“ah, but i call it love.”

⬆️ you call it madness lyrics! ⬆️ just an archive for writing im gonna try and do! ^^ (pfp by @humandisconnected!)

[libraryofcarcosa]

hi! do you have ao3?? i LOVE your work but im not super familiar around tumblr and ao3 is easier for me to use [bashful]. its totally okay if you dont! i'd just like to know lol

!! I DO ACTUALLY !! i dont post a lot on there on account of being more familiar with writing in tumblr drafts but i do !!

the user is sposedtobemylight !! im really glad u like my works tho aaaaaaa !! best ask ive gotten here in a while made my night ty ty !! :-)

[libraryofcarcosa]

“oh, boy, it’s you that i lie with as the atom bomb locks in.”

(slimeknight angst that gets vaguely suggestive. something short and kind of sweet? and also just poorly written i think)

“you’re staying?”

it was a rhetorical question, in all honesty.

a pointless one he knew the answer to.

“yes.” avery stood across from him, firm, unwavering.

“you aren’t going to leave?” he inched closer.

he felt like an animal. cold, calculating, cornering it’s prey to go in for the kill.

“no.” avery swallowed this time, brows furrowing in concentration.

he was perfect.

that’s all derek could think about; how perfect avery was.

the way he held himself, the way he spoke so stubbornly, so sure in his ways.

the way he powered through until the end in spite of his struggles.

he was strong.

avery was so much stronger than he gave himself credit.

derek wished he had the time to show him.

his next line caught on the tip of his tongue.

he knew it. oh, of course, he knew it.

“avery, what’s in your inventory?” and then he was meant to knock the slime off the ledge as he went to check.

so why couldn’t he get the words out?

why, instead of doing as he had carefully planned, was he striding forward and fisting his hands into avery’s shirt?

why was he tugging him forward, angling his head, struggling with his stupid helmet in the way, to plant a kiss to avery’s lips?

and why did something deep and awful and truly beautiful bloom in him all at once from this simple action?

a million timelines danced in his head in that very moment.

all of the possibilities of what could have been.

at least, between him and avery.

friends; they walk as a pair, fishing rods in hand, avery cracks a joke that makes him keel over with laughter.

lovers; their hands feel so much warmer when interlaced, they share their own home. a quaint cottage they had built for themselves.

and then there was this timeline.

the one that didn’t make it.

in every. single. timeline.

they were together.

every single one, but this one.

so, forgive him for savoring this while he can. forgive him for indulging.

forgive him for pulling away from avery, wiping his mouth, tears pricking his eyes just to—

a startling flash of green is all he has time to register before avery is kissing him again, fervently.

the way a starved man scarfs down food.

the way a drowning man grips a lifesaver with all his might.

derek tensed, looking down at the other, eyes lidded. he was never good with this stuff.

sure, he technically had the knowledge of what to do now, but that didn’t make it easy to follow through with the actions.

he was stiff as he wrapped his arms around avery’s shoulders, mouth slack and gaping, the poor slime had nothing to work with here.

but he managed.

avery was brilliant and far more experienced than he looked, he had a rhythm to all of this.

one he, very helpfully, tapped on derek’s back so he could follow along.

the knight did nearly choke when he felt a slimy tongue slither into his mouth, just exploring.

almost casually.

christ.

“wait, aver—” a deft swipe of the slime’s tongue left him groaning. embarrassingly enough.

but avery did listen, eventually, pulling back and leaving a thin trail of slime-saliva connecting them.

no, derek wasn’t staring at it. why would he?

“mm?” avery hummed, staring at him curiously.

“can we, uh— sit down? this would be easier on the floor, no?” it made sense.

objectively, it was easier to go through with stuff like this on an even surface.

without gravity and the complete difference in height and stuff like that getting in the way..

but it was also closer to the edge of this— platform. avery was so close to it.

one wrong move and there he went. derek just had to keep him preoccupied.

what did it matter if he continued to indulge a bit? it surely worked as a distraction.

he going to die soon regardless.

good luck to avery if he wished to hunt him down and scold his ghost, but something told him he wouldn’t.

mad at derek or not.

the pair dropped to their knees as avery resumed, what was essentially, tongue-fucking his mouth.

but this time?

derek tried his best to reciprocate.

keyword; tried.

it was sloppy and wet and loud because, god, he really didn’t know how to get these movements right, but—

but it was also avery.

he was doing this with avery and that was all that mattered in the end. he whimpered, pitifully, when avery pulled back again.

he reached for the slime like he was his savior.

like he was his god.

he wanted to stay like this.

in this moment, wrapped up in avery, avery, avery.

recreating a timeline where they both live and thrive and love.

but he couldn’t.

and he knew that.

“i’m sorry, avery.” barely above a whisper, hardly audible in this void.

he’d nearly forgotten about the eyes until he looked up at avery’s face.

until he saw them looming behind the slime.

right.

he was doing all of this to keep avery safe.

don’t be selfish, derek, he will die if you don’t do this. you have to do this.

he may hate you temporarily, for the lies, the deciet, but at least he will live.

at least he will remember you.

at least, at least, at least, his brain repeated like a mantra.

“what are you talking about?” avery was quiet, too, cautious.

and then he was falling.

he had sat too close to the edge.

he had made it too easy for derek.

“until next time, avery.” the knight whispered as his friend fell and fell and fell.

“i love you” caught in his throat before he could say it. he didn’t want to say it.

he knew avery. but avery did not know him.

and now? he never would.

[libraryofcarcosa]

“take a drag and then i wish you away, wish you away.”

(tw for drinking/drug use mention and angst. hey guys hope u all missed me and my oc writing from forever ago)

he saw her everywhere.

when he was sober enough to look, that is.

as he lofted an empty beer can into the trash, his reflection seemed to morph into hers.

on the ride back from alan’s place, she was there, furrowed in the light reflecting on the window.

even in the goddamn bar.

she towered in the lights shining from above, a quiet, challenging, “do it. i dare you.”

at least that got him to leave well enough alone sometimes.

what was the point of explaining this?

well, she’s here again.

maveth.

his sister.

her face forming out of the words on his phone screen, twisting and writhing, like something alive, but far too alien to be perceived.

but he knew her.

she was never alien to him.

fuck, she shouldn’t even be alien now.

maveth.

poor, sweet maveth who had only wished to keep her brother from suffering.

who had taken on everything to try and keep them out of trouble.

he shook his “head,” a pathetic attempt to kill that train of thought. he could never truly rid himself of this when he was sober.

maybe he should..

no.

no, he— he won’t.

he has been sober for a full week.

these stupid fucking hallucinations will not mark the end of that.

back to doomscrolling, then.

he shifts in bed, ignoring the way his legs protest the sudden movement. it wasn’t anything new, after all.

his eye stung too, dry and red, he didn’t need to see it to know both things were true.

i mean, fuck, if you were high or drunk or getting— fucked every week (hell, sometimes every day) your eyes would be in similar condition.

just another flaw of being sober.

he could feel it all so much clearer.

with a sigh, his blurry gaze returned to his phone screen.

what the fuck was he even watching?

it had been tiktok a while ago, giggling absentmindedly at whatever shitty meme he happened across, but now it was reels.

instagram reels.

he can’t recall when he switched apps and he doesn’t really care.

he was too focused on trying to process what the video even was. a roblox rant, apparently.

a really stupid one with ai generated images.

jesus christ.

on that note, he turns off his phone, sets it down on his side table, and just— stares at the ceiling. in a very sane manner, rest assured.

but she was there again.

“vitale,” the voice of this phantom maveth was off, stilted, filtered, “get up. get off your ass and make something of yourself.”

harsh words spoken in a flat tone. it was always.. weird when his visual hallucinations tripped over into auditory.

they had no reason to be this rude, either.

with a huff, he turned away.

obviously.

what do you take him for? a masochist?

i mean, ok, maybe sometimes when he— or that other time where he— he also goes by vitale when he’s sober, but—

nevermind.

forget i even asked.

he is incredibly masochistic just not in the traditional sense.

he doesn’t exactly derive pleasure from the pain.

comfort is a better word.

an odd, bitter form of comfort, cradling him like a bed of thorns.

thorns that snag on flesh, draw blood, paint themselves with what spills out, with the last true bit of himself he has left, taking all that he once was—

he blinks once.

twice.

thrice.

daemon above, he really needs to get out of his head. he’s starting to think in poetry.

maveth had moved to the wall. still just staring at him, hollow as ever.

“get up, vitale,” it whispered, “you are rotting, brother.”

was this— false figure pitying him?

his brow furrowed. that’s not normal.

the degrading, the insulting, the rough motivation, all normal.

this?

the tone of this— thing taking on an actual emotion; worry?

that wasn’t normal.

he pulled himself to sit up, legs, back, everything, crying in pain at the sudden movement.

he could’ve sworn he heard something clatter to the messy floor of his bedroom.

“what the fuck?” eloquently put sean, good job.

“what the fuck. why are you—”

he chuckled to himself, just shy of sounding deranged. “look at me,”

look at him.

“i’m talking to a fucking shadow version of my sister stuck to the wall.”

our protagonist who yearns for pity from someone so bad he hallucinates his sister.

he’s subconsciously deluding himself with the idea that she still cares.

that she has moved on and will— what? forgive him?

oh, sean.

you really should know better by now.

the shadow-maveth stares at him, unmoving. still a lifeless husk.

just as it always has been.

“yep, that’s enough of that.” sean groans as he gets out of bed, reaching for his crutches with shaking hands.

weed. yeah, he’s going to grab some weed.

hard to worry about anything and everything when you’re stoned and elbow deep in some take out.

a beep.

“tally, i can’t keep doing this for you,” the voice was maveth’s, staticky, but.. it actually sounded like her.

“do you know how hard it is? i— i can’t keep meeting all of these people who yearn for life knowing that im the one who will carry them to death in the end.”

“no,” sean had frozen, his crutches sticking to the floor under the weight of— his sins? yeah, let’s go with that.

“no, quit, i don’t need to listen to you.”

the voice continued; “they’ll recognize me, tally, i know they will. what do i do then?”

another voice spoke, muffled, censored almost.

“what? vitale, do you even hear yourself? do you hear how little you care about these people? they have lives, you know.”

the muffled voice speaks again.

maveth falls silent for a long while.

“you know what? forget i asked, brother. i hope you have fun doing whatever it is you do down there.” another pause before she adds; “you make it really hard to love you, vitale.”

sean exhaled.

and he continued making his way to the door.

“thanks for that. good show, really, nailed it. captured maveth’s disappointment perfectly.”

he sighed, hand on the cool metal of the doorknob.

it was close enough to the feeling of a bottle in his hand that it vaguely calmed him down.

“but im still breaking my sober streak over this, m’kay?”

with that, shadow-maveth vanished, twisting back into the shadows.

and sean went on.

what, not satisfied with that ending?

did you need something else?

closure, maybe?

what happened to sean?

well, the fact of the matter is, there’s nothing else to tell.

sean is a sad, pathetic, angry man who is so set in his ways he refuses to change.

sitting in his room, drinking himself to death, getting stoned, and throwing himself the biggest pity party to ever fucking exist are the only coping mechanisms he knows.

so, yes, this is the end of the story.

because sean will not, has not, and will never change.

because it is too late for him.

[libraryofcarcosa]

hello! i saw u made a oliver (from dialtown)x reader, can u make another fic? if there is no problem^_^

not exactly what u asked for but .. i can only do Art at the moment so :) hope u dont mind ambiguous phone headed creature x oliver art anon!

[libraryofcarcosa]

and when it’s hard, i’ll place your head into my hands.

(hurt/comfort! i love these guys dearly. these guys being vani (my malevolent sona) and jarthur. this is after they save everyone from the mines in addison!)

she was scared.

she had been since they’d left the dreamlands.

she held hatred and resentment to that damned plane, but it was familiar.

it was predictable in spite of how odd it was.

thinking that just goes to show how long she’d truly been trapped in there.

familiar.

“c’mon,” she whispered aloud with no one to hear, no one to care. “c’mon, mr. lester—”

she said his name like she wasn’t scared of him, too. a man too brave, too determined, too motivated to fit into his own skin.

and what he did to uncle solidified her fears.

that man, with the king’s eyes, sobbing, looming over a corpse he’d just maimed.

the image burnt itself into her memory.

a fresh scar.

but, oh, how she yearned for him to be safe, for him to return from those mines unharmed, that same spark twinkling in “his” eyes.

something drew her in, made her feel safe in his presence. actually, no, that wasn’t it.

she never felt safe with him.

she felt protected.

similar, but not the same. just because arthur protected her didn’t mean she felt safe.

but he still cared enough to try.

in the prison pits, even at his lowest of lows, arthur tried.

he sang to her those nights, simple lullabies and melodies. but they helped.

even with his hands stained in blood, that of which belonged to a man he had to kill, he had assured her, he offered comfort.

and she soaked it all up. every last drop.

even when the blood of that man, mr. faust, stained her cheek, she accepted his comfort.

he cradled her face when she wept and wiped her tears as they fell. he brushed back her hair, soft kisses pressed to her forehead.

that was why she cared.

that was why it didn’t matter who he killed or how scared she was of him.

because he tried.

because he made an effort and treated her with such care. a kind she never got to experience.

she exhaled a shuddering breath, where was he now, is all she could as herself.

and she hears something. from the pantry.

she rushes in, door creaking loudly on its rusted hinges as she flings it open.

standing there, recently emerged from the trap door, was arthur lester. he was alive.

and she was beside herself with her relief.

“hello, vani.” he said, smiling. john must’ve told him it was her. god, john.

she approached them, slowly. merely an instinct at this point, like if she moved too fast arthur would dart.

and his shirt was stained in blood just as it had been back then. in the pits.

it drew her in.

“hey,” she muttered back, standing in front of them, looking up at them. “nice to see ya alive.”

arthur chuckled.

“you have john to thank for that. patched me up with a hand and a dream.”

a silence stretched on between them. what had happened down there?

“i missed something again, didn’t i?”

arthur paused, again, analyzing the question, listening to whatever john might be suggesting they answer her with.

“n’ don’t lie.” she started, only to round it off with; “please, mr. lester.”

a defeated sigh was the immediate response.

“the beast had me for a moment back there, pierced right through my stomach.” she fought to remain quiet as he explained.

“but, i was not joking, john saved me. no matter how vehemently he is denying it.”

“i almost lost you both?” her voice was small. her voice was meek.

it made arthur flinch.

“yes, but—” his words waver as he speaks. “but you haven’t. we’re still here. we didn’t give up that easily.”

standing there. that’s all she was doing, really, facing the only two people who mattered in her life at this point.

she’d left her mom back home forever ago by now. god, she hoped she was alright.

but that meant there was no one around to scold her for seeking the approval of arthur lester, a dangerous man, a murderer.

there was no one around to see her as she was now, clinging to his torso, pressed up against where a fresh scar lay.

where this man was held together by, in the most literal sense imagineable, friendship.

no one could see this.

no one outside of her and john, really.

but it was arthur who pulled her closer, it was john who laid a hand on her back, it was arthur who cradled her once again, and it was john who rubbed in a circular motion, soothing her.

and it was her who drank it all in as she had before. as she would for as long as they allowed it, for as long as they let this happen.

she was tired. and hungry. and so scared.

but they made it a bit more manageable at the very least.

“c’mon,” arthur finally spoke, “let’s get you a meal and some rest, alright? we can leave in the morning.”

she nodded, reluctant let the comfort slip away again. she let herself speak instead; “alright.”

so, with vanity bundled in his arms, arthur walked into the kitchen. seems he wasn’t ready to leave her either.

he was still trying.

he was still fighting and adjusting, perhaps for her sake, perhaps for john’s sake, but he was still going.

he was growing.

and she was there to aid him.

in some manner or another.

perhaps kayne was right, they were similar. they were destined for this. whether he had meant it as a cruel joke or not.

they fit their roles perfectly.

a father and a daughter.

[libraryofcarcosa]

im afraid i cannot add your fics to my wmf list (https://www.tumblr.com/willis-in-yellow/790455587751280640/wonderfully-malevolent-fanfics-categorized?source=share) (ugh why does that look terrible) because tumblr's being a bitch and not letting me save it :( and its like 11:32 and im too tired to try over and over again

BUT ALAS i would absolutely love to add them. its just not letting me :/

i will figure this out, trust

ITS FINEEEEE TRUST ME THE FACT THAT U EVEN CONSIDERED IS INSANELY SWEET? if i ever make more i might add em to my ao3 acc to see if its easier for u to put em on ur list :)

[libraryofcarcosa]

happy to be home, safe and warm.

(its just. okay. im writing this bc i cant get therapy. im writing a british man from the 1930s taking care of me. okay. shhhh. mentions of childhood trauma and whatnot)

arthur cradled me like a mother would their toddler, an action so alien it brought forth another fit of sobs from me.

“there, there.” he cooed, running his fingers through my hair. so gently.

“it’s going to be okay. what is it, dear?”

i sniffled, trying to compose myself.

“i can’t save them. my sisters, i mean, they’re— they’re so far gone. i feel so helpless—”

arthur continued to rock, holding me close. so close. so gently.

“shhhh. you were never meant to have to save them. you’re just a kid, vani, this job was never meant to be yours.”

“but, i—”

“ah, ah.” he interjected, cutting me off, not unkindly. just firmly. he wasn’t yelling.

“none of this is your fault, sweetheart. your parents held your fate and they fucked it over. none of this would have happened had they simply been there for you.”

he squeezed me a bit closer and i started up with my sobbing again. this was too new.

this was too strange.

why couldn’t i have had this growing up?

“you did all you could. you fought, and continue to fight, so hard, vani. give yourself credit where credit is due.”

what had i done to deserve this now?

“i’m proud of you, little one.”

and that’s all it took, in the end. a few words and i couldn’t keep from bawling my eyes out into arthur’s shoulder.

“i love you even if they don’t. i’m here for you even if they refuse to be. you are never a burden to me.”

maybe things would be okay after all.

she just— she just had to trust arthur.

this, too, shall pass.

[quinnieeeee]

"this is cringe, why would I read this- oh right I also have childhood trauma. Oh well, time to read!"

[libraryofcarcosa]

happy to be home, safe and warm.

(its just. okay. im writing this bc i cant get therapy. im writing a british man from the 1930s taking care of me. okay. shhhh. mentions of childhood trauma and whatnot)

arthur cradled me like a mother would their toddler, an action so alien it brought forth another fit of sobs from me.

“there, there.” he cooed, running his fingers through my hair. so gently.

“it’s going to be okay. what is it, dear?”

i sniffled, trying to compose myself.

“i can’t save them. my sisters, i mean, they’re— they’re so far gone. i feel so helpless—”

arthur continued to rock, holding me close. so close. so gently.

“shhhh. you were never meant to have to save them. you’re just a kid, vani, this job was never meant to be yours.”

“but, i—”

“ah, ah.” he interjected, cutting me off, not unkindly. just firmly. he wasn’t yelling.

“none of this is your fault, sweetheart. your parents held your fate and they fucked it over. none of this would have happened had they simply been there for you.”

he squeezed me a bit closer and i started up with my sobbing again. this was too new.

this was too strange.

why couldn’t i have had this growing up?

“you did all you could. you fought, and continue to fight, so hard, vani. give yourself credit where credit is due.”

what had i done to deserve this now?

“i’m proud of you, little one.”

and that’s all it took, in the end. a few words and i couldn’t keep from bawling my eyes out into arthur’s shoulder.

“i love you even if they don’t. i’m here for you even if they refuse to be. you are never a burden to me.”

maybe things would be okay after all.

she just— she just had to trust arthur.

this, too, shall pass.

[libraryofcarcosa]

unfinished thingy BLEH!

(this is what happens when i cant find rp blogs to bother. MORE selfship content. whatever man. its SPECIFICALLY noli/sona. angst because oooo baby do i love me some ANGST!)

One, two, feet thudding as they meet the ground, kicking up gravel in one big cloud.

Three, four, a futile attempt to catch their breaths. Short, gasping, hiccups of air.

Five, six, a cooldown ends. A clone dashes off in the opposite direction, buying the pair a few, precious seconds.

Seven, eight, a generator. Half-finished.

Nine, ten, “TADA, [NO]LI AGAIN!”

A feathered tail grasped in his tendril, dragging the poor little birdie closer. Ever closer.

She struggles, all fluffed-up and squirming, sharp cries and sobs. And he laughs at ver.

I mean, how could he not?

He looms over her, the cat pinning down the dove.

A hand crushing ver throat, a paw to its chest, claws unseathed and glinting dangerously in the low light.

“Please,” She pleads with a voice of reason that doesn’t exist. “Please.”

Or maybe it does.

Noli pauses, freezing for a brief moment.

Ver glasses lay crooked on her nose, cracked and bent out of shape, likely to be fixed next round, but for now..

For now they serve to warp his reflection. To warp ver view of him.

She can’t see him properly.

It’s been a long while since ve has. The Noli that stood over her today was not the man ve once knew. Was not the man she..

She loved.

No, that man had been left behind when the void star fell into his grasp. When his body fell apart around him and his mind followed suit.

This Noli? He could care less for ver.

Or so he thought.

Or so he had convinced himself.

The Noli she knew was still in here, albeit buried under a thousand facades and masks, but he was there.

And ve sees that now, watching as his face falls, twisting into a frown.

Not one of regret nor disdain, just disappointment. Clear as day.

She just smiled back.

It’s all ve can manage, really. A small grin, showing off her crooked teeth.

The one’s Noli knew like the back of his hand.

The one’s he’d spent late nights studying just because he was “curious.”

He never had the chance to tell ver how beautiful he found them. How sharp her canines were, how some of them overlapped with the others, fighting for space.

He loved them.

It’s not like he meant to be weird about that. He truly did just find them nice to look at. No ulterior motives.

He eased up the pressure on ver throat.

“[WH]y?” A simple question.

“Why,” Vani coughed, “Why what?”

Noli’s reply came in a maniacal laugh, the glitch of it echoing around the empty map.

“[WHY] do you still [TR]y? What do you [GET] out of it? [RE— RELIEF?]”

Vani laid there for a moment. No answer of her own, just ver uneven breathing to fill the silence. Why did she do this?

“I’m not sure. Maybe I just want to talk with you.” And that same grin flashed on ver face.

Another pause.

“[JOKING] won’t keep me from [KILL]ing you.”

Vani sighed.

“I know.”

A silence grew betwixt the duo, tension threaded into the very air surrounding them, slipping into every crevice it was able.

“How’s C00lkidd?”

And Noli froze again. He’s been doing that a lot.

“He’s [F— FINE.]” A sigh, more pressure easing off of Vani’s throat.

“He [MISSES] you and Seven.”

Tilting her head to the side, ve couldn’t help the question she let slip; “Misses me?”

Noli laughed at ver.

“Yeah, [YOU] helped raise him, [R— RIGHT?]”

[libraryofcarcosa]

i’ll see you, when i see you.

(HI! this is Very much a piece of Kinda vent writing! dont look into this too hard. kay? that being said! tw for gore and just Angst in general. keep yourself safe<3)

it hurt, she had realized.

ve had noticed it a while ago, of course, but now? now she could feel it clawing at the back of ver mind like a bad taste lingering on the tongue.

it hurt how she was noticed, but never acknowledged.

it hurt how ve was trying her best, doing ver best, and she apparently still had nothing to show for it.

it hurt being put down in spite of all ver efforts.

and she could only assume it’s because ve isn’t him. and she never will be.

but ve’s face-to-face with him now, william, the one before her, the one who built up all of this for ver, but she only feels envious.

he had all ve could ever ask for.

he had made all of the friends she was losing.

he had reached out and talked and got replies.

he had connected with people.

and ve was just taking over.

she remembered all of them, every single one of them, all of the people “ve” had talked with.

but did it count when all the memories were muted? when they were stuck behind a frosted glass panel?

did it count when she could hardly remember the details to begin with?

and he just stood there. the face they once shared, the face that once housed someone far greater than ve ever could be.

that still housed someone greater than her.

and all ve wanted to know is what she was doing wrong, how he made it look so easy.

ve had moved on, grown, bettered herself, stepped out of their fragile bubble and let verself socialize. she had made friends.

ve had done all of that no problem.

where william struggled with small talk, she had picked up the slack, ve had reformed and adapted to what they needed.

and still, in terms of friends? he had her beat.

he stood there. his hands in his hoodie pocket, the same red tone ve still wore, they truly were no different after all, a nervous smile painted on his face. his antennae twitched.

and she pounced.

odd, how the cryptid didn’t move to fight back.

odder still, how ve growled in satisfaction when her hands found his throat.

ve wasn’t bad for this. right?

ve wasn’t a bad person for killing a piece of herself, for slitting his throat with ver own claws and leaving him to bleed out.

she wasn’t a bad person for digging deeper into the gash, past fat and muscle, to his airways.

ve wasn’t a bad person.

she isn’t a bad person.

ve isn’t a bad person for wanting a part of herself dead.

she isn’t a bad person, ve swears on it.

ve’s an angel. a perfect, prim angel, fit to satisfy all. ever pleasant, ever happy, polite.

palatable.

“i’m a good person.” she whispers through the blood and the tears, to an audience who isn’t there. their star had been killed.

ve’s a good person. no flaws, no imperfections.

angels can’t have those.

and she could never handle upsetting those nearest to ver. even if they didn’t talk to her.

even if they didn’t recognize ver.

she killed him to make sure they could, to make sure they could see ver, to make sure they could hear her.

“i’m a good person.” ve muttered again, hands clasping together in a facsimile of a prayer.

but good people didn’t kill, did they?

[libraryofcarcosa]

(shhhhhh i just need to write something really fast abt 7n7 c00lgui wires. okay? okay. tw VERY SUGGESTIVE! praise kink and wireplay! YAY!)

“Vaniiii..” A whine, this time.

It was drawn out and loud, a thin puff of air.

Vani clicked ver tongue in note, shifting slightly at the end of the bed. Her hands twitched.

They didn’t move nor squeeze, they simply spasmed for a moment.

But that was enough. Another sound.

A brush of ver nail against a bright red wire, keratin meeting— rubber? She thinks?

Ah well. Ve didn’t need to know what they were made of to know they were sensitive.

“Mmmhm?” Ve hummed back to 7n7.

She deserved to be a bit of a prick.

Ve twisted the wires in her palm ever so slightly, careful to not tug them out of place.

And Seven groaned, back arching, white knuckling the bedsheets like he’d drift off otherwise. Wow.

Ve simply stared at him in awe. Because, just—

Wow.

7n7 isn’t attractive.

Even Vani can admit that.

She feels no more aesthetic nor sexual attraction to him than ve does anyone else.

But who really needs physical sex appeal when she has a little nerd hacker boy writhing in his bed over a bit of wire tugging?

He’s not exactly quiet either.

Feeble calls of ver name mix with the whimpers he tries valiantly to stifle. It’s all cute, really.

“Is this even about fixing your gui anymore, Sev?” She knew the answer.

“Ah..” 7n7 groaned again, hardly even a reply. But looking up ve could see he was trying to speak.

She stilled.

“You’re a di— AH!” Woopsies! Cut-off again!

Vani crawled ever closer, c00lgui following behind ver. And she landed right between Seven’s legs, of course.

One hand rest on his thigh, rubbing soothingly.

“Yeah? Wanna finish that thought?” The shit-lipped grin on ver face had been earned fair and square.

She had bested an infamous hacker in such a simple manner.

Such a primal manner.

“See? You can be sweet after all.” 7n7’s tail twitched at those words.

Particularly at “sweet” of all things.

No, surely that didn’t mean—

“Do you like being good for me, Sev?”

He flushed, rushing to hide it, hoping to still his wagging tail, praying to keep that small keen muted. He didn’t want this attention.

“Spawn, Vanity, if you don’t shut up—”

Cut-off part two! With a kiss this time.

It’s sloppy and gross, teeth collide with teeth, canines meet the metal of braces, saliva shared in the comfort of a shitty college dorm.

Vani crowds whatever desperate sounds spill from 7n7 right back into his mouth, almost to bottle him up.

To wind him up.

Pulling back is a monumental effort on ver end, but it’s all worth it to see that little strand of spit that connects the two.

It’s all worth it to see 7n7’s face, eyes glassy and cheeks flushed near as red as his gui.

And two of her hands find his face, cradling it.

One of ver thumbs pushes into his mouth, pressing heavy on his tongue.

She’s testing the waters.

He doesn’t bite. He doesn’t even move. He simply lets ver warm her thumb with his mouth.

She smiles, bright and happy.

“Good boy.”

—

AND THEN VE TUGS ON 7N7S WIRES UNTIL HE SQUIRTS EVERYWHERE OKAY BYE BYE

[libraryofcarcosa]

throw your cares away!

(bleleleleeh! go my selfship stuff. fluff of my sona, guest1337, and 007n7. cause i HATE YOU ALL!)

“Just breathe for us, ‘kay?” Simple instructions, wrapped in a soft tone. Meant to be gentle.

Breathe. Okay, yeah, she can do that. Ve does that all the time. She does it in ver sleep! This should be no different.

In, her chest rising as ver lungs fill.

Out, a steady collapse.

In.

Out.

In.

“OW!” Well, she had done as ve was told. It just hadn’t worked out in her favor.

Nor in Guest’s, judging by the wounded sigh he let out. One he tried to muffle, but was audible nonetheless. This room was rather quiet.

007n7’s grip tightened, holding ver hands steady. He was here for her.

“Sorry..” Ve was, she really was, ve just wished she could promise that would be the last time that happened. The last time ve thrashed and squirmed as her wounds were tended.

A calloused hand found itself on ver shoulder, squeezing tightly. Oh, two hands, actually.

“Here, how ‘bout I try something. Is that okay with you, Vanity?” Guest’s voice sounded near as delicate as 007n7’s.

Go figure, the man she’s known for years rubbing off on the man ve’s known for however long they’ve been stuck here.

“Yeah.” And she had to ignore how ve croaked that out. She had to ignore how ver nerves made their presence known, how her trust in Guest wasn’t strong enough for this—

Ve felt another pair of hands on her face, guiding ver to just look ahead.

Seven’s eyes. Those warm amber irises.

Those shockingly soft palms that cradled her chin. Just enough to keep ver grounded.

She exhaled, shaky at best, but ve managed to ease some of the tension off. She hoped that was enough for Guest to— To understand.

Ve was trying to let her guard down.

“Atta girl.” Then those hands previously on ver shoulders dipped lower, tracing just above where they’d been trying to bandage.

She hissed through ver teeth. A warning.

But 007n7 drew her back in, bumping his forehead against ver own, just enough to distract her.

Christ, ve felt like an overanxious shelter dog.

Guest was the poor vet stuck with ver, trying to take care of something so very scared and defensive.

That made Seven her emotional support animal, maybe? Someone to regulate ver, keep her from snapping all too hard.

An unexpected groan tore from ver throat, spurred on by something. What—

Oh.

Guest was massaging her back. And it didn’t hurt? Somehow? But, he was— He was right on the areas of infection how could—

With a sigh, ve eased up, shoulders drooping, muscles falling lax for the first time in god knows how long. It felt nice.

“There ya go.” Something in her basked in the way Guest cooed at ver, the sound of his voice rolling over her in waves. Knowing ve was doing something good.

And she fell right into 007n7’s waiting palms.

Ve’d fall over and over again for him, always for him, it didn’t matter the situation. She was lovestruck, plain and simple.

It was nice knowing he cared for ver in the exact same manner. That he loved her.

“Trrrrrrr..” The trill slipped before ve could even stop herself, before ve could even process—

“Feelin’ any better?”

Just a gentle voice, humming, pressing into her tense shoulder blades. Ve felt like a spool of yarn, tugged loose and unraveled.

She chittered again. Fuck words.

Seven chuckled in front of ver, his thumbs brushing along her jaw in slow motions. He was practically petting ver.

Not that she cared.

“Can we try and bandage them again?” 007n7 asked this time, carefully suggesting rather than demanding it of ver.

She nodded, albeit hesitantly, but ve was relaxed. She was hazy, head in the clouds.

Ve wanted more affection from the two.

But she wouldn’t be asking for it.

The next 20 minutes went rather well, resulting in Guest’s first success in bandaging ver up. And she felt loads better already.

Maybe it’s because ve almost fell asleep leaning against the man behind her, Seven sitting comfortably on ver lap. They were both so warm.

At the moment? Guest’s head rest atop her own, 007n7 sandwiching ver between the two.

Maybe this place isn’t so bad.

She’s finally at peace with ver friend/crush of over ten years and she even has a few new, uhm— “friends” by ver side.

At least she wasn’t left to rot anymore.

[libraryofcarcosa]

go my unfinished aziracrow/jontim crossover.

The champagne glass was tall, thin, much like himself. Minus the way it cast pearly reflections onto the surface of their dining table.

Minus the way it warped Tim’s reflection when he peered through it.

He was a lightweight when it came to alcohol. Or, more accurately, his corporeal form was a lightweight.

He knew that. He had known that.

Still, they’d had a long day. And it was in his nature to indulge.

Besides, Tim had “tempted” him to a spot of lunch and he was never one to turn down an invitation.

“A toast,” He declared at the moment, raising the glass, letting the other fall back into view.

“A toast to us.”

Tim cocked his head to the side, clearly trying to mask his laughter. Or hide it. Neither of which was working.

It was damn near as bubbly as the champagne.

“A toast to us.” The angel mirrored back. How did Tim have him beat in that regard? Alcohol tolerance, he means.

He was a demon for Satan’s sake.

The clink of glass-on-glass derailed his train of thought, sending him reeling for a moment, fishing to find something else to say.

“Back to yours then?” No, he hadn’t processed that Tim was clearly working his way through a plate of food. Of course he hadn’t.

“After you sober up? Maybe.”

Jon groaned, a long, wounded sound that wasn’t fit for a fine establishment like this one. But he is the same guy sitting sideways in his chair so the writing’s on the wall.

“You’re a whiny thing sometimes, y’know that?” Tim grumbled back through his most recent mouthful of— What Jon could only assume was pasta? The plate was finished by now.

With a snap of the angel’s fingers, he folded into himself, clutching his stomach.

Sobering up.

It was always odd watching as the drink emptied itself

[libraryofcarcosa]

i wish i could talk to you.

me and my husband awaw.... continuation of the fic!!!! he made of us!!!!! sniles wide :) pspspspspsps @disconnectedkid :3

Randal’s hand was cold in his own, the chill creeping along ver palm like it was trying to reach his bones.

Not that ve cared, it felt nice, if anything.

A stark contrast to the warmth of his own body and the cloying heat of this stuffy, old building. It was sort’ve like putting an ice pack on your head after being outside too long.

A relief, a welcome, blissful relief.

The wings on ver head fanned out, fluttered, trying to clear any odd thoughts manually, perhaps? He could never truly tell.

“Awesome,” Ve muttered, sounding far too awestruck. Try again. “Awesome.”

And Randal crooked his head to the side, screen flashing with his own thoughts and oh god, save ver, he should not be this cute.

[ Did you have somewhere in mind? ]

Ah, shit, right, Vanity had to put actual thought into this. Fuck.

“Well, uh, baby steps? Let’s get out of here, first. Get you used to the sun.” Ve paused, thinking. “Have you been in the sun before?”

Randal froze, which sparked a great deal of concern before, no, let him clarify, he has.

[ I think so. There are a few broken windows that let in the sunlight. I like staying near them. The warmth is nice. ]

Maybe he could do something with that. Ve had a few ideas stirring, bubbling up, in his brain already. Ve’ll let those simmer for now.

“That’s good! Any exposure is good exposure, I think. How about bright lights?”

Another head tilt. [ What about them? ]

“Just, uh, can you handle them? They won’t be too much for you?” That’s a good place to start. They could always wait for dawn if daytime proved to be too much.

[ I’m not sure. It’s not exactly the brightest in here, if you haven’t noticed. ]

A chuckle, huffed through gritted teeth.

“No, believe me, I have. We’ll be cautious then. So, uh—” Right. Still holding the computer boy’s hand. Hey, no, don’t tighten your grip—

“Ready to go?”

Randal was hesitant, his own tail, that Vanity had just now noticed, tucked in. He seemed to shrink in on himself, shying away, but not letting go of ver hand.

[ As I’ll ever be. ]

And, yeah, he’s sure that if ve was able to hear the tone associated with those words ve’d point out how unconfident Randy was, but, no, he’ll just go along with it.

Hand in hand, ver wings began to beat a tad stronger. A steady rhythm that brought them ever higher into the air.

He totally didn’t have to grab Randal from underneath his armpits.

Totally.

Hauling an entire other being as ve flew was— Shockingly a lot easier than he’d thought it be.

With all eight pairs of ver wings flapping, he really should’ve expected it to be less troublesome.

I mean, ve had eight pairs of fucking wings.

Right. Right, he was very out of shape though. Ve didn’t have much time to sit and ponder lest he wish to drop ver new friend.

Up and out of the same skylight he’d come in through, zipping around as fast as ve could manage with the extra weight tagged on. Not that Randal added much, no.

Again; he’s just out of shape.

Quick scan around once they’re out, and, oh, would you look at that.

A willow tree perched at the top of a hill, the now setting sun painting the horizon with a plethora of hibiscus-hued strokes.

Perfect.

Short flight too, barely a couple of minutes before ve’s landing. He took extra caution in setting Randy down, steadying the other on his feet before lowering verself to the ground.

Ever the gentleman. Gentle-thing?

He still hadn’t figured that out yet. Ve had plenty of time. More than he could keep track of really.

Nevermind that.

Randy seemed— Hesitant. Stiff in his movements as he stalked towards the willow tree. He didn’t seem to be fully robotic.

Was he?

“Y’know, my mom almost named me Willow.” That got the other’s attention, a head tilt of acknowledgement, but still something.

“My deadname, I mean. Vanity and William are both hand chosen by yours truly.” And, yes, ve did have to accentuate that point with a bow. If his wings spread in tandem then so be it.

[ Deadname? ]

“Oh, yeah, like, the name my parents gave me before I discovered I didn’t wanna be my assigned gender? Transitioning? You do know what being trans is, right?”

Randy began to nod his head quite aggressively at that, ve could only assume he was offended.

[ Of course I do, but I didn’t know angels were able to do that. Or that they had mom’s. Or that they even existed before today. ]

“Ah, well, you’ll learn a lot more if ya stick with me. See a lot more.”

The other’s screen displayed three dots, animated as though someone was typing. Did he do that on purpose?

[ You avoided the point. ]

“Did I? Oh, if you mean those questions-not-questions, then, hm—” Y’know what? He’s new here! Ve might as well make a grand introduction.

“I’m not exactly an angel angel, catch my drift?” Randy shook his head.

“I’m a special case, a certain kind, I am an angel by all intents and purposes, but when you get down to it? It’s more a form, than anything.” Then he laughed to verself.

“It is a form, actually. No questions about it.”

[ So, you have other “forms” then? ]

He gave another curt nod, approaching Randy, light-footed, steady. Ve knew he didn’t need to, but it felt right.

“That’s the gist of it! I’m the most recent and the one that will be— Present. As of now. There were others before me, and they’re still around, but it’s mostly me.”

Huh. That’s a new reaction.

A pixelated emoji, nodding its head, displayed on the other’s screen.

Then Randy turned back to the willow tree, palm flat on the rough bark. And he began to stroke it, looking as if he were calming a beast.

But, no, that imagery didn’t fit him all too well.

No, no, no.

He was analyzing, yes, that’s it.

He was using any sense he had to his advantage to discover more.

He was taking note of the wood grains, charting the paths carved out by bugs, gathering splinters in the very tips of his fingers for the sake of learning.

“Hey, care to look out on the horizon for me?” Randy’s attention snapped back to him, a spotlight of focus shining bright.

He did what was asked of him, coming to stand beside his new— Friend? Acquaintance? Whatever he viewed Vanity as.

And, fine, okay, whatever, ve might’ve used his wing as a canopy of sorts. For Randy.

He was being courteous.

I mean, ve was! It was the guy’s first sunset, first time being outside in oh-so long, first time with this much fresh air and— It was his first time on a lot of things.

Surely it helped to lighten the load on his processors just a tad?

As for his reaction? Randy was positively starstruck, frozen apart from the wagging of his tail, that Vanity had just noticed.

And, wow, his wings really had a mind of their own today!

Huddled in the small shelter provided by them, all white feathers and eyes, ve got to watch as the buffer on the other’s screen ebbed away.

“All present and accounted for, Rands?”

It had rolled off his tongue so naturally, almost instinctively, a joke so out in the open, so unguarded.

Ve hadn’t expected an answer of an almost similar nature.

Randy, slowly tilting his head up, slowly bringing his cameras or whatever he sees out of to meet Vanity’s eyes, screen blinking.

[ Show me more. ]

Who was he to deny such a kind request?

[libraryofcarcosa]

alright, that’s enough, let’s get you home.

@jontimjune - recovery (day 13)

(tw for. i dunno. just jon being out of it in general. the short of it is hes high off meds and acts different as a result. gets a little angsty but dw!!!!! hurt/comfort to the rescue....)

Try as he might, Jon cannot move at the moment. Not far, at least.

Or, he can, he’d just rather not, knowing he’d collapse to the floor and all. The cot isn’t close enough to crawl to anymore.

But he needs to go somewhere.

Maybe.

He sort’ve forgot where exactly he needs to go, but he knows it’s somewhere.

He taps at the buttons on his little office phone, dialing a number he thinks is important, and bringing the receiver to his ear. At least he remembers how that works.

“Jon? Do you need something?” No. No, that wasn’t right he didn’t want that voice.

“Tim.” That one. He wanted that one. “Martin, can you— Tim. Please. Thank you, Martin.”

And he hung up, smiling. Tim was on his way! Tim, Tim, Tim. He liked that guy. He liked that guy a lot and Martin was getting him.

What an amazing day.

Then he zoned out for a bit and guess what? Tim was actually there. Real and in the flesh, right there in the doorway. He was staring.

“You rang, boss?” Yes. Yes, mhm, that’s what he wanted. More of that.

“Yes, Tim, it’s very urgent, as you can see, I need to, uh—” And he wasn’t moving, was he?

He hadn’t moved. He was too caught up in enjoying the sound of Tim’s name leaving his mouth, rolling the syllables on his tongue.

“How many painkillers did y’ take?” No. No, he didn’t want that. That didn’t matter.

“Enough. Can you— Talk. Can you talk more. I like your voice, Tim, it’s very nice.” And he’s smiling again, a wide, loose-lipped grin.

“Jesus christ, you’re high as a kite. Why are you even here?” He wasn’t in the sky, was he? He felt like he was on the ground. He was on the ground. Two feet on the floor for proof.

“I had things to get done. And— And I needed to talk to you. Needed you to talk to me. Wait, no—” Apologize. Yes, right, that’s what he needed to do. Good job, Jonathan.

“I’m sorry. Yes, that’s what I needed. I’m sorry, Tim, for stalking you and— And being an awful friend.” He sniffled.

“I don’t—”

“No, no, no, shut up, I’m— Listen. Please. I’m sorry for everything. It’s all my fault and, and I shouldn’t have tried to carry it all myself. I should’ve trusted you and, and—”

He choked around the words, sobs tearing through him and tears falling. This is what he had needed to do.

“I’m sorry for what I’ve done. Sasha would still be alive if it weren’t for me. And you’d still, you’d still like me if only I’d listened.”

Oh, yeah, he was standing now, stumbling his way over to Tim. His fingers found themselves clawed into the man’s bomber jacket and his face buried into his chest, tears and snot staining the fabric.

“I, I missed you, Tim, I’m so sorry.”

And, really, that was what he’d needed. He’d been longing to get that off his chest.

Two arms. He felt two arms around him, one on his waist and the other cradling his head. Tim wasn’t just here and listening, he was holding him. He was comforting him.

A violent sob is all he managed in terms of a reply, then another, then another.

“Let it out, boss, don’t have much reason to stop you. You’ve already blabbered on and you’re clinging to me like a koala.”

Oh.

Oh, Tim, listened to him.

Well, crying just a tad harder was certainly his only valid response. Or the one that he landed on at least.

Only worsened by Tim starting to rock and sway, shushing him all the while. Gentle and quiet. When had he last been so timid?

“It’s okay,” He mutters now, resting his chin on top of Jon’s head. “It’s okay.”

But he’s not accepting the apology.

But Tim isn’t forgiving him.

“Please, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” And just for good measure, with his face stuffed into the crook of the other’s neck; “Forgive me.”

“Not now. I’m—” And Tim sighed.

“Not now, Jon. I just can’t.”

“Why not?” Is all he could get out, clawing and asking, damn near pleading. Why? Why, why, why? He just wants to know why.

“Doesn’t matter.” Tim still hadn’t pulled away. Good. That’s good. He missed this warmth.

“It does.” He chokes, somehow still sobbing. Was he lightheaded? He felt lightheaded.

“It does to me. I’m here. I’m listening now. Please, Tim, give me a chance.”

“You’re high, boss.”

“So?” He could hear the begging edge to his own voice and he let it remain there. He let it seep in and take over.

“So,” Tim continued, pulling himself away from Jon’s grip. “Let’s get you home. You haven’t been working anyhow.”

“Home?”

“Christ, yeah, home, Jon, Georgie’s flat?”

“I, ahm— I don’t, I don’t live with her anymore. I’ve been staying in the Archives. Or, or hotels.”

And Tim all but glared at him. But he could see it, tucked and buried and hidden, was the other’s concern for him.

“Right, of course. With me then.”

What?

“I, uh— Pardon?”

“Come back to my place. You can stay with me for a bit. Just until you’re off whatever the docs put you on.”

Well, who was he to say no?

“Alright. I’ll go with you, Tim.”

[libraryofcarcosa]

cursed forever to sleep on a twin-size mattress.

@jontimjune - entrapment (day 10)

(tw more angst! probably. theyre bickering and it does get a little sad)

“Because we’re fucking trapped, Jon!” Third time this week.

Third fucking time this week.

This conversation had been had over and over, commonly involving Jon uttering something about how he should go on vacation and him, y’know, jumping in to explain he had tried.

“Don’t be ridiculous. We can go home, can we not?” Oh, right, of course that was his defense.

“Like you would know. You haven’t had a proper home in months. You’ve been on the run, huh, boss?” He was proud of that one.

The resulting sputter and falter from the Archivist was delightful. Satisfying, even.

“I’ve been with Georgie, actually. It is a roof over my head that isn’t the Institute’s. I believe you get my point.”

“Yeah, well, I believe you’re being a prick and refusing to listen to mine.” And Jon had no right to sigh like he was the one being tortured.

“Right, get on with it then, Tim.”

As if on command, he launched into his own prattle on and on about how he felt.

“I feel like— I feel like a fly in a goddamn web. Stuck up in here with no real escape. The vacation wasn’t really a vacation. I wanted to run away and it—” He had felt the tingle since he had first started talking. Compulsion.

“It went horrible. I went to Malaysia. And the further I was gone the worse condition I found myself in. I was sick, Jon, just being away from all of this—” He gestured around himself, to the shelves lined with files. “Left me sick.”

“So, we really are stuck here, then?” Jon sounded wistful, his voice light.

“That’d be the short of it.”

Jon scoffed. He scoffed. What was he scoffing for? At Tim, no less.

“The Buried.”

Ah. No, just a classic moment of Jon being a monster, rattling off the names of his fellow eldritch fear gods like no tomorrow.

“Excuse me?” Is all Tim muttered.

“The, the Buried. The Choke. Too Close I Can’t Breathe. The fear of, of being trapped. Especially without enough space.” This was followed by a shaky exhale.

“You said you felt trapped.”

“I said I am trapped.” Tim corrected.

“Yes, well, taking issue with that might be a cause of the Buried.”

“Wonderful. Any more advice, my dear eldritch encyclopedia?” He offered Jon a sneer for his troubles, curling his lips into an awful false grin.

“I was trying to help.”

Oh? Oh, help, was he?

“No,” Tim drew himself closer to the other, standing in front of his desk now. “No, you don’t get to pull that bullshit with me now, boss. You don’t get that option.”

And he jabbed a finger to the other’s chest, pressing in like he could break the skin if he just tried hard enough.

“You don’t get to help. You—” He emphasized with another jab, this one drawing a disgruntled sound from Jon. “You get to watch as I tear myself down just as you did, yeah?”

“Tim—”

“No. Shut it. Okay? For once keep your mouth shut and say nothing.”

And that silence was cherished. Treasured.

“You don’t get to help me now. You refused mine so I have every right to refuse yours. Keep it away from me, boss.”

And then he backed out of the room. Tim simply turned heel and left, no further explanation. He just—

He’d go clear his head. Calm down a bit.

Didn’t need to be freaking out Martin.

[libraryofcarcosa]

i can’t believe you’re just a burning memory.

@jontimjune - guilt / grief (day 9)

(tw for angst. like. god this one is sad.)

“Where did they even—” They had moved his stuff. Of course, they had moved his stuff.

Suppose that’s what he gets for being in a coma for the last six months, right?

But they could’ve, I don’t know, warned him when he got back? Maybe a simple ‘hey, Jon, by the way, all of your shit is in the wrong place and nothing is as you left it.’

No. No, that’s asking too much of them.

He’s lucky they even let him back into the archives, isn’t he?

A sigh, drawn from his own lips, slipped through and out into the open air. Another drawer rattled shut as he closed it.

He just needed a goddamn pen.

He’d found a plethora of pencils and markers, mostly of the colored variety for whatever reason, but zero pens.

Would the Spiral play this kind of trick on him? Send him— Send him spiraling via something that seemed rather harmless?

No. No, it wouldn’t.

Helen didn’t seem the kind to scatter markers and pencils around his workspace to throw him off. Or maybe it did. It was harder to tell the Distortion’s motives, nowadays.

With Michael, it had been much easier. Just as confusing and strange and migraine-inducing, yes, but it had at least spoke of its intentions.

Anyhow, next drawer.

This one creaked on its hinges as it was pulled out, the grating sound of metal on metal, the kind that set his teeth grinding.

And he felt a small tug, a pull, guiding him to look inside. He knew something was in here, just not what. He had no clue of what had captured the Eye’s attention with such ease.

Until he saw it.

Until he saw what it was and his breath caught in his throat, a gasp ripped from his lungs.

A lanyard.

Tim’s lanyard.

Trapped in a plastic sleeve, glinting in the low light, was Tim’s grinning face. He had never been one for stuffy office photos, meaning he’d taken this himself.

It was a simple portrait, a headshot, and the quality wasn’t great, but it had a charm to it.

He stared at the camera, his hazel eyes scattered with flecks of gold, green and brown, all captured and held close in a bundle of pixels.

His smile was wide and bright, baring his crooked teeth in all their sharp, angular glory. The indent of dimples lining his cheeks that only added to the authenticity of it all.

And damn his heart for seizing. And damn his lips for quivering. And damn his eyes for watering so readily. So quickly.

With shaky hands, he drew the lanyard into his grasp, holding it as if it were liable to shatter. To his chest. Straight to his chest is where he tucked it.

And he wished he could feel Tim’s warmth again, he realized. Wished he could feel anything from that man just one more time.

He missed him.

But it was his fault he had to mourn in the first place, isn’t it?

Stalking his friend, prying into his private life like he had any business to be there, of course he deserved the cold-hearted demeanor Tim had taken with him in the last few months before his death.

Tim who had worried for him. Tim who had only wanted to help. Tim who was shoved to the side in favor of his paranoia.

Tim who wanted Jon’s trust.

He snapped. All the weight on his shoulders proving too much as he sank to his knees, clutching the lanyard like a lifeline.

He was cradling it, he noticed, as the tears overflowed and streamed down his face.

Sob after sob, wail after wail, choking back the torrent of emotions, pushing back the current of grief and longing he couldn’t help but feel.

And he longed for so much.

He longed for another chance. He longed to crawl on hands and knees to Tim, to claw at his legs, and beg for his forgiveness like a sinner does to their god. He longed for stuff he could no longer have as well.

He wanted Tim back. He wanted him back more than he could ever express.

With Martin wrapped up with Peter, Basira on edge near him constantly, Melanie out for his blood, and Daisy presumed dead, he could really use the man’s company again.

But he was gone. And there was nothing Jon could do to bring him back.

And, besides, even if he was here, he’d said it himself. He’d never forgive Jon. He’d simply thanked him for letting him die.

That didn’t stop Jon from weeping, tucked in a ball practically underneath his desk. It’s not like he had anyone left to hear him.

Just his thoughts.

Just his thoughts and the evidence of what he’d done surrounding him. Faces wrecked by his own actions and lack thereof.

If only he could fix it all.