Summary: Dorian's portrait is to be Basil's masterpiece, in more ways than one. If only he could get its subject to stop killing him.
Content: Gods and Goddesses AU (kinda), time loops (kinda), ambiguous relationships, unhealthy relationships
Relationships: Platonic Basil and Henry, whatever the hell you'd consider Basil and Dorian
~
A blinding pain in his neck. His fingers twitching, useless. His damned portrait taunting him from the wall as the one who had been its likeness slaughtered him.
Basil opens his eyes in his studio and curses.
‘Lord’ Henry, disinterestedly smoking upon his couch once more, merely laughs at his agitation. “I take it things are still going poorly?”
Basil doesn’t dignify the mocking question with an answer, instead turning to his again blank canvas. By the time he has crossed the room to where it sits, a paintbrush is in his hand, and without hesitation Basil begins his masterpiece anew.
Behind him, Henry sighs. “Can you not at least take a break between these attempts?”
“No. I fear forgetting him if I do.” Basil answers, though it’s a half-truth at best. He could never forget Dorian Gray, not now, not in eons.
“Basil, there is only so long I can be contained to this era.” Henry bemoans even as Basil ignores him and continues his work. “And as fun as it is to toy with this promising young lad, I long to see what other temptations and naïve mortals the future holds.”
“Perhaps, then, you should consider your words more carefully this time.”
“Now you are simply being unreasonable. You know this is my nature. You picked me precisely for it. Who am I to deny it?”
Basil huffs, silently conceding the point. Dark desires, selfish wantings, unthinking wishes granted- that was Henry’s very essence, had been even before Basil painted his own portrait and rendered him immortal. It had been Basil’s mistake to allow him near his newest project.
“Even if it weren’t,” Basil listens as Henry stretches out further upon his divan, shifting so that he may always be at his most comfortable, “it is your story. I cannot change it myself. If you truly wish me not to say such things in this iteration, it is only yourself who can stop me.”
“You think I have not tried? I beg you not to ruin him, you ignore me. I beg him to not listen to you, he ignores me. I send you away before you have the chance to say anything at all, and somehow you always return to my story regardless. Were it possible, I am afraid I would have resorted to killing you a hundred paintings ago.”
For a moment, Henry has nothing to say to that. He has not stopped smoking, and wisps of the noxious pleasure float past Basil as he paints, this particular piece of art so well-known to him by now he needs not give more than a second of thought as the colours change and swirl with every stroke. He is careful, however, to avoid the face. Its completion is his story’s beginning. It must wait.
“Have you considered that, perhaps, this is how this story is meant to go?” Now Basil turns towards Henry, frowning, no pause in his work even as he looks away from it. Henry merely shrugs. “It sounds as though I am drawn to him. Could it not be that he is meant to become beautiful corruption, or fallen graces, or decaying decadence?”
Despite the distance between them, Basil recoils from Henry. “Don’t say such awful things, Harry. I would know if he was meant for that. I can assure you he is not.”
“In any other case I would trust your judgement unquestioningly, Basil, but I fear it may be clouded here. I am aware there is a certain level of precision your work demands that occasionally necessitates do-overs, but it has gotten out of hand with this boy. I should know.”
“It took me nearly a dozen tries to perfect your painting.”
“And in the time you have spent on this painting, you could have done mine over another several dozen times.”
Basil turns back towards the painting in question. Once again, it was nearly finished. “You don’t understand.”
“Don’t understand what?”
“I have told you of the pull I’ve felt to him. I have known every mortal there has ever been to know, but never has one been so clearly made to be worshipped. His very being is woven through with gold and ambrosia. He personifies beauty, elegance, summer youth. There can be no mistaking it. He is no cast-off Lucifer or errant Icarus. His story must be flawless.”
“He will be worshipped no matter what you make of him, Storyteller.” Henry reminds Basil, his title rolling off the indulgent god’s tongue with none of the respect the rest of the pantheon would pay their creator. “That is not why you are insisting upon trapping yourself in a decades long cycle that keeps ending with your demise at the hands of your Adonis.”
“His story must be flawless,” Basil repeats, setting down his brush. The painting has returned to the state it is always in when the story starts, only a bit more work away from becoming something empyrean, “just as he is. I will not let it be set off course, no matter how hard you or anyone else tries. If it takes a thousand attempts to do so, then so be it. My work is the highest calling of this world, my every story as important as the other, yet this masterpiece transcends them all. Take no offense, Harry, for this is greater than you. This is greater than even I. He shall be the pinnacle of all that is good, and all that is blessed. It is what he is meant to be. I know it to be true.”
Basil feels Henry’s stare on his back, the queer piercing gaze he uses to look both at physicality and at the parts of a man’s soul that belong to his domain. He will find nothing, both because there is nothing to see, and because Basil’s stories are not permitted to turn their tales and tricks upon their author, and as such Basil pays him no mind. Their time is running short as is. Dorian will arrive soon, and Basil’s work will begin anew, and Henry will join the narrative he will remember nothing of if Basil is forced to scrap it again.
“It seems I cannot change your mind. Not now, at least.” Henry looks away from Basil, the weight of his stare leaving Basil like an anchor lifted off the seafloor. “Perhaps in another few attempts.”
“Have you no faith in my capabilities?”
“In your capabilities, never. It is you who worries me, Basil.”
“Rest your worries, then.” Basil moves to take his seat, crossing his legs at the ankles as though the slight change in posture might be all the alteration he needs to guide the story right this time. “I know exactly what I’m doing.”
Henry sighs, rearranging himself and unconsciously assuming the same position he has always begun the story in, and likely always will. “That is what I am afraid of.”
Basil doesn’t notice the mumbled comment, putting his focus to the coming story. Golden curls brushing the fair skin of his clavicle. His arm linked in Basil’s. The portrait that will capture his mortal self and let him live on, unaging, divine.
“It is your best work, Basil, the best thing you have ever done.” Lord Henry says, and the story begins again.
(SURPRISE SURPRISE BABY'S FIRST FIC (OR DRABBLE WHATEVER) BEING POSTED TO TUMBLR
@artymiswritesfics happy birthday my lovely little frog <3 sorry if this is kinda meh)
“You have paw beans?!”
Ranboo blinked in surprise as the smaller boy interrupted himself with a small gasp. “Uh… yeah?” He responded with a small chuckle, turning his face away shyly and fiddling with his hands. He wasn’t used to having his gloves off in front of others, he usually kept them on when he wasn’t alone, it was like a comfort thing. But he trusted Tubbo enough to have them off around him.
Tubbo noticed how Ranboo got a bit shy at the topic change, toning down his excitement as he spoke again. “Can I see them?” He asked in a much softer tone. Ranboo hesitated for a moment, but after a second or two, he reached his hands out to Tubbo with a small nod.
Tubbo never fails to surprise him with how gentle he is with him, delicately taking his hands into his own to inspect the soft pink pads. If this had been with anybody else, maybe he would have been more nervous and uncomfortable, but Tubbo’s hands were so warm and the soft look of awe on the boy’s face made Ranboo’s lips quirk up into a fond smile. Tubbo always had a way of making him feel all soft, he doesn’t know how he manages to do it so effortlessly.
Tubbo moved his thumbs to gently trace over the larger pads on the palms of his hands and giggled when his fingers twitched at the unexpected feeling. “This is so cute!” He cooed.
Ranboo’s face began to flush, both at Tubbo’s and the butterflies starting to form in his stomach at his touch. “It is nohot-” He argued back, the giggle that slipped out making him bite his lip to keep any other noises in.
Tubbo noticed his fight to not react and grinned up at him, before turning his attention back to his hands and speeding up his movements ever so slightly, the unintentional tickling becoming much more purposeful as he drew little circles into the pads. “I think it is~!”
Ranboo gave a strangled squeak and a shake of the head in response, not wanting to risk the giggles that were steadily bubbling up in his chest escaping. His attempts were short-lived though, the dam being slowly chipped away until a stream of little bubbly giggles came pouring out, Ranboo leaning forward a bit to press his face into Tubbo’s shoulder.
Tubbo’s grin softened at the sight of Ranboo giggling his heart out and smiling brightly into the fabric of Tubbo’s shirt, and with him leaning forward he had a full view of his tail rapidly swishing side to side, which he couldn’t help but aww at. “You’re adorable.” He said, his tone warm and soft rather than teasy as he leaned his head against Ranboo’s.
When Ranboo responded with just a muffled whine, Tubbo gave a small chuckle and let go of one of Ranboo’s hands to hold onto the other, switching from tracing little circles with his thumb to lightly scribbling his fingers around the big pad. “Tubbohoho!” Ranboo squeaked out at the sudden change in tactics, burying his face further into Tubbo’s shoulder and his now free hand coming up to hold onto his arm.
“Ranboo!” Tubbo playfully mocked him. “You seem to be really enjoying yourself, you’re practically melting right now.” He teased, much to Ranboo’s embarrassment. Before Ranboo could think of a proper remark, Tubbo took advantage of the position they were in to whisper into his ear. “Ticketickletickle-”
Ranboo immediately shot back up into his previous position with a squeal, his shoulders scrunching up at the feeling on his ears. “Shuhuhut uhuhup!” He giggled out, giving Tubbo a little playful shove, who simply laughed at his reaction. “Gohohod, yohou’re the wohohorst!”
“I know,” Tubbo said with a mischievous smirk. “But you love me anyway.” He added with a wink, stopping his little tickle attack to hold his arms out for Ranboo, who rolled his eyes through his after-giggles.
“Yeheah, yeah, I do,” Ranboo muttered lightheartedly, accepting Tubbo’s offer of cuddles and once again leaning against him, and the smaller boy’s face lit up and he wrapped his arms around his much taller husband, leaning back into the couch with him.
“And I love you too!” Tubbo said as he nuzzled his face into Ranboo’s hair. “Do you want me to, you know… keep going?”
Ranboo’s face started to heat up again at the question, hiding it in Tubbo’s chest as he mumbled out a reply. “...if you want to…”
Tubbo didn’t say anything, he only smiled down at him and pressed a small platonic kiss to his temple, his hands moving over to his back to trace around the shoulder blade area. Ranboo wrapped his arms around Tubbo’s waist as he melted back into him and dissolved into more content giggles, his tail happily swaying side to side.
This boy never failed to make him soft. Too soft. But he certainly wasn’t complaining.
I am a writer. This is more an affirmation than a statement of fact. I’m not sure if you’ve ever done that thing where you make a list of affirmations before. I have. Did it last week. I’m seeing a counselor for my depression and anxiety. The idea was to create a list of true statements about myself, good things. The fun part is that you don’t always believe them.
The statement “I am a writer” is an affirmation because while it is objectively true, I struggle to believe it. Of course I’m a writer. I love writing stories and journals. I’m a creative writing major. Writing is my everything. It’s cheesy, but it’s true. I write to cope, celebrate, vent, relax, everything. You may be wondering now “if she’s obviously a writer, why can’t she believe it?” Well, nameless reader, I can’t believe it because, for the past two weeks, I have written a grand total of 20 pages.
Writing is my everything, and yet I find myself scooped out like a goddamn pumpkin. Actually, no, because a pumpkin has a chance to become a grinning jack o'lantern. I’m scooped out like a grave. There is nothing beautiful left in me. Just something putrid and rotting. I am full of dead ideas and wriggling maggots that are gnawing at my finger bones as I try in vain to squeeze life out of a bloated corpse called creativity.
This is all I can do now. I can type. I type out words that are close to truth and I settle. I settle because I’ve lost everything. Sure, I’ve got family and most of my health and I’ve got food and I’ve got an education. But what’s the point? I live to write and vice versa. What’s the point if I can’t do the one thing I’m certain of?
I am haunted by blank word documents. They’re always on my screen. I type out a line and delete it because it goes nowhere. Lines are supposed to be infinite. It’s a fact of math class that actually stuck with me. Just because we only see part of the line, doesn’t stop it being infinite. My lines aren’t infinite. They lay on the page, just a collection of letters that happen to form some statement or action that would be better articulated by a child’s rag doll.
I’ve officially hit 21 pages in two weeks. Brilliant.
Hell is real, and it is a room full of blank pages and flashing cursors.
Summary: Every court case Phoenix works is like a dance, in a way, if it's the type of dance where both partners are constantly trying to take over leading the case and you ignore the fact that he can't dance.
Most of them don't involve him actually dancing, however.
Content: Unresolved (romantic) tension, dancing, parallels, minor character death/violence in relation to a case
Ship: Narumitsu/wrightworth but in the pining way
Notes: ‘Dan Surest’ is supposed to sound like ‘dancer-ous’, a pun on dancer + dangerous. I know, I’m a genius
~
“Your Honor, it is the defense’s belief that the victim’s ex, Dan Surest, is the true killer!”
“How do you propose he killed her, Mr. Wright? Multiple witnesses have testified that the two avoided each other the entire night.”
“And as we previously established, the fatal wound was dealt directly.” Edgeworth added, looking as smug as he usually did in court. “In case you were planning to claim he threw the blade at her.”
Phoenix ignored the quip. “The two may have evaded each other for the majority of the night, but they weren’t able to completely avoid each other. After all, even strangers ended up meeting… during the final dance of the night!”
Noises of shock rose from the court around Phoenix at his declaration, the judge’s eyes wide as well as he banged his gavel and demanded order. Edgeworth seemed slightly thrown off, but not as much as Phoenix wanted (he was never as thrown off as Phoenix wanted him to be).
“Mr. Wright, are you saying that Ms. Crow was killed while she was dancing?!” The judge asked incredulously. The list of things that would surprise the judge was longer than one of Larry’s every blunder, so Phoenix didn’t worry too much about sounding too unreasonable- compared to some of his other ideas, really, this one was pretty tame.
Phoenix nodded once, pulling out his file sheet on Raven Crow’s ex. “Mr. Surest is a renowned dancer. It would have been easy for him to both perform the final dance of the night and stab the victim at the same time.”
“Well, I do supp-”
“Objection!” Edgeworth cut the judge off before he could finish his thought, which Phoenix didn’t appreciate. Didn’t Edgeworth appreciate that being the defense was hard? He deserved to actually hear whatever words of support he could get. “Your Honor, this claim of the defense just shows how few straws they have left to grasp at.”
Especially if he was going to be so mean. Like usual.
“It leaves far too many questions unanswered.” Edgeworth went on, mockingly shaking his head. “Even for you, Wright, this is a stretch.”
Phoenix planted his hands on the bench. “If the prosecution would allow me to explain the idea-”
The prosecution didn’t. “The difference between dance in theory and in reality is even larger than the empty space between Mr. Wright’s ears. With no video or other form of demonstration to check this ridiculous idea against, any explanation given is useless.”
The judge closed his eyes, deliberating for a moment before he said, “Mr. Edgeworth raises a valid point. Mr. Wright, do you have a way to provide this court with an example or demonstration of the final dance?”
Phoenix wasn’t sure if there was a point in stalling the answer to this particular question. He didn’t have anything that could be considered an ‘example or demonstration of the final dance’- the scene of the crime had no cameras, and it wasn’t as if he had thought he’d need to pick up any materials to teach the court how to dance.
“If the judge wants a demonstration…” Phoenix glanced over when Maya started talking, looking thoughtful, “can’t you just give him one?”
“What do you mean?”
“Like, you know, do the dance for him.”
“That… could work.” Phoenix admitted, before sighing. “If I knew how to dance.”
Maya didn’t seem discouraged. “Maybe Edgeworth does. He looks like the type who knows how to dance.”
“...I’m not going to ask Edgeworth to demonstrate a dance in front of the entire court. Especially one that is going to help our side.”
“Fine then, I will.” Maya replied, and that was all the warning Phoenix got before she was yelling across the courtroom. “Hey, Edgeworth!”
To his credit, Edgeworth merely raised an eyebrow at the sudden exclamation. “Yes?”
“Can you dance?”
That caught him more off guard. “Can I- is the defense attempting to request that I demonstrate the victim’s final dance?”
“No!” Phoenix protested, pointing accusingly at Maya. “She is! Alone! Not the defense!”
The judge shook his head. “Miss Fey is a part of the defense, Mr. Wright, and therefore she can speak for it.”
Phoenix resisted the urge to put his head in his hands. Might as well go all in, right? “Then, yes. The defense requests that Miles Edgeworth, uh, take the floor and demonstrate the dance for the court!”
The looks Phoenix got from both the judge and Edgeworth made him want to crawl into the ground. He was never letting Maya into court with him ever again.
“Mr. Wright-”
Not wanting to hear whatever remark the judge had for him, Phoenix interrupted him. “Your Honor, the prosecution is the one who made the point that the dance could not be properly considered without a visual demonstration. If Mr. Edgeworth can provide this demonstration, by his own logic, he should be required to do so!”
“...The defense is right.” The judge conceded after a long moment, much to Edgeworth’s chagrin, if his murderous look was anything to go by. “Mr. Edgeworth, can you perform the dance?”
The sound of Edgeworth grinding his teeth together echoed through the entire courthouse. “It is a… simple waltz mixer with an end alteration. I can do it easily, but not without a partner.”
“In that case-”
“Mr. Wright,” Edgeworth continued on, ignoring the judge, “shall we?”
Should Phoenix have seen this coming? Yes. Yes he should have.
“What?! But I- I can’t dance! Much less a waltz!”
But Edgeworth was set on his revenge. “As I said, it’s a simple dance. I’ll lead.” When Phoenix remained silent, only staring in disbelief, Edgeworth smirked. “Unless, of course, you don’t want a chance to make your point?”
Infuriatingly, unsurprisingly, Edgeworth had Phoenix cornered. This demonstration was his only chance to prove Surest not only could have been the killer but was, and therefore his only chance to make sure justice was served. If that meant he had to dance with Edgeworth in front of a courtroom full of people, then… Phoenix would do it. Begrudgingly.
“Fine.” Phoenix forced himself to stay, stepping out from behind the bench. Still smirking, Edgeworth did the same. They each made their way across the courtroom floor until they were standing in front of each other at the center.
“Put your arms out.” Edgeworth ordered, and Phoenix did so despite how silly it felt. He waited for the inevitable insult from his opposition, likely some sort of jab at his posture, but none came. Instead, Edgeworth just arranged Phoenix’s arms as necessary, touch gentle as he placed one of Phoenix’s hands on his own shoulder. The other hand he held, lifting them together until they were fully stretched out, his free hand coming to rest on Phoenix’s hip.
“The majority of this waltz is just a matter of walking circles.” Edgeworth told him, voice low enough Phoenix wasn’t sure if even Maya could hear. It made the situation feel more like a private dance lesson than a public showing, and for some reason, that made it harder to breathe.
And then Edgeworth began to move, and Phoenix did his best to match him, stepping forward when he stepped back, tilting to the side when he tilted. The first few rotations were more squiggly ovals than circles, and more than once Phoenix stepped on Edgeworth’s toes, but he got the hang of it faster than he expected.
“Most waltz mixers end there, with the partners separating and joining with someone else,” Edgeworth explained, voice still too quiet, the word ‘partners’ catching on Phoenix’s ears even as Edgeworth practically whispered it, “but since this dance was performed at an event largely attended by skilled dancers, they added an extra element: a dip at the end.”
Phoenix barely had a chance to prepare himself before Edgeworth was moving their joined hands towards the back of his neck, leaving Phoenix’s hand to rest there as he braced his now-free hand against Phoenix’s back, leaning forward to dip Phoenix in one smooth motion.
Phoenix wasn’t nearly as sleek, knees buckling to adjust to the new position and his feet sliding across the floor. The end result had Edgeworth supporting nearly all his weight, which he managed… without any clear hassle. Alright.
They remained like that for a few seconds, at most, but the time seemed to stretch infinitely longer for Phoenix, as if he were suspended in more than just Edgeworth’s arms.
And then it was over, Edgeworth helping to pull Phoenix back to his feet. He once more held Phoenix’s hand, stepping away from him as he did so, finally speaking loud enough for the court to hear. “The dip ends, the dancers part, and they swirl into dance with whomever else is next to them.”
Edgeworth released Phoenix’s hand as he finished his sentence, and Phoenix curled his fingers around the empty air. The distance between them was shorter than it usually was in court, but somehow, after the dance, it felt too far. Phoenix was left staring at Edgeworth, mouth partly open as if he had something to say but didn’t know how to choose the words. In turn, all Edgeworth did was stare back, silent, no scathing comments about Phoenix catching flies gracing his lips.
The judge clearing his throat- loudly, as if that wasn’t the first time he had- finally dragged Phoenix’s attention away from Edgeworth. “Thank you for that demonstration, Mr. Edgeworth, Mr. Wright. If the defense would now like to make their case against Mr. Surest, you two may return t-”
Edgeworth, having dismissed himself from the center of the court before the judge began to, was halfway back to his bench when Phoenix called out, “Wait!”
Incredibly, Edgeworth actually did stop, glancing back to see what Phoenix wanted. He didn’t look angry, or annoyed, just… tense.
After a moment of staring too long, Phoenix turned towards the judge. “Your Honor, the defense requests a second demonstration, to properly highlight the exact moment and manner of the murder!”
Looking away from him, Phoenix couldn’t tell what Edgeworth’s reaction was, but he could feel his eyes still on him, likely trying to kill him with a look. Phoenix didn’t really blame him.
“I’ll allow it.” The judge decided after a moment. “But only once more! This is a court of law, not tomfoolery.”
Phoenix disagreed with that assessment of the court, personally, but he knew better than to voice it. Instead, he simply nodded, turning back towards Edgeworth and reaching out his hand. “Once more?”
“It seems I have no choice.” Edgeworth replied sharply, though he didn’t offer any other form of protest as he once again approached Phoenix, accepting his hand and placing his other at Phoenix’s hip just as he had before. Phoenix put his on Edgeworth’s shoulder, and the dance began again.
“Surest couldn’t have done it during the spinning,” Phoenix murmured, his usually internal monologue drawn out by the closeness in the dance, mirroring the way Edgeworth had spoken the first time, “the pain would have distracted Crow, thrown her off, drawn attention to the pair.”
They completed their spinning in silence that didn’t feel quite that silent, Phoenix now following Edgeworth’s lead with ease, as if he had practiced a hundred times and not just once. Again, Phoenix’s hand was left to find support against the back of Edgeworth’s neck as they fell into a dip, Phoenix sliding more purposefully but still finding much of his weight held up solely by Edgeworth.
“So he stabbed her during the dip?” Edgeworth prompted him, as if he wasn’t even trying to make sure the rest of the court could hear him, as if the only person he cared about hearing him was the only one close enough to do so.
“She was stabbed in the side, just above the hip.” Phoenix replied, and Edgeworth’s hand tightened where he held Phoenix just there. It was barely anything, considering how many layers of clothing were between Phoenix and Edgeworth, but Phoenix could have sworn he felt the touch directly against his skin, burning. “It makes sense that’s when he would have acted.”
“Wouldn’t she have noticed him reaching for the weapon?”
“It was a razor removed from its handle, he could have hidden it down his sleeve until the right moment. He wouldn’t have needed to reach for it.”
Edgeworth hummed in acknowledgement of Phoenix’s logic. “And the pain? Surely she wouldn’t have missed that?”
“She didn’t. She just thought it was something else.” It’s a tacky way to phrase it, something he’s supposed to use against an entire courtroom, to get the laypeople listening and keep the judge awake, but the only audience he’s entertaining now is Edgeworth, who’s never been impressed any of his slick words in court, who’s never been impressed by anything of Phoenix, who Phoenix is always trying to impress. “That’s why she had scratch marks on her back- Surest made her think he was just digging his nails in, nothing else.”
“She didn’t realize why the pain was lingering until it was too late.” Edgeworth helped finish for him, and Phoenix was reminded of the position they were in, in the deadly dip that had sealed Raven Crow’s fate, the final dance of her life, their mimicry of her death stretching on too long as Edgeworth showed no signs of letting Phoenix fall.
“Miles…” Phoenix starts, and even he doesn’t know where he’s planning on going with it.
“Phoenix.” Miles echoes, and Phoenix barely has a chance to react before he’s being pulled to his feet once more, face too close to Miles’s and then not nearly close enough as he completes their dance, fingers interlaced as he steps away.
“Your Honor, in light of the defense’s argument, and further review of the circumstances of the night, the prosecution requests that Dan Surest be called back to the stand!” Miles says to the judge, eyes still on Phoenix.
The judge seems confused by Miles’s request, and Phoenix has the strong suspicion that he has no idea what argument was just made, that the only one who had heard it at all was the one letting his hand linger in Phoenix’s.
But he still nods, acquiescing. “Very well. Bailiff, fetch Dan Surest! Mr. Wright, Mr. Edgeworth, you may now both return to your benches.”
Phoenix thinks the judge should ask them if they even want to go back at this point, because he wants to know what Miles would do. But he doesn’t, and Miles lets go of his hand so that they can both walk back to their usual spots, an entire courtroom and a case and verdict and pasts neither of them asked for stretching between them once again.
But the distance between doesn’t erase the burn of Miles’s hand at his side, of the support against his back holding him up, of their fingers brushing even as they stepped away from each other. Maya looks at him funny as he presses the tips of his fingers to the spot just above his hip, like a mockery of the murder.
Across the court, Miles studies the grain of the prosecutor’s bench as he squeezes the back of his neck.
Summary: Virgil’s usual therapist was... unique. The man who just slumped into his seat is even unique-r. Of everything Virgil expected from the stranger, it definitely wasn’t actual advice.
Pairings: Platonic sleepxiety, romantic remile, background LAMP, background RED
Warnings: Sympathetic deceit (mentioned), food mention (kinda), like one swear, fears of abandonment
Virgil hadn’t been thrilled about going to see yet another therapist. One too many bad experiences in the past had made him extremely hesitant when his boyfriends told him about Dr. Emile Picani.
True to their word, however, Emile had been… unique, somehow in a good way. His methods weren’t orthodox, in any sense of the word, but they worked. It helped that Emile had seemed so familiar almost immediately, a feeling Virgil later attributed to how similar yet different he was from his boyfriends- logical like Logan, yet extremely bubbly like Patton. And for Roman, so much Disney. So, so much Disney.
But it worked. Emile’s general kookiness and tendency to link problems to cartoons put Virgil more at ease than any clinical outlook at his problems ever had. It had been a few months since he first got asked, “Do you how do?” and he was doing surprisingly great.
So, of course, now was the perfect time for things to go upside down.
He had been anxiously checking the clock- it was normal for Emile to come in a little bit after the patient; he always had some dramatic entrance planned (Virgil was still finding glitter in his clothes from the time he had used a sparkle bomb), but five minutes late? The doc was normally very punctual- when the door opened. He glanced over, expecting to see Emile doing something positively ridiculous.
Instead, someone in a black leather jacket and sunglasses breezed into the room, flopping into Emile’s chair and throwing their legs over one of the arms. Virgil watched, bewildered, as the stranger took a long sip from their starbucks cup.
“So,” They drawled, letting their head roll to the side so they were actually looking at Virgil, “tell me about your emotional shit.”
Virgil frowned, confused. “...Who are you?”
“Emile is sick, so I’m your stand-in therapist.”
“Did you even go to medical school?”
“Listen, babes, we’re here to talk about you, not my qualifications.” They answered, taking another sip of their drink.
Virgil crossed his arms. “Yeah, because talking to a wannabe rock star whose name I don’t even know and has probably never seen a degree of higher learning is going to do me a lot of good.”
“You forgot caffeine addicted, sugar.” They replied, unfazed. “And if you want my name so bad, it’s Remy.”
“Great.” Virgil said sarcastically. “Random stranger Remy, wannabe rock star with a coffee addiction, wants to try and help me solve my problems.”
“Random stranger?” Remy repeated, sounding faux hurt. “I’m just a random stranger to you?”
“I’ve never seen you before in my life.”
“Yeah I got that bit.” Remy responded. “I’m hung up on the fact that you’ve never heard of me.”
“Should I have?”
Remy frowned, though he still sounded more amused than upset as he grumbled, “Figures Em would be responsible… not talking about his personal life with his patients…”
“Actually, that reminds me.” Virgil said, mostly ignoring the mumbles. “How do you even know Emile? Are you a past patient with an authority complex, or-”
“I’m his better boyfriend.” Remy said, cutting Virgil off.
Virgil scoffed. “Better? Oh, so it’s a superiority complex.”
“Nah, it’s just the truth.” Remy countered. “See, Dante’s a knockout of a man, but he’s not willing to step up to bat when it matters. ‘Em’s sick, we should cancel his appointments.’ ‘No, Rem, you playing therapist is not a good idea.’ ‘I think you drinking another coffee right now will kill you do you really think you can offer any form of sane therapy.’ He’s such a killjoy.”
“Did you ever consider he might have been right?”
“Very briefly, yes.” Remy admitted with another sip of what Virgil now suspected to be a supposedly fatal coffee. “But listening to him wouldn’t have been much fun.”
“So you decided to disturb your boyfriend’s patients?”
“Of course not!” Remy replied with a dismissive wave of his hand. “I’m here to disturb a patient. You’re the only person Em was seeing today, so here I am! To deliver you helpful emotional advice!”
Virgil chuckled. “Yeah, that’s going to go well.”
“Well it might if you actually told me something.” Remy said, shifting in the chair so his legs were hooked over the top and his head was dangling above the ground. “Spill the tea, hunny.” He ordered while, somehow, taking a sip of his drink and neither spilling nor choking on it.
“How- How are you doing that?” Virgil asked, thinking back to his one attempt to drink upside down. It had ended with a ruined shirt and a good two minutes of choked panic.
“It’s an artform. Now spillllllllllll.”
“This is extremely unprofessional.” Virgil responded before continuing, “But things are fine. There’s the fear of abandonment but that’s nothing new-”
“Don’t care if it isn’t new.” Remy said, stopping Virgil. “Sounds important. Let’s start there.”
Virgil raised an eyebrow questioningly. “You actually want to try and do something helpful?”
“Did you think I wanted to hear about your most likely boring life for kicks?”
“Basically, yeah.”
“You give me no credit, babe. Just because I’m not certified to say helpful shit doesn’t mean I can’t.” Remy smirked. “Maybe you haven’t heard, but one of my boyfriends is a therapist. I’ve learned a lot from him.”
“I find that doubtful, but go wild.” Virgil said, leaning back into the couch.
Remy placed his cup down next to his head before pressing his hands together like a prayer beneath (or in this case, over) his chin. He wouldn’t have looked serious if he was sitting right-side up, but upside down just made him look even dorkier than his cartoon-adoring partner.
“Tell me, Virgil, why do you have abandonment issues?” He asked, sounding about as professional as a five-year-old playing doctor.
“The universe hates me.”
“Mmhmmm yes yes let me write this down.” Remy said, nodding as he dug into his jean pocket, pulling out a silver sharpie, rolling down his jacket sleeve and scribbling ‘universe sucks’ on his arm. “Could you elaborate on that? How does it make you feel?”
“Like I’m going to be abandoned.”
Remy nodded again. “I see… have you considered the possibility that you are, in fact, not going to be abandoned?”
“Miracle of miracle- my problems are solved!”
“No need to be so sarcastic.” Remy said, jabbing his sharpie at Virgil. “My solution is airtight. But if you insist on being ‘complicated’ and having ‘complex problems’ you should probably tell me why you think everyone is going to abandon you for reasons other than the general hatred of the universe focused against you.”
Virgil chuckled. “That’s a lot of big words you strung together.”
“And that’s some very good discussion redirection you’re doing.”
Virgil clicked his tongue. Mr. Indoor Sunglasses and Afternoon Coffee was smarter than he seemed. “Listen, I realize I’m worth a lot more than I thought before I started meeting with Emile. But I’m still nowhere on the level anyone I know is. The other shoe’s gotta fall and I am, stupidly, still afraid for it.”
Remy started writing on his arm again, making bullets beneath the ‘universe sucks statement’;
-’Imposter’ boi
-Sad boi
-Stupid boi
“Hey!” Virgil exclaimed defensively. “‘Stupid boi?’ I thought you were supposed to be making me feel better about my self-worth or something, not attack me.”
“You’ve clearly got that front covered, love, I don’t even have to touch it.” Remy replied, putting a little star next to the last bullet point for emphasis. “But while you cover the attacks, I’ll focus on the facts.”
“Nice rhyme.”
“I’m good like that. Now I’m not allowed to look at Em’s notes because patient confidentiality or something silly and highly technical, so you’re gonna have to lend me a hand here- who are you afraid will abandon you? Y’know, aside from everyone.”
Virgil shrugged. “I don’t know. My boyfriends I guess.”
“How long have y’all been dating?”
“Two and a half years.”
“...Sugar, I don’t know how to explain the concept of ‘if they haven’t left yet they ain’t gonna leave ever’ to you but-”
Virgil cut him off, “That is not how relationships work. If it was the divorce rates would be a lot lower.”
“You miss my point.” Remy said with a sigh, righting himself in the chair and for the first time that day looking actually serious. “Do relationships fail? Yes, it sucks, but it can happen to a couple of fifty years. That’s just life, sweetheart, I won’t sugarcoat it.”
“Helpful.”
“Let me finish. When those relationships fail, it’s because a fight or an opinion they didn’t know the other had comes up. Or something, I don’t know, I’m not a relationship counselor.” Remy added with a shrug. “What I do know, is that relationships that have existed for longer than six months don’t break up because they suddenly think one of them is worthless or some other bullshit. If your bfs are that pretentious, they would’ve dropped you ages ago-”
“My self-esteem is doing amazingly, thanks-”
“-and you would have been the better for it.” Remy finished, waving a finger. “You really need to stop interrupting. You miss the best parts.”
“...What do you mean?” Virgil asked, pausing as he actually processed what Remy had said. Remy smiled, and it must have been the most gentle and genuine one he had worn all day.
“Whether or not you’ll admit it, Virgil, you have worth. A whole hecking lot of it, as my cartoonish partner would say. If your boyfriends had left you in the beginning, it would have been their loss. And I find it highly doubtful they’re going to let you escape them now.” Remy leaned in a bit, smile morphing into a more mischievous one as he added in a stage whisper, “And if they do, I’ll help you egg their house.”
Virgil laughed at that. “Y’know,” He started after a moment, still smiling, “you’re not as incompetent as you look.”
“The secret is setting expectations so low, any single thing you do right is an overachievement.” Remy told him as he stood up, dramatically stretching before picking his coffee cup back up. “Now, as much fun as beating your problems with a stick is, the session’s over, and I have two boyfriends to annoy.”
“Even the sick one?”
“Annoyance is my primary personality trait. He knew the sort of caregiving he was signing up for.” Remy said as he moved towards the door. He stopped in the doorway for a second to turn back to Virgil with a wave. “Toodles, babes!”
And then he was gone, just about as dramatically as he had come. Virgil remained seated on the couch for a moment, shaking his head with a smile.
When he finally convinced himself to head out to the parking lot, he found Patton waiting, sitting on the hood of his car. He grinned broadly and waved when he spotted Virgil, greeting him with a kiss.
“How was it today?” Patton asked while Virgil moved for the passenger door. “You were in longer than usual. Session run late?”
Virgil shook his head with a chuckle. “Nah. Today was just… unique.”
“Good unique or bad unique?” Patton asked hesitantly.
“Good unique.” Virgil reassured him. “I’ll tell you what happened once we meet up with the pen and the sword.”
Patton raised his eyebrows. “Oh, nicknames? Someone’s happy!”
“Yeah, Pat, I am.”
Patton smiled even bigger and turned on the car.
~~
“Loves, your favorite bitch it back!”
The house quietly regarded Remy with no response. Remy frowned as he dropped his sunglasses on the small table in the hall. He wandered to the bedroom, finding Emile curled up and watching Steven Universe, not even noticing Remy’s entrance.
Smiling, Remy snuck around the bed, shrugging off his jacket before sliding into the bed and hugging Emile from behind. Startled, Emile turned his head, relaxing when he realized it was Remy.
“Oh, hi Rem.” Emile said, sleepy, before his eyes widened. He tried to pull away from Remy. “You’re going to get yourself sick.”
Remy just tightened his grip and laughed. “I have no immune system, love, I’ve been destined to get sick since your first sneeze. Plus, I will risk illness for attention and cuddles. Where’s Dante? I want triple cuddles.”
Emile gave up trying to escape the hug, instead rolling his head so he could partially tuck it into Remy’s shoulder. “He’s getting me ice cream.”
“What? Why?”
“Because I’m sick and I said please.”
“I thought ice cream was ‘unhealthy’ and ‘not for sick people.’”
“Dante said that because when you were sick, it was from drinking too much coffee.” Emile replied. “Speaking of, you didn’t pick up any on the way to my session, did you?”
“...No?”
“Rem.”
Remy chuckled and pressed a kiss to Emile’s temple. “Don’t worry, darling, I’m not going to allow for a repeat of the Coffee Disaster of May.”
“Hmm.” Emile hummed, disbelievingly. “How was Virgil?”
“Pretty good. Worried about his boyfriends leaving him but I casually called him stupid and everything was fixed.”
“This is why no one believes you went to med school.”
Remy twisted his head a bit to smirk at Emile. “Hey, my complete lack of professionalism is the entire reason you get to be the psych doc without even having to think about student loans.”
“I know.” Emile said, moving up so he could kiss Remy. “It’s why I love you.”
“Oh, so all I am to you is a free bachelor's and master’s degree?”
“It’s one of the many reasons I love you.” Emile amended, yawning as he curled closer to Remy. “Along with the fact you’re a great hugger.”
“And to think you tried to escape my hug but five minutes ago.” Remy teased, but he curled in a little more as well, quietly watching Steven Universe with his boyfriend as they both gradually fell asleep.
These two descriptions are of the exact same thing:
"The brake lights peered through the heady fog like a dozen red eyes, glaring back at me. Taunting. Maybe waiting."
"The brake lights of the cars ahead glowed softly like Christmas lights viewed through a child's sleepy eyes in the early hours of that delighted holiday."
Both about the taillights through the fog on the interstate this morning, and yet entirely different implications and tones. Neat, right?
A/N: okay so the title was supposed to be “floof” but it autocorrected to floor and i thought it was funny so i just left it.
Summary: Ran is clingy and is very much in love. that’s basically it
“Can you hurry up please?”
“Be patient, you big baby,” Jackie rolled his eyes, though it’s not like it was visible with the sweater over his head as he pulled his arms through the sleeves. “You really wanna snuggle while i’m in my work clothes? Cause i don’t.”
Ran only responds with a dramatic sigh, letting his head fall back against the pillow. He was patient, as a matter of fact. He was just also clingy.
As soon as he was changed into much comfier attire and his hair was released from its ponytail, Jackie finally made his way over to the bed, only to be instantly pulled into Ran’s eagerly waiting arms with a small yelp. He didn’t protest when Ran wrestled him onto his side all bundled up into his arms, a hand immediately finding its way into his hair as it has a million times before, and Ran’s face finding its way into the crook of Jackie’s neck where it belongs.
Jackie allowed himself to be maneuvered however Ran saw fit, only huffing out a laugh and gently ruffling the enderman’s head spines when he seemed content with their position. “You’re so clingy.” He teased with the utmost afffection.
Ran only nuzzled his face in further against Jackie’s skin, the general couldn’t help but giggle at the feeling. “I just haven’t seen you in more hours than usual.”
“And what, you missed me too much?” Jackie said, grinning when Ran let out a quiet growl into his neck. “Aww, just admit it, you missed me cause you love me sooo muhuch- hehehey!”
His protests and slight squirming went ignored, Ran being more focused on his aggressive nuzzling into Jackie’s neck, hold tightening around Jackie’s waist to keep him from wiggling away. “Knock ihihit ohoff, puffbahall!”
Ran scoffs at the nickname, but he also can’t help but smile. Puffball. He can’t tell what about that nickname makes him feel all warm, even if it should probably be embarrassing more than anything.
Still, it is simply unacceptable. “That’s awfully rude.” Ran says with mock disappointment, moving his tickly fur up a bit too close to Jackie’s ear, just to make him squeak. “What else did you call me earlier? A big baby?”
“I meheheant what ihi sa-hahahaid! Dohohon’t yohou dahahare!“ Jackie’s giggles grew louder and frantic as Ran shifted them again, throwing a leg over his and pressing Jackie back into the bed, effectively pinning him down. Jackie knew Ran wouldn’t feel the need to if he didn’t plan on making him squirm even more.
“Sorry,” Ran said, not sorry at all. “But i dare.”
In his opinion, the pros of having fangs didn’t majorly outweigh the cons. Having them poke out against his bottom lip when he smiles too wide, or having a hell of a time when he accidentally bites his tongue, minuscule but very annoying things like that. But for Ran, one thing that made it all worth it is being able to make Jackie laugh the way that he is now.
His laughter is bright and bubbly as it pours out of his mouth, growing higher pitched when Ran’s gentle nibbling travels up the side of his neck before going back down again. His chest shakes with snorts and hiccups, hands lightly batting at his shoulders but never pushing him away, each sound drawing in more of the steadily increasing butterflies in Ran’s stomach.
Ran would stay here forever if he could, listening to his favorite sound made by his favorite boy, but Jackie would probably protest to that.
“Gonna apologize for your crimes?” Ran asks in a tone that’s meant to be nonchalant, but you could hear the smile in it anyway.
He gives Jackie a moment to calm down, returning to his previous nuzzling and waiting for his laughter to die back down to small giggles. But he knows Jackie. “Nohope!” Jackie giggles out with as much confidence as you could have while being pinned to the bed.
Ran lets out a long sigh, although he was expecting this answer already. He wasn’t complaining though, he didn’t exactly want this to end just yet either.
“Have it your way, criminal.” His hands finally sprung into action as Ran gave his final warning, having only simply been holding onto Jackie’s waist in a comforting manner before, rubbing circles into his sides with his thumbs. But now they snuck underneath Jackie’s big sweater, and he could hear Jackie’s breath hitch when they make contact with his skin before he’s even done anything.
Even as Jackie starts to protest, he never pushes him away, only gripping his shoulders in anticipation. “R-Rahan, wahahait-“
Ran does not in fact wait. A loud squeal escapes Jackie’s lungs as he’s thrown into another fit of unrestrained laughter, back arching up into the fingers scribbling along the skin of his stomach. Ran continues his nibbling, but he at least keeps it in one spot, letting Jackie get used to the feeling a little as to not overwhelm him.
“Rahahan!” Jackie whines. “Thihis ihis- yohou’re sohoho-“ Bouts of snorts interrupt Jackie each time he tries to talk, and Ran finally lets himself laugh along with the poor boy. “Mehehean!”
“Ihi know, i know.” Ran fondly nuzzled against him one more time before he got just a little bit meaner, keeping his hands focused on his lower stomach as he took in a deep breath. It was mostly just to let Jackie know exactly what was about to happen, and he could tell it worked when Jackie tried curling himself up around Ran, arms wrapped around his neck.
Finally having mercy on the general, Ran blew a big raspberry right in the crook of Jackie’s neck, drawing it out as long as he could. Jackie instantly latched onto Ran in a tight hug, burying his face in his shoulder to muffle the shriek he made when the raspberry hit. As much as Ran would love to listen to him laugh fully uncovered, no matter how loud it gets, neither of them wanted the neighbors to think a murder was happening next door.
“Ihihihi’m- ihihi’m sohohohorry!” Jackie pleaded into his shoulder, and honestly Ran had forgotten that he was trying to get him to apologize in the first place. Well, at least he got it.
While Ran could never get tired of the act of tickling the shit out of his boyfriend itself, he adores the sight he’s greeted with once he pulls away. Jackie would probably disagree but Ran thinks he looks absolutely beautiful like this, with his hair all over the place and his face completely red from laughing, topped with a big smile that leaves his dimple and the gap in his front teeth on full display.
Ran wants nothing more than to kiss him right now, but he’ll at least let him catch his breath first.
“Fucking ahasshole,” Jackie wheezes out, a hand coming up to playfully smack Ran’s chest, he’s too tired for it to really be much of a retaliation though. “Absolute scoundrel.”
Ran snorts, hands rubbing circles into Jackie’s stomach. “You were having fun though.” He points out, earning a huff from Jackie.
It takes a second for him to fully settle down, but once he does he holds him arms out for Ran, making grabby hands at him. “I’ll probably die if you don’t kiss me right now.”
Ran rolls his eyes but turns down the opportunity to poke fun at him and eagerly leans back down, as he’s been wanting to kiss him several seconds too long by now. He keeps his hands rested underneath Jackie’s sweater as they kiss, relishing in the warmth that his skin gives off.
He’ll probably have to get up to make dinner pretty soon, but for now he decides it can wait 30 minutes, pulling the love of his life back into his embrace and tucking him safe and snug under his chin. It doesn’t take long for Jackie to start dozing off as the exhaustion catches up to him, and Ran is quick to follow, the soft warmth of the sun in his arms peacefully lulling him to sleep
