#so it’s all on a sliding scale of convincability (at least that’s how i judge fiction)
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my apologies if this is too simple or juvenile or personal a question but HOW did you become such a proficient writer? and do you have any tips or pointers to keep in mind? i know you must do a lot of reading and a lot of writing, but your skill is just incredible to me. your prose!! your cadence!! when we get around to talking about it is genuinely one of the best things i've ever read and i'd eat it if i could!!!
this ask was so sweet thank you!! rly made my day when i needed a boost. Hope you don’t mind i took a couple days to think about it cause no one’s ever asked me for writing advice before
idk how i became a “proficient” writer bc I really don’t write that much. something about my fic gave me brainworms and i went into overdrive but that’s…not my usual MO. which is why it’s weird for me too. admittedly i am studying english/creative writing as my second major at uni, but i haven’t learned anything in any of my classes you couldn’t learn by just reading and writing on your own. honestly i should’ve stuck with my IR major instead, i find structured cw classes a complete waste of time. but here are some little tips i thought of that would’ve helped ME:
This is more a “do as I say not as I do” because I’m really bad at habits like this, but keep a diary. You can write about the big events (went to the store, did homework, got laid etc.) but that’s boring—focus on the details (watched someone at west side market throw a glass bottle of olives at a rat, broke a pen and permanently stained my dorm desk and won’t get my deposit back which pissed me off because I move out in a week, this guy’s breath smelled like lemon pledge and it made me wonder if he drank window cleaner before kissing me etc.). Real life is really interesting! How can you write about interesting real life in an interesting way? It’s a good way to practice. You don’t have to do a big reflection at the end of the day or anything. It’s okay to jot down something you saw & then immediately forget about it. It’s the act of figuring out how to translate life into words that’s important
If you type, learn how to type FAST. This is just my experience, but I think typing faster makes your cadence, clause length, dialogue, IDEAS flow better/more naturally. We think in words/sentences, not letters.
This is a super lame tip that’ll make you roll your eyes, but read poetry. Poetry is all about how words/ideas/images sound and interact with each other. Don’t get hung up on one poet—im not really recommending any for precisely this reason—read poetry you love (for me, Ada Limón, Jack Kerouac, Frank O’Hara, ghazals etc) AND read poetry you hate (for me, Rupi Kaur, Emily Dickinson, Whitman, etc)! Read all genres you can get your hands on. (I think there are like “great poetry anthologies” you can find for free online if u don’t know where to start. Also you can’t go wrong with subscribing to/reading a variety magazine like the NYer. It’s pretentious but it exposes you to all kinds of weird topics, ways of writing about them, etc.) Figure out how certain combinations of words and punctuations make you FEEL, and why, and why the writer chose (or not) to make you feel that way. Figure out which literary sounds you like and which ones you don’t. For me, i figured out that I REALLY like alliteration, comma splices, zeugmas, the rule of three, and
“he’s [verb]ing again… yeah compacflt’s characters are [verb]ing again… big shocker”
If you have an idea for a piece, figure out what it is you really want to get out of it—to say something? to experiment with a different style? to see your fav characters do something? to have fun?—and then figure out how, on a technical level, you should write to match that goal (this is where the poetry training comes in handy). If you’re just writing to have fun, don’t listen to any writing advice (incl. mine), because most of it is bullshit and over-generalized and will make you feel bad about yourself. Just take the advice that you think will work for what YOURE trying to write.
But if you’re writing to explore some political idea, then you should think about HOW to best write about that idea. What would be a convincing story/allegory/scene to engage with this idea vs. not convincing. I talk on this blog all the time about how disappointed I am that my very-adult-grown-up attempt to deal with the dynamic of “immovable internalized homophobia vs unstoppable falling in love anyway” is rendered a little childish/immature by some pretty unconvincing plot points like the characters buying a house together—I really should have considered how that plot point would interact with the characterizations I’d built already (hint: poorly). You can think of writing as kind of a military structure if that helps—you have strategy on the overarching campaign (plot/character growth/allegory/theme) level, the battle (scene that advances the above) level, and the tactical (sentence-level construction/syntax/wording) level. They all have to work together. If a scene is failing to properly engage with the idea you’re trying to convey, you’re losing a battle that will weaken the overarching campaign. Same thing if you choose a weird word in a sentence/write in a style or tone that’s weirdly out of place with your idea—it makes your engagement with the theme/idea less convincing. just try to be purposeful and consider your strategy on all levels of your work as you’re writing it!! At the very least it’ll make editing easier lol.
But then again when I read my own writing from just a couple months ago I cringe out of my skin, so like—just also accept that it’s a process and we’re all just making it up as we go along. Be proud of being embarrassed of your old work, because it means you’re growing. Own that shit. When I finished writing WWGATTAI i thought it was the best thing I’d ever written, and maybe it was. But since the day I finished working on it, it’s the worst thing I’ve written since then. That’s a great feeling. Not to be like writing grindset obviously bc it’s supposed to be fun—but if what you want is to get better at writing, the strategy is to WRITE a whole bunch of shit, and then own your embarrassment about how much you’ve grown since you started. And know you’re still always growing and learning. there should never be any “goals” where skills are concerned 👍🏽
#fake it till u make it#the good part about fiction is all you’re really doing is makin shit up#no rules!!!#fiction is just trying to sell a lie right#so it’s all on a sliding scale of convincability (at least that’s how i judge fiction)#and figuring out how to convince people of your lie is where the art is#anyway.#not top gun#asks#writing tips#idk how to tag this#also i love ao3 because trying to get published traditionally genuinely made me hate writing/MY writing#i have indeed had the cliche 100+ form rejection letters experience#unfortunately writing is also one of those things where you can see it as a competition so easily#(admittedly a small part of why i don’t read other TG fics—i don’t wanna read people doing it better than me😭)#BUT you tailor your experience to have a healthy life. it’s not a competition if you don’t make it one. put yourself first
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Went back and forth on whether or not to post these, but guess who went to Oogie Boogie bash!! Pics and thoughts under the cut if you're interested! Quick warning though, I am a lot more interested in the inner workings of theme parks than I am in the fantasy, so if you don't want to break the fourth wall, so to speak, don't read what I've written.
First, I don't usually do meet and greets because I am too aware of the fact that I'm talking to an actor, and all the questions I want to ask are "behind the curtain" type questions. But, I love cosplay, so I made an exception to check out the costume details on the Brunos.
You can kinda see it here in the first picture, if you look past the blurriness, but one of the details I find most brilliant is that the lovely gentleman playing Bruno is wearing a shade of foundation a touch paler than his actual skin tone to make himself look a little grayer than he is. I saw another one of the Brunos up close and it didn't look like he was doing the same thing with his make up, so this might have been a personal choice on the part of the actor. If so, genius! If they start up an award ceremony for theme park actors, this guy wins best "Non-Prosthetic Make up" award.
As for things beyond his control, all of the actors playing Bruno were a bit tall. Me included for scale. I'm 5'6" and the boots I'm wearing have a slight heel, so you can estimate my height as being 5'7" or even 5'8". This guy is about two or three inches taller than me, and the other actor I saw was the same height. I passed by the photo spot a few other times, but idk if those were additional actors or if these two guys switch back and forth all night (they're only allowed to work for like thirty minutes at a time or something). So I guess I can't say all of the actors are tall, just the two I've definitely seen. The ruana almost looked like real wool, but considering how warm it was, it was probably (hopefully) just cotton.
Did the Oogie Boogie treat trail, it moved faster than I was expecting, but had sunchips, so it loses points for that. 7/10. Mostly joking, I gave my chips to my sister. Anyways, wish I'd taken pictures of the theming, you can kinda see some of it behind Oogie Boogie, this was in the Animation Studio where they have all those screens, so they leaned into that with a lot of spoopy casino themed slide shows and a spattering of physical decorations. It didn't sound like Oogie Boogie's lines were prerecorded, but he had definitely received a script to lean on. The costume, as you can see, wasn't very scary, and the actor in it was definitely used to playing cute characters more than villains, but they did a pretty good job with the puppetry that moved the mouth. Really made it look like Oogie was talking.
Accidentally ended up on the Mother Gothel treat trail (we just thought it was one of the ones that didn't have a character). Actress was a bit young for the part (as can be expected), but damn did she play it well. As you can see, her set was beautiful, and the dress was a lighter fabric than in the movie but relatively accurate. She interacted with guests so fluidly. She asked a little girl if she listened to her mother and when the little girl shrugged and said a little bit, she said in a voice I've heard from my mother's obnoxious friends, "Well! At least she's honest!" Very convincing. I have no trouble believing this is a woman whose daughter doesn't talk to her for "no reason". 10/10.
The first character treat trail we did was Judge Doom from Roger Rabbit, unfortunately, we didn't get to linger that long because my mother had decided to forgo a scooter despite her terrible back and asking her to stand around while we took pictures of the guy in the costume would have been a war crime. But look at that set!!! There were barrels of the dip ingredients leading up to it, then you get past a tree hanging over the trail and viola! There it is. He was wearing a prosthetic chin that could have been blended onto his real face a little better, but he did some great improv when he saw a kid carrying a Roger Rabbit doll.
And finally, last but not least, when the night was just about over and the lines were almost completely gone, I dragged my sister to the Ernesto Treat Trail because I'd seen pics of the costume and wanted to lay eyes on it myself. Look at that make up! It's so well built, so convincing. That's not a mask, but prosthetics, so he was able to act through them. His voice was pretty smooth, didn't get to see him sing the song, he was probably a bit too tired by this point, but he did a great job adapting Ernesto's affectations into something a little more overtly sinister.
Over all, wouldn't have minded if the party was a little longer. Or even if we'd been let into the park a little sooner so we could get some of the non-Oogie Boogie stuff out of the way while the crowds were milling about. We got in at 3, when all of the lines were a bit too long and got food, wanted to do the drawing lessons in the Animation Studio, but they stopped at 3:30, right when we had finished our meal. There weren't any shows going on, so my sister and I split up to do single rider lines (got on the Incredicoaster three times, so that was cool). I think being let in at noon would have been a bit better. I enjoyed the party, but I don't know if I'd fork over the money to do it again considering how little time I had in the park. I definitely wouldn't pay for a normal ticket and an Oogie Boogie ticket in the same day. So, they should maybe extend the time you're allowed into the park. Then again, they've sold out two years in a row, so what do I know.
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Kinktober 3: Naga/Semi-public
Tags: naga, semi-public, is there a word for female cockwarming? pussy warming??? idk, uhhh, yeah
You don’t know why you find the upper levels of the library so enticing. Once the archives are closed, no one very much cares to venture up to the near-attic, the scent of carefully dusted wood calming after a day of stressing over whatever class you feel like you’re falling behind in. Up here in the rafters, surrounded by ancient scripture and stories of lands almost forgotten, you can slip out of your mind and focus solely on what you must.
Okay, well, scratch that, maybe you do know why you like it up here. Thunder roars in the near distance, shockwaves of sound vibrating against the windows and stone of the walls. It doesn’t take too much of a temperature shift outside to suck out all the heat through the thin sheet of glass separating you from the raging storm, and by the way a frigid nose pokes beneath your skirt, someone doesn’t find the cold as enticing as you.
With a steady hand, you turn the page of your textbook, eyes scanning the page as a scaled tail wraps around your ankle. Tapping your pen against your notebook, you practically glare at the illustration, trying to ignore the imploring fingers slipping beneath your underwear. All you offer in response is a quick shift of your hips to ease his struggle, his breath almost cool against the wetness between your thighs.
“Malak,” you half-whisper, tangling your fingers in his white hair. “You said you would help me study.”
“I’m cold, baby,” he hums in response, hiking up your skirt further up to your waist. Teeth graze against your inner thigh, nothing more than a playful nip, but it melts your insides down to a boiling point. “Let me warm up first.”
Swallowing thickly, you only turn back to your schoolwork, trying to angle yourself on the chair in a way that lets you spread your legs as far as necessary. Focus, focus, focus, your mind chants as his tongue slowly teases the skin around your lips. Intention when casting runes is just as important as the markings themselves; to fully produce their desired effect, one must-
A burst of pleasure runs up the length of your spine; you have to catch yourself before you let out a sobbing whimper. Malak’s tongue has graced your clit with its presence, his bright blue eyes looking up from under the table with a sly triumph. Clamping your mouth shut, you turn back to your work, trying to focus on making a flashcard with the proper vocab words as he spreads the skin of your pussy out.
Trying to keep your voice steady, you say, “what are the three virtues one must exhibit while casting runes?”
“Clarity,” he kisses your slit, “focus,” another kiss, “and aplomb.”
“Good,” you manage to get yourself under control, taking a sip out of your thermos, “glad to see you’re keeping up.”
He makes a purring noise, flattening his tongue and licking from top to bottom, little sparks of thrill running through your core. Then, just to be infuriating, you think, he lets out a small whimpering noise that sets your entire being on edge. Still, there’s no one around to hear his little show of subjugation, so you decide to let it slide.
Up, down, up, down, a smile on his face as you wrap a leg around his cool back.
Keeping your voice under control, you look over your notes. “What is considered the rune for this modern age?”
He waits for a beat, flicking his tongue against your opening, then says, “Synthetic Moderna.”
You shudder as he delves back down, but you have to nod your head. “Ri-right. What about- what about the Acadian Revival?”
“A period in the nineteenth century revolving around the idea that older magicks were somehow better than modern- do I have that right?” Without waiting for your answer, his mouth closes on the upper part of your pussy, slowly pushing his tongue between your folds, sliding it back and forth against your clit.
You suck in your breath. “Y-yeah, that’s it exactly.” Trying to convince your quivering core that everything is alright and you don’t have to pay attention to what’s happening between your legs, you turn the page, eyes dancing over the chapter for more important information. “And what put the Acadian magic back into obscurity?”
You think you can feel his eyes rolling, but you’re so focused on the letters in your book that you don’t look. “Older magic was useful for the older world. New technologies mean new uses that don’t coincide with those ancient concepts.”
“Yes, that’s- that’s correct.” You don’t understand how he can be so very casual about everything while his tongue slowly probes your entrance, nor could you ever fathom why he might not insist you pay his own body any mind. Still, you suppose that you’re grateful for the release.
“Have I earned my prize yet?” He asks, batting his pale, thick eyelashes at you.
“Not yet,” your chest is tight, your core even hotter. “We need to get through this unit first.”
“Mmph,” he complains against your pussy, taking one of your lips and nipping gently with his fangs.
You don’t want to ask him for any more information, mostly because his face feels awfully nice against your throbbing core, but you also don’t want him to flunk out, no matter how much he seems to know his stuff, he has a nasty habit of not showing up to exams. “Who is an influential figure that began the development of Synthetic Moderna?”
He shivers against your body, tail wrapping up your shin and closing in on your knee. “Alphonsa Rodrigez.”
For being at the mercy of someone hellbent on making you cum, you think you’re doing an outstanding job at ignoring him… until his fingers become involved. Your vision blurs despite your desperate attempts to focus on anything and everything but him. Clearing your throat, you continue, “and what exact discovery did Doctor Rodrigez discover?”
He moans into your pussy, his throat rumbling low and sweet. Now that his fingers are involved, the stroking of your clit doesn’t cease when he looks back up at your face, “isn’t she the one who came up with the three virtues?”
You inhale sharply as he presses his thumb into your slit, but say, “no, she wasn’t the one to finalized the three virtues into mainstream practices… it has to do with the idea of clarity, though.”
“Oh,” he says, realization in his eyes as he offers a kiss to your thigh, “right, wasn’t she involved in the development of neural observation when it came to the actual casting?”
“Ye-Es!” Your voice lilts and almost becomes a whine as Malak, the fucking bastard, closes his mouth around your clit and sucks just as you open your mouth. You clap your hands over your mouth, face red, hoping desperately that no one heard. Judging by the lusty smile on his face, he knows what he did, and you feel the urge to smack him upside the head. ” Malak!”
“Careful, baby,” he says, infuriatingly quiet, “someone might hear you.”
As though the universe heard his words and decided that it would be super funny to turn against you in the worst way imaginable, you hear footsteps. Sucking in air, you’re quick to fix your posture, wrapping your legs around Malak’s neck in the hopes of keeping him still. Despite the hazy layer of sweat on your temple, you think, you hope that you don’t look like… well, like someone is mouth fucking you beneath the table.
“Are you alright?” A head pokes out from the back, eyebrows raised. A grad student you recognize, he’s one of the TA’s in your least favorite class this semester, though you’d never tell him that.
Silently, you thank every god who might have brought the desk you’re sitting at because it’s one of the older fashioned ones, the kind that closes off and hides whatever might be underneath from passersby. Briefly, you wonder if the person who first made them had this exact reason behind it. Malak’s tongue doesn’t give you an ounce of reprieve, working almost harder to flush your face, hoping with all the power in his fingers that you might squeal with pleasure.
But you’re stronger than that, more determined than he, so you offer up a casual smile and a noncommittal shrug. “Sorry, Martin, I saw a spider. You know how I am with those.”
“Ri-ight,” he says, drawing out the center syllable for longer than you would like. Maybe he’s just mocking you for the phobia? “Of course, sorry for interrupting.”
“Oh, I’m just studying-”
“Of course, goodbye.” And just like that, his head ducks back between the books, gone and embarrassed for reasons you don’t want to think about. Out of the corner of your eye, you see a tail poking out from where the wooden board almost meets the floor, thrashing about like in some kind of distress. Or some sort of perverse pleasure.
You don’t have time to feel shameful because Malak is attacking your body with a much more vicious gusto than you had thought him capable of… okay, well, maybe not, but you did think he would at least wait until the study session was over. Steadily, with so little mercy, he sucks on your clit directly; you have to bite down on your hand to keep from crying out.
Even if you offer up a meager question, you know that he’s so focused on your pleasure that he couldn’t be bothered to answer. You’re almost afraid that you might be squeezing his head too tightly, but he doesn’t seem bothered in the least, arm snaking around one of your legs to shift and position however he needs. Out away, then back closer when a chill of coldness threatens his delicate skin.
He’s sucking now, sucking on your clit, except it’s not like those quick, kissing motions; it’s full-on, and your vision tangles with a web of black. Everything in your core is tight, hot, yet Malak is cool enough to tie your body down to the mortal plane, even if he’s relentlessly licking like his life depends on your orgasm. And there, you can feel it coiling in your stomach. You have to bite down on your sleeve lest you start whining like a pup. With your other hand, though, you rake your fingers through his hair.
Now he’s looking at you, crystalline eyes filled to the brim with smug satisfaction. Still, his tongue moves against your lower regions with the skill of a well-seasoned whore, a kind of his own desperation on his face. Almost like his very being depends on your pleasure. He gently pushes a finger into your pussy, curving it slightly to hit that one specific spot, then slowly begins to massage your inner walls, and you are over.
You can feel the beginning of the orgasm creep up inside your core, small tendrils of pleasure reaching out through your nerves. The steady building turns into waves, though, morphing from a modest sort of feeling to something large, bright, and overshadowing everything else. Something slick and hot rushes through your pussy, trickling out and into Malak’s eager and waiting mouth.
The sounds he makes while drinking your cum are obscene, even though he tries to keep quiet, just as you asked. But he doesn’t slow down and instead lets you ride out your orgasm on his face, tongue still licking and mouth continuously kissing despite your body’s slow decline off that high. Everything in your body seems to shut off, muscles relaxing as the final rolls of pleasure ebb away, until you’re barely nothing more than a shivering, boneless mass on the chair.
He crawls up your body then, every movement with purpose and vigor. He kisses your stomach, a shiver pulsing out from it, then up your sweater, pausing at your collarbone, then goes to your neck. You wrap your arms around his torso and your legs around his waist, snuggling up against his solid, large body to ground yourself.
“Babe?” He asks.
“Yeah?”
“What leap of advancement does Synthetic Moderna have over its many predecessors?”
“I’m going to kill you.”
“Incorrect! That's a penalty."
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hey for the prompts thing, maybe artemy's children and daniil? Also if you wanna stretch your utopian characters writing muscles, something with peter and grace(artemy helping him parent her, since the man was ready to feed her worms)? eva and daniil in the friendship way?? idk, something of that sort. I love your work, you have a delightful grasp of the characters and the english language itself
this isn't my best bc i've just been practicing writing to keep that skill strong, but i decided to do a little of all three :)
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“Please, Eva, you have to help me.”
Eva tilts her head at Daniil, her long blonde hair cascading over her shoulder. Daniil knows she’s not that dense; it’s not the with what question, but the why. “Really, Daniil. I think you have a handle on things as it is.”
He absolutely does not have a handle on things. He is in way out of his depth. Over his head. However the saying goes - what’s been expected is far beyond him. Cats, he can watch over easily. They’re mostly self-sufficient, independent, but children? Daniil does not know the first thing about children.
“Humor me, then,” he says. Eva ducks her head, struggling to hide a smile. “Pretend for a moment that I don’t have a handle on things. How am I meant to keep children entertained?”
“Ah, I would think you would remember what it was like to be a child!” Daniil only scowls at the floor, shuffling his feet. “You remember how you wanted to be treated, don’t you? It’s not that different from now. You treat them with respect.”
“I know how to talk to children,” he says, and hopes he isn’t lying, “but how do I keep them entertained?”
“It’s only for a few hours. I think you’re worrying over nothing.” Daniil looks over his shoulder. They’re already seated at Eva’s piano, fingers toying with the keys. Every once in a while they will make contact, a soft plonk as a flat note plays in the open space, accompanied by a giggle. “Besides, Artemy left you in charge, not me. He trusts you.”
“He trusts everyone.” It sounds like more of a complaint than it’s really meant. The haruspex’s undying faith in others is admirable, really. Burakh’s favor is probably the only thing that’s kept the town’s inhabitants from running Daniil out into the steppe. But in this one occasion, that faith seems misplaced. “I should have said no.”
“So why didn’t you?”
Daniil has no answer. Or at least, he has no good answer. Judging by the smile creeping its way onto her face, Eva knows the only one he has. He tries to fan away her concern, and is met with her soft laughter, like the tinkling of glass. “Anyway, I’d feel much safer if you were here to help me.”
“Safer? Daniil, they’re just kids. You’ve done much more dangerous things in the time you’ve been here.” Daniil purses his lips, and Eva sighs. “I’ll help you, on one condition!”
“Name it.”
“Yulia.” Eva huffs, fiddling with her gloves. “I’ve invited her over to dinner, but she hasn’t sent her response. I think she’s nervous about seeing the Stamatins again - tell her they won’t be coming if it makes her so upset! Whatever you have to say, just make sure she agrees. I’ve been dying to see her.”
Much as he’d rather not get involved in anyone else’s affairs, he is sort of desperate here. Yulia can be difficult to convince when her mind is made up on something - impossible, even, he’d say - but he knows how fond the two women are of each other, and maybe his assurance that Andrey will be otherwise occupied will be enough. And really, all he has to do is try. “Fine,” he says, and Eva squeezes his arm in excitement before turning to the kids in the sitting room.
“I see you’ve found the piano. Would you like me to teach you a few scales?”
-
When Artemy agreed to help Peter prepare for Grace’s visit, he had no idea what it was he was signing up for. He’d thought an hour or so - enough time to leave his kids with Daniil and see how they fared together without overwhelming the other man. But it’s been two and a half hours now, and Peter doesn’t seem to be any closer to grasping the basics.
“You need milk, Peter. And eggs. Basic food items.” He stops just short of asking if the man is even aware of what constitutes food. He can’t be certain that the man even eats. He’s malnourished for someone of his height, and from what Artemy can tell his main consumption is twyrine. And that won’t be good for poor Grace.
That’s the main reason Artemy’s stayed so long. He wants to get back to his kids, to spend time with Daniil before the man returns to his work, but he worries about how Grace will fare here when Peter can’t seem to grasp the importance of a clean cooking surface and fresh ingredients. “Forgive me, old boy. It’s been so long since I have sought these things out for myself.”
Artemy tries not to groan. That’s about what he’d figured, and it’s not exactly what he’d call promising.
At least the apartment is looking marginally nicer. There’s space enough for them to walk around in, the empty bottles of twyrine have been discarded and the couch has been cleared of its debris. It’s not much, but it’s a start, and Artemy can appreciate how difficult even this was for the architect.
But it’s still not quite enough. Grace will be over within the hour, and Artemy’s not sure how much more help he can be to the man.
Before he can suggest they hold Grace’s visit off another day, a knock comes at the door and the girl herself enters. She doesn’t look quite sure of herself, her fists curled tight around the fabric of her dress, her eyes cast down; but she enters all the same, and stands just outside the door, waiting.
Artemy is the first to address her. “Grace.” He nudges Peter with his foot under the table. “It’s good to see you.”
Peter looks at Artemy, solemn, and follows his lead. “Welcome, girl.” There’s an awkward pause, and Artemy kicks his shin again. Peter stares at the table. “Come in from the door. There’s room for you by the couch.”
Grace smiles shyly and tucks her hands behind her back as she enters. Her eyes widen, taking in the apartment as if seeing it for the first time. And since Peter doesn’t seem to clean regularly, she very well could be.
“What happened to your paintings?” she asks, her voice quiet.
“I’ve moved them.” Artemy is preparing himself to nudge Peter once again, but this is something he’s more well-acquainted with. He’s slow to stand, one hand on the table to steady himself, and makes his way to what passes for a bedspace in this loft. Artemy watches from the table, chewing his lip, as Peter presents a painting to her.
At least it’s one of the more appropriate ones, though there’s something frightening about the splashes of paint. He’s no art critic, and he won’t pretend to understand, but there’s something very angry about this painting. Artemy wonders how obvious it is to Grace, who hasn’t seen much outside of the graveyard. He can’t imagine there’s much experimental art in the Saburov’s house.
A sudden pang hits him, watching the two interact. He may be frustrated with Peter, but it’s obvious the man is trying his hardest. It’s just been too long since he’s even taken care of himself, that of course it will take a while before he’s able to take care of another person. And Grace has such different needs that Artemy’s unsure the Saburovs will be able to meet. The way they talk to each other, he can sense an understanding between them, even when they’re not talking about exactly the same thing.
He’s going to wind up regretting this, for sure. He didn’t mean to leave his kids with Daniil for so long, but he can’t just give up here.
“It’s about time for lunch,” Artemy says. The two turn to look at him with matching looks of surprise. “Why don’t I show you how to cook something?”
-
Artemy dropped his children off around ten. Daniil expected him back around noon. He doesn’t mind making food for the children, except - well, he’s not the one doing it. Eva caught him attempting to make some excuses to head into the kitchen and beat him to it. “Don’t worry about it,” she said, with a look in her eyes Daniil found almost threatening, “I can handle it. You stay in here and get acquainted.”
“We’re already acquainted,” Daniil pointed out, but it didn’t matter much. Eva was determined to ignore him, making her way out of the room and leaving Daniil with two bored kids.
Murky had moved on from the piano some time ago, laying on the floor with charcoals and sketch paper Peter had left out the last time he’d come to visit. She didn’t ask for permission, but if Eva wasn’t going to tell her off then neither was Daniil. He can’t imagine Peter minding much or even remembering he’d brought the items with him, and as long as it’s keeping the girl occupied Daniil doesn’t have it in him to complain. Sticky, on the other hand, has taken to snooping around the house.
“Looking for something?” Daniil asks, watching him open up an end table drawer.
Sticky shrugs. “Not particularly.” He closes the drawer with a little more force than necessary and turns his gaze to the staircase, his eyebrows near to his hairline. “What’s up there?”
“My room.”
“Can I see it?” The sudden excitement catches him off guard. Daniil fiddles with his gloves. “You have a microscope, right? I’ve never used one. I know Rubin has one, but he won’t let me see it. Do you have slides? Can you show me something? Can you show me blood?”
“One question at a time,” Daniil says, huffing with amusement. Maybe this isn’t so bad. I was the same at his age. “I suppose you can come upstairs and see it, yes. I do have a few clean slides, yes, but I don’t have any samples lying around. I suppose I can come up with something, but…” he turns to look at Murky.
“She’ll be fine,” Sticky assures him. “It’s not like we’re going far, right?” He turns to his sister. “Murky, we’re going upstairs.”
She pauses in her drawing, looking at Sticky before her eyes turn away. “Do I have to come with you?”
“I don’t suppose you have to, no,” Daniil answers. “But if you need anything, you can come up and get us, alright, dear?” She doesn’t seem all that comfortable with the term, her mouth turning into a little scowl. She doesn’t answer, either, going back to her drawing as if no interruption had occurred.
Daniil leads Sticky up the stairs, listening to his babbling about the things he’s managed to glean from listening to Artemy and attempting to follow in his footsteps, from his discussions with Rubin when the man’s come to visit. Once they’re upstairs, he wanders around the room, picking up Daniil’s books and looking at them carefully, trying to pronounce the words aloud to himself. Daniil takes his distraction as a time to prick himself for a blood sample, readying the slide and pulling the chair back out from the table.
He clears his throat, and Sticky spins around, nearly dropping the heavy tome in his hands. “You wanted to see a blood sample, yes?” Sticky nods, scrambling his way over to the desk. Daniil has to guide him in how to use the microscope, in how to get a clearer picture of what he’s looking at. And Sticky has plenty of questions for him about what he sees, about how blood works in the body, about cells and warmth and movement.
As he’s speaking, Daniil simply forgets to be nervous. It’s not all that different to lectures - and to have someone honestly listening to him is actually quite nice. He’s so engrossed in directing Sticky that he doesn’t notice when Murky joins them. When she speaks, it startles him. “Why do you have a bunch of grass in a jar?” Sticky stifles a laugh as Daniil nearly jumps, moving around to the bookshelf where Murky is on her toes, peering at a glass jar. “They’re not even the right herbs. You can’t make anything out of that.”
“It’s not all grass. Take a closer look.” Daniil takes the jar off the shelf and holds it out for her to better see it. He watches her squint, and directs his finger about halfway up the jar. “Do you see the eyes here? This is a conehead grasshopper.”
Her eyes widen. “You keep a bug in a jar?”
“Well, I’d like to get a terrarium eventually, but you don’t seem to have any in town. I’d have to order one from the Capital.” He pauses. People usually find his collection of insects strange, but Murky seems fascinated. “I have books on insects, if you would like to…” Can she read? “Take a look?” Murky nods, and Daniil takes the jar back, looking through the bookshelf for the guide he’d brought with him.
Sticky’s not particularly interested in the bugs, but he entertains himself looking through Daniil’s medical textbooks while Daniil reads passages off of the insects Murky points to. When Eva comes to get them for lunch, he has to agree to bring the book downstairs with him to get her to go.
“Dad won’t let me keep bugs,” she mumbles around her food. “Says they don’t belong in the house.”
“My mother felt the same,” Daniil tells her. It feels strange to admit it, when it’s been so long since he’s spoken of his parents to anybody. Murky turns the pages of his field guide very carefully, silent as Sticky speaks up to ask him more questions about blood flow and circulation.
Now that he’s found ways of connecting with the kids, communication isn’t nearly as difficult as he’d thought it would be. He feels a little silly for winding himself up the way he had this morning - and these are Artemy’s kids, why had he imagined they’d be such a handful? Sure, they’re precocious, but not any worse than the other children in town.
They’ve just made their way back into the main room when the door to the Stillwater opens and Artemy appears. He looks exhausted, and Daniil can’t help but feel a twinge of guilt. He knows what dealing with the Stamatins can be like, especially given how poorly Peter takes care of himself. He can’t begin to imagine what took Artemy so long, but things must have been pretty bad if it took him such a long time.
Artemy offers Daniil a small smile. “Thanks for looking after them, emshen.”
“It was my pleasure,” Daniil says, and he finds that for once it’s not simply a nicety. “They’re wonderful children, Artemy. Clearly you’re doing a fantastic job in raising them.”
“Truth be told, they raised themselves.” His smile is fond, turning from Daniil to his kids. “You guys ready to go?”
Murky looks up from her drawing - a new one, an attempt to freehand an illustration of a phasmid from Daniil’s field guide. She still has a slight frown on her face as she looks up at her father. “Now? Bachelor was going to show me how to catch insects with a net,” she tells him.
Artemy looks back at Daniil with some surprise on his face. Daniil can feel himself flushing as he tries to look anywhere but at Artemy. “Why don’t you come another day, Murky? It’ll give me time to get a second net.”
“I’ll be ready to go in a minute,” Sticky pipes up. “I just gotta finish -”
“Oh, you can borrow the book,” Daniil says, waving his hand. “Don’t mind the markings I left in it from school. And if you have any questions, well - you know where to find me.”
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SPN 7X4 Defending Your Life
I'm making an exception today, because I've figured out QUITE a bit about my own stress response
oh right the monster Dean killed
also to recap: my period has every sign of starting(including cramps) but nothing, I've been horribly nauseous all day, I feel a hunger response when I'm DEFINITELY not hungry(stress eating and it's the only thing that makes the nausea subside) and headache(altho that could be the lack of sleep). Also emotions all over the place(Crying, happy, very on the hat etc)
and the WORST part is I can NEVER tell until I have physical reactions. I can NEVER TELL WHAT MY EMOTIONS ARE WHAT DOES THAT MEAN I THOUGHT I WAS PERFECTLY OK OR NOT FEELING ANYTHING
ooo chase scene
gHOST CAR
ooo good segway into intro
that cut coping mechanism does NOT seem like it's healthy
mONSTER OF THE WEEK
oh COME ON HERE's THE LYING
the visuals are cool
"license to kill"
no come on sam that was a good one.
"dead and sober, dead and crappy" no Dean, please, you need to figure that out
ah yes tortured soul
FL OW ER SH O P
that was suspicious
oh
it's just because she's dead and dead at 10
oh
the CAr
"makes you wonder if the guy who was drunk ran her over" *drinks beer*
O H H H H H HSIDOFAHPAS
GHOST RIDER
at least I know they're nerds, whoever wrote this
is it manifesting their guilty conscience
aw but the dog is so fluffy
*lies down, bounces back up again* lmaooo
Dean is Tired
didn't they DEAL With a ghost car?
it's people that kept going?
DEAN IS RUNNING ON SO MUCH EMPTY AHAHAHA
A H CUZ HE DIDN'T SLEEP BECAUSE THE GIRL HE KILLED
that took me as second
"If I ate apples" DEAN
also they're really doing license plate shots above how Cool the Impala is shots now, lil thing
"you won't even believe me" ahaha
...courtroom?
fUCKING NEAL'S TAVERNNNN
we kind of specialize in crazy ahaaha
"except that's complete crap"
"everyone judges all day long"
He just..takes punishment?
ahahah N O P E GREY AREA
no this is way more watchable
SA M SOUNDS SO TIRED AHAHA
*whispers* "stay put"
he DOES look good though
ok fine just gonna tune out the flirting
they ARE both pretty
is it that guy
the creepy guy in the shadows
how much is in scotch I have no idea
ah the red, what people were clawing
THAT'S NOT HOW OSIRIS WORKS but fine ok let's go
THAT'S NOT
ok fine
"it hones in on people who feel guilty, N OW WHO DOES THAT SOUND LIKE TO YOU" oh boy literally both of them got it that was hilarious
this does seem like he's talking himself into a role
the salt...might not work for osiris
shit she really is pretty
AH RED SAND ok ok yeah I see it ok
a h egyptian shit
ALL YOU NOTICED WERE THE SYMBOLS LMAOOO
THAT DOOR SLIDE WAS SO FUNNY
He's cool though, I like the pagan shit
"Sam, you're not a lawyer" "yes I was pre law" "pre"
"good one" "I saw that on the good wife"
THIS IS HILARIOUS
J O
oh no
the mining itself sucks but this concept is good
took his breathing away?
It reads a bit as excusing them for everything
She backs them up at least?
I miss her
see here's the thing, it kinda reads like they're out of ideas, but like...it's a good concept
ah so the stuff at the beginning was them showing their guilt
I like how he just says "them's the breaks"
yeah like Dean is ever gonna believe he's innocent
"dog food" oh they so desperately wanna say dog shit
"they want to be judged" echoes Dean
SAM IS TALKING COMPLETELY OUT OF HIS ASS
HE'S GETTING HIM OUT OF HIS GUILT COMPLEX OH THANK GOD FINALLY
"that it just...blows"
no one, including Dean, ever questions it, so the grief stews
oh
he does actually have some way with words
Dean please tell the truth
mate I get the impulse but still
dammit
ahaha Temporary but Long Temporary
"make sure it's a sharp piece" lmaoo
man I miss Jo
ah here we go
sam: u h
JOOOO
"you deserve better" on both ends
Dean Eldest Daughter Syndrome
"hunters are never kids, I never was"
he does Internalize things
that's why we kin
90% crap
"i get rid of that what then" "you really wanna die not knowing" HOLY SHIT
HOLYSHIT OH MY GOD OH MYGOD
ah the gas stove
"he's making me do this" oH NO
"just kind of faded...maybe a little bit happier"
hell was Sam's slate? huh
"I kind of feel good, Dean" I am glad he's happy, I don't know if I agree with the message
1. SAMMM. Dean was acting off the shits, so he had to step up and exasperatedly handle everything, and piece stuff together. Like mans is actually quite smart and quite resourceful when he has to be, and it's nice seeing that. It's also fun FINALLY seeing him lighthearted again, even if I don't like how.
2. Dean's guilt complex. Man internalizes a lot of things, and while they BARELY make sense(thin veneer, easily cracked) he hides it enough so that no one asks(and he represses so he certainly doesn't), and he can continue feeling guilty. Now here's the thing. He feels guilty, Sam doesn't, the middle ground is where they should be(taking responsibility) and they like...never do it.
3. monster of the week. No but having monsters switch to grey instead of black and white, and having Dean comment on it is SO good, because he's like...that Masculine Parody/Ideal depending on who's writing him, and like he was written to be the hero. any gray was always overridden by that. But with kripke gone, they start actually doing grey, and there's nothing simple anymore. Like I like with how off the shits it got, they still kept the theme of "it's more grey now" but like kinda for real(where Dean and Osiris said the same thing). ALSO, I think it would be useful as a scale back. I know they'll not do it because EVEN BIGGER DBZ LAZER is fun, but I think having more monsters of the week by choice and not "oh god we have runtime" would be really good, because that's where this storyline SHINES! it's got a lot of characters, a lot of lore, and a lot of issues to pick through, a monster of the week is WAY more effective than a longer story, and would help the scaling back issue.
4. pontificating about the season/why it's easier to watch. Like is this season as good/vibey? probably not really, but honestly I can actually stand watching it. Like it's very cringe in places but also, it doesn't hurt me or make me feel uncomfortable as kripke stuff does. It matches the vibe of "after work/school show" perfectly for what it is.
5. the vibes/Osiris. I like the idea of osiris and going to the bars, and the courtroom and the RED! SAND!! I got that one. But I'd also like to say that Dean saying the SAME thing that osiris said was like...he's not villainized, but I think they're trying to make him slowly grow as a character. It's like sympathy/he sucks kinda/we like him for him a sa character and I think that was really neat.
also barkeep lady pretty holy hell
6. it felt a little bit like excusing tho. Like if Sam is the good one, then it felt like excusing them of the harm they cause people. I want them to change their behavior! not beat themselves up over it or think it's fine cuz he went to hell because of it!
I'm so glad Sam is happy again but N O
7. J O. the "no autonomy, he's making me do this," the being able to see through things(and no longer hungering for something that she doesn't really know) (like...she wants SOMETHING, has it crawling under her skin but doesn't know what, and that's gone when she's dead) and that whole thing where she asked Dean if he wanted to die as a persona. Oh my god.
8. Dean persona. Yeah the whole thing where he had to convince himself to be a womanizer, the "I"m 90% crap line" OH MY GODD THAT HIT. That man is also a persona. maybe a commentary on american masculinity in general, maybe not. Also, eldest daughter syndrome, he internalizes everything and everything is his responsibility("I didn't get a childhood")
I feel like you can also make an argument how trauma makes you the extreme of something(uncaring for smol sam, internalizing for Eldest Dean), and it breaks your ability to do what you need to(empathetically do your fucking job and not be pieces of shit).
I see why this show was so popular amongst mentally ill people(myself included) holy christ
#pawswatchesspn#7X4 Defending Your Life#tbh once I realized that Dean was tired because he'd gone out and secretly killed someone#I knew that someone was actually paying attention behind the scenes#I can't wait to watch this one again holy FIUCK IT WAS GOOD#I feel much better#also I have found out that Adam Glass's later episodes were Not Great#but based on the Dean they're going for now#This makes sense in context and while I don't like the message there are parts of this episode I really like#some of those fucking lines GOT me
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Ohhhh I have one! Alpha and Anakin going on a stealth mission but anakins not exactly stealth and they are both getting frustrated with each other. IDK just think buddy cop Alpha & anakin is funny
Haha I really like this one, anon! Their personalities are so different, it’s pretty fun to poke at how they’d bounce off each other and clash.
“So, Skywalker,” Alpha begins, wondering if it’s worth trying to phrase this delicately, then immediately deciding against it, “do you make a habit of being a beacon to every Sep within a five-klick radius?”
“No,” Skywalker says, frowning. “Why?”
Alpha would almost be disbelieving if this wasn’t Kenobi’s Padawan he’s dealing with. As it is, the kid’s baffled expression isn’t as much of a surprise as it should be.
“Because you’re doing a pretty good job of letting every hostile who has eyes know exactly where we are,” Alpha informs him tersely.
Kenobi, at least, can take a hint. And an insult. Skywalker, on the other hand, is still inexperienced enough to take it solely as the latter, and his first instinct is to push back.
“You’re not exactly a paragon of stealth yourself,” he shoots back. The righteous anger pinching his face might be amusing if they weren’t deep behind enemy lines with every chance of getting ambushed.
Alpha inhales slowly. It’s better for them both if he doesn’t let his temper get the best of him, but maintaining discipline isn’t the easiest thing when he’s been saddled with a kid fresh out of the Temple who doesn’t know much beyond charge them head on.
“Maybe not, but I’m not standing out in the open waving a shabla lightsaber around for the whole planet to see.” A look of mild alarm is slowly dawning on Skywalker’s face, and Alpha dares to hope that he might be getting through to him. “I hope you’re planning on watching your own back. I’ve got more important things to do.”
“Master Kenobi sent both of us,” Skywalker says pointedly after he gives a cursory glance over his shoulder.
Alpha sighs. “The way I remember it, he sent me and someone else decided to tag along.”
“He said it’ll be good experience,” the kid insists.
“Getting your head blown off is a learning experience, I’ll give you that…”
Skywalker scowls but obediently slides back into position beside Alpha. Satisfied that the issue is resolved - at least for the moment - Alpha returns to studying a holo map of the enemy base. The whole thing would be much simpler if he didn’t have to account for Kenobi’s Padawan; infiltration and sabotage are second nature for an ARC.
He contemplates sending Skywalker back to the outpost where he’ll be someone else’s problem, but he’s all too familiar with the kid’s tendency to go out of his way to get involved exactly where he shouldn’t. In the long run, it’s probably safer if the kid is here where someone competent can keep an eye on him - but that doesn’t do much to alleviate Alpha’s frustration.
Besides, Skywalker would probably just remind Alpha that even though he’s a Padawan, he’s been through a number of escapades with Kenobi and come out just fine, thank you very much. Alpha isn’t the ranking officer here, either, which means Skywalker is free to do as he pleases.
He’s just putting together what might be a feasible strategy when Skywalker says abruptly, “You’re not what I thought you’d be.”
“I could say the same for you, Commander.”
“Was it weird, growing up with people who look exactly like you?”
“... this really couldn’t wait?”
Skywalker shrugs. “Just curious. Master Kenobi says Kamino is very different from the Temple.”
You think?
Alpha takes time to lament the absence of someone who would find conversation much more agreeable - Fordo, maybe; he’s about as social as any of the Alphas can be - before answering carefully, “It is. Whatever you’re imagining, it’s probably worse. They never thought of us as - why am I telling you this?”
Skywalker shrugs again, but there’s a hint of triumph in his face. “Because I asked.”
It’s nothing short of a miracle that Kenobi’s put up with him for so long, Alpha thinks. He’s not sure he likes the kid’s vaguely smug expression, and the words are out of his mouth before he can stop himself. “If you’d put half as much energy into your lessons at the Temple you wouldn’t be a liability right now.”
Something like hurt flashes across Skywalker’s face, but it’s quickly replaced with anger. “Maybe if you weren’t dead set on playing hero yourself I’d actually learn something from you.”
“I’m not trying to be a hero, I’m trying to get off this useless rock alive,” Alpha snaps. “And it’s not my job to teach you.”
“I’m not sure my Master would agree…”
“That means a lot, seeing as he’s sitting comfortably in the outpost right now.”
“It wasn’t his decision,” Skywalker says heatedly. “The GAR needs him alive - Master Windu even told him as much, and Master Windu thinks he’s the worst thing that’s happened to the Order since - ”
He breaks off with a wince. Alpha doesn’t know what anger feels like in the Force, but it can’t be pleasant, judging by the kid’s reaction. He’s not exactly sorry for it, either; Skywalker as good as said Alpha’s life is nothing compared to a Jedi. It isn’t anything Alpha doesn’t already know, but it’s a slap in the face nonetheless.
“Sorry,” Skywalker mumbles.
“You ever try stopping to think for a second before you run your mouth?” Alpha’s voice is tight as he wrestles with his temper.
“Sorry,” the kid repeats. There’s genuine regret in his voice.
Alpha lets out a sigh. He can only imagine what Fett would say if he could see one of his ARCs bickering with a half-baked Temple brat.
“Look, I want to get this done before the Seps realize we don’t have enough numbers to hold off a full-scale attack. If you want to help, fine. If you’re going to get in the way, I’ll work around you. But I’m not wasting time arguing with you. Good to go?”
“Yes.” Skywalker pauses. “Lieutenant.”
Progress.
“I’ll do as you say,” Skywalker adds earnestly.
Alpha smiles in the safety of his helmet. “Sounds dangerous.”
“Uh… I’ll at least try to listen?”
“Fair enough.”
The kid grins. “Wait ‘til my Master finds out. He’ll be after you trying to figure out how you convinced me to follow orders.”
Alpha keeps his amusement to himself. “You want to follow orders now?”
Skywalker shrugs. “I think I ought to.”
“Then do me a favor and keep your shabla head down.”
#alpha-17#alpha 17#anakin skywalker#obi-wan kenobi#the clone wars#star wars#fanfic#prompt#thanks for the prompt!#my askbox is open
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Exactly Who is Janus?!
In the last video, Patton had finally learned Deceit's real name! Now, Patton is bombarding Janus with questions on he is. But, when Patton oversteps a little bit, Janus decides to let him know...with subtle hints...
This was inspired by a multitude of @fluffymary's fanart. I know you didn't ask for this, but I'm giving it to you. Why? Just because. Your artwork is SO GOOD! I love it! So, here's an appreciation fic for you. :)
Janus was sitting, playing a video game in a large leather chair in the living room. He was playing Mario Kart Deluxe 8 on his Nintendo Switch, playing as Wario on a motorcycle. Even though he was fully focused into the video game, Janus was also able to notice Patton's presence behind him. After finally finishing the last lap and getting second in the ranking, Janus looked over his shoulder to look at the childish boy watching over his shoulder.
"..........Yeeeeessss?" Janus asked, giving Patton the 'keep talking' hand signal.
"So...Janus! Janus, Janus, Janus. Jan-nus! J-nus. Janus the snake boy!" Patton said, playing around with his name.
"What do you want?" Janus asked, growing slightly impatient with him.
"Sorry! I'm getting used to calling you Janus rather than Deceit. Janus...totally not like the dork from Mean Girls..." Patton muttered.
Janus sighed and put his switch down, allowing his game to just stay at the after-race options screen forever. "Do you need something? Or can I just be on my way?" Janus asked. The truth was, Janus wasn't sure whether he should be taking Patton seriously or not right now. So, asking this would help Patton get the point across quicker.
"Well, I do...but it's also gonna take some time. So, if you have other things to do, or races to win, I can leave you alone." Patton told him in response.
Janus didn't really expect such an...open-hearted answer...which is ironic, because Patton is literally described as 'Thomas's heart'. Was Patton guilt tripping him? Or was he being considerate? Was Patton able to sense some existing irritation? Janus didn't know what to do now. But he soon decided to push down whatever irritation he had going through his brain. Janus turned off his switch and got up from his comfy chair. "Well...would you like a drink of some sort? I assume since we're gonna be talking for a while, the least I can do is to offer up something to drink." Janus offered, putting on a small, genuine smile to convince Patton.
Patton gave Janus a toothy smile and a small giggle. "I didn't know you could act like such a gentleman!" Patton reacted.
Janus rolled his eyes, but smiled. "Well, I can be quite...unpredictable..." Janus replied smugly.
"And mysterious." Patton added. Janus was taken back by that last part. He looked at Patton in subtle surprise. "I know all kinds of things about all the sides...except for you. I know almost nothing about you." Patton explained.
Janus shrugged his shoulders. "I suppose that's what happens when you silently judge the dark sides for years on end." Janus said bluntly. Patton winced at that. The sad part was, it was true! But...that was years ago. Patton has changed in a couple years...for the better.
"I'm sorry Janus...I was very prejudiced in the past. But...When Virgil came into my life, I...I began to have hope for the dark sides." Patton admitted.
Janus looked at Patton. He smiled. "Okay. I will admit: you did seem pretty calm about me pretending to be you that one day." Janus mentioned.
Patton crossed his arms and smiled. "And then you went on to do an impression of Logan." Patton added.
"Never doing that again." Janus said back to him.
Patton guffawed. "You already DID do it again! You dressed up as Logan TWICE!" Patton reminded him.
Janus's eyes widened, as he realized his mistake. He lowered his head to hide his embarrassment. "Right..."Janus muttered.
"SO:" Patton declared, sliding himself in front of Janus and grabbing the leather armrests. "Your name is Janus, and you represent Thomas's imperfection. How old are you?" Patton asked, leaning in closer and closer to the snake man.
Janus turned his head to the side, to look away from Patton and allow himself to properly focus. "I-...Yes. And, I'm technically 2 years old." Janus told him.
"Cool! And how long have you been existing inside the mind palace for?" Patton asked.
Janus thought for a moment. "...I believe my birth came about when Thomas was 3 years old, reaching 4 years of age." Janus replied.
Patton thought for a moment. "Yeeeaaah...I guess that would make sense." he replied. "Okay. Next question: Do you like cookies?" Patton asked.
"No." Janus replied with a smirk.
"Would you like one?" Patton asked, conjuring up a plate of cookies right in front of them.
Janus's eyes widened in surprise for a moment, before lessening back to normal and looking at the yummy chocolate chip cookies in front of him. Janus took a couple cookies and began to munch on them. "Thank you." Janus said, accidentally causing a few crumbs to fall down his lips.
"No problem." Patton replied. "So, are you part snake just on your face? Or, is your whole body part snake?" Patton asked. Janus removed his gloves and showed him his hands. "The latter! Okay." Patton reacted. "Can I feel?" Patton asked.
Janus blinked in surprise. "Feel?" Janus clarified.
"Yeah. I wanna feel your scales." Patton explained. Janus lifted an eyebrow, but reached his hand out for Patton to feel. Patton began feeling the different scaly pieces on his hand, that contrasted with the rest of his skin. The outside of his hand was completely covered in scales, while the inside of his hand was a transition from underbelly snake scales to regular human skin. It was very strange to look at from a human point of view. But, it was more intriguing to Patton rather than strange.
Janus watched as Patton carefully dragged his finger across the scales on the outside of his hand. Curiously, Patton also lifted up the sleeve, and noticed that the scales ran up his arm as well! Patton only felt the lower forearm and the wrist however, before pulling the sleeve back down and letting go. "That...is really cool." Patton told him.
Janus looked up at Patton and smiled. "Thank you." he replied.
"Are the 3 arms on your left side covered in scales as well?" Patton asked.
Janus lifted an eyebrow, but allowed his other 4 arms to slide out in front of Patton. Now, all 6 of his hands were showing themselves to the father figure before him. Janus specifically removed the other 2 gloves from the hands on his left side, and showed Patton the scaly backs and the skin-covered palms. Patton looked at the hands' scales, and noticed how similar they were to each other. They all had yellowish scales, with snake underbelly scales leading up to regular skin on the palms.
"This is so cool!" Patton exclaimed, dragging a finger across the top hand's scales.
Janus found it a little funny that Patton was so interested in such a thing. But one thing that Patton DIDN'T know about, was just how sensitive his scales were. "A snake's scales are known to be very sensitive. Specifically, the special scales surrounding my fingers and my palms." Janus told him, dragging his own finger across the sides of his hand.
Patton smiled and looked at the underbelly scales. "They're almost the same color as your skin!" Patton declared, dragging a finger around the sides of Janus's fingers.
Out of nowhere, a yelp and a titter filled the room. Patton made a questioning hum as he lifted his head up, and couldn't help but notice the wobbly smile spreading on Janus's face. Patton narrowed his eyes and smirked suspiciously.
"Janus?" Patton asked.
"Mm-hm?" Janus replied.
"You used the word sensitive to describe your special scales...right?" Patton asked, keeping his fingernail super close to the side of Janus's thumb.
Janus bit his lip. "Mm hmm...I did." Janus replied.
Patton started dragging his finger up and down the ball-shaped spot under Janus's thumb. "So...did you mean sensitive as in..." Patton paused, before picking up his finger movements to make them flutter. "...Ticklish?" Patton asked.
Janus was now pulling on the hand that was being held hostage, and trying to keep his chuckles and giggles under control. To make matters worse, Patton was just staring at him with an evil, confident smirk on his face. He was determined to tickle him with what little information he had in his grasp...LITERALLY.
"So, which spot would you say tickles more? This spot-" Patton began wiggling a couple fingers on the far side of Janus's palm, below the pinky finger. "-Or this spot?" Patton asked as he wiggled his fingers on the sides of the snake's wrists. Janus clenched his teeth at the new spots, but also clenched his fists at the spot Patton was tickling at the moment. Weirdly enough, the wrists themselves were REALLY bad compared to the hands themselves. So bad in fact, that Janus was getting closer and closer to breaking already! And it's only been about 5 minutes!
"Pahatton, Not-not thehere!" Janus begged, accidentally letting out a couple giggles amidst his protests.
Patton noticed this as well. "And why not?" Patton asked, before fluttering his index finger on the left side of the carpal tunnel area. "Ticklish?" Patton asked.
Amazingly, that was the exact moment when Janus had broken! "Pfffftthehehehehehehehe! HahahaHAHAHAHAhahaha! Pahahattohohon! Dohohohohon't!" Janus protested. His giggles had broken through his titters, and they were now filling the room.
Patton gasped and covered his mouth in surprise. Suddenly, Patton broke his calm composure and squealed excitedly! "Your giggles! Janus, your giggles are so-...Giggly!" Patton complimented as best he could. Janus's eyes widened as he looked at Patton with a big, red blush on his face. "That's a good thing! I love them! They're so free!" Patton added, trying to make Janus feel a bit better.
Janus looked down and away from Patton and used his hat to cover up the big, genuine toothy smile that filled his lips. He couldn't figure out what to do with himself! It was such an awkward, but genuine moment that Janus had never really had before.
In an attempt to see Janus's smile, Patton gently placed a few fingers under his chin and attempted to lift his chin up. Though he managed to get some sort of smile in his view, Janus was somewhat resisting Patton's kind advances. Instead though, he giggled and pushed Patton's fingers away.
Patton giggled back. "ticklish neck too?" he asked.
Janus looked away before looking back at Patton. "No." Janus replied awkwardly.
Patton narrowed his eyes to try and look at something. He walked himself closer to him and lifted his chin. "Wow! I had no idea your scales went down to your jaw! Like, look at this! It goes to your chin, and it ends at your neck!" Patton reacted, poking and gently touching Janus's jawline.
Janus yelped and immediately fell into cute little giggles. Patton was genuinely intrigued, but he was also curious to know just how ticklish Janus really was. Were all his scales more ticklish and sensitive than his skin? Or, were certain scaly spots more ticklish than others?
Suddenly, Patton felt a pair of hands squeezing his sides! "YeeEEEEK!" Patton squeaked, hanging his head and covering his mouth. Janus let out another giggle. Only, this giggle was lower in pitch, and more...evil.
"I'll say, I am pleasantly surprised. It can't be real! Is the ultimate tickle monster in the mind palace...ticklish himself?" Janus asked in a sly, low voice. Patton began letting out nervous little giggles while attempting to get himself out of this mess with protests. But unfortunately, his giggles were turning his protests into unhelpful babbles.
Janus began wrapping his bottom pair of arms' fingers around Patton's hips. "Apologies, Patton...It seems you're speaking in incoherent gibberish! Perhaps a little..." Janus paused his words to give Patton's hips a quick, deep squeeze. "...push will help you?" Janus suggested.
Patton yelped at the hand placement, and squeaked like a mouse at the sudden squeeze. Patton immediately placed both hands onto Janus's lower pair, and attempted to pull them off him. But, Janus noticed Patton's open armpits and shoved his top pair of hands inside the armpits! "EEEEEHEHEHEHEHE! JANUHUHUHUHUHUS! NOHOHOHO AHAHAHARMPIHIHIHITS!" Patton yelled, falling into laughter in mere seconds.
"Well! It certainly made you louder, but I still can't quite understand everything you're saying. But, I did understand the last word: armpits. Using that, I can determine what you were saying!" Janus explained casually, as if Patton wasn't being tickled at all.
"YEHEHEHES! YEHEHES, YEHES, YESYESYEHEHES!" Patton reacted. Oh man! Yes! He was going to get free!...Or so he thought. The moment Janus started tickling Patton's belly with his middle pair of hands, Patton began to doubt his chances of escape.
"You wanted me to keep tickling you under the armpits! Am I correct?" Janus asked, lessening his middle and lower hands to solely focus on the armpits.
"WHAHAHAT?! NOHOHO! NONONONONOOOHOHO! THAHAHAT'S NAHAHAT WHAHAHAT IHIHI MEHEHEHEHEAHAHANT!" Patton yelled back. His squirming had greatly picked up. Just from this, Janus was able to see that this was one of Patton's worst spots.
"Oh! Really? Hmm...That's strange. I could've sworn that was what you said." Janus muttered.
Unfortunately, Patton's squirming and armpits were closing, not allowing him much room to work with. So, Janus stopped tickling and waited for him to calm down. When Patton was calmed down enough, his grip on Janus lessened so that Janus could get his hands out. Janus gently wiggled his hands out. But as soon as the sly snake was given control, Janus immediately took a hold of Patton's wrists and lifted them up. With more room to tickle under the armpits, Janus removed his right hand glove and started exposing the spots with his wiggly fingers.
"OHOHOHO GAAAHAHAHAHAHAD! YOHOHOHOU EHEHEHEVIHIHIL SNAHAHAHAHAKE! HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!" Patton shouted.
"There we go! Look at all the spots I was missing! Did you know that by keeping your arms down, you weren't allowing me to tickle...right here?" Janus asked, before immediately digging his fingers in the curve of his one armpit.
"aaahahahAHAHAHAHAHA! OH GEEZ- OHOHOHO GEEHEHEHEHEHEHEZ!" Patton shouted as he began going crazy from all the tickles.
"Hmm...Something tells me you're too ticklish here. Perhaps I should try somewhere else?" Janus suggested.
Patton nodded his head frantically, in hope that it would lessen. "YEHEHEHES! OHOHO PLEHEHEHEAHASE! THEHEHEY'RE TOHOHOHO TIHIHICKLIHIHIHIHISH!" Patton begged.
"Very well." Janus declared. With one last tickle, Janus stopped his fingers and let the poor boy get a breathing break.
Patton happily took it, breathing in deep to try and make up for as much air as possible, in one go. "Th-Thank yohou...Thank you Jahanus..." Patton said, growing calmer by the minute.
"No problem, my friend." Janus replied, holding onto Patton with his middle pair of arms under his armpits to prevent Patton from falling to the ground. "I do have a question though: Do you have a favorite spot to be tickled?" Janus asked.
Patton's face almost immediately turned a light shade of red. He awkwardly bursted into giggles at the thought of it, and hung his head to cover up his blushing. "Reheheahally? Uuuhuhuhuh..." Patton giggled as he stuttered.
Janus lifted an eyebrow curiously. "Are you going to reply Patton?" Janus asked. Patton only continued to giggle helplessly in pure embarrassment. The teases were getting to him a LOT. "Or am I going to have to try out a few spots myself?" Janus suggested. Patton squealed at the suggestion alone, and fell into even MORE giggles! Finally, after a bit of waiting, Janus decided to go for the latter. Janus brought his lower pair of hands down to Patton's waist, and gently placed them onto his hips.
"OHOHohohoho nohohohohoho! Thahahat's aha suhuhuhupeher tihihihicklihihish spohohot." Patton told him.
Janus smirked. "I'll take that as a no then." Janus decided. He moved his hands up to the belly region, and lifted up Patton's shirt to get better access. As soon as one of the hands landed on Patton's belly, Patton's giggles went up a couple octaves and a huge, toothy smile overcame his lips. Janus noticed almost immediately. He hummed. "A good spot, I believe?" Janus asked. Patton nodded his head in reply.
Janus smirked and began squeezing his fingers all over his tummy. "EEEEEHEHEHEHEHEHEHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! THIHIHIHIHIS IHIHIHIHIS FUHUHUHUHUN! HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!" Patton reacted happily.
Janus's jaw dropped. "You LIKE this?" Janus asked, still tickling him.
"YEHEHEHEHEHES! IHIHIHIHI LOHOHOHOHOVE IHIHIHIHIT!" Patton replied, all giggly and pink in the face.
"Hmm...How about here then?" Janus suggested and wiggled his index finger inside Patton's belly button. Almost immediately, Patton squeezed his eyes shut and fell into a mix of giggles and cackles. His arms were no longer flailing around and were instead, clutching his upper stomach as he laughed freely. "Fascinating! Even as you experience breathlessness, you still want to keep being tickled." Janus reacted. Patton nodded his head up and down as he felt his blushing cheeks grow a darker shade of red. "Well unfortunately, I care about your ability to breath more than you appear to. So, I'm gonna give you a bit of a break." Janus told him before lessening his tickles.
Upon being given a chance to breath, Patton actually began whining a little bit. It was like Patton had just been told he had to go to bed while he was playing! It was quite adorable and amusing to hear a near 30 year old whine like a toddler. But nonetheless, Patton did take a few minutes to breath and make up for the lost oxygen. "That's right...get your oxygen back. You're gonna need it." Janus said to Patton with a smirk.
He gave Patton's belly a little tickle for encouragement. Patton giggled and leaned the back of his head against Janus's chest for a while. "Say...Is your neck ticklish by any chance?" Janus asked.
Patton nodded his head. "Yeah! Yes it is." Patton replied. Janus smirked almost immediately and began wiggling his top pair of arms on Patton's neck.
Patton squealed. "HEHEhehehehehe! Hahahahahahahahaha! Ihihihihit's tihihihihicklihihihihish! Vehehehery tihihihihicklihihihihish!" Patton giggled, raising his shoulders as he shook his head.
"Oh really? I had no idea. I couldn't tell from all your giggling. I thought you might've been thinking of something funny." Janus teased.
"Buhuhuhuhut, yohohohou're thehehe ohohohohone tihihihicklihihihing mehehehehe!" Patton argued happily.
"Me? Tickling you? Why, I'd do no such thing." Janus teased further. To add to the tickles, Janus began tickling the other, exposed side of his neck. When one side of his neck would become exposed, Janus would tickle it. This was repeated for some time, to keep Patton on his toes.
"Buhuhuhut, yohohohou're dohohohoihihing ihihihit nohohohohow!" Patton argued.
"Doing what? What could I possibly be doing? You have to be specific." Janus told him.
Patton squealed and increased his squirming a little bit. "Yohohohou're tihihihihihicklihihihing mehehehehe! Yohohohou're uhuhuhusihihing yohohohour fihihihingehehehers tohoho tihihihickle mehehehehe!" Patton told him.
Janus lifted an eyebrow before looking at his hands. Suddenly, it all became clear! Janus gasped in pretend surprise. "Oh! Oh my! It would appear you're right!" Janus exclaimed. Patton only continued to giggle happily as he finally 'figured it out'. "Perhaps I should stop." Janus suggested, before stopping his fingers.
Patton's quickly died down, but so did his happiness. As soon as Janus gave him a break, Patton looked at him with sad, hurtful eyes. It was like seeing a puppy who's toy just got stuck under the couch where it can't reach. It managed to create a temporary ocean of sadness inside of you, that could only be cured by continuing to give him what he wants. So what did he do? Janus continued to tickle him on the neck.
"Hahahahaha! HehehEHEHEEEEEEEE! Yahahahahahay!" Patton squealed and giggled with childish glee.
Janus couldn't help but let out a few giggles himself! This was such an adorable scene to watch! Not only was Patton enjoying being tickled, but he was even asking for more! It also seemed even more evident to Janus that Patton cares more about laughter and happiness then his breath and oxygen intake. So throughout the session, Janus has had to give Patton breaks in between runs. But thankfully, Patton didn't complain much at all. If he wasn't subtly pouting, he was taking advantage of the breaks.
For the next few weeks, Janus gave Patton lots of tickle attacks to make up for childhood memories that were never made. And unsurprisingly, tickle fights really helped the two sides get closer together! Patton learned that dark sides can be really fun and forgiving, and Janus learned that light sides can be cute, and really needy at times. But, Janus didn't mind the needy aspect.
Not one bit...
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1/2 Hi. I think I could use some help, I'll try to make this short. When I was 14yo (I'm 20 now) I dated a 18yo guy, thank God we were taking it slow and never made things official. Now that I'm older I can see that relash was rlly wrong. He was manipulating, used me to boost his ego, forced me to do things I wasn't comfortable doing and I think although we weren't official, he cheated on me? (more on that later). After a few months of fooling around, I found out something about him that I didn't like and confronted him about it, with the intention of ending that relash. He started begging me not to leave him, asking me tricky questions about the things I had heard of him with the intention of "making me realize" he did nothing wrong, and he even became violent with the person who told me those things, to the point I couldn't break up with him because I was scared. I just stopped answering his texts and calls because I was afraid of even talking to him and eventually he took the hint and suggested we broke up. We decided to stay friends, but that only lasted a few days, because one day, via Facebook Messenger, he suggested we got back together and I rejected him, so he blocked me. Months later, I had to close my Facebook due to harassment (not related to him) and opened a new one. Facebook showed me his profile in 'people you may know' and I decided to peek out of curiosity. Turns out, the moment we broke up, he started uploading photos with his new girlfriend. The descriptions of those pics said the exact same things he used to tell me, and I ain't good a math but I did some calcs and he had to be with her while still being with me lmao. I really didn't care, I was just happy I got rid of him, and I moved on with my life. Some time later I fell head over heels for a guy from my workplace, who I still hold close to my heart. I have trust issues and I am a very private person, especially with my relashs, so I didn't tell anyone about this guy except from like 3 friends. One of them was a girl (that we'll call Anne) who was like a sister to me, and was also friends with my ex. Over the next 2 years I had a relash with this guy, everytime I talked to Anne I used to tell her more details about my relash. Then, one day, I got a text from my ex. He texted me like we were besties and nothing had ever happened between us, like he didn't block me TWICE (yeah, he blocked me from my new Facebook too even though I never tried to reach out to him). I was angry at his nerve and told him so, he realized I was upset and changed his persona from confident and tough as nails to regretful and soft, telling me he was sorry for being so immature all those years before, but excusing his shitty behavior by saying he always "kept an eye on me". Um, wtf? He told me he was always asking stuff about me to Anne, looking out for me. I wanted to know what exactly he knew, but, trying to manipulate me again, he said he would only tell me if I accepted to play a game with him: I could ask him one question if he would ask me one in exchange and so on, and we had to be ttly honest with each other. I really didn't wanna get into his shenanigans but I only had one question (wtf do u exactly know about me, creep?) so I accepted. He asked his question first (dID u fEeL sAd wHeN i bLoCkEd U?) and I asked mine. I thought he maybe knew something about my school stuff and MAYBE that I had been dating someone else. Turns out he knew every. single. detail about my personal life. Not only he KNEW I was with other guy...
2/2 Not only he KNEW I was with other guy. He knew his entire name, the school he attended and every little detail from our relationship and other stuff about my personal life. Every single thing I told Anne, opening my heart to her, she told him. I felt terribly violated. I felt like a dissected frog, open for anyone to see my most inner parts. I felt ashamed, unprotected, sad and angry, all at the same time. I told him what he did was disgusting, to never reach me again or try to "keep an eye on me", and that I would make that job easier for him by getting Anne out of my life. He apologized, said he understood the situation, would respect my wishes, and wished me a happy life. I thought that was it. It took me a while but I got to heal, to feel safe again, although I still have a hard time trusting my friends. But I was wrong. Months later he sent me a Friend Resquest. I was a lil afraid, but tried to calm myself saying he probably just was checking if I was still upset, so I rejected the request and again convinced myself that was really it. But then he sent some girls to take pictures of me during my high school graduation ceremony and recently, his cousin (who was my friend when we were 14 but haven't talked since) texted me. I know that sometimes nostalgia makes you reach out to old friends, but we weren't close at all. Besides, he acted super weird, didn't even try to make small talk or let the convo flow naturally, but went straight for super specific and weird questions: are you studying college? what are you doing with your life? are you in a relationship? I was really weirded out and considered the possibility he may have been asking all those things because my ex asked him to do so, so I kept my answers short and vague, not giving him the info he wanted, and although I def came out as cutting, he kept asking. I tried to still be friendly because I didn't wanna seem paranoid, but I think he realized I wasn't telling him anything over texts, so he asked me to meet again over some beers with his friends on October 27th and that's when I stopped answering. I thought about that strange invitation for a few days until it hit me: October 27th is my ex's birthday. So much about respecting my wishes. I spent the rest of that month really nervous that cousing would try to reach out again, but nothing happened and I started to feel calmed again. Until, in November, he wrote me again, this time asking me if I wanted to go to the beach with his friends. I haven't even bother to open that text. Since them, I've been super paranoid. I know my ex's attacks aren't that consecutive (more like every two years: he contacted me and sent me that friend request when I was 16, hijacked my graduation at 18 and now sends his cousin at 20) but I can't help but think he's always there "keeping an eye on me" and planning his next move. I stopped accepting any friend requests because I'm afraid he will send someone for me, and if someone I already have on my friend list but idk texts me and after some small talks asks me about my life, I get paranoid and ask them why they wanna know and if they have some hidden intentions. Also, there's a mall near his house, and everytime I have to go there to buy something, I feel like crying because I'm afraid I'll stumble with him. I probably sound crazy. Some people may think I'm exaggerating and I should just let my ex stalk me and act all obsessed, but I feel dirty everytime I think about him knowing my personal stuff. It was just so traumatizing the first time. Do you get me? I feel like nobody gets me. Please help me, what can I do? I don't know how to make him stop, I'm tired of living in fear.
Not to start this off with an unrelated thought, but when did Tumblr get rid of its character limit on asks? I don’t think I’ve ever seen it let someone send in a message this long in one ask.
To get to your situation, I can definitely see why this would be a stressful and uncomfortable situation for you. The first thing I would do is to stop interacting with your ex and people related to your ex. You don’t owe his cousin anything. Block both of their numbers, block their social media accounts, etc., and do that for everyone else who’s friends with your ex (or put them on limited profile/create a “close friends” list on social media). Tell all of your friends in no uncertain terms that you don’t want them talking about you to your ex, even if it’s stuff that seems harmless, and cut those people off if they do talk to your ex about you.
The other action you could take is to file a restraining order. If you go down that route, you’ll have to fill out some forms and file them with the court, and then have a hearing with a judge where you explain your situation. Then, you’ll have a second appearance in court where the stalker is present, and you both get the opportunity to explain the situation. The judge will then determine the final order and the conditions of that order. It can be a bit of an involved process, but it may give you some peace of mind.
The last thing I would suggest is going to therapy. It seems like you’ve been through something traumatic, and a mental health professional can help you to work through that and move on from it. There are many options for therapy, both online and in-person. If you have health insurance, your insurance should cover at least some therapy sessions. If not, some therapists provide services on a sliding-scale, and online services like BetterHelp can be less expensive than traditional therapy.
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Part 7 [FF | AO3] of Whirlwind: Jake should be used to ominous predictions by now. Randy should know better than to blindly follow McFist. Adrien should think twice before sneaking away. And Danny should’ve expected something like this when he got that phone call. (Secret Quartet crossover)
(previous | timeline post)
-|-
6:48 PM
Susan leaned against the rough brick of the building behind her, trying and failing to stop trembling.
She could still hear his voice in her head, screaming at her, commanding her, and she wasn’t convinced everything was imagined.
This all felt real enough, now that she was back on the ground, but while she’d been in the air….
She sucked in another deep breath and held it, trying to calm the rapid beating of her heart. It was hard to hear anything above the blood pounding in her ears except the phantom voice in her head. She was on the ground again, she was herself again, but she wasn’t…. She couldn’t….
Susan pried the fingers of her right hand off her necklace. She’d been clutching it so tightly that angry red lines were carved into her palm. Part of her wanted to throw the necklace away and see if that broke his hold over her, but she couldn’t make her hands move, not even to simply touch the clasp.
What had she done?
She’d been angry. She’d been foolish. And now…. Now, she might endanger her family. That was the deal she’d made. She hadn’t…. She hadn’t been thinking. She knew better than to dabble in magic like this. There was no fix for the way she was, the fact that she didn’t have the powers that the rest of her family did, but—
But for a moment, when she’d realized it could be given to her, she’d wanted it more than anything else.
She should have never agreed.
How could she have agreed when her own son was the American Dragon? He was undeniably one of the heroes of the NYC. She couldn’t just ignore that fact. She couldn’t talk her way around it, like she had with Danny Phantom and the new Ninja hero. And she didn’t need to know who Chat Noir was to know that she shouldn’t have agreed to steal anything from him, either. It was easy to see all of that now, but in the moment when he’d asked her—
It hadn’t seemed like refusal would be a better option. It hadn’t seemed like an option at all. There had only been agreement. That she’d been able to argue as much as she had, to use his magic to unleash her birthright, her bloodright, when it should have remained forever locked away—
It shouldn’t have been something to consider.
She’d come to terms with being powerless.
She was happy.
So why had she—?
Susan reached up and fisted the hair on top of her head, trying to silence the last vestiges of Hawk Moth’s voice. She could still feel his anger—at her, at Chat Noir, at Phantom and the Ninja. He didn’t know about Jake yet, but subtle was one thing her son was not. The American Dragon would be here soon enough, ready to fight her, as he should. It was his duty to protect the magical creatures of this country, to keep their secret—
“What have I done?” Susan whispered. She knew how prestigious this event had been. She knew there would be cameras, that everything that had happened would be plastered on the evening’s news and the morning paper unless they could find a way to contain it. This wouldn’t be one voice that was easily dismissed, no seemingly wild claim made by a man who had cried wolf before.
She’d offered Rotwood the proof he so dearly wanted that dragons were very much real, and Phantom being back in the city would merely give him another opportunity to prove the existence of ghosts.
She had to get away. She had to leave. She couldn’t stay here. That would put Jake in danger. That would put all of them in danger.
Distance might break the bond she’d forged with Hawk Moth. She had to try. She had to…to….
Her feet wouldn’t move.
They wouldn’t be fast enough, anyway. She wanted to fly, to feel the wind beneath her wings again, to feel what she’d been missing out on for so long, to keep putting all those lessons from childhood into practice, all those long hours of helping Jake and Haley and—
“No,” moaned Susan, closing her eyes and sliding down the wall so that she could curl into a ball. No one was around, no one had been there to see her change back, but it felt like the eyes of the world were on her. Staring. Demanding. Trying to call Dracona back out.
She couldn’t fight off Hawk Moth forever.
It was easier when she was like this, when she wasn’t transformed. It was…quieter. But she was still tied to him. She could almost feel the strings that bound her to him, the way he was ready to have her dance like a marionette, and she didn’t know how to cut herself free.
Susan wanted to scream, but all that came out was a sob.
-|-
6:59 PM
Adrien wasn’t having much luck. Well, no one had recognized him and started to gush over Adrien Agreste, which was a plus, but the Gabriel brand wasn’t as well known over here, and he kept his hood up. He was more likely to be spotted by Nathalie or the Gorilla than by a random fan. The fact that he wasn’t—so far, at least—was lucky.
The fact that he couldn’t hear anything definitive about the dragon was not.
As far as he could tell, it had soared overhead, rounded a corner, and never come back. Adrien had made his way towards that corner—it was the same building where he’d last seen the dragon—but while some people seemed to be waiting expectantly for the dragon to come back, most thought the show was over.
Because that’s all people thought this was.
A show.
Evidently, news of the regular attacks in Paris had not reached the media here—at least not in a form that anyone believed.
Adrien stayed well away from any authority figures, not wanting to give anyone reason to look at him twice. If the dragon came back, or if anything else interesting came up, he’d know soon enough. Most shouts might not be coherent above the general babble of the crowd, but he knew how word could spread.
Eventually, reluctant though he was to leave the relative safety of the crowds, he widened his search. While some people were still coming and crowding as close to the police tape as they could, others were trickling away. He trailed behind some people leaving who had only ever been curious bystanders, judging by their casual dress, and tried to look for the dragon without making it obvious that he was looking for anything.
“Stop,” Plagg finally whispered into his ear, catching something Adrien could not. “I can feel something.”
Adrien couldn’t see anything out of the ordinary, but he stepped off to the side and pulled out his phone. He held it up to his ear and said, “There’s nothing here.”
“You just don’t know what you’re looking for.”
He was looking for signs of a dragon, and those were conspicuously absent. No claw marks in the pavement, no one screaming or even running away from something, no glint of light off a fallen scale…. Not that he’d necessarily see anything on that front. It was dusk. Sooner rather than later, the streetlights would flick on, regardless of the light pollution that gave the clouds above a soft orangey glow.
Adrien was better off paying attention to Plagg’s nose—or whatever sense the kwami was using—than to his eyes.
“There’s someone here,” Plagg continued. “Nearby. And someone else, too, from that shop. Maybe a few of them. Higher up, maybe. It’s hard to tell. They’re farther away.” There was a pause. “There’s also a pizza place down the street, if you could get me some cheese—”
“I promise I’ll go back to the hotel after this,” Adrien interrupted. Though he wouldn’t mind getting something to eat, he doubted he had enough money on him for a slice of pizza. “Then we can both eat supper. Nathalie will have arranged something for me.”
He didn’t add that Nathalie must have noticed he was gone by now. His father wouldn’t have, being busy as he was, but Nathalie and the Gorilla—
Someone knocked into him, mumbled sorry, and kept walking. With Plagg’s claws suddenly digging into his neck, Adrien turned to get a better look at the retreating woman. He hadn’t been paying enough attention to recognize her as she’d walked by, but she wasn’t wearing a coat despite the rapidly cooling air, and he recognized her uniform. “She’s from the catering company.”
He expected Plagg to ask him to follow her to try to get some cheese. Instead, Plagg hissed, “Be careful.”
“But she’s from the catering company.” He shoved his phone back into his pocket, paused just long enough to confirm that the woman had walked out of a now-empty alley, and started to tail her.
“That’s no reason to follow her.”
It was…odd of Plagg to point that out. Plagg took more risks than Adrien would ever dare, and this was hardly foolhardy. If she happened to notice him, he could let her know who he was and ask after her well-being, pretend that he wanted—
“Stop it,” Plagg tried again, and Adrien hissed through his teeth as Plagg dug in his claws again. “You shouldn’t— Stop. This is a bad idea. We shouldn’t get mixed up in this.”
“We’re already mixed up in this,” Adrien murmured, “whether you like it or not. Hawk Moth is—”
“This isn’t just about Hawk Moth! That woman…. She’s…she’s with the dragons. And the others are close. I know they are. I can feel them. They aren’t…. Adrien, let her go.”
Adrien sighed, stopped to lean against a lamppost, and pulled out his phone just as the woman glanced over her shoulder at him. He kept his head down and she turned away, but he still couldn’t remember seeing her.
And she didn’t look remotely dragon-ish.
“The thing about dragons,” Plagg continued quietly, thankfully retracting his claws now that Adrien had stopped, “is that you can’t ordinarily pick them out of a crowd.”
“Plagg, they’re dragons.”
“And the thing that dragons don’t want humans to know is that they can also look like ordinary people.”
“What?”
“I don’t…. I didn’t want to get you into trouble by telling you this, but you need to know. I think that woman is a dragon. Something…something about her makes my fur stand up. And her allies are going to look just as human.”
“Wait, so those people in that electronics shop…?”
“I’d bet my last wheel of camembert on it.”
Perfect. Another thing Plagg didn’t do lightly. “So the dragon we saw might not even be an akuma. This might not be Hawk Moth after all. The Critic’s akuma—”
“I don’t know. The dragons…. They wouldn’t want this to happen. It’s too public. Something’s wrong. And, no, I don’t know how the Ninja fits into it.”
“What about the phantom?”
“I’m a good guy, I swear.”
Adrien jumped away from the voice, ducking as he did so, but even once he’d found his feet again and looked up and around, he couldn’t see anything. Plagg fell silent, though Adrien could still feel his claws digging into his neck. How had Phantom found him? How could he have known to come back here? To even look here, blocks from where he’d snatched Adrien away the first time?
And how had he managed to find Adrien, be so confident that he had found him, to talk to him when he wasn’t transformed?
It wasn’t comforting to know that Plagg couldn’t give him advance warning, either. Adrien doubted he’d have kept silent if he’d sensed Phantom’s presence. Plagg had said they all smelled different—or felt different, whatever he really meant, since Adrien wasn’t sure—but what if Phantom’s different had only ever been an absence? An absence Plagg couldn’t notice unless he was looking for it?
“Look, I’m sorry, really. Please don’t run or scream or anything.”
The voice was still coming from the direction of the lamppost, near where Adrien had been standing seconds before, and there was still no one in sight.
Phantom’s a ghost, Plagg had said. And Adrien knew Phantom could become invisible—that’s how he’d gotten the jump on him in the first place—but it was still unnerving. At least when he and Ladybug had fought Vanisher, she couldn’t fly or move through solid objects.
“I’m not going to hurt you, I swear.”
“I can’t even see you,” Adrien said quietly, “so why should I trust a word you say to me now?” He would’ve liked to feign ignorance, to pretend he had no idea what Phantom was talking about, but it was far too late for that. He’d reacted, getting ready to fight instead of just run, and he had no idea how long Phantom had been there, listening to him and Plagg, before deciding to jump in and join the conversation.
“I don’t expect you to trust me right away.” The voice was closer to him now. Quieter. “I just…. I don’t know where the cameras are here. I don’t want to be the one to give the rest of the world undeniable proof that ghosts exist, since my friend says no one believes the stories that come out of my hometown and he’d like to keep it that way. That’s why I’m staying invisible. Unless you want to duck into the alley, and then I can crouch behind the dumpster or something.”
Like he was going to let Phantom lure him into the alley—especially if Plagg was right about the lady from before being a dragon.
“C’mon, Chat Noir,” Phantom said, dropping his voice so much that Adrien could barely hear it above the traffic, “just hear me out, please. I screwed up. I’m sorry. I…. I shouldn’t have attacked you. My friend, he, um, knows about your ring, and what it lets you do. He panicked when he saw you. He’d gotten this prophecy from a couple of oracles and…. It’s a long story. Just, we messed up. We need to fix this. And we need your help. The Ninja says you seem to know what’s going on when it comes to these butterflies.”
“You know the Ninja?”
“Um. Kinda. Not well. We’ve only just met. I’m not from here. Neither is he, so he doesn’t know my friend, either.”
Adrien didn’t need Plagg to stick a single warning claw into his neck to know that he had to watch what he asked and how he asked it. “Who is your friend?” He already knew the answer. Plagg already knew the answer. But they needed to know what Phantom was going to tell them.
“He’s the American Dragon. Not, uh, the dragon that’s been terrorizing people, I promise. He wants to stop that. We both do. We’re just not sure how. The Ninja…. He said he saw what happened. The butterfly that caused her to change into a dragon.”
“He knows where the akuma’s hiding.” That was a relief. It would save Adrien precious time if he didn’t have to search for it and risk guessing incorrectly. It might still take him long enough to get it, of course, but—
“That’s what you call them? Akumas?”
“That’s how Hawk Moth changes people.” Even if Phantom wasn’t on his side, telling him that much wouldn’t put Adrien in any more danger than he was already. Whether or not Phantom was working with Hawk Moth and pretending otherwise, he already knew Adrien’s identity, and that was the more pressing issue. He already knew Adrien’s Miraculous was his ring, too. If he decided to steal it, Adrien wasn’t sure he could stop him.
“Will you help us stop him? Please? Call a truce for now, even if you don’t trust us more than you have to?”
He wanted to say no. He wanted to throw Phantom’s apology back in his face, to say that it wasn’t that simple to come back from practically trying to kill someone.
But he’d rather have Phantom as an ally than as an enemy, and it sounded like the Ninja was willing to work with him. Not that Adrien really knew the Ninja well enough to be trusting his judgement like this, but Ladybug wasn’t here, and Adrien could use the help.
Besides, from what Adrien now knew, Hawk Moth likely had recalled the Critic’s akuma and transferred its power to this one. Adrien wasn’t wholly sure if Hawk Moth could have a dormant akuma and an active one at the same time—Ladybug had never let another akuma go free without cleansing it—but he doubted the akuma would be as powerful as this one seemed to be if Hawk Moth was capable of that.
“I want to meet your friends before I agree to anything,” Adrien said, and Plagg let out a loud sigh.
“Then I want some camembert first. I’m hungry.”
Adrien didn’t need to see Phantom to guess his reaction; he wouldn’t have heard Plagg speak before unless he had been listening in on the conversation for a while. Adrien fixed a small smile on his face, though it was arguably more of a smirk than something suitably apologetic. “Yes, I should get some camembert for Plagg first.”
“That’s your…cat, right?”
“One of my best friends.” Adrien wasn’t about to explain what a kwami was to a ghost, especially one he didn’t completely trust.
“Right. Okay. Um. If you’ll let me, I’ll help you get it. I can make you invisible and intangible, too, as long as I’m touching you. That’ll probably be faster, especially with these crowds. We can even fly to wherever it is and then catch up with the Am Drag and the Ninja.”
Adrien frowned. “So in other words, trust you completely?”
“Oh. Right.” There was a pause, and then he felt an invisible hand pressing something into his own. “This is a Fenton Phone. It’ll let us communicate. Please actually wear it and, um, try not to break it. Then, when you’ve fed your cat, we can meet up and figure this out. Please?”
“I’ll call you when I’m ready,” Adrien said, curling his fingers around the strange earpiece. “If you want me to trust you, then you can trust me to do that and not try to follow me. Deal?”
“Deal,” Phantom agreed, but he didn’t sound happy about it. That was fine; Adrien didn’t particularly care if he was happy about it. He cared that Phantom didn’t learn more about him than he already had until he was ready to reciprocate.
Of course, Adrien wouldn’t know right away if Phantom stuck to their deal, not if Plagg couldn’t necessarily tell him, but he had to take risks if he was going to beat Hawk Moth this time, and this was a small enough place to start.
-|-
7:05 PM
“Yeah, that’s her,” Randy said as he passed Jake’s cell phone back to him. “That’s even the necklace she was wearing.”
Great.
Jake would’ve liked, just this once, for this all to be a big misunderstanding. For the new dragon to be someone else, as opposed to someone who knew everything about real dragons and therefore had more knowledge about how they flew than anyone who didn’t have a job or hobby related to flight. (Before he’d ever met Rotwood, he might’ve worried about people who actually believed in dragons, but he was fairly sure that no one who believed in dragons knew anything about them, at least not if they were reading the same books as Rotwood. He had far more reason to worry about ornithologists or biologists with niche interests or someone who otherwise devoted a lot of time to studying flying dinosaurs and the like.)
At least meeting up with Randy hadn’t been any trouble. He could look on the bright side, right? Just because that was the only bright side, didn’t mean he should ignore it entirely.
“I need to warn the others.” He didn’t know how he was going to break this news. His mom knew how important maintaining secrecy was for the magical world. He didn’t know what would have made her flaunt the existence of magic—the existence of dragons—so flagrantly. When she didn’t even want to tell his dad….
“Need help? If you show me more pictures, I can help you look for them in the crowd.”
Jake shook his head. “Nah, I can just phone Fu, and he’ll pass it on. Just….”
“It’s hard?” Randy guessed. Jake blinked, and Randy nodded. “Yeah, I know what it’s like to have someone you care about be stanked. It sucks.”
Jake frowned. He wasn’t sure what exactly stanked was, but— “That’s not what this is.”
“It’s pretty close. Except the dragon lady hasn’t tried to cause chaos, which is a point in your mom’s favour.”
Right. There was that, too. Chat Noir might not be the bad guy Jake had thought he was, but it was hard to misinterpret beware of the butterflies. And while exposure of the magical world, of the existence of dragons, was bad, it was not as bad as it arguably could be. There wasn’t mass panic and people getting hurt in the rush to get away. More reporters weren’t arriving by the minute to report on this story. No one—that he’d heard, at least—was doing what Rotwood would’ve done and loudly proclaimed that they had all seen a real, live dragon.
That was…odd.
Particularly for something that had warranted a prophecy from the twins and which apparently required outside help.
And, clearly, telling more people the truth about dragons.
At least Randy had taken it well. And he had some magical artefacts on him that he was clearly supposed to have. Jake was sure that would help his case when all of this was over and he got another earful from Gramps. He was definitely going to need to check out Norrisville in the future, though.
“Just…gimme a minute, okay?” Randy nodded, so Jake flipped his phone back open and dialled Fu’s number as he walked a short distance away. It didn’t really matter—there were too many people around for this conversation to be private—but pretending gave some semblance of comfort right now. The upside was, no one else who overheard it would understand enough for it to be dangerous.
“What’s going on, kid?”
“It’s Mom.” Jake didn’t know how to sugarcoat it. He didn’t know if he should. “The…the dragon on the news.”
He expected anything from denial to a joke to a demand for clarification, but he got silence instead.
“You still there?”
“Hold on a sec.” There was shuffling and static, the indistinct murmur of Fu’s voice, a roar of wind, and then, “We’ve got you on speaker. You wanna repeat that?”
“It’s Mom,” he said again. He knew Haley would have met up with the others by now, and he could imagine her reaction more easily than G’s; she’d be all wide eyes and slightly open-mouthed, might even gasp in denial, but Gramps wouldn’t react so openly. He’d go still, pressing his lips together and thinking hard before parting them.
“The magic skipped her generation,” Haley whispered. Jake could barely hear her. He might not have made it out if he hadn’t known she might say that. At least her saying it at all meant they were hunkered down safely on their end. They could speak more freely than he could.
“I know, but…. I got confirmation, okay? My…friend. Randy. He saw the whole thing. It was a butterfly.”
Silence on the other end of the line again. He wondered if he could have prevented this if he’d been able to be more specific when he’d talked to her earlier. If he’d had a chance to properly warn her, to tell her about Sara’s prophecy and the butterflies and not just about Chat Noir, would she still have been targeted? Had she even been targeted, or was it just random chance that she’d—?
Random would be better.
A target meant this Hawk Moth person Randy had told him about knew she was special. Knew about her connections to the dragons and to magic, if not that she’d been born into the magical world. Of course, even if Hawk Moth hadn’t known all that, there was no guarantee they still didn’t know all that, and—
“How do we stop her?”
“We need her necklace. That’s where it landed. But we’ll need to find her first. I don’t know where she is. I haven’t seen her, and the dragon’s gone.”
“I’ll call my contacts,” Fu said, “and put out the word to avoid this stretch of town.”
“Tell them to avoid Mom, too. Just in case. I…. She might not be thinking clearly.” If she was thinking clearly, she wouldn’t have done any of this. “Trixie and Spud are going to try to stop Rotwood, but he was coming here, too, and….” And did that really matter now? Now that there was footage from multiple news stations showing a dragon? The fact that some people thought it was a planned stunt was great, but not everyone was going to buy that. “I don’t know what to do.”
“You must continue to be cautious, young dragon,” Gramps said. “Haley and Fu will meet with you and your friends. I will continue to search for Susan on my own. Let me know whatever else you are able to discover immediately.”
“You trust your new friends, kid?” Fu asked.
“I….” They hadn’t questioned the fact that he’d mentioned Randy and not Danny, but clearly they hadn’t missed it. “Yeah. Randy’s cool. It’ll be fine. It’s just….” There were too many people around for Fu to talk freely if he came here. “You should stay with Gramps. All of you. It’s too crowded here.”
“I’m not staying behind,” Haley said immediately. “I can help. Let me help. No one’s going to suspect me! I’m too cute and innocent-looking.” There was a slight pause, but before he could spit out a denial, she added, “Please. This is Mom. I…I need to do this, Jake.”
How was he supposed to refuse her that?
“Fine.” He was going to regret this. He could regret it later. “Meet me at—” Jake broke off and looked around. Which was the least crowded place nearby? He gave her the street corner and then added, “But you should really stay with G, Fu. You’re gonna be a lot more help to us if you can be yourself.” Fu’s sense of smell wasn’t great, whatever he pretended, and having to act like a dog all night would be torturous for him. “Please?”
“Copy that. I’ll run interference and do what I can behind the scenes. But if you need anything, you call, capiche? I’ve been working on my bark. You don’t need to bench me for that.”
“Thanks, Fu. You guys take care of yourselves. Gramps—”
“You are the American Dragon, young one. I will not always question your judgement.”
Right. He’d just question it most of the time. Namely, whenever he assumed Jake was making the wrong call. “One more thing. The kid who came into the shop today? With the ring? He’s called Chat Noir. And he’s not working with this Hawk Moth person. The one with the butterflies. He’s on our side. Or he will be, if we can convince him we’re really supposed to be on his. I haven’t talked to him yet, but I trust that my friends made the right call on this. So if you see him, help out, okay? We were wrong. He’s not the bad guy.”
Jake heard some low muttering in Chinese that would have been a lot worse if Gramps hadn’t just said that he wasn’t always going to question Jake’s judgement.
“And this probably doesn’t matter too much considering the circumstances, but Danny kinda told Randy our family secret.”
Now there was yelling.
More consequences to deal with later.
“Yo, I’ve gotta split. I’ll see you when you get here, Haley!” He flipped his phone closed, silencing the thundering curses in a language he still barely understood. He tapped the Fenton Phone Randy had given him earlier as he walked back towards Randy and said, “Hey, Phantom, you got anything?”
“I found our cat friend. Gave him a Fenton Phone. Not sure if he’s wearing yet. He’ll call us when he’s ready to meet up.” There was a pause. “I promised not to follow him.”
“So you’re following him?”
“I thought about it,” Danny admitted, “but we need him, so no. Trust is a two-way street, and we really need to earn it.”
“Good call. I checked in with the others. Haley’s gonna join us. Haven’t heard from Trixie or Spud yet, so they’re probably still busy with Rotwood.”
“Think they’ll need help?”
“They’ll shout if they do. Until then, we’ve got bigger fish to fry. You heading back now or still scouting?”
“I’ll keep searching till we hear from Chat Noir.”
“Just be careful, Phantom. We don’t know what else this Hawk Moth has up their sleeve.”
Danny said something—acknowledgement or agreement—before signing off, and Jake reached Randy again and filled him in. He knew he was lucky to have friends helping with him with this. He knew he was lucky, even if it didn’t really seem like it right now, that Sara had given him the warnings she could. He knew he was very lucky that Chat Noir was even considering helping them after what they’d done.
But even if they found his mom and figured out a way to help her, even if Randy and Chat Noir swore not to say anything about the truth about dragons, he didn’t know how to fix the very obvious exposure of the magical world to everyone else. Even if people didn’t believe it right away, when it came out that this wasn’t a stunt…. They couldn’t just mindwipe the entire crowd and destroy everyone’s footage. There wasn’t an easy way to fix this.
He wasn’t even sure if it was something that could be fixed.
Protecting the magical world was one of the main things he was supposed to do, and he’d failed spectacularly.
The Dragon Council would take his powers away after this for sure, and Haley would be stuck with the responsibilities of the American Dragon whether or not she was ready, and—
And he didn’t know what the Dragon Council would do to his friends.
Or to everyone else who’d seen proof of magical creatures and now believed in them.
He’d never been told what happened when a dragon messed up this badly. He wasn’t even sure if anyone else ever had. All he knew was that, if he couldn’t fix this and the Dragon Council had to step in, the measures would be…extreme. It made his gut twist just thinking about it. If he couldn’t figure out how to contain this and it kept spiralling out of control—
He had to figure out how to fix this.
He had to.
For everyone else’s sake, not just his own.
(see more fics | next)
#secret quartet#adjl#miraculous ladybug#danny phantom#rc9gn#fanfiction#crossover#sq fanfiction#my writing#ladylynse#snippets#crossover snippet
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Memories in Red
When a dream has gone on for too long, the thin membrane between reality and the clouded world of the mind may be broken, leaving the dreamer submerged in the dark void of their own subconscious. Another dream has come and went, even as it proves to be darker and more unpleasant than the last, I miss it dearly.
I awake to this padded room once again rattled, only to recollect that I am indeed crazy, spats of lucidity grace my presence as if pleading me to write out this memoir of sorts. This very well may be the only way I can gain a grip back into reality, or more likely, drive myself deeper into the thick fog that is consuming my mind. In this conscious state, I recollect only that of less importance unto myself; age, occupation, or even my damn name remains a mystery. But of what I know, I did have a life before my spiral into the abyss of insanity. A wife that dips into my memories only to taunt me with her mysterious beauty, a pocket watch that meant some special importance in my life, a dog, and a grotesque bastard child. You see, I was sent here of my own accord, I did not want to be locked up with the ingrates of the penal system, I felt better suited to be one with the shit eaters and comatose rotted vegetables that also live within the walls of this sanitarium. In here, bound up like mummified corpses, the fear isn’t of those around us, it is of what is inside yourself. I chose this route because of an urge that set upon me long ago, this urge is only one of the multiple memories that alludes me every time I find myself sitting on the edge of reality looking back into the grim horrors that clouds my true subconscious.
The bloody cuts across my hands and fingers are the only real source of entertainment here, it seems my writing has been going on for quite some time judging by the amount of scribble on the walls, red patches, and smears correlate into a jumbled mess of words directed only towards myself. These words scrolled out reveal portions of my life that I may have wanted to remember, or possibly forget. Judging by the writing on the walls, I must have been busy the past few days, so many words and phrases give way to more conclusive statements. “Children under god” and “remember” plastered in bright red imagery above the cell door, followed by multiple occurrences of the name “Virgil”.
In this place, time holds value higher than any currency, it is not easily retrieved, and the lack of a clock or workers doesn’t help the issue one bit. Thought my memories are few and far between, I don’t recall any staff member gracing me with their presence in a long time, I don’t know how long I have gone without human interaction, let alone food and water. Looking at my poor excuse for a body it seems like I haven’t indulged in sustenance in quite a long time, each rib visible as the last, a pale, bony chest leading to shoulders that have no fat left on them. My shadow being cast by the single white florescent bulb that hangs in the middle of my padded hovel looks like the creatures that haunt me late at night, I laugh, trying to convince myself that these nightly visits are all in my head, but the scars tell otherwise. I say this because being in a padded room meant for a mentally unhinged patient as myself, there is no tool for me to tear into my own flesh, no knife or piece of glass, gifting myself the sweet release of red ink that I so desperately crave. No, I get these wounds by another force, an unknown being in the shadows, the corners of my cell representing the shackles of my mind that won’t let me free. Sometimes it comes in the form of my wife, nameless and transparent she takes my arms, lifting them up and giving them the lightest kiss before slashing with her sharp claw-like nails, as I look up from the blood into her dark eyes, the calmness turns to fear as she opens her gaping mouth to reveal a black darkness that wants to swallow me whole. This vision of horror only to be set back by rapping on my padded door, no one is there, no one is ever there. I recall waking from a state of mental unsightliness to observe a black dog with bright yellow eyes peering at me from that damned corner of the room, growling and grimacing to show every razor-sharp fang only to leap onto me. I have heard the dreaded sound of tearing flesh too many times in my life, the beings that lurk in this room with me want me to write, they want to be heard. I am tired now, without the value of time at my disposal, the only thing telling me that night has come is when the power to the only light source in the room is shut off. It’s dark now and I must try to sleep.
As I am about to fall into a distant slumber, praying to not being visited by whatever horrible entity of my wretched mind has in store, I hear screaming. This is not an abnormal occurrence in this place, but these screams are different. It sounds as if a child had gotten loose and is running through the halls churning their sorrows into an inconceivable volume not meant for human consumption, and the sound is growing closer to my room. Most of the time the wailing of the mad are my lullaby, whisking me off to a gentle sleep, but not this, it’s been getting closer and closer by the minute, inch by inch the louder it gets. Screams forcing their way through my ear drums and into my very soul. I try to cup my ears with my bloody palms but it’s no use, my eyes feel like they are going to burst only for the screaming to pass my door and stop suddenly. I release my grasp on my head and slowly slide myself to the door, I can’t hear anything, but I feel breathing on the other side as if taunting me, anxiety then hits my chest and I can’t breathe, my heart throbs and the blood smeared writing on the walls beats at the same rate. I fall on my back, looking up at the dark red literature on the walls, only getting brighter with every beat of my waning heart. I can’t hear anything, but I feel something watching me, laughing at me so menacingly that it tears at my insides and would rip my intestines out if gotten the chance. As quickly as I was brought back into my lucid like state, I was taken back again. I find myself at the threshold of sound mind mostly at night, which makes me ironically yearn for more sleep because within this realm of what we know as real, I am brought back into the pit of despair that only those that have experienced true hell will understand.
It’s been a few days now, and I must give myself a hand for the mural now sitting upon the wall adjacent to the door. A painting depicting only what I can convey as a child, sitting on a tricycle peddling towards a grove which is overlooked by a structure deep in the distance. It is disturbing to say the least, not only for the gruesome open-mouthed scowl rippled across the child’s face along with hideously dead eyes, but for the mere fact that it was completely created by the glorious red ink, what a waste. I must have been out cold for a while due to blood loss from the magnitude of my work, but after a while of sitting and staring it seems to calm me, a haven to place my mind when it turns inward on itself once again. I have never been the artistic type, but seeing the absolute scale and detail baffles me, this would be an immense feat to accomplish with a brush let alone a bloody finger. I search my entire brittle body to find an entry point or wound that could have saturated this wall the way it appears, but I find no new scars, my body is the way I left it.
As I sit and marvel at my work of art, I start to hear a sound, the squeaking of wheels ever so gently moving down the corridor outside my cell. I know how ignorant I must be, but the sense of anxiety and dread fill my chest cavity and I can’t take another second. I cannot be taken back again so soon, I must sit and write and keep my sanity just this once, but the wheels keep turning, bringing themselves closer to my room, all I can do is pray to whatever being is still out there for them to pass. Every second feels as if I am staring at the blade of the guillotine waiting for the rope to be cut, but as it creeps closer, the sound suddenly vanishes. I am in silence now, my body aches but I am still, knowing that something is out there waiting, staring directly into the cell, its breath hitting the widow with such force I hear it across the room. I cannot bring myself to peer out of the small dusty window on the door, for hiding whatever alludes me is the only way I can still survive here.
My visitor has yet to show itself, just viewing my quarters through a tiny glass pane, mocking me for my cowardliness to not step up and peer into the eyes of the unknown. I have convinced myself time and time again that there is a good reason I am in here, for I have the tendencies of a mad man, and inside these walls is the only place I belong. But this entity standing at my door may be my last hope of salvation, an utterance of good in a place stricken with evil. I have convinced myself to stand up and show my face to the staring one, and as I stand, the lonely light in the room flashes and burns out. Darkness hits my skin and chills me to my core, I cannot be trapped in here again, alone, pleading for light, the salvation to my pain-stricken mind. This mustn’t stop me, I must see my viewing party firsthand or forever be confined within the madness of the unknown. Every step to the door of my padded cell takes longer than the last, heart beating faster and faster, red ink on the walls flashing to the beat once again, illuminating my short path. I step up to the door, feeling the buildup of anxiety piercing my internal organs, wincing at the pain I look up at the cold, dusty, window. I look through to see nothing, just the source of blackness that has poured into the confines of my cell. But still, the breathing continues at a more advanced pace, this time it is not hitting the door, the hairs on the back of my neck raise as the hot rush of air pours onto me.
I clench my jaw tight, close my eyes, and stand facing the door hoping for whatever is behind me to leave my presence, but it does not go away. Instead, I feel the grip of a bony hand onto my shoulder, long nails cutting into my skin, I glance down slowly to see the hand that is grasping me is a woman’s, I can see her wedding ring digging into the finger leaving barely any skin, only pure white bone. I have an instant of clarity, realizing I know that hand from so long ago, I turn back quickly to view my visitor only to be greeted by my mural, only it’s changed. Bright red ink glowing so bright in the pitch blackness, showing off the same detailed landscape, the grove with an overlooking structure, but the child is gone, what is left is the bloody trail of something dragged off the bottom of the painting. Before I could even look over the whole mural, the light in the middle of the room bursts on, presenting the painting in its entirety in which the pure sight of it all brought me to my knees, hands pressed tightly against the sides of my head I couldn’t scream, nothing was left in me. In the picture, the bloody marks where the child once sat and rode his tricycle, lead out of the painting onto the ground where I knelt, and at the end of the trail laid the red coated tricycle laying sideways, wheel still spinning, squeaking ever so softly. I start to shake erratically, as my eyes move past the toy, onto a small body lying face down near my feet, bloodied and battered, the ink to my mural.
I know now what I have done to be in this place, I deserve to be here, in this wretched cell, dipping meaninglessly into insanity only to be brought back to face the reality of my cruel ways. As I stare at the lifeless corpse laying at my feet, it begins to move, and twitch in horrible ways I cannot even try to describe, he lifts his head by a weak neck, dark dead eyes lead down to a hideous scowl wrapped around a twisted face. I squirm, the dreaded feeling tearing away at my guilt-stricken insides consumes my whole body, leaving me motionless, not a single breath left in my lungs. I know that face, as horrid and decrepit as it may seem, whatever lay before me was my son, but now just another entity meant to bring me exactly what I deserve. Now all I have left to do is stare into the precipice of my own despair, waiting for this entity to consume me in the most dreadful way possible. We can never truly block out the pain, it will always be there, waiting to torment us until our last breath
#horror#writing#first piece#red#memories#death#insanity#lucidity#asylum#spooky#child#broken#technique#critique
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THE HOUSE, (part 1 of 3), a tale of Flocking Bay
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THE HOUSE
by
De Writer (Glen Ten-Eyck)
7357 words
© 2020
Written 1990
All rights reserved.
Reproduction in any form, physical, electronic or digital is prohibited without the express consent of the author.
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I am John Peaslee, and I am writing this in the hope that it shall somehow be found and a cycle of greed and evil can be broken. Beware of Flocking Bay Realty Company and the old Wickes place!! But I am ahead of myself. Let me tell what has happened to me and you can judge for yourself.
It began innocently enough. My father died and I inherited a modest fortune. Taking a permanent leave of absence from my dull job, I left New York forever. I went north, up the Atlantic coast. Stopping for a day or a week as the whim took me, I came at last to the small town of Flocking Bay, Maine.
The bay, with its iron gray water and breakers like lead, flanked by headlands topped by hardwoods that became brooding pine forests on the inland ridges, captivated me. I determined to settle in that small New England town. Leaving my rented lodging near the water-front, I went to the Flocking Bay Bank of Maine. There, my funds were transferred and I inquired after a good Realtor.
I was directed to the Flocking Bay Realty Company and spent an unprofitable morning looking at small houses in the middle of town.
“I’ve showed you three good houses for a bachelor or a small family,” the Realtor said. “You don’t like any of ‘em. Tell you what I think. You want somethin’ a bit older, more atmosphere to it. Right, son?”
“Yes, Sir, Mr. Jason,” I replied, “that’s just what’s wrong with those houses. Good for somebody that just wants a place to live. Not for me. I want a place where I can feel the age of this town in my bones.”
“Hum, none in the current listings, I’m afraid … I can only think of two that might suit …” he muttered softly. More briskly, he stated, “Son, there’s the oldest house in Flocking Bay, the Hilstrom house. It was built in 1658. Actually it was the first house ever built in Flocking Bay. Been continuously occupied by the Hilstroms since it was built. Only hitch is you can’t buy it… yet.”
“What’s the problem?”
“Old Hilstrom was at least 95 when he wandered off six years ago. Hasn’t been seen since. It’s still a year before he gets declared dead so̓’s the place can be sold to settle the estate.
“The other prospect is also an oldie. Built in eighteen an’ fifty two, it’s got gas lights, indoor plumbing, and all the conveniences of when it was built.”
“Gas lights?” I interrupted.
“No kidding, they really let you feel the age of the house. It’s the old Wickes place. It’s not in the regular listings. It’s up to settle an estate. You can get it for a song, if your voice is in the $50,000.00 range.”
“Sounds great if it’s in good shape,” I ventured.
Mr. Jason escorted me to his car. “I’ll let you see for yourself,” was his reply. Only a short drive out of the town proper, an easy walk, waited the Wickes place.
It was all that Mr. Jason had declared it to be. The stone and wrought iron fence was in excellent repair. The yard was immaculate, with roses, pansies, and violets in orderly beds. There was not a crack or weed to be seen in the brick drive that looped through the porte cochere at the front of the house. This last was two sprawling stories of the finest Carpenter Gothic architecture that it had ever been my pleasure to see. The roof was perfect, with not a loose shingle to be seen. Not so much as a cracked window disturbed its perfection.
“How did an estate property come to be so well kept?” I inquired.
“It gets seen to,” was the cryptic reply.
“And the windows?” I pressed.
“What about ‘em?” he parried.
“They’re all there. Aren’t there any rock-throwing children hereabouts?” I wanted to know.
“There’s kids. They mostly stay away, it’s a landmark,” he replied, abruptly changing the topic. “Notice them scale shingles? You don’t find ‘em that good any more. Shall we go in?” The elaborately carved front door opened onto an entry hall with wainscoted walls. The entry gave onto a transverse hall that ran the length of the first floor. To the left of the entry was a formal parlor. Its walls were of flocked paper, disturbed by well-executed but vaguely unsettling paintings that closer inspection revealed to be signed “Wickes.” All the furniture was early Victorian: end tables, settees, and chairs were elaborately carved, the upholstery perfect. The carpet on the floor was a genuine Persian antique.
The room across the entry hall was a sitting room. It, too, was impeccably appointed. The study was done with inlaid desk, escritoire, Mogul carpeting and oak paneling.
And the library! Books rose from knee level to ceiling on all four walls. There were sliding ladders to give access to those above reach.
I will not dwell on the mahogany paneled dining room or the bright copper-filled kitchen, except to say that they looked freshly cleaned. I assumed but did not ask, that some one from the town came in regularly to clean and care for the place. Even the upstairs bedrooms, bath and large ‘workroom’ showed not a spider web or speck of dust.
I had to have the Wickes place. The low price indicated that the estate was eager to sell. Back at Jason’s office, some sharp bargaining began. In the end we settled on a price of only $45,000.00, to be paid in a lump sum at closing. Since my money was already in a local call bank, there was no obstacle. I could scarcely believe this excellent piece of fortune.
In only a few days, my small car was parked in the porte cochere. Each trip in and out of the vestibule to unload my things told me that I was truly home… My clothing, cameras, a bit of camping gear, and a few other odds and ends of personal possessions were all that I had. I passed one of the most restful nights of my life in the massive four-poster in the master bedroom.
It occurred to me that I wanted to find out more about my unusual abode. As the next day was bright and sunny, I set out for a brisk walk into town.
I started at the Flocking Bay Courthouse. There, a clerk was very helpful in searching out tax and transfer records on my property. At first, she seemed a bit startled at which property I was looking up. A few dollars saw to the copying fees for the records that I wanted. She suggested that I might also try the town library.
Fortified with a pleasant lunch from a small café, I walked into the gloom of the library to continue my research. As soon as I identified the object of my quest, Mrs. Alderman, the librarian, pegged me as ‘one of them spook writers.’ Nothing short of force would have changed her mind. It did save me from a lot of rooting about on sagging dusty shelves. She had gathered most, if not all, of the information on that ‘creepy ol’ Wickes place’ into a single bulging file. I saw at once that there were several days worth of studying to do. The library had no copier and Mrs. Alderman refused to allow file materials to leave the library. I did not wholly blame her. The file was the result of much work and most of the things in it could not be replaced. There were letters, newspaper clippings, land records (including my own recent purchase!), an assay, a strange gold coin, court documents, a botanical report, and more. Some of the materials went back to 1851.
Begging some file folders from Mrs. Alderman, I began the task of sorting the file by subject and date. Long before I was done, I had to stop. The library was closing.
I walked home in the deepening twilight. A gentle breeze helped me on my way. The sky became pocked with stars. My mind was in a whirl from briefly seen headlines.
WICKES’ GOLD GOOD AS GOLD … FAMILY VANISHES … BOY GOES MAD …
And more, None seeming to fit any rational pattern. Once home, I spread the papers from the courthouse out on the beautifully inlaid desk in the study. In the soft glow of the gaslight I began to study. Just as a pattern was beginning to emerge, I heard something.
It sounded like a rat or perhaps several of them on the floor above. Seizing the flashlight that I kept in the kitchen, I went to look. As I went up the stairs, I became convinced that the rats were in the attic. It took a few moments to remember where the attic door was.
A comforting circle of light from the flash preceded me up the attic stair. No rats. Also no spider webs or dust.
It ceases to be good housekeeping when an attic has no cobwebs or dust. It is unnatural.
The rats seemed to be beneath me on the second floor. I followed the sound. By the time that I got there, the sounds had gone down to the first floor. Returning to the first floor, I could hear the rats sporting about in a basement that I did not know of.
A quick look around the first floor showed no doors that might lead to a basement. Giving up on the search for the spectral brigade of rats, I went to the kitchen and fixed myself a light dinner. Looking at the dates of sale, I saw the pattern that had eluded me before. Hiram Wickes had built the house in 1852. It was first sold in 1873, next in 1880, then at exact seven-year intervals until 1985. The last date marked my purchase.
I was the seventeenth owner of Wickes’ house. There was only one thing that I could think of that could account for such a regular cycle of sales. The file at the town library would show whether my notion was foolish. But that was for morning. I retired in the master bedroom’s four-poster. I slept fitfully.
In the morning, I walked into town once more. Light puffy clouds were gamboling in the sky like puppies. At a gnarled old oak in the park, I turned left. Dubbing the ancient oak the “Hanging Tree” in my mind, I strode under its branches, straight across the grass to the library.
Mrs. Alderman was pleased with the sorting that I was doing. She set the file before me once more. “You’re the best of them spook writers so far,” she told me. “You’re not just after a haunted house or mysterious disappearances. You’re settin’ the whole story into order. Make a great book, the way you’re goin’ at it.”
“I do hope so, Mrs. Alderman,” I replied.
“I hope that you’ll remember us with a copy of your book,” she fished hopefully.
“If I get published, you certainly will,” I hedged, feeling a bit guilty at the deception, as there was no book in the works. How could I explain what I was doing when I was not sure myself? That morning I finished sorting and started to take notes to try to keep the mass of information straight.
Since Hiram Wickes had built the house, I started with him. Little enough was known for sure. He had been apparently fluent in at least eight languages, and carried on an active correspondence around the globe. He was independently wealthy, although the source of his funds remained a mystery.
He was once jailed briefly, for counterfeiting. He was cleared when it was pointed out that it was perfectly legal to use foreign coin, provided that it was used by weight and not passed as a U.S. coin. An assay proved his coin to be 24 carat gold, exactly 2/5 of an ounce, troy. Hiram always paid for everything with his strange coins, at three to the ounce. He would never accept change. (One of the coins and the assay were in the file.)
In the year 1852, Hiram finished the most modern and up-to-date house in Flocking Bay. Even maids and other servants hired from town could not keep up with the sheer clutter and disorganization he caused. Hiram was not popular with servants. They came and went until 1866. There was no further mention of servants after that date.
Hiram’s disappearance in that year was a nine day’s wonder. His mail had been impounded for possible clues but nothing turned up. No heirs claimed the estate. In 1873 he was declared dead and the house was sold for back taxes.
A quick check of the court records part of the file turned up, not one, but fifty nine(!) court ordered death certificates, and seventeen land sales since 1851. The records revealed a seven year income merry-go-round for whoever would take advantage of it. Flocking Bay Realty Company had handled every sale since 1908. They had always sold the house to folks from out of town …
It was closing time before I had finished putting this picture together. As I crossed the park the wind was buffeting me from the left and clouds roiled overhead. Just at my ‘hanging tree,’ my foot caught on something in the grass. When I had recovered my balance, I saw that I had tripped on a bronze plaque on a low stone.
It said:
“This tree is dedicated to the memory of Hiram Wickes. If ever he returns, may he be hanged therefrom!
Dedicated by Harold Oates.
- 1880 -”
I turned right, up the street, and made for home. I was pursued by clouds like hounds baying wind at my back and slathering rain drops at my heels. I barely beat the storm home. Watching the lightning from the bay window of the dining room, I ate a cold supper in silence. I saw the lights fail in the town and was glad of the gaslights in the house.
Shortly after sunset, I heard the rats again. They were in the basement that did not exist. I resolved to find the basement, if there was one. I figured that it had to have a hidden door or trapdoor. I moved the furniture and carpets of the first floor. Nothing.
Next==>
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Return to Flocking Bay
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Worm 2.7 - In which we go to the lair of the teens
As I agreed to join the Undersiders, there was some whooping and cheering. I felt a touch guilty, for acting under false pretenses. I also felt pleased with myself, in an irrational way.
Taylor is in a maelstrom of very confused emotions right now. She feels guilty for betraying them all in the future...them being these villains she shouldn’t feel bad about betraying if she was truly 100% convinced they needed to be taken down. She’s also pleased and doesn’t know why...
I think she’s using the “I’m gonna betray them later” as an excuse to herself for becoming friends with a group of villains, and as a way of saying “I’m still totally on the heroic path”.
She’s pleased for being accepted into a group, for having non-hostile non-fatherly people to talk to who aren’t actively judging her.
On the other hand, I think there’s a part of her that truly wishes to be recognized by the hero community and have this be her first big act, so the “betrayal” isn’t a complete self-lie. It’s just...
It’s complicated
“Where do we go from here?” Lisa asked Brian.
“Not sure,” Brian said, “It’s not like we’ve done this before. I suppose we should let Rachel know, but she said she might work today.”
“If the new girl is okay with it, let’s stop by our place,” Lisa suggested, “See if Rache is there, celebrate the new recruit and get her filled in.”
“Sure,” I said.
Oh so we’re gonna visit their hideout! This plan is going very well for our protagonist.
“It’s just a few blocks away,” Brian said, “But we would stand out if you came with in costume.”
I stared at him for a moment, not wanting to comprehend his statement. If I took too long to respond, I realized, I would ruin this plan before it went anywhere. Whatever the case, I could have kicked myself. Of course this was the natural progression of events. Joining their team would mean I would be expected to share my identity, since they already had. Until I did, they wouldn’t be able to trust me with their secrets.
Well, yeah. If you’re gonna join them, your secret identity is a necessary sacrifice, for trust reasons and so no-one can rat their secret identities without also being exposed (ahem...)
I could have blamed the lapse in judgement and foresight on my lack of sleep or the distraction of the events earlier in the day, but that didn’t change matters. I had maneuvered myself into a corner.
Fact: You were emotionally and mentally compromised with everything that happened recently
Also a fact: This plan you made has so many critical points where it could fail that experts say it could have already failed and the world isn’t aware of it yet
“Alright,” I said, sounding calmer than I felt. I hoped. “This costume is kinda uncomfortable under clothes. Can I get some privacy?”
“You want an alley, or…” Lisa asked, trailing off.
“I’ll change here, just take a minute,” I said, impulsively, as I glanced around. The buildings on the street were mostly one and two stories tall, with the only buildings taller than the one we were on being the one half a block away, and the one right next to us. There weren’t any windows on the building next to us with a great angle for seeing me change, and I doubted anyone on the distant building could see me as more than a figure two inches tall. If someone could see me change out of costume and make out enough details to identify me, I’d be surprised.
Where is a phonebooth when you need one? Probably Protectorate trademarked though, so let’s not risk a lawsuit
As the three of them headed to the fire escape, I pulled out the clothes I’d stuffed into the backpack. Armor panels aside, my costume was essentially one piece, with the exceptions being the belt and the mask. I kept the mask on as I undid the belt and peeled off the main costume. I wasn’t indecent – I was wearing a black tank top and black biking shorts underneath, in part for extra warmth. Silk wasn’t the best insulator on its own. I stepped into my jeans and pulled on the sweatshirt, then rubbed my arms and shoulders to brush off the mild chill. I put my costume and the plastic lunchbox in my backpack.
I already mentioned this, but the individual parts of this whole operation (such as the costume over clothes, backpack, etc...) are well-executed. It’s just the thing as a whole that seems incredibly dangerous and reckless.
It’s like a perfecly calibrated mechanism made of interlocked cogs and masterful precision that just ends up punching a tiger in the face with you right in front of it.
I felt a stab of regret at not having chosen better clothes to wear than a loose fitting sweatshirt and jeans that were too big for me. That regret quickly turned to a pang of anxiety. What would they think when they saw the real me? Brian and Alec were good looking guys, in very different ways. Lisa was, on the sliding scale between plain and pretty, more pretty than not. My own scale of attractiveness, by contrast, put me somewhere on a scale that ranged from ‘nerd’ to ‘plain’. My opinion of where I fit on that scale changed depending on the mood I was in when I was looking in the mirror. They were cool, confident, assured people. I was… me.
Taylor is not only worried about unmasking because her secret identity is going to be compromised, she’s also worried because the bug mask is a mask in more than one way.
When she went out in costume, she distanced herself from Taylor the human with her personal problems. She became Taylor the cape with cape-related problems, and it was, in a way I think, a moment of respite for her.
So now that she’s taking off her mask, her “bug” persona, she’s going to expose her normal self to people belonging in the “powers” part of her life. She’s gonna merge those realities she doesn’t want to merge.
I stopped myself before I could get worked up. I wasn’t regular old Taylor, here. In the here and now, I was the girl who had put Lung in the hospital, accidental as it was. I was the girl who was going undercover to try and get the details on a particularly persistent gang of supervillains. I was, until I came up with a better name to go by, Bug, the girl the Undersiders wanted on their team.
She seems to be clinging to her “Bug” identity though, and distancing herself from normal life again.
If I said I made my way down the fire escape filled to the brim with confidence, I’d be lying. That said, I had managed to hype myself up enough to get myself down the ladder, mask still on, costume in my bag. I stood before them, glanced around to make sure nobody else was around, and then pulled off my mask. I had a few terrifying heartbeats where I was half-blind, their facial features just smudges, before I put on the glasses I’d had in my bag.
This glasses beat, where she is momentarily blind until she puts them on again, fits perfectly with the “scared without her persona, so she puts it on again” thing I was just mentioning.
“Hi,” I said, lamely, using my fingers to comb my hair back into order, “I guess it wouldn’t work if you kept calling me Bug or new girl. I’m Taylor.”
Using my real name was a big gamble on my part. I was afraid it would be another thing I would be kicking myself for five minutes from now, much like the realization that I’d have to go uncostumed. I rationalized it by telling myself that I was already in this wholesale. Being truthful about that one thing might well save my hide if any of them decided to do some digging on me, or if I ran into someone I knew while in their company. I figured, hoped, that by the time this whole thing was over, I could maybe pull some strings with someone like Armsmaster and avoid having them leak my real name. Not impossible to imagine, given the level of security around some of the prisons they had for criminal parahumans. In any event, I would cross that bridge when I got to it.
She used her real name though!! So at least a part of her wants to retain some part of her true self, that’s good.
Also yeah, it’s best not to stack lies on top of lies, or something’s bound to slip.
Alec offered the slightest roll of his eyes as I introduced myself, while Brian just grinned. Lisa, though, put one of her arms around my shoulders and gave me a one-armed squeeze of a hug. She was a little older than I was, so she was just tall enough to be at the perfect height to do it. What caught me off guard was how nice the gesture felt. Like I had been needing a hug from someone who wasn’t my dad for a long time.
Oh taylor you poor thing. You are definitely doing this for the friendship. Worst secret mole ever, but I love you.
We walked deeper into the Docks as a group. While I had lived on the periphery of the area my entire life, and while most people would say the neighborhood I lived in was part of the ‘Docks’, I had never really been in the areas that gave this part of the city such a bad reputation. At least, I hadn’t if I discounted last night, and it had been dark then.
Seems like Brockton Bay has a very divided higher and lower class.
Also you are still dividing your different personas a lot, saying that it’s your first time coming here, and then thinking “Oh well, but the other time was in costume so it doesn’t count”
It wasn’t an area that had been kept up, and kind of gave off an impression of a ghost town, or what a city might look like if war or disaster forced people to abandon it for a few years. Grass and weeds grew between slats in the sidewalk, the road had potholes you could hide a cat in, and the buildings were all faded, consisting of peeling paint, cracked mortar and rusty metal. The desaturated colors of the buildings were contrasted by splashes of vividly colored graffiti. As we passed what had once been a main road for the trucks traveling between the warehouses and the docks, I saw a row of power lines without wires stretching between them. At one point weeds had crawled most of the way up the poles, only to wither and die at some point. Now each of the poles had a mess of dead brown plants hanging off of them.
There were people, too, though not too many were out and about. There were those you expected, like a homeless bag lady with a grocery cart and a shirtless old man with a beard nearly to his navel, collecting bottles and cans from a dumpster. There were others that surprised me. I saw a woman that looked surprisingly normal, in clothes that weren’t shabby enough to draw attention, herding four near-identical infant children into a factory building with a faded sign. I wondered if they were living there or if the mom was working there and just couldn’t do anything with her kids but bring them with her. We passed a twenty-something artist and his girlfriend, sitting on the sidewalk with paintings propped up around them. The girl waved at Lisa as we walked by, and Lisa waved back.
Certainly one of the poorer parts of town. The nature covered dilapidated buildings and structures are kind of pretty in their own way though.
Seems like the gang knows some of the people around here as well, they seem interesting.
Our destination was a red brick factory with a massive sliding metal door locked shut by a coil of chain. Both the chain and door had rusted so much that I expected that neither offered any use. The size of the door and the broadness of the driveway made me think that large trucks or small boats would have been backed up through the entryway back in the factory’s heyday. The building itself was large, stretching nearly half the block, two or three stories tall. The background of the sign at the top of the building had faded from red to a pale orange-pink, but I could make out the bold white letters that read ‘Redmond Welding’.
An old abandoned factory serving as a cover for a supervillain lair is such a classic. I love it.
Brian let us in through a small door on the side of the building, rather than the big rusted one. The interior was dark, lit only by rows of dusty windows near the ceiling. I could make out what had been massive machines and treadmills prior to being stripped to their bare bones. Sheets covered most of the empty and rusted husks. Seeing the cobwebs, I reached out with my power and felt bugs throughout. Nobody had been active in here for a long time.
“Come on,” Brian urged me. I looked back and saw that he was halfway up a spiral staircase in the corner. I headed up after him.
It even looks and probably is a real factory inside! And then I assume going up the staircase leads to the real lair.
After seeing the desolation of the first floor, seeing the second floor was a shock. It was a loft, and the contrast was startling. The exterior walls were red brick, and there was no ceiling beyond a roof and a skeleton of metal girders overhead to support it. In terms of general area, the loft seemed to have three sections, though it was hard to define because it was such an open layout.
The staircase opened up into what I would have termed the living room, though the one room alone had nearly as much floor space as the ground floor of my house did. The space was divided by two couches, which were set at right angles from one another, both facing a coffee table and one of the largest television sets I had ever seen. Below the television set were a half dozen video game consoles, a DVD player and one or two machines I didn’t recognize. I supposed they might have a TiVo, though I’d never seen one. Speakers larger than the TVs my dad and I had at home sat on either side of the whole setup. Behind the couches were tables, some open space with rugs and shelves set against the walls. The shelves were only half filled with books and magazines, while the rest of the shelf space was filled with odds and ends ranging from a discarded shoe to candles.
Oh god their base is rad.
It just screams rebel teenagers and freedom and hanging around playing games or watching movies while eating pizza.
Unironically comfy.
The second section was a collection of rooms. It was hard to label them as such, though, because they were more like cubicles, three against each wall with a hallway between them. They were a fair size, and there were six doors, but the walls of each room were only eight or so feet tall, not reaching all the way up to the roof. Three of the doors had artwork spray painted on them. The first door had a crown done in a dramatic graffiti style. The second door had the white silhouette of a man and a woman against a blue background, mimicking the ‘mens’ and ‘womens’ washroom signs that were so common. The third had a girl’s face with puckered lips. I wondered what the story was, there.
This part seems to be the individual room of each member? The whole base has an urban gang aesthetic that I really like. The crown could be Regent’s? The second one seems to be the bathroom. Third one possibly Tattletale’s?
“Nice art,” I said, pointing at the door with the crown on it, feeling kind of dumb for making it the first thing I’d said as I entered the room.
“Thanks,” Alec replied. I guess that meant it was his work.
Oh cool. Alec is the one who does the graffiti. He seems the most laid back and chill of the group so far.
I took another second to look around. The far end of the loft, the last of the three sections, had a large table and some cabinets. Though I couldn’t take a better look without crossing the whole loft, I gathered that their kitchen was in the far end of the loft.
Maybe the planning table? To gather around and talk heists? And with a kitchen and bathroom this place actually functions as a good resting place.
Throughout, there was mess. I felt almost rude for paying attention to it, but there were pizza boxes piled on one of the tables, two dirty plates on the coffee table in front of the couch, and some clothes draped over the back of one of the couches. I saw pop cans – or maybe beer cans – stacked in a pyramid on the table in the far room. It wasn’t so messy that I thought it was offensive, though. It was mess that made a statement… like, ‘This is our space.’ No adult supervision here.
Hah, Taylor made the same observation I made.
Pure teen spirit.
“I’m jealous,” I admitted, meaning it.
“Dork,” Alec said, “What are you jealous for?”
“I meant it’s cool,” I protested, a touch defensively.
Taylor still probably carries the trauma of the bullying close to the chest as she reacted defensively to playful banter. Alec is constantly giving me Amethyst vibes for some reason. As in like, lazy teen, walking disaster.
Lisa spoke before Alec could reply, “I think what Alec means is that this is your place now too. This is the team’s space, and you’re a member of the team, now.”
“Oh,” I said, feeling dumb. Lisa and Alec headed to the living room, while Brian walked off to the far end of the loft. When Lisa gestured for me to follow her, I did. Alec lay down, taking up an entire couch, so I sat on the opposite end of the couch from Lisa.
“The rooms,” Lisa said, “Far side, in order of closest to farthest, are Alec, bathroom, mine.” That meant Alec’s room was the one with the crown, and Lisa’s door had the face with the puckered lips. She went on, “On the side closer to us, Rachel’s room, Rachel’s dogs’ room, and the storage closet.”
I was right about those rooms!
The other rooms are a closet, and two that belong to Rachel, one for her dog’s specifically.
I do wonder how she’s going to react to the new member, given that the webpage warned of hostility and antisocial behaviour.
Lisa paused, then glanced at Alec and asked, “You think she-”
“Duh,” Alec cut her off.
“What?” I asked, feeling lost.
“We’ll clean out the storage closet,” Lisa decided, “So you have a room.”
I was taken aback. “You don’t have to do that for me,” I told her, “I’ve got a place.”
Lisa made a face, almost pained. She asked me, “Can we just do it anyways, and not make a fuss? It’d be a lot better if you had your own space here.”
I must have looked confused, because Alec explained, “Brian has an apartment, and was pretty firm about not needing or wanting a room here… but he and Lisa have been arguing regularly because of it. He has nowhere to sleep but the couch if he gets hurt and can’t go to his place, and there’s no place to put his stuff, so it gets left all over. Take the room. You’ll be doing us a favor.”
“Okay,” I said. I added, “Thank you,” as much for the explanation as for the room itself.
I find it funny that Taylor’s joined a villain group but she still needs to come back home for dinner like a good girl (and so Danny doesn’t have a heart attack. Poor Danny)
So she will have a second room here, for if she ever wants to have her own space to rest when she’s at the base. That means you’re officially a member of the group, Taylor!
“Last time he went up against Shadow Stalker, he came back here and bled all over a white couch,” Lisa groused, “nine hundred dollar couch and we had to replace it.”
“Fucking Shadow Stalker,” Alec commiserated.
Shadow Stalker? Are they a Hero? With a name like that, they would certainly be an edgy hero. Maybe a competing villain? Seems strong, too.
Brian came back from the other end of the loft, raising his voice to be heard as he approached, “Rache’s not here, and neither are her dogs. She must be walking them or working. Dammit. I get stressed when she’s out.” He approached the couches and saw Alec sprawled on the one.
“Move your legs,” Brian told him.
“I’m tired. Sit on the other couch,” Alec mumbled, one arm over his face.
Brian glanced at Lisa and I, and Lisa scooted over to make room. Brian glared down at Alec and then sat between us girls. I shifted my weight and tucked one leg under me to give him room.
“So,” Brian explained, “Here’s the deal. Two grand a month, just to be a member of the team. That means you help decide what jobs we do, you go on the jobs, you stay active, you’re available if we need to call.”
“I don’t have a phone,” I admitted.
They are surely hyping up the possible confrontation with Rachel, here.
Alec’s still being an Amethyst.
Brian’s explaining the pay and the work, and how does Taylor not have a phone?
“We’ll get you one,” he said, like it wasn’t even a concern. It probably wasn’t. “We generally haul in anywhere from ten grand to thirty-five grand for a job. That gets divided four ways… five ways now that you’re on the team.”
I nodded, then exhaled slowly, “It’s not small change.”
Brian nodded, a small smile playing on his lips, “Nope. Now, how on the ball are you, as far as knowing what we’re up against?”
I blinked a few times, then hedged, “For other local capes? I’ve done research online, read the cape magazines religiously for a few years, more since getting my powers… but I dunno. If the past twenty four hours have taught me anything, it’s that there’s a lot I don’t know, and will only find out the hard way.”
Brian smiled. I mean, really smiled. It made me think of a boy rather than a nearly-grown man. He replied, “Most don’t get that, you know? I’ll try to share what I know, so you aren’t caught off guard, but don’t be afraid to ask if there’s anything you’re not sure about, alright?”
Wow they gain a lot of money
And Taylor’s pragmatism and preparedness seem to resonate well with Brian’s carefulness. He likes this new adittion to the team.
I nodded, and his smile widened. He said, through a good natured chuckle, “Can’t tell you how much of a relief it is that you take this stuff seriously, since some people -” he stopped to lean over and kick the side of the couch Alec was lying on, “-need me to twist their arms to get them listening, and some people,” he jerked his thumb over his right shoulder, “think they know everything.”
“I do know everything,” Lisa said, “It’s my power.”
“What?” I said, interrupting Brian. My heartbeat quickened, though I hadn’t exactly been relaxed to begin with, “You’re omniscient?”
Lisa laughed, “No, no. I do know things though. My power tells me stuff.”
Oh we finally get LIsa’s power!!! YES!!
Ok so it’s not omniscience, so you aren’t totally fucked. Her power seems to make her understand the true nature of things/ inform her of details/ give her consant information of her surroundings or what she pays attention to.
So you could still be pretty fucked
Swallowing hard, hoping I wasn’t drawing attention by doing so, I asked, “Like?” Like why I was joining their team?
Lisa sat forward and put her elbows on her knees, “Like how I knew you were at the library when I sent me the messages. If I felt like it, and if I had the know how, I’m sure I could have figured it out by breaking into the website database and digging through the logs to find the address you connected from, but my power just let me skip that step like that.” She snapped her fingers.
“And why exactly did you mention you knew where she was?” Brian queried, his voice a touch too calm.
“I wanted to see how she’d react. Messing with her a little,” Lisa grinned.
“God dammit-” Brian started, but Lisa waved him off.
“I’m filling the newbie in,” she waved him off, “Yell at me later.”
Lisa is awesome and fun, and terrifying at the same time. Her power makes her an expert hacker and codebreaker, among other things I’m sure.
Not giving him a chance to reply, she turned to me and explained, “My power fills in the gaps in my knowledge. I generally need some info to start from, but I can use details my power feeds me to figure out more stuff, and it all sort of compounds itself, giving me a steady flow of info.”
I swallowed, “And you knew that a cape was on the way last night?”
“Yeah,” she said, “Call it a well educated guess.”
“And you knew the stuff about what happened in the PHQ the same way?”
Lisa’s smile widened, “I’ll admit I cheated there. Figuring out passwords is pretty easy with my power. I dig through the PHQ’s digital paperwork and enjoy a little reality TV by way of their surveillance cameras when I’m bored. It’s useful because I’m not only getting the dirt from what I see, hear and read, but my power fills in the details on stuff like changes in their routine and the team politics.”
So she basically has super-intuition!! Like some Sherlock Holmes-level shit!
Her power let’s her hack her way into sources of information, which further boosts her power allowing her to know even more things about even more people and the world, which I imagine could still lead to even more ways of gaining information.
Her power seems really OP under the right circunstances. If she had 1984-style camera surveillance she could actually be functionally omniscient , but even in her current state, she is fearsome
I stared at her, a good part of me horrified that I’d gotten into an undercover situation opposite a girl with superpowered intuition.
Taking my silence for awe, she grinned her vulpine smile, “It’s not that amazing. I’m really best with concrete stuff. Where things are, timing, encryption, yadda yadda. I can read something out of changes in body language or routine, but it’s less reliable and kind of a headache. Enough information overload without, you know?”
I did know, her explanation echoed my own thoughts regarding my ability to see and hear things through my bugs. Still, her words didn’t make me feel that much better.
Oh so she has a limitation! She has a harder time reading social emotions and human behaviors. That might be the reason why she (possibly) hasn’t clued in on the fact that Taylor is a double-agent. That and also that Taylor isn’t so sure herself, subconsiously.
“And,” Brian said, still glowering at Lisa, “Even if she knows a lot, that doesn’t mean Lisa can’t be a dumbass sometimes.”
Lisa punched him in the arm.
Hehe.
“So what are your powers then?” I asked Brian and Alec, hoping for a change in topic.
Brian seems to be darkness-based. I have no idea about Alec’s.
They didn’t get a chance to tell me. I heard barking from downstairs. A matter of heartbeats later I was standing, three paces from the couch. Three snarling dogs had me backed against the wall, drool flying from their mouths as their teeth gnashed and snapped for my hands and face.
WAIT WHAT?
DID RACHEL JUST ATTACK HER OUT OF NOWHERE?
I knew she was antisocial but holy hell
Sicking your dogs on the newbie?
Does she want her out or dead? Or whichever happens first?
Of course this is where the chapter ends!
Aaaaaaaa
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hey um tumblr wasn’t letting me. put in a read-more on this? and im not here to post a 100+ word fanfiction without a cut off so im reposting in the hopes that staff doesn’t wreck me :’D @forrestwyrm here ya go!
Prompt 16 — “YOU SAID TO BE HONEST STOP HITTING ME!”
Warnings: u h h self-deprecation, swearing/cussing, Insecure Roman and Insecure Deceit™™™™™ — mostly a lot of fluff lm a o
Words: 2013!
enjoy!!! <3
Deceit hadn’t expected Roman’s hands to be so soft. Sure, it made sense, Roman had a skin care regiment and had lotion on his hands nearly constantly, but Deceit thought that would just make his scales feel greasy. Like, he might actually become a slimy snake after this, as Thomas so colorfully phrased it.
“Stop creasing your brow,” Roman whispered, leaning in closer.
For the third time in the past hour day, Deceit had to refrain from rolling his eyes. He didn’t want to ruin anything Roman had already done. Instead, he just shifted his hold on Roman’s back, hands sliding down to his hips as Roman scooted closer in his lap. Of all the ways to be sitting, too. It was bad enough that he was letting Roman so close to his face, but this was just degrading.
“Of course, your highness,” Deceit’s voice may have dripped with sarcasm, but that was only to hide the fact that he was actually enjoying the situation.
Finally, after days, probably weeks of asking and hounding and begging, Deceit was letting Roman do his make-up.
Roman had roped everyone into it at least once. First was Patton, as always. Patton was always on board with Roman’s antics; he’d actually approached Roman himself, asking if Roman could do his face, and Roman jumped at the chance. He gave Patton a whole look, with everything from a light bronze highlight to some baby blue eyeshadow and dark blue eyeliner. It became a weekly tradition, then, for Roman to test out some make-up techniques he’d seen on Youtube on Patton, for the two of them to exit Roman’s room with some of the most extravagant looks that the others had ever seen.
Every so often, Roman slipped the idea of Logan with make-up. “Every so often” being nearly twice a day, much to the logical side’s chagrin, with Patton quickly bouncing between being enthralled by the idea of seeing Logan in make-up and promising that he didn’t have to if he didn’t want to. Logan never outright refused, but he did point out that it was a waste of time. When Patton pointed out that it would be a good bonding experience, ergo not a waste, Logan relented.
Roman did his best to keep Logan’s minimalist design preferences in mind, and thus kept the palette even, without too much glitter or shine. While he’d never admit it, Logan adored the blue-to-black gradient eyeliner. It was sleek, professional. His actions spoke enough, though, as he wore it for the rest of the day.
Seeing Logan enjoy the make-up got Virgil intrigued. Roman brought the idea up once or twice or fifty times, and Virgil was defenseless against Patton’s puppy-dog eyes once he began helping Roman in the convincing. He joined Roman and Patton at one make-up session immediately after Logan’s make over, because he wasn’t about to sit in a room with just Princey and let his appearance get judged.
Virgil would never admit how much he really loved the black lipstick, the way the lilac highlighter sharpened his cheekbones, the way the blood red eyeshadow matched with the black below his eyes. Okay, yeah, so maybe he almost started crying when he saw himself, but that was just because Princey got some eyeshadow in his eye. Not because he was surprised at how beautiful he was. Patton and Roman didn’t bring it up.
But now even Virgil had done it. And, as Deceit appeared more often in their common rooms, more casual with the other four, Roman decided he’d be his next model.
It had taken months — MONTHS, even Logan wasn’t that much of a stick in the mud, JESUS CHRIST — but finally, here they were, Deceit stiff as a board with Roman sitting in his lap. It was bad enough that Deceit had his eyes closed and couldn’t see what the creative side was doing, but the position they were sat in was almost too close for comfort. It was good Deceit had insisted they be alone, too. He didn’t want any of the others to see him like….this.
“I hope you know how to clean your scales after this,” Roman mumbled, leaning above Deceit’s head, “There might be glitter there.”
Deceit groaned. “There better not be too much or it’s never coming out.”
“Whoops. You’re a glitter noodle, now.”
“You are insufferable.”
Roman chuckled, then brushed a hand through Deceit’s hair, pulling it out of his face again. He leaned forward again, biting his lip and inspecting his handiwork thus far. “I think it needs one more pass with some eyeshadow, and then we’re done.”
Deceit’s lip twitched. “Wonderful.” Roman had been sitting on him for about an hour, and his legs were growing numb.
He could feel Roman’s brush dabbing lightly over his human eyelid and fought the instinct to open his eyes. Truthfully, he was excited to see what it looked like, what colors he’d chosen, if he looked okay. Deceit had considered doing make-up before, but never to make himself look pretty. When he was still planning his first interaction with Thomas, Deceit had thought of using SFX make-up to hide his scales, but scrapped the idea when he decided to impersonate Patton. If he was going to be shape shifting so much, then the logistics of shape shifting with half his face covered in thick fake-skin would add complications he didn’t want to deal with.
“Alright,” Roman patted his cheek and Deceit could feel him climb off of his lap, “Open your eyes, let’s see.”
Deceit blinked his eyes open and hissed at the brightness of the lights. Roman laughed at him, now standing beside the bed. He was packing away the make-up palettes and brushes, reorganizing them in the containers he kept at his vanity.
“It’s bright.”
“You just had your eyes closed,” Roman reminded him.
Deceit finally got to roll his eyes. “Touché. Where’s your mirror?”
He went towards the vanity, lightbulbs turned on, and climbed off of Roman’s bed toward it. Before he could get on his feet, though, Roman jumped in front of it, arms wrapped behind his back as though trying to be casual. Deceit squinted, confused by the motion.
“Are you sure?” Roman asked, now a little...well, his nonchalant tone was clearly forced, and the higher pitch betrayed his nervousness.
“Yes, I’m sure,” Deceit tried to look at the mirror around him, but Roman move in the way. He shot Roman a confused expression. “What, did you draw something on my face?”
“No!” Roman put up his hands defensively.
When Deceit cocked an eyebrow at him, Roman lowered them, exhaling slowly. He was steeling himself. “I just….okay, you have to tell me. What you think.”
Deceit frowned. What an odd request. “Of cou—”
“Honestly,” Roman said, shifting his weight on his feet, “You must be honest.”
Ah. Did Roman think it looked that bad? Deceit wasn’t exactly a model, but he didn’t think he looked that ugly. Plus wasn’t the point of make-up to make him look better?
His shoulders fell, brow furrowing. The scales might have been too hard for Roman to work with. Or Roman wasn’t confident in how he did.
You know, the more Deceit thought about it, that was probably it. Insecure as ever.
“Fine.”
Roman stepped aside and Deceit leaned in to see.
The first thing he noticed was the color differences. Roman had only applied foundation, contour, and blush to his human side — wherever there was highlight, though, it was echoed in emerald green on the scaled side. He had forest green eyeshadow with golden glitter flakes pressed in near the nose around both eyes. His lips had also been done in black, though with a golden tint near the center and smeared out.
Deceit popped his lips, looking over every inch of Roman’s work. Impressive. He definitely wasn’t ever getting the glitter out of his scales, but that would be a problem for later.
He made a face, a sneer, and hissed at his reflection. Moving his mouth made the gold on his lips glimmer in the lights of Roman’s vanity.
He was never taking this off. He was devastatingly handsome, good lord.
Deceit leaned on the desk and raised his eyebrows, moving his face around to see the shimmers change. Was the glitter two-toned? It seemed to turn green at certain angles.
His eyes, too, popped with the eyeshadow. He made a face again, smiling wide at himself. Wow.
“...Well?”
Oh, yes, Roman. Roman was here. Deceit leaned back and exhaled, trying to act cool, as though he hadn’t just spent a few minutes admiring his reflection.
Roman wasn’t even looking at him. He was starring at his feet, still teetering from side to side. The man looked so anxious for Deceit’s verdict.
“Roman, look at me,” Deceit said, “Come on.”
He watched Roman’s shoulders hike up as his head snapped up, fixing his formerly concerned expression into a brave grin. “Yes?” he asked, a tinge of disappointment — no, Deceit thought, of sad acceptance — in his voice.
It was easy, in the way Roman exuded confidence, to forget that it was mostly fake. Deceit made a pose, resting his hand beneath his face and lifting his head a little. “It’s beautiful,” he said, winking at Roman, “I love it.”
Roman blinked, twice, and his smile softened in obvious relief.
“Really?”
“Look at me!” Deceit glanced back at the mirror quickly, then back at Roman with a cocky smile, “You did wonderfully. The glitter’s staying forever.”
Roman’s shoulders fell in ease as he came closer and patted Deceit on the back, both of them turning to the mirror. “I’m glad you like it,” he said, a soft, sincere smile sitting on his face.
But, well, Deceit wasn’t going to let him get too sappy. “I look like a mermaid,” Roman snorted at that one. “No. No, like,” Deceit made a face again, sticking his tongue out, “I’m Maleficent.”
Roman laughed and smacked his shoulder. “Alright, slow down,” he said through giggles, “You need a chill pill.”
“I’m going to kidnap your princess, what are you going to do about it,” Deceit said, clapping and barring his teeth in a mock snarl, “I’m a bad bitch.”
He popped his mouth extra on the hard “b” syllables. At that, Roman hit his arm again, bending over in laughter. “Shady bitch,” he choked out, then burst into another bout of relieved laughter.
Deceit made another pose just as Roman tried to stand up, leaning on the table with his butt and looking up at the ceiling.
“You’ve armed me better than any weapon, Roman,” he clicked his tongue against his teeth and winked at him. “Haven’t you heard that looks can kill?”
Roman held onto his table, shouting between his giggles, “DECEIT!” as he kept smacking Deceit’s side.
Deceit laughed, holding Roman’s shoulders, careful to not get his face on the creative side’s clothes. He didn’t want to smudge anything, since it hadn’t been sealed yet. “You said to be honest! Stop hitting me!” he said, giving up on the flirting.
As Roman’s giggling stilled, though, he met Deceit’s eyes and brushed his hair out of his face again. His eyes slowly trailed over Deceit’s features, most likely inspecting his work with his approval in mind.
“Fine,” Roman said, “But only because you’re cute.”
Deceit chuckled when Roman held his chin, turning his head a little. “That won’t work, you’re the one who made me cute.”
Roman raised his eyebrow and, for a split second, Deceit was worried he’d offended him. The mirth returned as Roman smiled, sly and quick, and kissed him quickly on the cheek. “Oh, you didn’t need my help with that,” his voice was so quiet.
Deceit smiled, hoping the redness in his face was masked by the foundation. “You’re right. I’ve always been a bad bitch.”
He decided, then, that he’d have to ask Roman for another make-up day. If only to hear him laugh like that some more.
#roman#deceit#roceit#fic#my fic#ts roman#roman sanders#ts deceit#deceit sanders#thomas sanders#sanders sides#ts fanfic#i also JUST FOUND OUT IM NOT FOLLOWING YOU#WHICH I RECTIFIED LIKE IMMEDIATELY ALSDKHASDLFKJF#i literally have been sat here like 'huh why aren't they on my dash more' lkdashgldf im the biggest dumbass#but anygay now take some Soft Roceit#i owe u my life and soil
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you live like that, you live with ghosts (chapter 3)
read on ao3!
Summary: Ricky works his wonders and gets himself in trouble once again but he and C.C. get the happy ending they have always wanted
Wc: 1867
C.C. returned to his house after he was released from the hospital, he expected to find Ricky there, with his signature smirk and a welcoming kiss. Instead, he opened the door to an empty house with a lonely silence hanging in the air. C.C.’s phone had been destroyed after Maizey shot a bullet through it so the only way he could contact anybody was with his home’s landline. He called Ricky, not expecting a reply, and, unsurprisingly, Ricky didn’t pick up. Whenever Ricky as missing, he usually took it to the extreme and gave up contact with the world to immerse himself in whatever task he was doing.
Next, C.C. called Night Night, hoping that he knew where Ricky was and he knew that Night Night was the only other person who would know where Ricky was. Night Night picked up and to C.C.’s dismay, he had no idea where his brother was. By dinner time, C.C. was convinced that something was wrong and he nervously paced around the empty house. Everything in the house reminded him of Ricky, from the photographs on the walls to the books on the coffee table to the mugs neatly lined up in the kitchen cabinet and C.C. found himself missing his boyfriend even more.
C.C. went to sleep with the empty space from his hotel following him. He had trouble sleeping and even when he drifted off to sleep, he had a nightmare about watching Ricky getting killed in front of him. C.C. woke up disoriented and disturbed by his vivid dream and decided to make himself a cup of coffee to cope. As he drank the coffee from his mug, he turned on the television to CNN to see the giant headline “BREAKING NEWS: Criminal Accused of Numerous Murders Including The Murders of An Infamous Gang” flashing.
The detective almost choked on his coffee and turned up the volume. He leaned against the kitchen counter, sipping his coffee slowly as he listened to the reporter give the report.
“Yesterday, one of the most infamous gangs in the world was murdered. Many assume that this feat could not have been performed by one man but in fact, a man by the name of Ricky Goldsworth has been accused of committing the murders of these gang members as well as numerous other murders.”
An image of Ricky Goldsworth was shown and C.C. hated how his first thought was “dang, he still looks good in mugshots”.
“His trial will be held next week and this will surely be the trial of the century. Be sure to tune in next week for live coverage of the trial.”
As the reporter transitioned into another segment, C.C. abruptly shut off the television and picked up the telephone, dialing Night Night’s number. Night Night picked up rather quickly, answering with, “You’ve seen the news, haven’t you?”
“Yes, and Ricky is such an idiot. I can’t believe he did all this just for you. He just exposed himself on a national level, maybe even international, just to kill Maizey’s gang. What was he thinking?” C.C. asked, gripping the handle of his mug as he took another sip of coffee.
“He wasn’t thinking of me. He was thinking of you. Ricky didn’t want you getting hurt after what happened and he felt guilty. He probably contacted people from his past to help him kill the remaining gang members and in return, Ricky has to be charged with all the crimes they committed. He knew that this was the last option and I guess he decided to take this opportunity,” Night Night reasoned, sounding weary and worn out. C.C. wondered if Night Night felt responsible or guilty for Ricky’s actions or C.C. getting hurt but by the slight tinge of remorse in Night Night’s voice, C.C. could tell that he felt somewhat guilty.
“I’m going to pay him a visit and send you an update after. Talk to you soon,” C.C. hung up on Night Night before he could reply. He was more determined than ever to contact Ricky and he decided that he was going to pay Ricky a visit after work. C.C. used his computer in the office to find out where Ricky was and as it turns out, he was being held in a local cell. The detective worked on the case he was assigned to the best of his ability but he kept thinking about Ricky. He submitted all of the paperwork needed for a visit to the cell and thanks to his relations with the police, he was approved rather quickly.
Eventually, C.C. left work half an hour early and drove to the jail. He complied with all the procedures and finally, he got to speak with Ricky, who was brought out of his holding cell. The bruises on Ricky’s body didn’t go unnoticed and when Ricky entered the room, C.C. silently wondered how he was going to restrain himself from kissing his boyfriend.
Once the guards left with a gruff reminder that they only had fifteen minutes, C.C. wasted no time in expressing how he felt.
“Ricky, I’ve been worried sick! I can’t believe you would put yourself in this situation. I told you I didn’t want you getting hurt. It worked but you shouldn’t have risked it all just to fulfill a favor for Night Night.”
Ricky smiled softly, shaking his head at C.C.’s frustration and C.C.’s anger immediately receded. He missed seeing Ricky’s pretty smile and he missed the mischievous glint in his boyfriend’s eyes. For a moment, C.C. could almost see young Ricky in Ricky’s expression, making his heart ache even more.
“C.C., you know I’m going to get out. We’re going to be fine. We always end up okay, no matter what happens. We’ve been at this for decades, ever since we were young, and we always find our way back to each other,” Ricky reassured, leaning forward on the table. C.C. wanted to lace their fingers together more than ever but there was a rule that he couldn’t touch Ricky while visiting. His smile faltered a bit as he continued, “But, I had to ask some very dangerous people for help and now I have to pay the price. I’ll be going off the charts for a bit after I get out but don’t worry, I’ll be back.”
“You’re such an idiot,” C.C. replied without a malicious tone in his voice. He felt tears welling up in his eyes as he placed his hand palm down on the table and Ricky did the same, sliding his hand across the surface so that their fingertips were barely touching. If the security guards noticed, they didn’t care enough to stop them.
“I’m sorry. It was the last option but I just wanted it to be over with already,” Ricky’s eyes were filled with so much regret that a tear slipped down C.C.’s face. C.C. pushed his hand slightly farther down the table so their fingertips were definitely touching and slightly overlapping.
“I forgive you. I’ll wait for you as long as it takes. Thank you for everything you’ve done,” C.C. didn’t wipe the tear from his cheek as he didn’t want to waste a single second of his time with Ricky. The universe seemed to always give them such a hard time.
“Time is up,” A security guard roughly informed and they took Ricky away, not allowing them to say their goodbyes at all. After his meeting with Ricky, C.C. gave Night Night a quick call to update him on how his brother was doing.
Even if C.C. didn’t get to spend as much time with Ricky as he wanted, he was able to rest later that night knowing that Ricky knew that C.C. still loved him.
-
When Ricky’s trial aired on television, C.C. managed to sit through the entirety of the trial without losing his temper at how unjustified it was. The evidence all seemed to pile up against Ricky and while he clearly killed Maizey’s gang, the other crimes he was accused of didn’t have evidence that was convincing enough to prove that he committed the crimes. Still, the judge believed that Ricky was guilty and convicted him of all the murders he was charged with. He was sentenced to a lifetime in prison and while people would have winced at that punishment, C.C. had learned from experience that a jail cell was too small to hold Ricky.
Ricky didn’t seem fazed by his punishment though as he seemed to have gone through this process, though on a smaller scale, numerous times and knew that he would find a way to get out. C.C. was surprised that Ricky remained in jail for two weeks as the last time he landed himself there, he got out within a week. Maybe it was because this time, the media attention was a little more intense so it took longer for the attention to die down. Once he did escape, C.C. knew that it was a matter of time before Ricky could return home.
Every day without Ricky made C.C. feel more lonely. When he was staying at the hotel, C.C. could at least meet with Ricky at night but now, he couldn’t even spend a couple of minutes with Ricky. Days seemed to drag on and the end of C.C.’s lonely days seemed impossibly far away.
The phrase “absence makes the heart grow fonder” was more accurate than C.C. imagined. Without Ricky by his side every day, C.C. found himself thinking about Ricky constantly, almost more than he thought about Ricky when they broke up. He sometimes spent evenings looking through photo albums or thinking about their childhood together, reflecting on how much they grew and how their relationship evolved.
Francesca paid a visit during this time to comfort C.C., reminding him that Ricky would be back. Francesca knew C.C. and Ricky better than anybody else and her support helped C.C. push through the tough times without Ricky. Night Night also called once or twice to check in on C.C., which C.C. greatly appreciated.
Finally, after a month, somebody came knocking on C.C.’s front door. When C.C. answered the knock, he thought it was the mailman or maybe a neighbor who got locked out of their house. Instead, he opened the door to find Ricky standing in a suit, looking as flawless as ever. After ushering Ricky into the house, C.C. didn’t hesitate to kiss the hell out of his boyfriend. He missed how Ricky tasted and the feel of Ricky’s lips against his. Ricky didn’t need to apologize and C.C. didn’t need to give his forgiveness again. They both knew they had each other now and that’s what mattered.
As Ricky said, life was going to throw obstacles their way but they were always going to find their way back to each other, no matter what.
~
taglist: @hot-mess-writer @thesevensins-1990
thanks so much for supporting this series! this is the final work! if you want to revisit any of the other works in the series, you can find this here!
#fics#tinsworth#buzzfeed unsolved#bfu#bfucu#buzzfeed unsolved cinematic universe#c.c. tinsley#ricky goldsworth#cc tinsley#francesca norris#night night bergara#fanfiction#angst
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♦ : ^ ). You can set this in our normal verse or write that lil scene I told you about that coulda happened in America.
Intimacy Meme. — (( @rinadealga
♦: Slow dancing.
The ear numbing cacophony of overzealous shouting, singing, and overall merriment echoed throughout the halls of the White House; sounding so strongly within the now mess hall that the walls quivered. The atmosphere was electrified with excitement and anticipation . . Only causing the crowd of celts to grow louder and more rowdy by the second as the aura gradually grew stronger.
They were celebrating; Celebrating the final approaching battles, completely assured that with the power of a grail, their beastly king, and his newfound magus that the said battles were already won. A grave mistake, perhaps, for any other battalion . . But even SHE knew that they were not overestimating themselves. It was entirely possible that they would win . . Against Chaldea, the savior of humanity, and likely every battle to come after that. They would win here, and the world she’d left behind would end in flames.
Rubied hues stare out, over hundreds of exclaiming, joyous heads . . Scanning the groups and crowds below her balcony perch as a realization hits her. It does not strike her with force as it should have . . It is not the mind shattering, gut wrenching thought that it should have been. It’s subtle, and simply put, and by the time it even becomes a true thought, she’s already accepted it.
Her mind had wandered for a moment, and now as it returns, she brushes her fingers along the balconies marble rails before walking from it; Leaving the bustling main hall behind her as she walks into the somewhat darkened presidential suite.
The heels upon her feet click softly as she moves to take a seat upon the side of the bed, reminding her of the dull ache they’ve caused upon her soles. With a sigh, she reaches down and removes them, bending down and placing the pair to the side . . As her head raises once again, a glint of silver catches her eyes, and she pauses.
Slowly sitting to her full height, a satin gloved hand reaches out, fingers gingerly curling about the chipped music box on the nightstand. Staring down at it for a moment, her free hand reaches for the small key about her neck . . It had never worked before. Clearly broken when they had found it during their excursion . . A peace of junk with no use to anyone any longer, left to ruin along with the building about it as the war raged on. Naught but fancy scrap metal now . . And she had only been allowed to keep it back then because she had promised to keep her mouth shut.
It had never worked before, just a small chunk of wood and metal that shouldn’t have been able to bring joy to anyone anymore; Completely useless. So . . There was no point in trying to play with it anymore. Her free hand drops back to her lap now, eyes dimming as she stares down at the music box, thumb idly pawing along its sides.
No . . No. She should try again. Maybe some sort of miracle would occur and this time it would work? Her hand once again reaches for the key, removing it from about her neck and sticking it into the music box’s keyhole. With a deep inhale, Selena twists the key slowly . . Around, and around, until she hears a soft ‘click,’ indicating that it could be turnt no further. Holding her breath, she slides the key from the hole . . Soft mechanical whirs come from within, and her eyes light up seeing the top of the box slowly lift open . . Revealing a miniature ballerina upon a spring. A singular musical note resounds from the box, and the ballerina begins to turn. Ah, was it actually going to—?
But no. It falls silent after that. Excitement immediately dissipating, Selena places the music box back down upon the nightstand with a defeated exhale.
The sound of the door opening behind her alarms the woman, though she knows by the sound of the footsteps that follow that she has no need to be startled. With her eyes glued upon the music box, she waits for him to speak.
‘It was your idea, remember? So . . Why aren’t you out there?’
It had been her idea; Some sort of get together . . One last, large shindig of sorts to raise morale . . And it had certainly worked judging by the ever present buzzing from the main hall. It was a party, and everyone was enjoying it, except her. So, why wasn’t she out there?
Sighing, Selena puts on a half-smile, glancing back at the mad king over her shoulder, “ . . And YOU’RE their king. Shouldn’t YOU be down there too?” When had she grown so bold? How could she sit there and speak to carnage made man with such cheek? She didn’t remember when the feelings had shifted . . But she did know, that had she been anyone else, she wouldn’t have been sitting there intact for much longer.
Meeting his gaze, they’re silent for a moment and the quiet fills the room, her eyes returning to the music box, “It was my idea, yeah. But, I’m not much for crowds, honestly. They make me queasy.” She was lying, partly. She had no problem with crowds, but . . She WAS feeling queasy. As for why? It was easier to know and accept than explain. This seemed to be the one time a fib of hers had actually been convincing judging by the berserkers tone (tinged with worry so faint it would be unnoticeable by most,) when next he spoke.
‘Then rest. You’re going to need your strength tomorrow. I’ll go get some water—’
He must’ve seen the way she was shaking her head because he paused there and waited, “No. I don’t need it.” Silence consumes the suite once again until, at last, the magus stands. Walking about the side of the bed, she makes her way to stand before the man before extending a hand . . A soft smile taking its place upon her lips.
“This is a party, isn’t it? I don’t know about you guys but, at OUR parties . . Theres usually dancing. And since I don’t see anyone else up here, I guess you’re just going to have to dance with me.”
She watches with slight amusement as a wave of confusion washes over his face . . Though it’s soon replaced with resignation before her hand is engulfed in the claws and scales adorning his own. Slowly raising her opposite hand, she moves closer so it can gently grasp his free hand and place it upon her hip before it trails its way up his arm to perch upon his shoulder.
And as the first step of their waltz is taken, just as her now bare toes land against the floor; The music box begins to play.
Eyes now fixated upon her partners, she grips his hand firmly as she leads them both about the room in gradual circles. The white noise of the main hall suddenly forgotten as she focuses in upon the gentle melody filling the room. It was strangely peaceful considering what was happening . . As if the world outside had gone and poofed away for the moment. No party, no celts, no war . . Just her, and him, and the music box.
And when at last the music stops, and feet along with it; She decides. No, she’d already decided, from the moment those command seals had appeared on her hand . .
Her eyes fall to the ground now, though she doesn’t let go of him just yet.
“ . . Tomorrow.” A pause as she inhales, “Tomorrow is it. Tomorrow is our last fight . . At least for now.” And now her gaze rises again, “We’re going to win. And when we do, you’re . . Really going to be king around here.” Theres blatant confusion on his face now . . And she understands why.
“I must sound really fucked up right now, right? After all, this was all a mistake. I was never supposed to be here to begin with . . And then you locked me up, forced me to make a pact with you . . Made me fight against the people I was supposed to be fighting to save. Not to mention you pretty much forced yourself on me multiple times—” She pauses, shaking her head, “Yeah . . I’ve gotta be screwed up in the head or something . . But that’s okay. I’ve already forgiven you.”
“ . . I’ve . . Never been able to do anything for anyone. Never once have I ever felt that I’ve been of use to anyone no matter how hard I tried. No matter how desperately I strived or how much I pushed myself . . I’ve never been useful, I’ve never been enough.”
“I poured years of my life into training . . To become a magus actually worth a damn. I gave up a normal life . . So that for once I could be useful to someone. And thats why I went to Chaldea . . Because surely they could make use of me there, right . . ?” A quiet, sorrowful laugh escapes her after this, “But, of course not. In the end, Fujimaru was the only one they cared about . . And I ended up being nothing but a bother they pushed grunt work on so they wouldn’t feel bad because I had nothing to do.”
“Then I come here, and I become your . . Master. And god I hated you. I should STILL hate you, you know? You’re my enemy . . You’re my WORLDS enemy at this point, you are what stands between a future of prosperity, and one that ends in fire. But . .”
“But you’re the only one who could make use of me . . you’re also the only person who’s ever NEEDED me. And after years . . And years of searching for that, to find it here of all places . .” Her voice gradually turns whisper like as she speaks . . She’s shaking now, it’s barely noticeable but . .
Selena lets go now, stepping back . . And when she raises her chin, tears have begun to stream down her face, “Please . . Just say that, after tomorrow, you’ll still need me. Even if it’s just as a mana source . . So long as you continue to need me . . “
“Then, I’m content staying here with you. Forever.”
#rinadealga#°【IC#°【Asks#❣【 ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ ᴍᴀʏ ʙᴇ sᴏᴍᴇᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴡᴀsɴ'ᴛ ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ ʙᴇꜰᴏʀᴇ — CúLena#Long post#//Under a readmore for length#V: E Pluribus Unum
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At Least I Got You in My Head (Striktor)
Commission for Queezle! Request was, 'Striktor, sharing a bed, they both pretend this is fine but this is clearly not fine, cue built up mutual crush tension that neither can act on but would really like to rn.' You’re the best enabler a pal could ask for.
Title was inspired by Hayley Kiyoko’s ‘Sleepover’. Word count clocks at a whopping 3000 wowza.
Also on AO3!
Viktor had hoped they would make it back to HQ before sundown, but judging from the darkening skies, it wasn't meant to be, and he didn't want to risk a trip in the dark for a squad that was barely awake. Luckily, the road they were on was popular with travellers and merchants and all walks in between, and soon enough, an inn loomed into their sights. Relief was palpable as Viktor pushed inside, making a beeline for the innkeeper while his team piled onto one of the free tables.
They also seemed to rearrange themselves in a sliding scale of tiredness by the way they slumped in their seats; Strix was blinking owlishly at the entrance as Vivian fiddled with one of her contraptions, as opposed to Tyra, who had her arms crossed and her eyes closed. Meanwhile, Buck on the very end had his head down on the table and was dead to the chatter in the tavern. With a soft smile still on his face, Viktor turned his attention to the innkeeper. "Got any rooms for the night?" He asked.
"Three. Upfront fee, but it comes with a meal and hot water for baths. You decide who gets what room."
That's fair. He dropped a pouch of gold onto the bar top, which then was swept by the inkeeper's expert hand and counted one by one. After she took out one of them and bit it (ignoring Viktor's eyebrows shooting up his face), she nodded and tucked it into her apron before digging out three keys. "The rooms are at the end of the upstairs corridor, all on the left. Order a meal or hot water here. The barmaid will be around soon."
He thanked her and made his way back to the group. They all straightened up as he collapsed in the remaining chair. "We got three rooms for the night." He began, dropping the keys onto the table.
Without hesitation, Vivian snatched up one of them. "I need peace and quiet after a day you lot."
Viktor frowned at her, even if he did privately admit that Buck, and Tyra can be a bit...much, while on the field. Hell, even he was a bit much on the field, so he really can't say anything. "Give it back Vivian. You didn't even try talking to the rest of the team about it."
Buck chose that moment to snort himself awake. "I don't mind sharing a room with Tyra." He said, then dropped his head back onto the table.
Slight panic raced through Viktor's veins. "What about you Tyra?"
"Buck's not the worst person to room with." She shrugged.
"How about me or Strix?"
"Are you kidding me? You snore loud enough to wake the dead, and I don't think I've ever seen Strix sleep."
"Guess that makes me a night owl." Strix interrupted with a straight face. That got a bark of laughter from Viktor and a groan from everyone else.
The barmaid chose that moment to appear with a smile. Viktor was glad for the distraction, for it gave him some time to compose himself. Him? And Strix? Sharing a room? While it wouldn't be the first time they've shared sleeping arrangements, it was usually with one or two other teammates, and in desperate circumstances, such as shifts through the night on enemy territory, where rest was a precious commodity not to be wasted complaining about personal space. So same principle, right?
He risked another glance at Strix. The residential sniper didn't seem to be perturbed by the news, just...eager at the thought of sleeping in a bed that wasn't on the ground. Well, if Strix didn't have a problem with it, then Vitkor was going to take a page out of his book and be the same.
"Then me and Strix will get the last room ." Viktor said with a note of finality. "It's fine."
It was not fine.
Oh sure, it seemed fine during dinner, when the food warmed their bellies and their spirits, and he didn't have to dwell on it, not while being surrounded by Tyra's laughter and seeing Buck's smile. Then Vivian had waved the barmaid down to bring hot water for her bath, then the rest of the team took it as an opportunity to split off – Tyra wanted to enjoy a few more mugs of ale and Buck wanted to enjoy the comadrie, while Strix murmured about needing to maintain his rifle and stood up.
That left Viktor contemplating what to do next. He could always stay and drink mead with Tyra and Buck (even if Buck wasn't an ale person in the first place), but knowing him, he would only be a few drinks away from doing something rash - or as he affectionately called it to the contrast of everyone else, 'wildcarding' - and would most likely end up doing something that would get them all kicked out of the bar, or even worse, embarrassing himself in front of Strix when he eventually stumbled into their shared room.
So he refused Tyra's offer, saying something about wanting to check out the new room with Strix (studiously ignoring her raised eyebrow in response), and headed upstairs just behind Strix. The walk itself wasn't awkward, if a bit nerve-wracking, it was only when they opened the door then the awkwardness made itself well and truly apparent in the form of a singular bed. It looked inviting and spacious, piled with furs and blankets, but no amount of decoration would cover the fact that apart from the furniture consisting of a desk, a few chairs, and the unlit fireplace, it was the only bed in the room.
Viktor scratched the back of his head. "Uh, you can take the bed." Viktor started, taking one for the team. "I can just use my bedroll on the floor-"
"When was the last time you slept in a bed?" Strix interrupted, even though they both knew the answer. "You take the bed and I'll take the bedroll-"
"Well, as your commander-"
"And as your reconnaissance, I can tell the last few days have been hell." Strix said bluntly while looking at Viktor in the eye. Viktor could count the times he had done that on one hand. "You've been wearing yourself thin."
Viktor had to bite back a childish 'You too!', and threw his hands up instead. "Fine. Let's both sleep on the floor and ignore the perfectly good bed instead."
And Strix actually shrugged and started unpacking his bedroll without another word. Viktor quickly backtracked. "Wait, I wasn't being serious."
"It's a simple solution." Strix said, shaking out the blanket from his pack. "Neither of us want to sleep on the bed, so we'll sleep on the floor. We both win."
'More like we both lose...' Viktor thought forlornly, but wisely kept it to himself.
A few minutes later, he had taken off his boots and climbed into the bedroll he had unfurled on the cold, wooden floor. Strix had wiped off his facial markings and hung up his cloak of feathers, treating Viktor with the rare sight of a slightly stripped down Strix pulling out his leather hair tie and unbraiding his hair, giving his head a little shake to let it free in all its glory. Viktor turned away quickly and pulled his blanket under his chin. When he heard the rustling of Strix doing the same, he reached up to blow out the candle, which Viktor's back chose that moment to twinge painfully. He winced. Of all nights to act up, it had to be now? It was still aching slightly when he laid down again.
He tossed one way. He turned another way. Finally, he sighed.
"Hey, wanna share-"
"We should just share-"
They both stopped and glanced at each other. Viktor spoke first. "You go."
"Bed's big enough for both of us." Strix continued. "If you're ok with it, that is."
That was the thing – was Viktor ok with it? As he reasoned before, it shouldn't be any different from the times when they slept in the vicinity, guarding each other's backs. But that was out of necessity, not...whatever this was. But he and Strix also proved to be too stubborn to take the bed for themselves. If this was the only way to convince Strix to have a good night's sleep, then, well.
"Yeah. Ok." Viktor said.
There was rustling as they moved to the obviously superior bedding. There wasn't need to light up another candle, since the moonlight streaming through the window was light enough. Seeing the many furs and blankets lining the bed (because they were both also smart enough to try sleeping on the floor without the helping of said furs and blankets), Viktor decided that his topmost jacket would be too much, so he shrugged it off and hung it over one of the chairs. When he looked back at the bed, Strix was staring at him. Viktor raised an eyebrow. "Something wrong?"
Strix startled slightly, then pulled the blankets up more securely. "Nothing." He said, slightly muffled.
Viktor glanced down at his unassuming grey tank top, back to where Strix was burrowed, and shrugged before climbing into bed himself. This was leagues better than sleeping on the hard floor, and if he ignored the rustling next to him, he could pretend that this was a singular bed. For a company of one. And that he was by himself and had nothing to be worried about.
His ears still picked up at Strix's breathing just beside him, steady, but not deep enough for sleeping. Most likely still awake, like Viktor himself. That didn't really fill him with a lot of confidence. Viktor took a deep breath, trying to calm his racing heart. It usually wasn't this hard when they've rested close by before – there was talking, sometimes, a joke or two to lighten the mood, then a quiet goodnight. Yeah. Maybe he just needed to do that to make this not as awkward.
"So, uh," Viktor said out loud. "Nice bed huh?"
Immediately he was tempted to end that disastrous starter with 'OK GOODNIGHT' and pretend to sleep until Strix did. Instead, he held his breath. After a moment, Strix replied, "Yes. Better than the floor."
"Hey!" Viktor reached over to playfully punch Strix on the shoulder. "We both rolled out our sleeping bags."
"Which makes us both fools."
"...that's fair enough."
Viktor heard a chuckle in the dark, low and husky, and he relished how it sent a curl of warmth shooting through his chest. Strix was quiet again, but Viktor recognised it as the 'enjoying the moment quiet', not the awkward lull in conversation. One of the Strix's favourite quiets. And one of Viktor's too.
They stayed like that, enjoying the moment, then there was a quiet, "Goodnight Viktor." Strix pulling the blankets more securely around him and didn't move.
"Goodnight." Viktor murmured back. Now there was nothing but gentle breathing between the both of them. Despite the effort at the relaxed atmosphere however, restlessness prickled along Viktor's fingers and arms again, even worse this time round because he had to struggle not to move too much while Strix was going to sleep. Maybe if he closed his eyes, the feeling would go away. Hopefully.
Unfortunately, all it did was amplify his other senses; he could hear the ebb and flow of Strix's breathing, the slight rustling of his own fidgeting, and if he strained his ears, the muted laughter from the tavern below, still going strong despite the late hour. He became hyper aware of the closeness between him and Strix. It would only take an errant throw of his arm for it to be lying across Strix's chest, and another unconscious pull to get closer-
And Viktor immediately put a pin on that thought. He really shouldn't be indulging in those kind of daydreams since he was Strix's goddamn commanding officer. It would be unprofessional, not to mention unfair on Strix considering the imbalance of power.
(he ignored the little voice at the back of his head that whispered that this situation was unconventional already. He told it to shove its opinions where the sun didn't shine)
He rolled over to find a more comfortable spot, which had unfortunate consequence of causing him to face Strix. His face was serene, not the usual pokerface he had during work. He also had his eyes closed, leaving Viktor free to stare at him without the fear of Strix thinking he was a little weird for doing so. It was a little strange to see Strix's face bare, but now that there were no markings, Viktor could see dark circles underneath his eyes. Another triumphant reason to let Strix have the bed if he did say so himself. He moved to Strix's jaw, saw the beginnings of stubble. It looked course. Viktor idly wondered how it would feel like against the palm of his hand-
Stupid thoughts! Stop that! His hand was already halfway there, hovering the space between them. He let it fall with a gentle thump and turned away, his back to Strix. Too late. Even when facing away from the man, it did nothing to stop the sudden flood of images racing through his mind. What was even worse was that it also included the things that did happen, such as the way Strix laughed, and his bedtime routine, which included when he shook his hair free, cascading all the way down his back…
Viktor rubbed a hand over his face. He recounted the steps of taking apart his gun and reassembling it. He thought about his report to write once they reached Stone Keep. He even thought about what to have for breakfast tomorrow. It did nothing. He was well and truly fucked.
At least, the small voice said, at least he could enjoy this moment of quiet. He may not get anymore of these in the future, it reasoned. Use it to admire Strix's handsome face. That was when he told the voice to mind its own business for the second time, then tried his best not to think about anything at all.
In the end he passed out just as the sky was turning the barest shade of light outside the window. It seemed like only minutes later when he felt someone shaking his shoulder. "Sir." Strix said, voice low, but in a way that he had never heard it before. It was maybe due to the fact that Viktor was also sleep-deprived and he really wanted to go back to sleep, but whatever.
He rubbed his eyes to block out the morning light as Strix leaned back on his elbow, still on his side. "Can count on one hand the times I woke before you." He said, voice as light as the room. Whatever trepidation lingering from last night dissipated from Viktor as he took in the sight of a bared-faced Strix with his hair falling freely, like a dark curtain. Strix wasn't recoiling nor was he perturbed by whatever happened last night (which was nothing, as it should be), erasing Viktor's remaining worries, and a grin broke out on Viktor's face, unbidden.
"Gives a whole new meaning to 'morning bird' huh?" He joked.
Strix groaned, turning away to slide off the bed, but not before Viktor caught a glimpse of a smile behind a shoulder. Viktor remained in bed as he watched Strix move with purpose around the room – gathering some belongings from his bag, then padding over to the desk on the other side of the room to set them up. A mirror, a pot of paint in muted green, and a paintbrush. With his station set up, Strix used his fingers to comb through his hair with the same efficiency, gently tugging out knots before beginning to braid it. "We continuing to Stone Keep, sir?" He asked, glancing at Viktor through the popped up mirror.
"After breakfast." Viktor replied, choosing that moment to stop procrastinating (read: being a creeper) and actually prepare for said trip. He stretched his arms above his head, then scratched the skin that was bared where his tank top had rucked up, debating whether or not to shave. He rubbed his chin. Nah. While distinctly prickly, it wasn't threatening to grow into a beard anytime this morning. When they reached HQ, he can worry about having a proper shave.
...he should probably cut his hair too. The tips kept tickling the tops of his ears as he swung his legs off the bed and began the search for his wash kit.
Compared to last night, the morning routine had much less fumbling around. Once Viktor had his jacket back on and his bedroll packed, Strix was finished too, cloak settled around his shoulders and face paint sharp. 'Sharp enough to kill a man.' as Tyra would have loved to say. They made their way downstairs, where they saw the rest of their squad eating breakfast. Tyra lifted a hand in greeting as Buck waved, and Vivian nodded cordially as they all sat down. "Good sleep last night?" Tyra asked.
Viktor keenly felt the buzzing at the back of his head that signalled he didn't have very much of it at all. "It was fine." He replied.
"Adequate." Strix said as well. "Yourself?"
"Great!" Buck grinned through a mouth full of bread. "Me and Tyra had a few drinks then we went to bed. What about you Vivian?"
Vivian took a moment to finish buttering her roll before answering. "I had a restful sleep, as did my drones."
Viktor caught the last of her sentence and raised his eyebrows. "Your drones?"
"Yes. The bed was smaller than I would've liked, and for that, this establishment is getting a solid 3/5 from me."
"Then don't share it with them?" Strix suggested, choosing one of the lesser evils to focus on rather than 'Why do you put your drones in beds?'
"Who said anything about sharing?"
A pause, then-
"ARE YOU TELLING ME THAT YOU GOT THE ROOM WITH TWO BEDS AND YOU DIDN'T TELL US?!" Viktor slammed his hand down onto the table for emphasis, causing the dishes to rattle and Vivian to glare back.
"By the time I went back downstairs, you both were already gone. Tyra and Buck were already set on their rooms, so I assumed they were already asleep in their beds. If had problems with your room, then you should've told me."
Viktor gaped at her. Strix said nothing, but the sudden pokerface said everything. Finally, Viktor shook his head ruefully. "Y'know what? Don't worry about it, the night was fine otherwise."
He studiously ignored Strix's side glance and kept digging into his eggs. As much as the news of another bedroom with two separate beds infuriated him, having that singular bed wasn't that…bad. Not that Viktor trusted himself in case it happened next time – he'll just lie on the floor and not budge 'til morning. If it happened again.
And well. If afterwards Viktor's mind drifted back to that night, committing every rustle, breath, and sound to memory, he was going to keep that to himself.
#striktor#paladins champions of the realm#Paladins: Champions of the Realm#strix ( paladins )#viktor ( paladins )#secondary:#tyra ( paladins )#buck ( paladins )#vivian ( paladins )#long hair strix is a headcanon i hold dearly in my heart#charwriting#paladins#TWO BROS---
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