Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Hello everyone, just wanted to clarify a couple of things about the content and organization of these One-Shots. I truly complicated myself with how I went with this.

-Day 16 contains information about the lore and an important headcannon I'm going to use for the origin of the Voices. It has my whole thought process of why I think that's the case. That's why I'm uploading it and placing it first, and I highly recommend reading it before anything else to understand what's being shown in most of the One-Shot's (even if it's definately not the best OS)

-The OS's can be categorized in: set in the present, set in the past, and random shit like an Alternate Timeline or scenes that don't quite fit with the world but did fit the prompt; they're not cannon to my work, but I wanted to write them

-All of the OS's are centered around a specific Voice each, and some are direct continuations of other days (like a Part 1 and Part 2), but the order of the prompts made them end up scattered. Because of that, here you have the chronological order of the days dedicated to each character:

Hero: 2, 25
Skeptic: 16, 30
Stubborn: 6, 13, 11
Smitten: 3, (21)
Opportunist: 20, 28 (29)
Contrarian: 1
Hunted: 22, 19
Broken: 10, 7, 9
Cold: 18, 8, (15)
Cheated: 12
Paranoid: 5, 26

This will also be included in the beginning notes of the chapters

You are more than welcome to read them in whichever order you like, they also work as disconnected works, but if you want to understand the evolution of each voice better, that's the guide. The days that are in parenthesis are those random shits I talked about

-Some days will be skipped because of time constraints or because I couldn't find a way to make the prompts fit. I might eventually write and add them, but it will probably be after October has ended

-Since in the games, cannonicaly, there are different universes, I used that idea instead of making a world timeline make sense. I don't usually work like this, I like to make things tie together and make sense, but writing Whumptober and starting college at the same time has been a complete frenzy. They come from different universes with different technological advancements (ex. live in wooden cabins but have cellphones), with different juridical processes, etc. This is something good to have in mind for Day 18

Chapter Text

The bedroom was filled with the sound of little wheels tracking as Hero and Skeptic maneuvered the whiteboard to fit it through the door. Once they got it inside, Skeptic pointed to the place he wanted it to be and left Hero to accommodate it there while he gathered the multiple markers he stored in one of his drawers.

“So…I’ll come get you once it’s time for dinner” Hero confirmed awkwardly, realizing that his job was already done

“Don’t worry, I’ll have cracked this case open by then” Skeptic answered, dumping the markers in the small tray incorporated in the board. He grabbed a red one and uncapped it with his teeth

“If…If you need any help at some point, two heads think better than one-”

“Yeah yeah, I might call Hunted at some point to check if he noticed anything I didn’t at some point”

Hero opened his mouth to retort something, brow furrowed, but ultimately decided against it, instead letting out a sigh. Skeptic unknowingly got so rude at times, it wasn’t worth it getting mad at him at this point. At least that was usually a sign that he was locking in on something.

“Okay then. Good luck” And with that, Hero left, leaving Skeptic to his own devices

He approached the board, and decided to start simple. At the very top (having to get a chair to reach it) he wrote in broad letters the thesis question, “WHO ARE WE?”. He put the cap back on on the red marker and switched it for a blue one.

Taking a step back, he proceeded to think. That was quite a difficult question to find an answer to, difficult to even know where to start. Staring at a white paper, or in this case board, would also block him more. So, he decided to split that one question into two different ones. Below the big red letters, he added two more questions. “Where did we come from?” on one side and “Why are we here?” on the other, just for the sake of brainstorming.

The question about their origins would be hard to answer without any memory or indication of where to start searching to find answers. Therefore, he turned his attention to the other one, switching the blue marker for a black one.

Why were they here? Well, for starters, it was most likely the all powerful narrator who got them here. The Long Quiet seemed quite surprised by Hero’s presence the first time he spoke, and let’s not mention when he realized there were more than one. Thus, by process of elimination and contrasting The Long Quiet’s reaction with The Narrator’s, who addressed them unfazed, it was more than likely his doing.

Still, he branched two lines from the subtitle, one saying “The Narrator” and the other one "Spontaneous Generation”. Better not to cross out possibilities that weren’t outright disproven.

He also circled the word “here” and made an annotation. “TLQ’s mind”. Even if he wasn’t there, Paranoid had verified that he had been able to reach and activate their host’s parasympathetic nervous system when confronting The Nightmare, overriding his own mind’s signals, to avoid the body collapsing due to an overstimulation of the sympathetic system. The two agreed it would have been impossible to do so if they weren’t straight up inside said mind too.

Turning back to the two main theories on the table, he decided to start developing the one that came from “Spontaneous Generation”. What could be the reason they would appear out of nowhere in The Long Quiet’s mind? Since no one could remember anything from before the princess and the cabin, it would have something to do with that. Both theories would have something to do with that, in fact. He added it in a small parenthesis above “Why are we here?”

The only reason he could think of, would be as a way to cope with the situation he had been in. Everytime The Long Quiet died he jumped to another universe (he had been skeptical of that idea at first, but by the final confrontation with the Shifting Mound he accepted that the Narrator had been saying the truth), so he could have confronted the princess several times before and from there, his mind started creating them to help him deal with the traumatic experience.

Honestly, it could be quite a plausible theory. Psychology was not something he knew much about, but he was vaguely aware of some concepts and theories, like that keeping a dream journal could help a person process nightmares in some way (something he had shared with Paranoid). One of those concepts was the Multiple Personality Disorder. Apparently, it worked similarly to that idea of creating people in your head that can help deal with trauma. He roughly remembered hearing a lesson, or maybe watching some videos about it, and he didn’t feel like that disorder quite fitted their situation, but it proved that something of that kind was possible. So, with an arrow pointing down, he noted “To deal with trauma” before erasing it and changing it for “Coping mechanism”. He couldn’t help but roll his eyes when he imagined what Broken would rant about if that ended up being true.

Taking a step back to take a break from thinking for a moment, he marvelled on his writing. He had come a long way in such a short amount of time. He already had two possible leads and was certain to find more.

Then, he went to address the “The Narrator” theory. This one would be more complicated to develop, with how sketchy and secretive the man had been. Who knew what could have crossed his mind to create eleven people inside his victim of manipulation. He massaged his temple while he thought where to start, careful not to accidentally paint himself.

Okay. The Narrator’s goal had been to eradicate death, and by extension, to have The Long Quiet kill The Shifting Mound, and then keep him alive so she would stay dead. In abbreviation, he wrote “GOAL:TLQ kills TSM and stays alive”. From there, why would The Long Quiet need all of them (some of which were…less helpful than others. Or outright a bother) to do so?

He connected the side of the GOAL to the side of “TLQ’s descriptors” and then started branching lines from there. First, he wrote down “Indecisive”. The immortal sometimes had taken his sweet time making decisions, which Skeptic would appreciate if it weren’t on trivial matters such as what to say when walking towards the cabin. It would make sense if The Narrator wanted them to be there to try to push him along. Though why did they have to be in his mind? Would they be hurt by standing in the presence of two godlike beings if they had a physical body? And with how many of them were pointedly against The Narrator’s decisions, it seemed highly counterproductive. He would have benefitted of only having Cold, he could be very effective.

After that, he added “Stupid”, before hurriedly changing it for “Unobserving”. But he almost erased it again because it was a pointless annotation. The Narrator could, and did describe everything he wanted The Long Quiet to know, and half of them like Broken and Contrarian were as blind as a bat when it came to detail. Again, if that was the point, having only him and Hunted would suffice.

As a half-thought, he also added “Godlike”, while he tried to think of other-

Oh my god.

With wide eyes, slowly, he dragged a line down from “Godlike” and wrote “Humanize”

Why would a god care about the end of a world? Or about death? Even with no memories of being a supernatural being, he probably would still not be bothered by those thoughts since they had never been implanted in his personality.

The Narrator had put them in his mind as an attempt to make The Long Quiet think like a human

A volt of pain struck his head.

“What is this, !(“&%& Skeptic ?”

“Look, I tried, okay-?”

“What is it?”

“...A 95”

“We’ve raised you to be smarter than this. You’re grounded”

“There was a trick question in the end! I was tired after the whole exam and I didn’t realize-”

“You are supposed to realize these things, Skeptic. If there are trick questions, you see that they are trick questions and answer them correctly”

“I wasn’t expecting to have questions like that in the exam, I wasn’t on the lookout for them”

“Then that only means you are not learning anything from what we’re trying to teach you. Always be on the lookout for these things

Skeptic gave a heavy blink, followed by more rapid ones. What…the hell was that? He didn’t remember having a conversation like that with anyone here, or taking an exam, or even having a dream about it. Hell, he had never even seen an exam.

The image of a paper with written questions marked with red and a circled 95 in the top corner flashed in his mind. His throat instinctively closed at it, a heavy well of anger and shame that came from nowhere pressed on his chest. He was starting to feel very, very dizzy.

Whatever that had been, he seemed to have hit the nail on the theory. It even explained the wide variety of personalities he was stuck with. As useless and reckless as Cheated and Stubborn were, they certainly added some emotion to the mix. Only pointless rage and exaggerated aggressive passion but those were nothing but part of the human psyche (more on the worst part of it than anything).

If it was true, it was also very ironic that that human side The Narrator had wanted to give The Long Quiet was also the side that fervently stopped him from reaching his goal every time, even by having the immortal kill himself after killing the princess. That plan really backfired.

A small chuckle left his lips but he freezed at how far away it sounded. He pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes until he saw stars, taking a deep breath and trying to bring his mind back from wherever it had gone because it certainly didn’t feel like it was in his body.

It didn’t work. Whatever, he could still work even if his body felt horribly…wonky.

He blindly reached for another blue marker, and between the two subtitles, in the center, he wrote another one “How are we here?”

Wait, no. It would be almost impossible to answer that question if he didn’t know where they came from first. Okay, their reason to be here was to add humanity to The Long Quiet, and they didn’t remember anything from before but they did have knowledge of things they didn’t remember learning. He wrote that down. Maybe, if he tried to think harder of where that MPD information came from, he could pinpoint-

The bad thing about coming back from the Sorority House to his home for vacation was having to spend more mental energy on his parents than he did in college. Soft footsteps came from the hall, which meant his mother was coming to talk to him. She knocked on his door and entered.

“Honey, could you go get some groceries for us? Dad and I are already late for work and when we come home we will be too tired to do so ourselves”

Skeptic frowned from his bed, glancing at her up and down from over the physic’s book he had been reading. His mother never called him by a nickname, she was hiding something from him and doing a very bad job at it. The lips in her smile tensed more at his silent gaze, which only confirmed his suspicions further.

“What are you trying to make me get you?” He asked her, straightforward. She hadn’t even stepped in from where she was at the doorgate, this was more than being nervous, she was asking him for something very bad and feeling embarrassed about it. Or…no, there was something else he wasn’t seeing. His frown deepened even more.

“I’ll just give you the list”

When looking through the list in the supermarket he realized he had missed the signs of withdrawal. She had added three bottles of Tequila to the groceries list. Surprisingly, she had become an alcoholic before his father had. Dammit, he had been so focused on finding signs of a malicious secret that he missed the obvious ones. Why did that always happen?

That night was especially rough. Note to self: leave the house the moment you start noticing that she is drinking again

Skeptic blinked again. He noticed the marker he was using had fallen to the floor. His head was pulsing so bad he didn’t even try to crouch to pick it back up.

That was…that wasn’t his imagination. He could remember that happening to him like he could remember breakfast or chatting with Cold.

Holy shit, that’s right. He did go to college and he did have a mother and a father he wasn’t very fond of…for some reason.

His mind supplied him once more with memories of a couple of reasons. He almost tumbled to the floor, those memories had not been there a second ago. Or at least he hadn’t been aware of them a second ago.

So he, and probably it was safe to assume that all of them, had had a life before this. And now here he was, with no memory of it and in a god’s mind. Yes, he could definitely cross the “Spontanious Generation” theory; this was The Narrator’s doing.

Their monikers. “Voice of the ___” meant the voice belonged to someone, which meant they had been someone before. How had he not noticed or started from there!?

Grabbing another black marker, he harshly wrote “Humans” somewhere under the subtitle, circling it several times. So now, to figure out how the man had managed to-

Instead of “How are we here?” he had written “How we are here?” Taking a deep breath, he grabbed the same marker he had wrote it with and went to erase it when he noticed something.

The shade of blue was just the slightest bit different from the other two subtitles.

He…he hadn’t, had he?

He brushed his finger over the words. The ink didn’t smear, it stayed right how it was. He looked at the marker for confirmation.

He had accidentally used a permanent marker. No. fucking. way.

Throwing the marker away, he could feel himself start twitching. How could he make a mistake like that? AND he made a grammatical mistake along with it? He- he was supposed to be smarter than that. Even if he was strongly disoriented when he wrote that, why did he even gather permanent markers with the normal ones? Permanent markers didn’t belong to a theory board, one was constantly erasing things in them.

He dropped down and sat on his haunches, hand pressed together as he closed his eyes and thought.

That was a mistake, but he didn’t make mistakes, only…changes of plans, and perspectives. What could he learn about this? Because it was an opportunity to learn, another approach to uncover more things, it wasn’t a mistake

You didn't use to react that badly to making a mistake. You weren’t happy, but you moved on quickly from them

Skeptic paused for a moment, more memories he had forgotten coming to his mind. That was…true. And if he thought more about it, he was different in other aspects as well. Although he had been as “grumpy” as he was now (adjective courtesy of Contrarian), he had had a lot more moments than now where he was playing and enjoying his time with others. He had had a lot of moments when he was absolutely depressed as well, laying down on the floor staring at the ceiling pondering on all the shit that had happened to him in his life. And stressed. He had been so stressed at school and college.

Now…all of that was dull. Had he ever felt sad, truly sad since he appeared in The Long Quiet’s mind? Or happy? He felt like the only and most prominent way he had felt since was…skeptical.

He facepalmed. That was the moment Hero knocked on his room and entered when he received no answer.

“Smitten says dinner is ready” He announced, before taking in the picture of the room. Skeptic with his hand on his face looking very disappointed in himself, two uncapped markers on the floor and a bunch of nonsense on the whiteboard “...Did you find out anything?”

“We are fragments of previous humans put by The Narrator in The Long Quiet’s mind to make him more humane”

Hero stared at him in silence for several moments. Skeptic had to wonder if that had triggered any memory.

“Great” He finally answered, his face scrunching up in confusion ”How did he do that exactly?”

“I don’t know, probably with the same magic he used to turn The Long Quiet into a birdman” That made Hero scoff in laughter, although Skeptic had meant it very seriously. “When putting us in here he either didn’t do it well or decided he was only interested in certain aspects of us. In summary, our personalities and behaviours are now mostly what used to be our main gimmick when we were fully physical humans”

It was clear in Hero’s face he was having a hard time following him, as much as he tried to understand. Skeptic stood up.

“I’ll explain my thought process over dinner. Help me bring the whiteboard out again” Before the other could move, he stopped him once more “Oh, and go warn the others that they might not remember exactly good things during the explanation while I attempt to clean…some writing done with permanent marker so I can rewrite everything when I explain”

Hero opened his mouth to ask why he had written anything with that in the first place, but one look was all he needed to know not to ask.

“Okay, I’ll go tell them”

“And make special emphasis on Broken. Something tells me that man is not going to be anywhere near happy when he remembers what happened to him”

Chapter Text

Even through his blurry eyes, /$&/% Contrarian could catch the metallic glint of his demise; the guillotine stood out like a thumb as the carriage entered the main plaza. He already knew what was going to happen, but his breath still hitched sharply, the dread pooled on his stomach flooded up into the back of his mouth with the taste of bile. The dam in his eyes finished breaking and thick tears started running down his face.

He had messed up. He had messed up pretty badly this time. His own stupidity was finally going to put him in the grave.

“Hey, no, no don’t cry”

In their grave.

Celine hurried to his side from the chipped wooden bench across, firmly placing her hand over his blotchy cheeks and wiping away the tears with her thumbs. It was pointless, with each broken sob her work came undone.

“It’s okay, it’s all gonna be okay”

“I didn’t- I didn’t mean to-” He blurted out through hiccups “I-I didn’t know-”

“I know, I know” She brought him into a hug by the neck, tucking his head under her chin. Contrarian clutched onto the back of her dress like a lifeline, trying to muffle his sobs in her chest. “But if you cry, I-I will…”

Her own breath stuttered, and that was more than enough to pull him back from his daze.

“O-okay, okay” He muttered against her skin, swallowing hard to silence the next sound that wanted to leave his throat. Tears kept falling, but he attempted his best at taking deeper breaths. The hand that travelled to his hair, combing through the strands, grounded his trembling body

“There’s nothing we can do about this except taking it with dignity” Celine, his woman, his everything, slightly pulled away enough to make eye contact

Collected as she was, her beautiful eyes were glassier than glass. Contrarian swallowed once more, this time all the words that wanted to be blurted out. ‘I don’t want to die’ ‘I’m sorry’ ‘Why did you have to love me?’

Instead of saying any of them, he embraced her once more, more softly. She reciprocated even more tenderly.

“C’mon, where did my little jester go?” The small smile was audible in her voice; he tried to imitate it, steadying his voice

“Ehhhh he’s pouting in time out after being scolded by the guard he was trying to steal the helmet’s feather off”

Her little cackle seemed to echo inside the carriage (It had stopped, it had stopped already-)

“You really did that?”

“You should’ve seen the way he kept glancing and glaring my way after the sixth time, he was so paranoid-”

The small breadcrumbs of levity they had managed to build disappeared with the burst open of the doors. A blur of arms pried the two off each other, his nails making a rip in her dress as he tried to cling onto it. His heart resumed the backflips on his chest, his throat closed off. Holy shit, was it time already? No, it couldn’t have been, it had been so little.

Someone tied his wrists behind his back with rope. Too tight, his wrists were already starting to hurt with every mini-movement, the fabric rubbing the skin in the worst possible ways.

As they were pushed through the crowd onto the platform, seconds past both too fast and too slow. He ignored the jeers directed his way, he had always found them fun anyways. But that man’s gaze, it burned. He was used to mocking, but not to sadism. It followed him, wanting to catch every sliver of dread and despair…

If Contrarian enjoyed doing anything, it was going against what people wanted from him. He focused on the breathtaking young woman, walking with her chin up and an unbothered façade, and drawing from her energy, he loosened his shoulders and started straight up strolling to his death (as well as he could with two people pushing him around). Ignore the pain from the ropes, ignore the looming blade. If he couldn’t escape death, at least he would go out in the most irking way possible. And if not for himself, for Celine, to help her not break down in front of everyone.

What a woman, truly after his own heart, determined to play by her own rules.

The two were made to stand next to one another, facing the crowd. Contrarian couldn’t help but blink at the amount of people that were craving his death. Had he really pissed off, like, half the town?

His thoughts were cut off by him, the major, taking his first step on the stairs of the platform. The cheering quieted down, each step holding the weight of dozens of dead souls, victims of this town’s public executions and the maybe too vague jurisdiction system. Once on the stage, silence thick in the air, he solemnly waved his arm in a big arc, regarding the crowd, before starting his speech.

“People of Agravio!”

The unified “HUH” that the crowd, filling the entire plaza, responded with sent shivers down his spine, placing an itch deep inside the marrow of his bones. The sudden change in the atmosphere was…unnerving.

“We reunite today to end, for good, the taunts and stunts of this here trickster”

The guard standing behind him suddenly pushed him forward, making him trip over his feet and almost face plant onto the floor, barely catching himself on his knees. A small wave of laughter travelled across the town, probably from the ones he had pulled the most pranks on. His face heated up as he all at once became all too aware of his situation. Puffy red face and eyes from earlier, hair and clothes in disarray from all the rough handling when they apprehended him. It was enough to smother away all the courage he had gained.

“He has been tormented this town for far too long. Now, it’s time to pay him back, and kill him!”

A chorus of agreements erupted in the plaza once more, making a bundle of emotion choke in his throat. They were actually treating him like a criminal; like a murderer. It was insane. Were they really that mad at him? He hadn’t meant to actually infuriate anyone, it was just supposed to be a silly little game of how many people he could tick off.

It was hard to get his words out, but the desperation somehow helped him say them.

“I’m sorry, okay!? I didn’t mean to offend anyone!”

The town grew silent for a moment, before the people started to insult him once more. The major, though, just turned around to look at him with a dangerous glint in his eyes.

“I don’t take kindly to those who spread slander about my wife”

Contrarian tensed and leaned away as he creeped towards him, still speaking at a volume loud enough for everyone to hear if it weren’t for the yells.

“They were just harmless rumors, you psychopath!”

“About my wife being the whore of the town!?” The rage that had been kept hidden inside the man flared out. The boy yelped when his head was pulled up by the hair

“I-I mean, your words not mine-”

This time, when thrown, he did hit the wooden floor face first. He couldn’t help but scream at his broken nose.

“Bring the woman, she goes first”

His whole body jerked at that.

“WAIT, no! She did nothing wrong, get your hands off her!” Using the strength from his core, he scrambled back to his knees, watching as the guards took Celine by her arms to bring her to the guillotine. “Stop!”

“Nothing wrong? I’m not sure about that. I would go so far as to call her your partner in crime” The major wasn’t serious, that was a teasing tone, the same one he was familiar with

“She never did or said anything!”

“The two of you are always so close, are you sure she didn’t egg you on or give you ideas?” Contrarian looked up to face him, and found nothing more than a mocking smile. The same smile of someone who ç is just saying things to get under someone’s skin. But unlike him, the major was playing with actual lives.

He tried to think quickly of a way to get out, to get her out, watching as they opened the lunette and made her kneel. Celine purposefully avoided looking at him. The major kept going with his speech, this was a ‘show’ after all, but none of his words made it to Contrarian’s ears. He was running out of time, they were gonna-

Tears started flowing once more, his eyes stinging from the pressure, and doubling down until his forehead pressed on the floor, he bowed to the major.

“P-please” He begged. Everything silenced “I-I’m a low-life with no future that has fucked up, t-that deserves to die. B-but please, I beg of you, forgive her” His chest was wrecked with a sob, but he kept going. “S-she did nothing but love me, a-and that was wrong of her b-but, I-I can’t-” He got cut off by his own cries. It was impossible to talk with such weight pressing on his lungs, cutting off his breathing. Maybe, if he was pitiful enough, they would show mercy on her.

“Oh, you pathetic little clown” The same weighted footsteps from before walked up to him, and a hand, just like she had moments before, combed through his hair. Before it pulled on it, craning his neck up. “You haven’t understood it yet? She is part of your punishment. You think after years and years of you being insufferable, people would be satisfied just by watching your head roll? Your actions have consequences, and her death is a part of them”

Perfectly in sync, the moment his breath stopped, the executioner let go of the rope.

“Wait-! NO, CELINE-!” Someone grabbed his arm stopping him mid lunge, making him fall on his back and arms

SHHHANK

Contrarian laid there, staring at the sky, the sound reverberating inside his skull. He was vaguely aware of a guard pulling him up to his feet, but his mind was so utterly blank he had to basically be dragged towards the guillotine.

He might have seen her corpse. If he did, he did not register it.

The major was talking. Each and every single one of the words were in through one ear and out the other. The only thing he was sure of was that he was crying.

The ending was more abrupt than anyone had ever warned him about. At one moment, he was yelling profanities in autopilot to the crowd that was cheering on, and the next, everything was silent.

Chapter Text

Ronald knew where to find his brother. Strong and mighty as he might be, the man had no idea how to erase his traces. That’s why his older brother was there, to cover for his mistakes. People shouldn’t realize their hero was faltering like he was. The sewer was a nasty place to hide in though and he would judge the younger one for that.

He dropped from the manhole, scrunching his nose in disgust, and it didn’t take him long before finding the apathetic sitting form of )”(·/& Hero, back against the wall, legs sprawled, arms flaccid, eyes vacant.

It hurt, to see his brother lost in his mind like that.

“Is something wrong?”

If Hero was surprised by his presence, he didn’t show it.

“No Ron, I’m just enjoying the smell of the sewers, it’s quite pleasant” He muttered. Ron smiled and crouched by his side (there was no way he was sitting in here)

“Oh, and there’s the sarcasm. Now I know for sure something’s bothering you” He spoke with a light tone, but the tense atmosphere was too dense for it to land well. His smile disappeared. “What is it, Hero?”

Several beats of silence. And then-

“He is just a child”

Hero’s voice was so small, a thin silk thread of words, Ronald barely managed to catch it. He almost hoped he hadn’t.

“Oh, Hero…” His words dragged on with no idea what to say. Instead, he placed a warm hand on his brother’s thigh as a grounding and comforting gesture. Hero didn’t react, but it seemed to help to give him the strength to keep talking

“I’ve been preparing for this all my life and in the end, my enemy is a child, a 9 year old that hasn’t even finished elementary school”

“Maybe we’re wrong, it might not be-”

“Right, maybe ‘the dark one’ is one of the other multiple red eyed people. Because it is so natural to be born with black hair and red eyes this could be a confusion”

Hero’s head snapped to the side to look at him with his usual unimpressed look. Ronald didn’t say anything, knowing it was pointless, so Hero talked in his stead.

“It’s no use, Ron. A black haired red eyed boy, so close to the deadline. It’s him the prophecy is about. And there’s only one week left before the ‘fated battle’, he is not going to grow older before we fight. I’m going to have to kill a child to save the world”

Something in the way he talked, so impassive even through heated words, made Ronald uneasy. Hero never hid his emotions well; if he was talking so unaffected, was because he was planning something. Something dangerous, if his glooming was something to go by.

“...And what are you thinking of doing?” Hero stared at him in silence for a few moments before turning his head away

“Maybe the prophecy isn’t real”

Ronald’s eyes widened.

“You’re kidding. Hero-”

“He’s a kid, why would he try to destroy the world? Fighting him might even be the reason he does it. So…I’ve decided, I’m not going to do it”

Ronald was at a loss for words. After years of his life training as the chosen one, was Hero seriously going to throw away the fate of the world for one person?

It was understandable. Even if he didn’t agree with him, hurting someone so young wasn’t easy. It would be much more worrying for someone to get excited at the prospect. But a prophecy was a prophecy, and a prophecy was never wrong. Hero was too young to understand that, just in his early twenties. He didn’t remember the last augury and its consequences, that as impossible as they seemed they always came true. The fact that a kid like the description had been born against all biological odds already proved it.

A wave of empathy swallowed him whole. How unlucky that this task had befallen over his upright, diligent brother.

He took a deep breath. So he was the one in charge of knocking some sense into his brother. Luckily, he knew how to do it.

“If you’re sure, I have trust in your judgement” Ronald felt slightly sick to the stomach for lying to him, but he managed to shift the sound of uncertainty in his voice to one of worry “But Hero, are you ready to take accountability for the millions of lives that would be lost if the prophecy turns out to be true?”

The immediate tensing of all of Hero’s muscles was enough of an answer.

“Don’t go there, Ronald”

“But it’s true” He pushed on “Hero, I know that you would regret it, and you know it too. I don’t want to see you hurt from that big of a regret”

Hero swallowed hard, and Ronald felt even worse

“So what am I supposed to do?” The young one ran a hand down his face. His eyes looked heavier than Ron had ever seen them, much older than someone of his age should look “It’s either live with the weight of regret or with the knowledge that I went against my morals. It’s just choosing the better poison”

“It is” Ronald took a hold of his hand. Hero looked down to their linked fists

“I see what you’re doing. You’re dredging up my worst fear”

“I’m not lying, though”

“No, you’re not” Hero let out a deep sigh and tilted his head backwards against the wall. Ron would have usually laughed at his small grimace from having miscalculated and hit it too hard, but he was self-aware enough to know it wasn’t the moment. “...Going against my morals and kill a child, or be responsible for millions of deaths and regret it my whole life”

They stayed in silence as Hero debated internally what he would do. Ronald stayed by his side, trying to be as best of a support as he could. Ultimately, he knew what choice Hero would choose. Wording the options as he had done was all he needed to push him in the right direction.

“Running away wouldn’t be very heroic, would it?” He mumbled after some time, groaning as he pushed himself to his feet. Ronald followed suit “Is it bad to say that I hope the kid turns out to be evil?”

“No, I think it’s fair” Unable to stop himself, he ruffled his hair with a smile. Hero pushed him away half-heartedly. Ronald laughed before he quieted down “...I’m sorry that you have to do this, Hero”

Hero straightened up and looked down for a moment. Then, he flashed him a weak smile.

“Don’t be. You could say it’s part of the whole thing of being ‘the chosen one’. Just remember all the books we read as kids, what character from that prototype didn’t have to make a difficult choice at some point?” The smile got easily wiped from his face “I can’t believe I was about to doom so many families for the sake of my own feelings”

“The world doesn’t deserve you little bro” Ronald swung an arm around his shoulders and started walking to the exit of the sewer

“I will try to see if there are other ways of stopping the prophecy though. Try to talk to the kid and see if I can convince him of not destroying everything…”

Hero went on brainstorming pacifist ways of avoiding the conflict all the way to his house, and Ronald ended up staying the night. It would work out in the end, Hero was sure of it, and Ron certainly hoped so for his brother’s well-being.

Chapter Text

In a dim bedroom, thick stone walls protecting the inhabitants from the cold, sitting over a dark wooden desk, wondered !)(/”&% Smitten. He sat in the darkness, illuminated only by the dancing flame of a candle. The little plate it was settled on already had a hardened layer of wax from the hours it had been lit.

It was a haunting imagery. As the chime candle melted and its orange glow dwindled, the shadows in the walls and corners grew stronger, the claws of a stalking predator. The large size of the room only aggravated the gloomy and daunting atmosphere.

Smitten wasn’t exactly fond of the darkness, but instead of hitting the hay like one would do at those late hours of the night or simply changing the candle, he stayed rooted in his seat, transfixed on the windows that presented to him scenes from the outside world. It was only one of countless nights, but the activity of watching the intimate display from his gilded cage never lost its tender magic. The mix of yearning and joy swelled in his chest each and every single second, from the moment he sat down to the moment all his neighbours sadly went to sleep.

Today was a beautifully busy night. Through the window on his left wall, the one that gave way to the neighbour kid’s room, he could see the two young and hyperactive twins bickering to the dismay of their parents, who were softly trying to at least stop the little girl from chasing her brother around and topple every single object in their path. It was a common occurrence in that household, though today they were a little more rowdy than usual. Down, in the small street between the two buildings, the group of five male friends that roamed around every friday night laughed and playfully pushed each other around, the discordant harmony of their drunken singing managing to reach his solitary room. Today though, there were only four, the other must still be recovering from when he tried to climb the other building’s wall last week and broke his leg, or maybe he got grounded.

And then, on the window on top of his bed, was the couple. They had their curtains closed (he hated when anyone had their curtains closed-), but luckily, the light on the other side of their curtain portrayed their silhouettes in dark shadows surrounded by a golden shine. A slow, long, caring kiss, their bodies pressing against each other in an affectionate embrace.

His eyes stang as he stared at the picture-perfect moment. An itch started in his lips and slowly spread through his whole body, alighting one more time the same need that the two partners always made him feel. The necessity to have someone there, just present, someone he could make smile like the husband did with her wife, that he could make laugh, that he could make her eyes sparkle.

The heart tattoo in his neck he had gotten one of the few times his parents let him go out against their fear of someone mugging and attacking him (that is, until they saw that same tattoo and forbade anyone from seeing him again), seemed to burn once more. Just like the time he got it made, the inked needles piercing his skin over and over again in twirling patterns fulfilling the reckless decision of showing the world his desperation to love and be loved. Watching the twosome openly display their adoration for each other wrapped a warm comforting blanket around his shoulders at the same time it ripped open his insides.

So in his turmoil of emotions, he sat stone-still, basking on everyone’s happiness while drowning in the acid of his own loneliness.

“- again, I saw you taking my fucking console!”

Smitten blinked, and he was staring at the vanity table of his room, two young voices bickering outside loud enough to reach him.

“I’m just saying, are you sure you didn’t just accidentally throw it out the window?”

A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips, his mind slowly coming back to the present. It had been a while since he had zoned out like that. The eyeliner he had been applying was still in his hand, but thankfully he had zoned out when he had already finished, otherwise he was sure he would have had a large black streak of eyeliner across his cheek.

“Are you actually taking the piss!?”

Blinking a couple more times and brushing his fingers through his hair to make sure it was well combed and just how he liked it, he put away the make up and walked out of his room, checking the situation in the living room. Cheated and Contrarian were bickering in the middle; well, more like Cheated was yelling at Contrarian as he tried not to laugh at his red face, while Hero tried to pointlessly act as a mediator between the two and Stubborn watched from the sidelines with a smirk and his arms crossed. Deciding better not to get involved in the cross fire, he approached Stubborn.

“Ah, my passionate friend! What matter has gotten between the young ones’ rocky friendship this time around?”

“Contrarian took Cheated’s videogame console. Probably decided it had been a long time since he messed with his partner in crime” Even with the smirk, Smitten could hear the slight bitter tone in the words ‘partner in crime’. He would have felt bad if he didn’t agree with the pair that watching Stubborn rage was surprisingly hilarious

“Well, nothing like a small quarrel between people who care for bonding”

“Damn right!” Agreed Stubborn with a harsh pat on his back that almost made him fall to the floor and a laugh. He was used to his way of showing affection to friends though, so albeit a little winded, he laughed with him

The other three grew louder as Cheated’s gesticulations grew sharper and more exaggerated. At the sight of that, Stubborn’s smirk only widened.

“And what has you so elated, if I may ask? Is it your vendetta for being the prime victim of their mischief?”

“Nah. I made a bet with Hero that he wouldn’t be able to cool things down before Cheated tried to strangle Contrarian”

“That is…” Smitten pondered the premise for a moment “...very likely. I believe you might have an assured victory in your hands”

Just as he finished saying that, Cheated suddenly pounced at Contrarian with a raging scream. The boy was intercepted in the air by Hero, but he kept struggling to break out and reach the other who had stepped back, doubling over in laughter, only worsening the colorful array of insults Cheated was hurling at him.

Both him and Stubborn cackled loudly at the absurdity of the scene. The timing of the crash out only made it better. Skeptic’s frowning face as his head popped out of his door before rolling his eyes and disappearing inside once more started to actually make them double down in near hysterics.

“I should probably step in,” Stubborn said once his laughter calmed down. “we don’t actually want him to murder Contrarian, or Hero while he’s at it. Though I would be on board to see who would win in a brawl between the three…”

“No, you are right, we should not mourn anyone this afternoon. Maybe one day we will be able to convince everyone of that fighting tournament you are always talking about”

“Ugh, I wish” And with that and a friendly squeeze in the shoulder from Smitten, he stomped towards the trio

Smitten stayed back, watching the mess of friends he had found himself with, Stubborn trying to separate and calm everyone down, with force if necessary (Contrarian’s ‘Auch auch auch, I get it I get it!’ making him snicker once more). It was…heart-warming. He would have never imagined finding himself in a group like this before, not even in his wildest dreams. But he almost had it all; the brotherly fights, and the friendly chit-chat. He leaned on the wall, closing his eyes for a moment to marvel at the inimitable warmth that came from being involved. And maybe, one day, he would add eternal love to the list. He might have lost it after his perfect damsel disappeared (after he messed up-), but maybe, one day, he might find it again.

Chapter Text

The nightmare (with lower case n) that night had been…bad. Maybe not as bad as others, but Paranoid had still found himself crashing onto the floor, toppling from the side of the bed. The pain had made his head swim, but at least it startled him awake.

Now, the problem with waking up from a nightmare during the middle of the night was that, to sleep, Paranoid had to turn off the light before rushing to hide under the safety of his covers; so on top of the nervous breakdown he felt like he was having, he was in the middle of the darkness.

Paranoid swallowed hard, closing his eyes to fool himself into believing that it wasn’t actually dark, he just had his eyes closed, and pinched himself hard on his inner thigh. The dream was over, he was awake, and the itch in his skin from being watched was the phantom reminder of the dream.

Those tricks didn’t stop his shaking nor made it easier to breathe, but they were comforting nonetheless.

He rubbed his arms to try to shake off the uneasiness creeping inside his skin. His nose wrinkled, gagging a bit at the stickiness that made it hard for his hands to slide up and down. Sweating during sleep always felt so gross.

Anyway, he reached for his dream journal, the drawer rattling when his trembling hand opened it. Skeptic had been very clear: no taking showers or using dubious methods to calm down before recording what he remembered. None of them knew shit about psychology or therapy, but he trusted Skeptic to give the best advice out of everyone. It was supposed to help him process the terrifying dreams or something.

The notebook plopped onto the floor, causing the pen to roll under the bed. Fuck. Paranoid muttered a thread of curses, searching for the pen blindly. He flinched violently when his fingers brushed a dustbunny. It took several seconds, but miraculously he found it in fewer attempts he thought it would take.

Opening the book and finally opening his eyes, he blinked several times before cursing once more. He now had to wait to get used to the dark to even try to write the date. He hated the dark, it was so reminiscent of- wait. He groaned. What day was it?

With his right leg bouncing, he shifted to sit on his legs, turning to look to where he could see the vague lining of the door. Well, he could just turn the lights on. It wasn’t like there was a reason to not go and turn on the lights. Could write his dream down and shower sooner.

His heart skipped a beat and he turned to look to his right, eyes wide. That was the burn of a stare he had felt in his arm, that was- what?

Another pair of eyes settled on him.

His breath started to pick up. It was making too much noise, he shouldn’t let them know that he knew they were watching him, but his mouth wouldn’t close.

Keeping his head low, he doubled over himself, trying in vain to get his breathing under control. Okay, someone was hiding in his room. They weren’t attacking, so albeit creepy, there shouldn’t be anything dangerous. If they wanted to do something to him, they would have done it while he was asleep, right?

He was starting to feel his increasingly raging heartbeat in his ears, but he still brought a violently shaking hand to his chest. His heart was going to break his ribcage if it kept hammering like that. Why- why wouldn’t it stop? He wasn’t in danger. Damn it, he was in someone’s mind, it’s not like anyone could break in to haunt him. He was imagining things again, wasn’t he?

With more determination this time, he placed his hands on the floor to push himself up and turn the lights on. In situations like this, even if that didn’t make it better, it somehow made it less worse. He just had to light up the room and make it easier to see what was in it. So he started to slowly push himself up being careful of his trembling arms an-

He froze.

He could almost- no, he could feel cold hands hovering over the back of his neck, waiting for him to close the final inches. His throat clenched, choking him. He let out a deep huff, and another, stronger this time, quicker.

He cried out in terror, petrified, his limbs all locked up. This feeling wasn’t new, he had felt it before, and Hero too, it was-

She was here

Tears started pushing their way out of his blown open eyes. Paranoid had only been able to keep them alive because being in The Long Quiet’s mind, he could connect to his autonomic nervous system, but if he was the one directly affected he wouldn’t be able to- he would-

With an agonized whine, he managed to crumble back down to the floor and move into a fetal position, digging his nails in his arms, eyes pressed shut as he trembled in tension. He couldn’t breath, he couldn’t breath, she was going to-

He choked when something that felt like nothing went to brush against his back. He twisted in the floor, trying to protect it from the open air and throwing his hands around his torso to scratch against it in search of wounds or marks left. Nothing, there was nothing.

He couldn’t breathe.

His eyes wouldn’t close, but he couldn’t see her. She was hiding, waiting for the perfect moment to- to- to do something. Waiting for him to lower his guard, to believe he was imagining things.

No, he had felt her. She hadn’t touched him, but he knew she was here. That she was, that she was-

He scrambled away from the bed, hands slipping on the floor in his hurry, and wedging himself in the edge of where the wardrobe was pressed against the wall, he curled up tightly into a ball. One hand held his legs together while the other grabbed hard onto the nape of his neck.

He couldn’t do this, but he couldn’t leave the room. There was no escape.

And so he cried, because there was nothing else he could do. Loud whines and whimpers and high-pitched screams fled uncontrollably from his mouth, muffled by his knees which were getting wet with his saliva and red from his teeth. His whole body wanted to burst open from anguish, but he physically held it together.

The dream journal laid on the floor, forgotten by this point, unaware of the chain of events it had triggered by keeping Paranoid busy.

Chapter Text

(·/”& Stubborn awoke with a violent jolt, digging into his skin the straps around his limbs.

Some sort of raging panic seized him. Those bastards dared to tie him down, to leave him defenseless. He tugged harder. Pain didn’t matter, he would rip his hands and feet off if he had to. His teeth were more than enough to rip their throats open.

They made the fatal mistake of not making sure he was dead, and he would make sure they paid for it.

Muffled shouts and hurried steps echoed from outside the room he was in, compelling him to strain harder against his bindings. He gritted his teeth, he had to be mobile when they entered, he couldn’t be pinned down again, unable to move and completely at their mercy as they stabbed-

His veins bulged as he continued his assault with renewed strength. Bring in all the rubbed raw skin, he refused to go down without a fight again.

The doors slammed open and a barrage of people barreled in. Some hurried to the machines on his sides while others pressed against his flailing body and held him down. Stubborn could feel his face burning with unbridled rage, something scratching its claws inside his chest, his heart beating faster and faster just like the beeping he wasn’t paying attention to.

“FACE ME FAIR AND SQUARE YOU COWARDS!” He yelled. The sting of bleeding skin was ignored in his wrists

-
The dark hallway stretched long behind him as he neared the end, walking briskly but with his hands solidly wrapped around the gun, on guard.

He kicked the door open, the light difference hurting his eyes slightly.

A pair of hands grabbed his wrists and twisted hard with a crack.

Stubborn screamed, the gun hit the floor, he kicked the person away but someone else picked the gun from the floor before he could. He pulled out his baton, and realized the room was flooded with people
-

He hollered profanities at no one in specific until a slow wave of something heavy washed over him. The stream of curse words lowered in intensity, something seeming to drag him down, making his breathing heavier and adding weight to his eyelids.

Stubborn tried to fight the feeling, the lead surging through his veins and into his muscles. But eventually, he succumbed, and it pulled him under.

------------

The next time Stubborn awoke it was with the feeling of thick smog engulfing his mind. A heavy, dense fog that spread through his muscles. He felt forced to breathe calmly. A sort of drowned throb muted in his chest.

And he was still tied.

“Don’t even think about it”

His head twisted to the side at the voice with a death glare, but his mouth fell open at the sight of his coworker, lounging in a chair. What- how was she here?

“Last time, you managed to cut your wrists and hurt your ankles. The doctors had to change the restrains to more padded ones and bandage the new wounds, as if they didn’t have enough workload already”

“Sorry that I-” His unexpected dry throat made him choke, but he pushed through and tried again “Sorry that I won’t sit down idly waiting to be killed” He grunted between his teeth

“Stubborn” Her brown hair slid over her shoulders as she leaned forward, expression exhausted “You’re at the hospital”

What?

There was a pause, and Stubborn took a moment to really take in his surroundings. White sterile walls, curtains separating empty beds, IV’s and other equipment all around. One was connected to him. The beeping he had dismissed was a heart monitor.

His muscles seemed to relax all at once; he wasn’t in enemy territory any more.

“Of course you would tunnel vision too much to notice it, you meathead. I hope you don’t mind the medical restrains too much, we had to avoid your violent reaction after waking up”

“Well, I’m not reacting violently now. Can you take them off?”

Leticia leaned back pensive on her chair. The silence didn’t promise a satisfactory answer.

“We need to talk” She seemed to settle on saying

Stubborn’s left eye ticked, but he kept quiet and let her speak. Mostly because experience told him that arguing with her would get him nowhere.

“You weren’t supposed to go into the raid alone, Stubborn. Why on earth did you go into the criminal ring without your team?” Her voice didn’t raise, she seemed too tired for that, but it was stern just like every other time she told him off

“I don’t like working with others, they always waste time with stupid stuff like ‘planning’ “ He rolled his eyes. Leticia stared at him with her ‘I can’t believe you’re that stupid’ look “Besides, I’m more than enough by myself. If they want to think things through, they can stay back and just be back-up”

“You almost died precisely because you weren’t enough by yourself”

“I was!” He roared, jumping on the bed. The sudden movements brought his attention painfully to the wrapped injuries in his torso and limbs. It ripped out a groan from him along with a wheeze, which meant a lot coming from someone who always ignored pain. But he pushed it down and away “It would have been okay if they weren’t sneaky pussies”

-
His chest was heaving from exertion, his wrists strained, and his struggles to get away were in vain. Thousands of fingers dug bruises against his arms as they pressed his face against the cement, helpless. The only thing he could do was huff aggressively and tuck away the wounds in his body in a corner of his mind where they wouldn’t bother him.

Then the cold point of a knife pressed against his skin through a hole from his tattered shirt, his bullet proof vest long gone. Taunting words that caused him to push harder away from the wall and to be pushed back twice as hard. And then a piercing white hot agony exploded in his lung.
-

It had been the most overwhelming experience of his life. Stubborn didn’t do ‘scared’, he channeled every negative emotion into wrath. Being led into a trap with dozens of criminals waiting to incapacitate him would have been considered frightening by normal people, and then being pinned against the wall by millions of hands digging bruises, too tired from fighting to push them off, the leader taunting him as she pulled out a knife, pressed it against his skin and he couldn’t breath due to the knot of raw, visceral emotion lodged in his throat, the boiling fire that only wanted to make them all hurt-

“Stubborn, you with me?”

He blinked.

“Yes”

“Look, the only thing I want you to understand is that you made a mistake, one that could have cost you your life”

Oh, he knew that. By all means, he should be dead. He vividly remembered the agony of the knife being embedded repeatedly into his chest and tearing through what he thought was important tissue. Not having made peace with the idea of dying didn’t mean that he wasn’t passing out from blood loss and internal damage. He supposed he owed a thanks to his team for saving his life; and to the doctors. He could tell in her eyes it was a miracle he was still alive

“I got it, never do that again” He grumbled, not happy with the idea. Storming in and improvising was his favourite plan

Leticia pinched the bridge of her nose. What did that woman want from him!?

“Does that mean you won’t go after them once you’re recovered?” And quickly she added “Or while you’re still hurt?”

“The groups are still operative?”

Leticia paused.

“Yes, they managed to flee. Somehow, they must have known we were coming and they were prepared. You probably surprised them and held them back for more time than they expected, but they knew ”

“I would have been okay with dying if they had managed to catch them”

“Stubborn!”

“At least it would have still counted as a win. I couldn’t do anything, but by taking them on and having them waste time killing me, I would have helped the others reach them in time to arrest them” His hands balled into fists

“You can’t be-”

“Did they let them get away to save me?”

“Stubborn” She said severely. Her muscles were all tensed up in a resemblance of cords. Stubborn knew she wanted to slap him and ‘knock some sense into him’. He wished she did, a growing, unburned energy was starting to make him itch for a fight, wounds be damned. “Your team decided to prioritize your life as there was a low chance of catching up to them, because you are a valuable asset to the police force, as heedless as you may be, and because, as hard to understand as it is for you, they care about you and don’t want you to die”

His team could shove their feelings up their arse. They had been right there after so many weeks of investigating and chasing them down, all the groups of the net in the same building. In action, there was no place for thoughts or feelings. You only had to have your mind on winning or die trying.

He zoned out Leticia’s voice, which might have moved on to scolding him at some point. He didn’t care to listen anymore. The feelings of unfinished business, of failure, of helplessness that Leticia had sparked with her words, swirled sluggishly in his chest, ticking him off.

Next time would be the last. Once he got back on the field, he would get some competence into his crew, train to not be disarmed of his pistol so easily, and end the criminal syndicate once and for all. This wasn’t even a matter of work anymore, or of duty. No, this was personal.

The bell didn’t ring until Stubborn fucking decided it did.

Chapter Text

Marlon kept staring at the frozen number on the screen as if it would change anything. !(/”& Broken could not get himself to join in on the pointless activity, he preferred to ruminate on how much bad luck they had that the elevator broke down just when they got in.

Being stuck in an elevator with a huge floor-to-ceiling mirror at the back wall wasn’t something he would have liked to experience. It was easy to ignore by sitting down against it, instead of just leaning against one of the other walls like his boyfriend did, but it still left him uneasy. He had been avoiding looking at mirrors for several months now, just over-combing his hair, blindly fixing his face and trusting Marlon when he said he looked good, and he would prefer to keep it that way.

It’s not like there was a point in checking himself over; his face looked disgusting. The dead look in his eyes, the imperfections in his skin, the too-thin lips, the just a little too-thick nose…It was nauseating. He couldn’t stand it anymore. He didn’t know how others could either.

Unconsciously, he hugged his knees a little tighter, catching the flashing glimpse Marlon sent his way. Anyone else would have been self-conscious of sitting like that while wearing a skirt, albeit long, and no underwear (per Marlon’s request), but at this point he was beyond feeling embarrassed of Marlon seeing anything. He had already seen it all thousands of times anyway.

His sense of style was part of his problem too. Between the skirts he liked to wear, and his long stringy pink-dyed hair, it was no surprise that he would receive dirty looks every time he went outside. But he kept going out like that because it was comfortable. Just how much more disgusting could he get?

Marlon’s eyes flickered towards him again and they quickly drowned out his thoughts. He lowered his legs a bit. Maybe- maybe he didn’t actually want to sit like that in the same space as him.

“Ugh, just when are they going to fix this dumb thing, am I right?” His boyfriend said, cutting through the silence that had settled in the elevator

“Uh, they- they said it might take them some time because they couldn’t see what the problem was”

“Yes, but they said that ages ago! One would think they would have figured it out by now!”

‘Ages ago’? How long had Broken been glooming for?

“I don’t think we’ll have to wait much longer…” He muttered, saying the first thing that came to mind to not make the silence awkward “...Hopefully”

Still, despite his efforts to try to maintain a conversation, the silence came back between the two. Fuck, he was already starting to mess up social interactions even with his boyfriend, wasn’t he? Having someone love him had been like a godsend, he couldn’t just throw it away! Pressure started building behind his eyes, and he bit his tongue. No, no crying right now, that would fuck it up more.

Marlon kept gazing at him, sending shivers down Broken’s spine as his mind spiralled.

“You know, even if we do have to wait…Maybe we could pass some time” He spoke again after what felt like ages “I was already planning to have some fun when we got home, but we could just…do it now” He smirked at the end.

Broken paled. It took him several blinks to find his voice again.

“Now? I-I mean, here?”

“Yes, here” Marlon giggled at his face. Broken was trying to not lose control of his body “Why not? It would be a fun switch up”

“Someone- Someone could see us through the cams. Or- or the elevator could be fixed mid-way through or-”

“Oh don’t be a baby, Broken, c’mon”

Moving from where he had been standing, Marlon reached to grab his arm. Broken half-heartedly pressed himself more against the glass, but he didn’t put up much of a fight as he was pulled up to his feet. His heart, though. His heart was speeding up, and not in a good way.

“Marlon, I-I’ll be honest, I-I I don’t really want to do this-”

“Just shut up and enjoy~” He drawled out the last word, and then he turned him around and gave him a sharp push

Broken toppled down, narrowly missing a hit in the face against the mirror and barely holding himself up by grabbing onto the handrail. Disoriented, he barely reacted when Marlon grabbed his hips to push them up. It was habit what had him shift a little to get better balance and align himself.

“Yes, you’re already starting to get into it, aren’t you?” The words seemed to arrive to his brain with delay. Same with the hand that got under his shirt and brushed against his back “You always end up loving the freaky things”

Did he? Was that what the static that was starting to claw and crawl up his limbs meant? If it was- he didn’t like it, he didn’t like the feeling at all. He closed his eyes harder from the tension.

“Marlon, please stop, I-I don’t-” A hand lifted up his skirt and grabbed his butt. His brain short-circuited

The shock of the contact in his long-since-not-private parts was enough to make him open his eyes with a gasp. Big mistake. He met face to face with himself. His whole body shuddered before he looked away, using the hair that fell down his side to block the sight.

“You were saying?” Another laugh “Look at that whole body shudder. I heard that some people find seeing themselves get fucked incredibly arousing, but I didn’t imagine it would have such an effect on you”

As much as Broken wanted to pay attention to his words, his whole brain felt like it was being stuffed with cotton, his heart was trying to beat out of his chest. The only part of Marlon he could register was the hand in his lower half, sweaty, dry, brushing and massaging uncomfortably his skin. He- he never got the point of that. Did Marlon feel good touching his ass like that? He couldn’t imagine it feeling good to anyone.

“Don’t be shy. We’ve fucked so many times before, you can enjoy yourself without feeling embarrassed”

Fingers grabbed his hair in a fist and pulled to have him face the mirror once more. He tried to close his eyes, but Marlon pulled up to crane his neck slightly and he instinctively opened them again, looking straight into the deep black pools of his reflection. He wanted- He wanted to look away, he didn’t- fuck. His eyes were burning, breathing was getting harder. He could see how his cheeks were getting pink and puffy and it hurt.

“Now you’ll be able to see what I see everytime” Marlon whispered in his ear, also looking at Broken’s reflection with a smile and hungry eyes. “You can get so pretty sometimes. For example, when I do this~” A finger pressed against his hole, getting the tip in. His breathing stopped, his reflection grimaced and-

“GET OFF ME!”

Marlon crashed against the elevator’s metal door, but the one who fell on the floor was Broken, crying his heart out. He buried his face in his knees, trying to seek some comfort. Every inch of his skin where the fingers had been itched.

“I-I…I told you I didn’t want to do it!” He yelled without thinking, just wanting to get whatever was pressing against his lungs out, his voice breaking. Through a small sliver between his arms and his legs, he saw a hand approaching “DON’T TOUCH ME” He flinched so violently he hurt his elbow

“Okay, I get it, jeez” Marlon muttered, backing off once more to sit against the door

The only sound that could be heard in the small box they were in were Broken’s muffled sobs as he ugly cried. But at some point, the daze that made his stomach churned receded enough for him to think again. Marlon had not moved from his place since he had screamed at him, looking away rejected. He had never- he had never crashed out like this to Marlon before. If he had had an erection, he must have completely ruined it for him.

“...I’m sorry” Broken apologized, getting his attention once more. “I shouldn’t have yelled at you, I-I don’t know what came over me” He changed from covering his face with his knees to doing so with his hands

“It’s alright” He mumbled after a couple of seconds. Broken’s heart shrank

“We can, we can have sex if you want” He hurried to say, still feeling out of his body. “The- the mirror freaked me out, but if you want to-”

“Broken, seriously” Marlon fixed him with a look, and gave him a somewhat comforting smile “I’m fine as long as you’re fine. Just take deep breaths and focus on calming down. I won’t touch you right now while you’re like this”

Right now. Those two words echoed in his skull and made all his muscles clench. But he was safe had some time to get his shit together until they got home. Marlon wasn’t mad at him, just shocked like he was. He really was a godsend; Broken wouldn’t have kept himself around after something like that, or after all the times he had fought him before. He gave a trembling smile back and wiped his tears, but they were quickly replaced. They didn’t matter. Maybe he could try to make up for what he had done by focusing more on participating than keeping his body still when they had sex next time?

When the technical team finally got the elevator running again, Broken had managed to change from sobbing loudly to crying silently. He was proud of himself for that.

Chapter Text

In the quiet of the night, Cold slowly made his way to the bathroom, stopping to check that, just as it should be, everyone was asleep or at the very least trying to sleep. At Hunted’s door he even held his breath; that nuisance was the hardest to get past with his constant hypervigilance. He wasn’t in the mood for all the fuss they would make if anyone found out what he did every so often. Well, maybe Skeptic would let him be with how he valued the gathering of information, but if he could avoid any inconveniences, it would be preferable.

Finally reaching the restroom, he turned the lock on the door as a final measure to avoid disturbances and knelt before the cabinet under the sink. It was stuffed to the brim with all kinds of pointless items. Since the other small drawers weren’t enough for eleven people, some of which “required” a numerous amount of beauty and cleaning products, most of the objects anyone wanted to keep in the bathroom were stored in that cabinet in different bags, one for each of them. A waste of space, really. He only had two personal items stashed in a cloth glasses pouch from Paranoid: his toothbrush and a swiss knife.

He retrieved the swiss knife.

Slowly pulling out all the different gadgets one by one, he pondered what he should try today. The corkscrew didn’t work, neither did the pliers, the scissors weren’t even close…Wait, he hadn’t attempted the knife yet, had he?

Without hesitation, he took out his shirt, pulled out the largest blade, and pressed its edge onto the skin between two of his ribs on his side. A burning sensation exploded from the cut, which was only made worse when he dug it a tad deeper. The feeling was a little disappointing, so he started dragging it down, following the small curve of the ribs. Too absorbed in keeping the focus on his emotions in search of something, the thick warm trickles of blood that fell down his skin painting it in red remained ignored.

The knife reached the bottom of his sternum and he stopped to check more deeply, even closing his eyes.

Nothing.

He moved the knife up and started cutting down his sternum. Hand not even shaking, Cold pressed more, and more, until the metal could not go any deeper because it had hit bone. The hit echoed inside his skull, making his throat clench in reflex for a moment and causing him to blink a couple times to shake the impression that had dazed him out.

That had been…weird. He finished cutting his flesh open, joining that vertical cut to the end of the one that came from the side, and decided to try that again.

The wound was a flooded mess of reddish black, but he attempted to wipe it enough to locate the cut once more in the blurry spot of agony that had become his chest, jabbed one finger into it, and then put the knife back into the cut. With a few flicks of his wrist, the knife nudged his sternum.

The little hits made all his muscles clench once more. The ripples resounded through his bones, making his whole skeleton shudder. His hand lost its grip strength for a moment, and the knife fell to the floor.

Cold sat back for a moment, basking in the weird itch in his lungs because the scorching pain in the chest was too normal. Slashes had basically been a constant in his life, and these ones were pitifully thin and superficial for his mind to even care. But the uneasy sensation of having one of his bones not broken, but touched. Now that was new.

He grabbed the knife once more and tried to do it again. But apparently, the magic of novelty was over. As much or as strong as he hit it, the sensation did not come back. He huffed, his body had gotten used to it much quicker than he had expected.

In a senseless whim, Cold started tracing lines over his left arm. It would not bring anything forth, probably, but at least it was a new thing. Usually, he left his arms alone because it would be harder to cover up any damage done to them, but this time he let himself make small cuts all over his scars and marred skin. What would they see? Slightly whiter lines on the skin in the midst of the third-degree burn scar he had from when he had had to dunk his arm in lava? Skeptic might notice, Paranoid and Hunted could as well, but in contrast those small marks would be nothing and they would leave him alone and not ask.

Once his whole lower arm was a canvas of red, he let it be. Better not to risk it by having too many marks in one place. In one last attempt, he gazed at his reflection in the unstained parts of the metal blade, searching inside himself to find a sliver of shame, or self-pity from the self-harm.

Nothing.

Giving up on the swiss blade for today, he tossed it aside. Okay, the attempt to bring up pain had failed once more. Now time to try with fear.

He reached inside the cabinet again, but this time directing his hand towards the top part. There, he clutched his fingers around the hidden gun.

It had been something he had deemed as excessive and borderline dangerous, but a coalition of Paranoid, Hunted, Stubborn, Skeptic and, surprise surprise, Opportunist, had argued towards everyone having easy access to a hidden weapon in case of an emergency. No one really thought it would ever be used, but for one reason or another they all felt better with a deadly weapon at arms reach.

After starting this little habit, he also “felt happy” (he wished he actually did) that he had a deadly weapon at arms reach without anyone asking questions about why.

Shifting to sit back against the wall, he opened the chamber and took out all bullets before inserting three and rolling the chamber. With a swift flick of the wrist, the chamber snapped closed.

“Okay, 50/50 chance” He muttered, raising the gun to his head. Trying to add more pressure, he pressed the barrel hard against his template, closed his eyes, and waited

Through his mind crossed different thoughts. The sound of the safe turning off, the cold metal of the trigger as he played with it, the images of the three bullets loaded in the gun. First, and image of an empty slot aligning right with the barrel, and then, the image of a filled slot aligning right with the barrel.

He could die, he could very well die right now. There was a 50% chance that he would shoot his brains out and splay them against the floor for a pathetic reason such as “I wanted to feel something again”. The others would see after Stubborn had broken the door, Contrarian would puke, and none of them would mourn.

If he died, he would lose every single chance of feeling sad, or angry, or happy ever again.

Click

He blinked, lowering the gun.

Nothing.

He was still alive, but not in a single moment had fear, or yearning, or any other sentiment crossed his chest.

He loaded the rest of the bullets and pressed the barrel of the gun against the underside of his chin, looking at the ceiling.

There would be no 50% if he pulled the trigger. This would be a confirmed death sentence. A bullet, straight up the paladar, into his brain, and out his skull. He would do it, there was no reason to be alive anymore if he would never enjoy anything again. He had sacrificed his emotions for survival, to stop himself from wanting to die like Rose had, to become numb to the horrors he was forced to live through everyday.

What a joke. In the end, he would kill himself because of the actual, real horror he had dunked himself into.

His hand fell to his side with a loud thud. The bluff didn’t work, he knew he wouldn’t do it and he was sure after everything with the princess that he didn’t care about dying either way. Like each one of these nights, it didn’t even end with anger, frustration or despair.

Just utter nothingness