogical and this got long. tho honestly this is me we’re talking about so what did you expect?

“Logan!” Virgil exclaimed, slamming the logical side’s door open. “What in the name of Ray Toro are we going to do about Thomas driving near a club at night on Wednesday? That’s the route you suggested he take! But Thomas is going to get killed by a drunk driver if that happens! So, what do we do?!”

Logan sighed, picking his head up from the table on which it was resting. He put his glasses on, facing the anxious side. “We’ll be fine, Virgil. However, if it bothers you so much we can go on another street. Also, will you please knock next time?”

Virgil’s exclamations and anxiety-fueled antics stopped, and he finally got a good look at the logical side. He looked terrible.

“You good, L?”

Logan rolled his eyes, turning his head away from Virgil so the side couldn’t take notice of his messy state. “I’m fine. I have given you what you required, so unless you have any other qualms you wish me to take care of, please leave.”

“Yeah, I have one more ‘qualm’ or whatever you called it,” Virgil said, approaching Logan. “You.”

Logan exhaled, giving Virgil an irritated look. “Yes, of course. What did I do this time?”

Virgil sat on Logan’s table, on his left, and gave him a scrutinizing look. “You’ve done nothing wrong, as per usual, but you’re a mess.”

“Thank you,” Logan said sarcastically, though Virgil’s ‘as per usual’ did lighten his mood by the tiniest fraction.

“I don’t mean it as a thing you’ve done wrong, but...” Virgil gave him a once-over. “Your hair is a mess, your glasses are crooked and weren’t even on when I came in, your tie is incredibly loose, your top button is undone, and your shoes are untied. If I wore your clothing, that would be expected of me and might even be considered nice, but this is you we’re talking about.” He paused, looking into Logan’s eyes. “What’s going on with you, buddy?”

Logan tried to fix his hair, adjusted his glasses, and tied his shoes. He left his shirt and tie the way they were as fixing them would feel restricting. He had loosened his tie and unbutton the top button of his shirt a few hours before because he felt like they were hindering his breathing.

“This is a worry I will not be calming for you. I’d greatly appreciate it if you would leave and not tell anyone about what you saw here.”

“No.”

“Look, I’m not in a compromising situation. Don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine.”

“You just told me,” Virgil said slowly, “me, not to worry.”

Logan sighed, putting a hand to his forehead. “Yes, I realize my mistake. Of course you’re worried. Fine. Worry somewhere that isn’t my room, please.”

Virgil crossed his arms. “Rude.”

“Exactly. No one wants to be around rude people. Leave me alone.”

Virgil shook his head, putting a hand on Logan’s shoulder, the logical side immediately shrugging it off. “I’m worried about you, dude. I can’t help it, you’re the voice of reason. If you’re not doing okay, Thomas will suffer. And I don’t mean this as criticism or pressure for you to be okay, just...it’s really important to make sure you’re alright. It can’t just be dismissed as one of my normal, unimportant worries. It wouldn’t be...logical to leave you like this.”

“I’m not fond of the fact that you are likely correct,” Logan grumbled.

“Great; we’ve established that I have to stay,” Virgil stated. “So, what’s up?”

“I...” Logan trailed off, thinking about how to voice his emotions. “I’m exhausted.”

“Hmm?”

“Every day I work tirelessly to provide you all with what you need. Schedules, explanations, assistance in educational activities. I join you all in most of your discussions, offering the logical explanation or solution for the current dilemma almost immediately, and yet no one listens. No one will heed my advice, or listen to my suggestions. I would gladly do what I do with no problem if it wasn’t like talking to a wall and telling it how to deal with its issues.”

“Logan...”

“I’m just...I don’t know...” He put his head back down on the desk.

“No one means to hurt your feelings.”

“It’s not that. I’m over being hurt, or offended...”

“Then?”

“I’m just so tired, V.”

Virgil didn’t have a response to that. Logan lifted his head to look at Virgil.

“There’s nothing else to it.” Logan rubbed his eyes under his glasses. “I’m tired. Exhausted. And I don’t know how to deal with it.”

“Get some sleep?” Virgil suggested. “I can talk with the others, fix our rude behavior. And I’m sorry, I know I can be rude to you-”

Logan thought back to Dealing With Intrusive Thoughts. Virgil had been particularly disrespectful that episode, but it was only because he thought that further conversation on the topic would only make Thomas’ situation worse and his likelihood of becoming a bad person all the more likely.

“You’ve only been rude to me recently when your anxiety was telling you that what I was doing would make things worse. Your actions were out of fear and were understandable and while I was annoyed, I am over it and require no apology.”

“Oh...okay,” Virgil replied quietly. “Thank you for understanding.”

“And talking with the others may help, if you’re up for it.”

Virgil nodded. “Maybe we could do it together? I don’t know exactly how you’re feeling, so having you there would help.”

“Of course.”

“...Would sleep help?” Virgil asked. “I know you work a lot so it could help with the fatigue. You don’t always listen to your own advice, so-”

“Not with this problem, I’m afraid,” Logan said with a grimace. “Sleep doesn’t take me away from dealing with everyone and my emotions permanently.”

Virgil raised an eyebrow. “Emotions, huh?”

Logan sighed. “Yes. It has come to my attention that I do indeed...feel things, despite it not being logical.”

“It may not be logical, but it’s normal.” Virgil furrowed his eyebrows. “What emotions are troubling you?”

“I’m not sure I would like to talk with you about it,” Logan said bluntly. “There’s more than I know what to do with.”

“Oh. Should I get Patton?”

“No!” Logan exclaimed, eyes widening at his own volume. “Apologies. No, that would not be appreciated.”

“Is it, like, anger over not being listened to? Irritation? Insecurity?”

Logan stared at him for a moment, before answering. “Yes. Those are some of the troubling emotions.”

“Among others?”

“Among others.”

“And you don’t want to talk with me about it because...”

Logan didn’t want to answer this. He knew he’d been feeling something for the anxious side lately, and it was before he walked in the Logan decided it was likely something akin to romantic love.

Virgil was just so wonderful. He was smart, thoughtful, protective, funny (at times), beautiful, and they got along very well.

Having those types of feelings for someone, especially Virgil, scared him. He also didn’t want Virgil to know, in case it hurt their friendship or heightened his anxiety.

So, he figured it would be best not to mention it.

“I would rather not talk about it at all.”

Virgil frowned. “But you singled me out. Why?”

“Because we are currently talking.”

Virgil gave him an unimpressed look—he clearly didn’t buy it.

“I don’t want you to know.”

Virgil nodded, looking away from Logan and to his lap. “You hate me, don’t you?”

“Wha- no!” Logan objected incredulously.

“It’s okay, I get it, no need to sugarcoat it,” Virgil said pitifully. “I undermine what you do, I annoy you with my worries, I-”

“Stop,” Logan commanded firmly. “None of those things are true. I’m not having trouble with hateful emotions...I’m having trouble with their opposites. Please don’t talk to me about them.”

“You’re having trouble with...love?”

“Can’t we just leave it?”

Virgil grinned. “No. I will get to the bottom of this.”

Logan groaned, throwing his head back against the chair he was in.

“Is it Patton?” Virgil asked. “I bet it’s Patton. That’s why you’re so hurt when people don’t listen. You want him to think you’re smart and cool and you want him to notice and like you.”

“It’s not Patton.”

“No?” Virgil asked, surprised. However, he was secretly very happy. “I bet you’re lying.”

Logan didn’t understand how Virgil hadn’t caught on. “Just leave me alone, please.”

“No, we went over this,” Virgil said, exasperated. “I will now help you find love.”

“No, you won’t,” Logan disagreed. If Virgil was willing to help him with this, he obviously didn’t feel the same.

“Yes, I will,” Virgil replied. “I care about you. I won’t let you suffer through this unfamiliarity alone.”

In truth, Virgil knew because he suffered through it with his feelings for Logan. He still was suffering through it.

“The gesture is touching, but I will have to decline.”

Virgil gasped. “Is it Janus? You two are both incredibly intelligent.”

Virgil really didn’t know?

“No, it isn’t.”

Virgil put a hand to his chin in thought. “What’s he like?”

“He’s an idiot, that’s what he is,” Logan said in exasperation.

“Oh, so it’s Roman.”

Though, considering he didn’t want Virgil to know, this may have been good.

“All of you are idiots; I wasn’t specifying anything.” He pulled out a schedule for a future day and started to work on it.

“So it’s Roman.”

Logan shook his head. “No.”

Virgil paused. “It’s Remus?!”

Logan put his pen down, absolutely done. “Yes. Yes, it’s Remus. Me, the embodiment of logic, fell in love with a chaotic and crazy side who took out my teeth and hit me with a throwing star that, if I were human, would have killed me.” He gave Virgil a look.

There was a moment of silence.

“...Thomas?”

Logan threw his pen at Virgil’s head. “Get out. Leave. Leave my room, you utter and complete moron. I will not tolerate such idiocy in my sacred space of intelligence and higher thinking.”

Virgil put his hands up, jumping off the table and walking towards the door. He reached for the handle, but stopped.

He thought back to their conversation, who he’d eliminated, who he’d hadn’t, and Logan’s reactions. He remembered that time when he and Patton were in Logan’s room a week before, and Logan yelled at Patton for so much as leaning on his table. Logan just let him sit on the table for an extended period of time. Logan didn’t force him out of his room or sink out, he just told Virgil to leave multiple times. He did try to ward him off with rudeness once, but never tried again. He also defended Virgil’s actions that hurt his feelings...to Virgil. Not to mention, he described his crush as an idiot before going on to call Virgil out on his idiocy and use that to send him out of his room.

“...Oh.”

Logan knew this meant Virgil had figured it out, so he took another pen and started to write furiously.

Virgil swiveled on his heels to face Logan, a look of realization on his face. He suppressed a laugh when he saw the side turned away from him and to his work, writing quickly and fully ignoring him. He found it absolutely adorable.

He walked over to Logan slowly, hands stuffed in his hoodie pockets. He stood beside Logan’s chair, placing a hand on the top left of it. He saw Logan’s movements stiffen a bit, but otherwise stay the same.

He turned the chair so Logan was facing him. Logan’s eyes widened, his pen dropped from his hands, and he stopped moving.

Virgil tilted the chair back, and he leaned over Logan.

“You love me, don’t you?”

“It appears so.”

Virgil chuckled, getting closer to Logan.

“You’re adorable, you know that?” Virgil teased.

Logan shook his head no in protest.

Virgil laughed. “If you say so. You’re already hot so I guess it’s unfair for you to be both.”

Logan’s cheeks flushed. There was a silence as the two just stared at each other for a moment.

Virgil’s eyes flickered to Logan’s lips.

“Would you mind if I kissed you?” Virgil murmured quietly.

“No,” Logan replied.

Virgil smiled, and—still tilting Logan’s chair back—kissed him like he was the most important thing in the world.

And to each other, that was exactly what they were.

Sorry this got long! I am such an a sucker for analogical I’m sorry. Hope you liked it! If you would like a redo, please shoot me as ask. Thanks!

#sanders sides #analogical #romantic analogical #virgil sanders #logan sanders #fic #ask #somehow-i-got-an-account #kill writes

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rainbowcaleb · 3 years

Text

throw me a lifeline

(warning: angst, those eye tattoos, and major spoilers for episode 122) (edit: also available on ao3 for easier reading!)

There’s an itch in his head he can’t shake out, a voice in his mind like an echo, and something new, terrible and new, resting on his shoulder.

Caleb was awake. (He pinched the skin around the intrusion on his shoulder. The tattoo was flat, eerily smooth like undamaged skin. The pinch was sharp, grounding. Yes, he was awake.) He looked at Beau, they looked at each other, both of their own gazes flitting to the red eyes and back. They had pried too far into the unknown, delved in the ocean without asking the right questions, and now the weight of water was crashing back in.

Fjord was scrambling forward from where he was keeping watch, his brow furrowed, questions about to spring from his lips.

Caleb held up a hand. “Wait, can you-” he gestured towards the sword and then around in the air.

Fjord shook his head, his shoulders slumped. “Not now,” he murmured. “Not yet.”

“You think we’re-” Beau pointed at her eyes, her real ones, not the red one.

Caleb nodded. “Lucien’s trust does not extend very far, it is safe to assume we are being observed.” Caleb tried to keep his sight line steady, not letting his eyes look down towards the new watchful symbol on Beau’s hand.

Fjord was shaking the others awake, pressing his fingers to his lips, hushed whispers and conversations growing like wind around them, but Beau and Caleb continued looking at one another.

With a twist of emotion in her face, Beau broke the quiet. “What can we do?”

“I don’t know.”

“What does it mean?!”

“I don’t know.” Caleb wished he had another answer.

Then there was a hand on his shoulder, on the other one, the unmarked one. “We can’t stay here!” Jester looked between her friends, anguish on her face. “What if it keeps happening? What if it gets worse?”

“Let’s kill him.” Veth was already digging through her bag for who-knows-what. “Maybe he’s the source, maybe if we get rid of him, it’ll-” her voice broke. “I don’t want you to-”

Yasha was quieter than her usual, but everyone in the room could feel the rage rolling from the tight set of her jaw and the grip on her sword.

“Wait-” Fjord looked around the room, uselessly squinting in the corners, at the ceiling, finding no peace of mind hidden there. “How can we leave? He’ll know the second the tower disappears and the cold hits him.”

“He may already know.” Caduceus said, letting the truth strike the room like ice.

“We have...our friend.” Jester looked around at them all.

Beau looked confused. “Uh, the one outside? What can he do-”

“No, no, no.” Jester went up on her tiptoes. “The floating one? He wants to help, he asked us how he can help.”

“I don’t trust him.” Beau grimaced. “But...”

“But.” Caleb met her gaze. “Beauregard, I...I don’t know what this means. I am unsure if it's in my power to…it came from the dream, Beau. Manifested from the dream.”

“If we weren’t all so exhausted…” This was a wobble in Jester’s voice. “I’m a cleric, I can heal, I can heal! And I could try, or Caduceus, but it's the middle of the night, and I just can’t. I can’t.”

“Oh, Jester-” Yasha’s rage had simmered down into the background for now, and she let go of her sword to place a hand on Jester’s arm. Yasha reached her other hand out to hold Beau’s.

“Making plans or involving other people can wait until we’re not-” Fjord glanced upwards again, nerves tensing his body like a coiled spring. He lowered his voice again. “We can’t plan anything if we stay here. Caleb, can you take us away somewhere?”

Caleb was looking down at his arms, a map of scars he knew intimately, intrusions healed but never gone, but at least he knew how and why. This tattoo, this eye, this-

“-did you hear me?”

Caleb’s head lifted. Fjord was leaning towards him, repeating his question. Caleb tried to focus. “Depends on the somewhere. There is risky, and then there is dangerous.”

“We have to go to him.” Jester’s voice was pleading, but steady. Trying to get her friends to see reason. “We need to go somewhere safer, we need help, we need his magic. And he’s smart!” Jester tacked it on almost as an afterthought, a small smile on her face. “He’s really smart. He reads all those books, Caleb you know this, you said he was super intelligent and really handsome.”

Caleb knew what she was doing and he let his face form some mimic of a smile. “We do not know where he is, all we have is a mere scrap of a description...teleporting is flirting with death. I do not think I can take us to him.”

“We may need to hurry.” Caduceus was looking out towards the center of the tower, his eyes focused on the bronze aperture in the ceiling.

“We need to leave.” Veth’s voice was sharp. “We just need to get out.”

“He can meet us halfway, I’ll call him.” Jester stood up, determination bright on her face.

“Wait, what-” Fjord said.

“If Lucien is listening right now-” Beau started.

Jester waved her fingers in the air. “Hi, mama! Checking in to say our snowy trip isn’t going as planned. We got kinda lost...and hurt, but coming home to you soon!”

Beau smiled, a real one. “Jester you mad genius.”

Jester curtsied. “Our friend will at least know something is happening.”

“Caleb-” Caduceus turned to him sharply, his usual soft demeanor gone.

He got on his knees and rushed to get the right components from his bag. “Gather close!” He didn’t glance up to see if his friends had followed orders, he kept sketching the familiar runes on the ground. “I have been gathering stones while we walked, as a precaution. I will take us backwards on our journey, far enough that they cannot quickly find us again, but not too far. It will be cold. Get ready.”

Jester’s hand was back on his shoulder. Veth’s on the other. A circle of friends holding hands around him. Caleb’s chalk snapped in his grip as he rushed through the last rune. Then whoosh.

It felt thrice as cold compared to the tower’s warmth a second ago. Everyone stepped closer together, huddling against the sudden wind.

“We’re probably still being watched.” Beau looked around, squinting against the bluster of snow, but they had been dropped in pitch black.

“Perhaps.” Caleb tugged his scarf closer around himself. “But I have bought us time.”

“Jester, has he replied?” Fjord asked.

She frowned. “No, not yet at least, maybe he’s sleeping? Should I try again?”

“Can you?”

She bit her lip. “I’m running low on spells, especially since we haven’t rested in so long.”

“You said you took us backwards,” Beau turned to Caleb. “If we tried walking to Aeor, would we be retracing our steps right back to the Tomb Takers?”

Caleb nodded, then dragged a rough hand over his face. Reckless, stupidly reckless and ambitious. It was obvious, he should have known. He knew what knowledge meant. He had seen Vess. He had seen Lucien. He had seen the trail of dead bodies. He should have known.

“Yes.” He spat out bitterly. “We’d return right to them.”

Fjord peered out against the darkness. “Somewhere east...our friend said he’s somewhere east of here.”

“Great load of good that does,” Veth grumbled. “If he’s stuck where he is, and we’re stuck where we are, how the hell are we supposed to get help?”

Jester shot up, practically dancing on her tiptoes. “Oh!” Her expression sped through reactions, relief and confusion and happiness. “He heard me, he’s awake now, he’s…”

“What did he say?” Caleb wanted to cling to her, the hope of her message a lifeline against this chaos.

“He’s not ‘supposed‘ to leave.” Jester frowned. “He sounded really frustrated, I think there’s some story there that we don’t know and the word limit, well, he didn’t say anything more about that. But he said he will find a way to us. He needs more information. Caleb, how? What can I tell him?”

His friends looked towards him for a response, but it just felt like more eyes. More eyes. Caleb didn’t have the answer, his mind was racing, they were in the middle of snowy nowhere with no landmarks. Even the sharpest magician couldn’t find a single pebble in the ocean like this.

“Unless…”

“Unless what?” Beau asked.

Caleb hadn’t noticed he had spoken the thought aloud. It felt suddenly like the breaking of a promise, even though no such words had been exchanged between them. It was a small moment, so delicate. He had handed this to Caleb at the end of one study session, telling Caleb he had done so well, that he was learning so fast. Essek had smiled. Caleb remembered that clearly, that smile, that brush of hands as he dropped it into Caleb’s palm.

“He gave me something, a gift.” Caleb could sense a raised eyebrow and an incoming question but he rushed past that. “If you message him and remind him, he could use it as a focus to find me. To find us.”

“What is it?” Jester asked. “In case he doesn’t remember?”

“It is just a bit of obsidian.” He shrugged. “A spell component.”

There was a weight to his words that made Jester give him a long look, but Caleb didn’t explain further.

Jester ran her fingers through the air again. “Us again, mama! Very snowy outside tonight, remember that obsidian you gave Caleb? When you see us again, maybe he can give it back?” She paused, then smiled. Essek’s response was much faster that time. “He is coming. He told us to try and find a way to stay warm, it may take him some time.”

“‘Some time’?” Beau frowned. “Bastard.”

“He did say he was going to ‘sneak out’, whatever that means.” Jester grinned. “Ooh, I can’t wait to see him, that sounds like some juicy story.”

“Can we dome it up?” Fjord looked to Caleb, but his face fell when he saw Caleb’s dark expression. “Okay guys, looks like we need to huddle.”

“Let’s move some snow,” Caduceus started sweeping at the ground with his staff. “We can at least make a little dry spot.”

It was painful work. Not because it was hard, but because in the silence of gloved hands pushing against the ice and dirt, it was too easy to get trapped in thought. Whispers from the echo of his dream still ran wildly through Caleb’s mind, unsettling him in their reminder of what now sat on his shoulder. It was part of him now, whatever it was. Embedded, ingrained, intertwined. It had not asked; it just became.

Ten minutes passed, then twenty. They risked a small fire from Caleb’s hands, pressing shoulder to shoulder to block the light and keep the heat. Another ten minutes, and Veth had begun complaining about a lack of common decency from Essek, with Beau joining in as well.

“-a lack of punctuality, put that in the column of things you can’t trust about him.” She was saying. Then she stopped. Beau looked out towards the dark. “I swear to Ioun if that’s a wolf, or yeti, or anything other than Essek, I will-”

She didn’t finish her thought. There was a voice calling on the wind.

“It’s Essek.” Caduceus smiled. “That’s him.”

It was hard to see the cloaked figure against the night sky. He carried no light and his dark cloak melded in with his surroundings. He made nearly no sound, his feet never touching the ground. It was Essek.

Jester was the first to stand up, walking towards him, then running. They didn’t know anything for sure, if he could help, but his presence felt like a new hope breaking through the storm. She tackled his side in a messy hug, forcing him to drop to the ground to stand.

“Jester!” Caleb didn’t have to see him to know he was smiling despite circumstances; he could hear it in Essek’s voice. “I apologize for the wait, it was difficult to get away. I am glad to see you're all here, you’re all...alive. I feared the worst, your messages, they were...hard to decipher.”

“Sorry I called you mama, Essek! We were afraid we were being spied on. Actually-” she looked around horrified. “Oh no, if he’s looking at us right now, he’ll see you too. He might memorize your face to scry on later, I think he can do that, he seems able to do anything.”

“Who?” Essek looked startled.

“Where are you stationed, can you take us there?” Beau stood up quickly.

“We don’t have a lot of time.” Fjord explained.

“Yes, I can.” Essek looked around at them all, quickly taking stock of their expressions and posture. “We can go right now. The fire-”

Caleb had already snuffed it out and was walking towards him. He had a sudden impulse to follow Jester’s example, to run towards Essek and pull him into a hug, craving the solid touch of the friend he had not seen in months, although he was so often in his thoughts. But he couldn’t. It was a wall he had built himself. He couldn’t.

They gathered in a circle again, holding hands despite the spell not asking of this component. It was familiar and comforting, things that seemed so lacking in this journey. Caleb reached for Essek’s hand, he would allow himself this gesture (he was only so strong against the tide of what he felt).

There was something cold and small in Essek’s palm.

“Oh,” Essek looked down when Caleb drew his hand a few inches back. “Apologies, I forgot I was still holding…”

Caleb recognized the object, as it was the other half of Caleb’s own obsidian piece. Two parts, one whole. Caleb grasped his hand, uncaring of the object between them. He tried to smile, it was a grimace, but it would do.

“Thank you.” His voice was low, a whisper. He did not know why, but he didn’t want to be overheard. Caleb squeezed his hand, letting the obsidian dig into them both, the pain grounding him to the moment. Essek did not pull away, but held on. “Thank you.” He repeated.

“Go time.” Beau said.

Essek pulled himself away from Caleb’s eyes and nodded. The swirl of magic around them blended with the snow, grey and white like a dust storm, and then they were off.

Hope and fear clamoring in their hearts.

#shadowgast #critical role fic #shadowgast fic #essek thelyss #caleb #mighty nein #it isn't HEAVY shadowgast but very implied #i wrote this in a rush on friday morning after the episode and then forgot to post it #my fic

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prettyboongi · 4 years

Text

Small Hours

Reader x Jeon Jungkook

Word Count: 1,438

Genre: Angst (w/ brief fluff)

Warning: Emotional cheating and some strong language

[A/N: I wanted to post a fic to hold you guys up until I’m finished with the requested ones. This story is actually inspired by a personal experience. While it definitely worked out at the end for my boyfriend and I, it was still one of the hardest things I had to go through. Also I might make a second part to this but we’ll see. Hope you guys enjoy!]

You weren't surprised when you got a text from your boyfriend Jungkook that he was on his way to your place. Even though it was close to 1 a.m., you were used to him showing up this late, especially after working the late shift from his part-time job. He also didn’t have to worry about you being asleep this late since you tend to stay awake into the late hours of the night. What did surprise you was opening the door to find a disheveled and tense version of your typically tidy and cheerful boyfriend.

You gesture for him to come inside and, after shutting the door, you gave him a comforting hug. "Is everything alright, babe? You look terrible"

Despite giving you a soft smile, Jungkook still couldn’t hide the anxiety bubbling inside of him. "I really needed to see you," he opens. "Can we talk?"

While escorting him to your bedroom, a variety of worse case scenarios plagued your mind. Is he in trouble? Did something happen at work? Is he dying?! You tried to mentally stuff down these intrusive thoughts but it was a losing battle for you. Once you two reached your room, you sat at the edge of your neatly made bed, watching Jungkook nervously pace in front of you.

A moment passed before you finally broke the stressful silence. "Can you please tell me what's wrong? You're scaring me," you said with a slight laugh, an attempt to pass off your fears as a joke.

Jungkook walks over to you and sits close to you on the bed. He looks at you deeply into your eyes. His own eyes were glassy and tired, a little bloodshot even. "Things have been pretty stressful lately," he solemnly confesses, "it's getting too much to bear."

You took his hand and lightly caressed his bony knuckles with your thumb. "Go on, honey," you said, encouraging him.

You let Jungkook vent about his troubles to you. About how he feels overworked from his job. About his sleeping troubles. And about the many responsibilities he had to take care of. The more he talked, you hear his voice becoming increasingly shaky. When he finally let himself break down, you pulled him to your chest and stroke his slightly fizzled locks. As always, you felt terrible that he had so many things weighing on his shoulders and wished that you could take a lot of his worries away. But during moments like these, all you could really do is hold him tight and tell him he’s going to be okay.

Once his sniffling dies down, he slowly sits up and looks at you. “Thanks for listening to me,” he says while wiping his tear stained face with his sweater sleeve.

“Of course, Kookiepants” you smile warmly at him, “It’s what I’m here for.” Cupping his face, you slightly lift yourself off your bed to give him a gentle kiss on his forehead. You figured everything was okay until watch his smile gradually fade away.

“I have to tell you something,” his expression changes into a serious one. Knowing how rare he displays such a look, your mind again goes to thinking of the worst scenarios possible.

“What?,” you asked cautiously.

Jungkook takes a moment before continuing. “You know the friend I made online? The one from Germany, Alice?”

“Yeah I know her,” you rolled your eyes derisively. Of course you knew her, she was his Overwatch buddy. When they first began playing together a year ago, Jungkook would go on and on about how kickass of a player she was and back then you didn’t think that much about it. It only started bothering when the two began regularly messaging each other on Instagram. It’s not that you didn’t like Alice; it just kinda annoyed you that some other chick was getting so close to your boyfriend. Jungkook knew how jealous you’d get and assured you that his relationship with the girl was strictly platonic. And of course you trusted Jungkook. In the many years of your relationship, he never gave you a reason otherwise.

“What about Alice?”

Although he hesitated momentarily, he doesn’t take his gaze away from you. “Well me and her have been talking a lot lately and… I think I’m growing strong feelings for her.”

You suddenly stopped stroking his hair and looked down at him. “What do you mean by that, Jungkook?”

He started to tear up again. “What I mean is that, I think I’m falling in love with her.”

“...What?” You feel your body go cold from pure shock. It was as if the world had come to a complete stop and only you and him were in motion. “You’re in love with her?”

“But I still love you! Just somehow I feel the same way for the both of you. It just happened,” his voice breaks. He then holds his head in the hands and starts to cry again. “I’m sorry, Y/N.”

“And how does she feel about you?,” you asked despite knowing what the answer will be.

He snivels. “She told me she feels the same way.”

At that moment, you feel an intense mix of emotions. Sadness. Anger. Disbelief. Confusion. How could this happen?, you thought. How does a man have such strong feelings with a girl he’s never met in real life and only been talking for a year? The same feelings he has for the woman he’s been with for almost a decade? You actually had a history with Jungkook; you two have gone through so much and more. Compared to you, what did he have with this Alice girl? You tried to add things up in your head but nothing made sense. This situation doesn’t make any fucking sense.

A normal person would tap into their raw emotions and start bawling like crazy or even start screaming. But you couldn’t bring yourself to do that. Sure you were completely devastated but the shock hasn’t sunk down deep enough for you to cry just yet. You also weren’t much of a screamer.

Repeating your actions from before, you took Jungkook into your arms and gently rocked him to calm him down. He holds you back tightly, as if he was afraid of letting you slip away.

“I don’t wanna be in love with her, Y/N. I only wanna be with you,” he says between sniffles. “You have every right to be mad at me.”

“I’m not mad at you, Jungkook,” you responded quickly. “I’m just mad at the circumstances. If what you’re saying is true, that you’re in love with this girl, I really wished it hadn’t got to this point between you two.” You stopped talking for a minute as you listened to him whimper into your chest. You then push him back a little, causing him to look up at you. “I am happy that you’re being honest with me. You could’ve hid it from me and do something behind my back. But you didn’t.”

“Of course, Y/N,” he says while wiping his tears away. “I love you. I wanna spend the rest of my life with you.” He leans forward and lightly pecks on the lips before resting his forehead on yours.

You felt the tears you’ve been desperately holding in finally spill from your eyes. “I love you too.”

You and Jungkook sat on your bed holding on to each other for a little bit longer. During that time, you told him that he couldn’t talk to Alice anymore. He promised to end the friendship and to block on every social media account he followed her on. When he finally calmed down, you found yourself going into “doting girlfriend mode”. You suggested he should take a relaxing shower while you washed his laundry. And when he came out of the shower, you made sure he had a nice, hot meal waiting for him. The two of you talked and hung out for awhile before finally deciding to turn in. However, you waited until Jungkook was fast asleep before you quietly snuck out of bed, heading towards the bathroom.

After flicking the lights on and closing the door behind you, that was when you finally let yourself fall apart. You slid down against the door and silently sobbed to yourself. You still weren’t sure if these were sad or angry tears, could be a depressing mixture of both. As you wept alone on the bathroom floor, your head leaning on the cold wall next to you, the same questions repeatedly echoed inside your head, “Why? What did I do to deserve this? Why is this happening to me?”

#bts #bts fanfiction #bts fanfic #bts imagine #bts imagines #bts reaction #bts reactions #kpop fanfiction #kpop fanfic #bts x reader #reader x jungkook #jeon jungkook #jeon jeongguk #jungkook #jungkook fanfic #jeongguk #bts angst #bangtan seonyeondan

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